#so why would i remember what i did last loop in vivid detail

[moonstandardtime]

also while im talking about normal things i think about. its fun to imagine what ud do in a time loop

[idledreams4]

I keep thinking about someone all of a sudden. I have no idea why but it started last month. i had a dream about them, then i began to think of them all day.. a few weeks pass and i had another dream about them and sinxe then i keep thinking of them. What should I do?

Well this could be a lot of things. If you're comfortable sending another ask or a DM with more details about the person and what exactly happened in the dreams I'd be happy to really dig in and offer you a more definite answer about what's happening. (fair warning this is pretty long, but do read to the end)

Is it a friend, family member, classmate/coworker, someone you haven't actually met or have only seen passing? (trust me those last ones happen more than you'd think)

If its someone you haven't spoken to in a while, you could try reaching out, saying hi, seeing how they're doing. It might be your subconscious trying to get you to reconnect.

If its someone who you might have feelings for, maybe this is your brain telling you to go for it and let them know how you feel.

If it is someone you've never actually seen/spoken to there are a couple things that could be happening. (I'm assuming this isn't the case, by the way your message is worded I'm assuming that is is a person you know and you're just starting to think about them more frequently then you usually would have, but this is still a possibility)

I'll explain the most likely scenario first, which also requires me to explain how people within our dreams are created.

Its very similar to how an ai would generate a person. Our brain takes the appearances of every person we have ever seen: characters from tv/movies, friends, family, people we pass on the streets. Literally everyone. And it combines their features to create infinite numbers of unique people. Usually they have some flaws, which the dreamer would never notice because their frontal lobe is completely off-line during sleep. But every now and then the brain does a *really* good job of creating one of these people, and they seem real. Our conscious mind doesn't realize that the unconscious did this, so we assume they are, in fact, a real person. When the dreamer wakes up, even if they have no idea what the dream was about, they're more likely to remember a person who seemed particularly realistic just because they would have stood out from the others. (just like how typically you only remember your most vivid dreams)

Even though this person was completely imagined, they could have seemed real enough that you're brain got really focused on them and then because of how much you were thinking about this person they wound up in another dream, this effectively creates a positive feedback loop. (truth be told, even if this is a real person, this could also explain the second dream: it could have been random chance. but we all like to think our dreams have meaning so feel free to ignore this possibility lol)

The absolute least likely possibility, regardless of how well you know the person, is that you had some kind of premonition.

Obviously not everyone believes in psychic ability, I'm not here to try and convince anyone that its real, just offering another possible explanation.

Now I don't know the subject matter of either of the dreams you had, or if you have any history of claircognizance, precognition, or any other psychic ability, but since these abilities can present themselves at any time I won't rule it out.

Contrary to what 90% of the media out there would have you believe, not all premonitions are grim omens and warnings of tragedy, usually they aren't even about significant events. A very small percent actually tell us anything, usually its all pretty mundane. For me, a solid 75% of my premonitions are just stupid conversations I'm going to have with my friends in a few days. So its possible that in one or both of your dreams you foresaw something that's going to happen down the line. It is unlikely, but perfectly possible. The timeline on these things also varies. Whatever you dreamed about could happen in a few days, a month, sometimes its years down the line.

One thing I forgot to mention is if the person you were dreaming about is dead, it's possible their spirit is trying to contact you. The fact you can't stop thinking about them would support this. If this does happen to be the case let me know who they are. I'll either give you some tips to safely communicate with them, or try to reach out to them myself if it'll be too risky for you to do so. If it was a family member or another person you were close to I'm also going to need you to tell me if anything seemed off about them, as well as what the interactions you had with them in your dreams were like. I know that may seem weird and unnecessary, but there are a lot of spirits out there who will take on the forms of a person's loved-ones to get close to them and usually it's for a bad reason. Luckily for you I deal with those types quite regularly, you have nothing to worry about.

[1kook]

attachment: 1 image

— jjk x (f) reader

summary; But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere. warnings; sexting, dick pics, dirty talk?, phone sex, vivid depictions of jungkook being just so sexy bc its true, rating; mature (18+) misc; mentions of youtuber kook 🥰, he’s just horny, stupid selfie trends (see here), he’s a little whiny but so hot v.v  wc; 4.6k 

notes; I've had this in my drafts since april 😐 n then i was like maybe we should actually finish this so i started n then last night i hit another follower milestone!!! so then i rlly forced myself to finish this bc i was so 🥺🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway enjoy lmk what u think its not proofread bc uhhhhh yeah 🤩

You’re at work when it happens.

It’s sometime between your usual listless thoughts of what to write for your weekly reflection papers for some course, and your trip to your store’s pharmacy to bother a coworker. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your work apron. You’re normally pretty good at ignoring the sound, most of the times it’s just a classmate asking for help on homework or Jimin lamenting his love life, so you’ve grown used to ignoring the tiny vibrations, stocking a quarter shelf of different cooking oils before something in your brain tells you to check your phone.

You already know it’s not something grave, but that thought alone means nothing at the sight of the tiny jungkook♡ that appears at the very top of the list of notifications. Your boyfriend’s texts tended to be wildcards, never following a certain routine or alluding to any specifics. He could send you a long paragraph on how much he misses the scent of that one shampoo, the one you’d briefly run through last year because your usual brand was out of stock, with a ten point explanation on why you should switch back to it. Or two word, caveman sentences that drove you crazy because you never understood what exactly he wanted when he’d send those nondescript “munchies dip” texts.

You unlock your phone, clicking to the messenger app instead of directly on the notification. Hopefully the preview will give some warning on whether you should invest in this conversation or not. You hated the read receipts on messages, choosing to ghost conversations as you pleased, but Jungkook had wiggled his way into your phone one afternoon and specifically turned them on for his chat with you, and you’d never turned them off since. So he knows if you choose to ignore Attachment: 1 Image at 1:43pm exactly, and he'll pester you about it until you respond.

You contemplate it all for twenty seconds. It could be a variety of things, you guess, but the only way to find out is to actually see with your own eyes what he’s up to this time. He knows better than to distract you at work, is usually really good at waiting until your shift is over to spam you with messages. For him to send you something now, only a few hours into your shift, is uncharacteristic of him.

But you glance down the aisle anyway, taking note of some elderly woman you’d helped a few minutes prior and another teenager aimlessly walking around, probably looking for the snack aisle. You inhale and press down on your chat with Jungkook.

It takes you a moment to make out exactly what the image is, twisting and turning your phone around as you fight to see it without raising the brightness. It’s only when your eyes finally adjust to the dark screen, the faint beeping of the check-out registers fading into the distance, that you realize it’s a shot of the front of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” you murmur, getting brave enough to pinch the image between two fingers, zooming in until you’re able to decipher a multitude of details. For one, there’s a Flaming Hot Cheeto stain on the hem of his sweatpants, the same one you’d accidentally put on there a few weeks back and haven’t been able to wash out since. Then there’s that huge palm of his, tattoos and all, rested carefully against his thigh. It’s veiny and thick in all the right places, bringing all the attention to his knuckles, which you guess is what he was going for when you consider the centerpiece of the image—his hardened dick straining against the grey material.

There’s no text attached to the message, no snapchat font slapped over the image, so you wonder what exactly he wanted you to do with this information mid-shift. Well, realistically, you know exactly what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you won’t clown him before getting there. After all, Jungkook was seldom the naughty texter; sexting annoyed him, he would whine, because he would do all that and not even get to feel the true pleasure of sex, of being inside you. You’ve dabbled in it here and there, but it never went as perfectly as it did in pornos. He’d drop his phone and forget it, or you would straight up ignore the damn device as you went all in on yourself.

But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere.

you what’s this about?

You decide to play it safe, because as exciting as the image of Jungkook at his computer chair, cock hard and angry at the thought of you, fluffy hair ruffled in that way you adored, jaw twitching and tightening as he touched himself, moaned deep and rough and just how you liked and—

As nice as that image was, for all you knew this vague message was Jungkook sending you a picture from a week ago to purposefully fuck with you at work.

jungkook♡ what time u get off? jungkook♡ miss you bad baby

Your stomach flips, and it takes everything in you to not squeal and bounce between the shelves like a toddler on a sugar rush. Here was your boyfriend, the cutest, sweetest boy, sending you dirty pictures of himself and telling you how much he needed you. Yes, YOU, not some random on the street, or someone else in a club, Jungkook needed pleasure and that pleasure could only come from you.

You glance back down the aisle again, checking your surroundings for the second time that day. You’ve been standing here, stock cart empty for a little over five minutes now, so it’s probably best to change location lest your manager come barking down your neck. You send one quick text before heading off for stock again.

you 4pm :(

Your phone dings again just as you’re leaving the stockroom, but you decide to check it once you get to the hygiene aisle you need to work on next. Still, the prospect of Jungkook having texted you has you walking with a skip in your step, one your coworker teases you about when you pass by her.

jungkook♡ fuck jungkook♡ tell me what panties youre wearing jungkook♡ please ?

You bite your lip, stopping yourself from smiling at the tone you’d picked up from his message. There was no doubt he’d been riled up for a while now, and you wonder if he sat through his usual Saturday morning streams with his cock hard, pushed against the edge of his desk like you knew he did when such things happened. The thought has you nearly fumbling with a bottle of aloe vera.

you seamless black thong you the one you bought me at the last vs sale

Briefly, you wonder if you should have lied and told him you were wearing that red lace set he’d given you last Valentine’s Day, the one he’d bought with his first big YouTube check. But the beauty of being in a relationship with someone like Jungkook is that you could have told him you were wearing grandma undies and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet.

jungkook♡ mm jungkook♡ tiny ones u ruined last time?

You set your phone down, speed stock a row of sunscreen like you’re on some shelf stocking national competition, before daring to text Jungkook again. Your cheeks are still warm, and your hand tightens dangerously around a bottle of shaving cream.

Before you can formulate some response, he’s sending another one in.

jungkook♡ u soaked those jungkook♡ came fast that day jungkook♡ want u so bad

Your cheeks burn, a little embarrassed that he remembers such details. As with all Victoria’s Secret panties, they were, like Jungkook said, extremely thin. You pause, shift your stance just barely, but you’re definitely wet. Not terribly so, but with this fabric, you’d start to notice it sooner than with others.

you mm you makin me wet bunny

It’s not a complete lie, but knowing Jungkook this is exactly what he needs to hear to get that competitive streak going. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, stocking another section of men’s shaving cream. It takes longer for him to message you back, and you wonder if he got off fine on his own. If it’s over now, at least he provided you with some distraction midway into your shift.

When he texts you again, you’ve almost completely convinced yourself he’s finished, so the Attachment: 1 Video that appears on your lock screen throws you for a loop.

It’s a short clip, no longer than ten seconds, but it has you scrambling to lower the volume on your device as some unsuspecting mother of two wanders past. You flash her your practiced smile, the same one you give all the store’s customers. Not like your boyfriend is jacking it off on your phone, shallow pants filtering out from the speakers.

You turn your phone over carefully after she leaves, try to at least pretend you’re still doing your job as you play the video again.

Sweats are gone, but boxers remain. Legs deliciously exposed, thick thighs with muscles that ripple when he moves. Shirt pulled up just slightly to showcase that broad expanse of tummy, cute belly button and defined abs that tighten with each glide of his palm over the outline of his cock. Your mouth fills with drool at the sight. He was so hot.

Your brain hasn’t even processed it yet, all your energy directed towards your clenched pussy, when he shoots another text.

jungkook♡ im so fckin hard jungkook♡ wanna kiss yuo every where baby jungkook♡ come ove r soon ??

Shutting your eyes and counting to ten doesn’t help ward off the sudden wave of horniness that consumes you, but it does remind you of the job you’re supposed to be doing now. You shake your head, as if the image of Jungkook’s dick throbbing beneath his boxers, low voice in your ear, will magically disappear. It doesn’t, and it plagues you even more when you begin stocking a section of sunscreen, numbly instructing yourself on what to do next. Shaving cream, sunscreen, lotion next, you repeat.

It doesn’t help.

Two minutes later and you’re scrambling for the phone you’d hastily tucked into your apron pocket, tapping your passcode in until your messages with Jungkook are pulled up again.

you after work you promise

Your head is absolutely spinning, the coil in your stomach too tight for you to try and be a functioning member of society. Something in you says to sneak off to the bathroom and call him, but your boss is a little bit of a prick when he wants to be, thinks you take too many bathroom breaks as is.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A curt call of your name has you whirling to face your shelves again, phone tightly pressed against your ribs like maybe it’ll melt into your skin and he won’t see it. At the same time, your sudden fright has you scrambling to turn it off, fingers sloppily pressing against the buttons, hitting the volume like seven times before you eventually feel the familiar click that signals it’s off.

Your boss disappears shortly after, and with his sudden appearance having made every hair on your body stand, you find yourself now slumping against your stock cart. Jesus, that man was a handful to deal with.

The paranoia sticks for a little bit, has you stocking shelf after shelf like a robot until you finish the entire row of hygiene products, back stiff from bending over so much. It’s only when you return to the stockroom ten minutes later that you dare take your phone out again.

A pleasant surprise awaits.

It would appear that during your haste to hide your phone from your boss— Jungkook’s scandalous messages and all —your frantic hands had done something else. A fuzzy picture on your end, a blurry display of lotion bottles you had stacked just before your boss’s impromptu appearance, with no words to accompany them. Normally Jungkook would have ignored that; you frequently sent accidental messages like this, butt texted him, he says.

But there’s something about Jungkook’s horny brain that makes him do stupid things, makes him blow up your phone with a series of question marks, call you four times, whine and fuss in your message thread, and eventually, send you probably the oddest image to date.

jungkook♡ ??? jungkook♡ ????what is that jungkook♡ baby please jungkook♡ I don’t get it ??

jungkook♡ Missed Call (4)

jungkook♡ baby jungkook♡ what does it mean jungkook♡ please ur drivign me insane jungkook♡ jsut wanna hear yuor voice jungkook♡ fuck please just

And then, there’s another one of those cursed Attachment: 1 Image messages.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You’ve been dating Jungkook for a few months now, know he had that sort of unique personality most college dropouts turned YouTubers do. But every now and then the absurdity of his actions makes you question him still, makes you wonder what exactly goes on in that pretty head of his to warrant such ideas, makes him balance a bottle of body lotion on the thick outline of his cock like this.

Unlike the first few images, this one was taken in front of a mirror. The blinding fluorescent light in his bathroom paints him in a stark color, has every inch of his pretty face on display for you. Rosy cheeks, dewy skin. Perfectly swollen cock straining beneath his grey boxers, curved up against his hip. Shirt pulled up, finally freeing that expanse of muscles on his abdomen, cute little belly button on display once again. The red material is pulled up to his mouth, pearly white teeth biting down on the fabric, and he’s got this flushed expression on his face.

But the real star of the show isn’t his chiseled abdomen or sexy expression, but the sheer hardness of his dick that lets him balance a bottle of body lotion over it, like a fuckin’ shelf or something. He’s so hard, dick so full beneath his boxers. So big too, the little boxers pulled taught around said engorged cock and thick thighs.

Your brain says to laugh, to tease him for being such a clown even when he’s horny as hell. He won’t take it to heart, will probably laugh along with you and you’ll add it to your still growing list of funny memories.

But your caveman libido says call him, so that’s what you do, ducking down behind a new shipment pallet with a squeak as the phone rings. It only lasts four seconds before he picks up, voice breathy and low, but it sounds so loud in the silence of the stockroom.

He doesn’t even let you get a greeting in. “You like my picture, baby?” he husks. It sounds like he’s right there, right beside you, speaking into your ear. Your pussy throbs at the way he sounds. Paired with the picture from before, it has your body tingling all over.

“What the fuck is that?” you hiss, trying to not let the sudden overflow of arousal leak into your words. Jungkook chuckles.

“What?” he huffs. There’s the brief sound of shuffling, the scratchy noise of his phone presumably being pressed against his shoulder. “I’m so hard, baby,” he sighs before you can pretend to reprimand him any further. “Fuck— you, can you just talk to me?” he groans, and the disgusting sound of him spitting into his palm fills your ear.

Your face feels warm, eyes nervously peering across the stockroom like your boss will suddenly appear now of all times to rip you from this important phone call. The anxiety and arousal mix weirdly, have your leg bouncing but every new movement sends a shock up your aching cunt to your chest, and then out to the tips of your fingers.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when I’m at work,” you murmur hurriedly, moving to nervously bite at your finger. Jungkook moans softly.

“Uh huh,” he says.

The air conditioning turns on and you nearly jump out of your own skin. “Kook,” you stress, frazzled by your own burning arousal and the fear of being caught. Like you said. Weird mix. “I— not when I can’t respond.”

He shudders on the line. “You’re responding now,” he points out. You hate when he’s right. Before you can defend yourself, define what a proper response is in this scenario, he’s beating you to the punch. “Baby,” he whimpers, voice so airy yet low, makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, back unconsciously arching. “Couldn’t stop— fuck.”

Your mouth feels dry, all and any form of lecturing fading from your thoughts as you become consumed in Jungkook’s little whines and whimpers. He talks smoothly, a modern day Casanova, and it’s certainly because of that cult-like harem he’s gathered on YouTube. Teenage girls who kiss his ass, tell him he’s cute and dreamy. Make his ego so big.

But then he gets horny and can barely contain that lisp you tease him about, shivers and melts when you put his cock in your mouth. “Couldn't what, bunny?” you mumble, voice drawn tight because now you were really horny, and it was all his fault.

The nickname makes him mewl prettily, your speaker suddenly going scratchy as he fumbles with his phone. “C- Couldn't stop thinking about you— your mouth,” he admits, and now you’re certain he’d sat through that Saturday morning stream like this. “T- Tits,” he adds, lisp slipping through. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you remind yourself now was not the time or place to get yourself off. But, well. That didn’t mean you couldn’t get him off. “Sat through your stream like this?” you murmur, circling your kneecap with a trembling finger as if it’ll ward away the raging lust in your abdomen. Jungkook confirms with a breathy moan. “Had all your little fans wondering why you ended so early.”

He groans. “No,” he chokes, voice hot from how much it wavers. “They— I lied,” he confesses out of nowhere, “s- said I had a doctor’s appointment.”

You muffle a giggle into your palm. “Naughty,” you tease. “Too hard to do your job.”

“Just,” he cuts off, voice feathery. He sounds so close and you haven’t even said anything of substantial value yet. “Tell me,” he says quietly, “what to— mmh, what to do.”

A smirk consumes your features. You try to hide it, but there’s no one here anyway so you’re left grinning at an unpacked box of dental floss like a madwoman. “Why?” you inquire playfully, bask in the sad little whimper he responds with. “Shouldn’t you know how to make yourself cum?”

Another groan of frustration, desperation seeping into his tone when he speaks again. “Baby, please,” he begs, and it feels good. Feels nice to have this big YouTuber begging for you like this, whimpering your name like his doesn’t appear on the top 25 most viewed. “Like when you— ah — when you tell me… what to do.”

Your body feels hot, thighs pressing together with each whimper that falls from his lips. “Okay,” you concede, and he audibly moans in relief. “Tip first,” you instruct softly, eyes defocusing as your brain slowly starts to manifest the image of Jungkook spread out on his bed. Thick thighs, grey boxers pulled taught around them, fat cock between his pretty hands, inked knuckles squeezing around his member. You swallow. You can tell exactly when Jungkook does as you say because another muffled moan fills the speaker. “One finger,” you remind him quickly, head spinning from the mere memory of his dick. “Run it… run it over the slit, bunny.”

“Nngh—“ Jungkook sputters. You can only imagine the face he’s making now, the bottom lip he’s bitten raw by now. He does it a lot; it’s a nervous habit. But as sexy as it looks when you’re in bed, you know he has sensitive lips because of it, bleeds easily if he’s too harsh. You have half the mind to remind him about it now, but then he’s hurriedly gasping out for more. “And, and then? Wha— what then, baby?”

He sounds so sweet, melodic voice dripping with honey. “Touch your balls,” you say a little breathlessly. “Don’t squeeze,” you add, “just roll your palm over them.” Your palm squeezes against your thigh, as if it’s remembering the feel of his body, the soft skin between his thighs when you’re down there. He gets so jittery, thick thighs nearly crushing you if you drag him along too much. “O- Other hand on your cock,” you stumble, thighs squeezed together. “Stroke yourself just like I do, bunny.”

Jungkook complies. “Just like you?” he mumbles, suddenly sounds farther away. As if he’s dropped his phone off to the side. “Fffuck,” he grunts, “m- mouth is so pretty.”

“Hm?” you inquire, so consumed with tampering down your growing arousal for a second that you miss his sentence.

Jungkook’s breath stutters, and for a moment you’re met with the wet squelch of his cock in his hand. And then, “pretty mouth… make me— make me wanna see you cry.”

You bite your lip. “Why,” you say tentatively, finally caving in with a hand fluttering over the front seam of your jeans. Not a question, more of a gentle nudge for him to spill his thoughts.

“Be- Because,” he cries, fucking into his hand. He sounds closer and closer. You have to wonder just how long he had been riled up. It’s been a while since his first message, he was probably desperate by now. “Y- You’re so nice,” he cries, and the sentiment, though oddly out of place, makes your heart squeeze with adoration for the boy on the line. “Wanna be,” he groans, “wanna be so fucking mean to you, baby.”

The sudden change of tone makes you choke on a moan, hand pressing against your mound like it’ll somehow penetrate the thick material of your jeans and give you the sensations you crave. As it stands, it’s a muted feeling you get instead. When your hands fail, his voice compensates. “Fffuck, don’t you— don’t you think about it too?”

Admittedly, no.

Jungkook had always been a gentleman in bed. Always cared for your needs before his own, went out of his way to make you feel pampered and adored during your most vulnerable moments. Contrary to what his online persona might say, he was a good boy. Sweetest boy you knew, touched you like you were made of glass.

So to suddenly learn of this dream— fantasy? kink? —of his that you would certainly enjoy equally as much, well. It made you whimper into your palm, eyes worriedly flickering toward the stockroom’s entrance.

“Why?” you whisper, feeling like a broken doll repeating the same phrase over and over again. You’re suddenly aware of how hot everything was. Your polo felt sticky against your spine, apron too tight, jeans too stuffy. How long had you been hiding in here for? You don’t even know. Hopefully your absence on the floor had gone unnoticed.

Jungkook pants into the line; everything sounds so sticky and wet on his end, hand undoubtedly working away at his cock. “Shit,” he curses, doesn’t really answer your question until you prod a second time. “I- I like it,” he stammers. “When you… fuck, when you look small.” He elaborates before you can even ask, breath heavy and drawn out. He was so close. “When your mouth… when it hurts,” he says, thoughts a scrambled mess. “Like when you— when you cry because my cock is— it’s too big for you.”

A blatant ego boost you’ll ignore for now. Not like you can focus on too many things right now anyway. “Your cock is big, bunny,” you agree softly instead. Your legs feel cramped from crouching so long, so you push yourself to your feet. Except then you’re made aware of how fucking wet you are, panties soaked from the phone call with your boyfriend. You shift and they stick to your folds, make you release a shaky exhale that Jungkook doesn’t miss.

“I— you’re wet,” he says boldly, and this time your meek confirmation isn’t a lie. Jungkook grunts. “Fuck, baby, I—“ cut off by his own whiny cry, probably bucking into his hand like a madman by now. “Wanna, wanna kiss you everywhere,” he says, a call back to his earlier message. Your legs feel like jello. You want him to kiss you everywhere too— lips, tits, cunt that is dripping for him now.

