#'moments that hit me the hardest' the entire film but i settled for this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blueskrugs · 4 years

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Some People Do | Nathan MacKinnon

title from an Old Dominion song of the same name. highly recommend a listen while reading.

the only other words I have are that I cried while writing this.

length: 6.2k words

I know that time just keeps going on And words by themselves can't right all the wrongs

No one ever claimed that dating an NHL player was easy. In fact, it was hard as hell. Dating the face of a franchise, the savior of a franchise, was hard as hell. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Nate. You loved him more than anyone else, more than you sometimes thought was possible. But sometimes you wondered if your relationship was doomed from the start, if carrying the weight of the expectations of Denver on Nate’s shoulders was too much for both of you to handle.

Nate had proclaimed himself unromantic before, but you didn’t really need flowers and extravagant gifts. With Nate, it was always the little things. He would cook you breakfast in the mornings before you left for work and he for practice. He would sneak into your apartment when you had a long day at work and clean up. (Never laundry though. He always said he was too scared of fucking that up.) It was letting you cuddle on the couch, no questions asked, no words spoken, on days you really needed it; he always seemed to know about those days even before you did. You knew the other boys teased Nate sometimes, everything from ribbing him about being whipped to roasting him for his somewhat abysmal gift-giving skills. Nate would just blush and give them that shy little smile you loved so much.

That’s the way things were for a long time. You were both happy, comfortable. You wondered sometimes, on the hardest nights, if you had gotten too comfortable. If you had forgotten just where you were, who you were with, and how lucky you were that Nate had ever given you the time of day in the first place.

You missed the drama of the Avalanche’s historically bad, never-before-seen debacle of a year that had been the 2016-2017 season and came into Nate’s life when they were back on their feet, making a name for themselves in the standings again. You still saw the damage it had done to him, though, in the way he blamed himself for losses, took them a little harder than anyone else– except maybe Gabe– in the way he dialed up his intensity even stronger than ever until he was satisfied. Except he was never satisfied, probably would never be, bar winning a Cup or three.

The Avs dug themselves out a hole. And then they hit a wall again.

It was the same old shit that always seemed to dog the team, injury after injury, games that just never seemed to go their way, no matter how hard they fought.

October started out fine. They won more than they lost, and it looked like they could have a chance at being something this year. The end of October came with a string of losses. Mikko went down with a lower-body injury on Halloween.

November continued a downward spiral. Nate stopped scoring, Burky broke his wrist, and they only won a handful of games the entire month. Nate started coming home late from the arena, sweaty and exhausted; you knew he was running himself ragged, literally, on the treadmill and on drills. His blue eyes were hard as stone, and the set of his jaw grew more tense with each loss the team strung together.

Road trips were the hardest. From the start of your relationship, you and Nate made a point to FaceTime during roadies. You looked forward to those calls all day, because no matter how terrible the game had been, Nate would see you and smile. You would always do anything for him to smile. The calls continued that terrible season, and for a while, it seemed like nothing had changed. Nate’s eyes were more tired than usual, his brow permanently furrowed, but you would answer the phone, and that would all disappear for a moment when he grinned at you.

You had just gotten out of the shower when your phone started ringing with a FaceTime call. You were surprised to see that it was Nate. You hadn’t been officially dating for very long at all, and he had only left for the road trip that morning.

“What the hell is on your head?” was the first thing out of Nate’s mouth when you answered the call. Somewhere off camera, you could hear Tyson Barrie cackling.

Your hand flew up to your hair, which was wrapped in a towel. “It’s a towel, dumbass. And I just got out of the shower, I’m not wearing makeup or anything,” you whined.

Nate rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond when Tyson leaned into frame. “Hi, Y/N!” he yelled. Nate flinched.

There was a moment of darkness and what sounded like the two wrestling on the bed for a moment, before a whispered, “Get out of here!” and a door closing. “I’m sorry about him,” Nate said, picking his phone back up.

You just laughed. You had only met Tyson one time so far, and he seemed like fun, if not a little crazy. “Let me just-” You reached up to tug the towel off your head.

“No, don’t! I mean, I think it’s cute,” Nate said. You froze, staring at his blurry face on your phone screen. You were pretty sure he was blushing in the shitty hotel light. “I just- I missed you, and I don’t care what you look like. I mean-wait, I don’t want you to think you need to have makeup or shit on for me to think you’re beautiful.” Yeah, he was definitely blushing now. He was also smiling a little bit, cautiously, as if he was afraid of your response.

You smiled back, settling in against the pillows on your bed, and saying, “Nate, I literally saw you this morning.” He shrugged.

“Wanted to see your face again,” he mumbled. Then, “Can I call you tomorrow after our game, too?”

He did call you the next night, and the night after that, and then roadtrip FaceTime calls became a routine.

As the season went on, you waited by the phone every night Nate was out of town, but slowly the calls became few and far between, until they stopped entirely.

Most wouldn't forgive what I put you through But I'm here tonight, hoping some people do

Nate started watching game film obsessively, coming home and sitting up for hours. He would watch his own clips, his teammates’ clips, clips from every other team, watching for any mistake or flaw, some way to fix this. He’d always been so serious about schedules and routines, but he started coming to bed later and later. You always tried to get Nate to come to bed with you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and murmuring a, “Babe, c’mon, it’s getting late,” but he’d shrug you off and say back, “Just a few more minutes.”

You resigned yourself to going to bed alone. Cox started laying in Nate’s spot on the bed.

The Penguins came to town. The slump continued, for the team and for Nate. Nate got benched. It was December, and all the Crosbys and MacKinnons had come to town, too, planning to celebrate Christmas a little early while everyone could be together.

Bednar had told Nate he wouldn’t be playing against the Pens following a morning skate. Cale told you he had broken his stick against a wall afterwards. His temper followed him home, came back with a vengeance, and you would never forget the sadness on Taylor’s face and the anger on Sarah’s when he snapped at Taylor over something stupid and let the door slam behind him for good measure. He didn’t talk to any of you for the rest of the night, and he drove to the arena alone.

The Avs won in a game that was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Nate came home in a slightly better mood, apologized to Taylor, and started channeling his anger into his time on the ice instead. It might have had something to do with the fact that you were sure he hadn’t missed the way you flinched when he had yelled.

The end of December saw a win streak for the Avs and a scoring streak for Nate.

“I thought about asking for a trade,” Nate said casually one January night. It was the All-Star break, and Nate had found a cabin on a lake in California to rent for bye week. He didn’t look up at you as he said it, gazing instead up at the stars, and your heart broke.

Nate’s arm was draped around your shoulder, and it had been a comforting weight, but suddenly it felt like it would crush you. You hadn’t been in Denver for the drama of the last teammate that had requested a trade midseason, but you knew the tale, knew the bitterness that was still in that locker room. You knew how it could destroy a team. And you’d had no idea Nate was even considering it.

He kept talking. “Thought about trying to go somewhere where people didn’t care about hockey, somewhere where it didn’t matter if I had been a fluke.” His voice broke. “I just want out sometimes. Get away from all the fucking expectations, the hope that I’ll bring the Cup back to Denver, that I can be the next Sidney Crosby, just the next best thing out of Cole Harbour.” It was the first time you had ever heard Nate say Sid’s name like that, with venom and bitterness.

You were speechless, couldn’t find the words to respond to Nate. You weren’t even sure he wanted you to respond, to argue with him. So you just shrugged off his arm from your shoulders and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on his head as you watched the stars together.

The trade deadline passed. Nate still wore an A for the Colorado Avalanche, and no one would ever know any differently.

I know you're hurt, I know it's my fault But I've kept "I'm sorry" locked in a vault

You called Sid late one night in March. He answered quickly, because he always did when you or Nate called, even though it was after midnight in Pittsburgh.

“Sid, I don’t know what to do anymore,” you had cried, with Cox curled up next to you on the couch in the dark. Nate was asleep upstairs, gone to bed early for the first time in a long time. Cox heard your tears and shoved his face into your hand, asking for attention, letting you use him as comfort. You petted him absently as you told Sid everything. And Sid listened, even as you told him stories of the season he already knew, told to him by Nate in similar late night phone conversations, even as it ticked past 1 in the morning in Denver. Sid waited until you finished talking before responding, spewing sympathy and advice that you only half listened to, still caught up in your thoughts.

In the best days of your relationship and in your worst, you didn’t know what you would do without Sid.

You thought back to the first summer you visited Nate in Cole Harbour. You hadn’t gone the first summer after you’d started dating, as you’d only been together a couple of months, although Nate had begged you pretty much the entire summer. The next summer, though, there was absolutely no getting out of visiting.

You had never been to Canada before, and you had grown up spending your summers on a lake, but you were convinced nothing would ever compare to Nova Scotia. Nate had laughed at you when you ran out onto his deck, a wide smile on your face. You spun around to look up at him.

“I love it here,” you said. Nate laughed again.

“You’ve barely even been here. You haven’t seen the good stuff yet.”

“I have a house, water, and you, what else is there to see?” Nate chuckled fondly at you.

You spent the day out on the water with Nate, Sid and the dogs. It was peaceful out there in the sun, the silence only occasionally broken by Sid’s ridiculous laugh or one of the dog’s barks. You were dozing in the sun when Nate came over to you.

“Come swimming with me for a bit.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m tanning, Nathan.” Sid laughed. Next thing you knew, you were being picked up and thrown over Nate’s shoulder. Sid laughed louder. Sometimes you really hated him and that fucking laugh. “Nate!” you shrieked. “Put me down!”

Nate simply said, “Okay,” before he was throwing you in the lake. You came up spluttering. Nate and Sid were both doubled over in laughter, and dogs were caught up in the excitement and barking.

“Help me out,” you whined, reaching a hand out of the water. Nate took pity on you and grabbed your hand.

You pulled him headfirst down into the water.

Sid came up to you on the dock on your last night in Cole Harbour. Nate was up at the house, getting you a blanket and more wine, and you were watching the stars.

“You’re really good for him, you know,” Sid said without preamble, settling next to you on the dock. You waited for him to continue. “I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him as happy as he has been this week with you here.” You blushed. “And you should hear the way he talks about you on the phone, God, I didn’t know it was possible for anyone to get him out of his head and stop focusing on hockey, I don’t know how you do it.” He paused, gazing up at the clear sky.When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Nate takes everything so seriously. He’s gotten pretty fucked up over bad relationships in the past. I was a little worried when I saw how fast he was falling for you, when he’d call or text me like a middle-school girl with a crush. But I don’t have to worry, because you two are so good together, like you’ve known each other forever, and will be together forever.”

Nate chose that moment to reappear. “Talkin’ about me?” he asked, pushing Sid out of the way so he could sit next to you.

“Only good things,” Sid smiled.

Nate draped his arm across your shoulders and the blanket over your legs. You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” Nate whispered into your hair, brushing a kiss to the top of your head.

Nate came downstairs not long after you hung up with Sid. He found you crying on the couch, trying to muffle your sobs into the sleeves of one of his Avalanche hoodies. He made a soft, wounded sound, and you startled. You didn’t have a chance to apologize– for waking Nate, for breaking down– before he was climbing onto the couch next to you. He pulled you into his lap wordlessly, kissing away your tears, holding you as you shook.

He whispered sweet things to you as you calmed down, I’m sorrys and I love yous breaking the silence of the night. Cox whined, crawling his way into your lap as well. Nate’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his breathing even, and you found yourself soothed by it. The two– well, three, if you counted the German Shepherd who was decidedly not a lap dog– fell asleep on the couch like that. When you woke up again, sunlight was streaming into the living room, and you were still safely wrapped up in Nate’s arms.

He looked younger, softer, in his sleep, the burden of being Nathan MacKinnon momentarily forgotten. You couldn’t help but stare, a soft smile on your face. Nate shifted under you a couple of minutes later, eyes blinking sleepily open. He grinned when he found you inches from his face, already watching him.

“Good morning,” he whispered, stretching up to kiss you gently. “D’you want breakfast?”

You buried your face in Nate’s neck. “In a minute,” you mumbled. “Comfy.” Nate laughed, loud, and you felt it in every inch of your body that was touching his.

As you sat sipping your coffee in the kitchen later, watching Nate cook you breakfast, like he had for so long, you could almost convince yourself that everything was fine, that the stress fractures of your relationship weren’t on the verge of breaking completely.

Some people say sorry to hear it's okay But I know it's not so you don't have to say That you understand 'cause I know you don't

In the living room where you had left your phone after last night’s phone call, you got a text. Then another. And another. Nate’s phone started ringing; his face went white, and he dropped the spatula he was using.

Confused, and starting to get worried, you set your coffee down and rushed to pick up your phone. The first thing you saw was a text from Mel, simply saying, “i’m so sorry.” Nate was still on the phone in the kitchen, speaking in an anxious hushed tone to whoever was on the other end. You ignored the handful of other texts you had received in favor of looking at your Instagram and Twitter notifications which were blowing up. You clicked on one with a shaky hand.

Your heart dropped. Your phone fell to the floor with a clatter.

In the kitchen, Nate’s voice rose, but you couldn’t hear any of the words he was saying over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You sank to the floor and picked up your phone again. You had been tagged in a series of pictures, all of Nate. There was Nate with a girl in a bar, with a girl in his lap, his arm wrapped around her waist, his lips on hers. There was more than one post, too, all dated, starting all the way back in November. All nights when Nate and the Avs were on road trips. Different cities, too, but always the same girl.

Blonder than you. Prettier than you. Better than you, apparently.

There were dozens of pictures. Some were dark and kind of blurry, but all were unmistakably Nate.

You scrolled through all of the pictures again. Cox whined next to you. Nate still hadn’t left the kitchen, but you knew he had been tagged in all of the posts too. Texts and notifications were still rolling into your phone, from friends and family and strangers. You turned your phone off.

Then Nate was crouching in front of you, brushing your tears away. You hadn’t even realized you had been crying. You scrambled away from Nate’s touch like it burned you; his hand stayed outstretched in the air.

Just ten minutes ago, you had been beginning to think that things could get better again, that you could fix the damage in Nate, in your relationship. Now, everything you had known for the last two and a half years lay shattered at your feet, spread out for the whole world to see.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” Nate murmured.

A hysterical laugh forced its way out of your throat. Your hands were still shaking, but your anxiousness had just been replaced with anger. “I wasn’t supposed to find out like this, or I wasn’t supposed to find out at all?”

Nate flinched a little, and you felt a brief flash of vindication. “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what, Nathan? Didn’t mean for me to find out, for the whole world to find out? Or you didn’t mean to say it like that? Like you were just waiting for the right time to tell me, but it never worked out?” Nate had stood up again, but he wasn’t looking at you. “God, I was sitting around like a fool all season, waiting for you to call me, but of course you never did, because you had found someone better than me. Did she get to go to games, too, when you were flying her all across the country?”

