#but the SECOND he meets miles’s eyes everything falls away and he’s just *him*

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

alex + looking at miles

[luveline]

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death 

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu. 

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it. 

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes. 

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes. 

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name. 

You barely blink. 

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out." 

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back. 

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements. 

"It's okay," Spencer says. 

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship. 

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring. 

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute." 

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that. 

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried." 

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you." 

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now. 

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you. 

You turn away from him. 

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain. 

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself. 

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out. 

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay." 

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back. 

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…" 

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt. 

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back. 

You wrap your arms around his waist. 

[trashywormeateroffics]

the great war (bucky barnes x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: you get jealous and have a fight with bucky. inspired by the great war by taylor swift.

a/n: hey anon!!! sorry it took so long. i have no excuse. anyways, i hope you enjoy this!!! <333 also i am once again asking u to send me requests with marvel characters (natasha/bucky/loki) and taylor swift songs so i can write a one shot about it !!!! bye love u

masterlist

\\\\

you don't know how it all happened. one second, everything was perfect. the next, you were acting like a crazy person and saying horrible and hurtful things. and now you're pretty sure you've officially lost him forever.

\\\\

it all started with her. agent carpenter. pretty, blue eyed blonde, flirty, perfect agent carpenter.

“alright everyone,” tony begins and the people in the meeting fall into silence. “as you all know, a new member is joining us on the avengers initiative.” they all nod, including you. “her name is samara carpenter and she was personally recruited by fury. which means she's very good at what she does.” the billionaire looks at steve and he nods, taking the lead.

“alright, i want you all to be nice and welcoming. especially you buck.” he says, making most of the people there snort. you look at him.

“what did i do now?” bucky asks, incredulous.

“nothing yet, but if you just stare at her and don't greet her like a normal person she'll leave this team as fast as she came.” sam tells him. the grumpy super soldier rolls his eyes.

“whatever, bird-brain.”

steve shakes his head in disapproval of the two bickering idiots but soon enough he's back on track with the presentation.

bucky's rough gaze scans the room until it falls on you. his eyes soften when he sees that you are already looking at him. you give him a soft and playful smile, which he returns.

after the meeting is done and everyone is dismissed, you head to your room.

not five seconds pass until someone knocks on the door. you smile, because you know who it is.

“come in!” you sing-song.

when he enters, you can't help but stare at him. you've been together for a year now but you still couldn't believe that he was yours. he was so beautiful, so funny, so kind, so dumb sometimes, just so… him. you loved him so much. yet you still hadn't said it. you were trying to take things slow, for both of your sakes.

“hey.” you tell him as he closes the door behind him. he has a look on his face which you recognize. something's bothering him.

“c'mere.” you pat the spot next to you on the bed.

he wastes no time in dropping himself unceremoniously on the mattress and letting out a sigh.

you begin to run your hands through his hair.

“d'you think i'm scary?” he asks with a pout adorning his beautiful pink lips. god, you want to kiss him so badly. so that's what you do. you peck his lips and then immediately shake your head with a smile.

“do you think that adorable pout could be scary?” he purses his lips to stop himself from smiling, but still, a small smile plays on his lips.

“y/n, i'm being serious.” he sighs. you do too.

“maybe to some people you could be. not to me though.”

“but when you first met me-”

“i was too busy thinking about how hot you were to worry about you being scary.” he laughs. god, how you love that sound. you would ridicule yourself to hear it. “is this about what steve and sam said?”

he shrugs.

“i just… hate that i'm so socially inadequate.”

you hand in his hair stops. he furrows his brows.

“bucky,” you begin, “we are a bunch of weirdos, all of us. there is not one person on this team who is socially adequate.”

“but at least the others can fake it, you can fake it.”

“you know what my favorite thing about you was when we first started to become friends?” you ask and he shakes his head. “that your face said it all. if you weren't in the mood for something, i could tell from a mile away, and in return, if something excited you, it would be contagious.” you caress his cheek and he leans into your touch. “and when i couldn't pretend, i always knew you were there to just sit in silence with me. no expectations to be socially acceptable.”

“i don't know how you do it.” he sighs. you frown.

“do what?”

“make every bad thing about me sound so… good.”

your frown deepens.

“hey.” you straddle him and grab his face in between both your hands. “you are perfect. just like you are. don't you dare change yourself.” you tell him firmly. then you purse your lips. “unless you totally want to for whatever reason and i would totally support you because-” you suddenly fall silent. he looks at you, expectant for you to finish your sentence. “because you know i'm here for you, no matter what.”

he smiles softly.

“i know, doll. me too, i'm always here for you no matter what.” you purse your lips to stop yourself from spilling your heart out of your mouth as you caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“how about we watch a movie? you can pick.”

he pecks your lips and nods.

you spend what is left of the day watching movies and cuddling.

\\\\

two days after that meeting, she arrives. you're all hanging around the common kitchen when steve appears with someone trailing behind him.

“everyone, this is agent carpenter.”

“please, call me samara. or sammie even.”

“sammie, nice to meet you.” sam is the first one to greet her. “i'm sam wilson, but the coolest avenger is fine too.”

you shake your head and roll your eyes. then, you take a step forward, but before you can introduce yourself and welcome her to the team, you see her eyes flicking over to something right next to you. or someone. her eyes shine with curiosity and attraction.

“hi, nice to meet you.” she smirks. you swallow slowly.

bucky gives her a nod, but then he seems to remember what steve and sam told him and attempts to give her a smile.

“hi, i'm bucky.”

“bucky,” she repeats slowly, almost tasting the name in her mouth. she's about to say something else but before she can, you speak up.

“i'm y/n. welcome to the team.” you smile as honestly as you possibly can, but dread fills your stomach.

“hi!” she smiles at you. “you're so pretty, oh my god!”

you give her a tight smile.

“thank you.”

“of course!”

the rest of the team introduces themselves, even though she insists she already knows almost all of them and then you all go about your day.

\\\\

it had been a month since she arrived at the compound. you had seen her a few times, mostly during training. but you didn’t particularly go out of your way to talk to her. there was something you didn’t like. maybe it was your intuition, or maybe it was the fact that she did seem to go out of her way to talk to your boyfriend. and he did not seem upset by that, the opposite actually. he seemed to enjoy it.

you were not a jealous person, least of all with bucky. but something about her irked you. something about her made you doubt yourself and everything you believed in.

“i like her,” natasha says while she paints her nails, laying on her stomach on your bed.

wanda hums in agreement while she flips through the pages of a beauty magazine. you don’t say anything.

“what about you, y/n?”

“um, yeah.” you try to give them a convincing smile but based on the looks they give you, you do not succeed.

“okay, spill the tea.” wanda tells you. had she been learning internet lingo?

you sigh.

“i just- i don’t know.” you shake your head. “doesn’t something feel off to you?”

“not really.” wanda says as natasha narrows her eyes.

“you’re jealous.” she finally decrees.

“i’m not.” you respond defensively.

“you’re jealous that she seems to be getting along with barnes.”

“i-“ you begin your sentence with the intention of uttering a lie, but it dies right on your tongue. “i am. but i don’t want to be.” you confess.

“explain yourself.” she tells you in a tone that could sound commanding and harsh to someone else, but you know it’s filled with care. she’s your best friend, she would never hurt you on purpose. so is wanda, who looks at you with a knowing look you can’t seem to pinpoint the reason for.

“i just- i don’t know. he’s never like that with anyone. since when is he the type to joke around with someone?” you shake your head. “i’m an asshole, cause i should be happy for him. he’s putting himself out there. but i can’t. i’m jealous. so cliche.” you huff.

“you’re not an asshole. an asshole would make a whole scene, give him an ultimatum or something like that. you’re just expressing your feelings to your friends.”

“and, y/n, we all have those ugly feelings. they are human.” wanda tells you, softly. “you should talk to him about it.”

“what if he gets mad?”

“y/n, please. that man adores you, he could never get mad at you. least of all for this.”

maybe they’re right. maybe that’s the healthiest thing to do. and even as you agree with them, you know you will not talk to him about this. because he will realize that you’re right, and that there is so much more to the world than just… you.

\\\\

“come on! you just have to put it in the oven!”

you hear her before you see her. you weren’t expecting to see him though.

right there, almost as if mocking you, they stand. cooking together. he looks so comfortable around her.

they seem to be wrapped up in their own little bubble, so you clear your throat. immediately, they turn to look at you. he widens his eyes, almost looking guilty.

“james found me and i asked him to join me.” she explains, but you stop paying attention the moment she says his name. she called him james.

“james?” you narrow your eyes in question.

he seems to want to say something because he opens his mouth like a fish out of water but you leave mumbling an excuse about training with nat before he can utter a word.

back in your room, you fall to the floor and break down. you knew she was trouble the moment she walked in, but you weren’t expecting this to happen so soon.

heartbroken, you get up from where you’re sitting and head to your bathroom.

the girl in the mirror looks defeated, but you feel angry. if he didn't need you anymore, then you didn’t need him either.

\\\\

the days after that, you ignore him, always having an excuse at the tip of your tongue to not hang out with him. he doesn’t seem to care that much. until, you suppose, after three days, he begins caring.

“doll, can we talk?”

“hm?” you play dumb. you encountered each other in the common kitchen. that damned place, you hated it now, but you were hungry.

“i asked you if we can talk. you seem… distant.” his brows are furrowed. you only know that because you turned to look at him only for a second. other than that, your gaze doesn’t meet his. “come on, y/n, i know something’s wrong.”

you look at him and smile sarcastically.

“you do?”

“yes. please, let’s ta-“

“hey guys!” you roll your eyes at her voice.

“have fun you two!” you tell them, smiling venomously, only looking at him before you leave.

“is everything okay?” she asks.

“i’m sorry samara, i can’t talk right now.” you hear him say before you hear his footsteps getting closer to you in the hallway.

“y/n!” he calls out to you when you get into the elevator without looking behind you. before the doors can close, you see his metal arm get in between them. he gets in and they close. once they do, he hits the stop button. then, he turns to you. he frows when he sees the hate in your eyes. “y/n, what is going on?”

you scoff.

“fuck off, james.” you tell him, your voice full of venom. he widens his eyes in surprise before narrowing them.

“oh, so that’s it? you’re jealous and that’s why you’re avoiding me and acting crazy now?”

“i’m not jealous, but i’m not blind either.” you clench your jaw. “and don’t call me crazy.”

“you are blind if you think something’s going on with her.” he tells you. you roll your eyes and then tilt your head.

“when was the last time you let someone call you james? when was the last time you cooked with someone who was not steve?” he begins breathing heavily. you laugh and bite your lip incredulously. “i think you took the whole being friendly thing too serious.”

“i can't believe you right now.” he shakes his head. “you're angry because i'm not being an asshole to her?”

you scoff.

“oh, please, james.” he clenches his jaw.

“stop calling me that.”

“oh, so i can't call you that but she can?”

“you know that's not-”

“you know what? go ahead. let her call you james. fuck her in the middle of the common room for all i care. lets see how long she puts up with you.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth but its too late, a deep hurt covers his face. still, you can't stop. you're too hurt, too scared. too goddamn stupid. “you think she's going to console you while you have your nightmares?” you laugh venomously. “you think she's going to accept you, all of you?” as you keep talking, his expression turns from pained to angry. resentful even.

he turns to the panel control of the elevator and pushes the stop button so the elevator will move again.

“you know what?” he glances at you and you're almost taken aback by the distant look in his eyes. “maybe i'll fuck her. maybe i'll even date her too. she's probably not as desperate and clingy as you.”

“fuck you.” you spit out.

the doors open, he steps outside. before he leaves, he turns to look at you.

“yeah, you too.”

after the doors close again, you fall to the floor and let out a heart-wrenching sob. you never thought it would end like this.

\\\\

four days. four fucking, horrible, long days bucky has been gone from the compound. you try to ask steve about it, because you know he knows where he is, but he won't tell you. even though you two are close friends and he never got in the middle of a fight between you two– even though you two never fought– he seemed angry. at you. you didn't know if he knew the reason for the fight, but he knew you were in the wrong, that much you knew.

these days all you do is cry, sleep, eat and repeat. you're way past heartbroken, you're miserable, inconsolable. it's all your fault. this prison of sadness was your own making.

you miss him. god, you miss him. you wonder how he is. did he already fuck someone else? did he regret ever being with you?

you don't dare text or call him. you're too embarrassed. you acted like a crazy person, and said awful, horrific things. and you're pretty sure he'll never forgive you. but what will you do then? how will you build a life without him? oh god, you're crying again. great, just great, you think as you turn around in your bed. who were you without him?

\\\\

its the sixth day of his absence when you go talk to steve. you drag yourself from your bed, with your swollen and red rimmed eyes and knock on his door.

“y/n…” he tells you, pity dripping from his tone.

“hey…” you try to give him a fake smile, but as soon as the corners of your mouth move, they turn downwards into a frown, and you start crying. sobbing really. inconsolable sobs leave you as steve wraps you up in his arms.

“hey, hey, it's okay.”

“no, it's not! i hurt him! i don't know why i did it, but i did!” you sob.

“hey,” he pulls away from you a bit to look you in the eyes, “come in. come on, come on.” he tells you as you slowly make your way inside.

you sit down on the edge of his bed and he sits down next to you.

“steve, is he- is he okay?”

he looks at you. you know him, so you know that that look means he isn't.

“he's safe though.”

“i really messed up.”

“i know.”

“he told you?”

“he didn't need to. i saw it on camera. wanted to know why the elevator stopped working for a while.”

you put your head in your hands and begin sobbing again.

“oh my god.” you sob. “i-i'm so sorry you had to see that. i dont… i dont know what-” a hiccup escapes you. “i can't-” another hiccup. “oh god…” your shoulders shake as you sob into your hands.

“hey…” he draws comforting circles on your back, but nothing can comfort you. not when he's hurt and hates you and it's all your fault. “hey.”

“steve, how can i fix it? can i even-” hiccup, “can i even fix it?”

he looks at you with pity.

“i don't know, y/n. i think he's gonna need some time.”

“oh my god.” you say. steve had always rooted for you two, so if he's saying it can't be fixed it really means it can't. “i'm going to die.”

“you're not going to die.”

“i can't live without him. i can't.” you shake your head frantically. “please, just tell me where he is. i need to-”

“i dont think it's a good idea.” he tells you sympathetically.

“please,” you beg him, “please, i need to- if it ends…” more tears fall from your eyes. “it can't end like that. please. he deserves more than that.”

he looks at you, seemingly pondering what you're saying. you look at him the whole time, pleading. he sighs. he's going to tell you.

\\\\

you look at the old building that seems to be deteriorating with each passing second. you straighten down your clothes (steve insisted you get properly showered and dressed) and take a deep breath. he's staying at a safe house in brooklyn. of course. it was so predictable and so him, you almost decided to leave. maybe you should let it end how it ended. what if this time it was worse? but you didn't have the luxury to think like that. it was over, but you needed him to remember you as the good times you shared, not that damned last time.

you enter the building and go up the stairs to the seventh floor, since there is no elevator.

when you reach his door, a green one who looked like if you blew on it it would fall down, you freeze. what are you even supposed to say to him? hi, bucky, sorry i told you she wouldn't be able to put up with you, insinuating that you are hard to love, hope everythings okay between us! ugh, you wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

you take another deep, slow breath, because you know otherwise he'll be able to hear you. then, you knock two times.

when the door opens he takes your breath away. this time not because he's gorgeous but because you're so scared that you fear you're going to pass out.

“what do you want?” he asks harshly. you feel tears prick your eyes but you blink them away.

“hear me out, please.”

“no, thank you.” he goes to close the door, but you swiftly get inside before he does. he slams the door behind him when he turns around to look at you, now inside the apartment, looking uncomfortable and out of place. “i told you i didn't want to hear you out.”

“just-”

“leave.”

“one second-”

“leave, y/n.”

“bucky-”

“oh, so now i'm bucky?” your lip wobbles.

“you're always bucky.”

“not last time we talked.”

“that's why i'm here.” he lifts his chin, looking at you with so much indifference you wonder if he ever looked at you with love in his eyes.

“i don't care to hear you explain yourself.” a tear escapes your eye. you dry it with your sleeve harshly. his face seems to soften for a second but then it goes back to its harshness.

“i'm not here- i'm not here to explain myself.” he looks at you.

“why are you here then?” you sigh.

“remember that time you took me to feed the ducks on that park?”

“yes. so?”

you smile softly as tears fall down your face.

“that was the time i told you i wanted to be your girlfriend. no one ever took me to such a silly date.” you chuckle softly. then you frown in pain looking at the floor now. he shifts his weight from one feet to the other, impatient.

“what's your point?”

“that's how i'd like you to remember me.”

“what?” you look at him. he's frowning.

“i know that the last time we talked i was… crazy. i just- i know theres no going back, but id like, for the sake of what we had, for you to not remember me like that.” you tell him. “because we were more than that.” the last word comes out broken to give way to a silent sob. you try to compose yourself. “I'm sorry. don't pay attention to that.” you give him a fake smile, which you know he can see right through.