“I- I’ll be over soon,” you stammer, feeling like you’ll pass out if he carries on any further. He sounds so good on the line, soft pants, rough growls. You can’t possibly listen anymore, not when you’re so wet and horny in the middle of your shift. “Just,” you pause, can’t get the image of his pretty cock out of your mind. Every blink makes it more vivid, reminds you of the vein on the underside, the exact shade of the tip.

“What?” Jungkook hisses, voice higher than usual, parts of it lost under the rapid movements of his hand. “Tell me, baby, tell me what to do,” he begs hoarsely, “I’ll do it.” Sounds so desperate and needy, two seconds away from busting all over his hand.

You have to lean against the wall of the stockroom to ground yourself, remind yourself you’re not in the same situation as Jungkook and can’t cum in your pants like a teenager. “J- Just cum,” you choke, eyes fluttering shut.

He must’ve been waiting for that command, because the second the words leave your throat he’s filling the line with breathy groans and cries as he comes all over himself, probably ruins his t-shirt. The sounds have your hips unconsciously bucking forward into nothingness, the frustration of not being able to cum with him manifesting in the form of a tiny little sob. Luckily, he doesn’t catch it.

When it’s all said and done, he’s left panting into the receiver, flooding your speaker with breathy sighs that only make you more and more aroused.

“You’re terrible,” you frown, cheeks flushed, body tingling. You flip your wrist over and check the time; it’s been about sixteen minutes since you disappeared from outside. Sixteen minutes of listening to Jungkook touch himself and moan and whine and whimper. Tease you with new possibilities you had never considered before. And now he’s satisfied and you’re not.

Jungkook chuckles, low and tired. The sound shoots straight to your cunt. “Come over after you shift,” he says, as if you’re not planning to fake a severe case of the flu right now in order to get off early and run to his bed. You only had a little less than two hours of your shift left anyway. Not like they paid you well to begin with. Jungkook shifts, releases one of those saccharine groans as he probably snuggles into his bed, all sweaty and worn out. “Want you to fuck my face, baby.”

You frown, counting to ten to calm yourself down. Another few minutes of listless conversation, and you hang up. Your body feels featherlight, a little woozy as you make your way back out into the floor.

Nothing has changed. Customers pour in and out, your boss scolds you for a display you didn’t do, and life inside the store drags on. No one knows that you’re soaking your panties to hell and back, Jungkook’s soothing moans in your ear. Life goes on.

you shift ends in 20

jungkook♡ sweet jungkook♡ got your seat ready jungkook♡ Attachment: 1 Image

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[itsthemoofacewriting]

It’s heaven in your arms

Well, this is just a clusterfuck of emotions. Let me lead you down the path of grief and mourning only for it to end with a bed sharing trope.

I have no idea if there are even people that like the original trio together romantically, but I was really vibing, so hopefully I can convince some of my regular readers to take the plunge.

If any of my ZoNami readers are here, I’m doing the requests you all sent in – I swear!

I’m not sure what to expect from posting this, so I’ll say this once pre-emptively: if this isn’t your cup of tea, you know where the door is, please leave quietly.  

Summary: It may have been two years since Ace’s death but, for Luffy, sometimes it still felt like just yesterday. Or, sometimes, something beautiful can blossom from a place of hurt. Rating: T

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN.

Nami awoke, eyes burning from lack of sleep and mouth dry. It was still dark outside, and she grumbled to herself at waking up so early, but it was no use. She wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until she had a glass of water. She swung her feet off the bed, clumsily trying to find her slippers before getting up. It was warm outside, so she didn’t bother with anything other than her pyjama top and shorts.

As annoying as it was to be awake so early, it was peaceful. It was a quick shuffle across the deck and into the kitchen, where she filled her glass hastily, already thinking about getting back into bed.

That last thing she expected when leaving the kitchen was the sight of Luffy sitting on the railing, facing the ocean with his feet kicking over the edge. Reckless as always it seemed.

“If you fell, no one would be around to save you,” She lectured.

His shoulders hunched; she’d surprised him it seemed, but he didn’t react as she’d expected. There was no carefree laughter or beaming grin as he told her not to be a worry wart. Instead, she received a muffled, “You’re up.”

Without looking at his face she didn’t know how to take that but his whole attitude was off, and it had alarm bells going off in her head. The comfort of her bed a distant memory now as she walked over to the railing to join him and settled her glass of water beside herself.

The words on the tip of her tongue vanished into the night air when she finally caught sight of his face. His eyes were red and puffy, his face pale despite his constant tan and drawn. It was an expression she’d never seen on his face. He looked defeated.

He looked tired.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, just as she’d expected him too and uttered out a quiet, “No.”

“That’s okay, but I’m going to sit here,” she told him. He could sit in silence if that was what he wanted, but she wouldn’t leave him, that wasn’t an option.

She took his hand in hers because whilst he may not want to speak, he’d always been a tactile person and she couldn’t just sit here and not do anything when there were tears still running down his face.

They sat in silence, only the sound of the waves hitting the ship could be heard with their thighs pressed snuggly against the others and his hand clasped in hers, a thumb absently roaming over the skin of his wrist. His tears had resided for the time being, only the stray one falling every now.

She felt like she was sitting with a deer, trying not to spook it because it felt like any wrong move would have him scampering away.

Well, that was until he pried his hand from hers and she was going to say something until his head feel heavily against her shoulder and an arm wrapped around her body. That was all she needed to let herself relax, no longer worried about scaring him away as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

It was another long moment of them sitting like that until he whispered in her shoulder, “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

He was silent but the tears were back as she felt them soaking into her pyjama top.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Yeah? What about?” She encouraged softly.

“About him.” His voice cracked as he said it and his shoulders shook.

There was only one him she knew of.

“It played in a loop, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Although she was being fed the information in dribs and drabs, it wasn’t hard to piece it together. She waited for him to continue but the long pause told her he wasn’t going to.

She thought about what she’d want in that moment, if their roles were reversed, what she’d want from the other person sat with her, so she settled on, “I only met him briefly, tell me more about him. What was it like growing up with him?”

He was quiet and for a moment she didn’t think he was going to respond, that maybe that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“He hated me when we were younger,” he said wetly, fighting through tears to talk. “I caused trouble, couldn’t fight and cried a lot. He called me cry baby all the time.”

“He didn’t when we met him in Alabasta though.” She remembered how he’d looked at Luffy, eyes full of adoration and voice warm as he asked the crew to look after Luffy for him.

He huffed out a laugh at her words, such a stark contrast to his normal boisterous laugh.

He told her everything. How Ace had gone from despising him to accepting him as a brother along with his other brother, Sabo, how they’d caused trouble together and had the best times together. How he’d made Luffy’s childhood a happy one.

It made her ache. Because as he talked, selfishly she thought about her own sister. How devasted she’d be to lose her, someone that felt like her other half since before she could remember, knew her better than anyone else, who she could talk to about anything. It was hard to explain a sibling relationship to someone without one, there was a different feeling to, you felt it in your core.

Mostly, she thought about how hollow she’d feel.

It felt like an unspoken rule that siblings were for life. You knew that parents were older and that they’d pass at some point in your life, but not your sibling. It felt like they were meant to be with you for life, that you’d grow old together and have each other’s backs no matter what to the very end.

She supposed that was part of the grief.

Although she didn’t know the ins and outs, even now Luffy was edging around his dream and what’d happened back then, she knew the key details - how Ace had jumped in front of him to save him. How Ace had died before his eyes. Even if she suspected there was more to that moment than what she knew, it was traumatic enough.

Another tangled chain to unwrap from the knotted ball of necklaces that was grief.

Ultimately, she didn’t need to know what the dream was about or what’d happened back then, because the picture she had in her mind was vivid enough and she knew how he felt. Watching someone slip away before your eyes, helpless as you watched them go and wishing you’d done something different.

Her heart bled for him as he spoke, words blurring into his tears, she could feel her own eyes prickling as sadness overflowed.

Hands clumsily wiped at her face and belatedly she realised Luffy had stopped talking. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

Without thinking, she wiped his face in return. “It’s okay, I’m glad I get to share this with you.”

She cupped his face and she meant it as a soothing gesture, yet it seemed to have the opposite effect. Watching his face crumple before her eyes was so much worse than how she’d imagined it when his face had been buried in her shoulder. He was so expressive all the time that she shouldn’t really be surprised, his lips quivered and those big eyes scrunched as he tried to hold back his tears.

“I know I still have so much, and I should focus on that…”

“But that doesn’t make that little part feel any better?”

“Yeah.”

“I know. It’s not going to either.” He nodded glumly at her words, staying silent and she suspected it was because he couldn’t form words. “You love him. That’s not going to disappear no matter what happens.”

She continued because she needed to say it, to let him know this was okay before she the moment passed, and he locked this all away to deal with another night. “You’re allowed to mourn him, you’re allowed to feel sad without feeling guilty, but when it overwhelms you, tell one of us, okay?” She paused, thinking over her words, before adding, “And even when it doesn’t overwhelm you and you just want company, come find us.”

“Okay.” He sounded choked up, more so than before.

She brought him back into a firm hug, running her hands up and down his back, letting her words sink in and giving him a chance to speak or cry more if he wanted to.

His next words told her they were done for the time being.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” he said.

She didn’t have to ask why. She still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night, tears in her eyes as she relived all different versions of Bell-mère’s death, each worse than the last. She knew that he feared having to relive his worst nightmare over again or catching even a whisp of his brother behind closed eyelids, taunting him over the fact that that would be the only way he’d ever be able to see him again.

“I don’t either,” she lied smoothly, “We could raid the fridge-” Sanji would understand- “or I could show you a new card trick or we could go draw on Zoro’s face. He’s probably up in the crow’s nest and he sleeps like a log.”

Luffy grinned, it didn’t reach his eyes like it normally did but that was okay, it was an improvement on the solemn expression from before. “Usopp just bought new markers!”

They both turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and the very person they’d been planning to mess with was stood only a few steps away.

“Why do you two look guilty?” He looked suspiciously at them both.

Neither of them answered, but she saw the moment Zoro noticed Luffy’s face and took in his red, puffy eyes and worn expression. His demeanour changed instantly, he looked serious, and he didn’t say anything more as he joined them on the railing, pressing up to Luffy’s vacant side and taking his other free hand into his- he could probably feel that it was wet from Luffy’s tears.

The ocean lapped silently against the ship and whatever plans her and Luffy had made seemed to be put on hold as he stayed sat on the railing, but that was fine with her, she was happy to sit there with him in silent support.

“It should’ve been me,” Luffy finally spoke, voice sure but only a whisper.

Those were heavy words, she imagined how often that thought circled around in his head and how hard it must have been to finally say it out loud.

“That’s stupid,” Zoro said.

“Zoro,” she hissed. For his blunt words and because Luffy looked on the verge of tears, it made her heart crumble all over again.

“Ace loved you a lot and he didn’t do it for you to think that; he wouldn’t want that. It was his choice and he made it and he’d do it a hundred times over.”

He made a good point, she knew that, but a tough love speech felt too soon.

“Zoro’s not stupid all the time,” Luffy defended weakly, smile wobbly.

Maybe not.

“Oi.”

Nami shook her head, smiling slightly at their antics. “Unfortunately, I have to agree with you. Shall we agree it’s a 10% smart and 90% stupid?”

Zoro tried to look miffed, although it was betrayed by the smirk tugging at his lips. He knew what she was doing, trying to lighten Luffy’s spirits, so he let it slide.

“Well, we can’t draw on Zoro’s face now-” Zoro glowered at her- “but if you want an extra challenge, we could get Usopp or Sanji.” They were light sleepers; she knew he’d be up for the challenge.

Luffy smiled, nodding tiredly and stifled a yawn that had her and Zoro sharing a quick look between them.

“You can sleep with me if you want,” Zoro offered nonchalantly and Luffy perked up at that.

She should leave them to get on with it. They’d made their arrangements already and in the back of her mind, she knew she should, but Luffy’d told her so much, it felt callous to just palm him off. And maybe, somewhere deep down she didn’t like the thought of being left out. Maybe.

The words were out before she’d properly thought them through.

“You can both sleep in my bed.”

“Like a sleepover!” Luffy said and his eyes brightened, a shimmer of what normally resided there returning.

“It’s a one-time offer and no one tells Sanji!” Nami warned even though Luffy looked considerably lighter and Zoro was smirking at her. She didn’t doubt Zoro would store that away to use against Sanji later, but she’d deal with that then. And if he decided to blab, she’d then have the perfect opportunity to charge him, and he wouldn’t be able to say a thing.

The walk to her room was quiet, only the sounds of their shoes thumping against the deck with every step, getting louder and louder as they got closer to her room. She wondered if she’d regret this. What if she’d made it awkward? She should’ve just let Zoro and Luffy bunk together.

Opening the door felt heavy, like something awful would be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, there was just a dark, muted room to greet her and the awkwardness she felt doubled to the point she wondered if the other two felt it too. She wasn’t sure if she was thankful or not that Robin was still asleep, facing away from them.

All those thoughts were put to rest as Zoro and Luffy moved past her, seemingly more than comfortable with this arrangement than her. Zoro shucked off his boots and settled against the far side of the bed so his back faced the wall and Luffy kicked off his flip flops, his hat already sat safely on her bedside unit.

“Absolutely not,” Nami whispered fiercely, hands on hips and they both peered up at her quizzically. “I’m not sleeping on the edge only to wake up on the floor. Zoro, swap.”

“What, so I can wake up on the floor instead?”

“You can sleep anywhere!”

Luffy had snickered at their bickering, watching them go back and forth until he seemingly grew bored of that and stretched his arm out to wrap around her waist. As his arm snapped back, he dragged her with it, she collided with the both of them in her bed. Like a true rubber man, Luffy looked unbothered although she was fairly sure she’d kicked him, but Zoro wheezed behind her as she’d winded him with her elbow.

“That hurt!” Nami moaned.

“Think before you do that!” Zoro grouchily whispered.

“There we go, now we’re all cosy.” He ignored them both, nestling down into the bed as his arm reached across Nami to rest over onto Zoro.

“Luffy!” She squawked, rosy faced. “Move over! You have all that space!”

This was not what she’d had in mind when she’d invited them… into her bed. Although she didn’t have a massive bed, she’d thought they’d at least try to keep their distance, she hadn’t expected this. Luffy was so close she could feel his breath on her face and his hair brushed against her forehead, no doubt mingling in with her own strands. She could feel Zoro spooned behind her, his own arm outstretched across them both and she was only now just considering how appropriate her pyjama shorts were. Which was ridiculous, it was only those two.  

All of this didn’t feel right, they were there for Luffy, he should be the one in the middle not her. He should be the one squashed between them, safe and warm and feeling supported, not her. Yet one look at his face put all of that to rest. You could still tell he’d been crying; the puffiness would take a few hours to go down, but he looked relaxed, the tormented and weight in his expression gone.

He looked content.

And that was enough right now for her brain to shut off, thoughts pushed to the back for another day, and have her burying into the warmth from the two bodies next to her with the knowledge that everything would be okay for now.

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

This was meant to be a one-shot, but it’s now a two parter at no one’s request. I’m writing/editing the second chapter right now; it’s on its way.  

I used to ship LuNami hard when I was younger, but I think I’ve lost my ability to write them romantically nowadays… unless you throw in Zoro and then it’s back on apparently.

I write and edit all my pieces by myself, so if there’s any errors, please excuse them.

Thanks for reading.

[lupically]

#3B797A | XIAO.

genre | angst

word count | 1707

warning | mention of death, mention of blood, faint mention of injury

note | this was originally posted on my other writing blog, i am moving it here because... well, i have a genshin writing blog now. and, once again, this is not very good. let’s hope i get better at this!

if karmic debt is a real thing, this must be xiao’s worst one yet.

he swore he would keep an eye on you after the first time you died on him.

he has never felt anguish like it.

of all the invisible chains tied around his struggling limbs and his fragile neck, of all the pain and misery he has been put through over the years of his catastrophic life, of all the repressed memories and emotions he kept fighting back to keep his sanity at bay, he has never felt anguish and manic like he did when he saw your lifeless body on the ground with an arrow stuck to your back.

it was the worst one yet, especially when he was the reason why you ended up with a bed of bloody roses underneath you.

he swore he would keep an eye on you after that.

and then came the second time you died. that was also because of him.

the blood that trickled down your lips as you smiled at him was vivid in his memories. he was supposed to be fond of the way you felt relieved to see him there, after he had carried you behind a fallen wall so you didn’t have to see him deal with the treasure hoarders who put you in such a bad state for trying to take a pair of emerald earrings back.

he was, to a certain degree, when you choked out his name in that god-awfully brilliant voice of yours. it was faint, but he could hear the genuine happiness in you when you called his name.

you were always so excited to see him. ever since you dropped atop of him from the sky, apparently coming from nowhere, you have been happy to see him. he was undeserving of that; the chances you have given him at experiencing how soft this world can be was undeserved, but nonetheless, xiao was fond of the way you make him feel, more than he would like to admit, more than anything he has ever seen or heard or felt in this world.

you were the fondest he has ever felt. it was all you.

but the fondness goes like dust and ashes when you reached up with the pair of emerald earrings you bought him, which he dumped in the middle of the ruins because he was being petty about something insignificant he could no longer remember.

the sight of them gave him a moment of realization—you were here because of him.

and then you took your last breath—you died because of him, again.

he didn’t know how to feel when you didn’t respond to your own name. he kept calling for you—[name], wake up, he said. [name], stop playing around, you know you’re not funny, he said. [name], [name], [name]. but your eyes remained closed, so he held you close for the first time, and he exchanged the tears with apologies.

he promised he would keep an eye out for his actions after that.

yet here he was.

don’t die. please don’t die.

he dropped his spear and crouched down frantically next to you. he was still panting from the fight with the three ruin guards patrolling around fallen pillars and buildings, but what made him stress, even more, was less because of his sore body and more because of your bleeding head.

“[name]? [name], open your eyes, right now!” he said—scolded, in the voice he always talked to you with, the fondly defeated tone that showed he has surrendered his annoyance for your happiness, but with more urgency this time.

you coughed, feeling more lifeless than ever. there was a rush of deja vu back then, just a few moments ago when xiao gently laid you against the wall and left after telling you to stay still and keep your eyes open for him. it was like you have lived through this moment before, but you were hurting too much from your head wound to think into it.

xiao breathed out a sigh of relief.

thank the archons.

“hey, xiao…” you greeted with a faint smile, then you reached your hand up to give him the quingxin you picked. “flowers… got you flowers… for crowns… ”

he pursed his lips. you silly! you bone-head! why did you not just buy them from the flower shop? was what he wanted to say. even though knowing you, you would probably spill some weird argument like how flowers picked by other people wouldn’t have the same freshness and love in them, and he would say nothing because there was no winning for him when it comes to you.

he never has anything to say. nothing to go against your favors, and certainly nothing that makes you worry ever again. nothing that will get you running into forests alone to pick him flowers and risk the chance of you stumbling into ruin guards, or hilichurls, or treasure hoarders, or abyss mages.

(maybe the one you should avoid is him.)

“come on, let’s get you to the doctor, okay?” he said as he discarded the flowers at a frantic pace.

he looped your arms around his neck and hoisted you on his back. his spear sparkled next to the white flowers on the ground, reflecting a halo glow upward as if telling on him to the sky about what he did to you again. he took off running back to the city, praying to the archons that he could end your pain quicker, that he could find someone to stop the hurting faster.

but it seemed destiny had other plans.

he paused for a second to catch his breath. he did not notice the way your arms had long gone slack around his shoulders, and how you kept slipping off his back as if you could no longer support yourself. he was deliberately ignoring the details that signified your death, his delusional consciousness wishfully thinking that he would make it to the doctors in time.

“we’re getting there, [name],” he said as if he could still feel your short breath against his neck.

“you’re going to be fine, i will make sure,” he said as he began walking as if he could still feel your chest heave against his back.

“i will keep you safe next time, i promise,” he said as he leaned forward a little because your lifeless body was starting to slip off his back again.

“and then we can go pick flowers together, and you can make me flower crowns,” he croaked with guilted tears running down his cheeks, a smile on his face as if he wasn’t just given hope that he could save you this time, only to have you die on his back.

all because he said he would never put on a flower crown, and you insisted that he has to try.

(maybe the one you should avoid is him.)

the evil archon was silent when xiao appeared before it with your dead body. this was the third time. it was starting to see a pattern, and all it felt was glee that the pattern it has carefully cultivated was working in its favor.

because what better to keep the adepti under control than to make him feel indebted to itself? what better to keep the adepti under control than to keep reviving his dead lover and make him think they have a surviving chance this time around? what better to keep the adepti under control than to kill his lover and use his guilt against him every single time?

“dead again? what have you done?”

“please… help me…” xiao laid your body before the archon, which was just a statue without a face.

“reviving a human that was consumed by death takes a great deal of power, alatus.”

xiao gritted his teeth, but he said nothing when he could feel your skin under his gripping fingers. he lowered his head, pushing down the horrendous amount of anger and humiliation to the back of his mind, and he begged.

he begged for another chance to see your beautiful eyes smile under the moon again, he begged for another chance to hear you talk on and on about the wondrous world you two live in together, he begged for another chance to feel your radiant soul live near him and to let you show him around the city as if he could not already navigate through it with his eyes closed.

(he could not. he knew the concrete roads and the old stone walls, but he could never know about the smooth flower petals dancing with the wind and the tender glow of the sky everyone shared without you taking his hand and dragging him across all parts of the world.)

(just like cotton candy, you told xiao. his frown melts like cotton candy, whatever cotton candy was.)

“i’ll do anything,” he said.

“for the mortal. really.”

“i will do anything,” xiao declared again.

the golden flair in his eyes almost made the evil archon shiver.

it was radiating off of him—the heat of anguish and terror that he had once killed you, the heat of unfairness and humiliation that he has to stoop so low as to meddle with life and death, the heat of extreme affection for a lover he now has nowhere to cast upon because the sole receiver has long died in his arms.

all for a mortal. a special mortal. a mortal who has made someone who hates, love. a mortal who has made him, him who hates and scorns, love. not just themself, but everything else around him—music, flowers, lights, cities. a mortal who made sure he will always love, still, even after the sole reason for his affection is gone and he no longer has a reason to be gentle.

the archon wanted to laugh.

truly. the only thing more maleficent than love itself is the act of using it against someone.

looking at xiao right now—inadequate, fragile, chained, and so miserable.

oh, how it worked in its favor.

it has done so many things to the poor boy, but this one, oh, this would be the worst one yet.

[perlukafarinn]

Time loop + bartender AU!!

inspired by palm springs (2020)

Today, Dean went to work.

Most days by now, he didn’t bother. At the beginning of the loop, he’d shown up for a couple of shifts, certain that he’d just had some really freaky, vivid dreams. Then he’d spent countless days searching for ways to escape, talking to every person he came across, doing everything he could to get as far away from the Roadhouse as possible. He’d even taken a couple of flights but it didn’t matter how far away he got, he always woke up again in his bed the next morning.

The same morning. Whatever.

He’d gone through the whole ‘Bill Murphy in Groundhog Day’ routine, including the suicide attempts. He’d done whatever he could to help the people around him. He’d even saved a couple of lives but it didn’t matter how much he changed or how many personal revelations he reached. The loop was inescapable. He knew that now.

Nothing he did mattered, so Dean just did whatever he felt like. And today he felt like going to work. 

The shift started the same as always. No one’s behavior changed unless Dean affected it in some way so he knew by heart what would happen. He’d used it to his advantage a few loops, hitting on every person in the bar and taking home whoever showed any interest. He’d stopped doing that after a while; it felt gross to have sex with people who wouldn’t remember it. 