Nate was flushed with anger now too. “You don’t understand-”

You cut him off. “No, Nate, I don’t fucking understand. I thought, I don’t know, maybe the past two years actually meant something. So tell me, make me understand, because you lost me a long time ago.”

“Just shut up!” You took a step back from Nate, though he hadn’t moved. You weren’t sure Nate had ever raised his voice at you. “We were in Ottawa in the beginning of November, and we all went out to a bar because we finally got a fucking win. She started flirting, and she had no idea who we were, and it was so nice to meet someone and not have the expectation of being Nathan fucking MacKinnon. I never had to listen to her lie to me about how well I played or some shit about how the team would figure it out, that we could get better.”

“Did all the boys know?” you whispered. “Have you all just been laughing at me behind my back all season, while I’ve been blindly in love with a boy who’s been flying another girl to all of his road games?”

Nate paled and took a half-step in your direction. You backed up again, until your knees hit the couch. “No, they- they knew I was taking the season hard, I guess, so they gave me space. Gabe might’ve been getting suspicious, but I- they would never do that to you.”

“Excuse me for not believing that. I believed you would never cheat on me, either, but here we are.” You turned to leave the room.

“If you’d just-” Nate was angry again. You spun around, your heartbreak fanning the flames of your own anger.

“If I’d just what, Nate? Stopped caring about you and hockey? Stopped supporting you? Stopped caring about us?” Your voice broke, and you blinked back the tears burning behind your eyes. You had started out yelling again, but now your voice was quiet. “I’m sorry I tried, Nathan. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”

You turned again, started making your way towards the stairs.

“Wait, Y/N, please.” Nate’s voice came out desperate, like he was choking back tears. You couldn’t possibly understand why; he had done this to himself. “I never actually slept with her.”

“Good for you, Nate.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I hope the PR team has fun trying to save you and your fuck-ups. The posterboy of the Colorado Avalanche showing his true colors at last.”

Nate finally let you turn and make your way upstairs. He didn’t follow as you made your way into the bedroom and packed a bag with enough clothes to last you until the next road trip. He was sitting on the couch, stiff and tense, but he jumped up when you came back down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” he asked, starting to reach out to grab your arm, but stopping himself at the last second, grasping at the air instead. “Please, Y/N.”

“I don’t know, Nate,” you sighed. “But I can’t stay here. I’ll be back to get the rest of my stuff while you’re on your next road trip. Say hi to your other girlfriend for me.”

Nate followed you outside. Cox barked once as you climbed into your car. “But-but you live here, with us! Please, let me fix this.”

You turned to Nate one last time. “You know, you could have fixed everything else that screwed us up this season. I really thought we could’ve been fine. But this, Nate? I don’t know anymore.”

Nate flinched as your car door slammed. You watched in your rearview mirror as you drove away. His hands were shoved in his pockets, unmoving, and then he was out of sight.

You drove aimlessly around Denver for a while. You let yourself get lost before you found somewhere quiet to pull over. Except, the breakdown, the tears, never came. Instead, you felt numb and hollow. You had really been foolish enough to believe that you could love Nate through everything, and that he would love you back. Hadn’t Sid said it seemed like you would be together forever?

When Nate showed up at the game the next night with a fresh black eye, no one commented on it. No one commented on EJ’s freshly bruised knuckles, either.

The season ended quietly. The Avs had managed to turn the season around, stop the bleeding, but they never quite could fix the damage. You had moved out of Nate’s house after the fight. You rarely saw each other anymore, but you didn’t tell him you kept going to games until the very end. You just couldn’t keep yourself away, no matter how much it hurt to watch him down on the ice.

Nate went home to Cole Harbour. You stayed in Denver.

Sometimes you thought back to the beginning of your relationship with Nate. You remembered what it was like when you first met, when Nate was still shy and quiet. It had been so stupidly fucking cliche, too: in a goddamn Starbucks.

You listened to the man next to you in line rattle off a list of coffee orders, ranging from basic to borderline ridiculous. The baristas were already beginning to look overwhelmed as the cups lined up. He had the grace to look sheepish, at least, and tucked what looked like a ten dollar bill into their tip jar. You didn’t pay him much more mind after that, stepping to the side and trying your hardest to stay out of the way of other patrons while you waited. Then your grandmother had called, asking for technology help, even though you were hundreds of miles away from home, and you had other family that literally lived five minutes away from her. You were distracted and missed that a barista had called your name. You were still caught up with your phone and didn’t realize until someone was tapping you on the shoulder and tentatively saying your name.

You looked up, surprised, and your entire field of vision was filled with one very blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered man. First, you made the connection to him being the one with the list of coffee orders in line next to you, and then, that the man standing in front of you, struggling to balance several coffee carriers, was Nathan MacKinnon.

“I grabbed your coffee by mistake,” he said. “It got mixed in with all our orders, and I only just noticed it had a different name on it. I’m really sorry.”

You smiled, taking your coffee. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. I didn’t even hear them call my name.” Nate still looked apologetic. “Did you lose a bet or something?” you asked then, looking at the stack of coffee cups Nate still held.

He grinned at you. “Something like that.”

You had left the Starbucks that day with Nate’s phone number. At the time, you had no real intent to use it; you didn’t kid yourself. Nathan MacKinnon was a former first-overall draft pick, hero of the Colorado Avalanche, and you were just some girl whose coffee he accidentally stole.

Nate texted you first. He did that a lot in the beginning. He was always a little awkward– a life spent focused on hockey meant that he wasn’t the best at small talk– but he was sweet and could make you laugh.

When he first asked you out, you said no. You had watched his face fall, watched him bite his lip and take a step back from you. You felt a surprising rush of sadness settle in your chest as Nate’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You had said no because you didn’t want to be just another girl, another fling that meant nothing. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if that’s all you would be to Nate, and you were a little scared by how willing you were to see how far it could go.

“Ask me again in a couple weeks,” you said softly. Nate startled, still looking a little bit like he wanted to run. You looked up at him fondly.

Life went on in Denver that summer without Nate. You went to work. You went home to your empty apartment. Really, it wasn’t all that different from life with Nate in Denver, at least not in the last couple of months. You texted with Sid and Sarah every once in a while, but you got complete radio silence from Nate. Tyson Barrie texted you a video of Cox and Ralph playing one day in mid-July, and you could hear Nate laughing somewhere in the background. You didn’t reply. You didn’t want to admit to how many times you watched the video, just to hear Nate’s laugh again, either.

“You are not getting my dog a fucking-what it’s called? A puppuccino?” Nate gripped his iced black cold brew tightly in his hand and glared at you. Cox sat patiently at your feet, eyeing the cup of whipped cream in your hand and licking his lips eagerly.

“It’s just whipped cream, babe! And, look, he likes them!”

Nate raised an eyebrow at you. You had forgotten that the trips you took to Starbucks with Cox while the boys were on road trips were secret. “Y/N.” Nate crouched down and squished Cox’s face. Cox looked unimpressed. “This is a highly trained guard dog. He does not need any fucking whipped cream.” Cox’s tongue darted out and licked Nate’s nose. It was Nate’s turn to look unimpressed.

You bent down to give Cox his puppuccino. He lapped it up excitedly, getting whipped cream all over his nose and whiskers. Nate rolled his eyes at the both of you.

“You’re not allowed to spoil our children.” You paused, still watching Cox try and get the last of the whipped cream out of the cup. Nate had never mentioned kids before, but you sometimes watched the smile he had when he played with Linnea or Sophie, even though he was still a little terrified of holding a baby. You looked at him, but he was still watching Cox calmly.

“Are you saying that Cox isn’t already your son?” you asked, only deflecting a little, and trying very hard to not picture Nate with a tiny baby of your own.

Nate scoffed. You both looked down at Cox, who had rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “Besides,” he said, tugging you closer by your hips, “I think Cox will be great with kids, and there’s only one way to find out.”

You just rolled your eyes.

You always had to grit your teeth and smile when someone heard that you weren’t originally from Denver and asked, pretty much without fail, if you had moved for Nate. The answer was always that you had moved for work and had met Nate by chance. If Nate was a part of the conversation, he would chip in that he’d had to work to even get you to consider dating him. He’d always kiss you after that, on the forehead, on the cheek, and he’d look at you like he was the lucky one. And you could look into his eyes and forget for a moment that you’d been upset.

You always wondered why everyone assumed you had dropped your life, your family and friends and your hometown just to follow Nate and his hockey career. Now, you were wondering if you were ready to drop your life, your friends, and everything you loved about Denver just to get away from Nate and his hockey career.

You didn’t hear from Nate when he returned to Denver for training camp. It hurt in a way you couldn’t articulate, a bone-deep ache, a hollowness that you had never felt before, the fear that you had both let your relationship go past the point of no return while neither of you were paying attention. You thought wildly as you laid in bed alone, if you would ever see Nate again, be able to look him in the eyes and tell him you loved him one more time.

Because you did. You still loved Nate, maybe always would, and you missed him, spent the whole summer missing him, had missed him long before he went back to Cole Harbour by himself. You were terrified that you lost the best relationship you’d ever had. You were too scared to reach out to him yourself, half-sure that he’d never even respond, and that would be all you needed to know that you had reached the end.

You watched the boys’ Instagram stories as they went golfing everyday after practice. You watched Nate smile and laugh with Gabe and Burky, though you noticed that the smiles never quite seemed to reach his eyes. You looked at the Avs’ social medias every day for the pictures they inevitably posted of Nate. He never seemed to be smiling. You would drive down near the Pepsi Center, only to see his face plastered everywhere. Seeing Nathan MacKinnon around Denver seemed unavoidable; he was on posters and on shirts and jerseys. Seeing Nate, though? Your Nate, with the lisp and the love for dogs, who yelled at his teammates on Fortnite and loved his family more than anything? You weren’t sure you’d ever see him again.

So whether you kiss me or you close the door Just know that I'm better than I was before

You were surprised when someone knocked on your apartment door one night after dinner, only a couple of days before the regular season began. You were even more surprised when you pulled open the door to see Nate. He startled a little when you opened the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb, allowing yourself to just look at him.

His summer tan had already started to fade. He was wearing jeans, but an old Avs T-shirt, and he was picking at the fraying hem. He was no longer as lean as he was the last time you’d seen him towards the end of the season, but he looked exhausted the same way he did in the final stretch.

It hurt to look at him for long, so you cleared your throat, tore your gaze away from the dark circles under his eyes. Nate shook himself a little, looked away from the 29 on your right shoulder. You had forgotten that you had put on an old, stolen hoodie after work. For a while, it had still smelled like him, but now it didn’t smell like anything.

“I thought you gave everything of mine back,” was the first thing he said.

You shrugged, tugging the sleeves of Nate’s hoodie over your hands. “Couldn’t bring myself to give it up.” You looked back at Nate. He looked pained. “What’re you doing here, Nate?” The exhaustion of the last couple months, the heartbreak, the worry, showed in your voice.

“I just-I wanted to see you. Wanted to try and explain, if you wanted to listen. I know I’ll never get the words right, and you could slam the door in my face right now, and I wouldn’t blame you. And if you do, I’ll leave you alone. But if you don’t, I will spend the rest of my life apologizing, trying to show you how much I love you.”

You covered your mouth to cover the sob that rose out of your chest. Nate’s eyes snapped up to yours, those bright blue eyes that you still loved so much, and he looked panicked. “Nate, I-”

“Look, if I were you, I’d hate me. Hell, EJ socked me, and I thought Sid was gonna leave me out on the lake to die when I first flew home. If you spend the rest of your life hating me, it’s all on me. You probably wouldn’t be the only one. But, fuck, Cox misses you. I miss you.” Nate stepped closer, reached out to brush his thumb across your cheekbone.

You let yourself revel in that touch for a moment before you took a step back, clutching your door for support. “I spent all summer wondering if we were over, Nate. Wondering what I could’ve done differently.” Nate bit his lip. He was still standing in the hallway outside your apartment. You hadn’t invited him in, and you weren’t sure you were going to at all. “I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can fall in love with you, be in love with you, and watch you go off on road trips and wonder if I can ever trust you again. I don’t know if I can do this,” you repeated.

Nate closed his eyes, seemed to be steeling himself for something. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I know it’s not enough, will never be enough, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

You hesitated. Nate blinked once, twice, fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt again. It would be so easy, you thought, to let him back into your life.

You closed the door.

The last thing you saw was Nate’s face, hurt but resigned. You leaned back against your door, slid down to the floor, and let the tears that had been burning under the surface for months out.

Part Two!

#cait writes things #nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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lovenona · 3 years

Text

– two slow dancers; part of the artist!sukuna cinematic universe

(contains: hurt/comfort, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, and character death)

it’s snowing, you notice. a white blanket floats down from the heavens in a peaceful silence, enveloping the earth in a cold, wet hug. you have never loved the snow, sure – but when it looks like this, slow and pure in the glow of a lone streetlamp, you admit that there is a certain joy in feeling like the main character in a dramatic winter film.

you’re not alone in your little film, either – you notice a familiar figure poised just outside the light of the streetlamp, back turned to you. he shivers slightly, because, like always, he isn’t dressed for the weather. (it’ll ruin my aesthetic, he always tells you, as if winter coats and doc martens are mutually exclusive.) your best friend choso has always been one for visual presentation. he would never sacrifice fashion for comfort; that’s just who he is.

you know this better than anyone, because it is you that choso makes late for class when he borrows your eyeliner in a frenzy to spruce up the signature black line painted across his nose. (it’s fashion, he says. how else will i stand out in this shithole school?)

you don’t know quite what he’s staring at: there’s nothing particularly interesting in front of you, and the only people left on campus at this hour are professors heading home to their families, tummies rumbling, and the stray students heading to and from the library, heads bowed under stress. the rest of the university left early to avoid the current snowstorm that will most definitely threaten your commute home. you, of course, had tried your hardest to leave sooner to avoid such an inconveniencing mess, but a certain tattoo-covered art student had successfully held you captive in an empty art classroom for far longer than expected.

(you are glad that it is dark out and that your winter coat has a high neckline.)

“choso?” you call out, wading through the snow as you approach him gently. he remains still, like a porcelain statue, as if his soul had abandoned his body and left only a hollow shell behind. snow gathers like little microscopic diamonds on his dark hair, and, in a very un-choso-like fashion, he does not even attempt to brush them away.

