#ch: the chosen one

[riacte]

so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

[serenfloras]

i'm gonna say it. for a manga that is so centered on free will, inheritance of will and freedom overall people sure love to theorize about luffy's entire life being forged by others with him being predestined as nika's next reincarnation huh

[msommers]

FROM APHRODITE AND THE LOVERS, TO OUR LITTLE DOVES 🕊️💌 to celebrate the release of the ethereal lovers club, we're offering a limited-edition cassette of the album exclusively for our top fans on spotify. a limited quality is available for this offer - until april 30th or while supplies last - so act quickly!

mc & band for @infamous-if [templates]  [psd]

[coquelicoq]

i want beniko and yorishima to hang out. i think they'd balance each other out well. antisocial old man and woman who resents a different old man for dying before she could socialize him. yorishima probably knew her grandfather and probably was cranky about his whole youkai friendship situation, which beniko was also cranky about. ultimately beniko has to make her peace with the fact that she avoided her grandfather because she couldn't share his world and that now that he's dead it's too late to reach out to him. yorishima isn't a substitute for her grandfather, but he is a guy who's isolating himself not just from humans who can't see, but also from humans who can see and from youkai. his perspective overlaps with hers in some ways and with hakozaki's in some ways and completely diverges from both in others. i think it would be good for both of them and i would like to see it.

[vargaslovinghours]

Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

-----

Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

[brw]

For some reason Simon's depiction of Macbeth seems like he would have had a manbun and I genuinely wonder about this all the time. Very modern clothes so it seems a contemporary remake and I'm so fascinated by it. They don't use the archaic pronouns but the structure of the speech remains very Shakespearian. The whole decision making process both in and out universe is genuinely interesting to me, because this issue came out around five years before Romeo + Juliet, so that wasn't something they were inspired by. Just so curious about this whole bit.

Wonder Man V2 #19

[coredrill]

which came first? the chicken (smith’s desire to die as become a hero) or the egg (suicidal robots)?

[asmodeusamaryllis]

Idk if I'm the biggest fan of using the trope 'no man can harm me! Alas I'm a woman ;)' being done vice versa so u can have a male protag n potentially show up all the women characters but I trust nishi that that won't happen 🤞

[nighthawkes]

I can forgive Gideon for the crime of being The Chosen One for several reasons:

1. She’s an abomination by cause of conception

2. Status wasn’t revealed until book 2

3. I love her

[imberlae]

[the-boy-king-rp-multi]

"Will you be quiet now?" - Obi to Anakin

They'd been stranded on this planet for days.

It was supposed to be a simple extraction mission- Looking for a very rare plant, the last of it's kind- Very important, and bring it back to Coruscant. Only, they'd been attacked by separatist ships before they'd even landed, and now they were stranded on a planet, devoid of all intelligent human life- No communications, anything they tried to pick up was out of range of their ship, which was completely destroyed from the crash landing. Good enough to sleep and eat in, of course, but.. Not much else.

After a few days, he was growing irritable and antsy. He didn't want to bother Obiwan by asking him to spare, so here he was, pacing irritably and in a sour mood. Usually he'd "spar" with Rex for a few hours and he'd calm down, but kriff- He could never ask Obiwan for that. He was his master, it was.. inappropriate.

God, he'd had those feelings since he came into puberty a few years ago, and their training sessions since had been all but torture. Often disappearing afterwards to get "cleaned up", telling obiwan he needed a nap after, when.. he was doing anything but. He'd been smitten with obiwan since they met on Tattoine all those years ago, and he had hoped he'd grow out of it, especially when he met padme again- But it didn't.

So when obiwan suddenly grabbed him and kissed him to stop his anxious pacing? Everything else in his mind shut down, feeling the warmth rush to his freckled, sun-kissed cheeks, soft brunette curls framing his steadily reddening face. Oh. The very last thing he ever expected was for Obiwan Kenobi to kiss him outside of his own fantasies, so he just.. panicked, and froze, turning as red as a tomato. @wayfaringstrangxr

[happylittlegremlin]

*grabs block of cheese*

"My liege, your lactose intolerance would make it Hell for your guests to go to the bathroom for today's Pride Party."

*puts cheese back*

"Good my liege..."

*grabs a pound of brie and milk*

"WAIT NO!"

i wish i had a floating evil skull to follow me around and when we went to the grocery store she would say something like my liege we must purchase the strawberry cream cheese for the coming days and i would be like oh fuck youre so right and put it in my cart and then we would walk down the next aisle together our beautiful life

[you-are-my-neverland]

wrote a short story to workshop for my cw class, and i actually like it.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 13 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: college anxiety, angst, Gabrielle, Lisa, alcohol, cursing, mentions of cheating, a frat party, explicit content: implied sex

☆word count: 8.9k

☆a/n: more angst oop- I hope you guys like it :') thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, August 30

Summer came and went. Like everything in life, it became just a moment in time, a short movie consisting of flashing scenes of friendship and fun and sun, of pools and tanning and hikes. Summer was perfect, summer was healing, yet summer couldn’t heal everything.

Summer hasn’t healed a doe-eyed boy from your heart, but you think it’s okay. You think, perhaps your love for Jungkook is just everlasting, another one of those memories you know you’ll cherish for the rest of your life.

You reckon, if you were to have kids one day and they’d asked you who your first love was, you wouldn’t be able to answer their father.

It will always be Jungkook, no matter the bitterness and the pain of the ending.

It’s his necklace you wear on your heart every day after all.

You’ve worked all summer, amassing money to cover your expenses for the year. You’ve gone back home with Taehyung for a week your mother had off, and you spent it camping like you did when you were kids, gaze getting lost in starlight and sun rays on the water, reflections of light that left afterimages on your retina.

Much like Jungkook is an afterimage on your heart. Never fully erased, yet the pain isn’t as sharp anymore. Like the time soothed its edges, reminding you of the good part, allowing you to let go of the bad.

The first news you had of Jungkook this summer was stories posted on a Saturday evening, of him and Lisa and friends in New York City. Turns out Lisa landed an internship at an architect firm in New York through her father’s connections, and turns out it was all she needed to be welcomed into Jeon Jungkook’s world over there.

You’d been jealous back then, bitterly so. Yoongi, bless his heart, had forced you to hang out at his place, claiming the empty room needed to be repainted before Namjoon moved in for the semester. It’d been a good distraction, and by the end of the weekend, you’d realized that Jungkook was allowed to have friends, to move on from your idyllic moment in his life.

It hurt, but it was a sign of healing.

You got closer to Yoongi over the summer. Learned all about his past, about his high school and how his parents were supportive when he came out, yet reluctant when he brought his first boy home. He’d told you how he met Hoseok in his last year of high school despite not attending the same school, and how their friendship had immediately blossomed.

Only to wither in April, when Hoseok had chosen to leave. None of you or your friends have had any news of him since then, like he wiped his existence from all of your lives like it was nothing. It’s been hard for Yoongi, harshly so, so you’ve made sure to always be available for him, too.

Namjoon and Nabi’s relationship didn’t suffer such a fate. They’ve only been growing stronger over the summer, proof that despite Namjoon getting out of his relationship with his ex and jumping in the one with Nabi right away, they were meant for each other. In truth, you’ve never seen anyone love each other like Namjoon and Nabi do, and maybe that most of all has healed your bleeding heart.

There has to be someone out there who’ll love you like you’re the one who paints his every sunset. 

Seokjin wasn’t on the receiving end of such a relationship. He’d confessed to Ria halfway through the summer, telling her that he couldn’t do the see-saw anymore, that he needed everything or nothing, and in good Ria fashion, your friend ran. She ran and ran, until Seokjin told her he was ashamed of having believed she deserved to be loved.

The blow has been hard on Ria, and she hasn’t been with anyone since then. Hasn’t mentioned Seokjin once either, but you know that, whenever you go out, he’s the one she’s looking for. 