“y/n-”

“okay, i'll leave. but… come back to the compound. i'll move out if you want me to, just, don't stay away from your friends just because of me.” you go to leave, walking past him, when he grabs your arm. when you turn around there are unshed tears in his eyes.

“i don't care about the compound. or about remembering you.” oh. you widen your eyes and heavy tears leave them.

“okay, i'm- i'm sorry for suggesting-”

“no.” you nod, understanding. “no, no.” he repeats. he grabs you by the shoulders and he crouches so he's eye level with you. “i don't want to have to remember you.”

you frown.

“but, bucky-”

“but i probably should.” he cuts you off.

“yeah,” you laugh humorlessly as you cry. “you should. i'm sorry. i never should've come here. i'm sorry.”

“stop saying sorry and explain to me what the hell happened.” you tilt your head.

“i… i got jealous.”

“that's it? that's why you hurt me?” he asks. you look down. this was it. he was giving you a chance. explain yourself like you never have before, you think to yourself.

“i never got why you were with me-”

“stop saying were. this could end today, but as of now, were still together.” you purse your lips. “hey, hey, its okay.” he says softly as he puts his hands on your cheeks and wipes the tears that begin falling again with his thumbs.

“im sorry-” he looks at you pointedly. you nod. “i just… i don't understand why you're with me. im not- im nothing like you.” you begin. he frowns. “you are kind and thoughtful and amazing and im- im not good like you.”

“what? y/n, you're the best person i know.”

“you can't still think that.” he looks at you honestly. he does? “see? you're so- and i'm so…”

“lets sit down.” he tells you and you both do, on the old couch thats near the window. he gestures for you to continue.

“i just- you'll never get it. and thank god you won't. but im not- im not a natural, you know? not like you, not like her.” you fidget with your hands. “you guys, the team, you like me because i'm fake. you wouldn't if you knew the real me. but i showed it to you pretty easily, i guess.” you laugh without a trace of humor. he frowns. then, he grabs your hand and caresses your knuckles. bucky takes a deep breath before speaking.

“y/n, i like- no, scratch that. i love you because i know you.” your face contorts in pain. you start crying heavily again. “hey, hey, come on baby, talk to me.”

“i just… she's so… perfect. for everyone, for you.”

“i don't want her, i want you.”

“you cant want me after what i said to you. i hurt you and i'll never forgive myself for that.”

“yes, you hurt me. but you were hurt too, i just didn't see it.”

“im so scared you'll wake up one day and realize there is so much more to the world than… me.” you sob and cover your face with your hands.

bucky pulls your hands away from you face and pulls you into his lap.

“listen to me.” he tells you firmly. “there is nothing more to the world than you. you are it for me, y/n. i love you.”

“bucky-” you hiccup. “i'm so sorry i said that about you. i promise you i just said it to you because i- i was lashing out. anyone would accept and love you, you are literally the most amazing-” hiccup, “person-” hiccup, “in the universe.”

he smiles softly at you and the unshed tears come back, but this time, he lets them fall.

“baby, listen to me. i love you. i'm not going anywhere.” you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. “and i forgive you. i promise you i don't resent you. i know what it's like to lash out when you're hurt.”

“bucky-” you sob against his chest.

“shh, baby, its okay.” he soothes you, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “it's okay, i got you.”

you take a shuddering breath and lift your head from his chest to look at him. you grab his face with both your hands.

“i promise you i'll never lash out again. im so sorry. i-” he gives you a pointed look. “i know. im not saying sorry anymore. sor-” you purse you lips and he lets out a laugh. then, he shakes his head incredulous and looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes you feel like you're going to pass out from all the love you feel for this man. “can i kiss you?” you ask him shyly.

“please.”

and so you do. the kiss is soft, vulnerable, you're telling him how sorry you are, how much you love him, and thats when you remember you didn't say it.

he whines when you pull away, something that makes you smile.

“bucky,”

“yeah, baby?”

“i love you. so much i feel like i'm going to throw up.” he lets out a loud laugh.

“i love you more, doll.”

you spend the rest of the day cuddled up on that couch in that old apartment, not ready to go to the compound yet. but you do send a text to steve before turning off your phone to spend time with the love of your life. you almost lost him, but you didn't, and as you lay in that old mattress on the floor, while he makes love to you and whispers of words of adoration and devotion fill your ears, you vow to him one thing. you'll always be his.

[fusaes]

— 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ft. nanami kento ♡

SYPNOSIS. ''When I'm fucked up, that's the real me, yeah'' You had one too many shots, with the help of your dear friend, Gojo Satoru. You could thank him, too. He hooked you up with one of his friends, Nanami Kento. His fierce and cold attitude, it only made you shiver with fear, but it posed a challenge. How can you make this hell of a man crack? WORD COUNT. 3.7k words PAIRINGS. Nanami x Fem!Reader WARNINGS. semi public sex (bathroom), public teasing, gojo and reader are sluts, mentions of alcoholic drinks, fubu trope with gojo, spanking + slapping (reader receiving), drunk sex, p in v sex, no condom, pussy eating, lmk if there's more. (you're in for a ride) OTHER NOTES. hello hello, I'm back with our nationwide husband, nanami :) enjoy this one || header art credits: @/oretsuu on X, mdni banner by the lovely benkeibear < 3 !

''Are we fucking when we leave the club, or nah?''

You could hear Gojo say from miles away, probably pestering another girl at the bar. You would be lying if you said you weren't looking for some dick, but he's just purely shameless at this point. The girl is sitting on his lap on a barstool, Gojo's tricky hands slipping under her dress. Vile, you thought.

It's not like you haven't experienced these things either, you weren't new to this ''City girl'' lifestyle. Sure, you've fucked around in a few bathrooms and storage rooms, but being out in public is just crazy. ''You have my number,'' the girl said, hopping off his lap. ''Give me a call, yeah?'' She walked away, an empty glass clasped in her hands.

Those cheap fake nails would fall off even before she gets a chance to touch Gojo's cock. You were Gojo's best friend, and vice versa. You let him meet your friends, and he lets you fuck around with his friends, too.

Some may say that it's a ''friends with benefits'' type of friendship, and it's true. You could fall for your best friend easily. But tonight, you're not out to look for true love. This time, you wanna forget.

You wanna forget about your problems, and once you enter the bright and erotic environment with beaming lights, you forget everything you know easily.

You walk up to Gojo, drinking up another shot. '''Toru.'' You say, taking the seat beside him. He drops his glass and removes his tinted shades just to take in your appearance. ''Hey, sugar. What'cha doing here?'' He didn't have to, but he recognized your voice even with his eyes closed.

''Nothing.'' You mutter, and he laughed at you. He didn't know exactly what you were doing here, but he knows you'll only end up doing the same thing over and over again. ''You wanna take home another man who can't last 15 seconds, darling?'' He beckons over the barista, asking to fill his glass.

''I'm right here, doll.'' Satoru teases, his hand landing on your thigh. ''I'm not one of your girls, 'Toru.'' You say, but letting his hand rest on your skin, his rings and bracelets indenting a cold feeling. ''Whatever, your loss.'' He jokes as the barista comes back with his glass filled.

Your hands grab it before he gets the chance to even smell it, and down it immediately. Gojo smiles at you and shoos away the barista. ''Someone's pretty sad tonight.''

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, the brightness of his phone lighting up his ocean eyes. Not gonna lie, if you aren't careful enough, you could actually fall for this man. ''And I know exactly what'll cheer 'ya up,'' Satoru says, his smile growing as a text conversation appears on his phone.

You roll your eyes, not really getting what he meant. But whatever it is, you knew Gojo knew the best for you.

Suddenly, Gojo rose up from his seat and took your hand. ''Alright let's go.'' He said, and you frowned. ''What the hell? I haven't even spent an hour yet!'' You tried fighting his grip on your hand but you couldn't. In the end, you gave up with your heels clacking on the floor

Satoru's eyes scanned the room, looking like he was looking for someone. ''What are you doing?'' You ask, curiously looking for no one in the crowd.

''Has anyone caught your eye?'' Gojo asks, his hands reaching down his pocket to put his black shades back on. Your eyes sweep the floor, looking for a meal tonight. You never find someone interesting just from one look. You didn't believe in love at first sight or cupid, but the lonesome man in the corner on his phone, drinking whisky- there, that's the one you want.

You didn't like boys who were younger than you, from your experience, they all seemed like amateurs. But, when it comes to a man who knew how to work a girl, hits differently. There's just something about this man, something so chilly that made you wanna break it.

''Blondie over there, that's mine.'' You say, smirking at Satoru who looks overjoyed. You were confused, it's as if he was hoping you would choose him, but whatever. Gojo knew your taste, and you were happy.

''Good girl.'' He says suddenly, and he walks over to the solitary man.

After a few minutes of walking through sweaty and smelly bodies in the pit of people on the dance floor, you make it to the 3rd bar of the club, where Mr. Hottie is sitting at.

''Nanamin! You made it.'' You froze. This fucker knew him all along? ''Gojo. What's this 'emergency' you were speaking of? And, it's Nanami.'' Fuck. His voice. You were melting from his chiseled face, big biceps, and the way he dressed, God he had you gobsmacked. You blink and step up to him.

''Y/N, Nice to meet you.'' You smile at him, his eyes trail over to your face, and down to your feet. You were never one to be embarrassed to wear whatever you wanted, but his eyes made you shiver from nervousness immediately. Just my fucking type, you thought.

He offers his hand, decorated with a watch. You accept his hand, feeling his rough skin on yours. You sneakily check his fingers, empty. You celebrated a little in your head and shook his hand, thank God you won't have to deal with another scandal.

''Nanami, you probably heard.'' You giggle a little and Gojo was already sitting on Nanami's left side, as you take the empty seat on his right. You try to stir up a conversation, ''Yeah, what 'emergency' were you on about, 'Toru?'' Nanami's eyebrows curved at the nickname.

''You would've come here nonetheless, Nanamin.'' Gojo joked as he asked the barista for a drink. ''False. I wouldn't have come here if you didn't disturb me from my work,'' Nanami raises two fingers as a signal to the barista for two. ''Oh? What work, Nanami?'' Nanami only stared at you, dissecting everything your body could offer.

You leaned back in your seat, giving him a good view, swinging your leg over the other. ''I'd prefer you call me Kento,'' Gojo smirked, his plan going smoothly but carefully.

It didn't take a while for girls to start crowding around Satoru, girls with their tits almost spilling out their dresses. You scoff, but Nanami paid it no attention. He's used to it, huh? You thought. Maybe you should hang around Gojo more, so you would be more unphased by bullshit.

''I better be going, I'll leave you two.'' The ''heartthrob'' sat up from his seat and entertained the mob of girls. ''Your drink?'' Nanami asks. ''Those are for you two. On me.'' Gojo finally left and you smiled to yourself. ''He won't ever change, huh?'' You pop a joke, taking a sip from your beverage.

''Now that he's gone, I hope he never does. Even though I wouldn't admit it myself.'' Nanami didn't drink whatever Satoru told the barista. Instead, he took the decorative flower from the side of the cup and twirled the stem of it in between his fingers.

''You seem young. What are you doing hanging around a man like him?'' You were flattered, honestly. A lot of people have told you that you looked like you were in your early 20s. In truth, you weren't that far from Gojo's age.

''Why thank you.'' You smile at him, taking another drink. ''Well, be it no surprise, I'm almost the same age as the lunatic over there.'' Your eyes point in Satoru's direction, where a girl is bent over in front of him, while others are feeling him up. You earned a small chuckle from the man in front of you.

All you really wanted was to get fucked dumb by Mr.Hulk over here. But, you knew he wasn't a sex-crazed boy who would fuck any loose hole he could fit his cock in.

''You didn't answer my question, Kento.'' You say, finally setting down your drink to give him your full attention. ''I work at the same place as your best friend does,'' Nanami answered, but you needed details.

You can't just survey a man you just met. 'Where do you live? Do you have a girlfriend? How many exes do you have? Are you a virgin?' No, that's weird.

An idea emerged in your head, a classic. ''Hey, let's play a game.'' His expression didn't change, but his body faced towards you, seeming intrigued. ''Two truths and one lie. You have to take a shot for every guess you get wrong.'' ''Simple enough.'' He added.

''I'll start then.'' You say, taking a shot glass from the stand, filling it up with Bacardi, and passing it to him. ''Alright. I work at a hospital. I hate going out. I enjoy clothes designing.'' You say, staring at his face while trying to figure you out, like a puzzle.

You purposely smiled at him, confusing him further. But, he doesn't budge, he looks like he's got you all figured out. ''Well, the lie was that you hated going out, is that right?'' You put your hands together to clap for him, even though you went easy on him.

''You work at a hospital?'' Nanami asked, seeming genuinely curious, and you understand. Who would've thought a nurse in the day would become a party hopper every night.

''Yeah. Surprisingly enough.'' You took the shot as a penalty for failing to trick him. ''That's amazing.'' You were happy he acknowledged your hard work, but now it's his turn.

You weren't gonna lie, your eyes were turning a little blurry and your head was starting to spin. You put your head in your hands as you await his answer. ''I was once a salaryman. I hate bread. I love mentoring students.'' You were thinking.

Not about his question, of course.

''The lie was that you were once a salaryman?'' You ask, confused. Trying to read his expression, you find nothing. Not a muscle- even an inch moved. ''The lie was that I hated bread.'' He said, skillfully flicking the glass to you with his index finger.

''I was a salaryman, but I changed paths.'' You drank the liquid, quite numb to the burning sensation you would feel in your throat. ''I left my original job to be a salaryman, but came back soon after I-'' ''My turn.'' You interrupt.

This was going too slow, and you were getting bored. You needed him right now, and this kid's game isn't helping you to get used like a toy by him.

You originally had planned to know more about him, but the alcohol is taking over your sentiece and is talking for you. Nanami's mouth curved into a small smile, almost invisible to the naked eye. ''I was fired at my old job, I'm a virgin...

And I want you right now.''

You look at him through your lashes, awaiting his next move. He didn't seem surprised at all, despite the bomb you had just dropped on him right now. The salaryman's smile only grew wider at your divulgence. ''You better be careful,'' Nanami said, pouring more into your glass.

''Don't start something you can't finish.'' He adds.

You grow curious. ''What are you suggesting, sir?'' You play innocent, drawing circles with your wrist with your glass in hand, swirling the alcohol around. Nanami's eyebrows raise, the sudden change of demeanor catching him off guard.

''Curiosity kills the cat.'' You pout at his words. You didn't expect him to be this dead to the world, unless...

He knows your tricks and he's playing with you. Damn. You curse in your head.

You're starting to get tired of this. You were willing to settle for a man who could only last 15 seconds- just to get rid of this stupid feeling. You weren't an animal in heat that just went to clubs and get rammed by random dudes, but this was boring you.

Who were you to blame? You were getting played at your own game. Someone could come over and crown you as ''The sore loser of the night''.

You drank the last stein, and picked up your purse. ''Game's over.'' You set the empty glass on the table and adjusted your skirt down to your mid-thigh, preparing to leave and go fuck around somewhere else.

This is another reason you didn't believe in cupid. Especially when the son of a bitch is Gojo Satoru. You kinda wish you had his bow so you could pierce an arrow through his skull, maybe then would he have good ideas.

You attempt to step away, but got pulled back into your seat. ''I haven't made my guess yet, you princess.''

Did his voice get deeper or are you getting fucked in the head?

Even though you didn't like getting pushed around and doing shit you didn't want to, the way his hand just swallows your wrist and the veins- God the veins.

''Are you listening?'' Nanami gave you a chuckle. Was he making fun of you? ''You're making this too easy for me, sweetheart.'' He says, his hand letting go of your wrist, trailing to the necklace you had wrapped around your neck, and starting playing with the cold metal.

''Easy? How?'' Your eyes narrow, first he was laughing at you, and he's basically saying you gave the answer away.

Well, you did. That was a last-ditch effort to get this man to crack, but it didn't work. So fuck that. ''Your thighs are shaking.'' You didn't even notice his free hand on your tights, caging your thigh in his large hands.

''J-Just get this over with.'' It's the alcohol, you swear. It's not the effect this man had on you. ''The lie was that you're a virgin.'' His other hand let go of your necklace and seized your throat as his now occupied hand took the filled glass.

''Open up, sweetheart.'' His finger pulled your lower lip down, beckoning you to open up your mouth. You oblige, as he poured the liquid into your mouth, the hand on your neck massaging the sides of your throat. ''Good fucking girl.''

You close your eyes, trying to feel if all of this was real. The moment the alcohol stopped dripping into your mouth, you open them, seeing Nanami slightly smirking at your appearance.

Some of it spilled down your chin and onto his hands, but when you tried to wipe it off, he swatted your hand away. ''Lick it off.'' He said, offering his dirty hand to you, facing it towards your needy mouth.

You didn't hesitate, but your hands slowly took his, and licked the excess off of his hands, making sure to clean it up nicely. Nanami let out a low grunt, feeling your hot tongue on the surface of his hand.

''Fuck, let's go.'' Nanami pulled out a few dollars out of his pocket, which looked like a 20 bill. He slid it to the barista and she gave him a quick nod as a sign of thank you. You smirked, the action only adding to your arousal.