“choso? it’s me,” you try again. you’re close enough now that you place a tentative mitten on his shoulder, brushing away the faint layer of snow settled there. he shivers under your touch, says nothing. you look down; your shoes (his doc martens, your doc martens – you’re humanities students, after all) sit buried beneath a quickly thickening blanket.

the snow floats down; it’s still, silent, as if you and him were the only two people in the entire world.

while choso appears to be watching the falling crystals, his gaze seeks something farther away, something distant and inaccessible to you. although he’s never been the most expressive person, you can’t help but feel a certain vacancy radiating from his form. the lights are flickering; no one’s home. you grip him tighter, as if the force of your affections will return him to himself, as if he has simply forgotten what it is to be and needs only a gentle reminder.

for an indefinite stretch of time, you both say nothing – it’s just you holding his shoulder and him watching the snow. it’s hard and fast, now; you can barely see anything beyond your own feet and the outline of the lone streetlamp. you’ve exited reality and entered a timeless place, a wordless place that exists suspended somewhere between here and there. you forget to feel the cold.

“they loved the snow,” choso finally says, so quietly you wonder if you imagined it. “they never looked like it, but they were always begging to go sledding. we would go to this big hill behind our house.”

you’re silent. choso never willingly mentions his two younger brothers, at least not while sober. you learned after a serious heart-to-heart with him your freshman year that they were murdered and that choso never really recovered from it. you’ve seen their photographs in his apartment: three boys, completely unalike in appearance and stature, posed in the youthful awkwardness of holiday greeting cards. three boys smiling together on choso’s middle school graduation. three boys playing board games, going hiking, holding up their christmas gifts with innocent grins. they were killed in a hit and run the night of his high school graduation, he’d told you, six shots in and barely standing on his feet.

his brothers were everything to him. and the choso you know now, the choso you pull all-nighters with and share greasy fries with and have stress meltdowns during finals with, you know that this choso is only an echo of what he could have been. you know that this choso is perpetually lonely, that he’s hurting a hurt that will haunt him like a chronic ache for the rest of his life. i tried to end it, he told you the night you both got your shit rocked at a house party and he threw up in his bathtub for an hour. i just hated being alone, he admitted, and then he was crying. why am i alone?

(you’re not alone, you’d said, holding his head in your hands like a baby bird. not anymore, not while i'm here.)

he’s not crying now, but there’s a look in his eye, a tone in his voice, that suggests he will shatter at any moment. so you do what you know best, what you always do; you hug him, tightly, because if you let go he’ll crumble to dust and you’ll be lost forever.

you must be a vision, you think, a vision of the beautiful couple embracing in the christmas romantic comedy, if a romantic comedy included two best friends and an emotional meltdown.

he shudders against you; you know he’s crying, it’s inevitable. your mittens rub his back in circles, you press yourself closer and closer as if you could enter his body yourself and steal all of the sadness away. he returns the gesture almost immediately, begging you silently for something that cannot be articulated in human language. he buries his head in your neck like a bird in the sand, and you wait patiently as he takes what comfort he needs.

“i miss them,” he tells you, and his words are choked.

“i know,” you respond. “and that’s okay.”

snow falls, timeless: gathered at your boots, suspended in the air, it defies gravitational laws, floating silently around the only two people in the universe.

“thank you,” choso mumbles after a thousand years, finally, voice steadier this time. he sniffles pitifully. “thank you for being here.”

you hug him just that much tighter, rubbing a mitten through his hair to shake the snow away. “i’m not going anywhere,” you tell him softly, and you mean it. “now, let’s go to my place. you’re soaking wet and i don’t want you to get sick.”

choso obliges, clumsily wiping away his tears and snot, pulling away from your hug with the reluctance of a child who does not want the holidays to end. his eyes are red, and his eyeliner wobbly, and his cheeks flushed with emotion. but he looks calmer, now, as if his soul has taken up residence in his body again and is ready to be alive once more.

and so you move forth, two lone souls together against the universe. you jostle shoulders, stomping through the thick white blanket at your feet, speaking the language of two dancers who know everything without having to say it out loud. together you reach the subway station, step out of the snow, and allow yourselves to be pulled into reality and the movement of the world at large.

as you reach for your subway pass, choso clears his throat, and you look to him expectantly.

“can i borrow your eyeliner when we get to yours? my nose is smudged.”

#this is for my baby choso because gege be doing him so DIRTY #he deserves a fucking hug #and a kiss #choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #adele writes #artist!jjk #choso.

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [07]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption w.c; 3.5k a/n; the beginning of the end! like my mama said while i was cleaning my room, it has to get messy before it gets clean! that being said this is a series for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! now that we’ve gotten this far, would you say our heroine has truly lost her mind?

[06] [07] [08] -> masterpost

Something is off and Jungkook doesn’t know exactly what, and therefore he has no way to approach it.

HIs knee is bobbing uncontrollably as he throws his phone back and forth from one palm to another. He’s in a recording studio downtown, in an unfamiliar area that made Jungkook thankful that he decided to leave an hour early. He hears some hushed voices from another room, and he tries not to fiddle around too much as the chair in the waiting area is rickety and on its last limb.

You texted him this morning with your usual pleasantries, saying you had a fun lesson to teach today and you couldn’t wait to set up your classroom. You’re also equally excited for Jungkook’s first recording session, and you urge him to “knock the socks off this producer guy.”

But since that night you slept over, you haven’t brought up the tears you shed in his sheet. You’ve been painfully amicable, insisting that you’ll tell him when the time is right.

Jungkook wants to be patient for you, and he will be. But he doesn’t know how to help you, help the two of you move forward without any context. He gets that the memories that are holding you back are painful, but he wishes to help ease that burden. Jungkook’s head starts to spin at all the possibilities that he could get you to feel comfortable enough to talk.

“Hey,” Jungkook’s reverie shatters when a small guy in all black comes up to meet him. Jungkook shoots up, hand immediately darting out to shake the older one’s hand. He chuckles, “Jihoon sent me your demo last week. You have some killer vocals.”

“Thanks,” he replies bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m Jungkook, by the way.”

“Right,” the producer nods, gesturing for him to follow him down the hall. “I’m Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook nearly trips over himself. He’s heard that name before, he’s sure of it. He tries to wrack his brain for the memory, something he’s brushed to the side after so long.

“Jungkook!” you cried. He was paralyzed when you first met, a frazzled woman shoving herself on him like you’ve known him his entire life. He didn’t know why you were trying to hide him, but you looked so terrified he couldn’t formulate a quick enough response. “Kook, what the fuck? It’s broad daylight, you can’t be out like this without a mask! Where on earth did you hide that bike? Dispatch will have your ass and the devil Min Yoongi’ll kill you again for sneaking out—”

“Uh, Yoongi?” the pair step inside his little studio, neat and monochromatic. There’s a comfy couch in the corner, and Jungkook seats himself there while Yoongi slides into his rolling chair. “Do you by any chance know someone named y/n?

Yoongi shrugs, too busy going through his computer files to take notice of Jungkook’s wheels turning. “No, should I?”

“Guess not,” Jungkook mutters, “what about Dispatch? Are you involved with them?”

The older one swirls around in his chair, knuckles nestled in his milky cheeks. “Is this an interrogation?”

Suddenly feeling hot, Jungkook shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“But to answer your question, thankfully no,” Yoongi leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, “thankfully they’ve been smoked out ever since they got sued for defamation against that SNSD member, among dozens of other women. That was what, two years ago? But my artists are always squeaky clean.”

Jungkook grapples the pieces in his brain, feeling the sudden itch to text you.

“You’re askin’ a lot of weird questions, kid,” Yoongi says simply, “but since you have the voice of a fuckin’ angel on Cloud 9, I’m willing to overlook it.”

The younger one nods wordlessly, letting Yoongi go on a tangent as he describes the song he has in mind and how he wants to approach it. He tries to focus, and intermittently fails as he falls in and out of thought, always coming back to you.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Hoseok, I feel it.”

“Feel what, nausea? Heartburn, indigestion? Upset stomach? Diarrhea?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke, Noona?” Bogum is sitting next to you on the picnic blanket laid out for the both of you. Today was supposed to be Hoseok’s off day, but Bogum’s mom offered Hoseok a pretty penny to take Bogum for the day while she had to attend a last-minute work project.

“Yes, Bogummie. Although it was a terrible joke,” you admonish, sending a playful grin to Hoseok.

“Do you like my new shoes?” with the attention span of a squirrel, Bogum hops up and jumps up and down on the grass. His new Elmo sneakers light up and make little squeaking sounds, “isn’t it cool! My shoes talk while I walk!”

You giggle, “Yeah, now we’ll never lose you when you go off to the bathroom,” you reach for his sippy cup and instruct him to drink water, “go play on the slide, we’ll watch you from here!”

Bogum immediately agrees, shuffling away with rhythmic squeaks from his sneakers as he bumbles over to the small playground on campus. Without the presence of children, you feel Hoseok’s eyes train on you as you try to formulate a response.

“I don’t know, I woke up this morning and I felt a little too… settled?” you taste the word on your tongue, hoping it matches with the turmoil going through your brain. You continue to stare at Bogum, not a care in the world as he goes down the slide for the nth time, “my life isn’t moving forward anymore. It’s so, peaceful?” you nod at your question, then turn to smile sadly at Hoseok.

“This might be the last time we see each other.”

While you don’t know the rules and regulations of whatever fate or magic that brought you here, you always knew that this time had to end. You feel like you’ve experienced enough in this small lifetime to feel this kind of contentment. Any further into this life and you could change it however way you wanted to.

You didn’t want to do that. You wanted to go home.

Hoseok’s smile is equally sombre, but he plays it off with a scoff. “I guess this is the part where you leave me and I have to go on with the rest of my life questioning whether these past two months were real or a crazy drug trip while I spend nighttimes TL;DR-ing our story on Reddit.”

You break into laughter, clutching your stomach as you try your hardest not to think too heavily of this moment. “Hobi, you won’t be alone in this. I’m going to tell Jungkook tonight,” you confess, “I don’t know how he’s gonna take it, but try to be there for him. For me?”

Hoseok tilts his head to the side, “In your world, were me and Jungkook close?”

You hide your grin by taking a sip of your water bottle, “Very close. He sobbed himself a river when you wanted to quit the group.”

“Hm, maybe we’ll be close someday too.”

“Maybe,” you pull out your phone, instructing Hoseok to do the same as he waits for whatever you’re about to send him.

Hoseok phone pings and he opens the document you just shared with him. His brows knit at the neat notes, zooming in the small font. “What is this?”

“For when the other me comes back in my place,” you lean over him to point out the details highlighted in light blue on your digital document. There’s addresses, student details, lesson agendas, even the money you spent while you used the bank account. “it’s in her drive, but I think she might… freak out regardless. If I really got hit by that oncoming truck, I don’t know what she’s going to be feeling. At least this is a quick cheat-sheet, so she can catch up on the past two months and continue on with her life.”

You try to tamp down the guilt that you feel, knowing your alter-self could be in a far more dangerous situation than you right now.

“So if you can stop by the apartment tomorrow—Taehyung and I changed the keycode a couple days ago, maybe bring over some coffee so you two can talk it out?”

“Of course, don’t worry about us,” and Hoseok starts to get teary, which makes you get teary as he says his next words, “once you go back, I want you to be happy, okay? We can’t exactly text or—or F-Facetime like we always—oh shit,” he shoves the sleeve of his hoodie in his eyes, “w-why does it feel like you’re dying or something?”

You throw your arms around him, letting him cry on your shoulder. You sigh into his amber bangs, his long fingers digging into your wrist but you don’t care. Knowing letting go was going to be hard, you’ve emotionally prepped yourself since this morning, but it doesn’t hurt any less when you’ve become so close with Hoseok.

“Who knows?” you run your fingers through his hair, in an attempt to soothe him, “maybe I’ll have another taste of that angel wine. You’ll show up in my dreams or something.”

He shakes his head, “Hell no. What if Jungkook really decks you with his motorcycle the second time around?”

“True,” you say, “I’ll miss you, Hobi.”

“Do me a favor when you get back, yeah?” he breaks apart from your embrace, squeezing your shoulders. “Go find me and try harder to be my friend, alright?”

You deflate a little, “But you’re so cool, I’m a little intimidated. It’s different when you’re surrounded by kids like a mama duck.”

“I know I’m cool, but just try,” he says, “and I’ll try to be your friend again, too.”

The two of you hug again, this time not saying anything. At this time Bogum waddles up to the two of you, sweaty and damp as he collapses onto the blanket. The two of you laugh as Hoseok presses a paper towel to the boy’s head.

Bogum scrunches his nose, “Why are you crying?”

You sigh, reaching to lightly pinch his forearm. “I’m going to be gone for a little bit. So take care of Hoseok while I’m gone, okay?”

Bogum frowns, but puffs his chest out and nods, “When will I see you again?”

Instead of you answering, Hoseok cuts in for you. “Soon,” he says with finality, eyes darting between you and a satisfied Bogum. He looks at you and mouths, we’ll figure it out.

This time around, you know you don’t have to worry.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Jungkook’s waiting in your room,” Taehyung jabs a thumb in the direction of your shared hallway. “Probably passed out and took a nap.”

“Oh?” you check your phone, “he’s early then.”

Taehyung shrugs, the strap off his backpack sliding down to his elbows. “Looked a little frazzled. Maybe he had a long day.”

“Yeah, he said he had his first recording session. Maybe it was overwhelming.”

Taehyung nods, moving past you to get to the door. “I gotta go back to the studio,” he grimaces, slipping on his loafers, “literally don’t give two fucks about Tiffany’s seniority. Her fashion taste is complete garbage and I’m ready to spend the rest of the night fighting her for it.”

“Good luck,” and in your haste, you wrap your arms around his waist.

Taehyung’s surprised by the sudden bout of affection, but he returns eagerly as he squeezes you back. “See you in the morning, we’ll go finish that Kim Seokjin drama we started.”

You force a smile back, “Yeah, see you.”

You don’t leave the little space by the door until you’re sure that Taehyung is completely gone from your vicinity. Relaxing your shoulders, you pull off your layers and bag and place them on your corner of the living room.

Padding quietly, you take your time in turning the doorknob to your bedroom in case Jungkook is still sleeping.

To your surprise Jungkook is not sleeping, however. He’s hovered over your desk, looking up at you from your yellow notebook.

“Y’know,” he says, tone sharp, “you really shouldn’t just leave your stuff laying out here like this. Anyone can read it.”

You bristle, shutting the door behind you even though Taehyung was already long gone. Maybe you wanted to contain everything in your room, hoping Jungkook wouldn’t run away at the story you had behind this.

“Usually people don’t come into my room to read stuff off my desk.”

“What is this?” he asks, “some sci-fi novel you’re concocting? Why do you have so much information about me?”