The strangest part of this summer happened on a random Tuesday evening when you’d just come home from work. Taehyung and Ariane, ever so the lovebirds, had been hanging out in the living room when you’d crossed the threshold. Taehyung’s gaze had shot to you, and he’d uttered words you think have been carved into your brain.

“Did you know Jungkook is the heir of JJS pharmaceuticals?” 

You did. You knew about his father’s company - he’d told you once when you’d been lying with your head on his chest, one of the rare times he’d talked about his family after your weekend escapade to New York.

But you knew Jungkook’s existence had been mostly a secret, his father refusing to announce his existence to the world because Jungkook had refused to study at an Ivy League College.

At the confusion on your face - or rather, the masked pain you’d been hiding for weeks and months - Taehyung had added, “There was a conference press, and he’s all over social media.”

He was. You found out quickly enough, articles and articles about him showing up on your Instagram as well. You’d seen pictures from the press conference: though his father had been smiling wide, Jungkook had only been staring at the camera, like he’d wished he could disappear.

You don’t know what led him to accept a position at his father’s company before he’d even graduated, but you knew then and know now that it had to not have been his choice.

So indeed, summer came and went until it became just a memory, and the new semester now looms over the horizon, a reminder that though your skin might have been sunkissed these last few months, it’s now time to return to reality.

You’re sitting in the kitchen, indulging in Buldak noodles as you read a book about Faes and High Lords and a Night Court. You’ve started reading again over the summer, another way to escape that helped fill your breaks at work when you didn’t go out for lunch with your coworkers. It was nice to reconnect with your previous love for reading - indeed, you’d spent years in middle school and high school getting lost in fantasy and dystopian worlds, and recovering this part of you might have been another way to heal.

It’s reminded you that every story is worth telling, even those that don’t end well.

So you sit at the kitchen table, halfway done with your noodles, when the front door opens and closes. 

“Hello!” you greet out of reflex.

Taehyung and Ariane were out shopping for groceries, and though they haven’t left a long time ago, you assume it’s them coming home.

“Do you need any help?” you ask as no one replies, which is strange.

They’re always talking about everything and nothing, joking around like they’re the only people in the world. It’s something you do find cute, but that always grates your nerves in all the wrong ways.

Where Nabi and Namjoon have been making you feel hopeful when it comes to love, Taehyung and Ria have made you jaded too.

The silence prolongs, and you don’t even hear them taking off their shoes. You furrow your brows, wondering if they’re trying to prank you. So you put your book down even though you are in the middle of a good scene, and you push up from the table, heading towards the kitchen’s doorway.

You reckon, maybe you should have expected it. You’d known he was coming back at some point - he still has a year left of college. But you didn’t think he’d show up on an early Friday evening, clutching his duffel bag and standing by the door like he’s a guest in his own home.

He’s changed. The first thing you notice is that he’s changed: he doesn’t have the eyebrow piercing anymore, his hair is shorter - almost entirely shaved at the sides - and though he still has the lip piercings, he looks different than what you remember.

As if a few months was enough to blur your memories of Jeon Jungkook, and the wound you’d thought to be healed over the last few months reopens, pouring liquid lava on your entire body until you think you’re burning, and not in a good way.

He’s dressed in all black, like some things don’t change after all. He looks more built than he was last semester, like he’s gone to the gym a lot more over the summer. His tattoos have also changed - they’ve been coloured, some of them, as if he tried to put colours back into his life.

You hope it worked. But when you hold his gaze, the heaviness making you want to disappear through the floor, you think maybe it didn’t work at all.

“Y/n,” he greets.

His voice has changed too. Or maybe it’s just the emotions, maybe it’s just the fact that the last thing he ever told you were those words in the letter you keep hidden in your night table, words you’ve romanticized every night trying to fall asleep.

Not that you would tell anyone.

“Jungkook,” you reply in the same tone.

He nods once, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he takes off his shoes. You watch him, dumbly standing in the doorway, and he shoots you a look once his shoes - black boots that look far too warm for the summer - are off.

“How are you?”

His three words throw you off. They make you feel like last semester might have been a construct of your imagination, but then again you hold that letter too dearly, and the memories of him have been your favourites for months now.

“I’m okay,” you reply, nodding once. “How are you?”

He pulls on his piercings, the gesture familiar yet so different than how you’ve been imagining it every night. “I’m chill.”

He starts to walk towards his room, but he stops halfway there, glancing over your head into the kitchen. 

“Want something to eat?” you ask, and you wonder if he hears your heart as it picks up in your chest.

You see the moment he spies the Buldak noodles on the table. He smiles softly, with his eyes first, and you think maybe this is it.

Maybe he came back home.

Came back home to you.

But then his features fall, the smile vanishing and darkness invading his gaze. He shakes his head no, nodding towards his room. “Thanks, but I gotta unpack.”

You watch him walk the rest of the way towards his bedroom. He turns the knob, pushes the door open, yet he freezes there. His shoulders tense, and even though you don’t see his features, you know he wants to say something else.

You hope he will, hope he’ll say something that might mend the bridge between the two of you. That might erase this abyss between you and him until the ending disappears.

You know it’s because you haven’t seen him in a long time. Know that, when it all comes down to it, you wouldn’t go back to him - he broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to return to him. But you like to imagine that you would as he stands there, that you’d run to him if he turned and said the right words.

But he doesn’t. He sighs, and then he walks into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. And as he disappears from view, you feel yourself stumble, like you’ve taken a hit right to the chest. You lay a hand over your beating heart, almost expecting to feel blood trickling through your fingers.

As if he’s just broken your heart all over again, torn it from your ribcage. Yet it breaks - you didn’t think he still had that power over you.

Hell, you thought you’d been moving on.

You walk back into the kitchen, the room spinning around you. You drop in the chair you were sitting in before, eyeing your book. And though you want to get lost in the fantasy world again, you’re bleeding out on your chair, pain burning along every single one of your nerves.

How are you supposed to share a roof with the one that broke your heart?

The answer is easy. You can’t.

You need to get out of here, and quickly.

Monday, September 2nd 

Your first day back to college is long. You’ve got two classes - a morning and an afternoon class, both of them three hours long. 

When the second one ends - luckily half an hour early ‘because it’s the first day’ as the professor said - you make your way out of class with Nabi. She’s typing away on her phone, likely asking Namjoon when he’ll be home, yet she follows you as you head to the dorms.

You’ve been crashing at the girls’ dorm over the weekend, as you try to figure out what you should do. You haven’t figured anything yet - Taehyung’s been telling you that you shouldn’t move out, asking if it’s because of Ariane moving in, and though you’ve been good at avoiding mentioning Jungkook, there’s just so much you can do before you burst and admit that it’s because of him.

But it’s okay - Nabi’s been staying with Yoongi and Namjoon, so you have her bed all to yourself, and Ria and you have been treating it like a massive sleepover, doing face masks every night and getting mildly drunk on Saturday.

Nabi sighs as you walk towards the dorms, and you throw her a look. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel like this semester is about to be the worst,” she admits, slightly shaking her head. “Namjoon basically confirmed it.”

You hook your arm with hers, resting your head on her shoulder. “Baby, it’s fine. We’re in this together.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the top of our class.”

“And you’re the second,” you remind her. “We’ll be okay, I promise.”

She nods, heaving out a heavy breath again. “Is it bad that I’m already anxious?”

You don’t reply right away, as you pass through a group of engineer students gathered in front of a class, most likely getting ready for an evening class. An evening class on the first Monday… 

You feel bad for them.

“It’s not bad,” you reply once you’ve finally walked past. “It means that you care about your grades. You just need to not let it eat you alive.”

“I think I’m just realizing that getting into med school might be harder than we thought,” she says with a sigh.

You stop, tugging on her arm so that she stops too. “No, I’m not having any of that,” you tell her. “We’ll both get in, Nabi, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, folding her arms on her chest.

“Yup.” You nod forcefully. “Dead serious. And after that, it’s smooth sailing until residency. And then we get a residency together, and we become sexy doctors.”

“Bruh,” she lets out, and she chuckles.