Nanami led you to an empty stall in the bathroom, pushing you against the wall of the cubicle, your leg wrapping around his waist. Your hands tangle in his hair at the back of his head, pulling him into you.

You kissed him passionately, as your free hand made work into unbuttoning his dress shirt, feeling his hard abs over the fabric. You could almost moan, and you haven't even touched him fully yet. His tongue was dominating yours, fully tasting everything your mouth had to offer.

His hand trailed to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze and landing a small spank. You squeal into his mouth, while he smiled into your mouth, enjoying your sounds more than he expected. His fingers slip under your skirt, pulling down your tights and feeling your wet heat over the cotton of your panties.

''N-Nanami-'' You fail to speak, his mouth not letting you mutter any other words. His fingers hook under your underwear and move them to the side. His thumb toying with your needy clit.

You moan into his mouth, back arching. Your hand unzips his slacks, not even caring to take off his belt. Your hands find the opening of his boxers, and let his cock spring free.

Nanami let out a grunt, as you started to palm his dick. He finally pulls away from your swollen lips, admiring the work he did. ''Beautiful.'' He said, unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your cleavage. His hand grabbed your tit and let it spill out of your bra and shirt.

You turn your head away from his stare, but his hand quickly grabs your chin and places your head back to its original position.

''Look at me while I make this needy pussy feel good, baby.''

Nanami kneeled in front of you, placing your leg on his shoulder, while the other was still on the floor as his hand hooked around it, keeping you glued into your place.

His free hand pulled your panties down with your tights, fully exposing your wet pussy to him. His mouth almost watered at the sight, and buried his face in between your thighs, lapping up your essence with his tongue. Your hand covers your mouth, a weak attempt to not let any sound escape.

Nanami's mouth was busy, but his other hand wasn't. His hand unlaced his tie with one motion, the sight of his hands making you clench over nothing. You swore you felt him smirk against your pussy. His eyes looked up to you while he offered the tie to you, and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

You put the tie in your mouth, while his teeth lightly bit your clit, making you jerk in response. The slight twinge of pain and pleasure drove you fucking crazy.

His fingers entered your cunt, curling into the spot that made you mad. You bit down on the tie, trying to hold in your noise. You grinded into his fingers, needing and begging for more. ''More...'' Even though he probably didn't understand it, the more your moans grew louder, he knew you became more and more desperate.

His cock was leaking precum, already wanting to replace his fingers inside of you. Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to your cunt, while his mouth worked magic into sucking your clit in between his teeth.

You were gonna cum, fuck you were gonna cum. ''Gonna- mm- cum 'fo me, princess?'' He asked you, while his mouth was still busy with sucking up all of your juices. You nod for him, your climax edging closer and closer.

''Cum- fuck, cum for me, let me see how pretty you get when I make you feel like you're in the heavens.''

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, as his fingers curl one last time, your orgasm hitting you like a bus. Your thighs were already shaking, and you almost collapsed as you released all over Nanami's face.

His eyes didn't leave your face, firmly observing the way your face turns into when you cum. He didn't waste a drop, as his tongue licked all of what you gave him.

He took your trembling thigh off of his shoulder and wrapped both around his waist, pushing you up into the wall. ''Fuck, look at what you do to me.'' His cock was throbbing, rubbing himself in your pooling heat.

''Hurry up...'' Your words came out as a whisper, but he stopped, his dick resting on top of your pussy. ''Don't tell me...'' He took his cock in his hands and aligned it to your entrance, collecting your juices on the tip. ''What...'' He pushes himself in,'' To..'' deeper, ''Do.'' and deeper.

Your moan gets trapped by his tie, while your nails are digging into the muscle on his back. He groans at the crescents growing on his skin, surely going to bleed.

His hips roll like a pornstar, while his hands grope your ass. ''Kento!'' Your words were almost inaudible, as he thrusted faster into you. Your hands took the tie out of your mouth and pulled him into a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, while he ravaged you completely. Everything was moving so fast. It felt like you were just sitting across the man making you see stars right now. The previous headache you got from the alcohol dissipated immediately.

''C-Cum-'' Was the only thing you could manage to let out, as his tongue entangled with yours. His hands landed another spank on your ass, for sure going to leave a handprint.

Suddenly, Nanami pulls away and stops his hips. You frown at his action.

His hand which was on your ass, moved to your face, landing a slap on your cheek. ''Who's been a good girl?'' Slap. You didn't answer at first, the pain stinging on your cheek.

''Answer.'' Slap. ''Me!'' You answer quickly. Slap. ''Who's the prettiest girl in this building?'' Slap. ''M-Me.'' Your cheek must be red already, the heavy but restrained slaps turning you on but than you expect.

''And who's gonna cum tonight?'' Slap. ''Me...'' You say, as he kissed your red cheek as a reward, and snapped his hips into you, his length reaching deeper in your hot cunny. Your eyes close, feeling your climax inch closer and closer.

Nanami kisses your neck, leaving bites and sucking hickies. ''Fuck, 'M cumming.'' Nanami buries his face into your neck, savoring your scent.

His hips stutter, hesitating whether he is going to release inside of you or pull out, but your legs wrap around his waist, caging him in. Your mind was melting, the lingering smell of his cologne only made you dizzier.

He squeezed your ass, emptying his load inside of your tight cunt, drowning it in white. He raises his head from your neck, eyeing the mess on your face. Smudged mascara, messy lipstick, your hair almost messy- but it looked perfect to him. It was a sight that deserved to be plastered onto his bedroom ceiling.

Your hands run in his scalp, brushing all of the hair stuck on his forehead away. His lips crashed onto yours, but you heard a knock on the stall.

''Ya done? The club's closed, lovebirds.'' Gojo said.

wowow feels good to b back!!! i love taking on big projects like this so i can get back ti writing. anyways, love you. take care ... ‧₊˚ ⋅ fusaes 2023 do not copy

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Nobody's Daughter

Description: Pekka Rollins lost a cast, his daughter. But Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, doesn't make such grave mistakes.

I'll give you one more hint," Kaz said, Pekka Rollins and him surrounded by Dregs as Jesper, Nina and you stood at the bar.

Nina and Jesper watched with bated breath, your back to everything happening like you wanted no part.

Pekka felt nauseous, like he couldn't breathe as all he thought about was Alby running low on breath, but unlike Alby, Pekka could breathe in as much as he liked, while Alby may not even be breathing anymore.

"You had a daughter, one you called your light in the dark, saved you when things went dark." Kaz hummed, stepping forward like his prey was merely feet away.

But really, it was.

Pekka's eyes widened even more, remembering the spouts of laughter he caused once to fall from his daughter's lips once upon a time.

"She fancied playing with a little boy who had a knack for magic tricks she loved to show off." Kaz stated, lips curling into a smirk.

"My daughter as well? Have you no soul?" Pekka asked, eyes pleading for anything.

"All those nights wondering where she was? Why she never came home?" Kaz mused, Pekka's hands shaking as he looked down at the memories buried deep.

Pekka snapped, pushing Kaz back to the wall as he got in his face.

"Where is she?! Those years ago, did you take my daughter as well?! Or did you kill you, you drunken barrel rat?!" Pekka shouted repeated questions running through his mind millions of miles an hour.

He was begging for anything, anything to lead his daughter home to him like he wished for every night since she was lost.

"I never took your daughter, just your precious boy." Kaz smiled calmly, almost grinning in Pekka's face.

"...where is she?" Pekka could barely speak, Kaz pushing the old man off of him as Pekka stepped back and almost tripped on his feet.

"That I can give you now, at least." Kaz wipes the blood off his lip, smiling at Pekka with a glint in his eye you had seen before, loving it everytime.

"Your daughter never left, always under your nose."

Kaz's head turned to you, Pekka's eyes following him as did every pair in the bar.

As eyes fell on you, you couldn't resist it as you glanced up at Jesper and Nina, almost smirking at their dumb struck faces as everything fell into place.

You turned around, leaning back onto the bar as you lifted your eyes to meet your father for the first time since you were a mere child, now a woman who held no ties to the man but blood.

But even then, blood didn't make a family.

Pekka's eyes glistened even more, Kaz enjoying every second of his internal torture.

"Your daughter, your light in the dark, runs with my Crows."

Kaz spoke with his voice dripping in smug, his smirk widening as did yours, giving your father a small wave as you held in a laugh.

"Biggest mistake you made was letting her go."

[ugh-yoongi]

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter.  Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 1)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

I. Stronger Together

CH 1 (5.4k) You can hear it behind you, wheezing breath, strangled grunts. You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer but you don’t dare to look backwards. It’s been following you halfway down this mountain, dragging itself along, waiting for the inevitable. You plod on, one foot in front of the other, letting gravity help you fall forward, knees threatening to buckle with each slap of your foot down on the dirt. 

It’s been hours of this now, you must be miles away. Away from the little snow-topped cabin where you were ambushed by a single infected behind a closed bathroom door. Away from where the rest of your party was bitten, first by the clicker and then by each other. Away from where you had to shoot each of them, one by one, until you ran out of bullets and escaped out a window.

You wish you could silence your cumbersome steps. You wish you could quiet your labored breaths. You wish you could stop the drip, drip, drip of your blood from smattering onto the dried leaves underneath your feet. Maybe then this one-legged, blind, croaking monster behind you would cease its pursuit. Then you could stop moving and just close your eyes for a moment. You just need a moment, just one moment.

You think you do close your eyes for just a second, and it��s then that you trip over a buried tree root. Your eyes open as your face meets the ground, wet and hard, knocking the wind out of you. Everything immediately hurts. You can barely think. One arm remains wrapped tight around you while you attempt to pull yourself forward on your other elbow, away from the scratchy breathing. 

You feel a hand clawing at your shoe. Kicking the shoe off, you roll away, further down the hill as best you can. Reaching one hand out, you grab at sticks and stones, anything you can grasp, throwing them backwards in an attempt to slow down the inescapable. You hear nothing but your own muffled heartbeat pounding in your ears. It's so loud it sounds like hoofbeats. 

You finally roll onto your back to face it, watching it slowly closing the small gap between you, bony fingers outstretched towards you. You close your eyes again. You’re so tired.

A gunshot rings out.

Tiny specks of blood spatter outward, covering both you and a circular pattern on the ground around you in a fine red mist. The infected falls backwards, unmoving. Your eyes are open now, ears ringing. You hear muffled shouting and then there’s a gun barrel in your face. You’re too tired for this. You close your eyes again.

Another gunshot rings out.

“What the fuck you think you’re doin’?” Joel shouts, having grabbed the barrel of the gun just in time.

“He’s infected!” the man previously holding the gun says, pointing at your blood-soaked torso.

“You think that–,” Joel points to the deformed clicker lying next to you, “woulda followed him halfway down the mountain if he was already infected?”

Joel leans down at your side, gently opening your jacket to assess the damage. He sees several layers of cloth wrapped around your torso, all soaked in blood beneath your ribcage, where your bloodied hand still clutches right over a large shard of glass sunk into your middle.

“Bring my horse, now,” Joel yells at the rest of his party.

He’s sure about three things. One, unlike the fungus-covered body lying beside you, you are not infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive. Two, you are most definitely bleeding to death. The tight bindings around your middle likely serve as the only thing keeping your slowly-draining body alive. Three, despite your short-cut hair and boyish appearance due to the many layers enveloping your chest, you are – in fact – a woman.

Days later someone comes bursting through his office door. Come quick, Joel. It’s all he needed to hear to follow the messenger to the clinic, worried that when he arrived he’d see your cold and lifeless body lying on the bed. When he bursts in the door to your room, ignoring the shouted protests of the medical staff, he is shocked to find you alive. Not just alive but standing up against the far wall, brandishing a pair of scissors, clutching at the pulled stitches on your side. He hears the doctor beside him muttering the words fuckin crazy.

“Who the fuck are you?” you point the scissors at him.

“I saved you,” Joel whispers, not surprised you don’t recognize him as you were basically unconscious when he rode with you into town. He points to the red drops accumulating on the floor, “that’s my blood you’re drippin’ all over the place.” He briefly recalls the argument from the doctor when he brought you in two days ago and insisted you be given his Type O blood.

He watches you look down at the blood spilling over your hand and uses the distraction to close the gap between you. Ignoring the scissors in your hand he quickly grabs some gauze and presses it against your side, hearing you gasp in surprise. 

“I want to leave,” you say through clenched teeth, raising the scissors up to his eyeline, as if he forgot they were there. You make no further move to try and hurt him, somehow confident that your feeble threat is enough. He meets your eyes, wide and wild. You’re terrified. You don’t trust him. You’re threatening him in front of four other people while you bleed onto the floor. You’re fucking fantastic. 

“Let’s get you better and then you can go wherever you want to,” he says, as he nods to the doctor to come fix you up. The doctor shakes her head, motioning towards the scissors. With no fanfare Joel grabs the scissors easily from your grip and pockets them. He ignores the hey he hears come out of your mouth and guides you back to the bed, nodding once again for the doctor to come over.

You allow the doctor to fix you up with no more threats, Joel standing close guard. About halfway through the re-stitching you wince, internally chiding yourself for showing weakness to these strangers. Joel takes your hand in his, not even making eye contact, holding it for the remainder of the procedure. Once the doctor steps away Joel squeezes your hand and looks you in the eye, telling you to get some rest before following the doctor out of your room.

“When you brought that ‘wounded little animal’ in here the other day, you didn’t warn me she bites,” the doctor mocks as she walks Joel out of the clinic.

“I told you she came down that mountain half-dead with a clicker on her heels. I guess we shoulda known she was a fighter.”

“You really gonna try and keep this one too?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel answers immediately.

Joel thinks of the look in your eye; feral, distrustful, combative. When was the last time he saw that look on the face of anyone here? He has a community of people who love and adore him, who hang on to his every word. But none of them look at him like that. You have awoken something deep inside of him, something he thought long dead: burning desire.

“If you wanna keep your little pet, Joel, I think you should be the one to take care of her. I don’t want to see any of my staff get hurt and she seemed to take to you.” The doctor knows. She knows Joel brings her wounded birds all the time and she fixes them up. A broken wing here and there, sometimes scrapes and bruises, sometimes wounds that run deeper.

However, none of them have threatened her with a weapon – until today. But she knows they all “take to” Joel. That’s the kind of person he is. Everyone in this town is drawn to him that way, even her. She knows he’ll gladly take on this responsibility and bring stability to the situation. She knows she won’t have to worry about a repeat of today. 

He nods in response and promises to stop by later as he retreats back to his house.

—

He follows through on his promise, showing up later that night and bringing a bowl of hot stew for you to eat. He sits in a chair in the corner of your room, watching you sip at it while you try to avoid awkward eye contact with him. His eyes on you make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at you like men usually do, with malintent. He looks at you with interest and curiosity. It makes you feel like a zoo animal. No one looks at you like that. No one ever has. 

This goes on for days. He brings you three meals a day, he hands you medication, he fills your water cup, he sits in the corner of your room and watches you. The doctor comes in to check on your wound and adjust the fluid dripping into the IV in your arm twice a day, but they are the only two who enter your room. You hear the doctor call him Joel. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye but you don’t ever make full eye contact, you don’t ever make conversation. You aren’t looking to strike up a friendship. He said you could leave after you get better, so that’s your plan. Get better, and get the fuck out of here. Finally, on the third day he speaks to you. You drop your spoon back into your bowl because it startles you so much.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks, unphased by the clatter of your silverware.

You’re unsure if you heard him right, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you say the first thing that comes to mind. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say. A lie. You’ve never read that book in your life. You don’t owe this guy the truth. You don’t even know him, you don’t owe him a goddamn thing. He says nothing further, not acknowledging your response, so you spend the rest of your meal in silence, as usual.

You’re all but certain he didn’t hear you until he shows back up with your dinner, hours later, with a book in his hands. To Kill a Mockingbird. He brought the goddamn book? As you uncover the plate of food, he takes his usual seat in the corner, but this time he clears his throat and starts reading from the book he brought. You stop fiddling with your plate to look up at him.

You stare at him for a while, you’re not sure how long. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look at him, to really look at him. He has a strong jaw, a prominent nose, and dark eyes. His trimmed facial hair is flecked with grays along his cheeks, showing his age along with the lines creasing his face. He’s probably in his forties but you can appreciate he’s still got a damn good hairline.

He’s sitting down, of course, but when he was standing you remember thinking he was decently tall, towering over everyone else you’d seen in the building. His shoulders measured about a mile wide and his clothes seemed to strain against the bulk underneath them. You’d tried to ignore the way he wore his jeans but it hadn’t completely slipped your attention. He certainly wasn’t ugly.

As he continues to read aloud, your eyes drift to his lips. His top lip is obscured by his mustache but you’re pretty sure there is a near-perfect cupid’s bow hidden underneath. His bottom lip, by contrast, is plump and pouty, although you doubt anyone has ever described it that way, at least to his face. His gruff voice continues to scuffle along in the background as you watch his lips curve around the words.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you realize how silent it is. He’s stopped talking. Your eyes move to his, meeting his direct gaze. Why did he stop? Did he catch you staring at him?

“You gonna let your dinner get cold?”