Over the course of your two months, you’ve added more and more to your logbook. It was the little things at first, like the differences between the Hoseoks and the Jimins. But then you felt like you were starting to forget your life back in W1, so you got to writing memories. Stupid, little tidbits about your relationship with Jungkook. Or the brands of wine you and Sehlyung would fawn over during your nights out.

But Jungkook is pointing to a particular page in your notebook, fingers digging so hard that his nails are turning white. You step further into the bedroom, taking slow steps as you approach your desk.

One sleepless night, you took it upon yourself to write the lyrics to Still With You. The lyrics are written plain as day, glittered with star and moon designs and a little air conditioner decorating the margins.

Your heart drops as you see the hurt marring Jungkook’s features.

“I haven’t told anyone about the songs I’ve written,” he says, pain dripping from his voice, “not even Yoongi. How on earth could you have found my song? How could you have known that I wrote it one night against my air conditioner?”

You feel like cotton is blocking your throat, “Jungkook, I wanted to tell you tonight—”

“What, that you really are a crazy stalker?” he steps back, whirling around so now he’s the one in the direction of the door. He takes two steps back, closer to the exit. “That I’ve been so dumb to believe your lies? That I should’ve left you on the street? That you still see me in whatever Jungkook you once knew and now you’re taking it out on me?”

“Jungkook, please listen—”

“Because now I know you and I can’t work out,” he spits with finality, hands finally finding the doorknob, “we will never work out—”

“I know!” you finally scream, and Jungkook falters. You’re shaking, but not erratically. You’re sobbing, shoulders wracking as you let your body collapse against the desk chair. This conversation feels startlingly familiar, as if you’re back to square one. “Dammit Jungkook, why won’t you listen? I knew we would never work out.”

Jungkook itches to hold you, and comfort you. Instead he sticks by the doorknob, feeling true to his findings. After all, the evidence is all in your notebook. While hard to decipher, it’s clear as day that you always knew a lot more than you’ve led on. He wants to ask more, but he’s far too hurt to continue tonight.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers, and slams the door to your bedroom shut.

Your body gives out, and you feel two tons heavier as you sink into your uncomfortable desk chair. Jungkook’s gone. Your heart’s not so much broken, but you feel awful for getting him mixed up into this. Seeing the betrayal and pain in his eyes is heartbreaking, especially coming from you, someone who doesn’t even belong here.

The whole room seems to be suffocating you, swallowing you whole. A shelf filled with medical textbooks and science jargon. A corkboard filled with pictures of your friends and family, all memories that don’t belong to you. This isn’t your life.

You need to get out of here, now.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1, four months before.

Namjoon is sitting between Jungkook and you, like two children and a parent having to intervene. Only this time, you two are being child-like adults and Namjoon is taking up all the leg space sitting in the middle of the back row.

Jungkook feels like he’s being squeezed through the open window, Namjoon refusing to adjust to his equally large size. He glares over his shoulder, finding you are paying no mind. He scoffs when he sees you nuzzled up against Namjoon’s blazer, babbling like a brook because you’re too wasted to form coherent sentences.

“What were you going to achieve by doing that, huh?” Namjoon’s voice is devastatingly low, not bothering to look at the younger man.

He sighs, letting the night breeze tickle his loose strands as he recalls what he did do. It’s all too clear on his end. Entering the bar was easy, after a few rounds with the gang Jungkook decided it was time to mingle. It doesn’t take long for a pretty girl to slide up next to him, with practiced ease finding her way to slot herself between his stretched out legs. And he let her.

And you? You were livid, of course. He could practically feel the burn of your gaze singing at the back of his head. But you weren’t going to cause a scene, instead you favored Taehyung’s inability to relent and inhiberation to the highest degree.

Which is why you’re all going home early, before it got too messy.

Jungkook doesn’t answer in the quiet car, but your soft sobs do.

You probably haven’t even registered that Jungkook is in the same vehicle. After all, they had to haul your deadweight into the seat because you could barely walk.

“Why, wh-why Joonie?” your voice is muffled by the thick fabric of Namjoon’s tweed overcoat, nails digging into the seams.

“Why what, bub?”

“Why doesn’t he want me?”

Jungkook’s throat clenches.

“He’s just stupid,” Jungkook feels dumb, listening to Namjoon and you speak as if they’re all not pressed up against each other like skinny sardines in a too-hot van. “Not to be intrusive, but the two of you are in a complicated relationship.”

You hum in agreement, your previous drunkenness mellowing out and turning into a tired haze. When you finally arrive at the apartment complex, Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to be the one to carry you upstairs. He barely gives Jungkook the opportunity as he sweeps you into his arms, making the way to your room. Jungkook follows the both of you like a stubborn duckling.

When Namjoon manages to get the door unlocked, he turns to Jungkook. “You should go up with everyone else. Don’t bother coming in here unless you’re gonna apologize.”

The door is wide open, and Namjoon straightens up as you float away to your bathroom, insisting you can wobble your way to get your makeup and clothes off. Jungkook tries his best to look confident in front of his elder, steeling his features.

“I’ll apologize, you go up first.”

Namjoon pulls his wristwatch out, “You got fifteen minutes. You can’t stay here tonight.”

Jungkook flinches when he coolly brushes past him, slamming the door on his way out. He then busies himself in your small kitchenette, finding your favorite Hello Kitty mug and pouring you a glass of water. He places aspirin and the water next to your bedside table, ready when you need it.

It’s been ten minutes since then, and he’s running out of time. Standing in front of your bathroom, he makes a move to knock. No answer. He can’t hear the water running, or faint lo-fi hip hop that you always liked to listen to before getting ready for bed.

Taking a chance, he turns the knob only to find it unlocked. You’re sitting on the floor, knees hugged and only in a long t-shirt.

“You can go,” you mumble into your knees, not wanting to make eye contact. “I’m fine.”

Instead he fits himself into your bathroom, sitting next to you. You don’t bother to move and make room, so Jungkook has to squish himself to fit. “Listen, pretty girl–”

“Don’t call me that.”

He sighs, “I’m sorry. I was being a dick and you don’t deserve that. I disregarded our feelings and that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I said it was fine,” he sees how hard you’re glaring at the tile on your wall, nothing interesting but your eyes are ablaze. “I know why you did it.”

He stays silent.

“You want to push me away before we get hurt,” you state, “but you don’t get to decide that on your own, Jungkook. I’ll give you time, but don’t wag yourself in front of my face like I’m some shameless puppy begging for attention,” you get up shakily, and you hold out a hand in refusal to Jungkook’s immediate reaction, “it’s either all of me or none of me.”

And for the second time that night the door slams in Jungkook’s face, forcing himself to make a decision.

#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #goldenclosetnet #btsghostiebingo #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkooooooooooo

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hecallsmehischild · 3 years

Text

Recent Media Consumed

Books

A Knot in the Grain and Other Stories by Robin McKinley. Not bad for a fantasy short story compilation, but as I read the stories I felt like too many questions went unanswered, or the answer wasn’t clear enough. I know there’s an art to not answering questions and making that intentional, but I didn’t pick up the feeling of the author being intentionally vague. It was still fun to read. I’m really just in a fantasy binge mode.

Fire and Water by Robin McKinley and Peter Dickinson. Both books are collections of short stories based on elemental spirits. Eh…. they were okay. Didn’t like them as much as the others.

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Hard book to get through. There’s so much monologuing and it doesn’t all make sense to me. People seem to be talking trite nonsense half the time and then being unbearably deep the other half. It is an interesting look at morbid aspects of the human heart. Might be that it’s a bit over my head to appreciate fully, but I’d like to read at least one more by this author. Maybe The Brothers Karamazov.

Movies

Hello Dolly. (mini liveblogging of reactions) There are way too many musicals I have not gotten around to seeing, simply because I have old favorites and sometimes it’s hard to get out of a rut. I am two minutes and four seconds in and CLEARLY not watching this before now was a failure on my part. I am in awe of the opening sequence that is just a series of legs and feet, but they are all moving to the music and they tell a dozen different stories that are very easy to understand even without seeing anybody’s top half, this is EXCELLENT framing and shooting and I feel like I’m in for a real treat. (In the middle of “It takes a woman”) I cannot tell you how much I missed over the top satire. This very much has the feel of My Fair Lady’s “With A Little Bit of Luck”. But then it’s taken up by the protagonist with an entirely different tone and WHAM the feels hit. I’m not enjoying all of the musical numbers, but there’s this one bit in the middle of the song about dancing where Dolly accepts a dance invitation from the grizzled old groundskeeper, and seeing this high-class looking widow take his invitation without a shred of irony, and to see him take her dancing in such a way that shows he’s clearly done this for many years and may be a widower himself, it’s just this strange sweet kind of moment that’s meant to be savored. And then again WHAM this high class widow, whenever she has a musical number in private, just NAILS you with her song and performance and all her emotions. Barbara Streisand was incredible, absolutely incredible. A lot of the other characters don’t really feel real, they feel like Musical People. She slips on the clothes of a Musical Person but then she drops the facade and shows you how hard all this is for her and it’s incredible. The movie is worth it just to watch HER. Even if it is very stressful watching her manipulate conversations and move people around like pawns. I have to say I do not, for the life of me, understand why she wants a relationship with Mr. Horace Vandergelder, or why he agrees. They look like they’ll make each other miserable for life.

Honest Thief. I went in with low “dumb robbery movie” expectations and was pleasantly surprised. I think I was most surprised by the fantastic chemistry of the couple and pretty much everyone’s acting. Aside from the acting it wasn’t anything remarkable, but everyone took it up to the next level. Nice flick. Also it tickles me to hear the voice of Aslan talking about how he carried out perfect robberies.

Nezha. Holy. Cow. Okay it doesn’t make total sense to me, not all the way through, but I chalk that up to missing cultural/lit knowledge and translation issues. Setting that aside, animation was gorgeous. Story was fun, but also compelling. There was some gross-out humor, but I’ve seen worse. And the climactic fight scene? Man. It went SO LONG but I didn’t even care. Some fight scenes drag on, but this one could have been twice as long and I would have been fine with that. The creators of this film really went all out with creativity and variety all throughout the film. I don’t totally understand the ending but I would love to see more (as the credits scenes hinted that there might be more). Oh wait, there is more and it’s called Jiang Ziya…

The Mitchells vs The Machines. This movie was so full of heart and also so full of complete over the top dumb goofiness. It kind of reminded me of Despicable Me in that way. Definitely brought a smile to my face.

Shows

Star vs the Forces of Evil. I had to re-watch through Eclipsa’s and Meteora’s arc because I’d seen that much before, but too long ago to remember. I re-watched it, then settled in for the last season which I hadn’t seen before. Watching through the new content and… I’m… disappointed. Story seems to be all over the place. The conflict is so forced it hurts. People are flatter than flat. And they’re all idiots. I feel like the show is trying to reach for a moral and don’t even know what that is from episode to episode. Wow. And as I go into the final arc, it just gets worse. Ham-fisted with zero focus and twists out of the bloody blue that make zero sense. You know… this series was hard to get into because characters were annoying and gross at the start. But then it added depth to each character and made me care about them as it went along. But everything after Eclipsa became queen has flushed all of that down the toilet as fast as possible and it is maddening to see that story-trust wasted. Nothing means anything in this story, that’s the conclusion I end up coming to. Nothing means anything and there is nobody worth caring about. I am radically disappointed. And kind of angry at the sheer number of levels at which the storytelling became terrible.

Games

Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle another controller-based game after getting so accustomed to Breath of the Wild (I’m on a second re-play of that, I play it whenever my brain is on the fritz so badly that I can’t do anything else). But it turned out to be pretty easy to get into. The hardest part is getting stuck about how to solve certain puzzles and trying to figure it out over and over. Sometimes I figure it out, but sometimes I need to look up a hint online. I’m almost at the end of the game and I’ve enjoyed it quite a bit. I want to play more Zelda games...

Katamari Re-Roll. This is so stupid. I mean, SO VERY STUPID. And so much fun. You start off as this tiny little person just rolling a ball around and you can pick up anything smaller than you (thumbtacks, coins, caramel candies) and as your ball gets bigger, your options open up (mice, carrots, eggs, crabs) and open up (shoes, toys, cats, dogs) and open up (humans, food carts, cows). I hear you get to roll up houses at some point. I’m looking forward to that. For now I’m at the level where I’m rolling up a lot of people. They’re all wiggly and shrieky. It’s funny. There’s a time limit on each level, and you have to reach a certain size by the time limit, which is the only really annoying thing about it. But I’m still having a lot of fun.

World of Warcraft: Classic. Of all the games I never thought I’d play, this is probably toward the top of the list. I don’t like the concept of grinding. I like story. But after playing Breath of the Wild, I also found out that I love exploration/open world type games. My husband helped me build a character and we ran around doing quests and levelling up. Now I’m a level 17 Dwarf hunter who does skinning and leatherworking. I have a pet wolf named Chompers. I’m having a lot of fun. Probably not obsessive levels of fun, but enough fun that I’m happy to sink a couple several-hour sessions a week into playing.

#Child loves books #child loves movies #child loves shows #n00b gamer child #recent media consumed

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

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Long Distance (Midoriya x Reader)

Pairing: Midoriya x Reader

Genre: Fluff/slight angst, no quirks AU

Summary: Long distance relationships an be equal parts exhilarating and equal parts difficult.

Inspo: "Face to Face" by Ruel

Word count: 1,777

Tags: @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak @yuki-osaki

a/n: Who’s not a sucker for fluffy Izu? Come on, you love this freckled face

Since this is 3rd person and I wanted to keep it gender neutral, I used they/them pronouns instead of you. The ending scene of this was originally supposed to be Midoriya's Valentine's Special for Just One Day, and it would've been more fitting, but it was too angsty for what I wanted to put out for Valentine's Day, but I held onto it for the past month so I could expand on it and spin it into something more substantial and emotional.

Sorry for the messy and rushed ending, I'm still recovering from my sickness that was handicapping me for the past few days and I'm falling asleep writing the end of this. But I'm better for the most part! Which hopefully means one or two more posts before I have to reconfigure my entire schedule doing online classes next week... I hate school.

Also huge thank you again for 700 follower guys, you’re too much for me to handle. Thank you sosososoooo much!

The past few months for Izuku have been both exhilarating and miserable.

While at an anime convention last summer, he'd stumbled around alone because Katsuki didn't want to be anywhere near nerd culture with his nerd friend. Izuku had been disappointed since it was his first con and didn't want to go alone, but it couldn't be helped. He cosplayed as his favorite hero from his favorite show, resolving to hopefully meet some new friends while he was there.