You’re happy your distraction works because you truthfully didn’t know where you were headed with it. “I promise!” you insist. “Give us a couple of years, and we’ll have our own practice.”

“You want to be a surgeon, and I want to be an ophthalmologist,” she reminds you. “Not quite sure we’d practice at the same place.”

You shrug, and you start walking towards the dorms again. “To be fair, we’ll probably both end up at a hospital. We just need to find a way to work at the same one.”

She purses her lips. “That sounds doable.”

You smirk mischievously. “Damn right.”

*****

Nabi ends up staying with you and Ria at the dorm for a couple of hours after class, and you order takeout that you eat sitting in a circle on the floor like you usually do when you do pre-drinks before a party. It’s fun, more chill than a pre-party gathering, and Ria tells you all about how she ran into Seokjin on campus today.

“He didn’t even look at me,” she admits. “What a dick.”

You exchange a knowing look with Nabi. “Maybe he didn’t see you,” you try.

“He ignores me when we all hang out together too,” she points out. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

Nabi scrunches up her nose. “Yeah… you did lead him on for months.”

“Not my fault if he fell in love,” Ria grumbles, her gaze dropping to the rice bowl she’s eating.

“It might not be your fault, but you still led him on,” Nabi pushes.

Ria huffs a breath, scoffing, but she doesn't say anything. She never really does when it comes to Seokjin anyway.

“Why are you so against the idea of being with him again?” you ask.

The scalding look you earn would put a dragon to shame. “Because I don’t want to be in a relationship,” she says, sounding like you a year ago when your friends had been pestering you about Hoseok.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“We all know he’d treat you like a goddess though,” Nabi says. “The guy’s a hopeless romantic.”

Ria rolls her eyes. “Cringe.”

You playfully push her, and she bursts out laughing. You don’t miss the way her cheeks have dusted with pink though - and neither does Nabi - but you don’t mention it.

You have a feeling Ria is lying to herself more than she’s lying to the both of you, but you’d never dare tell her. She’ll figure it out on her own or not, and that’s what being in college is.

You try stuff; some of it works, and some doesn’t. 

Jungkook invades your thoughts, your chest aching all over again. You reach for the peach at the end of the chain, playing with the pendant mindlessly as if that can tame the ache, push it back to the back rooms of your mind.

It barely works, yet you manage to be able to let go of him after a few deep breaths, and a prolonged silence of Nabi staring at Ria while the latter is solely focused on eating. Your unease went unnoticed, which you reckon is a relief.

Confiding in them about Jungkook has helped over the summer, obviously, but there are some things you want to keep to yourself. Because Jungkook deserves the centrepiece in all of the secrets you’ve ever held - he was the grandest of them all last semester after all.

Still is, considering you’ve been lying to Taehyung about him all summer. Not that you really had to lie. You just avoided mentioning Jungkook, staying vague about your semester while Taehyung told you everything about Paris. 

And so you end up saying goodbye to Nabi when she decides to go over to Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment - Namjoon was quick to take Hoseok’s old room, seeking to leave the dorms once and for all - and you and Ria watch Demon Slayer, her favourite anime.

Coincidentally one of Jungkook’s favourite animes too, not that it matters.

You sigh - reminders of him are everywhere lately, and though you have been moving on over the summer, the ache has been revived. You wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he at home, watching anime or playing video games? Is he hanging out with Taehyung, with Jimin and their other friends? Or is he locked up in his room like he was all of Friday, before you fled the apartment?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Because Jungkook will always matter: he meant too much to you. Still does, and you don’t know what to make of it.

Ria sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts as the episode finishes. You glance at her - you’re lying side by side on her bed, a laptop in between you to watch the show.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

She purses her lips, shrugging, though it proves to be awkward considering the position. “I don’t know. It’s just… Is something wrong with me?”

A concerned crease appears between your eyebrows. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know…” She pauses, gaze still focused on the laptop screen as if she can’t bring herself to meet your own. “Why am I so opposed to relationships? To love in general?”

Oh. 

“Oh Ria…” you let out.

“Don’t,” she warns. “I don’t want to be pitied.”

You press your lips in a tight line, nodding once. She chuckles, and then she starts the next episode, like she needs a moment to collect her thoughts.

“It’s just…” she says as Tanjiro fights a demon, the fight continued from the last episode. “I’m aware that Seokjin would be good for me. I enjoyed spending time with him too. But the second he mentioned feelings…”

“It turned you off,” you complete for her.

She nods. “It really did.”

“Why do you think it did?” you ask, even though you know it has to be because of her ex.

She sighs deeply. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know. I had a loving family growing up, so I can’t blame it on that. I had friends too, good friends, but then when my ex cheated…”

“It broke the part of you that could trust easily,” you say. “And it’s understandable, and totally valid.”

“I guess so…” she trails off. “I just feel like letting someone in is too much of a vulnerability.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “You like being in control, and you feel like being in a relationship would make you lose control.”

She glances at you, eyes slightly narrowed. “Sometimes I swear to God you sound like a therapist.”

You laugh - it’s not the first time you’ve been told that. Yoongi said so last semester too, when you’d helped him get over Hoseok.

“Don’t ask me for advice though,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “I don’t think I’d have any good advice.”

“Not to be mean, but after what you put yourself through last semester, I don’t think your advice would be really helpful,” she teases.

You widen your gaze. “That was mean.”

She pouts, offering you puppy eyes. You push her on the shoulder, and she rolls on her back, laughing. “No, but seriously,” she says. “I don’t blame you. You fell in love, and that’s not your fault, is it?”

You remain silent, not wanting the conversation to turn to Jungkook. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes after a few seconds of silence. “You’re right, that was mean.”

“You’re not wrong, though,” you reassure her. “I saw all the red flags and chose to ignore them.”

Ria turns on her side again, facing you. “That’s love for you. Everyone ignores all the red flags the moment they start having feelings for someone else.”

Like Seokjin, but you don’t say it. You highly doubt she needs to hear it.

“Cheers to that,” you say, though you are void of any beverage at the moment.

You’ve left your water bottle on the floor, too far to reach from where you’re lying in bed.

“You know what we should do?” Ria says a while later, when the episode is coming to an end. “We should go to the party on Friday. The one Dave’s frat is hosting.”

The name Dave rings an extremely distant bell - you think you went to a party hosted by his frat last semester, but you’re not quite sure.

“I thought we were already planning to go.”

Ria looks at you, mischief slowly filling her gaze. “We should go and find some cute guys to forget about all of our problems with.”

You laugh. “Men aren’t the solution to everything, you know that, right?” you tease.

“Oof. They’re the root of the problem most of the time, I know.” She pauses, purses her lips. “But we’re due to have fun. You know Nabi and Namjoon will come for an hour or two and disappear anyway.”

“What about Yoongi?”

“We’ll find him someone too! He deserves it.” She nods, clearly convinced that her plan is the best she’s ever come up with.

And Yoongi does, you think that out of the three of you, he’s the one that deserves a healthy relationship the most. 

So you nod your head, saying, “It’s going to be lit.”

You can only hope that it is and that you don’t end up crying because of a certain doe-eyed man you should have let go of months ago.

Friday, September 6th  

[11:17 am] bröther👽: just letting you know that Gaby is in town so Ari will be staying with her [11:17 am] bröther👽: come home

The texts Taehyung sent to you in the morning sit unanswered on your phone. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say - he still firmly believes you’ve decided to move out because of Ariane, and you think it might have killed a possible friendship with her in the bud.

If only they knew why you truly left. It likely wouldn’t be any better - Jungkook would be dead in a ditch somewhere, and you’d be grounded by your older brother like you were when you were in high school.

You know Taehyung is likely only going to grow suspicious if you ignore him, but you really just don’t know what to say. He’s likely going to be at the party tonight - you’ll make an effort to speak to him, to reassure him, and then you’ll disappear with your friends.

That is, if Jeon Jungkook isn’t with him. Because if Jungkook’s there, you’ll avoid Taehyung like the plague, no matter if that might make him even more suspicious.

