#who tried to talk to me in line for the bathroom and i accidentally swerved her for my moms friend asking a question

[whiskeyswifty]

My cousin got married last week and her maid of honor and best friend since jr high gave the speech and straight up said that my cousin was her soul mate… girl I had to keep from giggling. I didn’t stay long enough to see if they played good luck babe but I played it and kinda stared off into the distance later that night at home. I know zero details of their relationship outside of when I saw them hanging out in high school a decade ago but like now I’m curious

lmaoooooo exactly!!!! like do i actually think the bride and her maid of honor are gay for each other? nah, but idk...... they probably should be. sorority girls are always saying wild shit about each other when one of them marries some guy and you can bet your ass the dykes in the crowd are like 👀

[sweet-rintarou]

The cry that had escaped your lips as you stared at your screen, the visible indication that Ushijima had just read your text, had caused Oikawa to accidentally swerve the car. Luckily, it was a deserted street. 

"What?!” Oikawa asked frantically, panic clear in his eyes as he took a glance at you. 

“He didn’t reply with a smiley face!” You cried out, tears stinging at your eyes. “And he just read it!” Your heart was beating quickly, fear coursing through your veins as you tried refreshing the application, just in case his reply wasn’t loading, but it was to no avail. 

A pathetic whimper escaped, “He always ends our conversation with a smiley face...” 

“Y/n, I don’t—“ Another cry had left your mouth and you childishly began to squirm in your seat, purely out of frustration and not having enough space to let out your anger or despair over the situation. 

“Is he mad at me?” You couldn’t help but ask out loud, the crack at the end of your words causing you to flush in embarrassment. This is pathetic, you thought bitterly. 

“Hey, hey,” Oikawa pulled over to the side of the road, before turning his body towards you. “Even if he is mad, shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

Your brows pulled together in confusion, glancing around as if it’ll give you the answer to his question. “... No?”

“Yes, it is!” He lightly tapped your head. “That means he likes you, dumbass.” 

“When did you get insulting privileges?” 

“When you almost killed us!” He stated, referring to the swerve that would’ve been fatal if there was oncoming traffic. You sent him a timid smile in response. It took a good few seconds for you realize and let Oikawa’s words process through your thoughts. 

“Oh shit! True!” You agreed, pointing a finger at him, but it slowly went down and you sunk in your seat, “but that also means he probably thinks I’m actually in a relationship...”

He winced, realizing the truth as well. “Crap...”

“Fuck it, I’m never going to find love!” You cried out dramatically, struggling to pull your feet up because of the dress. “Now I can’t be sad in a fetal position because of this stupid dress.”

“Do you want to talk about it though?” You shook your head, mumbling, “I want to be sad for a moment.” Understanding, Oikawa continued the drive towards the hotel he was staying in and the two of you waited in the lobby for Monoma. The assistant arrived, hastily tossing your clothes towards your face, to which you returned a glare, and changed in the bathroom before doing the same to him with the dress. 

“Little bitch,” you uttered as Oikawa pulled you towards the elevator as he waved goodbye to the blonde. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“And now I have to endure it for five years.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to die alone.”

“Wait—“

“This agency is ruining my life.”

“Wait, Y/n—” Oikawa forced you to face him. “Remember what I said?” 

Again, you looked around. “That you were known for your flat ass?”

“What- no! The fuck?” He knocked at your head before whispering, “never speak of it.”

“Then what?”

“If there is evident mistreatment from your agency, then you can exploit them and have your contract terminated,” he reminded you, the mischievous glint shining within his eyes. The dots began connecting in your head, and a devious smile grew on your lips, the two of you nodding in agreement. 

“Watch out Rei Records, ‘cause Y/n is coming for you,” he grinned, but the words that left his mouth only caused you to grimace. 

“That was just cringe, dude.” 

silver lining | w. ushijima smau

previous | masterlist | next

part thirty-two

—fetal

author's note: idk why my messenger app isnt allowing the photos i send out to be full size._. but n e ways ahah guess who's still sad over ushi😞😞

taglist: @alienvarmint @amberalisa @naughtylittleweeb @tycrackculture @someone-you-dontknow @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney @stargirlara @brownsugartease-blog @leviathans-watching @kenjiru @ushiwakaismybae @elianetsantana @kagebunshiin @koushiwrites @marajillana @wannakeillmyself @bokuto-buns @smolcactusqwq @ihateccmber @changkyun-not @mischevious-pixie @mochi-the-uwu @haengbokpixie @kiritokunuwu @kittyddandnyla @runningwitches @cevanswhre @mint-mai @morpheus-rex @franko-pop @bigchaosenergy @luhvsnoir @shadowpurr @fueledbyapplepi @bellesowl @nonbinaryh0e @somis0 @farmertoshi @a-moon-fairy @cat-kinda-moon @halesandy @putmeinyourdeathnote @kookie-doughs @nikanikabitch @fuckjeffreybezos @icedberrytea @dearfushiguro @sevenlol @darlingkuroo (send an ask if you want to be added) if your name is crossed, i cannot tag you

[witchkings]

The Chaining of Melkor Reloaded

For @eol who’s been asking for morosexual!Mairon for forever and who also came up with this fun modern AU scenario. Hope you enjoy!