There were four people in the bar when Dean arrived, aside from Jo behind the counter. Of those four, three would remain until closing time. More customer would filter in as the evening wore on. 

Dean kept an eye out for his favorites: Leslie, who he could always draw into a debate about beat poetry, her talking points changing wildly with just the slightest variation in response from Dean. Rufus Turner, who Dean had just learned how to draw into a proper conversation (he’d gotten punched in the face twice as he worked out the right mixture of confrontational and respectful). Castiel, an astrophysicist who Dean had talked to the science of time loops about but had never been able to offer advice that could actually help.

As if conjured by the mere thought of him, Castiel suddenly entered the Roadhouse, loudly slamming the door open. Dean froze. This was new. He wasn’t meant to be here for another hour.

This was new.

Castiel stood frozen in the doorway as well, eyes widening as he spotted Dean. Then he was stalking forward.

“You!” Castiel shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Dean. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Jo said something but Dean ignored her. “You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here!”

“No. No, see, I’ve gone through this day thirty-eight times now. Everything stays the same. You weren’t here the last thirty-seven times, why are you here now?”

Dean stared at him. Then he started laughing. He tried to hold it back at first but it came bubbling forward, hysterical peels of laughter leaving him breathless. His eyes began to water and before he knew, someone was roughly tugging at his elbow, pulling him outside. 

They leaned him against the wall and slowly, the laughter died down. Dean leaned forward, palms on his knees as he regained his breath. Castiel was standing next to him and Jo was in the doorway, staring at him worriedly.

“Go back inside,” he told her with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Jo gave him a dubious look and Dean couldn’t blame her; both he and Castiel had to look crazy from her point of view.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just gimme five, okay?”

She pursed her lips together but nodded, stepping back inside and closing the door behind her, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

“Thirty-eight times, huh?” Dean asked, straightening. “That’s it?”

“That’s-” Castiel cut off his own indignant response, seeming to realize just what Dean wasn’t saying. He had to give it to him, he was quick on the uptake. “How many days has it been for you?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not sure. Thousands.”

Castiel paled. “And you haven’t found a way out?”

“I tried everything I could think of,” Dean said. “Asked you for a bunch of advice. Did the whole Groundhog Day personal improvement thing, didn’t work.”

“Groundhog Day?” Castiel repeated quizzically. 

“Oh, come on, you know Noether's theorem off the top of your head but you haven’t heard of Groundhog Day?”

“How do you know that?”

Dean shot him a flat look.

Castiel looked disconcerted. “Right. That’s - what else do you know about me?”

“You’re the youngest of five siblings. You and your father were close when you were younger but the relationship has gotten strained since you came out of the closet in college. Your first boyfriend was named Bartholomew and he was a total dick but you weren’t confident enough to break up with him until the second time you found out he cheated on you.

“Your favorite drink is whiskey, neat, and your favorite author is Jane Austen, but you prefer reading poetry over novels. You can quote William Carlos Williams’ ‘Spring Storm’ by heart. You have a mole on your chest here,” Dean pointed at the spot right next to Castiel’s left nipple, “and your gag reflex is practically nonexistent.”

Castiel stared. 

Dean coughed, feeling awkward for the first time in forever. “Sorry. I’ve kinda forgotten how to talk to people without following a script.”

“Right,” Castiel repeated. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me in detail what you’ve tried to break the loop so far?”

It was Dean’s turn to stare.

“I need all the available data,” Castiel said. “I have a couple of theories on how this loop happened and how to end it but it’s going to take time to test them. Weeks, most likely.”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” Dean said faintly. “You - you really think you can get us out of this?”

Something ached in his chest. Hope, he realized after a moment. He was feeling hopeful.

“I will get us out,” Castiel corrected. “Both of us.”

Both of them.

Dean laughed disbelievingly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Okay. What do you need to know?”

[dramaticsnakes]

I don’t think the conversation’s over

@anxiously-creating​​

This prompt is ancient, but I have finally completed the fic! Title is from “Denial” by the Vaccines, taken from Janus’ playlist. Thank you so much to @rainbowbutterfrosting​ for beta-reading this! I couldn’t have done it without you, Jade.

AO3

Pairing: Platonic Anxceit

Word count: 8535

TW: Drowning imagery and needle imagery (used in metaphors), blood and an actual heart (from some Remus shenanigans). Manipulation. There is alcohol in one scene, but no one gets drunk. Cursing. Angst with an ambiguous ending. Tell me if I missed anything!

Summary: Three days after Virgil leaves, Janus finds himself stuck in a time loop, as he tries to figure out how to make Virgil stay.

Janus couldn’t remember exactly what happened the day Virgil left.

Well he did then. Now. In fact, the images were clear and vivid in his mind in a way that sent an uncomfortable numbness through him when he thought about it. There was nothing particularly strange or out of place about the day, which only served to make it seem even more surreal.

It wasn’t that Janus hadn’t noticed anything strange in the time leading up to it. He’d noticed so many fleeting moments and longing glances, that it was hard for him to pinpoint the exact moment they started. He’d tried numerous times, but whenever he thought he’d found it, he remembered a time, a cause, a single hint of things to come, that happened before that, and most of them were too vague for him to find the exact source.

Maybe it was also because he had been remarkable at pretending, he hadn’t seen anything. Hadn’t thought anything of it. Remarkable at his job of pretending, denying, lying. It was what he was good at, so really, it shouldn’t be an issue that that was exactly what he was doing.

The morning of the day Virgil left, Janus had barely spoken to the other. He’d awoken in his room and spent an adequate amount of time getting dressed. The first person Janus met outside his door was Remus, darting down the halls holding a beating heart in his hands. It wasn’t unlike other days, and it wasn’t a very influential detail, but Janus found himself recalling it nonetheless. Then Janus started working. Awaiting his chance to let a single lie slip out on Thomas’ otherwise Morality tainted tongue. Awaiting his chance, his moment, his calling to help Thomas with the things the others effortlessly denied him.

One of the moments Janus had started replaying after Virgil left happened at noon. Noon. Not the evening or the night, which was otherwise the time Virgil most frequently made spontaneous decisions that could be prevented with the right words or just a little bit of reason the following day.

Virgil had approached Janus, tense in a way Janus had grown accustomed to, even if it was unlike him. Virgil was always tense, but the exact type of tensity that had been present the last while had been different. Almost spiteful. Angry. And Janus didn’t like it one bit, but he’d grown accustomed to it.

He hadn’t noticed.

“Janus.” Virgil had said, “I need to talk to you.”

The words had sent a flicker of fear through Janus’ veins that he decided he couldn’t quite place. “Just a moment. Can it wait?”

Prolonging inevitability was another one of his talents.

Virgil had clenched his fists and Janus felt anxious, though the anxiety didn’t come from himself. The air was dense with it, practically radiating from the embodiment. It reminded Janus of being in Virgil’s room. “I…” he trailed off and shook his head, “No. No it can’t.”

Janus felt his hand shaking, but he tried his best to hide it. He clenched his jaw, looking at the papers on the table in front of him. “I’m busy.” he said, even though he wasn’t. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He really shouldn’t have said that.

Virgil opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, and Janus felt his powers flaring up within him, having a hard time resisting the urge to move Virgil’s hand up towards his mouth. Keep the words in there. Though, actions like that would be suspicious and Janus didn’t know why he’d want to do that in the first place. Then Virgil’s mouth closed on it’s own, and Janus heard a deep, growling sigh. “Fine.” Virgil said, leading a hand through his hair. Janus could feel his own heart beating rapidly, though it was probably just the lingering effects of Virgil’s presence. Then Virgil turned around, leaving Janus on his own once again.

And that was it, in more ways than one. That was all the issues that would be that day, he thought. Though really it was also the only chance he had. At least it was an opening.

Maybe he could’ve walked by Virgil’s room, knocked on the door and asked in a gentle way to have a conversation. Maybe he could’ve demanded answers. Maybe he could’ve let just a little bit of vulnerability slip through him. But that wasn’t what he did.

Instead, the rest of the day went by normally. Virgil didn’t show up at lunch, but Virgil didn’t always do that anyway at this point. Virgil went out to help Thomas with something, but that happened frequently these days. Virgil didn’t show up when Remus was wreaking havoc in the kitchen, and Virgil didn’t show up at dinner.

But Virgil was still there. Janus could hear him, saw him walking around with long, goal-oriented steps. The kind Janus only saw when Virgil was at his peak of fight or flight, but Janus couldn’t quite tell which one it was.

And that was when Virgil didn’t show up at all.

He hadn’t gone anywhere else, he wasn’t in his room, he wasn’t anywhere near Janus or Remus for that matter. He’d left a note on the counter, but the second Janus looked at it, in the cold evening air, he had an urge to look away. He couldn’t read it. Couldn’t comprehend it. It was as if the words only dug him deeper into an inescapable pit, and that reading any of them would leave him stuck there for eternity.

Remus gave Janus a hug that night, but Janus didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the hug, that was long, caring, and genuine in a way only Remus could muster. The hug was nice, but it felt out of place. As if it shouldn’t be there, because the pure shock led a needle and thread through Janus’ heart. Every time Remus acknowledged what had happened, showed Janus extra care because of it, and every time it was the other way around, the thread was pulled at, locking his heart in a tight grip, that only served to hurt and cause enough pain to bring Janus to tears. Letting the needle hang there, loosely, only hurting just enough to leave Janus numb, confused, and shocked was preferred, and Janus did so elegantly.

The following days, Janus barely acknowledged anything at all. He walked through his day, occupying himself with his work. Sometimes he stayed in his room for a little longer than he normally did, thinking things over, though it didn’t take long for him to conclude that he didn’t quite want to do that.

It had been three days since Virgil left. Since Janus went from someone in the same group as Virgil to one of the ‘others’. Two days since Virgil ducked out and was picked up by Morality, Logic, and the other Creativity, and joined them as a fourth member. One day since the shock faded just a little and left something else. Something sharper, that suited Janus like his soft and comfortable gloves, but stung like the bite from a pair of fangs.

It had been three days since Virgil left.

It had been five minutes since Janus decided that he hadn’t.

Because why would he really? Virgil had always been one of them. Always belonged right there, working effectively using fear as his weapon. His means. It was effective and useful, and exactly what was necessary to get Thomas to listen. Thomas wouldn’t listen to Virgil forever. Virgil would come back, and everything would go back to normal. It was already normal. Virgil never left in the first place. He was just away, working for longer than usual. Virgil was lying to himself, and everyone else in the process. The idea came to Janus like second nature.

It wasn’t over. Janus still had time. Time to say all the things he’d kept close to the chest. If the situation called for it of course.

And this was the thought he went to sleep with on the third night. The thought that brought him out of his previous mindless trance and lured him into a different one.

The next morning, he woke up along with Thomas. The second the morning light arrived, and something felt different. Or rather, it felt unmistakably familiar. As if the shadows had reached him in that exact same way before, or maybe it was the sounds, or the placement of his things. The way his gloves were lying on his dressing table. Janus couldn’t quite place it until he walked out his door.

“Stolen heart, coming through!” a voice yelled down the hall, rushing right by Janus, sending a gust of air towards him. It was Remus, holding a beating, bleeding heart, just barely missing Janus by a few centimeters. “I can glue googly eyes on it!”

Janus stopped in his tracks, and for a moment he didn’t breathe. Didn’t utter a word or think a single thought. The next he was thinking many, as if the world was flooding and Janus was the only one who could breathe. Or perhaps he was the only one who was drowning. He couldn’t quite tell.

This situation was familiar. Far too familiar for it to be a coincidence. It was the exact same words, the exact same movements, that Janus had been a witness to only… three days ago.

Three days ago.

It had been zero days since Virgil left.

Because the day Virgil was supposed to leave was today, and that thought was strange and uncommon to say the least. The very idea seemed preposterous and the first things Janus thought about was the exact implications of that fact. For one, why exactly had time turned back? There was no way that was what had really happened. It had to be Roman or Remus’ doing, crafting a fake scenario for Janus to be in, didn’t it? Then again, why exactly would they do that?

Perhaps it was something else. Maybe Janus had managed to get himself back there in one way or another. A repeating and vivid memory, but Janus certainly wasn’t doing what he’d done that day right then. He was standing still when he should be moving, and thinking thoughts of potential time travel when he should be working.  

Janus heard a door opening, and he recognized it as Virgil’s door. The sound reached his ears like a wonderful song he’d heard several times before. It was as if the air became calmer and more homely at the mere thought of Virgil being there, as his metaphysical self. There with them. There with Janus. It was as if Virgil hadn’t left in the first place.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Virgil was still there and those past surreal days hadn’t been the slightest bit real. They hadn’t felt real anyway. Regardless, even as Janus felt like he was falling through the air, leaving most of his body momentarily weightless, the thought intrigued him. The idea that it wasn’t over. It hadn’t been real, and maybe this wasn’t either.

The very idea of reality was fragile as a stray leaf. One could pretend to be the judge of what was real or not, but no one could really know for sure. The truth was that if enough people agreed on the same thing, if enough people perceived something, that would count as reality. So if Janus was there, perceiving the world in this way, and everyone around him seemed to do so too, what made this any less of a reality than anything else he’d otherwise experienced?

Then again, Janus wasn’t sure how long this would last, so he decided to play it safe. Change one thing. One possible mistake, to test the waters. If everything changed for the better because of it, that would be a wonderful side-effect, and if nothing changed… Well, who was to say really.

So Janus went to work, and once noon arrived, the sound of Virgil’s shuffling steps made Janus’ entire body tense up anew.

“Janus.” Virgil said, “I need to talk to you.”

The exact same tone of voice. The exact same tension. The words gathered in Janus ' throat, creating an uncomfortable knot of them he couldn’t untie. “What is it?” he managed to choke out, and the voice sounded so broken that Janus felt Virgil’s presence ease up. Becoming less apparent and more on guard. Janus was falling free now. Rapidly darting through the air without an aim or knowledge of what was going to happen. He tried his best to grasp the situation. To gather all his thoughts and his experience with Virgil’s mannerisms, in order to regain control.

“Can we uh-” Virgil shook his head and took a deep and determined breath. “Can we sit down? I have something to tell you.”

A careful request that made Janus feel trapped. The last thing he wanted was to sit down when someone else had asked him to do so. He didn’t want to seem resigned. He didn’t want to feel resigned. Sitting down would make him feel small, unable to gather up the strings he needed. “Of course.” he said anyway, walking towards the kitchen table with controlled steps. He pulled out a chair, and sat down, watching as Virgil clumsily sat down on the chair across, like a student entering a meeting with a teacher. If they had sat down in a different order, Janus would’ve been the student. He felt like he was the one performing and awaiting his feedback nonetheless. When Virgil didn’t speak right away, Janus took the liberty of moving the conversation along. “What seems to be the problem?” Janus said, “You don’t seem troubled at all.”

Virgil took a few deep breaths. Janus recognized the pattern. 4-7-8. He looked Janus in the eyes, and Janus once again felt his heart rate increasing, as if it was directly linked to the other’s eyes. Virgil took another deep breath and even after years in Remus’ presence, he couldn’t possibly have been prepared for the bluntness of the words that followed. “I don’t belong here.”

The words were uttered in such a genuine tone, Virgil clearly making a conscious effort to sound indifferent, to keep his anxiety at bay. For Janus’ sake, or his own. It was as if the words were the most natural thing in the world, bound to have been spoken someday either way. Virgil wanted to seem certain, convinced, and determined.

And what baffled Janus the most, was that he succeeded.

“What do you mean?” Janus snapped nonetheless. It was too shaken, too quick, for his liking.

Virgil placed one hand on the table, as if he was desperately looking for something to clutch. At first, he didn’t look Janus in the eyes. “I’m leaving.”

The words stabbed through Janus’ chest, and his thoughts started flowing through him like a chilling wave. He froze. “W-why is that?” he asked, trying to hide his surprised stuttering.

Virgil sighed deeply, and Janus once again felt a strange energy from the other. “I’m not- I don’t belong here. Anywhere.”

Janus wanted to laugh. Wanted to let go of a humorless chuckle at how ridiculously vague that notion was. “What has led you to that conclusion?” he said instead, keeping his expression as calm and unreadable as possible.

Virgil flinched slightly. “It’s… It’s been going on for a while I…” he swallowed something in his throat, “I-”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time up there. With them.” Janus said coolly before he could stop himself.

Virgil groaned quietly, and looked away. “Yeah, so? It’s my job.”

“Yes it is.” Janus said, unsure what his own point was.

“I just… It doesn’t really have anything to do with them or with you or… It’s more… I don’t really think I can… Do my work effectively here.”

Janus froze and tilted his head. “Why not?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I feel like… I feel like I’m biased, you know? When I spend all that time around too many...” he cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m Thomas’ anxiety. My first priority is to do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Being here isn’t doing that.” He said without adding anything else. It was torture really, because it meant Janus had the power to leave it there, while everything urged him not to.

“Is that so?” Janus asked, looking Virgil up and down, “It has never bothered you before.”

Virgil took a deep breath, “Maybe I’ll be back. I just… I need some time away.”

No you won’t Janus thought to himself.

“So you leave us behind because of some suspicion that we’re corrupting your point of view?” Janus said with a weak smile, internally gasping for control, “Just because you’ve developed some sort of morals? An idealized version of the world where staying away from us is the solution to a problem you’ve created?” Janus shouldn’t be saying those things. They were petty, desperate, and not incredibly well-put but he said them anyway.

The energy radiating from Virgil became dense and Janus suddenly found it hard to breathe. “I knew you’d say something like that.” Virgil said, with a frown. He stood up, and moved the chair towards the table with a scraping sound, and Janus suddenly felt very small, as he looked up at Virgil.

“What do you mean?” Janus near-whispered. The first part sounded too weak, so he tried to turn it into a hiss.

“Nevermind I just-” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning against the chair slightly. He opened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind.” he looked Janus in the eyes, and his expression looked cold and professional, though there was a hint of something pleading. Desperate. “I need some time to myself. I can’t stay here.”

Janus inhaled sharply through his nose. “I still fail to understand why you’re doing it.”

Virgil clenched his fist, standing up from the table. “I’m not… I’m not gonna make this harder than it is. I’m going away. Just…” he took a deep breath, “Just… Just fucking accept it. Please...”

Janus felt fire flaring up inside him at the words, and he started hearing his own breathing much clearer. He quickly stood up, because if he didn’t he felt so small and useless and petty. And he was still petty of course, but he didn’t want it to show. He didn’t want to believe it himself. There was no need to. Not yet. He smiled, “So I’m the one who isn’t accepting things.”

Virgil closed his eyes and breathed. “You’re always insufferable about things like this.” Virgil said, the words coming out a little too quickly, “You always use words to your advantage and you bring Thomas into dangerous and emotionally taxing situations.” he shook his head, “I’m not… I don’t wanna endorse that… It’s more work for me.”

Janus’ breathing became shaky. “You’re acting so beyond it all now, aren’t you.” he hissed, “You hang out with those pretentious bastards, who think they’re morally superior by being accepted so easily by him, and you think you can just do the same.”

Virgil’s eyes became dark. “I’m not expecting the same.” he said, “They’re not going to take me in, and I’m not staying here.”

“You can’t just-”

“Yes I can!” Virgil said, his voice booming through the room. Powerful, leaving even Deceit speechless, all of his words taken away almost immediately. Virgil almost looked surprised at himself, dragging a hand down his face and shaking his head, “I’m going.” he said.

And then he did.

The words hung in the air, Janus feeling a strange loss of control he wasn’t quite used to. He was left alone in the room, painfully alone, and the events transpired almost exactly how Janus remembered them, even with a different kind of stinging feeling in his gut.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real. It was a copy of reality somehow, and Virgil was still there. He had still been there the last time he left.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

On the next day, Janus tried again. He woke up in the same way, in the same place, Virgil, still right nearby. Everything was alright. Nothing had happened yet.

This time, he tried a different approach. He spent time with Remus that day, ignoring his duties, and Virgil didn’t dare approach them at all. It was something Janus had noticed. Virgil was frightened of Remus, and the fear had only grown the past time. The more time Virgil spent up there. It was something that filled Janus with a bitter sort of stinging, that he never allowed to linger, because it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway.

Virgil didn’t leave that day, but when Janus didn’t know how to approach the next, Virgil ended up leaving then instead.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real. It was a hypothetical that Janus wasn’t going to experience the stinging feeling of. At least he wouldn’t for real. It would stay there for a little, but it was fake and deceitful, so it didn’t matter at all.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

So Janus tried again. And again.

A pattern started. A repetitive sort of pattern, even if it was never the same each time. It always ended the same way, with little variations here and there.

He tried approaching Virgil first, which only made the conversation more awkward, because it started before Virgil had anticipated it.

Janus tried remaining calm in the exchange with Virgil, which he failed at multiple times, before he found a decent combination of words that only served to make Virgil leave faster. Made him leaving easier.

Janus tried to act friendly and truthful, but Virgil naturally, didn’t believe a word of it.

One time, he tripped Remus, which led him to drop the heart on Virgil, which made Virgil breathe faster, shake his head and run off. When Janus tried approaching him, Virgil sounded more spiteful than ever.

Janus tried not leaving his room at all, merely lying down in a hopeless and pathetic position, that didn’t suit his aesthetic in any way. Not that anyone would see that of course. Fortunately.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real, and yet the stinging feeling lingered unchangeably.

Janus groaned at himself.

He went to sleep, and woke up with a terribly tempting idea.

They had their conversation, as usual, though Janus held back this time. He allowed Virgil to leave once he’d given his explanation, and that almost seemed to make Virgil reluctant. Janus wasn’t sure if he liked the reluctance, but he didn’t like the lack of it either, so he settled on remaining indifferent to the reluctance. He allowed Virgil to leave, and that was what Virgil did.

But that time, Janus decided to try to take drastic measures. He wasn’t sure what his thought process was as he did it, but he had the range of both a planner and an improviser, and the two weren’t as different for him as one might expect.

So when Virgil ducked out, he merely stopped anyone but him and Remus from showing face.

It wasn’t as hard as one might expect, when you were in charge of Thomas’ lies, because for a few fleeting moments, Janus could easily make it seem as if Virgil was never gone in the first place. Ha. Ironic. They’d all started considering Virgil’s practical function, a face which made Janus bitter to no end, though he wasn’t sure why. He made sure the others didn’t notice at first, and once Virgil had stayed out for a sufficient amount of time, Janus went to Remus.

“Virgil is gone.” he stated.

Remus blinked. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No Remus, he has ducked out. We need to go check on him. Now.”

Janus wasn’t sure how he would’ve sounded if this situation had happened for real. He wasn’t sure if he’d act more or less concerned.

Or well, he knew sort of. Last time he’d stayed out of it because he was hiding. Because he was processing and living in a state of shock. Because he held onto the hope that maybe Virgil would decide to return to them, after having the time to think, instead of remaining ducked out.

Or maybe Virgil would be saved by someone else. Someone who deserved him.

No, those weren’t the types of thoughts Janus had, he remembered.

“Shit really?” Remus said, with widened eyes, “What about his new fuck-buddies, have they noticed?”

“They’re not buddies at all.” Janus said. Not yet anyway. “And I’m not sure. Perhaps they’re not as perceptive as they think they are.”

And so, the two of them went to Virgil’s room. A dangerous thing to do to be sure. Janus wouldn’t normally suggest doing so at all, but Remus followed him anyway, because that was what Remus did for him. Though perhaps this time it was for Virgil.

Virgil appeared abruptly after a moment of silence. His posture was tense, and something in his expression seemed to change entirely once he realized who had come for him. “What are you… What are you doing in my room?” he asked, seemingly panicked, though there was something else. Something genuinely questioning.