Izuku was easily overwhelmed by the gigantic venue and the endless number of people in attendance. It was something like a dream, but at the same time gave him anxiety. How was he supposed to navigate something this enormous alone without getting swept up somewhere?

For the first half of the first day, he managed to survey the layout of the center, taking pictures with a few cosplayers he knew and almost emptying his wallet on some merch. He found himself losing energy fairly quickly and resolved to search for the rest area. The tired boy buries his nose in his map, mumbling how he hopes he doesn't end up getting lost.

His view being obstructed by the unfolded paper, he bumps into someone's back. Izuku fervently apologizes, prematurely thinking he had bothered them and now they wish to kill him. Instead, he was met with a wide toothy smile and even wider, excited eyes. The boy looks them up and down, realizing their cosplay is of his character's sidekick.

The other person breaks out into a haughty dialogue fitting their character, using the hero's name to ask what was the matter. Izuku, after some stumbling, breaks out his amazing mimicry skills to play along with their new game, responding that he's looking for the rest area. Staying in character, the sidekick leads him in the opposite direction Izuku was going. The two recite more lines from their characters' show until they reach their destination.

The stranger finally breaks character with a hearty laugh, settling in a couch with Izuku. They hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared love of their favorite show, how amazing each other's costume looks, and repeating their favorite lines of other franchises they enjoy. Izuku feels like this is exactly what he wanted to find in a con: someone who shares the same love and passion for his favorite thing. Finally, he won't have to be alone navigating this giant complex.

The two continue bonding over lunch, getting to know each other more personally, though their personalities were so compatible their conversations flow naturally. Izuku finds out that his new friend is around the same age as him, and this isn't their first con. They ended up coming alone because their friend bailed on them at the last second because of a sickness. Unfortunately, they live in a different country; they just couldn't miss the panel with one of their favorite voice actors at this con. The freckled boy can't say he wasn't disappointed that someone he'd hit it off so perfectly with was from somewhere else, but at least he found someone he can spend the rest of the con with.

And they did have the funnest time together. They shared so many memories eating, posing for pictures, filming their own videos, and just talking; at the end of everything, Izuku felt like he'd known them forever. Actually, he felt himself falling for his con companion, which is why parting ways on the last day was the hardest thing he thought he would have to do.

Thankfully, his new friend also found it hard to say goodbye, so they proposed the idea of staying long-distance friends. It was such an obvious progression that Izuku almost slapped himself for not thinking of it. The two exchanged messenger information and hugs before finally parting ways. The freckled-cheek boy rejoiced, bouncing the entire way home and buzzing with excitement. Until post-con depression hit him, and with it came the fear that his new friend and crush would lose interest and never contact him.

But he was wrong. They texted religiously all day every day, keeping each other updated on all the details of their daily nerdy lives. A flicker of hope burned inside Izuku that his crush was interested enough in him to keep in contact. They both kept up with each other's social media posts and commented on all of them. They even video chatted at least twice a week. It made Izuku feel his life had a purpose, and it was apparent to everyone around him. Even Katsuki would gruffly question why he was always smiling at his phone.

But the initial glamour eventually wore off. There would be days when Izuku's friend wouldn't respond to his messages and the boy would fly into a frenzy, wondering what he did wrong and retracing their entire conversation. Even though they would reply again a few days later and apologize about leaving Izuku in the dark, it would bother the boy a little. It sobered him up to realize he spends a lot of his day talking to a screen, and he still has no idea if they feel the same way as he felt in his heart. There's a small amount of jealousy he feels as he stalks their social media responding to other people. He dislikes that pettiness, but he only does it because he's head over heels for them. There are moments when his heart would race at the prospect of them exhibiting the same feelings as him, but he would immediately second guess those thoughts as him simply getting ahead of himself.

Izuku would scroll through the pictures and cosplay videos of them daily, smiling at them as he imagined what if they would meet face to face again as his heart longs for them. He wants to be able to confess in person, feel their warmth close to him, hear their laughter free of digital filter. Is that too much for him to ask?

Izuku practically bounces in a bundle of anticipation and nerves as he stands in the crowded airport terminal. He didn't imagine his wishes coming true so soon, but here he is. Ever since a week ago when his crush had surprised him with their flight itinerary, casually asking him to pick them up, the broccoli-haired boy couldn't have been more excited for anything in his life.

And as with everything the sometimes-neurotic boy does, he planned heavily for their arrival. They were only visiting for about a week while visiting family, coinciding nicely with Izuku's school break. He searched for countless highly-rated restaurants specializing in different foods, photo spots that tourists agree yield the best social media photos, and even a few theme parks to visit. He complied all of these spots into a giant list and was about to send them to his crush when they messaged him before he got the chance.

"Don't go overboard planning like I know you do, Bean, I just want to spend quality time with you :)"

Izuku's heart soared with that text, although it rendered his hard work and stress slightly useless.

And now he's waiting impatiently for them to come from their plane ride, craning his neck every which way in hopes to spot them before they find him. His entire body has washed over in anxious, feet-tapping cold.

"Izuku!"

Looking to the side, he sets his eyes on a figure steamrolling towards him dragging a suitcase as they bound up to him. All his anxiety fades as soon as he lays eyes on them. He outstretches his arms, ready to welcome them in a hug. "(Y/n)!" he mimics their excited giggle-call.

Izuku underestimated how much force they were putting into their hug, effectively being knocked off balance as both of them fall backwards to meet the floor beneath them. Despite the strange glares from onlookers, they laugh at the less-than-graceful greeting they shared. To Izuku, it was the perfect heartfelt greeting.

Catching his breath for a moment, his heart rejoices, relishing the almost romantic moment. It's strange to see them, the person he's seem through a screen for most of the time, in his arms. The last time they saw each other in person, they were in slightly uncomfortable costumes that didn't allow for too much mobility and hid most of their true faces. It's almost like meeting a complete stranger in person for the first time, yet they know each other so well.

"I'm so happy you're this excited to see me." He sits up, still embracing his crush in his lap. He's so close to them, sharing their personal space. If only he can brush his hands through their hair lovingly and embrace them close to him as he's craved for months. "I was so worried it would be too awkward, and you wouldn't want to hug me and-"

"Why wouldn't I want to absolutely tackle you, Bean?" they squeeze him tighter, the grin still plastered on their face as they gaze up at Izuku. They reach behind the boy to retrieve the red beanie that fell off his head at their landing. "You're my favorite person in the world!"

Izuku freezes at the words, letting them tug the knitwear over his fluffy hair. He knows yet another part of his heart was just stolen.

"Oh, before all the adrenaline suddenly flushes out of me and I lose all confidence to do this-"

They place a chaste kiss on Izuku's lips, rendering the boy flustered and speechless as a bolt of electricity zaps through him. Did they really just-?

"I really like you, Izuku," they confess in earnest, doe eyes boring into his emerald pair. "I've been waiting to say it in person because it's so lame and impersonal to say it over text or in video chat. Please tell me you accept me."

It takes the boy a moment to formulate proper words, the only thing pouring out of his mouth is sputters. He's floating on Cloud nine right now. He should've known that his crush not only holds the same feelings for him, but also has the immense confidence to suck it up and confess first. With a chuckle and almost teary eyes, Izuku sniffs out, "Y-You beat me to it!"

They erupt into a fit of satisfied squeaks. "I knew I would!" they beam as they nearly knock the boy over in another tackle-hug. "Now, at least we get to do everything we wanted to as a couple, not just as friends."

Izuku can't agree more, admiring how they always manage to take the words right out of his mouth.

#midoriya x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #midoriya fluff #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #slight angst #no quirks au #gender neutral reader #midoriya imagine #midoriya scenario #mha midoriya #mha deku #bnha deku #bnha midoriya #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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here4theheartbreak · 4 years

Text

Shared Souls and Snake Scales

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Jin Genre(s): Smut, Fluff

Rating: Explicit Tags: smut, fluff, soulmates, soulmate marks, demigods, tentacle monsters, human/monster romance, Nagas, shapeshifting, side Hoseok x Taehyung, double penetration, tentacle sex, come inflation, rough oral sex, dirty talk, unrealistic sex, aftercare, multiple orgasms, barebacking, bottom!Jimin, top!Jin

Summary: Jimin worries he'll never find his soulmate. It's rarer and rarer in today's world. So when his soulmate mark appears without him ever having knowingly touched someone, confusion abounds.

Word Count: ~14.1k

Hoseok let the heavy box of books drop to the floor with a thud, wiping sweat from his brow. “That’s the last one.”

Jimin bounced in, adding a smaller box and an armful of bags to another pile in the wide living area. “Thank you so much, Hobi; it would’ve taken me all day to do this myself.”

“It still took us all day,” Hoseok joked, letting Jimin wrap him into a hug.

“Okay, it would have taken me a week. Are you hungry? I ordered enough – it should be here soon.”

“Starving.” Hoseok looked around the mostly empty apartment. “It’s big… You got it for so cheap. Did you ask why?”

Jimin shrugged, turning to begin assembling a bookshelf lying in pieces in the corner. “I didn’t really ask. She just said they were eager to rent it out and folks never seemed to stay long enough to complete their leases.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. It’s gorgeous. I could never imagine leaving early. I might renew the lease even, as long as nothing major comes up.”

“It’s kinda…” Hoseok shrugged, rubbing his hand over his forearm quickly. “Kind of a creepy feeling in here, isn’t it?”

Jimin paused, looking around himself. His brows furrowed. He could feel something… There, but it wasn’t creepy.

“No. I like the feeling.”

“Feels like we’re being watched,” Hoseok complained. He crouched down to begin helping Jimin assemble the shelf.

“Sort of… But not a bad thing. Like someone watching over you, right?”

Hoseok cocked a brow. “Feeling like you’re being watched in an empty apartment on the third floor should be uncomfortable, Jimin.”

Jimin shrugged again. He didn’t know how to explain it to Hoseok, really. Something felt right about this place. And sure, it was in a great part of town, it was spacious and adorable as hell, and it was super affordable, but there was something more. Jimin had felt like he was home the second he stepped beyond the threshold. There was a sort of tingle in the base of his spine, and an ease that slipped over him, like warmth on a cold winter morning.

He knew the stories of soulmates – the warm fuzzies someone gets when their missing piece is close, the tingle of sensation. Jimin wondered if maybe his soulmate was nearby, another apartment? Another building near? He knew it was silly. Irrational fairytales meant to soothe the ache of those in his situation, those without their complete souls. With the population of the world and no guarantee that your soulmate was on the same continent, let alone the same country or city, finding a true soulmate was like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Maybe it was an evolutionary advantage, or maybe it was a punishment from a past life; whatever it was, Jimin hated it. No matter how happy he was, he felt… Empty. Hoseok tried to understand, but he couldn’t. He’d been one of the lucky ones. He found his soulmate two years prior; a sweet guy by the name of Taehyung. He went to the same college that Jimin and Hoseok attended, and had actually become fast friends with Jimin first.

Jimin glanced down at the beautiful tattoo of shimmering black and silver film strip that wound its way around Hoseok’s forearm. Taehyung had a similar one, though his was sheet music of a tune Hoseok had written as a teenager. Jimin longed to see his own tattoo. Feel the comfort it brought, sharing an intimacy greater than any shared with a non-soulmate. Fairytales. Jimin knew he’d end up settling for a random person – or nobody. He’d never find his soulmate.

The two unpacked and ate, then unpacked some more, deciding a mattress and the television and a few electronics were the key things needed on this first night in the new apartment. As the darkness grew deeper and the cool chill of night set in, Hoseok tugged on his hoodie.

“Are you sure you will be safe here?” He asked for the fortieth time.

“Yes, Hobi. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve never lived alone…” Hoseok said softly.

“I know. And that’s why I have to do this. I’ll be okay. You’re only a few blocks away and phones are a thing.” Jimin shoved him playfully. “Time for you to let your Jiminie go.”

Hoseok laughed, ruffling Jimin’s hair.

“Well fine,” he conceded, “I’ll be over tomorrow morning to help you unpack more.”

“I’d like that. Goodnight, Hoseok.”

“Night, Minie.” Hoseok waved as he walked down the hall to the elevators. Jimin shut the door and turned to face the apartment, now faced with the deafening silence of solitude.

Jimin unpacked a few boxes, exhaustion hitting him like a truck now that he didn’t have Hoseok to keep his mind occupied. He managed to find a bowl and chopsticks, plugging in the microwave and making himself a bowl of ramen for a late-night snack before curling up on his mattress in his new bedroom. Now that the darkness had settled in, the creepiness that Hoseok had mentioned was beginning to creep into his bones. The apartment was settled just right so the city night lights didn’t really enter through the window. Instead, the pale moonlight filtered through, casting humanoid shadows from the stacks of boxes piled around the room. The closet door was ajar, and the deep darkness seemed to creep out onto the wood floor further and further the longer he stared. Biting back a shudder, Jimin rolled onto his side, staring at the wall until he was unable to keep his eyes open further.

The following week was a bustle of activity for Jimin. His friends came over often, helping him unpack and set up his apartment just right. This was the first time he’d been truly on his own, and despite his brave façade, he knew his friends could see the truth…. He was a bit terrified. But they did their best to make him feel like he was comfortable and going to be alright. Nights were the hardest; it seemed like no matter what Jimin did to make his room (and entire apartment) feel comfortable and homey, there was a thin layer of unease that churned his stomach into a nervous bubble. The unease – strangely enough – was often combatted with a sense of heavy calm like nothing Jimin had ever felt before. It settled into his bones and helped him find sleep despite the dark cloud of worry threading through him. A bizarre feeling, but one that – after three weeks in the new apartment – Jimin had simply come to accept as natural.

It was the morning exactly three months after he’d moved in – and the morning after the landlord had knocked on his door at six in the evening inquiring if he’d decided to move out yet (“no, why?” had cued a nervous laugh and a “no reason” from the landlord before the reminder that the rent was due in a week). Jimin woke up more refreshed and relaxed than he had in months. A tingling sensation seemed to cover his entire body, starting from his spine and radiating outward as he laid in bed. But it wasn’t uncomfortable or painful – rather it was relaxing, like the softest touch of a masseuse or the breath of a sleeping lover. The relaxing sensation had him drifting in and out of sleep far too long than he should have, and he was forced to rush through his shower and morning routine to make it to his Friday classes on time.