AO3

Mairon liked to lie which was probably why he was such an outstanding lawyer. He lied to the money-thick, disgusting men whose tax fraud cases he represented in telling them that they would go back to their life of luxury soon. He lied to their wives when they asked him whether he knew of any affairs their husbands might pursue in telling them that no, of course not, he was loyal. He lied to the Starbucks barista ever so often, claiming they had gotten his order wrong so they would give him a refund.

But most of all, Mairon lied to himself. He told himself that being a junior partner in his firm was enough, that he did not have to make it as a state attorney, that he did not want to be a full partner or, better yet, have his own firm. He told himself he didn’t miss his family who lived across the ocean, miss the gloomily luminous charm of England and his endless number of siblings whom he had left to turn his long-distance relationship into one where the only separating space was that between the two mattresses on their California King size because Melkor hadn’t yet gotten around to ordering a single big one. The list went on.

The biggest lie Mairon told himself frequently was this: he was not attracted by stupidity, on the contrary, he dated a man of vast intelligence and many a notable achievement. Melkor’s pretty face was merely a bonus. It was a precarious construction, teetering and nearly brought down in instances when Melkor couldn’t name the current president, managed to wedge himself in between the car and the garage door again, or confused their for there for they’re for the umpteenth time, but he always made up for it. Melkor had an important job as the CEO of a real estate firm, he was as rich as they got without going into politics and participating in lobbyism. Melkor owned a whole library of books on various topics. Melkor was a man of standard and intellect and Mairon would not let himself be told any differently.

That was until he got back from the office one night, it was a Wednesday, he would later recall, the anniversary of their first chat on Facebook, to find a patrol car on the curb in front of their house. A lanky cop leaned against it, munching on a hamburger.

“Good evening,” Mairon said, putting on his pleasant voice. The one that hooked him his clients. “Can I help you, officer?”

“Finally, we could not reach your phone, mobile or office, and I’ve been waiting for you to get home,” the officer replied, crumbs flying. “This is about your client.”

“What client?” Mairon asked. He had been in a conference, that much was true, his phone still in flight mode, but if any client of his had done something that would involve the police needing to approach Mairon, they would have come to the office, surely.

“Mr. ah,” the cop stopped and consulted a wrinkly piece of paper in his breast pocket. “Mr. Melkor Bauglir. We’ve arrested him for vehicular manslaughter. Apparently, he was, and I quote, ‘not sure how to put in the reverse gear on his car and had to exit his parking spot by driving across the sidewalk’. He apparently lost control of the vehicle when a dog jumped in front of it, hit the brakes and swerved to the right where he ran the car into a construction side, causing the death of one and serious injury of four other construction workers.”

Mairon blinked. Then he brushed past the cop and went into their shared house without a word of reply. This was all just a silly dream, he told himself as he uncorked the wine he had saved for a particularly fine evening. Horrifying would do too. Just a dream.

 “You really had to go ahead and kill someone,” Mairon said in place of a greeting as he sat down on the panic-red plastic chair in front of the thick glass and picked up the receiver. He tried not to think about how many people had vented their frustration into it before him and how much of the subsequent spittle still crusted its edges. Melkor sat on the other side, his orange inmate overall clashing violently with his pallor so that he looked a little like he had a mild case of jaundice. His black hair hung in streaks down his front, his mouth was thin, lips nearly invisible. It had been three days since the cop had approached Mairon, and he had refused to see Melkor in that time, had only yielded because his boyfriend had sounded so hollow and miserable over the phone and because the house seemed too empty without him. “You look like hell.”

“Of course, I look like hell, I’m stuck in a dumpster,” Melkor muttered, eyes narrowed.

“It’s your own fault,” Mairon supplied, and when that got him no answer, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Look, they won’t let you out on bail. Apparently, the construction site belonged to the city so they’re going to sue the living daylight out of you and plead for a lifelong sentence.”

“No big deal.” Melkor swatted at the air as if to make away with the charges like with a nasty mosquito.

“Quite the big deal, if you ask me,” Mairon grated, teeth pressed together. He had to be back in the office in twenty minutes and Melkor didn’t even seem concerned.

“I’m sure you’ll manage to free me of all charges. Perks of having an up and coming lawyer for your boyfriend.”

“Melkor, listen to me,” Mairon said, leaning forward, He pressed his forefinger into the glass. “I cannot take your case, our relationship forbids it.”

“But if we’re not married-“

“Doesn’t matter, if they get a whiff of our relationship, it may discredit my whole case and you’ll truly be stuck. I can’t represent you, love, I’m sorry.”

That got Melkor to finally sit straight. Panic poured through the line as he spoke, and it twisted the knot in Mairon’s throat.