Why are you here?

“We saw you were gone.” Janus said, “We were worried.”

“It’s… It’s none of your business!” Virgil said, scowling unconvincingly.

“Ah, as a part of Thomas, I beg to differ.” Janus retorted. He took a deep breath. “Why have you made this decision?”

“I’m ducking out.” Virgil said with a shrug, “Thomas doesn’t need me. I’m only bringing him pain, and the others don’t want me there anyway. I’m just getting in the way.”

Janus inhaled sharply, looking at Virgil. “And who the fuck, caused you to believe that?”

Virgil started smiling in the fed up and insincere sort of way, “Everything, Deceit. And it doesn’t matter. Just leave.”

The name ‘Deceit’ stung a little. But Janus ignored it. “They… They’ve always made us feel unwanted. They don’t understand why we’re needed and its rubbing off o-”

“There is no us!” Virgil hissed, but Janus knew that particular hiss well enough to know, that it wasn’t wholehearted. There was something hidden, something vulnerable.

And because Janus was Janus, and manipulating, lying and uncovering and hiding secrets was his thing, he wanted to get through to it. “You’re right.” he said, which made Virgil turn his head slightly, “There is you, and you’re necessary, Virgil. Thomas needs you to survive. You used to understand that quite well. We talked about it, how we were being hidden by their thoughts and feelings. How they didn’t believe us, no matter what we said.” he took a deep breath, and his voice shook for the words that followed. Janus couldn’t tell if it was real or not. “But I admit, I was playing into that perception of things. I have a habit of doing that, whether I like it or not. Now you’re on your own. You want to choose your own path but… Is it really your own, if you’ve decided that they’re right?”

Virgil was inspecting Janus now, in a way that made Janus feel a little uneasy. Janus could read Virgil better than Virgil could read Janus, but being around one another for so long did give you some advantages. Virgil’s weakness was accidentally finding meaning that wasn’t there. Malicious intent where there shouldn’t be any. And maybe Janus was the same sometimes, but of course he wouldn’t say that out loud. “I don’t… I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to. They’re not here, Virgil.” Janus said, and that time the words stung. He looked down. “We noticed you were gone, it was… It’s frightening really. I know we’re not on the best terms, but… I can’t… It’s not right that you feel this way. You have value, Virgil. You’re an important side, just like everyone else is, and I apologize if anyone, including myself, made you believe otherwise.”

The words felt sharp, and Janus wasn’t sure if he meant them. He wasn’t certain of anything, but it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t thinking right now, and he wasn’t himself right now. He was testing something in a reality that was only real for the time being, because Janus was going to make it disappear soon enough.

Virgil was as still as a statue for a few moments. The only parts of him moving were his eyes, and Janus wasn’t entirely sure what they were saying, but he knew his words had had some sort of effect. That part was easy to tell.

“I…” Virgil said shakily after a little, his breathing speeding up, “You never… You never wanted me to leave.”

“No.” Janus said, and that part was true, at least that made the most sense. “Did I ever make you believe otherwise.”

Virgil shook his head. “No. No I wanted to leave. I wanted… I didn’t want to be biased or… Or…”

“And here you are.” Janus said, because maybe he was a little cruel. Maybe he was a little bit terrible just now, that he had gone so long without consequences. Because it didn’t matter.

“I don’t…” Virgil said, barely audibly, as he let himself slide down into a sitting position against the wall, hugging his knees and shaking his head as he whispered something Janus couldn’t make out.

Virgil looked so helpless. It was unlike him. Virgil was the embodiment of anxiety, sure, but he always had an instinct. An instinct to run or an instinct to jump at whatever was bringing harm. Fight or flight.

But now, Virgil was just sitting there, a few tears in his eyes. “They wouldn’t have come for me. They shouldn’t.” Virgil said, “But you did.” the words sounded dark and empty, but there was a hint of sincerity underneath it.

This wouldn’t happen, unless Virgil was particularly vulnerable of course. And he was. He was stuck and he felt alone. Isolated and unwanted. Which was exactly what made it so easy for Janus to get through to him.

A part of Janus wanted to shake Virgil, and beg him not to let him do that. Not to let Janus’ words get through, because Janus’ words were cruel and unreliable, and in a different and not so distant world, Virgil would’ve had something else.

Virgil was crying, his eyes turning red, and he hid his face in his hands. Remus hesitantly reached out to touch Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil tensed up for a moment, though he quickly eased into it. Janus swallowed something in his throat, walking closer. He wrapped his arms around Virgil gently.

Virgil sobbed. “I d-don’t…. I shouldn’t…. Fuck.” his breathing became unsteady, and Janus shushed him comfortingly.  

Janus could tell that Virgil truly believed the others wouldn’t have been there. Wouldn’t have realized. Janus knew that they would have.

But Janus was, in all the ways that mattered, an unreliable narrator.

“Shh, it’s alright stormcloud.” he whispered softly, “We wouldn’t leave you behind.”

The words that were unsaid were easy to read, and if Janus dared to think about it, it was easy to tell that there was manipulation at play. Janus had a tendency to get carried away. To do things like that to achieve his goal. But Janus wasn’t trying to achieve a goal right then. He had nothing to achieve, because he knew he’d make it all start over by the end of it. He wasn’t going to let it stay like this. Holding Virgil close, and having Virgil trust him, at least a little bit. Virgil still cared about him, and let Remus touch him, and it sent a wonderful but deceitful feeling through Janus’ entire body.

God, this was such a selfish timeline.

Virgil came back with them, and his walls went up. He no longer believed the kind words he was told by the ‘light sides’. His fight or flight instincts at an all time high.

But he believed in Janus’ words, and that was comforting for however long it lasted. It didn’t take long for it to become an uncomfortable ordeal, and Janus convinced himself it wasn’t real, because it was the most unrealistic scenario yet. Janus wouldn’t allow that level of vulnerability for himself.

Virgil stayed. He stayed for real that time. He didn’t leave the next day, and Janus didn’t think he was going to leave at any point in time.

Virgil was so much more on guard. He believed Janus. And if that wasn’t the most upside down and unrealistic scenario Janus could possibly think of, he wasn’t sure what that was.

Janus soon came to realize that he hated it. He hated the way Virgil seemed broken. Scared. Vulnerable and confused, in a way Janus had never seen before. Not at that scale.

And it hurt. It hurt so much more than any of the other scenarios had, and he wasn’t sure why.

Because Virgil was there but was he really?

But it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Because it wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

He felt relieved when he awoke to the same light, and to the same position of everything in his room.

But the relief didn’t last long, because it was soon replaced with a sinking and dreadful feeling, that annoyed Janus to no end.

He decided to try some variations of that scenario. He knew how to make Virgil stay, so perhaps he could make it feel right.

Janus tried. He tried so many times.

He didn’t like getting Virgil after ducking out, so he tried to stick with keeping Virgil there at the very beginning. Making the others make Virgil feel even more unwanted proved to be counter-productive. Making Virgil feel wanted, just heightened the guilt as Virgil inevitably left.

He did eventually manage to find a pattern that made Virgil stay, by pulling just the right strings and keeping everyone in the right place at the right time, but by the time he’d figured it out he was too tired to maintain it all for enough resets for it to make any sense. It still didn’t feel right anyway. Even when Virgil was there, he wasn’t truly there. There was either longing or emptiness present, and Janus didn’t like the way either of them stung, and made him feel helpless. He didn’t like the way Virgil looked whenever he said those same words over and over again.

Janus didn’t like anything about any of this, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

So he decided to do something out of character for him. Again. Because why the hell not?

That day, Janus didn’t do his work. At the very start of his day, he vanished and reappeared in the kitchen where the others usually hung out in the mornings. No one was there yet. Janus had apparently woken up early. He sat on the kitchen counter for a little while, inspecting his hands and glancing at the surroundings occasionally. He imagined Virgil, walking around in that kitchen every day, laughing and enjoying his time around the others. It was surreal to imagine, and filled Janus with a bittersweet sort of longing he didn’t want to read into.

After a little, Patton walked through the door. His eyes widened at the sight of Janus. “Deceit!?” he said, his voice sharp and quiet.

Janus huffed and smirked. He looked down at himself. “Why, it would seem so.”

Patton looked befuddled and skeptical. “What are you… What are you doing here Deceit? Y-you can’t be here.

“What?” Janus asked, innocently tilting his head, “Can’t a side roam around freely in his own Thomas?”

Patton clenched his fists and shook his head. “He… He is not-”

“Not mine?” Janus hummed, “My mistake. I thought we were all parts of him.”

Patton tensed up. “What do you… What do you want?”

Janus stood up from the counter, which made Patton jump back slightly. Funny really, after everything. Janus opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of wine, pouring some into a glass, making himself at home. It was quite amusing, how Patton was far too polite to stop him. He took the glass in his hand, and sipped from it. “Would you like some, Morality?” he said, holding it out.

Patton inhaled sharply. “What do you want?” he asked again.

Janus swirled around the beverage in his wine glass. “Oh nothing special. Really I’m just quite fed up.” he chuckled lightly.

Patton looked more confused than ever. “Fed up? With what?”

Janus hummed, sending Patton a tired but amused smile. “Everything keeps repeating and he always comes back to you. I am quite sick of this really, I don’t know why I bother.” he laughed, “In fact, I’m not quite sure how to make it stop.”

Patton furrowed his eyebrows, stepping a little closer, cautiously. “Are you… Are you alright? What’s this about.”

Janus laughed suddenly. “Oh look at him.” he said amusedly, “He is asking me if I’m alright.” he sighed, “Tell me Morality, what am I missing?”

“Missing?”

“I keep trying and trying to make things right, but I keep ending up back in the same place. I’m not sure if I want to make things right. It’s as if it's impossible either way. Am I just cursed to repeat this cycle forever? Relive my failure every single day, until something beyond my control fixes it?” he took a sip of the wine. He smiled at Patton. “I try and I try, yet he always comes back here, and when he doesn’t, it’s simply painful for everyone involved. Why is that? You always act like you’re oh so knowledgeable on these sorts of issues. Share your wisdom, will you?”

“Deceit, you’re not making any sense. Are you sure the wine is a good idea?” Patton asked.

Janus sighed. “Nothing really is, is it? But it doesn’t matter. You see Morality, I think I’ve gotten myself stuck in a time loop.”

That seemed to catch Patton off guard. “You- You what?” he asked.

“A time loop yes.” Janus said, sipping his wine, “I go to sleep and I wake up on the same day. Never really continues on for more than three, it’s quite funny how that works out.” he looked around the room, circling Patton. His shoes made a hollow noise against the ground as he did so. “And see, later today Virgil is going to tell me that he is going to leave. We’re either going to have some variation of a fight, or he’ll leave quietly after being dismissed enough. Not too long after that, he intends to duck out, and you will all come get him. Then he’ll feel accepted by you, and going back to us isn’t even in the cards.” he sighed.

Patton still looked confused, though there was a hint of something sympathetic on his face. As if he was reconsidering something. It was hilarious to see that on him really, though Janus couldn’t help but be a little intrigued by it. He wondered if he’d ever get to see something like that again. In a different timeline perhaps. “Have you found a way to... Break, that cycle?”

“No that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he huffed, “Or perhaps I have and I am simply too petty to let go of this. Not unlike me, I’ve learned.”

Patton bit his lip. “That sounds… That sounds pretty bad.” he took a step closer, “You do seem different.”

Oh, that tone was a little too sweet. A little too relieved. “I’m not whoever it is you want me to be.” Janus simply said, “I am simply asking you why he keeps coming to you instead. Why I’m stuck here, I suppose. So please, do give me some advice and make yourself useful, would you?” he tried not to sound pleading, but he wasn’t sure what feeling he was actually trying to convey. It wasn’t indifference, but that was what he was used to. He wouldn’t have said that much if he was trying to be indifferent. No, Janus wasn’t indifferent to this. Maybe he wasn’t even as annoyed as he led himself or this one hypothetical version of Patton to believe.

Janus was drowning, floating helplessly in the middle of the ocean, somehow always making it just above sea level before he was swallowed into it again. Always finding it difficult to catch his breath, but always making it anyway. Waiting and trying again and again, until he’d find a way to land, or until he’d give up and let himself hit the ocean floor.

Patton bit his lip, seemingly unsure of what to say. Janus almost had the urge to laugh. He wasn’t sure why he’d sought out him or this place anyhow. “I’m… That is a bit of a pickle isn’t it?” Patton said. Janus huffed, because it hadn’t been the first description of the situation on his mind, but of course that was something Patton would say. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “That’s what starts the fight.” he said, “And when it doesn’t he just leaves a day or so later, or he…” he felt something within him freezing, “It doesn’t end well.” he said quietly.

“I see…” Patton said. They were both quiet for a few breaths, and Janus wondered if Patton had given up, and was only staying put to be polite. Ha, polite to Janus, even. What a hilarious thought. “Maybe you can’t stop him.” Patton said, “It’s… It’s not the answer I want to give, but… If that’s really what he wants?”

Janus felt a tug at his heart and was about to open his mouth to say something. To shout. To cry. To give a quick and witty remark. But Patton interrupted whatever it was Janus was going to do.

“I know it’s not… Not that helpful coming from me, but if you’re really stuck the way you say you are, maybe… Maybe it’s best to just leave it, and… And see if that helps?”

Janus took a deep breath, hearing it and feeling it uncomfortably clearly. He was painfully aware of the beating of his heart, and the silence of the room now that no one was saying anything anymore. Then he looked up at Patton, inspecting the side’s face. “I’m good at change, usually.” he said quietly, “So why can’t I just let him go?”

Something slipped into Patton’s expression. Something sad, and sympathetic that made Janus’ skin crawl because nothing like that was supposed to be directed at him, and if it was, it was only a sign that he’d shown too much weakness. But it didn’t matter, because this wasn’t reality. How was Janus supposed to go back to reality now? “Letting go is… It’s very hard.” Patton said, “I-I’m not sure how to handle it either. Maybe just… Try to say what you want to say? Let him know you care and stuff… Maybe it’ll make it all a little easier in the end.”

Janus swallowed something in his throat, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, Morality… If only I knew how to do that.” Patton’s expression once again turned painfully sympathetic, and Janus sighed deeply. He looked at Patton once more. “Thank you for your time, Morality. I shall take my leave now. Tomorrow’s today awaits.”

And it did. Just as it always did.

Janus felt very distant that day, and decided to take another day to himself, to think things through. Not that he hadn’t thought everything through already.

Or maybe he hadn’t really. It was as if some thoughts were trying to creep into his mind right before they were shoved out the door like unwanted light after being in the dark long enough.

Janus was breathing heavily, in a way that could be confused as a series of groans. After that, they could easily be confused as sobs, and the unrelated water in his eyes didn’t help very much with preventing that. He huffed. Then he started laughing, in such a weak and broken way, that he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. He hated it. Hated the sound of it. Janus was brilliant. Janus liked himself, more so than most of those idiots.

But he didn’t like this. Didn’t like the broken laughter, or the treacherous tears, or the way his heart stung, and the way he was drowning and drowning, and so close to just giving up on making it to the surface.

It was pathetic really. Janus was being pathetic and petty, and he usually knew better than that. At least he always hoped he did. He always tried to. Always said he did, and words weren’t too far from the truth if you believed them strongly enough.

After a while, he wasn’t sure how long, an hour, a minute, a day, he stopped. He sighed deeply, as he wiped the leftover tears away. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t real.

God, was he sick of that.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

He once again woke up in familiar surroundings with a new sort of empty determination.

It didn’t matter what he did, because Virgil would always end up in the same place, and Janus would always be left behind. And it didn- It mattered. He needed it to matter, because otherwise the feelings and the hurt were pointless and they wouldn’t get anything done.

It was that morning, Janus finally came to the conclusion, that if he wanted Virgil in his life, it wasn’t going to happen in the span of those three days. He needed to prove himself.

He needed to earn it.

“Janus.” Virgil said, “I need to talk to you.”

Janus felt resigned. Incomplete and broken as he replied. “Yes. What is it?”

“Can we uh-” Virgil shook his head and took a deep and determined breath. “Can we sit down? I have something to tell you.”

And they did. Janus didn’t offer a retort, at first, but he did after a little, because it was necessary. If he wanted it to be real, he needed it to appear real.

4-7-8. “I don’t belong here.” Virgil said.

“What has led you to that conclusion?” Janus asked only almost reading off a script, but not quite. He was used to this exchange, and he wasn’t sure what would cause it to be over.

Virgil flinched slightly. “It’s…”

“It’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it?” Janus asked, “I’ve noticed.”

“You…” Virgil took a deep breath, and looked at Janus with a confused expression, “You have? I mean…” he sighed, “Of course you fucking have.”

Janus hummed. “And now you want to leave, because you think we’re having a negative effect on your point of view.”

Virgil’s mouth gaped slightly. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t-”

“And now you’re going to leave.” Janus said, “You’re going to leave and you’re not going to come back. You think you’re leaving to be by yourself, but that’s not where you’re going to end.” Janus said. Virgil looked surprised at Janus’ words. Janus chuckled slightly. “And maybe I’m fine with that.” he said quietly, “But that’s not how I feel. Not quite.” he shook his head, “And it doesn’t matter, because you’re leaving anyway.”

The realism had died, and now Janus was simply talking.

“And it’s going to be painful.” he said, “For everyone involved. A strange change around the place, and I don’t doubt there are going to be several conflicts surrounding that in the future. Maybe it’ll even have a positive impact of sorts that you’re with them. Eventually.” he looked at Virgil, who was looking dumbfounded.

“Why do you… Why do you think you know that so well?” Virgil asked.

And so, Janus slipped right back into himself. Into comfortable territory. “Oh, because you know yourself so well. That’s why you’re going on this little soul-searching journey. Because you have a great grasp on who you are.” he huffed, and Virgil scowled, though the confusion was still visible.

“I’m leaving.” Virgil said then.

“Good.” Janus said, and the word hung darkly in the air. “Go.” he added like a hiss, almost desperately, “You go and don’t even think about coming back here.”

Virgil shook his head, looking confused.

And then he turned around abruptly and left.

Janus went to bed.

And woke up on the same day.

That wasn’t what he was really going to do. No, instead he decided to get absorbed in his work once again. He lets the unsaid words and the tension hang in the air, and before he knew it, Virgil was gone. Remus was holding Janus, and they were alone.

One day passed, and Virgil ducked out and was picked up again, safely. Another passed, and it had been three days.

And time would continue to pass. Because this was real, and couldn’t be undone. The conversation was over, and maybe that part never happened at all.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

And on the fourth, Janus woke up, half expecting Remus running through the halls with a beating heart in his hands once again. He waited in his room, and peeked out his door. There was no Remus in sight.

Four days had passed. Everything had changed, and Janus was no longer stuck. Everything was new. Uncharted territory. Janus sighed, half with relief, and half with something he couldn’t even interpret himself.

Janus couldn’t remember exactly what happened the day Virgil left.

It was a cluttered mess of dark and unpleasant feelings. Words stinging his tongue and his heart, and a numbness he couldn’t quite place. There were so many experiences and situations mashed together, and Janus wasn’t entirely sure what was real and what wasn’t.

But regardless of what happened, Janus was watching from the sidelines, waiting for his time to strike. Because that was what he was supposed to do. That was what made the most sense.

And perhaps one day, things would change. Janus could feel change all around him now. He could tell he wasn’t going through the same day twice, or thrice or God knows how many times. Time passed, and that left room for change. Janus was usually good with change.

Perhaps one day, things would change. But that was not today, because today Janus was lurking in the background, catching a potential opportunity to do something up close. He looked into his full-length mirror, as he made a quick change to his appearance. Glasses and the cardigan he remembered seeing on Morality in the past, sending himself an innocent smirk. Today, Janus had work to do.

[jetaime-jespere]

Various Storms and Saints

Narcos - Javier Peña / Helena

At first Javier thinks he imagines her, as if she’s nothing more than a figment of his own weary mind, a byproduct of the years that run together like a painting that’s gotten wet, colors running together, edges curling at the sides.

I am ridiculously nervous about posting this, as I have written solely Hotchniss/CM for over a year and never thought about writing anything else, let alone Narcos of all the things. But, this somehow solidified itself in my head over the last few weeks (there is a nearly complete chapter two as well) and here we are. These two deserved so much better than what they got in the show. There are some trigger warnings for references to and mentions of past assault and trauma with this story, consistent with what happened in s1e2, along with angst/references to drug use and violence. This is actually posted on ao3 under a different username but I might transfer it to my main ao3 account at some point. The first chapter is under the cut! 🙂

At first Javier thinks he imagines her, as if she’s nothing more than a figment of his own weary mind, a byproduct of the years that run together like a painting that’s gotten wet, colors running together, edges curling at the sides. He always expected the past to catch up to him, somehow, yet she is the very last thing he expects to see in the middle of a farmer’s market just outside of Laredo on an unnaturally chilly November Saturday morning. This is south Texas, for fuck’s sake, he thinks. His head still throbs with the lingering haze of too much whiskey, as if such a thing could exist by now, and the cool air does nothing except make him feel even more numb. He was never expecting her.

Helena.

Why he’s even here is lost on him - a favor to his father, one he remembered at the last possible moment when he’d awoken that morning with a splitting headache. His mouth was dry, his stomach churning as the sun bled into the sky, the empty bottle and an ashtray littered with cigarettes not far away. But he went, because he’s watched his father age before his own two eyes, knowing innately the small act in and of itself will save the aging man a bit of his much-needed strength for later on. Javier meanders aisles with the same sharp eye of his father to find the best produce hidden while hiding bloodshot eyes behind his aviators.

He’s lost in his own thoughts - the trancelike state he often falls into when he thinks of how things panned out - right back to where he started all those years ago. How close he got to Escobar, at the expense of so much, only to not actually get there at all. The phone call from Murphy, relaying the news of the shootout and his death, plays on loop in his mind, coupled with the endless droll of the smoky bar, the plague of relief and satisfaction and a hint of jealousy, a tightening in his chest he wasn’t sure what to do with. He still doesn’t know what to do with it all - his life or lack thereof.

“Excuse me,” comes the soft, raspy voice from the much shorter person beside him reaching around for tomatoes. It renders him frozen; it takes him right back to Bogota, to the confined four walls of his apartment, a sanctuary in the middle of a fiery hell. A voice Javier was never able to forget. The voice in his dreams and his nightmares, even if the latter was more frequent. The voice that brings a memory of her, wrapped around him, or vice versa. Those images are vivid - laying her back on his leather couch to savor the last few moments inside of her, his teeth scraping her chin as tremors ran through her, a blissful smile on her face. The brace of her knees against his hips as she sat in his lap, full of him, his hands guiding her hips as she rocked over him, her fingers digging into his hair in the hours he spent between her legs, coaxing release after release out of her.

Your hands, she’d said once, her Colombian accent thick in the hazy, smoky dark of his apartment. He knew what she was thinking. How could hands like his - ones that touched her tenderly, reverently - wield a gun with exact precision, be responsible for the deaths of so many. How do you do it? She’d asked once, cradling his right hand in her own much smaller ones. He didn’t have an answer, he just passed his flask and reached for his wallet. He never asked where the money went, just that she took it. Only when he was in way too deep did he realize he didn’t care about the money. And only after she was gone did he admit to himself he never actually cared about it at all.

It can’t be. “Helena?”

He turns a little, shuffles his feet. And there she is, not at all imagined but in fact very real, close enough to touch. There’s an audible gasp that comes from her, one of her small hands clamping over her mouth as the other tightens around the seam of her jacket. It’s because she recognizes him immediately, as she tilts her head back to meet his stare, the sun reflecting on her dark brown hair like a halo.