You turn your attention back to your meal, slowly finishing it while he reads on. He continues reading long after your plate is empty, his voice lulling you into a relaxing state in your hospital bed. When he eventually closes the book and rises to leave, you let a goodnight slip from your lips. You’ve spoken maybe five words to this guy and now you’re wishing him a goodnight? Jesus, what’s next, sweet dreams?

The next morning is a repeat of the past three days; he comes in as the doctor heads out from checking on you, speaks with her at the door, then brings your breakfast in a wrapped up parcel, still warm. He takes his usual seat but picks the book up off the floor that he’d left there the previous night. He opens it up, clears his throat, and resumes reading you the story.

He’s about an hour into reading during his afternoon visit. Your lunch is long since finished and you’re trying to make sense of it in your head. 

“I don’t understand why they call him ‘Boo’ Radley,” you interrupt. Slowly his eyes raise to meet yours over the pages. A line forms between them.

“I thought this was your favorite book.”

“It is,” you blurt out, poorly reinforcing your deception. “I just– I guess it seems like a strange nickname.”

He shrugs his shoulders then, leaning back in the chair and lowering the book. 

“Well, I suppose they call him ‘Boo’ because he’s so reclusive, almost invisible.” 

You nod your head, electing not to ask any more questions about the story since you’re pretty sure he’s caught on to your lie. After a minute he lifts the books and continues reading.

The next day shortly after you finish your lunch, he finishes the book. You try your hardest not to react. You’ve been trying your best to listen to him speaking as though you’ve heard his words before, as though everything he says is familiar, as though this tale is not new to you. You’re pretty sure you’re a shit actor.

He gets up and goes to leave the room, hours before he usually would. 

“You’re leaving?” you spit out before you can stop yourself.

“That’s the end of the book,” he holds up the book and flips it over, as if to show you it’s empty.

“Y– you don’t have any other books?” you mutter, looking down at your hands.

He crosses the room and sits on the end of your bed, holding out his hand towards you. Your eyes dart between his face and his outstretched fingers.

“I’m Joel,” he says, by way of an extremely late introduction. You gently take his hand in yours, feeling his rough, warm palms grip yours and move your arm up and down. I know, you whisper, not even sure he can hear you. You don’t bother introducing yourself in return. You don’t think it matters what your name is. 

“You ever even read this book?”

You look up and he’s wiggling the book in his hands again, as if it wasn’t obvious which book he meant. You don’t answer again, you just look back down. You’re not ashamed of lying. You’re not embarrassed you got caught lying. You don’t even know this guy, Joel. He’s just some guy who keeps you in this room all day because he apparently doesn’t want you to bleed all over everything.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks for the second time. You open your mouth to let another lie fall out, but before you can, he follows up with, “And let’s try the truth this time.” You meet his eyes.

He should be offended by the way you look at him. You are so distrustful of him. You lied about what your favorite book was, as if it was some state secret, and here you are about to do it again. And don’t think he didn’t notice you side-stepping telling him your name. This is the fifth day he’s spent by your side and you won’t give him an inch. He’s got to find a way to crack you open. He wants you to let him in so badly. 

C’mon, he urges, reaching his hand forward to touch your leg comfortingly. You pull your leg back quickly, recoiling from his touch. His eyes go to your face again, finding it full of fear, your eyes blazing. He pulls his hands back into his own space and lifts them slightly, to show that he has no intention of putting them on you again. He mutters I’m sorry as he slowly rises and heads towards the door, certain he’s just set himself back by miles. This is turning into a real shit day.

—

When he comes back with dinner, passing by the doctor at the door, you look surprised to see him. Clearly the moment between you earlier scared you, but you don’t look scared to see him, just surprised. He’s determined to gain your trust, he’s not going to be driven away by a setback here or there. He hands you your dinner plate and then lays three books down next to you on the bed.

“Pick what you want next,” he says softly.

Ignoring your dinner you look down at the selection he’s brought. Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. Jane Eyre. You can’t help the disappointment that flies across your face. He brought you girl books. He thinks you’re just a girl who likes traditional girl books. You’ve never read any of these books and you don’t want to. You don’t care if they’re ‘classics’. You don’t care if they’re read to you in a scratchy, southern drawl. 

You shake your head and eat your meal in silence while he sits in his chair with knitted brows, rubbing his hand over his beard. After you’re done he immediately rises, takes your dirty plate and all three books into his arms, and leaves the room. You don’t try to stop him this time. 

To your surprise he returns twenty minutes later. Wordlessly he places a small bowl in front of you filled with some kind of baked apple treat. He’s never brought you dessert before. Then next to you he places three new books. You look at the three very different titles. The Chronicles of Narnia. The Count of Monte Cristo. The Hobbit. You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face and you bite your cheek to stop the stinging behind your eyes from turning into any embarrassing tears. 

You reach out and grab The Hobbit, holding it out to him. You don’t tell him it’s the book your dad used to read to you as a kid. You don’t tell him anything and he doesn’t ask, either. He just takes the book and sits back in his chair as he opens the cover, reading it from the beginning. He notices the smile you try to hide and the wetness in your eyes but knows better than to react. He’s gained some distance back. It’s a good day after all.

—

The next few days go by much the same, with Joel spending several hours surrounding each meal reading to you. The only difference is that he’s started asking you questions. They start off about the book. You tell him you’ve read it, and this time, it’s not a lie. You’re pretty sure he believes you. He asks if you’ve traveled as far as Bilbo has, nodding to your healing side, making reference to your ill-fated trek down the mountain.

The questions slowly become more personal; did you have any siblings, how old are you, where did you grow up. Unsure of his motives you ask him back every question he asks you, making him answer first. He says he has a younger brother, he says he just turned forty five, he says he’s from Texas. If he’s making up lies then he’s quicker and better at it then you are. You’re finding him easy to talk to, which is why you almost let it slip out when he tries to get your name again. But you hold it back. 

He sees you practically bite your tongue to stop it from rolling off. He thinks you’re starting to trust him but you still look at him warily whenever he stops to ask you a question. You don't even trust him enough to tell him your damn name yet. You seem confused why he’d want to know about you, why he’d be interested in stories that don’t involve him, why he’d want answers that don’t benefit him. It’s like no one has ever tried to get to know you before.

He’s been building this community for nearly two years now and he knew the QZ’s were getting bad. He wonders where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through; these are the questions he doesn’t dare to ask you. You are frightful and distrustful for a reason. Whatever you’ve experienced it hasn’t been kindness, not for a long while. No one has been nursing you back to health, feeding you home cooked meals while they read classic novels to you.

It’s been just over a week and the doctor finally gives you clearance to start moving around and regaining some strength, albeit slowly. Joel brings you some warm clothes and guides you out the back of the clinic, which leads to a large square park in the center of town. Despite the chill of fall, you’re eager to get better, and you revel in the opportunity to feel like your old self again. You get tired easily but Joel is always a few steps away to help you back to bed if you overexert yourself.

He leaves the book in the room but he continues on with your conversations, which have become more lengthy. Despite your reluctance to trust and his seemingly gruff nature, you find your time together has become easy, maybe even friendly. He still asks most of the questions and you still make him answer them all first. But you wonder things about him that he isn’t asking.

You know he’s in his mid-forties, but you don’t know if he’s married or if he has kids. It makes sense though, most people don’t talk about their family because people aren’t exactly living white-picket-fence lives anymore. You know he’s from Texas but you don’t know how he ended up here, in the mountains of Vermont. You don’t know why he comes to see you three times a day, why he reads to you, where he goes when he’s not with you. You don’t know what his favorite book is. You don’t know why you care.

You jokingly call yourself a Plain Jane and he perks up, chuckling while he tells you that’s your name now. Well you still haven’t told him your real name so it might as well be. When he calls you that name an hour later – Plain Jane – you feel your cheeks burn. It’s not exactly a complimentary name but the smile on his face when he calls you by it makes you look away from him. What is he doing to you?

Why does he look at you like that? You have been half-invisible most of your life and when anyone does actually give you attention it’s never been a good thing. You prefer it when they don’t look at you, when they don’t see you. But Joel has been sitting in that chair and watching you, looking at you, seeing you. He’s been asking you questions, reading to you, and bringing you meals. Yet you still don’t trust it. You don’t trust him and you don’t trust the feelings he stirs inside of you.

Joel is walking by your side during one of your afternoon walks and he tells a bad joke. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh, he’s never made you laugh. Until today. You’re not just laughing, you’re giggling, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. It makes him feel as light as air. You grab his arm as you double over, losing yourself in the laughter. 

This is the first time you’ve ever touched him aside from your hands grazing when he hands you your meals. Not that those count, he doesn’t even count those. He shouldn’t even notice when it happens, yet he does. It’s like you have his insides twisted up and his head all fuzzy but somehow he feels like himself for the first time in nearly a decade.

He has been ignoring responsibilities for over a week now, sneaking away three times a day to spend hours with you. He rushes out of the house with breakfast in his hands, opting to eat it with you instead. His afternoon and evening meetings all get pushed back, until he’s left your side and can make time. No one questions him but he knows Tess is starting to get annoyed with him. She doesn’t approve of his behavior, his attention so focused on one person. She hasn’t said anything yet but she has that look.

It’s easy to be with you. It was easy in your room, even when you weren’t talking to him yet. He could sit there in the corner in silence and just be, without anyone asking him anything. Then when you finally spoke to him he couldn’t wait to hear more. He asks stupid, pointless questions all day just to hear you answer them. He has to be more guarded when you’re outside together, everyone is watching. 

They’re all watching him, watching you, wondering why he’s spending all of his time with you when he used to spread himself around to the whole community. But the answer is easy. You don’t look at him the way they do. You don’t have their expectations of him. You don’t think he’s got all the answers. You don’t stand around waiting for him to save you.

–

When it’s been almost two weeks since you came under the doctor’s care she tells you that she thinks you’re well enough to leave the clinic. “Where do I go?” you ask her before you can stop yourself. She lets a huff escape her lips, but before she can reply, you both notice Joel standing in the doorway. You see a look of panic cross her face and you don’t miss the way she dodges his hand grabbing for her arm as she slips out the door past him.

He turns back to you and you notice he has three new books tucked under his arm. He’d finished The Hobbit, The Count of Monte Cristo, and The Chronicles of Narnia this past week. Part of you wonders what selection he’s brought for you this time. You still haven’t told him your favorite. Now you’re not sure you ever will. The doctor said you’re well enough to leave, and that’s what you wanted to do. Leave. Right?

You look up at Joel and just as he opens his mouth to speak you hear the main door open behind him and a commotion of conversation coming through the door. You hear someone say, “fell off a ladder” and Joel’s attention is diverted down the hallway behind him. Suddenly a woman is at his side. She’s tall, with long chestnut hair and freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. She’s gorgeous.

You instantly feel like you’re one foot tall. You feel inferior. You feel like you’re staring at a marble sculpture. This woman is beautiful and she’s standing so close to Joel. He’s listening to her talk and nodding and he’s not even looking at you anymore. He probably forgot you were even there; look at this goddess in front of him. She stops talking and looks at you, pinning you with her stare. You freeze.

“Hi, I’m Tess,” she reaches out her hand to you, closing the distance between you since you’re stuck to your spot. “You must be the reason I never see this guy anymore,” she teases. You think she’s teasing.

“I was just about to invite PJ to come stay with us,” Joel clears his throat behind her, using his newest version of your nickname – Plain Jane. You look at him, eyes bulging out of your head. He was going to what? Stay with him? Who is us?

“Oh, you were?” she says, as if reading your mind. She’s still gently shaking your hand, regarding you with a curious eye.

“Yeah, we’ve got the room,” he says casually, flashing you a smile. Tess says nothing. You look back and forth between them. They’re both looking at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“S– stay?” you manage to squeak at him. Does that even begin to cover the questions you have?

“Just until you’re feeling a hundred percent,” he says, gesturing to your nearly-healed side.

Now Tess drops your hand and turns back to look at Joel. You can’t quite read her expression. He doesn’t meet her eyes, he keeps them locked on you. He walks over to you and hands you the three books, placing your small breakfast plate on the top of the stack.

“Pick which one we should read next and Tess’ll come by after lunchtime to bring you home.” Without waiting for a response he grabs Tess by the shoulders and leads her out of the room.

“Since when do we ‘have the room’, Joel?” she questions as soon as they spill out onto the front sidewalk of the clinic.

“You can put her in the room next to mine,” he replies, taking strides so long that she has to hustle to keep up.

“My room is the room next to yours,” she mutters. He stops dead in his tracks, causing her boots to scuffle on the sidewalk to stop from crashing into him.

“Well obviously I didn’t fuckin’ mean your room. She can have Bianca’s room,” Joel huffs as he walks on.

“So, across the hall from your room?” He stops again and this time she does crash into him. He grabs her shoulders, pulling her even tighter to him and brings his head down to her ear.

“You’re supposed to be the one who worries about all this shit for me, so just figure it out, okay Tess?”

She stays standing in place while he resumes his walk back home. She doesn’t bother answering him since she knows his question was rhetorical. Tess did agree to manage his house. However, that was before she realized that he was going to be bringing little lost pets in and out of it all the time. She always knew their relationship was transactional. It served a purpose, it fulfilled their needs, but it was never loving. 

When they agreed to start this community, she thought they’d do it together. He convinced her that he needed her help, and he did – he still does – there’s no way he could do this without her. He never wanted to manage the details. But she thought she’d be his partner, in the community even if not in life. Instead she finds herself at his mercy. She also finds herself not disliking it as much as she should. She lets herself get lost in him, lost in what they’ve created here in this valley.

She plays the role of his partner, but only behind the scenes. She plays his girlfriend, but only when he’s not otherwise occupied. She’s his friend, but only if he’s feeling in need of comfort. She’s mother to his children, but only the broken little birds he brings home to their doorstep. She does all of the work, but reaps none of the rewards. And yet, she lives a safe, comfortable life. She can’t help but feel grateful to him. In a lot of ways she still feels like he saved her. She was once a broken little bird herself.

After lunch she comes back to the clinic and finds you sitting on the edge of your bed, as if you’ve been waiting there all morning. You probably were. She fights the urge to ask if you have everything, reminding herself that you had no possessions save for the bloody clothes they found you in. Let’s go, is all she says, and you follow her out of the clinic in silence, nodding a goodbye to the doctor as you exit. 

“Are you Joel’s wife?” you ask as you walk side-by-side, mustering up courage from god-knows-where.

“Joel doesn’t have a wife.”

🖤

NEXT

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much. Thank you to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @strang3lov3 for your support and help creating this world. 🫶

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper

[fiapartridge]

intro (end of the world) ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ | jack hughes

“how can i tell if im in the right relationship?”

☼ pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

☼ summary: after seeing jack for the first time since your breakup, you’re left seeking advice from your nonna…

☼ fia’s note 💌: first part of the series! thx for joining us on this 13-part-series, i’m very excited for what’s to come <3 pls enjoy “intro (end of the world)” ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

eternal sunshine hq ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

next part: bye ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

*₊ ° .　. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

For the past two months, you’ve felt your chest tighten and your throat well up whenever you went to bed. The other side of the mattress felt absent and empty, like the space was waiting idly for a person who would never return.

But today felt different. You saw him for the first time since your breakup. His arm was slung around Nico’s shoulder at the cafe downtown as they talked about their next game against the Pittsburgh Penguins. You didn’t feel like curling up into a ball and rolling out of there before he could see you. No, you felt like breaking into a full-on sob, letting the tears rack through your body and shake you up until you were at his feet, begging him to take you back.

Yet you stood there and you watched Jack talk with Nico, and you clung to your chest, and you stretched the suffocating collar of your scratchy sweater, and you watched him meet your eyes—and you watched him look away. It was like your two-year-relationship was never a thing, as if he had erased all memories of you from his mind. It was like you were no one to him.

Looking around, the cafe seemed smaller, as if the walls were closing in on you and you had to get out quickly before you were trapped.

You sprinted back to your apartment in record time, and upon opening the door, your back hit the wooden slab as you slid down to the ground, pulling out your phone from your pocket. Your hands were shaking, your chest was rising up and down without fail, and your vision was blurred with the amount of tears falling down your pale cheeks.

You waited two rings until your grandmother picked up. She was your safe haven for all things in life. She always knew exactly what wise words to say, and while she was thousands of miles away, you imagined her stroking your hair as you laid your head down on her lap, asking her how life was so easy for her. She would say that her life was everything but that and then go on a long speech about her younger days. That was all you needed now, and all you wanted in the future: to have her, to hear her advice and life lessons, and to pretend she’s still there stroking your hair, wiping your tears, and humming her perfect girl to sleep.

“Nonna?” your voice was shaky and tired, and she could sense it immediately. You could hear her tell your grandfather that she would be in the bedroom if he needed her.

“Sweets? Are you alright?” You missed her voice. It felt like you were calling her less and less nowadays. You hoped she would forgive you for that.

“I,” you stammered, clinging to the silver pendant around your neck. “I feel like every time something good happens to me, it all just…fades away and I hate feeling this way. I hate it, but I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. It all just felt impossible, like feeling happy held this small entity in the back of your mind, telling you that it could all be over in just a matter of seconds. You felt that in your relationship with Jack, you felt that when you saw him earlier, you’ve been feeling that way ever since you walked out of his life.