“But, but. I can’t stay here. You have to get me out. Don’t you know someone? Anyone? Mairon, do something,” Melkor shrieked, jumping up. In an instant, three guards were on him, restraining him and he was dragged out of sight before there was a chance to reply.  

Mairon rolled his eyes and slammed the phone back into its hanging, blood boiling. He strode out of the visitor’s room and left the prison behind, fuming with rage and frustration and underneath those layers, a spark that blossomed in the depths of his belly.

“What a moron,” he muttered as he slid into the driver’s seat of his Mercedes. “What an utter moron.”

 Mairon took a deep, shaky inhale to steady himself. He stood before the polished door of his colleague’s office space, not a junior partner yet, but surely on his way, and knocked.

“Come in,” came the smooth reply, and Mairon pushed it open, forcing his facial muscles to relax, thought of how funny it had been when Melkor had meant to replace the toilet seat in the guest bathroom and had accidentally pulled the whole thing out of the wall. Somehow, it didn’t get the job done though. Mairon’s mood only soured further. “Mairon, pal, sit, sit. Have a good lunch?”

Angmar sat in his high-backed chair, a ridiculous expense, his fingertips stapled together in front of his face. His hair was combed back, and his beard neatly trimmed. He smelled like burnt tea.

“Ah, you know how sensible my stomach can be, I’m afraid I had to revert back to grilled cheese,” Mairon lied in reply. Considering the whole debacle at the prison, he hadn’t had the chance to eat at all and his intestines were screaming with abandonment.

“Good old grilled cheese, a national symbol if ever I’ve seen one. I myself had two orders of California Rolls from the best sushi place in town, you know the one. But anyway, look at me, blabbing on. Back to work now, ain’t it? What can I do for you my friend?” Angmar grinned, exposing a set of pearly whites with one gold tooth to the upper left. Mairon remembered that evening, though he would have preferred not to. He cleared his throat, thinking it might be best to get to the point.

“Melkor managed to get himself into jail,” Mairon began and watched the shock unfold on Angmar’s face with slight impatience. “Vehicular manslaughter, destruction of property, mayhem, and a couple minor charges. No bail accepted, and I can’t defend his case.”

Angmar’s eyebrows rose. Then he burst out into hollering laughter.

“Please, Angmar, I know it sounds funny, but this is my boyfriend we’re talking about,” Mairon said calmly, though his insides were fuming. Then, he remembered Angmar’s weakness for a good love story, and put on the teary face. “And it was an accident, I mean. He would never actually want to hurt anyone.” Not something Mairon was confident in. “And we had meant to go on this big vacation and I think perhaps he wanted to propose and now he’s in prison, I can’t believe it.” Mairon sobbed, burying his face in his hands. If this didn’t get Angmar, then he would have to butter on the praise. But the laughter died instantly.

“Geez, I’m so sorry, Mairon, that’s truly horrible. How can I help?”

“Take his case. You’re the only chance I have.” He peered out between his fingers. Angmar was tapping his lips with a pencil, staring at the ceiling. “He’s very rich,” Mairon added.

“Consider it done,” Angmar said. He patted Mairon’s shoulder over the desk.

 “We’ll find another way,” Mairon said, reaching out over the sterile plastic table he and Melkor occupied. Now that Melkor was a permanent resident of the facility and had distinguished himself through well-adjusted behavior – meaning he rarely did anything, ever – they got to meet without the glass between them. Hand-holding was the absolute maximum though, and Melkor’s skin was dry, full of tiny rashes when Mairon touched it. Melkor stared down at their hands, his gaze glazed over.

“I’ll rot in here.” And Melkor had every right to claim that. Angmar had done a fantastic job, but the city had had too many of its own pawns in the game, and there had never been a chance.  Melkor would lose half of his fortune, would have to serve a reduced sentence of seven years and have to do civic work for another three. It was better than life-long, but Mairon would not stand it.

“No, you won’t,” Mairon promised. “We’ll find another way.”

He twisted his hand so the folded in Swiss pocket knife he had bought that morning pressed into Melkor’s hand. Melkor’s brow furrowed, then he pulled back his hand with the tool and brought it close to his face to inspect it. It lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Quick, hide it,” Mairon hissed, but too late. As Melkor flipped the thing open, blade gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light, a guard stormed towards them, gun at Melkor’s temple before anyone else could realize what was happening.

“DROP THE KNIFE INMATE,” the guard screamed, spittle flying. Melkor complied.

“Sorry,” he said to Mairon with a small, apologetic smile. Mairon pinched the bridge of his nose. Moments later, Melkor was gone from the room and an escort was sent to take Mairon out of the prison.

He was barred from visits for the next three months, and that memory of Melkor’s skin against his, the soft plains of his awed expression as he had realized Mairon’s plans were all he had to cling to, all that kept him company at night when he was doomed to fulfill his own aching desires.