“I literally cannot physically wait,” Ria says next to you, and you shoot her a quick look as she puts mascara on.

She’s going all out tonight, and you wonder if it’s because Yoongi mentioned Kim Seokjin will be in attendance. Obviously, you don’t want to attract her ire, so you don’t say it, but you reckon Seokjin has been a ghost in every conversation since last Monday.

Much like Jungkook has been, but you’ve been good at pretending he hasn’t.

“I really hope they’ve stocked up on free alcohol,” you say, knowing you’ll need it, mostly because if Taehyung is in attendance, then Ariane will likely be, and so will Gabrielle. 

Your heart sinks in your chest at the thought - you haven’t told Ria, not wanting to ruin her enthusiasm. 

“Do you want to curl your hair?” Ria says as she finishes with the mascara. 

You shrug. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it natural,” you answer. “But you should curl yours.”

She narrows her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror. “You know what, yeah, I should.”

You chuckle, and then you both busy yourself getting ready. You apply more makeup than you usually do, only because you know it’ll be a mask you’ll use all evening.

Does Gabrielle even know about your existence?

You finish getting ready, stealing from Ria’s closet to get dressed. You settle on a pair of black leather pants, along with a black crop top t-shirt that hugs tight to your frame, revealing just an inch of the bird tattoo you got done on your right ribs in May.

You stare at the ink, thinking about Taehyung’s reaction. He’ll likely be pissed at you, but you’re done caring. If he wants to be mad, then so be it.

“Your ass looks amazing in this,” Ria compliments from behind you, and you snort as you turn to look at her.

She’s wearing a sage green corset that leaves little to the imagination. You compliment her in return, and she winks at you, before suggesting to down a couple of shots before leaving. You immediately agree, and you’ve got a light buzz by the time you leave the dorms, heading to the frat house.

It’s already crowded by the time you get there, the loud music having attracted all the party-goers on campus. The front lawn is cramped, and Ria grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd to head to the house proper.

You make it to the hall, and luckily enough, there aren't as many people here. You’re able to navigate to the living room, where Dave - he really is the guy from last semester - finds you, offering drinks to the two of you.

You grab a beer, not trusting the questionable punch that Dave claims was prepared earlier today. Ria follows your lead, and you clink bottles with Dave, who admits he has no clue what’s in the punch when you’ve all taken your first sips.

“Bruh, why were you trying to sell it to us then?” Ria asks, eyebrows raised.

Dave laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Colton said it was good.” 

Colton… you wonder if it’s the same Colton that had warned you about Jungkook once.

“And we’re supposed to trust Colton?” Ria teases.

Dave winces. “Not really, no, he’s already drunk.”

Ria nods as you take a sip of your beer, the bitter liquid heady on your tongue. You turn your head to the side, noticing a very distraught Yoongi walking into the living room, followed close by an even more distraught Seokjin. You wave them over, and Ria and Dave both turn their heads towards the new arrivals.

You notice Ria tensing from the corner of your eye, and Seokjin looks just as uncomfortable as he stops next to you. You hug Yoongi hello, and he doesn’t let you go right away, whispering in your ear, “This place is a shitshow, I don’t think we’ll stay.”

You pout as you pull away. “We said beer pong,” you remind him.

He rolls his eyes, though you know he’s always liked playing beer pong. So you manage to convince him to go for at least one game, though you know you’ll have to wait in line for a while before it’s your actual time to play. It makes for an awkward waiting - Ria and Seokjin are both ignoring each other, and Yoongi and you are standing in the middle, trying to engage in conversation.

You’re finally on the side of the table when you recognize your brother’s laugh, a sound you were sort of hoping not to hear in this crowd. You look to your left - he’s by the garden doors that lead to the backyard, Ariane cuddled up against him, and you think the girl standing with her back to you has to be Gabrielle.

“Shit,” you let out.

Yoongi furrows his brow at the sudden curse. “What’s wrong?” You motion towards the door, and his eyes widen. “Is that who I think it is?”

He knows about Gabrielle. He’s stalked her with you, during one of your many downward spirals, and Gabrielle has that kind of aura that is all too recognizable, even if you’ve only seen her once in a picture.

“I think so,” you reply, and Ria finally leans in to join the conversation.

“Is that Gaby?” she asks, loud enough for the people around you to hear.

You tap her arm, giving her a warning glance, though you’re pretty sure no one’s actually listening. Even Seokjin didn’t glance towards you at the outburst.

But Taehyung notices you, and you quickly turn away, pretending to be focused on the game unfolding on the table in front of you. There’s one cup on the left, three on the other side, and the girls playing are clearly more talented than you: they both shoot it in the lone glass when their turn comes, hugging as they shriek in happiness from their victory.

“Let’s go,” Ria says, and she pulls you to one end of the table as soon as the girls have moved. 

Yoongi and Seokjin take the other side, even though Seokjin truly does appear like he wishes he wasn’t here, and you put the cups back into their spot, reorganizing the table.

Your brother appears next to you before you start, and you offer him a tight-lipped smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. 

“Me?” you let out, your voice uncharacteristically high. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says through gritted teeth, the typical Kim temper flaring up.

You grab the neon orange ball Ria hands you, shrugging your shoulders. “I haven’t. Just been busy.”

He clenches his jaw, yet remains silent as you focus on the table, preparing for the first shot, the one that determines who between you and Ria or Yoongi and Seokjin will play first.

You’re against Yoongi, so you know you’ve already lost when you shoot. To your surprise, Yoongi misses, his ball bouncing off on the side of a cup. Yours flies way off the table, and you wince.

“That was trash,” Taehyung comments.

“Thanks,” you fire back.

Ria and Seokjin throw, and Ria surprisingly manages to get the shot. You clap your hands as she offers you a thumbs-up.

“Seriously though,” Taehyung asks, handing you the ball that Seokjin threw. “What’s wrong? Why did you move out?”

“Hold on,” you say. 

You take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety of his questioning away, and you throw. The ball stays on the table this time, bouncing right next to one of the cups.

“Honestly it’s just so that I can spend time with Ria,” you answer, motioning to your friend. “She’s going through shit.”

Ria tenses next to you, offering you a quick glare before she focuses on shooting, unfortunately missing the cups.

“Oh,” Taehyung lets out. “I thought it was because of Ari.”

Speaking of Ari, you don’t see her anywhere near. You wonder where she went off to - are you lucky enough that she and Gabrielle left the party?

“Not at all,” you reply, and then you focus on the game as Seokjin and Yoongi prepare to throw. They both make it into a cup, and you clink your almost empty beer with Ria’s, taking a long sip before you move the cups to the side. “Ari’s super sweet.”

“She’ll be relieved when I tell her so,” Taehyung admits. “She was saying she could leave if it was an issue with you that she moves in with us.”

“It really isn’t,” you reassure Taehyung, feeling momentarily guilty for making Ariane feel like that. “I’ll probably come back eventually too.”

Taehyung’s eyes light up. “That’d be sick. We need to start doing Taco Tuesdays again.”

Taco Tuesdays. You’d forgotten all about them last semester - you’d spent every Tuesday last fall eating tacos with Taehyung, Jungkook joining once in a while. It was a tradition you’d had growing up with your mother too - when she wasn’t too busy working.

“I’m down,” you reply, and you get ready to throw.

To your surprise, you make the shot, landing it in the first cup at the front. Ria throws hers, and it bounces on the rim of one of the glasses before Seokjin catches it expertly. 

“Is Jungkook coming tonight?” you ask.

Everything stills inside of you. You don’t even know why you asked - you didn’t even think about it before the question fell. But then again, you think it makes sense that Jungkook would invade your thoughts now. 

When does he not?

Ria throws you a curious look at the question, though you don’t miss the disapproval in the furrow of her brows. 

“JK?” Taehyung says, as if he wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so. He says he wants to focus on college this semester.”

You nod curtly, getting ready to defend your cups as Seokjin and Yoongi throw. To your luck, they both miss, and you let Ria shoot first as you focus on Taehyung again.