The day passed in a whirlwind despite there being nothing major happening. Jimin felt the strongest urge to go home and curl up in his room, warm under his covers and ready to nap with his partner. Partner. Lover. Boyfriend. The words echoed in his mind all day despite him having been all but celibate for the past six months. Oddly, the words didn’t leave that sullen ache in Jimin’s gut like they had for so long. Rather, that comforting tingle from that morning returned, running a glissando from his neck down to his tailbone and back up. He wondered if his gut had been correct the month before. If somehow – by some fateful twist of luck, his soulmate was somewhere in the same building. Of course, Jimin hadn’t met any of his neighbors to that point. He’d heard someone below him moving around at one point, but everyone seemed to keep to themselves, which was excellent for a quiet apartment building… Less excellent if one of them happened to be an elusive soulmate.

Despite his urge to head home as soon as his classes let out for the day, Jimin allowed Hoseok to convince him to go to the apartment they used to share (that he now shared with Taehyung). Once there, he was roped him into an evening of drinks and games.

Jimin stretched out on the floor, his eyes closing of their own will. They opened when Taehyung giggled, and a pang of longing struck his heart. Hoseok was nosing his way along Taehyung’s throat, placing gentle kisses on the tanned skin.

“I should get home,” Jimin said softly. It wasn’t that his friends made him feel badly on purpose; they never complained when he was with them and they did their best to include him as more than a third wheel. But they were soulmates and it showed. And it stung.

Taehyung leapt off the couch and tumbled onto Jimin, knocking the wind from his lungs. “You’re going nowhere,” he argued. Jimin laughed, trying to push his large friend off him.

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not, I’m contentedly tipsy.”

“Sure. Get off, I can’t breathe.” Jimin shoved at Taehyung’s side again. This time the other rolled off, but grabbed Jimin and forced him to roll along with him. Jimin squawked and pushed at him, giggling helplessly when Taehyung began to tickle his sides. The two rolled around on the floor a moment, ignoring Hoseok’s pleas to watch out and not break anything.

They couldn’t ignore him, however, when he shot up and grabbed the back of Jimin’s shirt. “When did you get a tat— Jimin!” Hoseok shouted.

Jimin scrambled up, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung rose as well, circling behind Jimin. He gasped. “That’s no tattoo… Jimin, how could you not tell us you met them? What are they like? Are they a boy? Girl? Non-binary? What the hell.” Taehyung shoved Jimin a little. He shook his head and turned.

“Who?”

“Your soulmate.” Hoseok said, crossing his arms. Both he and Taehyung looked a bit stunned, and a bit hurt. Jimin scowled.

“I haven’t met my soulmate, what are you guys on about. I’d have told you both first off.”

“Then explain your soulmate tattoo.”

“Honestly, it’s sort of weird. I feel like you’d know if you met him,” Taehyung argued.

“I don’t have a soulmate tattoo!” Jimin cried, his heart clenching in panic. Taehyung turned him and yanked his shirt up over his head. He heard the flash of a phone camera and Taehyung let it drop before handing the phone over.

On the center of his back, starting at the base of his hairline and stretching down approximately a quarter of his spine, was a beautifully detailed heart made of what looked like octopus tentacles. It was a rich purple-black with tiny speckles of pinkish.

“It’s so uniquely colored. It shimmers like oil in the light,” Taehyung said.

“And the sparkles are like… Glittery. I’ve never seen a soulmate mark that intense… Who is it, Jimin?”

“I—” Jimin tried to speak, unable to take his eyes away from the photograph. His back tingled like it had been all day, radiating from that spot on his back. He reached back, touching where it started on his neck. “I have no idea,” he whispered.

“I wonder if he’s some kinky freak or something,” Taehyung joked. Jimin looked at him, horror painting his features.

“You know, because of the tentacles,” Taehyung grinned, but a knot of grief and worry wound tight in Jimin’s belly.

“I—”

The smile slipped from Taehyung’s face. “I’m sure he’s not. He’s probably an ocean lover. Marine biologist maybe? Oh, that cute guy that does music with you, Hobi – Isn’t he a huge marine animal fanatic?”

“Namjoon? Yeah, but… This is new, isn’t it, Jimin?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have this last week.”

“And Namjoon’s been away visiting family for nearly two,” Hoseok said. “Do you have any idea who you touched this week? When this might have happened?”

Jimin shook his head. He backed up, slumping into a sit on the couch. Involuntary tears blurred his vision and he shook his head again. “I don’t know. I… Finally get my soulmate mark and I don’t even fucking know who he is.” He dropped his face in his hands. His heart seemed to shatter at the realization, a sharp twinge of pain in his chest and a wave of nausea rushing over him. Taehyung hurried to his side, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“You’ll find him, Minie. If you got your mark then he got his too. I’m sure he’s looking everywhere for you. And you don’t travel a lot places, right? I mean – the school, back to your apartment, here. I mean you do your job on campus, but that doesn’t have a lot of face to face student contact. There’s only a few people he could be.”

“Or she,” Hoseok suggested. Jimin glanced up and chuckled without much humor. “Wouldn’t that be a riot. I’m a gay man and my soulmate’s a girl.”

“It’s happened. I’m sure you two would figure it out.”

Jimin slouched back against the couch, sighing. “How did I miss it? I thought when I found my soulmate it’s be some amazing, mindblowing thing. The way you two discuss it… It seemed like it was so beautiful.”

“I mean, it was,” Taehyung agreed. “But we were able to see the tattoo appearing on each other’s arms, that was half of it. The seeing and knowing what it meant. If we hadn’t been able to see it, I don’t think it would have been near as mindblowing physically.”

Jimin shrugged halfheartedly. His mind was running a mile a minute, trying to think of everyone he could have potentially even brushed hands with in the past week. How long had it been there? When was the last time he actually looked at his back in the mirror? Would someone else have noticed it appearing suddenly? The questions flooded Jimin’s mind, but one thing remained clear. He had his soulmate. Likely in his very city, even potentially someone he saw daily. But he had just as little clue as to who it could be than before.

“Why don’t we help you hunt him down tomorrow?” Hoseok asked suddenly, breaking Jimin out of his rabbit trail of thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Your soulmate. I bet we can track them down if all three of us really put our minds to it. There’s only so many folks it could be in our area, right?”

“I guess so.”

“I know it’s disappointing… But be happy, Jimin. You have a soulmate. We just gotta find them,” Taehyung said, pushing Jimin playfully. He tried to smile, but knew it came off as flat.

“I think I should just head home for the night. It’s late.”

“Let me walk you,” Hoseok said. Jimin shook his head, rising and tugging his hoodie on. “I want to be alone right now. Just to think, okay?”

Hoseok nodded. He and Taehyung both hugged Jimin and bid him goodnight, requesting a text when he reached his apartment safely. Jimin headed out into the cool evening air, his heart heavier than it had been all day.

Strangely, as he walked, he seemed to feel a sensation of peace come over him. Like he was going someplace he needed to be. It was reasonable, he figured, since he was heading home. But his home had never felt this way. That subtle thread of dread and fear had always kept him from feeling entirely at peace, but now it seemed like that was gone. Maybe he’d finally realized he enjoyed the apartment. Maybe it was something to do with the soulmate mark. Jimin was rightfully too drained to bother dwelling on it. He’d worry about it all tomorrow, he figured as he stripped out of his coat and shoes once in the apartment.

In the bathroom he couldn’t help but twist to admire the intricate tattoo on his spine. A perfect anatomical heart made entirely out of what looked like octopus tentacles, the one matching the vena cava snaking up almost into his hairline. It was larger than his fist and the outline shimmered in the light like it had been tattooed with iridescent black ink. The colors of the heart itself shifted, deep shimmering purple-black making up most of it, reminiscent of an oil slick, but highlighted in areas with a rich, vibrant, metallic magenta. The entire piece was stunning. Reaching back, Jimin traced the outline as he looked at it, his heart both swelling with the pride of finally having a mark… And aching that the person who gave it to him was not in his arms.

Jimin flopped into bed in his shorts, staring up at the dark ceiling as he thought about who his soulmate might be. Was he a kinky guy like Taehyung had implied? Jimin wouldn’t mind. A sea animal lover? Marine biologist? Sushi chef? The possibilities were endless. And what did his tattoo look like? Jimin’s passion was music – how did the two work together? Was it even a guy? A girl, a nonbinary or genderfluid person maybe? Jimin didn’t think he’d mind. He’d always been into guys, but knew soulmates didn’t always follow those rules. Jimin drifted off to sleep, wondering if he would ever find the one that had left the mark on his back.

Jimin woke with a start to the whisper of his name. He looked around the pitch black room, dread settling onto his chest like a weight. It was far too dark. He glanced up to where his window should have been opened a bit, letting in the cool night air and the light of the city. Instead he was met with nothing but shadows, creating a blackness on top of a blackness. He pulled his blanket a little higher up his chest. He had to be dreaming.

“Can’t run,” the voice was right in Jimin’s ear, cold and chalky. Jimin screamed, shooting up into a sitting position. An unseen pressure landed on his chest, knocking him back flat onto the bed.

“Can’t run!” The voice shouted again; almost taunting him as he struggled. Something cold, slimy, and thick wriggled up Jimin’s bare chest. He screamed again and grabbed it, feeling it squish under his fingers like the body of a particularly slimy eel. Two more eel like appendages wrapped around his wrists, squeezing and forcing his hands down to the bed. The one on his chest was joined by a second, and both moved up and curled around his throat. Jimin shouted when they began to squeeze, closing his airway. He struggled, bucking off the bed with all his might in an effort to loosen the grip of the things on his throat and wrists. Instead, he felt two more wrap around his ankles, pinning them to his bed. Another slid over his chest, pressing down with an inhuman strength. Jimin screamed brokenly once more, his voice cracking with lack of air. His vision began to grey around the edges as consciousness slipped away.

Jimin shot up in bed, his entire body soaked and tense. He clawed at his chest and throat, the memory of the slimy things still fresh in his mind. With panicked eyes, he looked around, relieved to see his room in its normal state, the soft filter of the city lights illuminating his desk and bookshelf, dresser, and television. He slumped back down in his bed, now uncomfortably cool and damp from the sweat as he struggled to control his breathing. He hadn’t had nightmares in months, and couldn’t recall ever having one so vivid and disturbing.

Every time Jimin closed his eyes he could feel the slick, wet things running over his body, the squeeze of their grip on his neck, and the terror that his life was in danger. It wasn’t until the sun had already begun to lighten his room that he finally found the will to drift off to sleep once more.

Jimin flailed, swinging his arms out when Taehyung nudged him. He’d nearly fallen asleep at the table, his cheek smushed against his hand as he stared mindlessly at the people passing by in the college cafeteria.

“You okay?” Taehyung worried, grabbing Jimin’s shoulder to keep him from falling out of the chair.

“Hm? Yeah.”

“We’ll find them, Jimin. I promise,” Taehyung said.

“I know. I mean, I don’t know, but I’m not stressing. Honestly I’m just so tired I can barely focus.”

“Not enough sleep?” Hoseok asked.

“Not at all. Terrible nightmares.”

“What about?”

Jimin chuckled, stretching and shaking his hands out in an attempt to wake up a little bit. “Don’t laugh… But tentacle monsters.”

Taehyung and Hoseok both burst into laughter.

“I said don’t laugh,” Jimin deadpanned, smirking after. He reached across the space and grabbed the coffee Hoseok was sipping on, taking a swig. “It was horrifying. They were pinning me down and choking me, it felt so real.”

“I wonder if it’s a manifestation of missing your soulmate?” Taehyung theorized, tapping his finger on his chin. “I mean we don’t know what the tentacles signify, and obviously you don’t know who your soulmate is, so I wonder if it was a manifestation of your stress about it?”

“Why aren’t you a philosophy major?” Hoseok asked, and Taehyung chuckled.

“Probably because he’s fuckin’ crazy,” Jimin said, shaking his head. “But you’re probably right. It just sucked. And I didn’t sleep well because of it.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” Taehyung suggested. “We’ve been sitting here for a few hours with no luck. Maybe this isn’t where you bumped into him.”

Jimin’s shoulders sagged. He looked desperately around at the emptying cafeteria, as if his soulmate would magically reveal themselves to him.

“I know it’s disappointing,” Taehyung whispered. He wrapped an arm around Jimin’s shoulders. “Wanna try another location today before giving in for the day?”

“No,” Jimin whispered. “It’s pointless. I’m never going to find them. They probably haven’t even noticed it. It’s on our backs – Who actually stares at their own back? They aren’t looking for me.” Jimin clenched his lips against his teeth, struggling not to say more. Even if they were looking for him… Was he worth finding? What could he offer a soulmate? After all these years longing for one – did he even deserve one?

“Jimin.” Hoseok’s voice was soft. “Don’t beat yourself up for this.”

“’M not.”

“You are. Wanna come to our place tonight? Stay over maybe?” Taehyung offered.

Jimin shook his head. “I’m tired, honestly. I think it’s time to call it quits… I should go try to rest.”

“Jimin—”

“I’m okay,” Jimin said again, gathering his belongings and stuffing them into his backpack. He offered what he hoped was a convincingly comforting smile to his friends before hurrying out and off the campus toward his apartment.

When he reached his apartment, he settled in to work on some of his homework that had built up, brewing a pot of coffee far too strong to be healthy to keep him awake at least a few more hours. Going to bed this early in the evening would do nothing to help in the long run. The house felt almost suffocating in its silence. Jimin watched the sun set through his window, normally soothing to him; tonight, he felt an uneasy weight on his chest, as if he was being watched. He was used to a general ‘watched’ feeling in his apartment, but not like this. This felt like his nightmare. Dark and big and sinister.

Despite the unease he felt, he crawled into bed, unable to keep awake even with the aide of caffeine. “No bad dreams tonight,” he whispered as he scrolled through his phone. Hoseok had texted him a few times, as well as Taehyung once, so he sent a quick text letting them know he was okay, and headed to bed. Despite his bad attitude that day, he was very grateful for his friends being there, willing to help out. He set his phone on the bedside stand and sighed into the darkening room.

“No bad dreams.”

Jimin’s eyes snapped open. He looked around the pitch dark of his room, watching the way the shadows of the passing cars filtered over his belongings. It was his room, not a weird space like last night. He touched his nose, lightly pressing his nail against it just enough to hurt. Okay, likely awake… So, what had woken him?

A creak from the doorway caught Jimin’s attention. He sat up, sheet pooling around his middle. “Hello?” He called out instinctively, wondering if Hoseok or Taehyung might have come by. They were the only ones with the key to his apartment. Did Jimin remember to lock the door? Panic clenched a fist around his heart.

Another creak, and his half-shut bedroom door squeaked open slowly. Jimin’s breathing picked up and he kicked his legs up, trying to push himself to the top of the bed, as far from the door as he could. He glanced around the dark room, wondering if he could reach anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Who’s there?” He called again into the black hallway. The silence as absolutely deafening. Jimin could hear his heart thudding in his chest.