 Without volition on Mairon’s part nor with active awareness on Melkor’s, it got to be a pattern.

Mairon slipped Melkor a written note on the security systems which he had procured after dissolving into tears at his colleague’s Gothmog’s desk who had worked a case to do with an escaped inmate once. Gothmog had let Mairon review the file under the guise of research for a new client and Mairon had jotted down the most vital points so that Melkor could work on an escape plan with all the free time he had. Melkor mistook the note for trash and discarded of it in the visitation room’s bin.

Then, he sent large sums of money onto Melkor’s prison bank account so he could buy some of the guards’ favors and Melkor used it all on communal bathroom slippers and toothpaste because his got stolen so frequently, he needed new ones by the day. If he had been any more inclined towards intentional violence, Melkor could have reigned that place, but all his aggressions were accidental. He had a lot more enemies than friends in that place. In general, now that Mairon thought about it.

Later, Mairon brought candy spiked with narcotics for Melkor to distribute amongst the guards and slip out of the prison in the ensuing disruption, but Melkor forgot about the contents. He ate the whole bag himself which meant Mairon received a call at three in the morning informing him that Melkor had fallen into a coma and was unlikely to ever wake up again. He did, eventually, but Mairon was careful to change tactics.  

He dug up shady details about other inmates’ lives so Melkor could blackmail them into helping him organize an escape plan or a riot or really anything that would provide an opportunity for Melkor to get out. In true fashion, Melkor mixed up the inmate’s names and, rather than threatening anyone, insulted a lot of people which resulted in him becoming the victim of a planned attack. No pudding for a whole week.

The list went on and on, and every night that Mairon went to bed alone, jerked off under angry tears and cursed the day he had clicked on Melkor’s profile, a part of him died.

 “I’ve had enough of this,” Mairon announced once upon a visit. His nose was red and runny from the biting cold outside and the first snow had fallen the prior weekend, an emissary of the loneliest holidays he would ever celebrate. He had half a mind to go back to England, just for Christmas, but he couldn’t well leave Melkor here to rot on his own. No, he was devoted and not at all happy about it.

“Enough of what?” Melkor asked. He looked the same as he always did, orange cloth in constant warfare with his taint, his hair open, greasy, now down to his waistline. The prison hairdresser only dropped in once every six months. Their hands lay on the table, twined together, no space between them and it felt to Mairon like he was stranded in a desert, half dead from thirst and only given drops of sea water to drink. He needed to feel Melkor’s mouth, his face, his chest, his cock which no dildo had yet been able to replace. He needed for this nightmare to be over and for Melkor to come home, abandoned though it was as Mairon spent almost all day at work or at various begrudging friends’ houses so he wouldn’t be alone.

“Enough of waking up to a cold mattress beside me, enough of cooking too much because I forget I’m by myself now, enough of fingering myself in the bathtub pretending you’re with me.”

A guard near them cleared his throat noisily.

“I have apologized extensively,” Melkor said, shrugging. “Believe me, if I could, I would bend you over this very table and have my way, but alas. Rules.”

The guard spluttered, but Mairon ignored him.

“There might be a way. Ever heard of a conjugal visit?”

“A what now?”

Mairon explained it patiently, thinking himself clever, and accentuated this whole idea with a sheet of paper he pulled out of his bag. Melkor’s expression darkened, his eyes stormy-wild, his mouth set.

“What is that?” he growled.

“Paperwork. I’ll have the guard lend us a pen and we can seal it right here and now.”

“That’s the worst proposal ever,” Melkor muttered and retracted the hand that was holding Mairon’s to cross his arms over his chest.

“It’s the only one either of us is going to get in the next five years or so. At best. Face it, Melkor, you ruined any prospects of a proper wedding with your accident.” Mairon leaned back, tapping the paper with a nail. “If we sign this, at least we get to fuck ever so often.”

“No.”

“Sorry?” Mairon smiled, thinking of a hundred different ways he wanted to make Melkor sign the papers already. He had been patient, clever, smart, loving, supportive. He had not left Melkor, was going to stick through this with him. And here he was, this boyfriend he had sacrificed everything for, denying him the simplest of carnal pleasures.

“I am not marrying you in a prison’s visitation room,” Melkor said, a finality in his voice that had Mairon wish he could turn back time or at the very least, make Melkor understand that this wasn’t the place for romantic touches.

“You should,” he said through gritted teeth, anger flaring. His stress levels were through the roof.

“No. Absolutely not. I’d rather wait and run on fantasies of you than throw away something so special. You can only get married once.”

“That’s not-“

“End of discussion,” Melkor said and gestured for the guard to lead him out of the room.

 The solution Mairon came up with was, perhaps, far from ideal and very costly, but it was the only one he saw, the only scenario in which he wouldn’t go insane with longing. Mairon bought a rifle, waited for nightfall, and snuck into the nearest air base. Then he only had to apply what was left of Melkor’s savings to impress upon the right people. A prison selection here, a cell assignment there, and wouldn’t you know. They dressed him in that horrid orange, gave him a bedroll and lead him to a sorry, colorless room with two cods, a few shelves on the walls and his boyfriend, idling away.