“Makes sense now that he has to work for his father’s company, no?” you say, trying to sound as if you don’t care.

As if Jungkook is not the center of your universe, still to this day.

“I guess so,” Taehyung comments, and you throw, entirely missing the table again.

Ria lands hers in a cup though, which leaves four cups in front of the boys and three in front of you and Ria.

“I still can’t believe the motherfucker is rich and he never told us,” Taehyung adds.

You get the feeling. You still think New York was a fever dream - even more so now that you’ve lost Jungkook. The thought makes your heart ache in your chest, and it trickles down your body, burning all along the way.

“It’s crazy,” you let out, and it sounds just as flat as you feel - like maybe your heart just flatlined in your chest.

Taehyung makes a non-committal sound, and you’re able to focus on the rest of the game without any interruption. You evidently end up losing to Seokjin and Yoongi, and you shake hands with the boys, congratulating them for their win, even though you’d all expected it. 

“I’ll go get something to drink,” Taehyung says when you finally glance his way again. “Stay away from the punch.”

And then he leaves, and you mimic him as he walks away, raising your middle finger to his back. Ria snorts next to you, and you laugh along with her.

“He’s making me want to have some of the punch,” she says, and you laugh harder.

“Hard pass,” Seokjin says, and Ria stiffens next to you. “I tasted it, and it tastes like piss.”

“Wouldn’t even be surprised if someone pissed in it,” Yoongi says. “This party is…”

“Juvenile?” you provide.

Ria laughs, though it sounds a little forced. “It’s fun, stop.”

She sounds just as unconvinced as you think she seems, yet you all don’t mention it, which you reckon happens a lot around her lately. 

“I think we’ll head out,” Yoongi says after a few seconds. “Want to have a beer back at my place?”

“And disturb the lovebirds?” Ria answers. “No thank you.”

Indeed, Namjoon and Nabi chose to stay in tonight, and you don’t have to use a lot of brain power to imagine what they might be doing right now, when they finally have full privacy in the apartment.

“Right,” Yoongi lets out. He winces, then shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we’re stuck here for a couple of hours, then.”

He says that in Seokjin’s direction, who runs a hand on his forehead before nodding. “Can we at least go outside?”

“Sure. You girls coming?” Yoongi asks, motioning to the backyard.

Ria doesn’t even wait for you to reply, instead tugging you towards the garden doors. You stop her, glancing over your shoulder. “I actually really have to pee, but I’ll join you guys outside?”

She narrows her gaze in suspicion, and you furrow your brows. She leans in, whispering, “Are you trying to leave me alone with Seokjin?”

You snort. “Not at all,” you reply, patting her hand on your arm. “I genuinely am just about to pee myself. You know how I am with beer.”

She fake-gags, and you playfully push her as she bursts out laughing. “Ayt, we’ll be outside.” 

You wave them goodbye, and Seokjin awkwardly waves back before following Yoongi and Ria. You chuckle at the sight before heading to the bathroom, which you think is probably on the second floor.

So you make it towards the staircase you see in the corner, squeezing through the crowd and apologizing all the way, though most people are too drunk to even notice you. You successfully make it to the staircase, and you walk around the group of girls sitting on the steps, making it to the second floor unscathed. 

“Bathroom?” a guy who clearly looks like he belongs to the frat asks you.

You almost startle at the unexpected question, though you recover quickly, nodding your head. 

“Last door on the left,” he tells you. “I think someone’s in there right now though.”

“Should I not wait then?” you ask.

He chuckles. “From what I saw when I exited it was just one girl alone so, you should be good.”

“Thanks,” you answer, offering him a small smile, and he nods once before heading down the stairs, though he quickly realizes that it might be too big of a feat. He indeed just plops down on the stairs, striking up a conversation with the girls there.

They look like they know him, so you walk away, heading to the last door on the left. You lean against the wall outside, pulling your phone out of your pocket. 

No notifications greet you, so you push it back into your pocket, right as the door unlocks, and then opens.

You freeze, just as much as she does. Both of your gazes widening, until she lets out a small, “Hello”, the word heavy with a French accent.

Of course, the girl in the bathroom had to be Gabrielle.

“Hi,” you reply, and you try to smile, though you’re not sure it works.

“You’re Taehyung’s sister, aren’t you?” she asks.

You nod curtly. “The one and only.”

She smiles. “Thought so.” There’s a pause as she doesn’t move from the doorway, and you just wait, awkwardness filling every inch of you. 

Her next sentence throws you off the axis you’ve been spinning on for months now, and you just stare at her in disbelief. 

“You’re not with Jungkook tonight?” she asks.

You feel hot and cold at the same time, your heart rate picking up uncomfortably in your chest. Your palms turn clammy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if sweat appeared on your temples.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She frowns. “I thought Ari said…” she trails off, and then she shrugs her shoulders. “Whatever.” She smiles gently. “I’m happy he’s got you now.”

You think your eyes are bulging out of your head. They have to - the conversation isn’t making any sense, and you aren’t drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol.

“What?”

Her frown reappears. “Aren’t you two dating now?”

You laugh. It’s a sad, pathetic laugh, and Gabrielle looks at you like you’re crazy.

“He cheated on me with you,” you say. “Why would I be dating him?”

The frown falls, replaced by utter surprise. Her mouth opens on a silent ‘Oh’, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say. It takes her a few seconds to collect herself, and then she says, “Non mais putain qu’il est con.”

You don’t speak French, so all you can do is cock an eyebrow quizzically. And then she lets out a small disbelieving laugh, shaking her head.

“I told him to tell you,” she says, and she closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. “But he’s really stupid sometimes.”

“I’m sorry?”

She offers you a small smile bordering on pity, and you brace yourself for what she’ll say next.

“Fille, I’m gay,” she says. “Jungkook was always only pretending to be my boyfriend so my family wouldn’t know. I didn’t know about you when I kissed him in Paris, and I only kissed him because Ari was growing suspicious.” 

You think you’re frozen in place. Like, stared into Medusa’s eyes and turned to stone frozen in place. All you can do is stare at Gabrielle, unblinkingly, as her words spin round and round in your head, caught in a dizzying tornado you can’t follow.

“I told him to tell you,” she repeats, and she sounds far too apologetic for the erratic beating of your heart. For the realization that she just hit you with.

You think she hit harder than a physical slap would have.

“What?” you say, voice small and weak and oh so broken.

Months. You’ve been breaking for him for months… and for what? For a promise he refused to break, one that would have explained everything in a way that would have made you work.

You would have forgiven him, no hesitation. Hell, you reckon you would have told him you loved him, would have told him you wanted to be with him from now on until you turn to dust.

But he had to choose to respect a promise he made years ago, to an ex that wasn’t really an ex after all, was she?

Just a friend from high school.

She was, after all, just a friend from high school.

She nods. “Yeah. He told me all about you.” She smiles again, though this time it’s just sad, like she knows just how shattered you are over this man. “I was rooting for you two.”

“He didn’t tell me,” you whisper as if Gabrielle hadn’t already pieced that together. “Why?”

She sighs. “He’s stupid,” she says as an explanation. “He’s the kind that’ll sacrifice himself if it means helping someone else. I suppose you know that already.”

You nod, because you do.

He sacrificed himself for you last semester when you got home crying on Valentine’s Day. And he sacrificed countless parties over his promise to Taehyung to look after you.

And he sacrificed you to protect Gabrielle’s secret.

“Holy shit,” you let out.

“Talk to him,” she says softly. “Go talk to him now. I’m not letting him lose you over me.” She scoffs, the frown she’d sported earlier returning. “I should have realized before. That he didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Your gaze widens, and you shake your head no. “Oh, no, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

It’s not your fault if he broke my heart.

It’s always just been his fault, hasn’t it?

But then again… you know now. You know that he never cheated on you, that he was right when he was saying that it wasn’t what you thought it was. 

You know that he was there, with you. That he felt for you what you felt for him, that he was chasing cars around your head, too.