Being with him wasn’t a solution, but not being with him also wasn’t a solution to your problem. You were stuck and you were clueless as to what to do next.

“Oh, honey,” Nonna’s voice was soft and full of empathy. “Life has a way of tossing us into turbulent seas, but remember that storms eventually pass, and the sun always rises again. You’re feeling the weight of loss now, but that doesn’t mean happiness won’t find its way back to you.”

“But that’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of the happiness, of finding someone new and getting hurt again.” You paused, sniffling before asking, “How can I tell if I’m in the right relationship? I feel like…like you’re supposed to know that type of stuff but I’ve never felt that, or maybe I’ve felt that too much and it’s never been true. I just… I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

[nyoomiin]

roommates: part eleven.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Can't even look me in the face?” Kunikuzushi sneers. It's biting, that tone. “This is getting ridiculous.”

He stands between you and the hallway, preventing you from rushing into your room the moment you return home — a habit you had picked up on recently. It's shameful, you know. You really wish you talked it out with him earlier, but you had avoided him on pure instinct the first time you saw him and just couldn't stop.

A muttered excuse tumbles out of your lips, but it trails off, and you're left staring at him like a fool.

“I'm sorry,” you say softly, hesitantly meeting his gaze.

His arms are crossed, his brows drawn. He looks more hurt than the furious he portrays himself to be. His next words are said with stormy eyes and through gritted teeth. “I never pegged you down as the cowardly type.”

It stings, but he’s right, even if he was being rather harsh about it. You couldn't run away from it forever.

He sighs, letting his arms fall, and you watch as he brushes past you, heading for the door. Then, he pauses, turning to look at you.

“Come on,” he tells you impatiently, head cocked to the side. “What are you waiting for? I know a quiet place to talk.”

He spares you not a glance as you walk, always a step ahead as he leads you along the way. You follow him curiously, out of the city, up and down the winding paths of the forest, on a cobblestone path that turns to soil and then grass.

Crisp breeze tousles his hair, his cape flowing behind him, and starlight dusts his figure a shimmering glow. For all that it is worth, you think he looks simply angelic.

“We’re almost there,” he says, interrupting the silence.

We better be, you huff. You've been walking for ages now, and you've certainly had enough time to think over what you’d say to him.

You reach a cliff's edge, overlooking the city and the endless twilight beyond. Damn, you think. It's been a while since you've been this far out.

He sits before you do, legs dangling in the air, chin tilted up towards the skies. You lie on the grass instead, head propped up by an arm. You try not to think about how one wrong move would send you tumbling all the way down.

You tell yourself Kuni would catch you if you did.

For a second, everything is still. His eyes flutter shut, and you watch as he relaxes, as if letting something fall away. For a second, you can pretend that nothing has happened, that nothing has changed, and that you were just a dressmaker and he was just your roommate. And for a second, you entertain a ridiculous thought. You wish that you could stay in this moment forevermore.

You can't, you think. For you still had a lifetime to live.

“Will you start from the beginning?” you ask him softly.

His eyes flicker open, turning to face you almost lazily. He has a way of turning fear into confidence, you learn. He huffs. “As if you don't know the story of my creation.”

You pout. “But I want to hear it again. Pretty please?”

He relents with a sigh, and you cheer.

… It gets dark really, really fast.

“Dottore, that lunatic… He spins a ludicrous tale of how Niwa had killed you for your heart, then fled out of guilt.” Kuni's tone drips with derision, and you can tell part of that derision is directed at himself.

You shift closer to him, frowning faintly. “You couldn't have known.”

He scoffs, and to that, he says nothing.

“Ashes,” he murmurs, gaze a thousand miles away. “There was nothing left but ashes.”

You gasp, letting out a soft cry. Poor kid. Poor Kunikuzushi. Did he never get a break?

The night draws colder as you learn about the centuries Kuni — now named Scaramouche, had lived. Your eyes burn with stifled tears as you can only imagine how someone so pure was lost to time, devoured by wrath and woe, bitterness and venom.

“You should have seen me then,” he tells you, a wry smile spread across his face. “You would have hated it.”

You shake your head in protest. “I wouldn't have. Well, I mean… I would've stayed by your side, at least.”

Surely that counted for something?

“Don’t make me laugh. Someone like you could never survive an organisation like the Fatui,” he retorts. Somehow, you have the feeling he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. “You would have stayed, even if ‘Kunikuzushi’ was no more? Even if you are hurt endlessly?”

His eyes are electrifying, challenging. His face is set in the way he expects you to laugh and take back your words, in the way he expects you to say you'd leave after all. You scowl right back, resolve firm.

“Even then.”

He lets out a sharp breath of a laugh.

“I reached out for the Gnosis,” he says, and there's something tight in his tone, strained with a certain kind of grief. “Then, I fell.”

You gape. Utterly flabbergasted. What. The. Fuck.

“And you — I — How are you not dead…?”

“Don't be stupid,” he harrumphs, as if he had not fallen from twenty meters in the air. As if he had not hit the ground, as if he had not been scared and frantic and desperate. “I would never be so pathetic as to die from something like that.”

Studying him silently, you sigh, brows drawn with worry. He lies on the ground next to you after he had gotten sick of looking down at you, and he's so close you can hear every breath he takes. He had survived, that you know. How else would he be here before you, alive and well?

Still…

“Did it hurt?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Only for a second.”

You roll over closer to him, and he doesn't seem to mind when you squish against his side. “So, I've been curious,” you say. “Why were you so agitated that day? Y'know, the last day I saw you before I…”

His nose scrunches.

“Oh, then?” he laughs. It is a rather hollow laugh. “Vermin who didn’t know their place decided to cause a ruckus, is all.”

You sigh, letting both the matter and your head drop. It’s obvious he will not elaborate on it further. Maybe he’ll tell you another day.

He ends his tale rather anti-climatically, brushing off his entire life as if it were simply a pain to deal with. You remain silent, apprehensive and contemplative. You had lived a whole different life, and a whole different timeline had come and gone and now, you were one of the only people in the world that remembered it still.

He takes your silence the wrong way. Looking terribly unamused, he smirks, cocking his head. “Well, what will you do now? Maybe if you beg, that meddlesome god will wipe your memories for you once more.”

“Archons, who do you think I am? If anything, this means you’re stuck with me now,” you tell him snootily, smacking his head.

It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it? That not even death could do you part? You had liked him then and you liked him now, and there’s a small part of you that thinks you would have liked him even when he was stained with hell. Perhaps one day, this like would turn into love as well.

Whatever the case, and in one way or another, he was yours now.

“You’re a moron,” he scoffs, lips quirked up into a half-smile.

You grin. “And you’re a bitch.”

(“‘m sorry I was avoiding you,” you murmur drowsily, “I didn’ mean to…”

He glances at you just as your head lolls against his side, fast asleep. His useless heart has the gall to stutter.

The both of you had talked until day breaks, and it is when the horizon is painted pink that your fatigue catches up with you. How weak, he muses, resisting the urge to poke at your cheek. To think mortals needed something as redundant as sleep.

You’d have to continue your conversation another day, then, seeing as how you were in no shape to do so now. There were still many things he had to discuss with you.

Standing, he dusts himself off, ready to head home. He looks down at you. A beat passes. Then, he huffs, lugging you onto his back.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he mutters under his breath. Humans were weak, especially someone like you. You’d certainly fall ill if he were to leave you alone, out in the open like this. Maybe even deathly ill. “You can’t pay your half of the rent if you’re dead.”

So, you’d owe him for this. Hmph.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi @xiaosantenna @idontevenknow129 @bfajax @mostlymoth @thenyxsky @kiyiiaarchived @skyvella @theautisticduck @someonealreadyhadmynickname @wanderersumbrella @im-just-here-for-the-coffee

[hyperfixiation-station]

I Didn't Mean That

TW: Blood, death, angst

Ghost hated you. It was just one of those things. Sky is blue, Earth is round, Ghost hates you. You weren't quite sure why, but you tried not to let it bother you.

Unfortunately, you were sent on a week-long op with him. You had been stuck with him for 3 whole days. 3 days full of insults and barely stifled anger. Day four brought a change of pace, but not a welcome one. You were stuck with him, holed up in a cave, using rocks for cover, firing on an enemy team who's camp you had stumbled into.

Ghost wasn’t sure why he was attracted to you. In truth, you were everything he should have despised, but for some odd reason, he found it alluring. Maybe it was your care-free attitude, the non-stop talking, the way you always had a joke up your sleeve and a smile for everyone. Maybe the saying ‘opposites attract’ really was true. Either way, he was not going to fall for you. Okay so maybe he couldn’t stop staring at you, and maybe his day was better whenever he heard your voice, and maybe your smile lit up the room and he wanted to keep it for himself, but it didn’t matter. All getting close to people had done in the past was cause pain, and he was not going to hurt you, or get hurt in return.

He had volunteered for this mission because he wouldn’t be going home on leave, as he had no one to go home to. However, if he had known that you had also volunteered he would not have come. As it was, he was now stuck with you, in a cave, with two M4’s and one box of ammo standing between the two of you and hundreds of enemy soldiers.

“Soap, how far out are you?” You cry into the radio, even though he had told you two minutes ago that he was 8 minutes out.

“Six minutes sweetheart, just hold on.” His voice crackles over the radio.

“You asking him every ten seconds isn’t going to get him here any faster.” Ghosts snaps at you. You roll your eyes and don’t dignify him with a response, training your gun on the incoming combatants and firing.

“Another one bites the dust.” You sing under your breath as another enemy drops.

“What the hell was that?” Ghost hisses at you.

“Another one bites the dust.” You say, grinning as you keep your eyes trained on the enemies. As best you can tell from his glare, he doesn’t find you funny. Like that's anything new.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being gunfire and us reloading. Suddenly the ground shakes and you look up to see a helo tearing the enemies to shreds. You smile as the radio crackles to life.

“Y/N, Ghost, how copy?”

“You came just in time Soap!” You cry into the radio.

“Glad to hear it! We can’t pick you up here, the terrain is too rocky, we’ll meet you about 12 klicks north-east of here.”

“Copy.” Ghost says. He stands up, holding his gun in front of him as you do the same.

“We go in like there are still hostiles left.” He says, you nod but decide against saying ‘not my first rodeo.’ He takes point, and you follow behind, sweeping the land in front of you for anything that moves. You walk in silence for almost a mile, picking your way over dead bodies and ducking under branches. Something flashes in the corner of your eye and you see a laser heading directly for your partner.

"Ghost!” You yell, stepping into the line of fire and swinging around to face the enemy. You pull your trigger, but not in time. Your back slams into Ghost as something rips through your shoulder, and your body erupts in pain. It takes everything you have to keep from screaming as you hit the ground.

Your whole body goes numb as Ghost drags you behind a rock to avoid the enemy fire.

“Soap!” Ghost yells into his radio, his voice hoarse. “Medic!”

He sounds so far away. Distantly, you realize that being able to see him and your body is not a good thing, but all you are really focused on is the fact that Ghost sounds worried.

His hand grips your shoulder and you are slammed back into your body. Pain laces through you and you grit your teeth to keep from screaming. Your vision is hazy and every breath sends pain through your shoulder. You try to curl up around the pain, let out a small whine as that movement hurts as well.

Ghost’s eyes go wide and he tightens his grip to keep you still. He removes his jacket and wraps it tightly around the wound on your shoulder. Blood soaks through the material almost immediately, and uses his weight to keep the pressure. You sob as his attempts to stop the bleeding feel like fire in your bones. You feel him shudder as he watches the blood soak into the jacket. Pain laces through your body with every touch, but it is quickly becoming numb again. Not good you think to yourself.

Ghost yells into his radio again, and this time the medic replies. The sounds of helicopters approaching are louder now. You cry out in pain as hands slip under you, one under your neck and one under your legs, vision going black as he picks you up.

You blink, and now you're lying on the floor again, staring up at the roof of a helo. Ghost leans over you, brows furrowed in concern. Distantly, you can hear him repeating your name. Is he mad at me? I’m so tired.

“No. Goddammit y/n, stay awake.” Ghost yells. He watches your eyes flutter in response before going limp again. He looks to the medic, who is busy pressing bandages onto your shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Stay with me, goddammit.” He mutters. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The whole point of hating them was so they didn't get hurt, he thinks angrily, and now they may die thinking I hate them. Why am I so fucking bad with this stuff.

~Happy ending~

“We’re almost there!” Soap’s frantic voice sounds from over the radio. The helo touches down and Ghost is shoved aside as a million different doctors swarm over you, rushing you into the infirmary and away from his view. He tries to shove the worry he feels down, but all that happens is it is replaced by guilt.

~time skip~

“I can’t believe you were that close to dying.” Ghost says coldly. Your eyes flutter open again, and you blink at him. Your throat feels raw and dry, your vision hazy.

“N’ce ta see you c’re.” You slur out, wincing as the movement hurts.

“Don’t be a dick.” He says to you, but there's no fire behind it. He helps you sit up, and you think you seem him wince when you grit your teeth in pain. He helps drink water before laying you back down.

“I’m injured, i get to be a dick.” I murmur, tired suddenly.

Your eyes flutter closed, your face flushing from the pain. Ghost's face is full of remorse, and he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbles, sitting down beside you.

“Wh’t’r you s’rry f’r? You d’dn’t shhhoot me.” You slur out, too tired to function.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. For… I don’t know. The way I’ve treated you, I guess. I didn’t mean it.” Is the last thing you hear before being dragged back into oblivion.

Later, weeks of transfusions and physical therapy and surgeries and bandages later, you are set free from the confines of that horrible prison they call a ‘hospital.’ Ghost is there to greet you and you think that maybe, just maybe, getting shot was a good thing. Your mind flutters back to the second conversation you had with him, one where you were lucid enough to actually communicate.

“I didn’t mean it either.” You had said, “So let's start over. My name is y/n l/n. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure. My name is Simon Riley, but most people call me Ghost.”

Yeah, maybe getting shot wasn’t the worst thing ever.

~And now, because I’m a slut for angst~

“Nononono.” The medics frantic voice echoes over the sounds of the chopper, “I can’t get a pulse.” He thrusts the bandages he’d been holding into Ghost's hands and instructs him to hold them down on the wound as he begins CPR.

The guilt and despair Ghost feels is sickening as he looks at your pale, bloodstained face and unmoving chest. Your blood gushes over his hands, is soaked into his clothes, stains his skin.

“Come on, dammit.” His voice cracks as he presses harder on your shoulder, “I’ll say sorry. I’ll say it a thousand times if you come back.” His hands shake as he presses down. His eyes flick up to meet the medic's bloodstained face, and his heart drops as the medic slowly shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” Ghost whispers, tears pricking his eyes as he stands in front of your mother, forever the bearer of bad news.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers as he presents your father your flag and dog tags.

‘I’m sorry.” He whispers to you as he drops dirt onto your coffin, guilt and regret eating him alive.

“I’m sorry.”

[lekeyeh24]

Hello!!

I was wondering if I could request for earth 42 miles.

I was thinking reader is on miles apartment rooftop alone singing and miles hears her from his window and goes to the rooftop.

(They don’t know eachother)

If you could that would be amazing!!

(Just so you know, I already sent this request to someone else but I would like to see your creativity with this request either way!!)

ofcc thats a good suggestion cus i need yall to request sum ideas im out if them😭😪

EARTH 42 MILES MORALES X FEM READER ONE SHOT.

miles pov

i was walking up to the stairs trying to get away from all the stress i was going through, as i reached the door i heard a voice coming from the other side of the door. Confused and curious about who was singing he quickly and quietly walked on to the platform when the mystery

voice was coming from , it was calm and soothing for him he was relaxed by the voice of the person it nice and a way to take the stress out. when he reached when the voice had came from he was in shock it was a beautiful girl who looked his age who hadn’t seen him yet and was still singing . He was in love with her voice is was so angelic , she had finished singing and it was silent until he said something to the girl

y/ns pov

“I liked your song” said a chilling but calm voice said out of nowhere, it scared you casing you to flinch out of fear but when u realized it was a boy who looked your age you calmed down a little bit but still had your guard up just incase he tried something. “thank you” the boy looked at you and saw that you had gotten up and moved to the edge of the building but not close enough for you to fall “ I didnt mean to scare you I just came up here to get some air” it was silent for a second till the girl said “its fine i came here for the same reason….my name is y/ btw”

“miles, miles morales but you can call me miles” he said with a smile on his face as he was saying his name I analyzed his figure then looked back at his gorgeous eyes they were so beautiful the way he looked and you loved his hair. “nice to meet you miles morales” you said with a smile on your face. After introducing yourselves you both talked abt things and got comfortable and sat next to each other laughing and messing around, miles missed this feeling after his dad died he became depressed and broken and needed time to process what happened happened over the last sad couple of days. but this right here was real he felt good great in fact he opened up to you and told you everything as for you , you as well told his everything. as the day went by it was getting late and you both needed to go back home as you both were walked down the apartment stairwell you were both laughing and enjoying each others company turns out you both live next to wach other. “good night Hermosa thank you for tonight I loved every single second of it I will text you ok.” you blushed at the nickname he had for you “good night miles I loved it to thank you for this” as you both looked into each others eyes he leaned in as well as you did and both connected your lips together it was filled with love and compassion but soon you both had to go back for air, as you both parted away from the kiss he looked at your eyes and smiled . You fluttered your eyes oped and couldn’t help but smile and look down miles had lifted your chin up and said “dont be embarrassed I enjoyed it”

after that he pecked you lips one more time and said goodnight and went in his apartment as well as you did.