“Oh god,” Melkor gasped, sitting up. Mairon laughed as he was shoved into the cell, stumbling into Melkor’s chest. They fall back against the creaky, hard prison bed, Mairon on top of Melkor who still wore a startled expression. “What did you do?”

“Aggravated theft of a military vehicle,” Mairon said, feeling rather proud to have pulled it off. He would have gotten away with it too if he hadn’t gambled for them to catch him trying to escape.

“You are impossible,” Melkor laughed.

“And you a moron.”

They met in a soft, exploring kiss, the first in forever, the first in a million. All the time in the world to make up for the last year or so.

 “I love you for going to prison with me,” Melkor panted into the crook of Mairon’s neck later that night.

“And I love you for…” Mairon paused, trying to think of something redeeming about this situation other than the bites littering his chest, the rigid cock that pounded into him with reckless abandon. He came up short, but that was okay. “For you. I love you for you.”

[yoondoze]

if | myg

letter #1 | letter #2 | letter #3

listen to: the 1975 - anobrain / please be naked

wc: 2k

a/n: warnings are absent in order to not spoil, but it’s heavy angst. if you need them, just message me and i’ll happily let you know. pay close attention to the formatting as to not be confused <3

Maybe it's just him, but the winds seem a bit warmer today.

The air is fresh and inviting as Yoongi steps outside his apartment. It's not something he does more often than he needs, but today is a special day. It's your birthday, and he wouldn't miss it for the world, despite his heavy heart.

He takes his time on his walk to the train station. It's not all that crowded for a Tuesday afternoon. He supposes that the typical throngs of people who would usually be here have come and gone already, much earlier than him. 

The world he sees through the train window isn't awful. He knows you would berate him for being so pessimistic, but you haven't been there to remind him of that in a while.

"Dear Y/N,

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who remembers you."

Your laugh is Yoongi's favorite sound, he decides. It's versatile and comes in so many forms yet every single one manages to light up his heart in a way no one else's can. The shy ones when he compliments you, the hearty ones when he fumbles over his words and accidentally creates a new language, the laughs in between syllables as you call him a motherfucker after making a joke at your expense.

It's music to his ears, much more so than the bass-heavy songs pumping from the house party across the street. He didn't really want to come in the first place, but the smile on your face when he agreed was priceless. Saying no would be a serious, inhumane offense he'd never be able to forgive himself for.

"I know it's been a while, but it just feels so strange to me how people can move on with their lives so easily. I think maybe they just never suffered a loss as great as you. Because as lovely and wonderful as you are to have around, it hurts so much more when you leave.

Will there ever come a day that I don't cry when I think about you? As much as it hurts, I hope never do, because that will mean that I've moved on."

As he gets closer to home, the sun peeks out further and further from behind the clouds. Sooner than later, he is passing through the town. If he reaches deep into his memories, he can picture you standing on every street corner and every crosswalk and every doorstep he passes.

"At the very least, there is a place that remembers our love, even if it wasn't explicit. The train tracks behind your house, the playground of my old school, the convenience store in the corner of town we always snuck out to together. The people that walk there now have no clue about you or me or us, but the footsteps are embedded in the concrete, even if just barely, as proof. Traces of you linger there."

He helps you out of the car, balancing you on your heels in the grass, before taking your hand in his and pulling you across the pavement. His hair bounces as he looks from side to side every step of the way to be extra careful.

Inside, he weaves through the crowd with you. It's only a slight disappointment when you tug him back to say hi to almost every person you see. All he can give them is a timid wave, but it's alright because you make up for his silence with everything you have to say. You're practically bursting at the seams with eager words at every instance - the two of you balance each other well.

"I'm doing okay now. I moved because I felt suffocated back home after what happened. It doesn't mean I've forgotten you - I hope you understand. I could never."

When Yoongi's friends find him, slinging their arms around his shoulders half-drunk, you take your cue to leave. You shoot him a look that says something along the lines of, "you'll be okay?" and he offers a minuscule nod that responds, "always am." 

He spends the night with the guys while he wishes he was spending it with you. Sure, you could compare the two and accurately say that you get just as rowdy as they do when drunk, but Yoongi thinks you're much more fun to be around. Things being what they are, he has been preferring your presence over anyone else's recently.

He could name detail after detail that he likes about you and wouldn't reach the bottom of the list in a million years. As to not embarrass you, though, he won't.

Regardless, he tries to enjoy himself. He catches your eyes every so often but keeps his distance out of fear of smothering you, entirely unaware that it's not something you would mind.

What bothers him, though, is when your friends start to egg you on in talking to some hotshot baseball player. Not one to be the jealous type, but it's a different story when it comes to you. And to baseball players. He stands in the kitchen, glancing over the rim of his red solo cup, while you push them off and beg them to stop bringing attention to your corner of the living room.