And if there’s a chance you can salvage that, repair two hearts in one stone, you know you have to do it.

“I have to talk to him.” You say the words with quiet conviction, and Gabrielle nods, offering you an encouraging smile. “Fuck.”

“Go to him, fille,” Gabrielle says. “And tell him he’s an enfoiré for me.”

You highly doubt you’d be able to repeat that word, yet you still say, “Will do.”

And then you take off, entirely forgetting that you had to pee. You have one goal in mind, and it’s to run home, where you know he has to be according to what Taehyung said. You don’t even stop to text him, to confirm that he really is.

No, you run down the stairs, through the crowd and outside. The front lawn isn’t as crowded as earlier, and you easily make it to the sidewalk, skidding to a halt just long enough to change direction. 

And then you’re running home. Running home to him, your heart beating wildly. For the right reason this time. And as you run, lungs struggling to get enough oxygen in, thighs burning with heat, you feel infinite. You feel like you’re a star in the sky above, or maybe the moon returning to her lover. You feel like a bird soaring high, like a dolphin riding the waves.

You feel young and old and small and big, all at once. Like nothing is ever going to stop you again. You feel in love, you are in love, and after all the months of suffering, you reckon it’s the most beautiful feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You didn’t know you could sprint like you are right now, yet even though your body is straining, you’re not slowing down. You’ve pulled your phone out of your pocket to make sure it doesn’t fall as you run, yet you don’t slow down.

You can’t slow down anymore, not when your gravity finally aligned with his again.

Like it was always meant to be. Because it’s always been meant to be you and him, hasn’t it?

You make it home in a record time, climbing up the stairs… only to realize you don’t have your keys. They are back at the dorms, but it’s too late.

You try the door, and to your surprise, the doorknob turns, and you barge into your home, barge into this life with him.

You catch your breath as you stop in the hall, doubling over when you realize you’ve actually ran - sprinted - for nearly a mile. You’re lucky the frat house wasn’t further away - you highly doubt you would have made it home if it was any further.

“Y/n?” Jungkook says from his bedroom.

You straighten, trying to catch your breath. And the second your eyes land on him, you know it was all worth it.

Every single second of suffering was worth it to be here with him tonight.

“Jungkook,” you say in between two heaving breaths.

He’s shirtless, his honey skin just as warm as you remember it to be. He’s in fact only wearing grey joggers, and his hands are lost in his pockets like he’s trying to look nonchalant.

The concern on his features tells you he, as a matter of fact, isn’t as nonchalant as he’s trying to appear.

“Shit,” you let out. “Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

You laugh. You know you might look crazy, but you literally just ran a mile for this man, and each foot was worth it. 

The grandest journey of your life, wasn’t it?

“She told me,” you say.

He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gabrielle told me everything.” You surprise yourself by blinking away tears, and you let out a small laugh as you go to dry them.

Jungkook remains silent, just staring at you with horror slowly inching into his gaze. You don’t know how, or why, but it only occurs to you then that he might not be alone right now. 

“Kook?” you whisper, unable to say it louder.

Not when you’re slowly crashing down from the high.

“Y/n, I…” he trails off. He closes his eyes, head hanging low. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

You gulp as you swallow. “Yeah, huh.”

You look down, noticing a pair of sneakers you’ve never seen before.

It takes all of the courage you can muster up to look back up when the door of the bathroom opens, revealing a dishevelled Lisa, in only a t-shirt you recognize all too well.

You’d used to sleep in that t-shirt, too.

Lisa sees you after you see her, turning beet red. She’s naked under Jungkook’s shirt, or at least you think she is.

You assume she is considering that he’s shirtless too.

“Oh,” you let out.

Choke out might be a more appropriate word. Because you’re crashing, and you’re crashing hard. Hitting the wall at 120 mph, splattering on it until there’s nothing left of you. Nothing left of that hope you’d found at the party, the hope Gabrielle had so kindly gifted you even though she owed you nothing.

Someone’s screaming. You think someone’s screaming - is it just in your head?

“Hey, Y/n,” Lisa says awkwardly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“I live here,” you reply, voice empty of any emotion.

She purses her lips, nodding once, and then she hesitantly walks out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry I… I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Neither did you. Neither did Jungkook - it would have saved everyone a whole lot of breaking if you’d known. 

If you’d known that having hope for Jeon Jungkook was futile and useless. 

How could you even think you were meant to be with him? There is no universe for you and him out there. Just different worlds of breaking. Because it’s all your soul knows how to do - all your soul knows is to break for him, to shatter and crash and fracture for the man standing in front of his opened bedroom door.

“No worries,” you say, though this time your voice does wobble.

This time, the pain does colour your tone in heartbreak blue.

Jungkook just remains silent, like he’s suddenly gone mute. You think it’s better like this - if he were to say anything right now, you think you’d likely break down here. Instead, you take a deep breath, pat your pockets and say, “I think I forgot my keys at the party.”

Unable to help yourself, you glance towards Jungkook once. He meets your gaze - he looks infinitely pained, the heartbreak stark on his features too. There’s some reassurance in knowing that he’s breaking, too. That you’re doing it together. 

Heartbreak isn’t as lonely when you’re doing it together. 

“How did you…” Lisa trails off, but she doesn’t finish.

She falls silent, clearly hearing the screaming in your head too.

You’re outside a second later, carefully closing the door behind you. Carefully severing the rest of your relationship with Jungkook, until all that is left is the memories.

You take a step back, looking at the door, thinking he might open, might come see you.

Thinking he might be your home after all.

But he doesn’t, the door staying stubbornly closed. You get the message - your souls were never meant to merge. The songs that you thought were about him, about you, about the two of you together, they were never about you. You were never meant to lie down and forget the world with him. 

Or maybe you were, but it came with an expiration date.

You reckon you and Jungkook have always had an expiration date. You just forgot tonight, became blind to it thanks to false, treacherous hope. And so you leave, walking down the stairs as you blink away the tears that are clinging to your waterline.

You embrace the heartbreak, let it sweep through you until you think it’s all you’ve ever known. And like a true companion, the heartbreak carries your steps through the night.

Prev | Chapter 13.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

do I feel bad for the amount of angst I wrote into this story? Maybe a little. I promise one day things will get better for these two, but in the meantime, what did you guys think?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club ch. V

dark!Rafe Cameron x dark!Reader

Warnings: smut, p in v sex, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lying about birth control, baby trapping, mention of previous attempted assault, public sex, infidelity, manipulative and aggressive behavior, breeding kink, slight burn injury

Stepping out onto the Cameron’s back patio, you were pleased to find that the forecast was spot on. It was definitely warm enough to go swimming.

Your gaze settled on the glimmering pool, before looking around the backyard to spot Mr. Cameron.

Your mom and Rebecca were sitting on the porch swing, seemingly engrossed in conversation, but you didn’t miss the way Rebecca subtly gave your body a once over before nervously glancing over at her husband.

Nearing Rafe and your dad by the grill, you paused to ask what was on the menu for tonight.

You grinned sweetly at Rafe, enjoying watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed after taking you in.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to get him flustered, you had chosen one of your more revealing swimsuits, a strappy dark teal green bikini paired with a teal blue wrap skirt that left little to the imagination.

“Just some burgers and hot dogs, Y/N,” your dad answered with a smile, not noticing his best friend beside him clenching his jaw tighter than before.

“Cool! Um, can I have a burger, with cheese?” You asked.

“You got it,” he answered. “But it’ll probably be about half an hour before we start cooking.”

“Okay!”

As you walked past them towards the pool, you unsuccessfully tried to stop yourself from glancing back to sneak another peak of Mr. Cameron, and you felt your heart skip a beat when you caught him staring at you as you left.

Your cheeks were flushed when you reached the chair where Charlie was lounging, and she raised a curious eyebrow when you greeted her.

“Are you getting burnt already?”

“No,” you laughed, reaching to your waist to peel off your wrap skirt. “But I could use a little sunscreen.”

Charlie grabbed the bottle beside her and passed it to you.