‼️I HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS ALSO I WILL BE MAKING A chapter 1 of enemies to lovers abt earth 42 miles morales it will be posted tmr thank you.‼️

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Better Late Than Never

Pairing: Alex Karev x Reader

Summary: After years of being gone, Alex makes his return to Grey Sloan Memorial.

Warnings: Mention of Jack Gibson and light cursing.

She's baaccckkk!!!

-----

“Dr. Y/L/N.” 

“What is it Griffith?” The brunette looked up from the tablet in her hands to see the new intern smiling back at her and panting like she just ran two miles. Y/N cocked an eyebrow and the intern who seemingly forgot her reason for searching for the OBGYN in the first place.

“Oh! There’s a really handsome man looking for you. Well, I overheard him asking Dr. Hunt for you down in the pit but he got brushed off so I offered to bring him up but he said he knew this hospital like the back of his hand. Which is weird now that I think about it.” Griffith tilted her head to the side causing her curls to bounce on top of her head as she thought back to her interaction with the man.

“Did he give you a name?”

“I didn’t ask but he’s right-” 

“Here.” For a second the doctor’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of a very familiar voice. A voice that she tried so hard to forget over the past couple years. 

No no no, it can’t be him she thought.

“Y/N.” 

“Griffith I need you run down to the lab to collect Mrs. Henry’s lab workup.” Alex hung his head and the intern could visibly see her superior trying her best to ignore the man that called out to her.

“Y/N you can’t igno-” 

“Griffith-”

“On it.” The intern glanced between the pair before speed walking down the hall to the elevator. Alex sighed, he knew that she wasn’t going to be happy to see him but he didn’t expect her to ignore him either.

“Y/N please, can we talk?”

Rolling her eyes at him Y/N walked past him to go check on her patient but that only made him follow her. Alex securely took hold of her arm and pulled her into the nearest on-call room.

“Alex! What the hell?” Breaking away from him she wasted no time in putting as much distance between them as possible. 

“Y/N I know you don’t want to see me especially after the way things ended between us but I just want to talk.” 

“It’s been years since you left me to go back to Izzie and now you want to talk. Alex I’m only going to say this once, fuck you. I don’t want to hear a word coming out of your mouth because when you were supposed to talk to me you left. You took your things and took off leaving me a freaking letter filled with bullshit.” Alex listened to her release all her anger on him that she definitely had pent up over the years.

“I meant everything in that letter Y/N. I loved you and every single thing we had built together-”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t even know what love is even if it slapped you in the face Karev. If you had loved me, loved us and what we had, you wouldn’t have left. We would’ve come up with a way for you to meet your kids and be a part of their lives but you took off instead. You didn’t mention them to me, you just found out and left me in the dirt.” Hot tears pricked at her eyes as all the hurt, frustration and anger rushed to the surface but she’s not going to let them fall. Alex Karev didn’t deserve another tear of hers.

“You didn’t deserve that.” 

“I didn’t deserve that but yet still you did that to me!” Alex felt a stabbing pain in his chest hearing and seeing how much pain, how much she’s hurting over the way he left. After all, they were three days away from getting married and starting a life together.

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s a little too late for apologies.” A moment of silence fell over the room giving Y/N the time to get a hold of her emotions. Alex couldn’t help but take in her appearance after being away from her for years. He had to admit, her beauty never changed but the thing that struck him was the wedding band that she wore on her left hand.

“How are they?”

“Mhm?” Alex snapped back to reality at the sound of her voice.

“Your family, how are they?” She couldn’t help but to be curious about the kids and what they looked like. A smile graced his face at the thought of his kids back home.

“They’re good, the kids are growing nicely.” 

“And Izzie, how is she?” 

“We’re no longer together, we had gotten remarried and tried the whole apple pie family life but that only lasted for two years. I’m just sticking around for the sake of the kids.” His smile faltered, breaking that news to her. When he left he had hopes of working things out with Izzie and they did but it wasn’t the same and he knew that. He knew that his heart was back in Seattle with Y/N but he didn’t want to not be part of his children’s lives. Clearing his throat, he pointed to the rock that sat on her ring finger.

“You got married?” 

“I did, I married Gibson” Y/N’s lips curled up into a smile at the thought of her husband Jack.

“Gibson from Station 19? Wow, okay.” Alex didn’t see that one coming, he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he continued.

“He uh- treating you right?” 

“He is.”

“Good, good, you deserve it.” Y/N could see that he’s still wrapping his head around it and just as she was about to say something her pager went off.

“I have to go, they need me in the pit.” She brushed past him but stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

“Alex, although it took a while, thanks for finally coming to talk.”

“Better late than never, right?” The pair chuckled at that statement because it’s true. Now she was finally able to bury what they had.

“But I should get going, take care of yourself Karev.” Y/N opened the door and ran off leaving him in the cold room. Just as the door closed shut behind her, Alex found himself saying the three words that he wanted to tell her all along.

“I love you.”

-----

Grey's Taglist:

@freyathehuntress @meeksmusic83 @graniairish @lorenakaspersen @sergntbarnes @sketch-and-write-lover

[valentine-writes]

boys don't cry

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, masc coded reader (kinda. no pronouns used!! but trust y'all i'll b writing masc reader stuff soon cuz I Need It), inconsistent lengths for each character i am Filled W/ Favouritism, kisses can be platonic (spider-noir part i love this man), reader is used to bottling emotions up, the spot's part is Not That Serious, characters all love u and wanna help :> 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. gwen stacy, hobie brown/spider-punk, jessica drew, lyla, margo kess/spider-byte, miles morales (1610 and 42), miguel o'hara/spider-man 2099, (spider-man) noir, pavitr prabhakar, peter b parker, and the spot/johnathan ohnn

author's note: this song slaps╰(*°▽°*)╯ also see other songs below which influenced this <3 u can slowly see me losing the slash srsness as the character progress,,, apologies. many :(( anyways!! had this marinating in my drafts so im posting. hopefully will get time to clear my inbox and fulfill reqz! tysm for ur patience lovelies !!!!（。＾▽＾）<333

“i try to laugh about it / hiding the tears in my eyes” – the cure, boys don't cry

“i didn’t want you to hear / that shake in my voice / my pain is my own” – car seat headrest, 1937 state park

“i don’t know why i am / the way i am, not strong enough to be your man” – boygenius, not strong enough

▸ GWEN, who all too familiar with what it's like to keep up a tough act for the sake of not falling apart.

she's grown accustomed to letting emotions eat away at her until they're too big to deal with. which is why she's quick to feel empathy when she sees that you do the same thing.

she won't force you to talk about anything you don't want to– but if you need an outlet, she hands you her drum sticks.

"maybe it'll help you like it helps me." gwen explains, giving you that awkward little smile of hers that makes everything weighing on you feel a little less heavy.

always trying to help you find a way to channel your emotions. even if drumming doesn't work for you. maybe it's singing. maybe it's art. or maybe you just need to cry. no matter what it is, she doesn't mind. she just wants you to let it out in a healthy way.

▸ HOBIE is instantly aware of the fact you're the type to laugh and joke around to hold back tears.

you're trying your hardest to keep smiling, but he sees it falter as you try to speak, choking out the words while holding back a sob.

"'s okay to cry, y'know? no one 'round here but us anyways." he reassures.

you take a sharp inhale, knowing it was useless to pretend. he was always emotionally intelligent, able to read you like a book. sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind. or maybe he was just attentive with you.

he puts a hand on your back, gently rubbing as you feel the tears run down your cheeks. this turns into an arm around your shoulder as you cry, until you're fully sobbing– he decides to just pull your into his arms.

he's still holding you close, even as your cries subside into sniffles. always encourages you to be real with him. there's nothing he loves more than you being unfiltered– even if it means expressing negative emotions. to hobie, vulnerability is bravery.

▸ JESSICA DREW who's quick to notice you the minute you turn away to conceal your face.

she pulls you aside discreetly, knowing you probably didn't want attention of others. tries to meet you eye-level, asks you directly about what's wrong.

after a few seconds of silence, you finally break.

"i feel so weak." you sniffle, not meeting her eyes.

"for doing a little crying?" she sighs a little, shaking her head. "not at all. you're strong– you've been strong. but even strong people gotta cry."

she'll talk you through it or just sit beside you, offering you advice or even just a space to vent. she's very busy all the time– but she'll set aside time for you. tells you that hiding from emotions only works for so long and that tells you that you aren't any less tough in her eyes for feeling them.

you're only human after all. you deserve to live out the wholeness of the human experience.

▸ LYLA isn't really all too involved with your day-to-day life shenanigans (being the best ai assistant is hard), but she always makes a point to check up on you when she gets the chance.

besides, miguel sure isn't gonna gossip with her like you do.

"you doing good?" she'll ask, grinning.

you only respond with a weak "yeah" and the fakest chuckle she's ever heard, as you clearly attempt to blink back tears.

she doesn't know what to do. tries to wipe the tears that eventually fall with a virtual hand that phases right through your face. well. at least she had good intentions.

"hey, hey–" lyla gets you to take a deep breath. "look at me."

she says your name, regrounding you. you look up at her, and for a moment, she's certain that she's felt something akin to sympathy. she's felt something real.

lyla doesn't let that distract her from her objective– right now, she's gotta comfort you.

she repeats your name, "...it's okay. you cry if you feel like it."

▸ MARGO who sits you down, letting you be the one to speak first when your smile wavers.

"i hate fuckin' crying.." you laugh weakly, trying to make the situation better. it doesn't help control the tears. "i feel so lame for it."

"you know," she whispers, taking your hands in yours, "i still think you're pretty cool."

she gives you a grin that's so earnest– so sweet– that lets you know she's being honest.

"okay, so this might be stupid,, butttt–" encourages you two to listen to some moody music so you can get whatever you've bottled up out of you systems. it's cathartic, crying your eyes out with her as whatever the two of you have queued up blasts in the background.

doesn't judge you one bit for crying.

"only way out is through." she shrugs. "gotta feel it before you can actually let it go."

▸ MILES (1610) who had just asked an innocent question about how your doing, now watching as you struggle to respond.

after a strained moment of searching for words, you shrink away and hide your face in your hands. he scoots by your side, asking before gently taking your hands away from your face.

"what's wrong?" his voice is soft. gentle as he looks at you with the sweetest concerned expression.

"i shouldn't be crying.. it's stupid... i feel so, so stupid–"

he frowns at these words. "i don't think it's stupid."

societal expectations forcing people to put on a tough act just to conceal emotions deemed as "weakness?" not a new concept to him. he's just sad that it's impacted you so deeply.

after this, will actively check up on how you're doing emotionally. will pull you aside to have a heart-to-heart if he senses the slightest thing off. terrified of being shut out by you, will always offer for the two of you to deal with whatever you're struggling with together.

▸ MILES (42) who asks more bluntly than he had intended when he senses you're not doing okay.

you take a sharp inhale, giving him an unsteady smile which only makes him sigh. no matter how much you try to make the situation lighthearted, his expression never changes.

"nah. you're not fooling me." he walks over to you, his voice softening as he looks at you. "...what's got you upset?"

a really good listener. lets you rest your head on his shoulder as you vent and let it out.

he's not the most open himself, so of course he understands– but he doesn't want you to be like him.

you thank him for putting up with your breakdown, feeling a little awkward as you pull your cheek away from his shoulder and look at him.

you watch as he falters for a moment, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you in for a warm, slightly stiff, side-hug.

"don't thank me for that– it's just what you deserve." though his quick to dismissal of what you'd said seems to be the end of his sentence– you watch as he unclenches his jaw, hesitating before he says something else.

"anytime. i mean it."

▸ MIGUEL who is jus like u for reals doesn't quite know how to cope with emotions either. that doesn't give him an excuse to not try with you.

he can't find the right words, but you see the empathy in his eyes. he offers quiet comfort– places a hand on your back, rubbing it as you lean into his side

"don't hide your face from me." he mutters to you. "it's just me."

your hands fall from your face into your lap, shoulders slumping. he feels you tremble softly, as you to reply.

"this should be for me to deal with. i should be strong enough." your words echo in his mind.

maybe because he's told himself the same thing too many times before as well. it's painful, the way that this moment with you reflects a mirror image of himself.

will crumble his own walls if it means you'll do the same. tries to be open to encourage you. you'll learn together.

▸ NOIR who is a gentleman through and through. always. tells you that he'll give you anything you need.

"i don't know what nitwit told you it wasn't okay for you to cry," his choice of words makes you crack a slight genuine smile, "but you don't have to believe them one second."

as your facade slowly crumbles, his gloved hands cup your face as you cry. he dries your cheeks, patiently nodding as he listened to you ramble on about everything you've been holding back.

when you've calmed down, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

to ache like this and still be concerned over burdening others– he's now finds little ways to remind you how precious you are to him. that he'll always care.

▸ PAVITR, who approaches you as delicately as possible. he tries not to do anything that will make you feel backed into a corner.

he knows that feeling scared can lead to lashing out. tries to be casual about it to ensure you're as comfortable as possible.

you crack an obviously forced joke and he glances at you questioningly.

"you're not telling me something, aren't you?" he asks. pavitr's secretly hoping he was good at playing this careful– but you had picked up that he wanted to talk to you about it for a while now.

you're both obvious.

your grin fades as you chuckle dryly. "i don't... i don't want to– it's embarrassing."

"what's embarrassing is that i didn't notice earlier. don't be shy. we can figure it out together, okay?"

offers all the help he can. even (secretly) messages gayatri for "advice for a friend" you!!! you are friend!!!!! he doesn't name drop tho. privacy king.

▸ PETER B(E MY WIFE) PARKER. the one who drags you outside to chat about it and cracks a stupid joke himself. it alleviates no tension at all.

"..ahh,, no, nevermind that kid. you okay?"

a shake of your head and his smile fades a bit. he grips your shoulder, shaking you gently.

"been there plenty of times. trust me– better to get it out now."

and for a while, it's just a conversation. you're both sitting outside, the night air bringing a chill to your skin. he offers his jacket– and then proceeds to pull you into it while he still wears it, your back pressed to his chest.

it goes unspoken, but he knew you had been struggling for a while now. he's relieved to finally get a moment with you.

he'll always be looking out for you. even if you don't realize.

▸ THE SPOT/JOHNATHAN OHNN panics ever so slightly. this is the first time you've ever cried in front of him. so he does what he does best– and just asks questions.

"you've been bottling it up this whole time?"

"mhm..."

"for how long?..." your response causes him to pause, blinking several times before parting his lips to speak again. "...oh. oh wow– yikes–" he means well i swear.

will scour the multiverse in search of a quiet place for you to lay this all to rest.

you admit, you're certain you don't need all this– but he seems happy to put in the effort and lead you into a portal into a nice area to relax.

"are we breaking and entering into someone's house?!"

"uh– don't worry about it for now."

[weebsinstash]

For real though I am lost in the Miguelverse rn bc the whole you know, concept and setting in general gives so much opportunity for so many different things and he's such a tasty intimidating juicy specimen of a man

Like for starters I keep flip-flopping between concepts of Reader being the Spider of their universe, BUT I also like the idea of Reader being an anomaly, because then you get that torturous pain of like... godDAMN the scene with Miguel and Miles on top of the train was hard to watch, you know? So take that and you've got Miguel trying his hardest to stop you and losing his temper and screaming at you that you're a mistake, you were never supposed to be here, all of those things, and then afterwards he has to try and put all your broken pieces back together after everything you had experienced completely breaks you, like you go from trying to escape him in Nueva York to just going limp in his hold and letting them take you into custody, constantly crying or being completely despodent and literally no longer caring about going home anymore because you feel trapped by being a Spider and feel like your choices are no longer your own. He didn't have any hard feelings against you but you have to follow the canon! And while he's you know keeping a watchful eye on you and making sure you don't kill yourself, he becomes a little too personally invested in your well being, making sure you've eaten, have you slept well, until he realizes too late that he's ATTACHED

Spinoff of this where he accidentally makes Reader kill themselves which also destroys their entire universe and like a few months later Miguel gets another ping in the system and, oh look a new Spiderman, not an anomaly this time, but still... you? Or, A you, maybe not THE same you he had known but, it just tears at his heart as he meets you again and youre so happy and bouncy and charismatic and he knows he has to keep you safe this time, that he cant let you completely fall apart this time. That's kind of getting your cake and eating it too huh? Having the first you be the anomaly and the second you is a true Spider who gets to deal with all his grief and obsession and guilt and all those feelings he never got to address or act on "the first time around"

Ideas of Reader not even being a Spider and just minding their own gd business and a disheveled Miguel from another universe who just lost his own version of you and hasn't slept for shit shows up all of a sudden and corners you because he just HAS to see and hear and touch you again and he's basically lost himself with grief

Ideas where Reader loses their home universe but instead of disappearing with it they just become an anomaly and now you're a Spider without a set destiny who technically shouldn't still exist and Miguel has to keep an eye on you as he watches you gradually sink deeper into the mire of grief and depression because, "does your life even have a purpose now?"