However, drunk girls are overtly supportive and full of encouragement of one another, so of course you end up talking to him. When his cup starts to cave in under his fierce grip, he knows it's time for him to exit the scene. He hits the bathroom upstairs to cool down.

"It's lonely without you with me. I always imagined that we would be together when we went to college and moved to the city and got married and that one day, we'd be neighbors and our kids would end up being friends. That is, if we didn't have them together.

And honestly, maybe we could have. We'll never know for sure, but I have a feeling."

It's only a minute after he shuts himself in does he open it up to your knocking.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He shrugs. "Nothing, why?"

Your eyes narrow at him skeptically. "I don't know. I just saw you leave really quick." You hop up onto the bathroom counter and Yoongi leans his hip against it to face you.

To be honest, he's a little drunk. He didn't mean to as he intended on driving home, but he got a little caught up without you there to manage him. Therefore, his world is moving a little slow. Not too much to be incomprehensible, but enough that he has to take a second to buffer.

He takes up an interest in the sink between you and him, leaning back on his hands. 

"Is it about the guy downstairs?" you ask, holding back a cheeky smile. "My friends were just being annoying. All I did was say hi to make them happy."

Yoongi wants to say that it wasn't about that, wants to deny your assumption that he was jealous, wants to dismiss there being anything between the both of you that would make him feel that way in the first place. He doesn't, though, because you're right, despite how nervous it makes him that you've figured out as much.

"As one of your favorite quotes proclaims, love transcends time and space. I think it also transcends existence. Because wherever you may be, or where I may be, I love you still."

But then it hits him that you've not only figured it out, but you've just now acknowledged it. And it didn't seem like you were upset.

"I never told you, but I think you already knew."

Before he can point it out, you're leaning in to kiss him. One of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, gentle fingers carding through his hair, and the other rests lightly on his collarbone. It's soft and sweet. Fruit punch lingers on your lips, and he only realizes he's supposed to be reciprocating when you break apart from him.

"Um, I-," you sputter, shaking your head. It starts to feel like a mistake, like you were too bold, but then Yoongi goes into full gear again, hands on your waist pulling you back in. This time it's your turn to be stunned, but it fades much quicker. 

A fit of excitement bubbles out of you in the form of a laugh, and Yoongi savors every second. It feels like his dreams are coming true. There's not a doubt in his mind that you like him back now. everything he's been overthinking for the past year was real, after all.

If only he confessed sooner.

"We were us."

He sighs, falling into step across the barren grass. Unfortunately, he knows this path far too well. His body gets him to where he needs to be while his mind wanders. 

"And it was so special to feel."

You both agree it's time to leave and the roles have reversed as you now lead him through the crowd. He holds tight to your hand and is even hesitant to let go when you have to push him into the passenger seat and go around to the other side.

You'd driven his car more than once, and considering you were basically sober at this point, it was a no brainer. Deciding you want a little more time before parting ways, you take the backroads, twisting and winding between the trees, so thick that you can't see what lies on the other side of the turn.

"From the moment we're born, we're destined to die. I know that. That's how it is for everyone. The one thing you can be sure of in life is death. The form you might not know, but you are guaranteed it's coming. The day I expected it most, you lived. The day I expected it the least, you didn't.

But sometimes I wonder if I could have done anything. Looking back, I knew what you were doing. I wish I knew what you were thinking. sometimes, I think I already know."

A bright light flashes from around the bend all too quickly.

You always saw three steps ahead, didn't you? It's that sixth sense. I think you resigned yourself to what was going to happen before I even had a clue. Maybe you saw it being me and it ruined you. Maybe you saw it being you, and despite the fear, there was purpose. You talked about not having it so often, but here it was. So confidently, purpose."

There's the drawn-out bellow of a horn and your arm flies out in front of Yoongi's chest. There's not enough time to break.

"Is that moral obligation? Is that destiny? A finite human making a split decision?"

He reaches over to grab the wheel, but you've already committed, hard swerving to the right. He hears himself yell, and then glass is shattering and tires are screeching as your side of the car takes the brunt of the crash.

"Or is it you loving me?"

His feet stand still at the base of your grave. With delicate hands, he nestles the bundle of envelopes between the lillies he's brought for you.

He knows you won't be able to read them. A part of him, however, hopes that maybe you were reading it all over his shoulder when he wrote it. Maybe you can feel it. Maybe you can hear it when he says it in his mind. You were able to when you were alive, so why couldn't you do the same now?

It's been years, but each memory of you is vivid in his mind. How could it not be, when every good thing he sees reminds him of you? When he relives that moment every day?

"If I could go back in time to save you, I would.

But then again,

would you let me?"