You thanked her as you poured some into your hands to start spreading onto your face. After making sure it was all rubbed in, you squirted more into your hands to massage into your chest and shoulders.

Tossing a glance over your shoulder, you were unsurprised to see Rafe staring again, and you made a little show of rubbing the oily lotion across your cleavage as you pretended not to notice him.

It had only been a week since you had snuck into his room after the party and it had been nearly impossible to stay away from Mr. Cameron.

Your waking hours had been possessed by daydreaming about Rafe. Imagining him catching you in the house, pining you to the wall with a large hand clamped over your mouth and fucking you while you had to stay quiet to avoid being caught was a frequent fantasy of yours, one that you really hoped he would act out on you.

But your imagination stretched further than just that. You couldn’t help but insert yourself into scenes of domesticity with him. You liked picturing the two of you in the cameron household together. Rafe would praise you for cooking dinner, wrapping his arms around you, before a protective hand settled on your swollen belly.

Ever since the party, you had felt more determined than ever to have his child.

You knew that he was off limits on so many levels, he was your father’s best friend and your best friend’s dad (not to mention he was married and more than twice your age), but deep down you knew that the depravity of it all was exactly what drew you to Rafe in the first place.

Although, it wasn’t like Charlie had been the best friend to you recently. You were still somewhat pissed off that she had let you stay out at that party where you had been attacked alone.

You shuddered thinking about what might have happened if Mr. Cameron hadn’t arrived in time to save you.

As quickly as the thought arose, you buried it, not wanting to get caught up thinking about what had happened at the party.

What had happened after the party was of much more interest to you.

You could still remember how amazing it felt to come undone around him and how desperately he had kissed you that night. Goosebumps erupted across your skin when you recalled how Rafe had sounded groaning your name as you squeezed around him.

God you wished that he had finished inside of you; although you couldn’t deny how hot it was to be covered in his seed.

A heat was rising inside of you, and you knew that it wasn’t just from the hot Carolina sun.

Throwing another glance towards the porch, you could see your dad and Mr. Cameron beginning to grill the burgers and hot dogs, while your mom and Mrs. Cameron were still chatting on the swing.

Pressing the back of your hand to your forehead, you could feel the sweat beginning to form and you knew it was time to cool off.

Leaving your wrap skirt behind, you left the pool to approach the house, watching Rafe as you got closer.

His jaw clenched when he spotted you, interrupting his sentence midway as he lost his train of thought.

Your dad turned to see what had distracted Rafe, shooting you a confused and questioning look.

“I’m getting really hot,” you explained, not missing the way Rafe’s hungry gaze had swept over your body. “Do you have any ice cream?”

Your question was aimed at Rafe, who you innocently smiled at, and you felt triumphant when he stumbled over his words.

“Um y-yeah, Y/N, there’s some um.” He paused, trying to collect himself in front of your father without drawing any suspicion. “Some popsicles in the… um in the freezer.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, thanks!” You grinned before continuing to the back door.

Rafe stared at you, watching the way your ass moved when you walked. His mouth was watering, jaw clenched so tight it was amazing it didn’t snap off. He was so distracted, he wasn’t looking when his arm got a little too close to the grill.

Inside the kitchen, you walked up to their large fridge, opening the freezer section before looking around for the popsicles Rafe had mentioned.

You grabbed a cherry flavored one out of the bag and took off its wrapper before sliding it between your lips.

The sweet, refreshing treat hit the spot, beginning to cool you down instantly.

You heard the door open and you turned to see who had followed you inside, not surprised to see Rafe.

But you weren’t expecting him to rush to the sink to run cold water over a fresh, red burn right below his elbow.

“Shit-!” He cursed, exhaling lowly as the cool water soothed the burn. You could tell it wasn’t too bad of an injury.

“You can’t be pulling shit like that in front of me, kid,” Rafe scolded you. “Especially not when your dad is standing right next to me, fuck!”

He finally turned to look at you, and his breath hitched as he watched you suggestively slide the popsicle across your lips, staining them red with the melting juices.

“You hurt yourself?” You asked with wide concerned eyes.

Rafe’s jaw clenched before he licked his lips, staring down at you with an obvious mixture of annoyance and arousal.

“How did that happen?” You lightly teased, reaching a hand out to touch his unburned arm. You slid your fingers over his muscles as you drew closer, sucking on the cherry popsicle as you stared up at him through your lashes.

Your heart was racing, you were just so excited to finally be alone with him again.

“It was your fucking fault, Y/N-” he snapped, grabbing your wrist with a tight grip before suddenly stopping himself and releasing you.

You were surprised by the force behind his grip, but Rafe had let you go before you could even protest, and he stared down at you as he breathed heavily. You could tell he was trying to hold himself back by the veins that bulged near his temples and in his neck.

“Shit, I’m sorry, but you’re not making it any easier for me when you walk around my place wearing…” he trailed off as he gestured at your bikini. “It’s distracting.”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Cameron,” you purred, noticing his eye twitch when you called him ‘Mr. Cameron.’

“Are you trying to get us caught?”

You rolled your eyes, but he continued.

“Y/D/N would fucking kill me if he had any idea of what we did-”

“I know, I know,” you frowned, not liking feeling like Rafe was chiding you like a kid.

He noticed the change in your tone of voice, letting out a sigh before wrapping his good arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His fingertips danced over your exposed skin and you leaned your head against his chest, thrilled to have such close contact with him.

“I’m just saying, we need to be careful. There’s no need for anyone to know what happened. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror before leaving, feeling confident in your pale pink mini skirt and matching polo sweater.

Walking through the living room, you let your parent’s know you were going golfing with Rafe before you ducked into the garage to grab your clubs.

After a short drive, you parked in the Cameron’s driveway, waving at Rafe as you got out of your car.

He was leaning against his golf cart waiting for you when you walked out, and he offered to take the heavy bag from you to load it into the back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” He looked you up and down again, clearly pleased with your outfit choice. “You look very nice.”

You beamed as you climbed into the passenger seat, scooting closer to Rafe as he backed out of the driveway and started heading for the course.

Looking out at the greens as you approached, you noticed how few players were out today. It must have been because of how hot it was.

You fanned yourself with your hand as Rafe pulled up to the first hole and parked under some trees.

After stepping out of the golf cart, you grabbed your driver out of your bag, thanking Mr. Cameron when he handed you a tee and a ball before stepping onto the green.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved anymore since we last played, huh?” Rafe teased with a grin. “Have you been practicing?”

“Yes sir,” you replied playfully. You bent down to place your tee into the ground and set up the ball, hoping that Rafe would get a peek of your white panties under your skirt.

“Remember what I told you la-” his voice caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of your underwear.

“What’s that?” You asked him sweetly, correcting your posture so you could turn and meet his eyes with an innocent smile.

“Um-” Rafe paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he dryly swallowed. “Here, turn around again.”

You followed his instructions, turning your back to him as he pressed closer to adjust your form.

“You gotta keep your legs just a bit further apart, kid.” Rafe reached a hand down to your thigh, pressing gently on your exposed skin just below your skirt to urge you to spread your legs.

“Yeah, you want to have good balance,” his deep voice from behind and his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps rose where he had brushed your upper thigh.

“And then you need to lean back just a little bit.”

His hands found your hips, pulling you back towards him, and you let out a quiet moan when you felt him press his hard on against your ass.

“Make sure you’re gripping the club the right way, sweetheart,” his voice strained as he ground his hard on against your core.

Your brain was getting fuzzy and you could feel a wet patch on your panties getting damper. You fumbled with the golf club, trying to get a better grip on it because your palms were beginning to feel so sweaty.

Finally, you managed to swing and hit the ball, but Rafe didn’t even wait to see where it went, easily scooping you up into his arms and rushing to carry you back to the golf cart, pressing hot kisses into your neck the entire way.

He put you down onto the seat but you surprised him when you moved to the floor of the cart on your knees in between his legs.

You palmed his cock through his shorts and he groaned, eagerly reaching for his button and zipper.