“Hobi? This isn’t funny.” Jimin tried to keep the shaking from his voice. The floor creaked again, and his door pushed open the rest of the way. The temperature in the room immediately dropped low enough that Jimin could see his breath. The darkness from the hallway seemed to grow and expand, oozing into Jimin’s room like some sort of goo.

The first tentacle came from his right, just out of his vision until it wrapped around his arm, yanking him nearly off the bed. Jimin screamed. He grabbed at the thing on his wrist, so black it looked like shadows. It was wet and thick, and Jimin could feel the pressure of small suckers like an octopus against his skin. Another wrapped around his left arm, yanking it away. Jimin screamed for help, his eyes bulging as the dark creature fully entered the room. It was huge and black, almost invisible in the dark room. But every speck of light seemed to be swallowed by the thing; the lights of cars, the glint of the moon. The only clear thing on the creature were its eyes, rich and blood red.

And its teeth, Jimin realized, when he saw a glint of eerily white, sharp fangs. He screamed again.

A tentacle jammed itself into his mouth. The wet, slimy feeling on his tongue tasted of oil, blood, and dirt, and Jimin gagged. He bit down as hard as he could, feeling a spray of something warm and coppery. The creature reared back, making a noise akin to a record scratching. It withdrew from his mouth, but another wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze. Jimin continued to scream until the ability to draw air for breathing was more important than screaming. Still he struggled, and each time he did more tentacles wrapped around his body, squeezing, bruising, and pinning him.

Jimin’s vision began to grey out at the edges, his heart stuttering in his chest as he struggled to breathe. This was it – this was how he was going to die. He wondered about the soulmate he’d never found. And his friends, they would be devastated. Just before the blackness of unconsciousness swallowed Jimin up, he heard him.

“Let that human go!”

The tentacle around his throat loosened momentarily and Jimin forced his eyes open wider. A towering figure stood in the entrance of his closet. A man – sort of – with a bare chest and broad shoulders. Where his legs should have been was a tail, melding into the flesh of his waist. It was thick and scaled, thinning out at the end like that of a gigantic snake. Even in the low light Jimin could see the way it shined almost iridescent black and purple.

“I said let him go!” The snake-man roared again when the tentacles stayed put on Jimin’s body.

“You can’t give me a command and expect me listen, you freak.” The voice from the creature holding Jimin hostage was thick and deep, almost sounding like he was speaking underwater. It sent chills down Jimin’s spine.

“This is my house,” the snake-man said. “That is my human!”

“You haven’t so much as raised the hair on his arms! You’re a pathetic monster! They sent me to do what you can’t, weakling!”

The tentacle began to tighten around Jimin’s throat again. The snake-man snarled. Six tentacles burst from behind the man, the same iridescent shimmer as his tail. They wrapped around the shadowy figure suffocating Jimin, yanking at the tentacles holding him down. The tentacles released, allowing Jimin to scrambled upright. He snapped the light on as the two figures fought in the center of his small bedroom, overturning things on his dresser and desk. He looked around, desperate for an escape route to the door, but found the way blocked by the snake-man’s tail. He was stuck. He grabbed his blankets and pillows, trying to put as much of a barrier as he could between himself and the creatures. With the light on he could see his attacker – a tall lean figure covered in what looked like matte oil from head to toe. He had at least eight tentacles, but the movement made it hard to count, even if Jimin had wanted to. Tears flowed freely from Jimin’s eyes as the snake-man got his arms involved, grabbing and twisting two of the tentacles of the other. It screamed in pain, swearing at the snake-man. One of his tentacles, a thicker one than the rest, twisted around the attacker’s throat, squeezing hard until his tentacles – and body – began to sag.

“I told you this is my territory. This is my house. You, nor any one else from this realm, will enter. If you do, I will kill you on sight. You know I have the strength to.”

“You—” The creature choked out, “You’re done for, freak! I’ll see to it you’re never welcome back in our realm!”

“I hate that place anyway. As long as you keep away from my home, we’ll be fine.” He lifted the creature easily with the tentacle around his throat and threw him into the closet. Jimin squeaked in surprise when a doorway seemed to open, swallowing the creature before closing and leaving nothing but the closet wall and Jimin’s clothes.

The snake-man turned. His face was strikingly beautiful, even with the light smattering of ridged scales along his cheekbones and brow bone, trailing down his nose.

“Are you okay?” He asked, slithering toward Jimin. Jimin scrambled back, sobbing brokenly. The man paused and looked down.

“Oh God, of course. Hold on.” His entire form seemed to shimmer and shudder in front of Jimin’s tear blurred eyes. When he cleared up, instead of the half snake form, a normal looking man stood in front of Jimin. He wore a pair of black pants and had bare feet. He stood just around six feet, with a shock of shaggy black hair. His face was stunning with or without the ridges, eyes dark and piercing. His chest was still bare, with well-defined muscles every visible spot. “Did he hurt you?”

“Wh—” Jimin swallowed hard, steadying his breathing. “What are you?”

“My name is Jin. I—It’s hard to explain. We’re sort of… Monsters under the bed? Or, I guess in your case, in your closet.”

“Monsters aren’t real.” Jimin whispered, looking nervously at the closet.

“Well, we are.” Jin walked over, touching the back wall. “The way to our realm has been sealed – he won’t be back. I’ll go, you don’t need to worry. You’re safe.”

Jimin’s eyes widened as Jin touched the wall. On his bare back, directly between his shoulder blades, was a detailed, anatomical heart made out of musical notes, a perfect match to the one Jimin had… In the same color pattern as the scales on Jin’s tail and face.

“This will seem like a bad dream in the daylight,” Jin said, turning his head just enough that Jimin could make out his profile. He pushed the wall again, opening what looked like another door, similar to the one that had swallowed his attacker.

“Wait!” Jimin cried, shooting forward before he realized it. “Your tattoo.”

Jin hesitated. “I don’t have any tattoos.”

“On your back.” Jimin pointed. Jin frowned, glancing back as far as his neck would let him. Jimin laughed a little at the action, almost forgetting that the handsome man standing in front of him was a monster just two minutes prior.

“The mirror.” Jimin pointed to the now crooked mirror on his wall. Jin went over to it, turning and checking. His eyes bulged when he saw – seemingly for the first time – the tattoo on his back.

“What is that?” He bellowed, clearly surprised.

“It’s a soulmate tattoo. It’s… It’s a match to mine.” Jimin turned enough that Jin could see his back. He turned back, his heart thudding against his ribs. “Did you – Have you touched... Touched me?”

If it was possible for a nearly six-foot man to look small, Jin managed. His ears reddened visibly and his shoulders sank. “Once. I—I’m such a creep. I’m supposed to be a creep, I suppose, but I’m bad at it. You—Were sleeping and I brushed your hair from your face. A few nights ago. I’m so sorry, I won’t bother you again.” He turned and rushed toward the opening.

“No!” Jimin shouted, his heart clenching in fear that the man would leave for good. He should let him; he was a monster… But he was Jimin’s soulmate. That had to mean something. “Please, don’t go yet,” Jimin said softly when Jin hesitated again. “Please talk to me.”

Jin lowered his gaze. He waved his hand, shutting the doorway that he’d opened. He leaned against the wall, eyes still downcast.

“What are you?” Jimin asked.

“A monster. That’s all that matters.”

“But monsters aren’t supposed to be real. Please, Jin—You said your name was Jin, right? I’m Jimin.”

“I know. I learned your name right away, when you moved in. I’m the monster that haunts this apartment. Or, I should. I’m supposed to terrorize anyone in this bedroom. But with you, I—I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my time in this world. I couldn’t bear the thought of scaring you away and never seeing your face again.”

Jimin smiled a little at the out of place compliment. “Why do you scare people?”

“My kind—The monsters, we feed on fear and terror. Death is like a twelve course meal to us. Any time a monster scares someone, it energizes our world.”

“So you need fear to live?”

“Not me personally. I’m different. That’s why Donghyuk was calling me a freak.”

“The one that tried to kill me.”

Jin nodded. “I’m not fully a monster. I’m also part Naga. My father was a Naga who fell in love with my mother – she was a monster. They had me. I’m part monster, the tentacles, the job… But also part demi-god.”

“I’ve heard of Nagas. They’re snake people. The tail—”

“Yes. I use it for my monster work, but it’s a sign of my other half. It makes me a freak.”

Jimin nodded, his brows furrowed. “The mark—”

“I can’t be your soulmate, Jimin,” Jin said softly. “I know what they are, in theory but I’m a monster. I don’t even know if I have a soul.”

“You have to.”

Jin tilted his head questioningly.

“A soulmate mark appears because two people share the same soul. It’s the sign of the soul finally becoming complete. If you didn’t have a soul… You wouldn’t get a mark. You share my soul, Jin.”

“But I’m a freak, I can’t do good. I’m a monster, you’re a beautiful human, I—”

Jimin’s heart clenched at the fear tightening Jin’s voice. Without thinking, he crawled out of his bed and rushed to him, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. Jin gasped and tensed at the touch, and Jimin could feel his heart pounding erratically. “You share my soul. Monster, Naga, it—We’ll figure it out. I’ve been waiting years to find my soulmate… Please don’t run away.”

Jin relaxed a little when Jimin spoke. He wrapped his arms lightly and awkwardly around Jimin’s middle, clearly unsure what to do with himself.

“Aren’t you scared of me? You saw my other form… You saw what I am.”

“I’m scared,” Jimin admitted, “but new things are scary. I want to learn about you, so maybe you won’t be so scary to me. And right now you aren’t. You’re beautiful.” Jimin stepped back a little, searching Jin’s face. His dark eyes had the lightest shimmers of deep purple, the same color as his tail. “You’re really beautiful,” he whispered.

Jin smiled sheepishly. “First time I’ve heard that. I mean… Without being called a freak right after. Beauty isn’t a thing to be proud of where I’m from.”

“Where you’re from. That thing—He said you couldn’t go back.”

“Right. The way has been locked to me. I broke the rules. I’m banned.”

“That’s your home.”

Jin shrugged. “Never been much of a home. And I can go to other worlds. Live there.”

“Or you could live in this one,” Jimin whispered.

Jin’s small smile dropped. “I couldn’t. I don’t know your world. I’d scare people.”

“Not in this form. You look perfectly human. I could teach you what you don’t know. Get you a job.” Jimin swallowed hard. “You’re my soulmate. I found you. Or, you found me. Or maybe I was drawn to this place because of you. Please… Give me a chance.”

Jin chuckled softly. “Why is the beautiful human begging the monster for a chance? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” His voice was soft and gentle as he gazed into Jimin’s eyes. Jimin’s chest tightened almost uncomfortably.

“Well the human already wants you to stay… If you want to.”

Jin remained silent for a moment, his eyes roaming over Jimin’s face. He wet his lips. “If I can be honest…”

Jimin nodded, giving him the go ahead to speak.

“I want to kiss you right now.”

“Nothing stopping you,” Jimin said, shrugging. He stepped back up to Jin, his heart thudding a rhythm so loud he worried others could hear it.

“Have you ever…”

“Been kissed? In the past, yeah. I’m not entirely innocent… Are you… You haven’t?”

“I have. Not a very good one, it was a dare.” Jin chuckled. “Kiss the freak, sleep with the freak type thing. I’m really too hideous to have found anyonei in my world, or this one.”

Jimin shook his head. He touched Jin’s cheek. “No, you aren’t.”

“This isn’t all of me, Jimin. You saw what I am.”

Jimin stepped back. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me all of you. I won’t run away. You’re my soulmate, I have a choice too. I either accept all of you, or none of you. That’s only fair to you.”

Jin hesitated. He glanced at the closet and then around the small room. “Back up a little more.”

Jimin obeyed, crawling back onto his bed. He sat cross legged, watching Jin. The air around him began to waver and shimmer like it had before, but this time Jimin could see more clearly, the shift between skin and scales as the tail grew from his hips and engulfed his legs. When things settled, Jin still stood, his tail curled around him in a lazy series of loops. He was resting his elbows on the topmost, head on his palm.

“And the… Rest?”

“These?” Jin shifted his shoulders just a bit, and the tentacles appeared behind him. There were six in total. Two were thick like those of a marine creature, with suckers along the light grey underside. Two were far thinner, almost whiplike, but they seemed to pulse in a steady rhythm. And the final two were just a few inches around, smooth and slick looking. All six matched the oil slick iridescence of Jin’s scales. They twitched and moved around him seemingly of their own volition.

Jimin rose, ignoring the knot in his stomach. “Can you control them?”

“Mostly. They move on their own sometimes, a bit like an animal’s tail, I’d imagine. But I won’t hurt you.”

Jimin reached out slowly. He ran his hand over one of the loops of Jin’s curled tail, relaxing a little. “You’re cold.”

“Cold blooded. The snake part of me. I’m actually quite cozy.”

“And so smooth.” Jimin stroked another spot, letting his blunt nails brush over the ridges. Jin giggled.

“Tickles.”

Jimin smiled softly. He reached up, palm outstretched, toward the tentacles lazily twitching behind Jin. A large, suckered one moved forward, bumping Jimin’s hand. Jimin let it wrap loosely around his palm, giggling a little at the feel of the suckers. They were gentle, entirely unlike the ones grabbing him earlier. He reached his other hand out and grabbed the smooth, slick one, not missing the way Jin gasped and shuddered visibly.

“Does it hurt?”

“No… That—That one feels kinda good.”

“Oh.” Jimin hesitated. “Oh!”

Jin lowered his gaze a little. “Sorry. There’s so much about me you don’t know, I’m afraid of overwhelming you.”

Jimin let go of the smooth tentacle, noticing the light sheen of liquid on his hand. It was the same dark oil slick shimmer as the rest of Jin’s non-human parts. “What’s—”

“Uh… Now is where it gets awkward.”

“Come?”

“It can be used sexually but it’s… Not like that. Just a natural, uh… Like a human’s spit. Something that it just makes naturally. Helpful for a lot things. But, yeah… It’s often used as lubrication for that.”

Jimin bit his lip. He reached for the smaller ones, surprised when it twitched out of his grasp.

“Those ones are far more sensitive… And very much for mating.” Jin explained.

“So two for grabbing, two for everything, two for sex. Sounds pretty rounded. Do you… I mean you can shift into a human form. Do you have all the human parts?”

“Well… Sort of. I have a penis, if that’s what you’re asking. But I sort of have two. It’s a snake thing.”

“Wow.” Jimin huffed a stunned laugh. He slid his hand over the tentacle still on his wrist, gently moving up and down his arm. “Is this how you guys hold hands.”

“No. To be honest I just… Really like touching you. It’s been a long time. That’s why I brushed your hair that night. I didn’t mean to touch you, I was watching over you and I just couldn’t resist.”