It’s been years, he’s lost track of exactly how long. Years to bury that night in Medellín that has never gone away. But it managed to haunt him forever. They’d been moments too late. If only, he thinks a lot. If only he said no, if he refused to put her in harm’s way. If only they’d been faster. He could have saved her from the hell he’d found her in, from what came after. It’s her face he saw with every arrest he made, every step they took closer to Escobar, as if each was somehow done for her, revenge for what she endured, not for the good of a nation under siege.

But there she is, in Texas of all places, mere miles from where he’s essentially started his own life over, clearly having done the same. She was right there all along, a woman he once knew and yet, doesn’t anymore. Gone are the impractical shoes and heavy makeup, the confidence she exuded even with the dangers of her profession withered away. He always admired her for that confidence - he never told her as much, though. She’s wearing a casual jacket and jeans, simple shoes and barely a stitch of makeup. Her hair is a little shorter and lighter; it looks different but he can’t figure out why. He never paid much attention to those things. He’d always liked this Helena better - without the painted facade of lies she concocted to stay alive. He never told her that either. There were a lot of things he never said, things he should have told her long before it ended.

“Javier.” It’s slow, drawn out, as if she’s learning how to pronounce it for the first time. “It’s … what are you …-” she stumbles over a greeting as her head starts to spin, not unlike his own. She’s clearly overwhelmed by it all. She swallows hard, takes a few wary glances around. “You’re .... how?”

“I live here, remember?” He immediately regrets it; maybe she doesn’t want to remember any of it. So he backpedals, lowering his sunglasses to offer a kind smile. “My family is from Laredo.” He’d told her some things about himself during the times they were together. Not much, but he’d found himself asking her things - seeking more, something they could never have, yet he sought nonetheless.

“I remember.” She studies him, the weight of her gaze familiar, taking in the lines that have deepened in his face. They mirror the ones on her own, the culmination of it all having taken a toll over time. “You’re not there?” She means Colombia, he realizes. She’s asking why he’s not in Colombia.

“I live here now too.” His tone answers her question more than his words do. “Have for a little while now. I had no idea you were in Laredo.” It seems too close for comfort; he would have demanded she be further away from the border, for her own protection. Those details hadn’t been shared with him. He hadn’t asked.

“Maybe conduct this little reunion somewhere else?” An older woman clears her throat, arms crossed over her chest, clearing her throat to make her presence known behind them. “Some of us are trying to … you know. Keep things moving around here?” She means no ill will, yet it’s as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t, as if everyone in their vicinity is watching.

It’s the way Helena startles at the woman’s sudden intrusion that splinters his chest a little bit as a quick apology falling from her lips. The subtle tremble that racks her shoulders for a brief moment before she steps away, granting the other woman access to the tomatoes they’ve both forgotten all about. As they walk away he wonders, before he can stop himself, just how much she’s struggled, how unbearable it must have been to start over as she had, after what she’d endured. He has hard questions that undoubtedly have no easy answers.

A few steps from the aisles is a tree, providing reprieve from the early morning sun. They find themselves there; he leans against the tree and tucks his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. Helena keeps her distance, an arm’s length away, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Whether it’s subconscious or not, it deepens the crack in his chest that being in his proximity might make her uneasy. But they’re out of earshot of others now, and Helena speaks again, choosing words carefully. She’s guarded, cautiously aware of her surroundings, he notices - constantly looking over her shoulder, nervously toying with the ends of her hair.

“I’ve been here since I left Colombia.” She pushes her hair off her neck, drags her finger along the row of tiny hoop earrings at her ear. “We, I mean.”

She means her son. Hearing that he’s safe too is a relief. “How is he?”

“Good.” The mention of him brings a smile to her face; it’s been so long since he saw her smile. Something inside of him aches when he sees it, like he doesn’t deserve to. Javier remembers the way she beamed with pride when she’d told him one night that he called her mama for the first time, the guilt in her eyes when she explained the little boy stayed with her sister when she worked. He’d be at least 5 now, he reckons. “He’s good.”

“And you?” What he’s asking is a loaded question. He isn’t owed an answer though. His culpability in it all can’t be denied; he pushed it for information, to get closer to Escobar and she agreed because she believed it would be her out, that he would follow through on his promise of getting her to the US.

In some cruelly fucked up way, she got her wish in the end.

“I’m okay.” Good seems too generous of a description, and anything less than okay would shatter him, Helena knows. Despite the transactional nature of their relationship, it eventually morphed into something more, something that, had the circumstances been different, could have worked, maybe. It takes more effort to smile this time but she does, even though she knows he’ll see right through it. Her last memory of him isn’t a pleasant one; thinking of it makes her vision blur and her hands tremble with the moist rush of bile in her throat. He’d carried her from that disgusting warehouse, doing his best to calm her down and failing miserably. She clung to him, trembling and shell shocked silent, only to become hysterical once outside in the cloyingly oppressive Medellín heat. It was his face she saw when she felt the pinch of a needle in her arm and a heaviness in her veins, an apology written all over it. It was the very last thing she remembers before the sedative took effect and the world went black.

When she woke up more than twelve hours later in a narrow bed at a hospital, she was alone. Alone as she had always been, except this time it set into her bones and never quite left.

“That’s good.” He doesn’t believe her. How could he? She’s lost weight since then - she’d always been slender with delicate bones and narrow wrists - once he remarked how he could fit both of them in the span of one of his hands, then did just that as she writhed beneath him - but now she’s more borderline gaunt, with sharp collar bones and sunken in cheeks. “Good.”

“You?” Helena twists the cuff of her sleeve around her wrist, a nervous habit. She didn’t expect it to physically ache when she looked at him, but she never expected to see him again, either.

“Good.” Javier fumbles in his jacket pocket in search of a cigarette. The pack is empty; he curses. There’s a thick silence, full of everything that isn’t said, what never got to be said. Maybe had he been fucking honest with her none of this would have happened. “God, Helena, we used to be better at this.”

Her eyes well with unshed tears. She thought by now she would have run out of tears by now. “We had more practice then, Javier.” The expression that ghosts over her face is wistful with remembrance for that night, the night that started all of this. When they played their hand so horribly wrong. “Remember?”

He remembers it all, every last detail. It seems like a strange twist of irony that they ended up in the same place after all this time. He’s too jaded to think it could possibly be fate, something that was meant to happen all along.

But then what was it?

[yacoka]

the journey back

i. a life half-lived

character(s) — tsukishima kei, matsukawa issei

pairing — tsukishima kei x reader

genre — royalty!au, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

warning(s) — death, PTSD, loss, car accident

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

masterlist

The funeral is something you barely remember, white noise buzzing loudly in your ears as you move around almost mechanically. In front of all these people, you aren’t quite sure how to act, and the subdued pride in you refuses to break down so publicly.

You’re ushered around by warm hands, seated in chairs, drinks pushed into your still hands. Hushed whispers are exchanged above your head, but you can’t be bothered to figure out what it's about. All that runs through your mind is the scene of the accident playing on repeat. You watch it with a morbid fascination, eyes distant as you recall the burning heat on your skin, the stinging in your eyes, the aches on your body. The blood that trickles into your eyes as you scream yourself hoarse at the mangled bodies of your parents, how broken they were, how dull their eyes were.

You blink once. Twice. Thrice.

Cool beige walls greet you as you begin to take in your surroundings. A grey couch, an askew photo frame on the wall, a familiar shirt and worn sweatpants.

“Issei?” Your voice is small, and your breathing begins to quicken. “Issei!”

He comes darting through a door, a towel hanging around his neck. You jump to your feet and dash into his arms, gripping the soft material of his shirt tightly. His arms flail around in surprise for a second before coming to wrap around you tightly. He smooths your hair down, and the familiar action has you calming down.

“You’re at my apartment, it’s okay.” His deep voice grounds you, and you look around to see that, yes, this is Issei’s apartment. One that you’ve been to too many times to count. It is a place you’ve spent many days lounging in, and many nights sleeping over at.

Issei guides you back to the couch gently and you cling to him, refusing to let go of the one thing that was holding you back from tipping over the edge. There are so many words you’d like to say right now, but the only thing that comes out are strangled cries.

Everything that you’ve been holding back since the accident, everything that has been pushing against the flimsy door you’ve hidden it behind comes pouring out in the sobs that wrack through your body. Issei doesn’t bother with words; he knows they aren’t what you need right now.

What you need is family, and he’s all you got left.

“Issei!”

Sweat drips down your neck, soaking the flimsy shirt you wore to bed. All you could focus on was the screeching of car tires and the horrid, wrenching twist of metal twisting as your parents flew out of the car, their broken bodies strewn across the street. And all the blood, god, there was so much bloo-

Your door slams open, and Issei flies in, his hair sticking up in all directions as his sleep-clouded eyes are filled with worry. He slips into bed, kneeling in front of you. The heat of his knees brushing against your legs through the sheets has you shifting uncomfortably, though his presence soothes your panicked mind.

He doesn’t say a word, too accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night to your nightmares. He just sits and waits for your breathing to even out, eyes trained upon your twisting fingers. A familiar silence sits between you as you match your breaths to Issei’s steady breathing.

“I-I had the dream again.” Your voice is soft, trembling ever so slightly. You hate the weakness showing through, and you would give anything to put the usual mask of indifference. But this was Issei. Issei who had been there for you since you were kids, who had watched you skin your knees the first time you tried rollerblading, who had helped you sneak out of the house when your parents were fighting. He was the one who took you in after you lost your parents, and the only one you trusted enough to be vulnerable around.

“Do you wanna go walk?” Issei, ever the reliable best friend. He knows what you need before you even say anything. You nodded, letting him pull you off the bed. It is only with years of familiarity that you allow him to dress you in warm clothes without any shame. He’s seen all of you before, so what was the point in hiding?

You’re out of the house and walking down the dimly lit streets before you even realize, and the creeping shadows in the corner of your eyes has you shifting closer to Issei. He wraps a warm arm around you, pressing you into his side. He’s the only safety you’ve ever known, and that stays true tonight as your raised heartbeat steadies out.

The night is quiet, punctuated only by the distant sounds of cars, the soft rustle of leaves dancing along to a gentle melody playing in the back of your mind. You hum along to it, and Issei merely squeezes your shoulders in response. It’s a song you’ve sung a million times since childhood, and neither of you have bothered to acknowledge that it’s a song you’ve never heard.

You aren’t sure for how long you’ve looped the blocks, and when you’ve arrived back home. All you know is that your mind is no longer a panicked mess, and Issei is by your side, as he used to do, as he’s always done. You owe everything to him, and you would give everything up in the world for him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Issei fusses over you as you give him a tired smile. He had taken it upon himself to take care for you since the accident, and while you appreciated him for it, you didn’t adore the mothering he occasionally did.

“Yes, Issei. I have everything.” Your dry response has him raising his brows and backing away.

“Alright, alright. I get it. No more fussing.” He grins at you, hands raised. “Can you blame me though? You’re heading into college at last.”

A frown slips onto your face. “You’re only a year older than me dipshit. Stop making me sound like your child or whatever.”

“Ah, but you are now. My adoptive child,” he sniffs and pretends to wipe a tear away. “How they grow up so fa-”

The fist you send flying into his stomach is enough to knock the breath out of him, and he groans, dropping to the floor in his usual show of dramatics. You ignore him, stepping over his prone figure and head towards the door. But before your hand lands on the door handle, Issei yells at you to wait.

“What Issei? I’m going to be late at this rate.” He isn’t deterred by your sharp tone and gestures for you to wait as he disappears into his room. “Whatever, just hurry up.”

He comes running back out, brandishing a long, thin thing. Was that a stick?

A vision flashes through your mind's eye, only for a second, but the details are vivid - Issei looking as sleepy as always, but somehow different. His clothes were of olden style, his face littered with scars. And those hands, ones that you were so familiar with, large and calloused were holding a stick too.

You blink rapidly, washing away the lingering after images as Issei, your Issei, waves a lazy hand in front of you, the stick narrowly missing your eyes.

“Oi, earth to Princess.” You scowl at him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t zone out when I’m giving you presents.” He pulls a face at you. You mirror his expression, go as far as to stick your tongue out. Issei makes to poke it with the stick, and you lunge back with a shriek.

“Why are you even giving me a stick anyways?” You grumble. Honestly, nineteen years with this guy and you still have no idea how his brain works.

“Because it reminds me of you!” He grins.

Your face falls into a deadpan. “It what?”

“You know, stick, sticky? Like how you dropped your ice cream the other day?”

“You know, I worry for you sometimes,” you drawl, dead eyes boring into his smiling ones. “Besides, didn’t you bring me that already?”

His smile drops. “No? This is the first time I’ve brought you a stick?” Issei narrows his eyes at you. “Who else has been giving you sticks? Was it Makki? I’ll fight his ass!”

“No, it wasn’t Makki. You’re the only weirdo who gives me stupid things like this,” you snicker. “Can I go to school now?”

“Wait! Bring the stick with you.”

You gape at him, brows raising so high it was a wonder they didn’t jump off your face. “No.”

Issei pouts, though you could see the amusement shining through. “Why not? I got it for you as your first day of uni gift.” He shoves the stick closer into your face, and you bat it away.

“Because it’s a stick? And it’s too long for me to fit in my bag?” This doesn’t deter him, instead prompting him to break off a piece of the twig, shoving it into your hand before darting off to your room.

“Okay, here, now you can have a tiny piece of it to put in your pocket. I’ll put the rest in your room!”

“Issei, no-” The fight leaves you, knowing that your stubborn best friend won’t listen to anything you say. Stuffing the piece of twig into your pocket, you yell over your shoulder as you leave the house. “Whatever, I’m leaving.”

His voice calls out from where he still lingers in your bedroom. “Bye Princess! Have a good day at school!”

The journey to the university doesn’t take long, and before you even realize, you’re seated in your first class next to a lanky blond who has his headphones on as he messages someone. You frown slightly at him, an odd sense of deja vu washing over you as you stare at him. He must have felt your gaze on him, as he finally lifts his gaze off his phone to return your frown.

“Can I help you?” Despite the politeness in his words, you pick up on the slight undertone of annoyance. You shrink back from him, and mutter out a soft no, turning your head to stare down at the wooden table instead. You shove your shaking hands into your pockets, your fingers curling around a thin, rough object.

Please look away, please look away, please look away.

He huffs, and turns back to his phone, fingers returning to their rapid dance across the screen. Despite his chilly greeting, you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that settles upon your skin, clinging like spiderwebs. But there isn’t time to contemplate it, not when your teacher’s starting the lesson and your laptop hasn’t been set up yet.

[mypassionfortrash]

KICKS (part 8)

You and Roger finally give in to your feelings, but it doesn’t end as well as you had hoped. 

WARNINGS: Smut. NOTES: Thanks for sticking with this one – it means a lot. Sorry it’s late and really short. I’m just feeling a bit uninspired to write right now.

CATCH UP: Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven

TAGS: @jennyggggrrr​​ @sarahgurl09​​ @scorpiogemini @johnricharddeacy​​​ @brianssixpence​​ @hellohellothere12 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @internationalkpoplova @thefairyfellersmasterstroke @six-bloodyminutes @hannafuckingsucks​​ @dancingcoolcat​​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​​ ​ @inthelapofrogertaylor​​ @80s-roger​​ @just-my-sickly-pride​​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​​ @johndeaconshands​​ @loveandbeloved29​​ @toreyyyyyy @fallingprincess​​ @radiob-l-a-hblah @wineandwanderings​

Roger moved swiftly. The weight of him almost sent you flying backwards as your lips collided for the very first time. Picture perfect and just like something from a film, sparks flew inside you. Between you. Everywhere.

You clung to him. Moved with him. In a delirious push and pull. Hands in hair. Trailing down each others’ bodies. Eventually, your fingers snagged in his belt loops in a futile attempt at stability. Roger well and truly made up for lost time. He grabbed your hips and gripped your thighs. Dragged his hands all the way up your body and clawed his fingers through your hair.

It felt like a delicious eternity before Roger broke away with his pink lips parted ever so slightly. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he giggled, trying to draw in a breath. 

And then your eyes shot open. A fistful of Roger’s t-shirt in your hand, just about to tear it off. “What time is it?”

Roger slowly removed himself from you. His features dropped in disappointment.

Your heart felt like it had burrowed right to the bottom of your stomach. “Sorry… work,” you explained. 

Roger nodded and held his wrist up high enough that he could just about make out the dials. “Half eight,” he said. “Do you still want to–“

Before he could finish that sentence, your lips were glued to his again. Hopping off the work bench, you walked Roger back across the entire width of his garage. Your hands roamed every step of the way. Until you reached the Aston Martin, tucked away on the far side.

Roger gave a few playful nips at your neck. “You like the expensive ones?” he grinned.

Putting on your best doe eyes, you fluttered your lashes and sat back on the hood. “I’ve always wanted someone to fuck me on the bonnet of a pretty car if that’s what you mean. And you had better get a move on.”

Roger bit his lip and tugged down his zipper. “Fortunately for you, this one goes pretty fast.”

You lay back and spread your thighs for Roger. His breathing hitched just watching you run your fingers over the damp spot on your knickers. Just waiting for him to make the first move.

“Fuck,” he sighed, throwing himself at you. One hand tugged your underwear aside, the other grabbed the back of your neck, keeping you nose to nose with him. “You really don’t fuck around.”

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers – unrestrained and eager to please – exploring every slick, damp fold. And then he found your clit. Circle after circle felt like lightning and forced you to bury your face in the crook of Roger’s neck. God, he smelled incredible. Smoke and petrol and a hint of sweat. You could have stayed like that forever. But Roger had other plans for you.

His other hand gently guided your head back. He paused, gazing down at you. “Are you sure you’re ok with this?” 

Why did he have to do that? A pang of disappointment burned though your body. You needed him to keep going.

Roger pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m being serious here.”

“Yes, please,” you said. You grabbed his hand to try and make it move again. “Just keep doing this while you fuck me.”

Roger’s free hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock. Thick, veined and throbbing.

You looked down in awe as inch by inch Roger sank inside you while his thumb continued to tease you. Everything else in the room felt like it was spinning. 

“Feel ok?” he asked, kissing the tip of your nose.

You kissed him back and nodded.

“Lie back for me.”

Easing yourself back, you wrapped your thighs around Roger’s body. He started slow, so slow that you felt every vein, every ridge. Every time his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside you. 

You felt incredible; trembling and squeezing around Roger’s cock. So much so that he couldn’t stand up straight while he fucked you, or even focus on rubbing your clit any longer. He planted his hands on either side of your head and hunched over you, speeding up. His chest pressed against your own. “You like that?” he groaned, clawing at the expensive green paintwork.

“Yes,” you hissed. You couldn’t stop your hands from wandering between your thighs or grabbing his hair. When you were on the verge of truly sinking into another headspace, blocking everything else out, Roger took control again.

First you felt your toes touch the cold, hard concrete. Then being spun around. Soon enough you were face down, panting against the hood of his car. One leg propped up on the bumper. Roger’s fingers dug into your hips so tight that you were certain they’d leave a bruise. Every sound reverberated right to the rafters in the garage. Heated moans, and the echo of every sloppy, purposeful thrust. Delirium wasn’t far off. You could feel it building. 

He was getting close too. You could tell by the way his teeth bore into the spot between your neck and your shoulder with a muffled, guttural growl. No words needed. He needed this as much as you did. 

Towards the end, something snapped. You stared at your fogged up reflection as Roger finished inside you. But you just couldn’t let go.

He hadn’t even caught his breath or tucked his cock back in his jeans before you were back on your feet, keen to get back into the house to clean yourself up and get to work. He raked his fingers through his hair and squinted at you in the orange glow from the heater. “Did you…finish?”

You shook your head, and smoothed Roger’s shirt over your thighs. “I really should…” you trailed off, jabbing your thumb towards the house behind you. “…get ready. Work and everything.”

Roger held up his hands and took a step back. He seemed to understand.

You had only just stepped outside into the brisk morning when you peeked back over your shoulder. He stood there in the garage with his arms folded, watching you. He wore a bittersweet smile. You turned to him. “See you later?” you shrugged.

A glimmer of light returned to Roger’s big, sad eyes. “Sounds good.”

There was no other way to look at things. If Roger stopped tinkering with the Range Rover, then he would have been rallying the Aston Martin into town. But he didn’t want to look desperate. He didn’t want to take a mile when you had only just given him an inch. So he spent hours under the hood. Doing far more harm to his runaround than good. Poking at every detail of the last 24 hours in his head. 

But he couldn’t get over how soon you left.

Had he gone too far? Too rough? Did he say something?

When faced with a problem he couldn’t solve, Roger’s rage reared its ugly head. Fortunately, that only amounted to hurling a spanner across the garage when his brain couldn’t handle any more.

Wiping his hands with a rag, he called it a day in the garage. 

Thoughts of you lingered on him like your scent on his t-shirt, he couldn’t resist pressing it to his nose as he waited for the water in the shower to heat up. He needed to wash away the grime and reason his way out of this one; every stroke of his hand over his body made him burn with need and desire. Lathering the soap into his arms. Down his chest. His abdomen. His fingers curled through the wisps of hair down towards his half-erect cock.

Roger’s body felt heavy, burdened with need as he leaned against the wall. His mouth dropped open with a reserved groan when he thought back to fucking you in the garage. How touching you felt just like a religious experience; not that he believed in those. It was as close he’d get to one. His hand gripped his shaft tighter, trying to remember just how tight you felt and how you moaned for him. The scent of your hair. He screwed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to paint as vivid a picture as he could. But the details were too fuzzy. All he knew for sure was that he wanted you even more now.

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FRIENDLY REMINDER: you’ve made it this far! Congratulations! Please, if you enjoyed reading this fic, reblog it.

You spent 20 minutes reading this for free. I spent a lot more time writing this... for nothing but the hope that you’ll share this and leave some feedback. I love writing fanfiction, but it’s really demoralising to rarely get feedback, and for tumblr’s algorithm to bury posts because no one shares them. And honestly, I don’t want to guilt you, but I’m kind of close to quitting sharing my writing on here because of it.

SO PLEASE, SUPPORT WRITERS. REBLOG FICS (EVEN IF YOU DON’T THINK YOU HAVE A LOT OF FOLLOWERS)! LEAVE FEEDBACK (EVEN JUST A KEY SMASH, DON’T BE SHY)! I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT AND I’M SURE OTHER AUTHORS WOULD, TOO!

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Black Hole

Pairing: Tom Holland x Gender Neutral!Reader (undetermined relationship, could be romantic or platonic)

Warnings: VERY TRIGGERING PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING! This contains very vivid descriptions of grief and reverting back to the memories of losing someone. I recently lost my grandmother and it has been hard for me. I wrote this right after I had this exact same experience and I wrote it as I was feeling and based on my experience. Loss is very difficult and everyone grieves differently so if this is going to make you upset, please do not read it.

Summary: Losing someone you love is something you never truly get over. Thankfully, Tom is there to help you through it. (The person/animal the reader has lost is not specified nor is the memory of losing the person so I'm hoping it can apply to anyone who may be going through these hard times)

A/N: Due to the nature of this work and the fact that I wrote it as a sort of therapy when I was experiencing this exact thing, it is very minimally edited. This may not be my best work but I chose to post it in hopes that maybe someone else could relate. I'm also sorry if this is formatted poorly. I'm posting it from my phone and I usually post from my computer.

__________________

It always hit you. No matter how much you thought you had found peace or at least a way to cope from day to day, the inevitable dark cloud of grief and pain always found a way to suffocate you. 