Rafe freed his erection from his boxers and your mouth watered at the sight of him.

The night you had snuck into his room, you had been so desperate to feel him inside of you that you hadn’t had the chance to stop and really look at him.

You reached out, wrapping your hand around the base of his length. His dick was probably around 8 inches, maybe more, and girthy, with a long vein bulging out and leading to his cut tip.

He was breathing heavily, eyes widening when you pursed your lips, letting a string of saliva drip onto his hard cock before meeting his eyes again.

Rafe watched as you slowly stroked him, once, twice, and then a third time.

You licked your lips before parting them and your hot tongue met his tip, licking off the bead of precum that had gathered there. He tasted salty and he let out a moan as he watched your eyes roll back in your head from the taste.

As your soft lips wrapped around him, the older man’s hand tangled into your hair, pushing you down to take more of him as his hips shifted upwards. You pressed your tongue flat against the bottom of your mouth, stretching your lips to accommodate his size.

“There you go, Y/N. Fuck, that’s a good girl,” his grip on your hair tightened the deeper he inched forward, and you looked up at him through your lashes as your eyes began to water.

When he hit the back of your throat, you gagged, choking on his length when he held you in place for a few moments.

You looked up at him with wide, surprised teary eyes, and Rafe couldn’t hold back his groan.

“You can take it.” His gruff voice only stirred your need to prove yourself to him, and the hot tears that you blinked away barely registered in your mind.

When he finally released you, he slid his cock out enough for you to take a breath before he pushed himself in again, even deeper than the last time.

“God, you’re doing so good f’me angel,” he groaned, and you squeezed your thighs together when you felt yourself grow slicker from his praise.

Tears kissed your waterline as his fingers threaded through your hair. Your core practically pulsed with want and you brought your free hand between your legs, teasing your clit over your soaked panties as you continued bobbing your head up and down the length of his cock.

Spit collected at the corner of your lips, dribbling down your chin as Rafe’s hand guided you faster.

Unable to ignore the burning desire between your legs anymore, you pulled away, climbing onto his lap and sloppily kissing him before he could ask what you were doing.

Rafe kissed you back, his large hands coming to your hips and held you in place so he could grind against your core.

He groaned into the kiss, but pulled back with a disappointed look on his face, and your heart started to sink before he spoke.

“We don’t have condoms-“ he started but you cut him off.

“I’m on birth control.”

The lie slipped out easier than you expected, but you weren’t entirely sure if Rafe would believe you. Or if he would insist you use a condom anyway.

For a few heart pounding moments he just stared at you with a strange look before finally breaking into a cocky grin.

“Shit, you should have told me that last week sweetheart,” Rafe growled, already reaching his hand beneath your skirt to pull your panties to the side.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you couldn’t linger on them for long because Rafe’s hands were on your hips, lining himself up with your slick entrance and slowly pushing you down onto his cock.

The sharp gasp that fell past your lips was quickly muffled when the older man’s hand clamped over your mouth. You whimpered against him as he filled you up, enjoying the way he stretched you out from this angle.

Trying to ground yourself, you slid your arm above his shoulder and around the back of his neck. When he bottomed out and held you in place, fingers gripping your hips so hard it almost hurt, you squirmed in his lap, desperately needing some kind of friction.

“Squeezin’ me so tight-" he groaned through gritted teeth.

He withdrew his hand from your mouth, trailing it to your hips before crawling under your shirt and grasping at your waist. Trails of hot fire danced on your skin where he touched you, and you felt almost delirious with want.

Your pleading eyes met his as you tried to grind your hips against him, and you felt him pulse inside you at the sound of your quieted whimpers.

Rafe kept his eyes locked on yours as his hips started to move, finally giving you the stimulation that you so badly needed.

You met each stroke with the tilt of your hips as he thrusted deep inside you, cheeks burning as you felt yourself dripping around him.

His lips found yours again and when his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, you moaned against the kiss, clenching tight around his length as he snapped his hips against yours.

Rafe broke the kiss, letting his lips meet your neck before mumbling against your skin, “Gotta be quiet, yeah?”

You bit your lip, trying to stop your whimpers and soft cries of pleasure. Rafe’s hands had left your waist and were now creeping under your skirt to grasp at your thighs, fingertips digging into your soft flesh.

His lips were still attached to your neck, nipping and sucking on the tender skin as your hips met his every thrust.

In the back of your mind, you knew that you probably should have been more worried about getting caught, but the feeling of Rafe’s cock dragging along your snug walls made you forget all of your worries.

He slid one hand between your legs, thumb circling around your clit.

Your moan was smothered by his lips, and you eagerly bucked your hips into his touch as he picked up his pace.

Looking into his eyes, you could help but feel your heart skip a beat. You felt like you were being seen for the first time, and you couldn’t stop the strong surge of emotions that rose in your chest.

You had been trying to ignore what you thought could have been just irrational feelings for years, but now you couldn’t help but feel that they hadn’t been so irrational after all.

With every push of his cock, you felt more and more sure that Rafe was finally starting to see you the way you saw him.

Rafe Cameron was more than a passing crush to you, and you had never intended to just be an affair to him.

You loved him so deeply that at times it scared you how far you were willing to go to make him yours.

“I haven’t been able to get you off my mind all week,” he groaned, thumb pressing harder against your clit as his hips snapped against yours.

Your pulse skipped a beat at his confession and you wondered if sex had been the only thing he had been thinking about or if he wanted more.

The heat building between your legs was undeniable now, and the sudden thought of Rafe finally coming inside you made you clench down around him.

“You feel s-so good,” you whispered, eyes rolling back in your head when he hit a spot deep inside you; and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each stroke of his cock.

You gripped his back as the pad of his thumb swirled around your clit and you tilted your head up to kiss him again.

Rafe pushed his tongue past your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth and the pressure building between your legs finally became too much.

You squirmed in his arms as you came around him, but Rafe never slowed his tempo, holding you in place as you pulsed around him, squeezing his cock as your orgasm washed over you.

The older man tightened his grip on your hips, thrusting harder and harder until his hips finally stuttered and he spilled his hot sticky seed deep inside you with a low groan.

Feeling Rafe cum inside you for the first time was enough to send you over the edge a second time and you tensed in his lap as you came around him again.

Trying to catch your breath was a challenge and you didn’t want to get off of his lap, but Rafe lifted you up, pulling your soaked panties back into place before sitting you down next to him in the cart as he tucked himself back into his shorts.

He looked around the course for a moment, and then he met your gaze, reaching a hand up to stroke your cheek as your heart beat loudly in your chest.

“C’mon kid, we got a round of golf to finish,” he smirked.

[lightandfellowship]

I'm wondering if Xehanort's birth was the event in question. Perhaps the circumstances leading to his birth were originally never meant to happen, but various attempts over time to pivot from the Book's outline of events (perhaps via the actions of people like Ava and Brain) led to those circumstances being possible.

MoM calls Xehanort the "singularity" in KHDR, after all. And if you assume that Sora is the Child of Destiny and he fulfilled the prophecy at the end of KH3, well...in a way, Sora would have never reached that point without Xehanort, right?

We see in Re:Coded that Brown Robe (aka Ansem SoD) met up with Riku during Destiny Islands' destruction and likely even before that, so he's potentially the one who instructed Riku to open Destiny Islands' door and embrace the darkness, which in turn caused the Keyblade to leave Riku and go to Sora instead, turning Sora into the new hero of the story. If Riku was truly the original "chosen" one (whatever that means/entails), then "dull, ordinary" Sora ending up in the role instead would certainly qualify as altering the designs of fate.

And then the rest of the series follows from that, eventually leading to Sora undoing the last passage of the Book of Prophecies.

Brain wondering aloud to Ava if changing fate would result in the relevant passages of the Book of Prophecies being overwritten with something else makes me wonder if that's how the Child of Destiny prophecy came about. No one mentions it in KHUX as if it's not in the Book at all back then. But what if some event in KHML makes the Book...change? And the prophecy shows up then.