[anonil88]

“This isn't prison break.”parts 1 & 2

Rue runs away for a night from rehab with a bunch of people she doesn't know. They go to a club, do some stupid stuff and adopt a cat.

wrote this and put it on AO3- lnk here- but also updating on here:

PART 1

Rue laughs absently at the other group of "degenerates" as Ali would call them. They are walking along the side of the road towards wherever a kid named Malcolm was leading them. She technically was supposed to be in her small dorm bed asleep and awaiting 4 am check in. But instead here she was being a fellow degenerate who had technically escaped the rehab facility. They all intended on going back to the treatment facility eventually. She hopes Sol would even though it meant they probably would be separated. They all just needed a night of more because everyone was on edge and needed a break. Everyone was aware that the consequences would be getting kicked out or all restrictions taken away. But, fuck it.

Her group of acquaintances, because they were not her friends, was made up of a random assortment of folks. One of which was some guy named Graham who was apparently the older "brother" of Angel. Angel was the only one out of the group besides her roommate who actually knew more than whatever she half assed in group therapy. Which was very little but it was enough to keep them.... interested. Rue shoves her hands in the pockets of a pair of baggy shorts that Angel threw at her in a parking lot after everyone met back up. Their escape plan was a plan but they all booked it through a hole in the fence and through a patch of woods at first. Some person named Bones, who had to at least be a sophomore in college, picked them all up in a hatchback and the Graham who opened a backpack filled with vices.

Rue steered clear of the opiates and went straight for the bottle of Coconut Rum. Even though she could practically hear the pills singing her fucking name. Most of them actually opted to be clean of whatever landed them in rehab but not sober. Not everyone though because Angel was definitely rolling a tiny bit and so were two other people out of the 5 fence jumpers. Including her roommate Sol. Rue just figured the slap on the wrist once they got back would be less harsh without a positive test. The rum was more than enough to stay kind of alert amongst everyone here. All these faces that might leave her dying face down in a ditch if she OD’ed....again.

She wasn't even in here because of an overdose. Just a basic relapse that made her mom's mind up for her and now she was forced into a stupid facility with strangers. They forced her to talk, made sure she ate, but she honestly felt worse being inside than out. It was probably working the 12 steps and quiet therapy sessions but in places she didn't see yet. This right here though the warmth of the air touching her skin as the packed car they'd all tumbled into hurtled through empty streets. Leaning her head back she mumbles along the lyrics while Sol pulls at the worn shirt collar. 

 "Beep beep go swerving in my, Beep been you want me riding in your...."

Rue sighs feeling sticky lips press against her clavicle and up her neck.

 "Beep beep ghost busting in my,

 Beep beep you want me riding in your....driving super fast."

Sol was cool people but Rue knew it couldn't be anything more than fooling around. Kissing when no one was watching or either of them came back from a therapy session sobbing.  Sometimes Sol sneaking into her bed at night so they could have quickie sex sessions. This wasn't how Rue expected to explore her sexuality that was pretty dormant but it was what she had. It also wasn't with who she had in mind either. Lingering feelings aside the two of them were stuck in a juvenile inpatient program. With the same beds as the ones in college pamphlets, a no shoelace rule, and  fuzzy socks ( that Rue secretly loves). This girl was like 3 inches shorter than Rue, dark skinned, neck tattoos and a short cut. Sol had been through so much more shit than Rue and it made her feel ungrateful. Ungrateful because at least she had a hard working mom who still loved her and hadn't abandoned all hope. Other people in the program who took it seriously though told her not to because her life sucked too.

Feeling Sol's lips on hers she kissed her back. She didn't feel anything but it must have felt amazing to Sol who deepened the kiss. The car swerved past what in Rue's mind had to be a pothole. Sol falls away further into her body clutching the fabric of her shirt and accidentally her chest. Rue hears Sol sigh and snaps her eyes open while Sol still kisses her. Rue grabs hold of the handle above the door and sits back up mumbling, what was that. She watches Sol roll her eyes and sit back into the tan seats.

"Oh FUCK," Bones yelled slowing the car down and pulling over. Bones had their black hair slicked all the way back and a cigarette falling out of their mouth. They were odd enough sober and everyone's dd, just a ball of chaotic a.d.d they'd laughed at her earlier as they walked her from the gas station bathroom back to the car. It was a nice gesture because apparently she seemed "kind of uncomfortable," which was true. The urge to escape herself dulled the fear of her mother's true unbridled anger. Or Fez's.

He was really upset when he found out she got a new plug after actually being clean for so long. She turns to look out the back window and sees two green eyes attached to a small grey mound in the road. 

"What the....omg a cat omg," Angel is practically bouncing out of the car after pulling out a half eaten filet o fish. Rue watches him in an outfit she felt fit him so much more than the basic t-shirt and sweatpants he wore everyday. His platform sneakers lit up across the black asphalt as he inches  closer to the obviously terrified animal. A glitter covered arm wove in front of him with food and Rue leans into the window in anticipation. The only thing that could make Angel seem even more angelic was wings or a halo above his half platinum half silver hair. He honestly seemed like the type to fit right into Jules's friend group. But instead he was the kind creative rave kid who drew her pictures of kandy he'd give her one day. 