Oftentimes, it was out of nowhere. You'd have one innocent thought that led to another which led to another and before you knew it, you were reliving the news, reliving their death, reliving the soul crushing pain of knowing you'd never see them again. The weight of all the unspoken words hung thick around you and the pain, a pain you never knew could hurt so deep, set in. 

It was times like this, standing in the shower, just humming along to your music as you washed the suds of shampoo from your hair, Tom fiddling around in the other room,  that it hit you. Things that would seem fine to any other person, right? And it was all fine until that one line in the song was sung, that one line that reminded you of them, that one line that launched your brain into that deep dark hole that consumed you. 

At first, you froze. The lyrics stopped leaving your lips, the breath quit expanding your lungs. Your eyes zoned out on that one crack in the corner where the shower walls met. Your brain couldn't even move enough to process why you froze but the sudden weight of your emotions was enough to tell your brain what was happening. When you could finally breathe, it came out in a choked sob and you heaved, trying not to hyperventilate as your ribcage seemed to collapse on your lungs. Your hand flew to cover your mouth, hoping to stifle the sounds so as to not alert Tom who was in the other room. You were in a weird state of mind where all you wanted was to be held and to talk but to be left alone to sob in a dark corner. 

Images of the moment you knew they were gone seemed to be all you could see. It was like you were living it again. As you stared at the wall, unaware of the hot water hitting your bare chest, you began to imagine you were where you were when it happened. Everything looked like it did in that moment down to the smallest details. It was like when you were stuck in a nightmare that you couldn't seem to wake up from,  no matter how many times you reassured yourself that you were dreaming.  

Without feeling in control of anything,  you shut the water off and paused the music. A new song, one that was all too happy for the agony you were experiencing, had come on and the very positivity of it felt like it was mocking your sorrow.  Reaching over, you sloppily wrapped the towel around your body before your knees collapsed and you crumbled into a ball on the ground. You bit down on the soft fabric of the towel, desperate to stifle the sobs that racked your body.  

You sat like that for a while, unable to calm down or pull yourself from this blackhole.  You just sat there, shaking, stuck in the loop of reliving one of the worst moments of your life over and over again. You had no idea how much time passed. It was only when a knock on the door just before it opened without waiting for your response and Tom's sweet voice blindly asking if you were okay that you realized how long you'd been hiding. 

"Are you okay? You've been in here for a-" his voice trailed off when he finally saw you, back leaned up against the side of the tub and your knees scrunched into your chest. The towel only covered your top half now but that was mostly just from you clutching the fabric so tightly to your chest, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Tom asked, his voice suddenly laced with panic as he landed on his knees beside you and inspected your body for any sign of injury. 

You leaned your entire body into him, totally collapsing into his arms that had fallen open when he saw that you had leaned over. He caught you firmly and one hand flew up to stroke your hair as you cried, "They're gone. They're really gone." 

Tom knew what you were talking about. He knew all about the massive loss you'd suffered and had held your hand through the entire time.  He was the first person you told and had been there to hold you night after night, whenever the nightmares set in and you woke up in either a numb daze or crying. The tragedy wasn't quite as fresh now that some time had worn past and it had been a little while since he'd seen you so upset about it but he knew that no matter what anyone said, time did not heal all wounds. Feeling your body shiver and lurch with each choked cry shattered his heart as he remembered just how much you'd been hurting. 

He didn't know what to say. What could he say? It was the truth. They were gone. They weren't coming back. He couldn't tell you it was okay because it wasn't. He couldn't tell you it would be okay because it would never be okay again. So he just held you and allowed you to continue in your own time. 

"I miss them so much. I miss them so fucking much. And I know I should look back at all the good memories but all I can ever see or hear are those last few moments. I hate this. It's like my entire memory of them has been tainted by death!" You buried your face into Tom's blue shirt that was now wet from your tears and wet hair. 

Tom brought his hand to hold yours, trying whatever he could to ground you in the present and to pull you back. "They loved you so much, Y/N. They still do. And I know they're still with you, watching and rooting for you. And I think it would kill them to see you hurting like this." 

"But I do!" You sobbed, tears streaming hot down your face, "I do and I can't help it. I want to stop hurting so fucking bad. I want to look back and be able to see the good times. I want to be able to think about them without falling apart but I fucking can't!" You didn't mean to be yelling at him, you really didn't. And thank God he understood that. 

Tom squeezed your hand tighter, "Then maybe you need to stop trying to push it all down and just have a good cry." He suggested simply.

 So that's what you did. You and Tom sat there on the bathroom floor, you practically naked and sobbing against Tom's shoulder. You ended up recounting the story of the end in detail that he'd never heard and as you did, you felt a strange lightness in your heavy heart. It didn't do away with the pain but you strangely felt better without really feeling better. Then Tom asked about your favorite memories and you recounted them, feeling a nostalgic smile break your quivering lips. Tom had noticed that your body slowly began to stop quaking in his embrace as he helped coax you through all the good memories you had until eventually the two of you found yourselves just sitting there, your head in his lap as he just held you. Nobody said a word and your cheeks felt stiff from the streaks of dried tears but at least you were back in the present, finally pulled out of the memory. 

Although no amount of tears would ever replace what you lost, you felt vaguely better afterwards and you were extremely grateful to have such amazing support from Tom. 

[knybits]

THE HATING GAME — 2

PAIRINGS —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing, alcohol, smut  

[ Navigation ] 

—

Shinobu Kochou absolutely loathes you. 

And she doesn’t have a reason why. 

So because of this, she keeps her nicely painted lips curved upwards when she sees you. And when you pass her without a single glance, the words “fucking asshole” cross her twisted mind.

Neatly combed hair and glasses perched on your nose during lecture is (F/n) (L/n). The smell of coffee and always being surrounded by a group of friends is (F/n) (L/n). You’re the spare bit of warmth during a dead winter and you act like you work harder and are better than everyone else. 

That attitude is something she can’t stand, but you pull it off so well that your friends believe that you’re some genius and hang off your every word. 

But when Shinobu pulls up in skinny jeans and a frilly white crop top, red heels to pull the outfit together, and she sees you dancing without a care in the world, something inside her snaps. She’s glad that she talked to Mitsuri over call before going, else she would have never decided to go to the club and celebrate (celebrate what she doesn’t know.)

She quickly tips a shot down her throat, relishing in the burning satisfaction, before patting her cheeks and strutting onto the dance floor.  When someone makes a move to grab her wrist she bats them off, a dangerous look in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong sweetcheeks!” They yell over the music, advancing on the petite woman. Shinobu takes a step back before bumping into someone, hearing your slurred voice right in her ear. Shinobu quickly apologizes under her breath before backing up even more and swaying her hips into your lap. 

Surprisingly enough, you’re quick to respond, hands cupping her waist and she allows herself to press her back against your chest. Sure, the stranger is looking at her as if he doesn’t believe her, but she feels safe in your chest (as ironic as that may seem, considering how you’re both grinding up against each other.)

The man makes another step towards Shinobu and she clicks her tongue in distaste. As a final move to tell him to back the fuck off, Shinobu takes your hand to grope her breast. The man looks surprised, and she sticks her tongue out at him before mouthing “I have a partner, you prick.” 

That’s enough to finally steer him away, and he rolls his eyes obnoxiously before walking over to the bar and surveying anyone else that might catch his eye. Shinobu yelps in surprise when fingers loop her waistband, spinning her around to face your flushed face. She can’t help but look at your lips, a fire fighting within her. 

Are you even aware of what you’re doing? A year and a half of ignoring each other, but do you really even hate her? Or was your silence a sign of shyness? 

Does she even hate you? 

“Fuck it,” she thinks the minute you open your pretty mouth to ask for consent, her her arms slide around your neck. 

She can taste the alcohol in your mouth, tongue exploring as she hums with delight. But something in her feels empty as she realizes you’re intoxicated. She pushes on, fingers dancing under your shirt and feeling the warm skin underneath. She can’t help but gasp when you move your hand to grip her ass, and your tongue immediately dominates. 

Shinobu hates how easily she let you have your way. Her hate is weak, but in your arms she’s weaker. 

It’s no secret that your tongue is what gets her screaming the loudest. Shinobu remembers the whole night in vivid detail. She couldn’t help but gasp your name over and over while she was strapped to the chair, big doe eyes blindfolded from the rest of the world. 

You were aggressive when you rammed her up the wall, mouth biting and sucking at her neck and jaw while you mercilessly thrust your fingers into her very wet pussy. She remembers how she whimpered and begged your name to fuck her harder, faster, deeper, and the second she came onto your fingers you called her a “good girl,” and that drove her wild. 

And now Shinobu is sore and confused. Every inch of her body throbs while you snore lightly by her side. You barely have any marks on your body and she’s pissed that she’ll have to wear some heavy makeup for a while. 

To be honest, Shinobu could go for another round with you right now. Morning sex hits differently to her, and now that you’ve most likely slept off the alcohol you’d be sober enough to know what you’re doing. But there’s the chance that now that you know what you’re doing, you’ll run out of her apartment without a second thought. 

She hates how you make her feel. Just yesterday she hated your guts for acting like royalty, for ignoring her “hello” with a roll of your eyes. And now you’re in her bed, the smell of sex so strong it makes her head spin. 

Her perfectly manicure nails skim over your skin, and she finds herself writing the kanji character for ‘hate’ before you stir. Shinobu is quick to draw her hand back, and she’s amused with how slow you are to figure out where you are. 

Finally, you turn your head to face her, but the look on your face screams “regret.” And now Shinobu has her answer. Despite the twisted carnage that rages within her, she smiles. 

“Good morning, (F/n). Did you sleep well?” 

– 

“Hi (F/n)! It’s Araceli. Shinobu said she would take you back to her apartment since you were too shitfaced, so I hope you’re okay! I went home with Michael tonight so you don’t have to worry about me. Send me a text when you can, and I’ll see you in the lab!” The voicemail ends as you enter your apartment, body and mind exhausted. 

The second you crash land onto your bed you grab a nearby pillow before yelling into it. 

Because god damn you fucked up. 

Not only did you have drunk sex with the one person you hate, you also said something completely dickish as you walked out the door. 

“This was a mistake,” were your last words as you shut the door to Shinobu’s apartment. You didn’t get to see her face throughout the whole 10 minutes of shame, adamant about putting your clothes on with your back facing her, and she didn’t say anything the whole time. She just let you leave. 

The clock ticks away as you grovel on your bed, head pounding while flashes of last night whiz through your head. You should've known it was Shinobu. 

The same purple eyes, the same petite figure (she’s 4’11” and the shortest in the department, hell yeah you know her general figure size,) the same high pitched voice that screamed your name- 

You groan in annoyance, hands raking through your hair before you decide to run a hot shower to burn away any trace of the witch from your body. 

When you finally walk into the lab all eyes turn to you. With eyebrows raised you decide to just make your way to your usual station, waving and greeting everyone a good morning. Maybe they’re looking at you because you finally found the time to go home and take a shower? 

The most you do in terms of keeping up appearances is taming your hair to the best of your abilities, so maybe they can tell that you aren’t wearing the same clothes from the last three days.

Once you’re at your station you see the stupid “department couples” poster sitting there again, and everyone shies away from your razor sharp glare as you survey every potential perpetrator. 

You pick the poster up to crumple it and throw it away when you see a picture of Shinobu and you shittily photo shopped together with stupid hearts around you two. That’s when you scream in frustration and everyone jumps. 

Araceli spots you the minute she walks in and she rushes over with some water, seeing as how drained you are. When you’re about to thank her, lo and behold the witch herself waltzes into class. 

You almost spit up your water when you see how she’s walking, stiff and with a small limp, and you almost feel guilty. Araceli gives you an odd look, and you try to wave her off. But Shinobu- that snake- sits herself beside Rama one station away from you and Araceli. 

Rama looks at her quizzically, considering they don’t talk too often, but he shrugs to himself and goes back to texting his physics major boyfriend. 

You’re trying to mind your business (sans Araceli because she’s taking her sweet time wiggling her eyebrows at you and glancing between you and Shinobu. Her words: that sexual tension is thicc. If only she knew.) and conduct your experiments, but once Rama finishes his conversation with his boyfriend, he and Shinobu start some small talk. 

Shinobu gives you a quick look when she asks Rama if he went to the club last night and you pale considerably. 

“Oh, I spent the night in with my boyfriend,” Rama smiles politely before continuing. “Is that why you’re a little stiff today? Too much dancing?” He laughs to himself and Shinobu gives him a close eyed smile. 

“Things were just super hot and heavy last night!” 

Araceli’s eyes widen and she stares at you with her jaw dropped. You snap at her to keep working, but you can’t help but stop working too. In fact, everyone else in the room goes dead silent, and you pray that Shinobu will keep her damn mouth shut. 

“Wha-“ 

“I take this night yoga class, you know!” Que a sigh of relief from you. 

“I’m super flexible,” she boasts before adding in. “I can spread my legs quite wide!” You fumble with your test tubes, mind flashing to a few events from last night. 

Araceli begins to laugh silently at your red face and you nearly throw her out of the window. When you turn to secretly glare at Shinobu you find that despite the fact that she’s facing Rama, her eyes are pinned onto you. A malicious smile makes its way onto her face when she knows that she has your attention. 

“And then right after, I have a pole dancing class to keep me fit.” 

Rama laughs, “Oh really? Sounds fun!” 

“It is! But yesterday I was dumb and I jumped onto the pole and uhh……. rammed my…” She looks down and onlookers flush red. “So I’m quite sore today!” 

There’s the sound of shattering glass from another station (not your own, but you’re damn near close to breaking the Erwin Meyer flask in your hand.) Now, Shinobu’s just trying to rile you up. 

And it’s working. 

Also, you hate to think it but THANK G O D HE’S GAY. 

“Ow, well that sounds rough…”

“If I could, I would take the classes on different days, but there aren’t many classes available so my hands are tied.” 

Everyone in the lab startles when you slam your hands onto the counter, stool screeching against tile as you stand from your seat. 

There’s a look of victory in Shinobu’s eyes and your stomach twists with rage because she’s such a bitch. She relishes in the dark look in your eyes, your tense shoulders and the way you make your way up to her. 

“Can I help you, (F/n)?” She asks innocently, and you feel something in you snap. Everyone holds their breath when you whip a hand out, gripping the lapels of her lab coat and bringing your face down to her’s. 

Shinobu shivers when you leans in close to her ear and murmur under your breath, “How about you stop being such a dirty whore, be a good girl, and meet me behind the building, hm?” 

You smirk when you see how she shifts in her seat and crosses her legs, and you shove your hands into your lab coat pockets, walking out of the lab with a shocked puppy in tow. 

—

[ Next Chapter ]

[meterokinesis]

Stars as Sharp as Knives

Read it on AO3

Prompt: stabbed

TW: Violence, PTSD, Disassociation

Summary: Tim remembered getting stabbed in vivid detail. The images were horrifying on their own, but together they formed a sick film that played on loop in Tim’s mind. Even after waking up the next morning, and the morning after that, he kept wondering: why am I alive?

Tim remembered getting stabbed in vivid detail.

In a job like this, where you either saved the day or ruined it all, he was used to cuts and scrapes and wounds. He anticipated them even, which the first aid kid he kept in his utility belt could attest to. But getting stabbed that night in the desert was something else.

The sound of steel through flesh. A cruel whisper. Blood, warm and sticky. Sand in his nose and eyes. Cool near-winter wind that ruffled through his hair. Dirt under fingernails. The weight of a body dragged behind him. Brick walls with metal stairs. A soft bed, with downy pillows stained rust.

The images were horrifying on their own, but together they formed a sick film that played on loop in Tim’s mind. Even after waking up the next morning, and the morning after that, he kept wondering: why am I alive?

This was a question he’d been asking himself for longer than he cared to admit. He was alive because no one had managed to kill him yet, and no more. If the universe had its way, he would be dead eight times over. Tim was just lucky, he supposed. But not lucky enough to escape the nightmares.

He remembered while attempting to sleep in the lavish jail cell Ra’s al Ghul concocted for him. He remembered while training with high level assassins, every time they went for a jab at his stomach. He remembered when Tam hugged him, and his reflex was to make sure she didn’t have a knife. He remembered on his first night back in Gotham, when he had to update his medical records to say “Patient has no spleen after a traumatic injury to the abdomen.”

The nightmares were the worst. They played out the scene in gory detail, each time with a new sort of reverence for Tim’s suffering. It wasn’t always the Widower who stabbed him; sometimes it was his father, or Jason, or Damian, or the mugger that killed Bruce’s parents. On bad nights, it was Bruce. On worse nights, it was Stephanie.

The nightmares persisted long after he defeated Ra’s al Ghul at Wayne Enterprises, long after Bruce finally returned and Tim was welcomed home with open arms. No, they lasted for months--every night a sick remembrance.

                                     ____________________

The first time he sparred with Dick after ending Ra’s plot, he used the new skills he picked up at the Cradle. At first they traded blows lazily, wearing down the floor by walking the same steps of a familiar dance. Then Tim dared to spin out--try one little move--and the game was afoot.

Tim didn’t pretend that he was better than Dick--he knew he wasn’t. But he had more range and was the better strategist, so at least their spars were interesting. They danced around the mat, neither submitting. Like all of their practices, it went until someone gave in or passed out. The Waynes never called out.

Dick went for Tim’s shoulder with his escrima sticks, which Tim blocked with his bo staff. By the time he registered the other stick moving toward his stomach, it was too late.

Forgoing all sense of etiquette, Tim roared and swung out with his staff, trying not to relish in the feeling of it connecting with Dick’s head.

“Jesus, Tim, what was that?” Dick’s voice floated from somewhere above. “I know we didn’t specify ‘no headshots’ but it seems like a giv- holyshitareyouokay?” It was then that Tim realized he was sitting on the ground, his head between his knees and his hands protecting his neck. In a way, he looked like the tornado drills they made him do at school, even though Gotham never had tornadoes. His body didn’t feel entirely real, like instead of inhabiting it like always, he was merely borrowing it for a second.

Dick’s voice, no doubt saying something reassuring, murmured in his ear. The words all blended together in a soup of pleasant sounds, one that Tim didn’t even attempt to decipher. Somewhere in the haze, he heard the telltale click of the comms, followed a few minutes later by heavy footfalls.

Bruce’s gruff voice took over for Dick’s soothing one, asking him questions that he didn’t know how to answer. Even if he could, he wasn’t entirely sure his mouth was still a mouth, let alone one that could form words. Instead, his brain gave him a front-row seat for the premiere of his least favorite movie in existence, where Dick stabbed Tim in the abdomen, his face contorted into something evil and totally unlike Dick. The Not-Dick didn’t stop after the first time, of course. Instead the scene rewinded over and over again, like a broken film from a museum about the tragedies of war.

Tim didn’t remember anything past that.

                                      ____________________

Tim woke up in his bed at the Manor, his heartbeat thunderous but slow. He opened bleary eyes to see Bruce sitting in the armchair near his window, reading a copy of the Wendy the Werewolf Stalker comic tie-ins Bart had given him last year for Hanukkah.

“Good morning. Or, should I say, evening. You almost slept for a full day,” Bruce said warmly, closing the book.

Tim didn’t return his tone. “Why are you here?” He demanded, clutching his blankets where they fell on his lap.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Bruce avoided the question with trained ease, something Tim saw much too often in himself.

“I- Yeah. A little.” He remembered Dick stabbing him, but that couldn’t be Dick, right? They were in the desert, and it would take at least a day to get from the Syrian Desert to Gotham. His hand wandered over to his stomach. No open wounds or bandages, but there was a long scar.

“You disassociated. Do you know what that means?” Bruce asked, and Tim nodded mechanically. “We think that something during sparring practice triggered a trauma response.”

Tim heard the words, but he wasn’t sure his brain was following all the way.

“I’m fine, B. I just freaked out a little. No big deal.”

Bruce leveled his dad-stare at Tim. “Tim, with all due respect, that was not ‘freaking out a little.’ You were curled up in a ball on the mat, refusing to speak to us. When we managed to coax you into a sitting position, you attacked me. We had to put you in a safe hold until you calmed down.”

Tim opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I think we need to talk about this. I understand if you don’t feel safe yet, you’ve been through a lot over the past year. I love you and I want to be here for you, but if a professional would help, we can do that too. Dick knows this guy in Metropolis-”

“No!” The word was out of Tim’s mouth before he could stop it, followed by a torrent of others. “I don’t need a shrink. I’m fine. Can I leave now? Or are you going to keep me prisoner like he did?”

“Of course not,” Bruce said, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “This is your home, Tim. You can come and go as you please. However, I think we need to talk about-”

“Cool. Later.” Tim rolled out of bed and tugged on shoes and a jacket as Bruce tried to reason with him. They both knew that he could try to keep Tim here, either with logic or the threat of getting grounded, but neither would work. At his best, Tim was tenacious. At his worst, he was stubborn.

Tim traipsed down the grand staircase as Bruce followed behind him. Damian glowered at him from the sitting room, but at least he didn’t say anything. Dick was nowhere to be found. Tim pushed his way out of the manor, a small smile of satisfaction crossing his face when the door slammed and cut off Bruce’s pleas. It reminded him of every bad teen movie he’d ever watched, except the exhausted dad and pushy mom were replaced by Batman. Wasn’t that every kid’s dream?

                                       ____________________

He wandered through Bristol township, avoiding the spots he knew the paparazzi liked to frequent. Wouldn’t that be a million-dollar picture: Bruce Wayne’s high-school-dropout-turned-CEO son walking through the sea of McMansions in converse, a kid’s tracker bracelet, pyjama pants, and Cass’s purple NorthFace.

He was on some cul-de-sac where every house looked the same when he heard the telltale swish of someone following him. He didn’t turn around, just kept up his leisurely pace. Either they’d announce themselves, or they wouldn’t.

He got his answer when a hand snaked over his chest and a body pressed against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hello, Detective,” Scarab whispered in his ear, and Tim’s veins turned to ice. Her hand cupped his face, and she slid around to his front. Tim didn’t believe in God, but he had no doubt that she was Satan incarnate.

“I have a gift for you,” she purred, her hands tracing his sides and back. He didn’t dare respond. “It’s from your friend.”

Tim swore his heart stopped. Ra’s al Ghul didn’t send gifts, he sent warnings. And threats. And death. Which is why he wasn’t entirely surprised when Scarab drove a knife into his chest with a sort of tender ruthlessness. She guided him to the ground, left a ghost of a kiss on his temple, and stepped out of view.

Tim lay gasping on the pavement, trying not to bleed out. His fingertips brushed the bracelet, weakly holding down to send out a tracking signal. If he was lucky, they’d see it. If not, then he’d die. It was that simple.

The stars here were dimmer than the ones in the desert. It was all the light pollution, he knew. Same stars, but an altogether different sky. There was a metaphor there somewhere, but he had lost too much blood to focus enough to find one.

His eyelids felt heavy, and it took everything in him to keep them open. Bruce would be here soon. He had to be. He was Batman, that’s what he did.

As Tim staggered through each breath, he couldn’t help but remark the irony of it all. He’d spent all this time worried about one old wound that he hadn’t seen the next one coming.