Story ideas where having a darling/obsession is a spidey canon event and Miguel thought he had already gone through his but he stumbles upon you and he starts losing it and getting real freaky obsessed with you and he doesn't exactly stop himself because he thinks it's normal and supposed to happen, and if you resist him in any way he won't let you get away because in his mind if he doesn't have you, not only will he completely fall apart, but what if it causes another universe to collapse?

Stories where you're a Spider and his "coworker" and you two have tension but respect each other and have never really acted on it and suddenly here's another Miguel who isn't quite nearly as reserved or shy as the first and suddenly "your original" has to 'defend his territory' as he knows enough about his own behavior to realize that this other version of him has his sights set on you and, well, your Miguel can't have that

Stories where having a kid is a canon event and Miguel realizes Reader is a grown woman who is actively avoiding relationships altogether and is also on birth control and he realizes "oh shit if she doesn't have a kid will she disappear?" And he's like trying to sabotage your attempts to stay single until eventually he decides, fuck it, maybe it's HIM who has to give you that baby. You know, just a little mating press and some noncon breeding that he swears is to save your life, it *definitely* isn't that he's totally crazy about you and this just gives him the excuse

You know just totally normal ideas about a totally normal totally sane dude

[seikkoi]

𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗙 | tony stark x f!reader​

18+ minors dni

warnings: rough intercourse, shower s*x, explicit s*xual content

genre: theres no plot here just debauchery

word count: 1,329

a/n: i am bad at requests omg, sparsely proofread

Tony needs some stress relief- and he's far beyond waiting for you to finish your shower.

Tony reached a new limit for bullshit today. Actually, he was pushed much, much further.

The day had been jammed packed full of meetings, zoom calls, and annoying people. By five o’clock, he was one more redundant question away from breaking something. 

The tiring hours passed like kidney stones, but they passed regardless. Tony’s mind was set on relieving the headaches of the day before it was even over. The only thing that pulled him through was knowing that his favorite person was mere twenty minutes away- blissfully unaware of his plans.

To his credit, he does try to at least call you when he leaves the office to avoid showing up unannounced. You’re two miles in on the treadmill, music and footsteps drowning out the incessant vibrating. When Tony pulls into the driveway, you’re heading for the shower, still singing along. 

He’s only slightly worried something might be wrong when he calls out for you to not respond. Despite his eagerness and overwhelming need to put something else on his mind besides work, Tony tries to call you once more. Your phone buzzes absently on your bed as you rake shampoo through your hair. 

It’s nothing short of startling when you see a figure appear in your bathroom mirror. Your eyes focus, letting out a breath when you realize it’s just Tony. You realize how loud your music must be as you couldn’t hear him coming upstairs. The shower didn’t help either, water flowing loudly in the tiled chamber. 

Tony’s quicker than you, turning down the speaker with a light grin. 

“What’s with all the stealth?”, you ask playfully, pouring more soap onto your hands. You weren’t too put off by Tony’s sudden presence. He was normally home around this time, but then again, you normally answered when he called to tell you he was on the way. 

“Easy to sneak up on you when you’re having a private concert.”, he retorts, stepping into the bathroom. You notice his eyes in the reflection only stay on you for a moment, before slipping down to admire your figure in the foggy glass. 

Tony wants to thank any god watching for the sight in front of him. He figures someone must be looking out for him since he has you. Everything he needed from life, right there. Not to mention how damn good you looked. 

“You’re just jealous of my performance abilities.”, you chuckle, turning a bit to face him. Tony can’t help staring through the wet glass at the soap cascading down your body.

“Rough day?”, you ask, thinking he zoned out. Tony’s hands move to unbutton his wrinkled shirt, kicking off his shoes. He really wanted to be patient and wait, but you made it more than impossible. 

“Something like that.” Tony mutters, pants falling to his ankles. It’s then that you notice the swell growing in his boxers as his watch clatters on the counter. 

“Most people would just wait their turn.”, you tease, keeping your body facing him. It never took much to get Tony worked up, and you should have known his motives for watching you shower in the first place. 

“You are the one thing I’ve needed all day”, he answers, removing the last of his clothing and pulling the shower door open. The glass quietly closes behind him, giving you only a second before his arms wrap around your waist, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. 

Your fingers thread their way into dark, dampening curls, Tony’s member twitching against your thigh. He groans at the taste of your lips, feeling like he’s spent the last eight hours in a desert. His tongue swirls at the soft flesh before enveloping your mouth completely. 

Tony caresses every bit of skin he can get his hands on, running along your wet, silky skin. Just as the sight of you can easily turn him into a desperate, impatient mess- the same is true for his touch. You gasp as his fingertips tease your hardened nipples, arousal building between your legs. 

The kiss becomes hungrier, teeth scraping swollen lips. Tony’s hand abandons your chest to grip your thighs and pull you up. You don’t dare release his mouth from yours as you wrap your legs around your waist. Tony holds you with ease, taking a few steps to pin you at the shower wall. You’re right below the shower head, water raining down between your bodies. 

“Missed me that much, huh?” you say panting, pulling away when you feel Tony lining his hard member up to your slick entrance. 

Tony moans overtake the sound of the shower as the tip of his cock pushes into you. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.” 

“Fuck,’ he hisses in a drawn-out swear. Tony sank into the soft, wet heat of your cunt. With each moan that fell from your lips, the annoyance of the day got further behind him. 

You can barely care about the sting of pain from the warm tile digging into your back, tightening your lips around Tony’s waist. He keeps an iron grip on your legs, fingertips surely leaving bruises. Around you, the heat and steam billow above your head. 

Your back arches into his deep, steady thrusts as Tony’s head rests against your shoulder. You know you’re not going to last long like this, the angle letting Tony graze the perfect spot that makes your hips shudder. His neediness only makes it worse, hearing the desperation in his groans. Still, you can tell that he’s holding back. 

“Not made of glass,” you manage between gasping moans, humidity and steam dripping along your face. “Take what you need.”

It’s more than Tony needed to hear, pressing your body flush to the wall and thrusting into you hard. 

Despite your words a moment ago, his cock rams against your walls with enough force to make your hips sting as you cry out. 

The delicious spot he was simply grazing earlier takes every rough stroke. Your eyes roll at the overwhelming pleasure. 

You secretly hoped that Tony needed you every time he had a rough day at work. This needy, frustrated mood looked painfully good on him- bearded jaw clenched with furrowed brows. 

You feel your cunt grow wetter around him, sliding down your drenched bodies with the flow of the water. It’s not long until all your mind can focus on is the heavy air and Tony throbbing inside of you. The knot in your core surges each time he bottoms out and groans against your shoulder. 

“Better?”, he taunts, feeling your body shudder against him. 

You are much too fucked-out at this point tell Tony how good he feels. You can feel your legs weakened around his waist as Tony keeps you upright. Your fingers tighten in his hair, causing him to moan out your name in response.

The ache in your core starts to become unbearable, the soft walls of your spasming. Tony’s not far behind you, rough strokes turning unsteady as more curses escape him. His cock finds that sensitive spot twice more before you’re clamping around him, back arching against wet tile. Pleas of Tony’s name fall in rapid order as he reaches his own end. While your high finishes, he buries himself inside you, relishing in your shaky breaths. 

Eventually, Tony lets you stand, looking a thousand times more relaxed than when he walked in. Although you technically just did him a favor, he wears a smug grin on his face. 

Before you can give him shit for it, Tony cups your face in his hands to kiss you again, stroking your cheek. 

It’s a brief kiss, the sweet, heart-melting kind that reminds you why you (happily) tolerate him in the first place. Not to your surprise, he quickly ruins the moment.

Tony’s hand leaves your face to gesture at the walls around you, eyes inspecting gridded corners with impunity.  

“You ever think about getting a bigger shower?” 

[wavesmp3]

8000 layers of inyun

jeonghan x reader, joshua x reader - inspired by the movie past lives - wc: 6k - warnings: mentions of alcohol, like one curse i think - a/n: reader should be completely inclusive, i.e. not adhering to the background of the main character in the movie.

[first hello]

when you met joshua for the first time, it was in the grassy backyard of a house in long island one mile away from the beach. at a rickety, white table with spots of black showing up beneath the layers of paint. it was three glasses of red wine in, two hours after you had laid eyes on him, and one hour after everyone else had headed inside for sleep. 

when you met joshua for the first time, you had told him about inyun. how even brushing by someone’s shoulder on the street or locking eyes with a stranger on the metro meant there was something there between the two of you in a past life. he looked amazed at the notion. you thought he looked quite pretty. “that would mean we had something together in a past life, wouldn’t it?” he had asked. and even then, you could tell–he’s such a writer. there was a story already rising from the dark corners of his mind. you had just nodded. and told him about all the layers between two lovers, and about the 8000 it takes to take one’s hand and whole-heartedly decide you want to marry them. 

you don’t really remember joshua’s cheeks turning pink at the line. what you do remember is the sky changing colors. you remember how golden he looked under the string lights. you remember leaning into his face, almost falling forward, bracing yourself with a hand on his knee. 

you remember kissing him for the first time. 

*****

[jeonghans coming] 

joshua is already cooking dinner by the time you come home. you stop in front of the gray door, noticing for the first time in a while the scratch in the top corner from the massive yellow armchair you stuffed through the door even when it refused to fit through. you smile at the scratch, stretch your arm out to finger over the light brown mark. how long ago was that now? was that before or after you got married? you inhale. the air smells like wet concrete and basil. joshua forgot to turn on the exhaust fan, didn’t he? 

you don’t remind him to do so once you finally find your keys. instead you slip off your old, faded sneakers, drop your keys on the counter in the lime green dish you made in a pottery class two years ago, and greet him in the kitchen, kissing the side of his chin and reaching over his head to turn the exhaust fan on. he kisses your forehead as an apology, or at least he tries but you’ve already moved and his lips end up catching on the corner of your left eye. you wash the day and the grime off you, washing away the train and the throbbing in your feet. you meet him again for dinner, at the table you call your dining table and your home office. he brings over two plates of the pasta. you bring the wine. 

“you know jeonghan.” it doesn’t hit you then that that’s the first thing you’ve said to him since you left that morning.

joshua squints. his eyes, his eyes, his eyes. they were the first thing you noticed about him. the first thing you fell in love with. “yeah. your childhood sweetheart.” this he says with a teasing smile. you smile back. his smile was the second thing you fell in love with. 

“he, uh, emailed me earlier today.” you shift in your stool. “he moved out of his parents’ house, i think, and is between jobs. he said he’s going to be visiting new york soon.” 

there’s a stillness in the air, then. a shock beneath the table that’s curling around your calves and inching up your arms.

joshua, though, despite how well you know him, despite your knack to see through every emotion he feigns, still tries to nod it off. “oh. when is he coming?”

“in two weeks. “

“that’s soon.”

“i know.”

“are you going to see him?” there’s no mask of emotion here. everything in joshua’s mind and heart you can read in his eyes, except that reading doesn’t mean understanding and five years of marriage doesn’t mean you know someone’s every thought. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what he wants. you don’t even know what you want. all you know is jeonghan’s email. you spent two hours staring at it this afternoon. jeonghan, as you knew him, was a straightforward guy. he explicitly said in the email what he wants: to spend a day or two with you while he’s here, as much time as you can spare, show him the city you moved to when you turned 21. show him the country you moved to when you were 13. but beneath the straightforward request feels like a million subliminal ones. like he wants you to prove to him that you’ve made a life worth living here. like he wants to gallivant around new york telling you about a country that used to be home and asking you what would have happened if you didn’t go all those years ago. 

but jeonghan isn’t like you and joshua, he doesn’t make reading into subtext and writing a 100 pages about it his job. so you tell joshua what you decided on the train ride back. 

“yeah, i think i will.” and with the way your stomach twists, it feels like a confession.

*****

[first goodbye]

your first goodbye with jeonghan is when you’re young. it happens on the last day of school for you before your family’s big move to the states. even though you only found out a couple weeks ago, you knew this move was a long time coming. maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when your parents told you it was happening. maybe that’s why you just went to your room and started packing. 

jeonghan’s been in the same class as you your whole life. his whole life too. and for your entire lives you’ve been making the same walk back home from school together. today is no different. and yet, isn’t it? it’s the same roads, yes, the same stairs and the same shops on the way. but the air is different, it smells like home. it smells like you already miss it. and you haven’t even left yet. 

the walk is almost entirely silent. 

the roads diverge towards the end, into a smaller path that leads to your home and the main road that jeonghan takes to get to his. you take one step into the path and stop. jeonghan stops too. he stares. you stare back. 

(you don’t realize it then, but it’s the last time you’ll see him in person for almost 20 years. one of the last times you’ll even speak to him in around 7. it’s the last time you’ll ever stand on this street, and one of the last times you’ll breathe this air. most importantly, it’s the last time you’ll ever be this young.)

your first goodbye with jeonghan isn’t much of a goodbye. it’s him asking when you leave. it’s you saying sometime tomorrow. it’s him frowning, patting your shoulder, and saying, “be well, and don’t cry over maths anymore.”

*****

[second hello]

you round the corner by the candy shop and walk inwards to the park. you used to live around here. but god, where haven’t you lived? you used to come into this park and watch people. the man towards the south entrance that always sat on the middle bench. the tourists walking up and down and around looking amazed and bored and helpless. tompkins square park used to be your favorite park in new york, but walking into it now, you can’t really remember why you liked it so much. you wonder why he chose this park specifically to meet in. did you mention it once on a skype call? does he think you still like it? or has he figured that you’ve already fallen out of love?

you see the back of his head before you see him. and for a moment you get an instantaneous rush of every feeling there is to feel from seeing him again, here, in a park you thought you loved. but it’s not the park and it’s not the city that makes your entire body go numb. it’s seeing him. jeonghan. jeonghan. jeonghan. it’s seeing him for the first time in–you don’t even want to admit to yourself how long. 

but the instantaneous rush ends, and your body and blood come back to earth and back to this park you hate, when he turns around and faces you facing him. 

and there are no words to be said. 

there used to be oceans and countries and cultures and decades standing between you and him, but somehow now, all of that has compressed into four squares of broken concrete. you were never very good at maths. jeonghan, the one who comforted you whenever you cried over it, knows that best. but even you know that there is no way 20 years can turn into 20 feet. so much has changed. more than could possibly be encompassed in any greeting. it’s indescribable and overwhelming. it’s you and him and the whole world. there are no words to be said. 

so you hug him instead. 

*****

[ferry]

it takes almost a full hour for the pure shock of seeing each other again to wear off. there’s so much joy and excitement between the two of you that for a couple minutes all you do is say ‘wow’, throwing the word back and forth like two kids playing catch. 

the first thing on your itinerary was already decided by jeonghan over email: seeing the statue of liberty. so, you and him board the ferry together, asking how his family’s doing and telling him about yours. 

“your husband,” jeonghan starts, turning slightly towards you in his seat on the ferry.

“joshua.” 

he nods, mouthing his name silently. “how did you guys meet?”

“we met at this writer's retreat thing. we were kind of… i don’t know–together–i guess, while we were there, and funnily enough, it was only on our second to last day there that we realized we both live in new york. and then, it was only when we got back that we started dating.”

jeonghan’s lips make a small ‘o’. “he’s a writer too?”

you nod. then smile.

“is he good?” this he asks with a hint of mischief. 

you scoff. “you think i’d marry someone who isn’t any good?” 

he just shrugs and smirks. an action you’ve seen him do a million times before. when you were a kid, it pissed you off. when you were 21, it made your heart flutter. now, it makes you feel like a stranger. it reminds you that all he is is somebody you used to know. 

“what?” he laughs, covering his mouth embarrassedly. you didn’t even realize you were staring. 

“you’ve just been a kid in my head for so long.” you shake your head, a smile haunting your lips. “it’s so weird seeing you all grown up.” 

he hums. “i feel that too.”

“are you and-” you leave the space blank there. social media had told you a lot, but you don’t remember it ever telling you a name, “still together.”

he grimaces. you wish you didn’t ask. “no. we broke up some time ago.”

jeonghan doesn’t say anything more about it, but honestly, it’d be more shocking if he did. even as a kid, he took things at face value, not going any deeper into contexts and double meanings. he isn’t too shy to ask what you mean, nor is he too shy to say it. that’s just who he is. 

“do you have pictures from your wedding?” jeonghan asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. you fetch your phone out of your pocket and show him your favorite picture from the event. you and joshua didn’t really have much money at the time of your wedding. it was a small, courthouse wedding with a dinner afterwards with just your families. the picture comes from when you were walking out of the courthouse together. with the small bouquet, joshua had purchased that morning, and the simple white dress you had thrifted a couple weeks prior. you were so happy, walking out of that building hand in hand. you were so hopeful. 

“you look very nice.” jeonghan tells you quietly, staring at the photo. you mutter a ‘thanks’. he then surprises you, bringing a hand up to the picture and wordlessly zooming in on your face. his gaze bounces between you and your picture. finally, looking up, he says, “you look so young.”