"Hey um...you ," she feels her shoulder being tapped. "Put this in your lap."

PART 2

"Yes! I love this song," Bones yells back rolling down the windows. The cool autumn air filling the car and the smell of weed being blown out the window. 

Her heel is bouncing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. With one more she could become triple A instead of alcoholics anonymous. She can feel a comfortable softness against her sole. It's from a piece of fabric she keeps stuffed in her sock. Her knee keeps bouncing in place with the sleeping kitten being stroked by Sol in her lap. Her current reality is so much more serene than the one she relives in her head.

Arrival nurses took her hoodie at this new place only letting it stay with her the first night. She was so fucking high on check in that she screamed please don't take my dad please as they explained it to her mom. Her mom who she clung to like they were about to skin her alive. Chest rising and falling quick enough someone said something about a shot. Too high to be cold and distant but not enough for her heart to stop. Just enough to be a paranoid fuck up. Leslie tried to calm her down but it only worked after her mom bargained with them, one night.

One night and then her mom visited the next day to say goodbye. Slipping a gray square in her pocket. It was worn in from a t-shirt that her dad wore in her baby pictures. Leslie hugged her so tight before leaving whispering we love you so much. That was the last time she'd seen her mom and every time she called Leslie said oh rue like her heart was breaking again. So those phone calls were short because her mom crying always fucks her up mentally for a few days. The silent pauses remind her of the little sister who always has faith in her but is turning into someone who doesn't even look at her. 

"You okay," Sol whispers and rue nods because when was she ever. Her arm that sol is resting on is cramping but she lets it, not much arm space in this back row anyway. She should have just chosen the trunk with some 16 year old named Zach. 

"On the left yesss we made it and on time too," Graham jeers next to Sol.

 Rue looks at the dash clock crinoline her brow. "How is almost 1 am on time," she whispers. 

Sol chuckles, "It is a club not a house party you knew that right ?" Rue bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head no. Sol puckers a bottom lip and kisses her cheek. Great pity Rue thinks. Sol leans in to whisper to Rue, "Don't worry Graham knows the bouncer. No fakes required."

Rue opens back up the glass bottle in the seat net and lets the clear liquid burn her throat a bit. Out of her realm was an understatement, house parties were something she was used to but never clubs. She didn't even know what kind of club this was but judging from the giant rainbow flag out front, angry repressed frat bros wouldn't be an issue. Which helped the nerves in her stomach unwind. The fur ball on her lap made a noise and she rubbed it through the sweater it's been laid on. Sol said the kitten was probably dumped because there was a tag scar and the kitten was super clean. But was she risking it....no.

Sol takes the bottle from her hand and screws the cap back on. "You gonna dance with me tonight Benny." Sol says as she nudges her shoulder.

"Maybe," Rue shrugs.

" Okay well how about anyone else," Sol grins coyly.

Rue looks away from her and out the window. She's more interested in the brick building as they get closer than someone's hot sweaty body. There's a line to the door with several guards standing with gloved hands and flashlights. " Idk maybe," Rue looks back at Sol who is rolling her eyes. 

" Yes she is," Angel yells from the passenger seat. He's checking his makeup in the mirror and winks at rue. Which makes her tuck her hair behind her ear and cough to cover the blush. Angel turns around happily and says, "meee.'

Leaning forward Sol pecks Angel and says, " Bennett your goal tonight is to have fun, dance with someone. He, she, they, who cares, maybe you'll get a lil prison pen pal."

Rue rolls her eyes, that probably wasn't happening but it was about trying new experiences. Treatment was also not prison; it just was not freedom either. Bones pulls past the entrance and swings into the parking lot. Graham is behind them pointing as they follow directions. He's even saying fun facts like this is Knott's which Angel keeps mimicking. Bones slowly moves the car  until  one guard leans his hand in the window. The guard daps Graham up and they laugh for a second. His name is apparently DJ and he's their in. The only rules are no weapons. 

In the parking lot they all get put and Rue notices other cars with clusters of people around them. She shakes her lap free of cigarette ash and cat hair. The cat now named sparkle is being in the trunk with a makeshift bed, a small can of tuna Bones just had and an old bottle lid filled with water. Rue leans down and ties the mismatched dollar store laces on her chucks. They had hot dogs on them which was kind of cute. A tire squeals close by of a car obviously moving way too fast and drunk singing out a window speeds past them. Idiots. Everyone else was finishing a shared bottle or blunt. Leaning against the side of the trunk she feels Sol rest against her arm warming it up.

Rue can hear a steady thump and beat coming from the brick building. It makes her head move which means the music might not be her thing but it'll be tolerable. Graham even said there's another section with actual seats that has a more contained dance floor with pop and hip-hop. Just in case she got overwhelmed by the rave scene and the lights. She doubles over as she laughs at Angel's jokes. 

Kid was fucking hilarious, she stands up wiping her eyes and freezes looking in front of her.