[zigtheeortega]

unrequited [part 2]

✿ pairing: bryce x mc

✿ word count: 3941

✿ tags: @senatorraines​ ; @nickyvalentinos​ ; @violinet​ ; @messofakind​ ; @roguemal​ ; @adrixnrxines​ ; @t-yril​ ; @bobbysmckenzie​ ; @luckyferrero​ ; @litgpop​ ; @brycelahelas​

✿ author’s note: i didn’t really think i’d be writing a part two, but from the encouragement from my friends, and the initial idea and push from @diamondsless​, i thought i’d write it and dedicate it to her as a birthday gift! happy birthday to one of the sweetest souls in this fandom who never ceases to amaze me with her writing and her acts of kindness. i hope you have an incredible day and that this fic is a pick-me-up, even though it’s angst.

also, thank you to the asexies for reading and giving me ideas and criticisms. y’all are my ride or dies! i love y’all so much. btw, this takes place a couple days after part 1, which you should probably read before this. anyways, i hope you enjoy! (let me know if i should do a part 3)

––––

Bryce’s words wrapped around her heart like the tendrils of a wild plant, squeezing until the pain in her chest was too much to bear. The vines of his anger and despair snaked up to her throat, clenching her windpipe, silencing her when she saw his face in the hallways of the hospital.

When she got a glimpse of his smile across the cafeteria or in passing in the hall, the ghost of Bryce’s shattered expression clouded her mind, and she flinched every single time.

She caught herself staring at the pads of her fingers too often during the passing days, the vivid memory of the way he deflected from her touch burned into her memory. 

It played on loop, torturing her from the moment she stepped onto the grounds of Edenbrook, to the moment she closed her eyes at night. But even then, she rarely found solace in her dreams, as they usually took no definable form, the indiscernible feelings of desperation and agony gripping her even in the dream realm. 

The roommate group chat exploded throughout her last morning shift of the week, last minute details of an intern-attending party filling her lock screen. Her thoughts had been focused solely on the conversation in the closet, so much so that she lost track of the days following and the party had completely slipped her mind.

The weekend had come before she realized it, a welcome distraction from the ghost of Bryce’s pained expression.

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the feeling of seeing Bryce across the room with someone else. He’d strolled into the room, smooth and relaxed as usual, with his arm around a beautiful woman.

She hadn’t expected seeing him with someone else to elicit such a visceral reaction, but it did.

She clenched the solo cup, crumpling the plastic until the sides split, and it took Sienna calling her name to bring her to. The cheap red wine dripped down her arms, staining the forearms of her henley top.

It was her favorite, because it was his favorite.

The wine dripped onto her jeans, blotches of red covering her thighs. Her friends were staring, but Sienna had already jumped into action, gently taking the cup from her hands.

The sudden change of volume had made its way to the doorway, and Bryce locked eyes with her, his dark embers burning through her own.

Sienna guided her towards the hallway to Spencer’s bedroom, the silence between them full of knowing.

Once she was in her room, Sienna hugged her softly. “I’m so sorry, Spence. I had no clue he was bringing her. If I knew, I would’ve warned you.”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize,” she smiled weakly, before hesitating. “Who is she?” Did she even want to know?

“Just some girl he met on Tinder,” she said reassuringly. “They barely know each other.”

Had he rebounded so quickly for his own gratification? Or to make her jealous?

“It’ll be okay,” Sienna smiled warmly, and Spencer mirrored it willingly. Sienna was her sunshine, a consistent ray of light through her worst days.

Sienna waited until she was out of her wine stained clothes before leaving with them, insisting that they were still salvageable.

Spencer slipped on her favorite party outfit from their first housewarming party, the one she wore before she first felt him bucking beneath her within the confines of her bedroom.

If he wanted to play a game, she could play, too.

It was childish, but she had to know if he was truly moving on, or if he had come with a date solely to torture her.

She emerged from her room, heart pounding, purse over her shoulder. They were low on alcohol anyways, and the night had barely begun. She slipped out of the front door undetected, so she’d have time to rehearse what she wanted to say to him on the way to the liquor store down the street.

What could she even say to him that would have any substance? The damage she left was irreversible in her eyes. Even if he forgave her, he’d always remember the times he was her last priority.

It should have taken her a couple of minutes to buy the cheap liquor and chasers, but as she ambled through the aisles, a memory of her and Bryce volunteering to restock the alcohol to keep the party going flitted through her mind.

Behind the rack of red wine, he stole a kiss from her lips, her tinted lip gloss glimmering on the warm bronze of his own. 

“Your lips look like a medal,” she giggled, rubbing her thumb across his bottom lip.

“Hopefully you mean gold because you know I’m not third place material,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her again.

His words haunted her.

It was a premonition, although she thought nothing of it at the time.

She’d done nothing but push him away, making him an afterthought that was saved for the days she was feeling particularly lonely. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for thinking it was normal to fool around with three separate men with zero repercussion.

It was only a matter of time before they became tired with the game she was playing. She never intended to toy with their emotions, but she had wounded each of them in some way.

She twisted the knife each time she shared an intimate moment, kiss, embrace, with either of them, and pretended like it hadn’t happened.

She gripped the large paper bag, and trudged back towards the apartment, the crisp Boston air chilling her exposed skin.

She rounded the corner, bumping straight into Bryce. The bag slipped from her hands, crashing onto the pavement, the bottles of wine, vodka, and tequila spilling across the concrete. It splashed onto her legs, soaking through her jeans and shoes.

“For fucks sake,” she huffed, shaking off the droplets that somehow managed to land on her arms. “I just bought those.”

If she wasn’t so frustrated, she would’ve been a stammering mess. She met his gaze, a grimace contorting his features. He shook his leg, flicking off his alcohol-soaked shoes.

“Sorry, Spence. I thought you might need some help carrying them up, but I guess I made it worse,” he chuckled. “Here, let’s go back, and you show me exactly what you got. I’ll buy.”

“Yeah, I’d hope so. I can’t go back empty handed,” she sighed, reaching down to pick up the brown bag, now dripping maroon, tossing the larger glass pieces into it.

“Hey, don’t pick up the glass. I’d hate to have to patch you up –”

“Why did you follow me out here, Bryce? Really?” She wheeled on him, practically snarling. Her own voice sounded foreign. She’d never spoken to Bryce with that tone before.

His brows furrowed, his friendliness disappearing, replaced with a cold expression that he saved for especially bad days. Bryce Lahela hated virtually no one. She might’ve been the first.

“As soon as I walked in, you bolted. I came out here to check on you.”

“You wanted to come talk to me when you can barely look at me?”

His eyes narrowed to nearly a squint. “I knew you couldn’t keep it from your roomies. Who’d you tell?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’ll get to the question. Who’d you tell?”

“I didn’t tell anyone –”

“That’s bullshit, Spencer.”

“They have brains, Bryce,” she said incredulously. “You’ve blatantly been acting differently towards me. You think our friends – who have MDs by the way – are dumb enough to overlook that major detail?”

He pressed a hand over his mouth and dragged down, before gesturing wildly. “I wanted some space! Is that too much to ask?”

“No. It’s not,” she said. “But you can’t expect to treat me differently and expect our friends not to put two and two together. You can’t have the best of both worlds.”

She turned away, speed walking down the empty street, goosebumps raised on her skin, the chilly wind freezing her wet pant legs.

“Whoa, hold on, time out,” he called, jogging alongside her. “You’re telling me that I can’t have the best of both worlds? You’re one to talk.”

“You haven’t even spoken to me since that day,” she said vaguely, ignoring her own hypocrisy.

“Yeah, because I wanted space. I still don’t get why that’s too much to ask of you,” he said, every word tinged with disbelief.

She had no reason to be upset with him. But the guilt and the anger and the jealousy had consumed her. She knew she wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t help but argue with him.

“Again, It’s not a lot to ask. But why did you go out of your way to bring someone to my home?” She said, staring straight ahead, refusing to watch his face. She was instigating him, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

“I’m seeing someone, and I thought I’d introduce her to my friends. It’s not that hard to understand.”

“Bryce, it’s been four fucking days since you told me you wanted to move on,” she gestured wildly. “I didn’t think you’d move on that fast, much less try to introduce me to her!”

“I get it. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, Bryce, I’m just frustrated!” she cried, stopping abruptly in front of the store.

“Oh so you’re allowed to get frustrated with me because I’m trying to move on, but I’m not allowed to be upset that you’re yelling at me for trying to move on?”

“No, because I know what you’re trying to do here Bryce. You didn’t come here to move on, you came here to try to make me jealous.”

“So you admit that you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m saying you’re trying to make me jealous.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. That’s not what I came here for, but I’m glad it’s getting under your skin,” Bryce scoffed, rolling his eyes.

They stood in a tense silence, outside of the liquor store, nothing but the sound of the wind whooshing past the corner of the brick wall between them.

“What did you come to this party for then, huh? You wanted to get away from me. You wanted some distance. So you came to my home with… with her –” she spat, pointing a finger into his chest, “– and expected me not to be upset?”

“God, Spencer, do you really only ever think of yourself?” He stomped to the front door of the store, and opened it, angrily gesturing for her to walk in.

“Yeah, maybe bringing her here was a mistake. But I’m trying to move on. You can’t try to hold me back because you can’t decide if you want me or not.”

The wind was knocked out of her, the familiar feeling of a restricted windpipe wrapping around her like a worn sweater. This time, she fought through it.

Bryce trudged to the back of the store, near the tall wine racks – the ones that she could never reach on the top shelf, but he’d always grab it for her and tease her for it.

“You know I’ve thought about you every second since you pulled me into that closet, right? I’ve been wracked with guilt and anger towards myself, and you’re not to blame for that at all,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, but she willed them away. She didn’t want his sympathy. “I’ve spent every day mulling over every interaction we’ve ever had and I’ve picked apart every single thing I can remember that I’ve said to you.”

“You don’t think I’ve done the same thing, Spencer? I wondered why nothing I’d ever said got your attention. If I made you laugh, did you think twice about it?”

“Yes, I did.” she blinked tears back. “I just didn’t think of you enough. And I’m sorry. I know nothing I can say will take away how deeply I’ve hurt you, but you can’t just try to get back at me so I can feel the same way you did.”

He was dumbfounded. He watched her face, his mouth parted. 

“I know my pain right now is nothing in comparison to what you feel, and I’d never ever try to make this about me. But I’m hurting, and I’m trying to move on, too. You bringing her here isn’t doing me any favors.”

He reached out, grazing the pads of his fingers on her jaw.

She flinched before she even realized it. “I’m sorry Bryce. I don’t think this is a good idea. Your date is waiting back at my apartment, and we need to get back. I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting,” she chuckled weakly, eyes on the ground.

“Spencer… I…”

She turned to the bottles behind her, pretending to browse while she furiously blinked the tears away. She turned back, a smile on her face. “Got the drinks! You can hold them though. I know how much your party god status means to you.”

He watched her, eyebrows knitted together, guilt laced through his features. He was visibly holding back, his inner turmoil plain to see.

They were nearly silent on the way back, the weight of their situation keeping them from their candid nature.

She was used to Bryce wearing his heart on his sleeve, his unshakeable confidence front and center. His familiar grin and spontaneity were stripped down, replaced with an expression she could only describe as uncertain.

They walked back into the packed apartment, a bass boosted song reverberating through the borrowed speakers. Her roommates, the rest of the second years, and the interns greeted them warmly, a few people swarming Bryce and her as they unloaded the bags of alcohol.

People she barely recognized asked her to take shots, and she gladly accepted. Normally, she’d pace herself, but after seeing Bryce return to the woman’s side, she wanted to forget the entire night.

A couple shots of tequila later, Spencer was seated on the couch, giggling uncontrollably at a joke she barely heard.

Sienna scooted closer to her, leaning into her ear to whisper. “Don’t react to what I’m about to say.”

She nodded, concentrating hard on keeping a straight face. “Bryce keeps looking at you from the balcony. He’s barely paid attention to his date since you got back.”

She turned, catching him just as he glanced away from her. He wrapped his arm around his date’s waist, his fingers slipping just enough under her fabric to make her bite her lip…

Spencer’s stomach lurched, and she leapt up from the couch, worsening the nausea. “I’m about to throw up, Sienna,” she slurred, grabbing Sienna’s arm.

She guided her quickly, safely to her bedroom, before holding her hair back as she emptied her stomach, the tequila burning just as bad coming up as it did going down.

She faded in and out of consciousness, barely registering Sienna helping her shower and get in bed. She willed herself to remember her kindness and vowed she’d make it up to her when she sobered up.

She laid in bed, the ceiling spinning, her body floating, as she tried desperately to sleep. But she couldn’t, because she knew that Bryce was fifty feet away. With someone else.

She cuddled up to her pillow, imagining Bryce’s warm torso between her arms instead of the cool, firm memory foam of the pillow. She’d nearly succumbed to sleep before she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Hey, Spence, you good in there?”

“Yeah,” she managed, her heart thundering in her chest, partially because she was caught off guard, and because she wasn’t ready to face him again.

“Can I come in for a sec?”

“Sure.” She blurted without a second thought. When she was drunk her heart had a mind of its own. She knew damn well she wasn’t equipped for another emotionally draining conversation, but her heart was itching to be broken again.

The door creaked open, and he stepped in timidly, looking out of place. Normally, he ambled into a new place, not caring if it was a room full of strangers or his closest friends – his aura of confidence was never shaken.

He was nervous.

She tried to sit up, but plopped back against her pillow, groaning. He crossed the room to her bed, but stopped at the foot of it. “You good?”

“Yeah, I just feel like an idiot for drinking this much,” she said slowly, concentrating on trying not to sound as plastered as she felt.

“You’ve never been able to handle your liquor,” he smiled softly, fondly even.

She shook her head, causing the room to spin a little faster than before. “I’d trade a vital organ to be able to get drunk without the hangover.”

“How vital we talking?” His smile stretched into a grin, and he sat on the bed, resting a hand on the comforter. She couldn’t tell if he purposefully touched her, but the weight of his hand on her ankle grounded her nonetheless, and her vertigo subsided.

“With how shitty I feel right now, I’d trade my heart,” she said, trying to prop herself up on her elbows. Another wave of nausea hit her as soon as it left, and her stomach churned.

She threw the covers back, and tripped out of bed, face planting onto her cold floor. She heard him call out to her, but she couldn’t even decipher the words. She slapped her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to army crawl to the bathroom.

She felt his warm arms around her torso, picking her up gently and carrying her to the toilet. While she gagged uncontrollably, the disgusting sounds echoing off of the porcelain, he laced his fingers into her hair, gathering it into one hand.

“Here, give me that,” he said, pulling the hair tie off of her wrist, before using his fingers to comb through her thick locks, brushing her hair back into a loose ponytail, twisting the tie until it held firm.

After she was done, she wiped her face off, and peered up at him. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Spence.” He searched her face like he was scrutinizing her, so she broke away first, trying to stand up.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her to her feet. Familiarity washed over her, and she cackled when she put the pieces together.

“God, remember when we hooked up in the shower? You fucked me senseless and the steam made my legs so weak that you had to carry me out just like this.”

He tensed around her, but she barely noticed. “I miss that,” she breathed, leaning into his frame.

She was too far gone to think about the consequences of her words.

He tucked her into bed wordlessly, his warm expression gone, replaced with the increasingly frequent dubious one.

“You think you’ll be okay in here?”

“Do you have to get back to your date?”

He hesitated, long enough that Spencer kept talking. “She’s really pretty, you know. Maybe a little out of your league, Lahela. You look hot together, but she’s just so gorgeous –”

“She left. I paid for her cab home.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“The half bottle of tequila in your toilet says otherwise, Spence.”

Silence ensued again, the apartment eerily quiet. “Is everyone gone?” She whispered. She didn’t know why she whispered.

“Yeah. It’s 4 a.m.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, you’ve been in here a while.”

“So have you.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You could’ve left with everyone else. Or with your date. Why’d you come in here?” She asked before thinking. Again.

He turned towards the door, his back to her. He stood in place for a few seconds, frozen, before walking to the door, arm outstretched to grab the knob. “I’ll see you around, Spence –”

“Please, Bryce, wait –” She shot up, reaching for him.

He glanced back at her, refusing to meet her eye.

Her throat burned, alcohol fueling her grief. “I know I’m just talking out of my ass and saying shit that I haven’t carefully thought out. And I know that I’m self aware, but it still doesn’t stop me from embarrassing myself. But I know if I don’t say this right now I’ll probably never have the courage when I’m sober.”

He swivelled around, and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, trying hard to look relaxed, but the tension in his body made him look rigid and uneasy.

She closed her eyes tight, balling her hands up into fists, gripping her sheets. “I know I won’t remember this tomorrow, and I’m not even sure any of this is happening or if this is a hallucination, but I’m gonna word vomit my feelings.

“I think I love you, Bryce.”

She heard his breath hitch, but she squeezed her eyes tighter. She didn’t dare look.

“I’ve spent so much time chasing after guys who pushed me away. Maybe it’s the chase that I liked so much. I don’t know. But being with you was so easy. And comforting. Like a really good book that you’ve read a thousand times. Or your mom’s chicken soup when you’re sick.

“We never talked about it because I was scared I’d have to commit. And that’s so wrong of me. Granted, I thought you were afraid of commitment, too. I put it off forever and just danced between everyone who gave me attention. I didn’t even consider anyone’s feelings but my own.

“But the moments we had together are my favorite memories of my first year in Boston. I wouldn’t trade those for the world. You went out of your way to make me feel better at my lowest points. And that’s more than I can say for who I was giving the most attention to. I was chasing after something unattainable, when you were right in front of me.”

The tears squeezed out of her firmly shut lids, and she wiped them away quickly, quietly sniffling. “I’m so fucking sorry, Bryce. I can’t say it enough. I know I blew it, but I hope you give me a second chance as friends.”

She pulled the comforter up to her face, sobbing quietly into the thick fabric. She took a shaky breath, and laid down, curling up in a ball. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t think I’ll remember this.”

The mix of crying, vomiting, and drinking wore her out so much that she was out before Bryce could curate a response.

Throughout her whole speech, he’d leaned up against the wall, frozen as he listened to her spill her feelings and say everything he wanted to hear. But he’d blown it, too. He’d hurt her so deeply, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Her soft snoring filled the room, and he mentally kicked himself for not saying anything sooner. “I think I love you, too, Spence,” he whispered, before slipping out the door into the night.

––––

[og-danny-dorito]

《 Call Out My Name 》

〔 A/N :

     Hey, I know no one likes reading this part so I'll try to make it brief. This was done as a gift for @youthbitch whom is very entertaining and sweet and honestly just flat out adorable with the coolest and most creative ideas I've heard in a really long time. I hope y'all like this, even though it's not that great of a project considering some of my other stuff. Basically Jason tells the reader to vent and they do, leading to an awkward pat and a promise that he'll be there for them. Tell me if y'all want gendered five or not and I'll release ones for any genders separately or change the pronouns in some to be custom to male, female and/or gender neutral. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you like the story thing.

⁃ Danny ✌🏼🗿 〕

<<------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->>

  Cigarette smoke pooled on the hotel ceiling. The scent of it hanging in the air, the visual as it whisked in curls on itself as it moved freely, even the feeling of it curving around your skin made you feel the familiar sensation of a flipping stomach. You could remember the exact moment where this had all began; where the phone calls on the middle of the night and the surprise break-ins through your window took place has remained no lost memory even though it happened quite a few months ago. There was always someone nearby, always someone watching. It had been like that from the beginning.

  He was quiet as he breathed, his eyes closed as he inhaled the smoke from the cigarette between his left index and middle finger. It was a crime how pretty he looked while breathing in that cancer stick. A self destructive item for an equally self destructive person, you supposed, but it didn't stop you from feeling the same amount guilt for not being able to talk him out of it. You weren't perfect; you never had been. And you didn't intend to make it so either. So why did he look at you like that? Why when he touched you, you felt like the most implant person on the planet? Why, even though he rarely spoke, did his words feel like they were made for you? A chunk of you felt shame for it.

  Shame for the selfishness of wanting to keep him there, with you, away from what he so often found solace in even though it was a continuation of the past events that left him so scarred and beaten. You weren't a perfect empath, but if you were in his position, every day would feel like the beginning of the end. Waiting for it to all come back looping. For the cycle of attachment, pain and grief to repeat itself only to halt when he could no longer bear to witness its gruesome pillage of the people around him and himself. No matter how strong he was, he felt the pain. And you saw it. When you were alone. When you were quiet and settled. With his hands gripped tightly to you and his head rested in the nook of your shoulder. Armor did only so much with a fragile warrior underneath.

  "I can almost hear your thoughts from over here." His voice was low, kept quiet due to the desire to keep this serene state of the room. The TV ran, but the words weren't heard. Background noise; always a good deterrent from doing any hard and focused thinking. He seemed to take another drag from his cigarette, and, turning his head over to roll in your direction, he shifted in place to adjust his sore muscles a little. Jason hadn't bothered to undress into pajamas much less take of his shoes before getting into the bed, settling with just putting on the TV, lighting a cig and letting his thoughts run with a warm body next to him. Of course, he hadn't ever implied using you as just a warm body, but you had thought it over and decided you didn't mind much if he used you like that for a night or two.

  You were quiet before glancing over, leaning your head back against the board of the cheap bed frame. Silence. You couldn't find anything to say that might contribute, but he managed to stay patient. You noticed he was getting better at that lately; he must've been going to therapy more often lately. "Something up?", he said, concern lacing his tone. You raised a brow, moving your head over just enough to roll to meet his eyes. Vibrant green, like radioactive waste., almost like they were glowing. A light at the end of a river. Or a beacon of a lost past long since having been chased after in hopes of its repeat. The question jarred a small grin out of you. "Not much you'd be interested in. Why, you wanna switch listening positions for tonight?", you asked, sounding coy. He snorted a little, rolling his eyes before taking another drag from the cigarette. It was interesting to see how his lips closed around it. They were chapped but full. Almost made you wonder what they'd feel like under the pad of your thumb, but you were smarter than tricking yourself into thinking it would happen.

  Jason exhaled the smoke after keeping it in his lungs for a while. It shot from his lips quickly, soon rising to the ceiling before eventually dissipating after a few moments of lingering around it. It was so dim in here you could imagine that the ceiling wasn't grimy and stained from previous chainsmokers. But you doubted anyone else had revealed the deepest parts of themselves like you had both done before here. His amused grin turned to a small frown as time passed, and you watched as his brows furrowed. "I'm..." he paused. "I'm just concerned, is all. You just seem a little dissociated. Haven't contacted anyone lately or really talked to anyone in a few days, even me. I might be reading this whole thing wrong, but if something's up, you can...” He took a second to shift a bit in his seat. “...I want you to let me know."

  The last sew words seemed to permeate for a good few reasons, but he spoke with such determination in his voice you swore he'd hunt down and strangle your problems to death if it weren't for the fact that they weren't tangible. You ran a hand through your hair, and almost immediately he managed to grab a small strand and twirl it between two fingers. He had always been fascinated with your hair, although you never found much special about it. He seemed to care more about smaller details than the bigger picture. For a good few seconds, you remained quiet, eyebrows furrowing to try to figure out what the hell to say without making yourself seem pissed off.

  He extended the cigarette to you, and you shook your head before straightening up a bit. The bed creaked under the pressure. "I uh..." You squinted at the TV ahead. Seemed like some infomercial was on, but it didn't catch your interest. Even though you wanted to, you didn't change the subject entirely to the infomercial since he'd pinpoint that as avoiding the question and would then be even more worried for you. You attempted to sort your thoughts, but you supposed venting wasn't about organization. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I like...I'm just getting tired of all the shit around me, yknow? I just want things to change."

  He nodded, making sure to slowly make his way up to rub at your scalp. It felt oddly nice, maybe even a little soothing, to have someone vaguely pulling upon your hair. He was quiet, taking drags from his cigarette whilst also paying close attention to you. But thankfully not to the point of feeling like you were being scrutinized. "But..my goal takes time. And I'm a patient person, but I can't...I don't want to wait if it's all I do. I wonder a lot if it'd be different if I was somewhere else in a different environment, but I don't want to just...leave everyone. I've got a good system set up.", you said, furrowing your brows. Jason was quiet as he listened but made sure to nod while you spoke. He sighed a little, leaning back. You were feeling yourself sink into the mattress. You had to get somewhere tomorrow, but it wouldn't kill you to fall asleep here. You'd probably sleep easier if you were next to him, anyway.