*****

the ferry stops for a bit near the statue, everyone rushes towards the corner nearest to the monument to take a photo. you offer to take his. he accepts, awkwardly smiling at first, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack, but then eventually, lightening up, posing cutely and requesting different angles. 

while the ferry heads back to manhattan, he carefully examines all the photos you took. it reminds you of when he told you about his photographer friend in college who took photos of him for fun. 

“why didn’t you want to keep talking then?” you ask abruptly. 

somehow, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. your second goodbye with him. the four minute skype call. 

he looks taken aback. he doesn’t look at you. “it didn’t really feel like you were giving me much of a choice.”

it’s not what you wanted to hear, but you don’t really think there’s anything he could’ve said to mend a ten year old wound born from a petty 21 year old desperate to love and be loved. 

“i held that over you for a long time. i was a bit mad.”

he responds immediately. “you said goodbye so quickly. i was a bit mad too.”

you frown. “should i be sorry?”

he half laughs at that, shrugging and finally looking at you. “we were kids.” 

and of course, that was all that really needed to be said. 

*****

[second goodbye]

your second goodbye with jeonghan happened when you just moved to new york. it was a short period of time marked by running between 10th and 14th to catch your train and eating too many meals at the ukrainian place in the basement of 7th. 

the two of you had found each other again online. a friend request turned to messaging turned to skype calls every evening and sometimes even in the morning. and somehow, someway, despite the years between your last words with him, the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off. he told you about home and about all the classmates you hadn’t thought about since you left. you told him about america, about your new life, and about new york. but mainly you talked about how weird it was to see and talk to him again and about how alone you felt here.

the goodbye comes when your laptop crashes and it takes a week before you’re able to talk to him again. it comes after you spend the week devastated, crying in the middle of the street over a dropped bacon egg and cheese. it comes when your laptop is finally fixed, when you call him again, and when he doesn’t even seem worried. 

“do you plan on coming to new york?” it's the first thing you say when he answers the call, two days after your laptop was fixed. 

he looks like he just woke up, hair crumpled and bent in places it shouldn’t be. between a yawn he says, “what?” 

“i can’t leave new york right now. so if you don’t plan on coming here, there’s no point of this anymore.” 

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking off to the side of his camera. you stare into it. you had been practicing this conversation all day. you knew what you were going to say. and in your heart, you knew what he was going to say too. 

all he ends up doing is smiling awkwardly and patting down the back of his head. “do you want me to visit?” 

no, you think with a sigh, you just want more. 

“i think we should end this. i need to focus on becoming a writer, and you-“ 

you falter here. he what? 

he nods. you nod too, just as an excuse. 

“okay.” 

“okay.” 

and the call ends in 4 minutes. 

*****

[first confession] 

the bar you’ve chosen to take him to tonight, is a small, irish pub on the corner of a street you spent half your 20s in. you feel so much older than you are, when you get off the subway, point to an old red brick building, and tell jeonghan that you used to go to school here. 

his gaze lingers at that building. you try not to notice, but you do. 

“remember inyun?” he says after you get your drinks. his martini, your beer. 

you laugh at him. “it’s actually how i got joshua.” a memory flashes in front of you: the golden glow of the string lights and joshua’s lips on yours for the first time. you can’t tell if it's the beer or the memory that makes your entire body flush with warmth. 

“that game we used to play as kids,” jeonghan says, excited, “we should do that here.” 

you smile. how many days did you and jeonghan spend sitting next to each other on the train and making up a past life for every two passengers?

“okay.” you point to the two girls sitting at the bar, one of them on their phone, the other resting her head atop the counter. “what about them?” 

jeonghan turns to face them. “classmates.”

you make a noise of disapprovement. “sisters.”

he mimics the noise. “no way.”

“look.” you say, gesturing to the way the girl that was on her phone places her free hand on top of the other’s head. “it’s just so…” here you lose the words for it. the girl on her phone bends down and places the smallest kiss on her friend’s head. 

“familiar.” jeonghan finishes. and when your gaze falls back to him, you find that he’s already looking at you. the game somehow feels different than it did when you were kids. 

jeonghan inhales sharply and nods his head towards a boy and a girl playing billiards in the corner. “what about them?”

you take a moment to observe them. these two seem less familiar with each other. there’s a lot of extra laughing, a lot of awkward pauses between turns. “coworkers.” you finally say.

“strangers.” jeonghan counters. “like she took his order at a food place that he left a bad review for.”

you give him a look. he shrugs. 

the game continues. you do the two bartenders which you both agree must have been lovers. you do the group of boys, in business casual sitting two tables over. jeonghan says they were all dogs in the same shelter. you say they were in a band together. 

the game continues until the only two people in the pub who you haven’t made up a past life for are you and jeonghan.

jeonghan gives you a half smile. “what do you think we were in a past life?”

this was always how you and him ended the game. you wonder how many past lives the two of you have created for each other by now.

you think for a moment, eyes flicking between the bartenders who were lovers and the friends who were once family. “two people squished next to each other on the train.”

jeonghan laughs at that one, knocking his head back and accidentally kicking your leg under the table. he shakes his head. “a bird and the branch it sits on.”

“a keychain and the ring it’s attached to.”

“a celebrity and their bodyguard.”

“enemies.”

“friends.” 

something snags on your throat at that. 

you laugh, not meaning for it to sound as forced as it does. “but we’re that now.” 

a silent question hangs in the air: are we?

“why’d you come to new york?” you ask him. you already said your goodbye to him. years ago, on a skype call that felt akin to a breakup. seeing him and facing him again was not something you had expected to ever have to do. and the thing is, it’s not just facing him. it’s facing your past, and it’s facing all the different ways he’s known you. 

jeonghan doesn’t seem surprised that you asked, but his eyes do this…thing as he looks up from the glass. this fearless, shameless thing that makes you feel things you wish you didn’t feel. “i came to see you.” 

you don’t take your eyes off his. what is it they say about eyes again? windows to the soul?

“but you and joshua.”

you flinch. 

“you guys have those layers of inyun.”

“all 8000,” you whisper back to him, like the world might burst if you spoke any louder.

he nods solemnly, hopefully. “maybe you guys have even more.”

he looks at the bar. the warm light paints him in colors you’ve never seen him in before. he’s so much older than you remember. he’s so much more real than your last skype call. 

(your memory of this moment fails you. you can’t remember which one of you it was that asked)

“how many layers do we have?”

a number hangs off the tip of your tongue. but the world will burst if you say it outloud. so you don’t. for the world, for yourself, for joshua. 

*****

[you were right]

“you were right,” you tell joshua when you come home that night.

“about what?” he meets you in the kitchen, exhaust fan whirring in the background. 

“he came to see me.” 

and even just the admission of it, of the entire day you spent with jeonghan, has you exhausted. 

you hug joshua. he sets the book that was in his hand down on the counter and lets you. he feels so warm next to your heart. he feels so at home. and you, in your apartment, in his arms, feel split in two. 

carefully, you ask him: “are you mad at me?”

“of course not.”

“do you want me to cancel tomorrow?”

“you haven’t seen him in forever. you should go.”

you exhale into his shoulder. 

“i mean, it’s not like you’re going to run away with him or anything, right?” he jokes. 

“please,” you scoff, “you know me.” 

“i know you.” he laughs, and you feel it throughout your entire body.

“i know you.” he repeats. 

you hug him tighter. 

“you’re it for me.” joshua tells you quietly. “you make my life so much bigger.”

you can’t tell if it’s the confession or the exhaustion or both that brings you close to tears. “what if something happens?”

he doesn’t ask what you mean; he just repeats himself. “it’s only you.”

*****

[not touching but almost]

you meet jeonghan the next morning at the hoyt-schermorhorn street station. he asks how you slept. you say well. 

you stand in front of the sliding doors, holding onto the pole. he follows suit, his hand right under yours. staring at his face, you search for which features of his have stayed the same and which have changed. 

“your eyes.” you say at the same moment the train screeches. he leans forward, mostly to hear you better but also to stay upright as the train sways. his fingers inch towards yours. “your eyes are still the same.” 

he looks embarrassed for a moment. then smiles. you do too. 

the train stops. the signs outside read: ‘fulton st’. 

you look back at him. “i can’t stop smiling.” fuck the train, you’ll repeat it until he hears what you have to say. 

he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself this time. he just laughs. “why?”

you shrug, smiling again, and feeling entirely, wholly like a kid. “just ‘cause.”

his fingers inch towards yours again. you don’t even think he means for it to. you look down at your hands. close but not touching. not touching but almost. 

the train stops again. ‘chambers st,’ it reads this time. you both get off.

*****

[a whole part of you i’ll never know]

there’s this memory that bounces around your head from time to time. it was before you and joshua had gotten married, in your old apartment, the one in hell’s kitchen above the thai place with the light up dragon that played pop music late into the night. 

so with an old miley cyrus song floating up through the air and in through the open window, joshua tells you that there’s a whole part of you he’ll never know. 

you don’t deny it at first. you turn in bed to face him, cup his cheek in your hand and flinch at the stubble growing in. you kiss him and tell him, “you know me better than anyone.” 

“but i-” he hesitates here, mouth opening and closing like he can’t decide what kind of conversation he wants this to be. “it’s like there’s this whole portion of your brain that will always be out of reach. like i can see it there in the distance, but i can’t get to it.” 

“just ask. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“it’s not that.”

“what is it then?”

“he knows that part.”

the song goes quiet. you can hear a drunk person vomiting. you can hear your heart beating. breathlessly, you say, “jeonghan?” 

and joshua, joshua, joshua. he looks like he regrets it. “you, just, you always talk about how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york and how different you used to be. but what if that wasn’t the first time?”

you shake your head. “i’m not a kid anymore.” 

“i know.” and against all odds, joshua smiles. “sometimes, i just wish i knew you when you were.”

*****

[second confession] 

the day, in all honesty, is some of the most fun you’ve had in a long while. you and jeonghan get dumplings and rice noodles in chinatown and eat them in columbus park while watching people play ping pong. he wants to go shopping in soho and so you take him to your favorite spots. you wait with him in line at the famous bakery on lafayette only for him to hate the pastry he got. and in the evening, you and jeonghan meet up with joshua to get dinner near your apartment. 

“so how do you like new york,” joshua asks while walking to the restaurant. 

jeonghan nods slowly. “not bad.”

your husband’s eyes widen. he was born and raised in new york. it’s the only place he’s ever known. “not bad?”

jeonghan shrugs. “it’s a little smelly.”

joshua just chuckles at that. “you get used to it. what have you seen so far?”

“yesterday i saw the rockefeller center, times square, and central park. and then,” jeonghan looks at you, “we met in tompkins square park, and we took the ferry to see the statue of liberty.”

“you know i’ve never actually been to the statue of liberty.” joshua confesses, lightheartedly. 

“really?” jeonghan asks dumbfounded.

“really?” you mutter to the ground. 

joshua shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. 

jeonghan looks at you, disappointed, and jokingly says, “what are you doing? you should take your husband to see it.” 

jeonghan doesn’t really wait for a response, but you still give him a half-hearted laugh before putting a hand on joshua’s elbow, and quietly, almost shamefully asking, “have we really not gone?”

the conversation has moved on without you it seems. while laughing at something else jeonghan’s said, joshua shakes his head ‘no’.

the rest of the dinner goes well. the food is good, and the conversation flows. joshua heads back home once it’s over to get work done, and you and jeonghan go to your favorite bar in the area, a posh sort of place with dim lighting and fancy cocktails. the two of you grab seats at the bar.

“what’d you think of joshua?” 

jeonghan looks happy, a smile gracing his face for a moment. he tilts his head, and you almost miss the way his smile turns down. “i didn’t think liking your husband would hurt this much.” (almost). “i can tell he really loves you.”

“i love him too.” you say, just to fill the space. but what you really want is to beg him to take it back. beg him to say something else. anything else. say he hated him instead. 

“yesterday, you asked me why i didn’t try to keep talking back then.” jeonghan continues. “the truth i learned here is that it wouldn’t have mattered how hard i tried even if i did. you were always going to leave because you’re you. and i liked you because you’re you. and who you are is someone who leaves.”

you start to refute, but stop yourself because… he’s right. the last two times you parted ways with him, it was because of you. you started the goodbye. you were the one who left. 

“but for joshua,” jeonghan says, eyes scanning across the bar, staring at every bartender and every customer before finally, finally, landing on you, “you’re someone who stays.”

and it turns you inside out. 

“i’m sorry if i hurt you in the past, jeonghan.”

jeonghan doesn’t falter. he never has. “i’m not.”

*****

[last confession, last goodbye, last hello]

you walk jeonghan to the uber from your apartment. the address has always been a little finicky; the uber will only stop two blocks down. the long ones. not that that matters much. nonetheless, you and jeonghan walk it slowly, pausing for a couple seconds each time the wheels of his suitcase get caught on a cellar door. 

“thank you for emailing me.” you tell him, lifting your chin up slightly. “i’m really glad that you did and we got to do this.

he nods. “i’m glad i did too, but i was actually a little unsure about it.” 

this surprises you. the sentiment yes, but also the way he says it. tucking his hair behind his ear, and squinting his eyes at a stop light, refusing to meet yours. jeonghan is the surest person you’ve ever known. 

something catches in the back of your throat. something foul and hopeful. something that makes you feel young. “why?’ 

he shrugs, looks up at the second deli you’ve passed and mouths the name of it. like he’s practicing it, memorizing the name, the location, the guy sitting out front, and the cat that always lingers in the back. why does he care so much about the little things? 

“i didn’t know if you’d want to see me again.” he finally says. “the last time we spoke was so long ago. i wasn’t sure if you had left me in the past for good.” 

you hit the end of the second block where the uber will be picking him up soon, right under the ice pop shop that you always walk a little slower by on the hottest summer afternoons. across the block the walking signal is red–a memory comes back to you: your first summer in this new apartment, your first month being married too. you standing on this side of the block and joshua standing at the other. waiting for the cars to pass, waiting to greet each other in the middle of the road. you can feel that day in the bottom of your stomach. you remember exactly what joshua's hand felt like in yours. 

“i think i did.” you tell him. “but i don’t regret doing this with you. it was like meeting you again, and meeting the version of myself that last saw you too.” 

you turn away from the signal and look at him. he looks sad almost. “sometimes i still think of you as that kid i used to walk home from school with.” 

you remember what you used to tell joshua: how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york. you remember what he used to say back: what if that wasn’t the first time. and so, you reach into your past and try to remember who you used to be before you moved to america. 

“i haven’t been that kid for a long time now,” you frown, watching jeonghan’s pupils dart back and forth between yours, “but they still existed. they were still real.”

the uber pulls up. jeonghan puts his suitcase in the trunk and opens the door to step inside. and with one foot in the car to the airport and one foot planted on the street you call home, he says, “what if this is just another past life and we’re already something else in another?”

the only thing you can manage to give him in response is a nod. you don’t like to think about what if.

he smiles. and you feel something break apart in your heart.

“i’ll see you then.”

in another life, jeonghan is more than just a series of goodbyes. but in this one, he gets in the uber, and you don’t imagine seeing him again. you don’t think you will. because for the first time in this life, you're not the one that left–he was.  

you make it halfway back down the two blocks back to your apartment when you see joshua. it just so happens to be in front of the deli jeonghan had committed to memory silently beside you. you inhale deeply; it feels like the first breath you’ve taken since jeonghan landed in new york. joshua is 8 stoops away from you. 

at 5 you think about when you met, the writers retreat in long island, the most beautiful serene place you swear you’ve ever been and the stupid pick up line you said about inyun.

at 4, you think about his eyes, his eyes, his eyes, and the line he wrote about them in an essay that was published 3 years ago saying that they're the only part of the nervous system that's exposed, a direct line to someone's head and heart. was he right? did you look into jeonghan’s mind tonight? have you been staring at joshua's heart? 

at 3, you think about all this talk about past lives. and you think what if it’s not about your past lives with jeonghan or with joshua? what if it’s about all the past lives within you? 

at 2, you think about the kid you left in a country that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. 

and at 1, you think about jeonghan. 

he stops right in front of you. staring at you staring at him. your whole world feels bigger than it ever has before, and your heart, in response, splits in half to fit him inside. you feel that something in your throat rise and boil. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, before falling into his arms. the sob that’s been waiting in the bottom of your soul for the past 20 years comes bursting out of your throat. you cry into your husband's shoulder. you feel the weight of all your past lives and all your future ones like they aren't in the past or in the future, like they're now beside you begging you to imagine what could’ve been and what was. 

joshua holds the back of your head. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. it’s all been said before. instead he kisses the corner of your eye and takes you home.  ****************************

a/n: absolutely adored this film and it simply has not left my mind since i watched it over a month ago. and so, i did what i do best and wrote a fic based on it lol. i hope i scraped even half of the complexity the movie has. if you've seen the movie, i'd love to hear your thoughts about it or your thoughts on this piece. as well as if you haven't seen the movie! but if you haven't seen the movie, i highly recommend you give it a watch. it's such a quiet, gentle film that will crawl into your heart and claim it as home.