  He seemed to tense a bit at the last part, but spoke nothing of it. The only way you could tell was how his left bicep shook a little to make your hair feel like you were being petted like a cat, but he covered it up by shifting quickly enough to play it off as an attempt to get more comfortable. You pursed your lips. Maybe he felt uncomfortable. You refrained from talking for the moment, letting him mess with your hair for now. It made you feel at ease, although the tenseness in your shoulders gave away your lack of relaxation. From the corner of your eye you could see him slow to a stop in his movements, scooting a bit closer to your side. "What would you do if you could?"

  The question made you pause, head tilting back to expose the bare flesh of your neck and the slight sheen of sweat that formed on the surface like a veil. It wasn't even that hot in here, but since he was an old man and always hated the cold he cranked it up enough to leave you a little damp on the skin. He might've liked it actually; the way it shone in the light brightly to make this messy afterglow on you was priceless. It was odd to think that you weren't just some vivid hallucination he felt when he got like this, that you were a living body with weight and a mind and tangible flesh. Even more so, it was odd to think that you even felt comfortable talking to him about this. Jason didn't deserve this. He was becoming more sure of it as time passed.

  "I don't know. I..." Your brows furrowed, leaving you with your eyes blankly looking to the tv. White noise, a distraction. A distraction from focused thoughts or too much of them. The only time it wasn't helpful was when you were trying to genuinely sort out your thoughts; like writing words on a page, only to have your elbows violently jerked every so often by some outside force to derail you for a few moments. Your joints and muscles felt sore from the day. It had been a long one, and you were pretty sure you needed another swig of the beer that was sitting between your thighs. Grabbing it, you brought the rim of the bottle to your lips, letting it clink against your teeth softly before allowing the burning to go down your throat.

  He was quiet as you did this, letting his hand fall to his lap where the cigarette slowly burned out. "I wouldn't know where to go from here. I mean I have an idea but I don't know if it'll work...", you trailed off, letting your head drop. It took Jason a moment to fully register what you said  but by the time he did he was already splaying his hand out at the back of your scalp. His hands had always been chapped, regardless of whether he was working or not. Always something to keep him busy. Always something to keep his mind off of things. But he didn't feel the anxiety he had before at most things. Now it was a dull undertone of a feeling, a familiar knot in his chest that made his brows furrow together and his mouth pull into a taut line in thought, just as he had now.

  You assumed he was listening intently, but a part of you wished he would feel more than you thought. Simple confusion was easy to decipher, but he seemed more...concerned. Concerned for you. Which seemed like an odd concept right now considering you did most of the worrying. But you didn't question it, and after a few long moments of glaring at the TV screen and letting the slow feeling of sleepiness come over you, you felt the hand leave your scalp to snake around your shoulders.

  This initially caught you off guard, but as soon as you saw that Jason was narrowly avoiding eye contact and lighting another cigarette with his free hand and the stick between his teeth, you found yourself cracking a small but noticeable grin. The bags under your eyes seemed to disappear for a moment as the muscles beneath your cheeks scrunched up. "It's uh... it's gonna be okay, alright?", he said gently enough to hear but not loud enough to echo. You sunk a bit into the mattress and his arm behind your head, head turning lazily in his direction. For a moment he seemed awkward, but at your relaxation into his embrace, you felt his arms soothe a bit under the pressure and revert from their tensed state. "Is it?"

  The teasing question made him avert his eyes even further, finding interest in the wall nearby. But it was noticeable that he was blushing, regardless of the poor lighting in the room. Here- where it smelled like ashes and cleaning products, where the light burned a dying yellow and the mattress creaked under little to no pressure, where the smallness of the room and bolted down furniture made you feel odd and away from home. Here is where you felt the most safe right now. Not with anyone else, not anywhere else. Just here. And as you reached over for the cigarette between his lips to take a drag from it yourself, you watched as the smoke rose to the ceiling and dissipated without another word.

"I'm here for you, Y/n."

<<_E N D_>>

[dreamtaehyung]

(This Is Not) A Puppy Love

In which Jimin’s soulmate is in love with someone or something? else.

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

words: 4.1k

contains: soulmate!au, soulmate!jimin, sulky jimin, run era jimin (because i couldn’t get over it), lots of scenes w/ taehyung and his son bc why not, a hint of suggestive content if you squint

Jimin had been standing motionless in front of the heavily engraved mahogany door for quite a while now, right hand still poised over the doorbell.

He couldn’t believe it.

Etched on the side of his right index finger was a tattoo. It was written in delicate, looping script, the black ink spanning from the knuckle right to the fingertip.

He had not paid a smidgen of attention to it before, but he certainly did right at this moment.

It was too elegant, so perfectly ornate it was almost calligraphy.

He hated it.

Jimin wasn’t averse to the idea of getting tattoos, per se, in fact he had one inked right on top of his rib just last month. The actual process might’ve hurt like a bitch, but God was it worth it.

This one, though, just wasn’t his cup of tea. Too perfect, he reckoned, and his eyebrows furrowed, mouth frowning in distaste at the prospect of the tattoo taking up permanent residence on his body.

Jimin stares blankly ahead, struggling to remember how the horrendous tattoo got there in the first place. If his guess was correct it was probably inked right after partying the other day with his best friend, Taehyung.

That rat. Taehyung had probably convinced him to get the monstrosity tattooed on his skin in the first place, as Taehyung had the tendency to be mischievous and conniving, especially when inebriated, and of course Jimin, as piss drunk as he was, would gladly and willingly indulge his best friend’s antics. Stupid.

Jimin groaned, retracting said hand from the doorbell and running it through his orange locks in exasperation.

“I swear will never so much as breathe near alcohol with Taehyung in the vicinity.”

Jimin brought his hand down to his face again, scrutinizing the tattoo in detail. Upon closer inspection though, he saw that the tattoo was glowing, albeit faintly.

Well that was weird, Jimin mused to himself. Its outlines were tinged a bright, vivid red, blinking one last time before disappearing entirely.

He gasped, mouth ajar in disbelief. It couldn’t be —

He never believed in stuff like this. When Taehyung, a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic had told him about the idea of soulmates, he had always brushed him off. Never believed him when he said that when a person turns a specific age, the universe will help them find the one who was meant to spend the rest of eternity with them.

When the Fates had deemed it fit, a mark would find its way on the person’s skin, which would signify the first words they would hear their soulmate say.

He had never said it out loud in fear of hurting Taehyung’s feelings, but even back then he had scoffed at the notion. It was all utter bullshit, he thought. He never really believed that somewhere in the world there was a person who was meant to be his and only his.

He was content with living by himself and engaging in occasional hookups, insisting that he didn’t really give a rat’s ass if his soulmate did or did not exist. Or so he thought.

That did not stop him from hoping that Taehyung would find his own soulmate, though. And when he finally did, he was ecstatic for his best friend.

Taehyung, despite being pesky and annoying as hell when he willed himself to be, was a pure and genuinely kind soul who deserved to find true love.

His true love came in the form of a tall, blonde-haired girl whose name was Sana, who always had a smile on her pretty face.

Sana and Taehyung met through him, the former being Jimin’s classmate in Contemporary Literature. They kind of suit each other, Jimin had thought even back then. Sana has always been a kind, cheerful girl, always looking at the bright side of things, and while Taehyung could vex the crap out of him sometimes, he was also someone whose positive disposition in life Jimin would turn to whenever his thoughts turn a bit too gloomy.

He and Sana were studying for their upcoming finals in the university café when Taehyung barged in on them, honey colored skin glowing in the afternoon sun, his signature boxy smile plastered on his face.

“What’s up, nerd?” Taehyung mused, ruffling Jimin’s hair in greeting.

“Still as irritating as ever, I see.” Jimin muttered, pushing the latter’s hand away in mock annoyance, albeit unable to suppress his chuckles at his best friend’s antics.

Taehyung proceeded to rant about his Advanced Calculus class, grumbling at how the professor who seemed to have harbored a dislike for him called him to answer every single problem on the board.

“I never even did anything to piss him off, I swear!” Taehyung was rambling now, hands gesturing wildly as he recounts his overall behavior during this particular class, and Jimin was just about to utter some snarky remark when he finally remembered that they had company.

“Ah right,” Jimin almost forgot about his study buddy, gesturing to Sana who was now petrified in her seat, big, round eyes stuck staring at Taehyung who was promptly stopped from spouting more of the verbal diarrhea when he noticed her, mild discomfort evident on his striking features. “This is my classmate—“

Jimin was interrupted by Sana abruptly standing in her seat beside him, shouting and pointing a perfectly manicured finger towards Taehyung’s direction. “It’s you! My soulmate!”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped to the floor, eyes wide as saucers as he too now stared at the girl in disbelief. A beat or two had passed before he came to his senses and engulfed Sana in a bear hug, muttering into her shoulder how he was so grateful to finally meet her.

At that moment, Jimin had finally considered the plausibility of soulmates. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he knew that the hope of finding his own soulmate had planted itself deep in his heart, and he began to silently long for the day when he could finally meet them, run his hands lovingly over their skin, touch their lips tenderly with his.

Still, he never thought this day would finally come.

His hands were shaking now, out of nervousness or excitement he really couldn’t tell. Who are you? Did he already know you or are you a stranger? Would you like him enough to spend the rest of your life with him?

Are you pretty? He chuckled at thought. Of course you would be. To him you would be the most beautiful creature he ever beheld, and he was sure that he would always be in love with you, even if he hadn’t seen a glimpse of you yet.

He squinted, eager to read the words that were now permanently etched on his skin. When he had finally read it in its entirety, his brows were creased once more in confusion and a frown had settled on his now crestfallen face.

What the fuck?

He reread it all over again, certain that he had just read it wrong. But he had not. Right on the side of his right index finger were the words “I love you too, Yeontan!”

Jimin scoffed in disbelief. Who the hell was Yeontan and why would his soulmate, the one person he was destined to spend the rest of his life with, say those wretched words towards him and not to Jimin himself?

Surely it was a mistake. It should be a mistake. His mind was reeling now, going into overdrive as he racked his brain for answers to no avail.

The fact that he had a soulmate should have made him giddy and euphoric, not upset and slightly dejected. So you were in love with someone else? His heart broke at the thought.

And what if anyone else were to find out? He would hate to be the subject of pitying glances and faux concern, but most of all he did not want Taehyung to know, he knew that his best friend would take the news just as hard as he did.

He could feel the incoming onslaught of an emotional breakdown, and as much as he would love to slump straight to the floor and wallow in his heartbreak and self-pity, he definitely did not want strangers passing by to regard him with looks of pity and mild disgust.

He shook the thoughts away, willing himself not to think about his predicament anymore and reminding himself of the reason why he had been standing right in front of the dark mahogany door in the first place.

He was here to finally meet Taehyung’s adopted “son” as his best friend himself had put it, a black and tan teacup Pomeranian he got from the local animal shelter. Slowly, Jimin stooped to pick up the plastic bag containing puppy treats that he dropped earlier on the floor, and finally pressed the doorbell right above the doorknob of Taehyung’s apartment.

Jimin could hear Taehyung before he could see him, heavy footsteps quickly bounding towards the door.

“Chim!” Jimin was greeted by the sight of a barefoot Taehyung clad in a light beige knitted sweater and dark olive green chinos, forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat and dark, freshly permed hair sticking out in multiple directions as if he had just come back after a run.

“I’m so glad you could make it! I just got back from touring the puppy around the block, and man does he have a lot of stamina for a someone his size,” Taehyung chuckled fondly, and taking notice of the seemingly heavy plastic bag Jimin held in his hands, took it away and made for the kitchen, all the while still talking Jimin’s ear off.

Jimin immediately stalked towards Taehyung’s direction, neck craning forward to make out the words coming out from his best friend’s mouth. He still couldn’t hear him properly though, so he opted to head for the sofa on Taehyung’s living room. He’ll just ask him about it later.

Taehyung’s living room was spacious, much like the rest of his apartment. Multiple canvases and art supplies were scattered about the room, each painting in different degrees of completion. Freestanding wooden shelves housing selections of books and photography magazines were situated on the right side of the wall, a painting of a blue, starry horizon hanging right above it. A puppy playpen was positioned on the opposite side of the room, filled with toys and treats undoubtedly for Taehyung’s small, fluffy son.

Disorganized stacks of paper were placed haphazardly beside two laptops on an ornate wooden table placed right in the middle of the room, adjacent to the plush, maroon sofa where a certain someone was currently sitting with their back turned towards Jimin’s direction, small, dainty hands holding a puppy close to their face.

Jimin stilled. Taehyung did not tell him he had another guest. Or maybe he did, judging by the way he was chattering nonstop earlier. He probably hadn’t heard him.

You were clad in a light yellow hoodie and black jeans, the hood covering your hair entirely. White sneakers were discarded on the floor beneath you, feet placed on the table revealing cream colored socks decorated with rice cakes all over.

“Cute”, Jimin muttered to himself without thinking, clearing his throat immediately.

He looked at you intently, trying to make out if he knew you already. He wasn’t really sure if he did, so the way his heart was hammering louder the longer he looked at your form terribly confused him. What the hell was happening to him?

He was about to make his presence known when you suddenly held the dog closer to your face, giggles escaping your mouth when it suddenly licked your cheek.

“I love you too, Yeontan!” You exclaim, situating the puppy in your lap and petting its soft, fluffy fur with your hands. You stood up slowly and made your way towards the foyer, firmly nestling Yeontan in your arms.  

You were too busy cooing over the puppy to notice Jimin who now seemed to be glued to the floor, wide, disbelieving eyes never tearing away from you.

Jimin was sure his heartbeat was so loud that even you could hear it from across the room. It was you. His soulmate.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You really were the most beautiful creature he ever beheld.

He was never one to believe in love at first sight, but looking at you now, laughter bubbling from your soft lips, eyes twinkling in utter delight, he was quite sure that he would do anything in his power to ensure that you would never feel unhappy again for the rest of your life.

You start, a small choked sound escaping your lips as you finally register the man standing in front of you.

Your curious eyes swept slowly over his frame. His hair was distinctly akin to the hue of autumn leaves, only brighter and more vivid. It was messily combed back and styled upward away from his forehead, and you assumed that he must have had a habit of running his hands through his hair.

His soft, slightly round cheeks which were flushed a deep red and his full, pink lips juxtaposed his sharp, angled jaw, impressing a striking yet gentle visage.

Slung over his shoulders was a dark green army jacket, the thin white shirt underneath graciously bestowing you the sight of his delicate collarbones. Your flustered mind unconsciously drifted to thoughts of how beautiful it would look littered with marks all over, and you frantically veered your mind away from the notion.

You ventured lower, noting that the fabric of the light wash ripped jeans he was currently wearing were straining against slender yet thick thighs and calves.

Damn, this guy certainly hit the jackpot in the genetic lottery.

All of his features were lovely, undoubtedly so, but what struck you the most was his eyes. Dark, sharp eyes were staring straight at you, pupils blown wide. It held a plethora of emotions you could not really decipher, but among them one stood out the most.

Pure, ardent adoration.

Cheeks coloring slightly in embarrassment, you wondered how long the man had been standing there. And why was he looking at you like you were the love of his life?

He was easily the most beautiful man you had ever seen, and you definitely have ogled a lot of hot guys in your time. Surely a guy like him wouldn’t even breathe in your direction, let alone be attracted to you.

You inwardly cringe at your train of thoughts, chuckling nervously as you delicately placed Yeontan down on the floor. Yeontan immediately heads for the kitchen, probably looking for his owner. Or food, you couldn’t really tell.

Your meet moved of their own volition, tentatively stepping towards the man who was still rooted in his place. He was probably Taehyung’s best friend, you guessed, the one he always told you about. You reach out a hand towards him, a small smile on your lips.

“You must be Taehyung’s best friend, I suppose? I’m y/n, Taehyung’s thesis partner.” You offer, eyes darting to his face. He was still staring at you, ears not registering what you just said. You try again, this time a little louder.

“I’m y/n, Taehyung and I are thesis partners? We’ve actually just finished working on it today, so I was just about to leave. Sorry for startling you,” You laugh uncomfortably, lowering your proffered hand back to your side when he didn’t take it.

Jimin was startled out of his stupor, wringing his hands in embarrassment. He willed himself to speak, clearing his throat a few times in an effort to get rid of the nerves currently plaguing him.

Finally, he croaked, tone tinged with both amusement and relief, “Y-you mean to tell me it was a dog?”

“Huh?” You crease your brows in confusion, not really understanding his question.

He asked you again, tone softer and voice a bit louder this time.  

“You mean to tell me it was a dog?” Jimin asks, earnest eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition.

He could see the gears turning in your mind, confusion melting into awe and disbelief. You hastily searched for the mark etched on the inside of your left wrist, confirming what he had been thinking.

“You mean- I- We-“

“Yes.” Jimin was laughing now, dark eyes resembling crescents. He offers you his hand, showing you the exact words that had come out of your mouth earlier.

You couldn’t believe it.

There he was, your soulmate, in the flesh.

You gave his form a not so subtle once-over for the second time today, and this time he definitely noticed, if the teasing glint in his eyes was enough to go by. This man seemed to be carved out of marble, exquisite features carefully made out with the skill and precision only the most adept sculptor could ever achieve, and he can’t blame you for making sure that he wasn’t just a figment of your overactive imagination.

You were too busy checking him out that you startle when he speaks, the smallest hint of an amused smile adorning his features.

“Like what you see?” Jimin asks teasingly, feet clad in black combat boots treading slowly to close the distance between the two of you, careful and calculated as if he doesn’t want to scare you away.

He was in front of you now, so close you could feel his hurried breaths fanning across your face and could take in the scent of his cologne.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you surveyed him in closer detail. He was much better looking up close, if that was even possible.    

“I’m Jimin,” he breathed, eyes never leaving your face.

You wordlessly nod, the words seemingly stolen away from you.

“I.. I can’t believe I actually found you,” he chuckled a bit at himself, unable to hide his exhilaration and relief at finally meeting you, his soulmate.

Thank heavens you weren’t actually in love with someone else. It was just a puppy, Taehyung’s puppy to be precise, and as he lets out a slight laugh he felt as though a massive, painful thorn had finally been dislodged from his chest, allowing him to breathe freely.

He never took his eyes away from you, as if looking elsewhere would make you slip away from him forever. He regarded you with so much affection, so much love that you wondered if you deserved this. If you deserved him.

The corners of your eyes started to fill with unshed tears as he beamed down at you, thoughts of you being unworthy of his attentions, his affections beating harshly at you. 

Jimin frowns, hand coming up to your face to wipe the stray tear cascading down your cheek.  

You stared wordlessly back at him, his small gesture comforting you and vanishing those ugly thoughts immediately. You knew at once that you would gladly spend the rest of your life gazing at his face if he allowed you to.

Jimin’s holds your gaze tenderly, his hands reaching to cup your face. His fingers graze your cheek softly, lovingly, as his lips slowly inching towards yours.

You blushed and closed your eyes as he crossed the distance between the two of you, laying your forehead on his.

He was utterly perfect. And he was yours.

You sighed and closed your eyes as his soft, plush lips met yours. You stayed like that for a while, relishing the feeling of the other’s lips, before you felt him nip softly at your bottom lip, as if asking your permission.

You press your lips to his once more, insistent as you feel Jimin smirk as he finally deepens the kiss, angling your jaw gently to the side.

You whimper, shuffling impossibly closer to his body, eager to feel the warmth emanating from him. You wanted nothing more than to feel him against you, hear the frantic beating of his heart as you melt into his touch.

“Soulmate.” Jimin breaks away from the kiss and sighs contentedly into your lips, placing a delicate peck on your forehead as he struggled to catch his breath.

Your hand settles on his hair, playing with the strands and pulling slightly. Your eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide with desire as you stare at his lips, which earns a low growl from Jimin.

“Fuck,” Jimin’s nuzzles into your neck, placing open mouthed kisses on your throat. You moan louder this time, hand tugging insistently on his hair as Jimin hums and places delicate purple marks along your collarbone.

The sweet noises coming out of you only serves to encourage Jimin further, hands hastily reaching for the hem of your hoodie to allow him access.

His lips find yours again once more, groaning into your mouth as his hands explored every inch of your body. You gently bit on his bottom lip and let out a gasp as you feel something hard poking against you, causing your cheeks to blush.

At the sound of loud, heavy footsteps, you pull away from the kiss, pushing your hands slightly against Jimin’s torso to increase the distance between the two of you. Jimin frowns, his now swollen lips eager to be against yours again.

He moves his face closer to yours, eyes never leaving your soft lips. You almost indulged him, moving to close the gap again, until you hear Taehyung clear his throat.

“I see you’ve met each other.” His voice resounded in the room, an amused lilt laced in the deep timbre of his voice. Yeontan was cozily nestled in his arms, the puppy yapping at the both of you once, almost as if in greeting.

You jolted away from each other in surprise, cheeks both tinged in pink in embarrassment from being caught.

At the lack of response, Taehyung suddenly wiggled his eyebrows, mischievous eyes flitting playfully between the both of you, Yeontan still held against his chest.

“And I see that you’ve also been getting it on—“

“Shut up, Taehyung!” You interrupt, covering your face with your hands while Jimin turns to look at you, snorting at your sudden outburst.

Jimin gently pulls your hands away from your face, enclosing them with his own. He turns to look at Taehyung who was still sporting a look of delight, eyes following Jimin’s gestures.

“Taehyung, I would like you to meet my soulmate, y/n.”

Taehyung almost dropped Yeontan on the floor in utter surprise, mouth forming a perfect O. Yeontan glances at his owner with what you are sure is a hint of exasperation.

You stifled a laugh for his sake, failing as you hear Jimin chortling slightly beside you. When he finally recovered from the understandably shocking revelation, Jimin finally told him how you both found out.

-

“So let me get this straight. You actually thought Yeontan stole your soulmate away?” Taehyung was cackling now, hands clutching at his stomach from laughing too hard.

“I mean it wouldn’t be impossible, seeing that he got his father’s good looks and all.” He adds with a smirk, and it took all of Jimin’s willpower to not throw a pillow right into his self-satisfied face.

“You’re annoying, you know that, right?” You quip, and as if reading Jimin’s mind you grabbed pillows from the sofa and smacked one right into Taehyung’s torso, effectively wiping the smug look off his face.

Jimin could not help but laugh at the sight of you, bickering with his best friend just like he usually did on countless occasions. You turn to look at him, eyes gazing adoringly up at your soulmate, an impish smile playing on your lips as you hand him another pillow.

You were wiggling your eyebrows at him, gaze flitting to an unsuspecting Taehyung who was still indignantly grumbling about the sudden attack.

“Pillow fight!” You both yell simultaneously, pelting poor, unguarded Taehyung with the pillows you held in your hands, Jimin’s smacking him right in the face.

“Great shot, soulmate!” You cheered happily at him, holding up a hand towards him for a quick high five. Instead of doing so, Jimin reached for your hand to bring you closer to him, placing a delicate kiss on your both of your cheeks, your forehead, your nose and then your lips, much to Taehyung’s disgust.

Only when he held you firmly against his chest, your lovely face peering curiously at his, enamored eyes tracing the shape of his lips, did he finally come to terms with the fact that you were indeed his soulmate and God, did he strike it lucky.