“It’s the night you gave me this…” Jimin reached back to where his tattoo was.

“May I see it closer?”

Jimin turned, leaning his head forward a little. He felt Jin’s fingers, startlingly warm in comparison to his scales and tentacle, brush over the mark. “It’s me. My colors and my appendages… What is the one on my neck?”

“May I photograph it? It’ll be easier for you to look at.”

“Just don’t get the rest of me in it.”

Jimin nodded. The tentacle on his arm released to allow him to walk to his bed and grab his phone. He took a photo, carefully avoiding the non-human parts of Jin, then reached out and brushed his fingers over it. It was an anatomical heart, same as the one on his neck, but it was made out of various musical notes, lined and twisted together. It was bright shades of rainbow that seemed to shift as Jin did, the holographic opposite of his own oil slick dark.

“Is everything okay?” Jin worried.

“I’m just admiring it.” Jimin walked back around and handed over his phone. Jin examined the tattoo carefully, his brows furrowed.

“You like music.”

“It’s my passion. I’m a music major in college even. Dance, specifically.”

“And the colors – Opposite to the one you wear.”

“Maybe because we’re so opposite… It’s definitely a soulmate mark though.”

“I have a soul… I share your soul,” Jin whispered. He let Jimin take the phone back and toss it onto the table.

“So what now?” Jimin asked softly, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Well… I’m your soulmate and you’re mine. And you.. You’ve seen all there is to see from me, mostly… Do you still want me?”

Jimin reached out, sliding his hands over the scales once more. He traced the subtle patterns in them, remaining silent. One of the suckered tentacles reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead. Jimin smiled, reaching up and grabbing it. He gave a playful squeeze, laughing a little when Jin’s eyes slipped closed.

“I want you,” Jimin finally whispered. “Even like this.”

“So I’ll stay,” Jin said softly.

“You’ll need to be in human form most of the time… Is that okay?”

“Yes. I don’t want to frighten the humans in your world… I want to fit in. I’ve seen you with your friends, you have so much fun.”

Jimin beamed. “Taehyung is going to love you. I can’t wait to introduce you two.”

“What if I mess up?”

“Tae’ll be the best one to do it to. He’s my best friend. He will keep your secret even if you slip. He’ll be a good test run.”

“And a job? I have no schooling… Not like you humans.”

Jimin tapped his chin in thought. His other hand was still absently tracing over Jin’s scaly body. “We’ll find you something. Maybe something online, I can teach you to use a computer. Or something simple, cleaning at my college maybe, or if you’re a good cook. But we’ll figure that out later. Right now, I want to get to know you, and get you used to this world.”

“You’re too kind…”

“I told you, I’ve waited a long time for my soulmate. I want to be good for you, and make sure you’re happy.”

Jin shifted then, slowly uncoiling his tail. He moved forward. “Don’t be scared. Stay still.”

He began to move in circles around Jimin then, recoiling himself lightly around him, careful not to squeeze. He ended up nearly face to face with Jimin, just a bit taller, his arms around him. “This is how I hug.”

Jimin grinned broadly, looking around at the scaly cage Jin had trapped him in. He touched everywhere he could, sliding his hands along the coils and touching the place where they faded into Jin’s belly. Jin remained still, letting Jimin’s hands explore.

“How strong are you?”

“Stronger than you’d care to know in the center of my coil, trust me.”

“Could I climb over them?” Jimin wondered.

“Easily.”

“Could you pick me up with it?”

“In theory yes. In practice, a bit harder without hurting you. Far easier to pick you up with my arms than my tail.”

“Fair point… Do you shed like a normal snake?”

Jin rolled his eyes. “Twice a year. It’s hell. I look horrible and it’s so itchy,” He complained.

“Well now you’ll have me to help scratch the itch when you need it. I bet we can find some stuff to help too, I can talk to my friend Jungkook. He loves snakes.” Jimin traced his finger along Jin’s waist where the scales met skin. He looked up at Jin, smiling softly. “I should really get to bed.”

“Hm… You could sleep right here. I’m far more comfortable than that bed.”

“I can’t sleep standing,” Jimin complained, but made no move to get out of the center of Jin’s coil. “You should sleep with me.”

“What?”

“Well, don’t you sleep?”

“Of course.”

“So, I only have one bed. And I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch. If you’re in human form, you should fit.”

“I… Don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jimin asked. Worries filled his mind. Did he smell? Was Jin not into him like that? What if he was forcing Jin into this?

Seeming to sense his concern, Jin raised his hands. “It’s not you,” he said. “It really is me. I—I’m finding my response to you very alarming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… It’s been a long time since I’ve been touched so kindly and my body—I—I’m responding to it in a way I didn’t expect.”

Jimin frowned for a second, trying to piece together what his adorably shy soulmate was hinting at. When it clicked, he laughed.

“You don’t wanna sleep with me because you’re horny?”

Jin’s entire face reddened visibly. He looked everywhere but Jimin. “Well, when you put it so bluntly…”

“It’s okay,” Jimin said quickly. He pressed himself against Jin’s chest, wrapping his arms around his middle. He looked up at him. “It’s okay. You’re really handsome and I get it. Trust me.”

“Even like this?”

“It took some getting used to but… Yeah… You have a gorgeous face and you smell amazing and… The tentacles…” Jimin bit his lip. “Could be fun.”

Jin swallowed hard. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m kind of hoping to make it harder.” Jimin chuckled to himself. “Make them harder, I suppose.”

Jin’s breath caught in his throat. “We just met.”

“We don’t have to do anything… I’m just letting you know… You aren’t the only one feeling like this. So, if you want to sleep with me. My bed’s available. As soon as I clean up the mess that asshole made of my room.” Jimin looked around at the sorry state of his bedroom. Jin did as well, making a small noise.

“Let me help.” He uncoiled from Jimin, shifting back into his two-legged form. The two cleaned up the furniture and fallen items in relative silence, each deep in thought about the changes that had come that evening.

When they finished, Jimin drew in a breath through his teeth, looking Jin up and down. Jin looked down at his own body.

“Something wrong?”

“Well, you have on jeans. That can’t be comfortable to sleep in. We’re different sizes but I think I have something.” Jimin padded over to his dresser, digging around for a few moments. He made a noise of success and pulled out a pair of baggy pajama bottoms. He passed them over to Jin. “Try these… I won’t peek.”

He flopped onto the bed on his back and threw an arm over his eyes dramatically. The room remained silent for a moment. When Jimin heard the telltale zipper sound, he couldn’t help but shift his elbow just a bit, peeking out from under his arm. Jin was working his jeans down his muscular hips, facing away from Jimin. Jimin felt his heartrate pick up as Jin’s ass was revealed, just as muscular and tight as the rest of his visible skin. Jin turned his head a little.

“I know you’re peeking.”

Jimin giggled, moving his arm from his eyes. “How could you tell?” He asked, not bothering to hide his gaze. Jin dropped his pants, giving Jimin a clear view of his ass as he stepped out of them. Much to Jimin’s disappointment, he remained turned away from him as he pulled the pajamas on.

“Because I can sense when someone is watching me. Defense mechanism.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Jimin pouted. He moved over against the wall. “Come to bed.”

“Are you sure about this, Jimin?” Jin asked, turning to face him.

Jimin nodded. “I know… Things are strange. But I also know we’re meant to be together. That’s what soulmates are. There’s really no moving too fast when you know it’s fate, is there?”

Jin tilted his head. “You’re not wrong. And… My kind don’t really have a moving slow part of relationships… We usually just date to breed. But I know your kind does.”

“Well, sometimes… Other times just dating to breed can be fun,” Jimin joked. He shook his head. “But soulmates are different. We don’t need to do anything, I’m not expecting more than to sleep. I’d just like to make sure you feel welcome here too.”

Jin crawled onto the bed, laying stiff and awkward on his back.

“Do you mind cuddling?” Jimin asked softly.

“I’ve never done it… But it sounds nice.”

Jimin moved closer, feeling Jin tense beside him. Jimin placed a hand on his firm stomach, splaying his fingers.

“Relax,” he whispered, letting his lips brush Jin’s earlobe. Jin drew in a quick breath. He placed his hand over Jimin’s, his body relaxing a little.

Jimin swallowed hard. He brushed his nose lightly over the soft skin behind Jin’s ear, inhaling. He smelled both sweet and bitter, wildflowers in a field of woods, moss and dirt, fresh honey and an ocean breeze. Jimin let his lips rest on Jin’s neck. “Earlier… You said you wanted to kiss me,” he whispered, feeling goosebumps raise against his lips as he spoke in soft puffs.

“I did.”

“Do you still?” Jimin raised his head, propping himself up on one elbow. He met Jin’s dark gaze, dropping his own down to Jin’s mouth and back up. “Want to kiss me.”

Jin nodded haltingly, his own eyes lowering. Jimin wet his lips.

“Why haven’t you?”

Jin shrugged one shoulder. Jimin could see his face reddening just a bit, creeping up his neck and ears.

“You’re so shy. Something I wouldn’t expect for a demigod… Or a monster in my closet.”

“I’m not used to being seen. Or looked at with such kindness,” Jin admitted.

“It’s what you deserve.” Jimin leaned a little closer. “So if you want to kiss me… You should.”

Jin swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did.

There was a weight on Jimin’s chest. He wanted so badly to lean down, to taste Jin’s soft, full mouth. But he didn’t want to push. Jin seemed torn, eyes darting between Jimin’s gaze and his mouth. Jimin offered a small smile.

Jin took a deep breath then and smiled as well. He reached up and let his hand rest on the back of Jimin’s neck. He leaned up, closing the gap between their mouths.

Jimin gasped at the feel of Jin’s soft lips against his own. They slotted together perfectly. He darted his tongue out, brushing over Jin’s bottom lip playfully. Jin huffed softly against his cheek, his mouth curling into a smile even in the kiss. He let his head drop and Jimin followed, not wanting to break it yet. It deepened slowly, mouths moving together and finding an easy rhythm. Jin’s breath tickled his skin, the tongues brushing and retreating in an almost playful dance.

Emboldened, Jimin shifted over, swinging his leg over Jin’s hips and settling onto his lap. He buried his fingers in Jin’s soft, dark hair, tugging just a little. The whine Jin gave was heaven to his ears. Jin slid his hands down Jimin’s back, his grip firm and steady despite his earlier hesitation. He cupped his ass and gave a little squeeze. Jimin giggled. He pushed his ass back against Jin’s hands, tugging at his hair again. Jin groaned then, and his teeth clamped lightly on Jimin’s bottom lip in a clear warning.

Jimin moaned into his mouth. He let his hips jerk down, meeting Jin’s aggressively. He could feel a stiffness in Jin’s pants, and his mind wandered to Jin’s earlier confession about his anatomy. Curious, he ground down again, and Jin moaned. He finally broke the kiss, keeping his mouth close to Jin’s, just pulling back enough to gaze into his eyes. Jin’s eyes were lust blown dark, blinking quickly to focus on Jimin’s face as he began to grind against him.

“Jimin—”

“Does it feel good?”

Jin nodded, grabbing Jimin’s hips. Jimin leaned back, settling fully on Jin’s lap. The front of his sweats were tented out with his erection, a tiny spot darkening at the tip. He began to grind against Jin’s crotch in a steady rhythm, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Jin whined, arching up against Jimin. “Please—”

“Please what?” Jimin asked. He stripped his shirt off and slid his hand down his own chest, playing his fingers along the string of his sweats. “Do you want to see me?”

“God, so badly,” Jin confessed. He grabbed Jimin’s wrist when he went to untie his sweats. “But it’s so late… You don’t know what you’re getting into with me.”

As if on cue, the tentacles emerged from Jin’s back, reaching toward Jimin. Jimin’s breath caught. His cock twitched in his pants and his stomach knotted. He didn’t know what he was getting into… But he wanted to find out.

“I don’t have to be up early.” Jimin leaned forward, reaching out for the smooth middle sized one. He stroked it gently, feeling it pulse and throb in his hand. “You can do it all to me.”

“Jimin—” Jin whined, baring his teeth against the clearly pleasurable feelings.

“Can you feel this? When I play with them?” Jimin asked, grabbing the other mid-sized tentacle and beginning to squeeze gently.

Jin nodded. “Yeah. It’s distant… Just a tease but I—God, it feels so nice.”

“Do they all—”

“I can feel from them all. Some are more sensitive.”

One of the tentacles with the suckers reached Jimin’s belly, moving in a lazy pattern over and up. Jimin wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or moan. The gentle suction tickled, but was so strangely erotic. He let go of one to place his hand over it, sliding his fingers up. “These ones are less slimy.”

“They’re not meant to go into tight places.”

Jimin whined at the thought, tensing his ass a little. He shifted, leaning back over Jin to press another kiss to his mouth. “Do you want me, Jin?”

“Yes.”

“Naked? Yours?”

Jin nodded, pressing another kiss to Jimin’s mouth.

“Take me.” Jimin whispered against his mouth.

As if waiting for the okay, all six of Jin’s tentacles shot out, wrapping around Jimin and flipping him onto his back on the bed. The two largest made quick work of his sweats, twisting and tearing them off to leave him naked and shivering in excitement. One slid over his chest, the suckers tightening and tickling over his nipples. A slick one wrapped around his achingly hard cock, sliding up and down it. Jimin moaned, tossing his head back. As he did the other slick one took advantage, sliding over his tongue and and forward until he gagged. He felt a pressure on his thigh and his eyes snapped open, surprised to see Jin kneeling. Jin forced Jimin’s thighs open, sliding his palms over the smooth skin of his legs. Jimin shuddered, feeling exposed, but so turned on. Another one of the suckered tentacles wrapped around Jimin’s leg, holding it open with ease. The first whiplike one shot forward and Jimin squealed around the tentacle in his mouth, feeling it’s cool, thin tip prod at his entrance.

It was small enough that it was barely a push when it slid in, but Jimin’s eyes rolled back in his head. It twitched and jerked inside him, searching for his prostate. When it found it, Jimin’s entire body tensed, his cock twitching in the grip of the other. Jin laughed a little, a high, joyful noise.

Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut. He began to suck at the tentacle in his mouth, letting it pump back and forth like a cock. The sticky fluid surrounding it was both sweet and bitter, sugary like honey but with the lightest undertones of burnt tea. The more he sucked, the slicker the tentacle seemed to become, dribbling over his tongue and down his throat, forcing him to swallow. At the same time, the tentacle in his ass seemed to swell, spreading him open further. He whined, looking down at Jin. He wanted to ask what was happening, but the one in his mouth gave him no chance. One of the suckered ones splayed over his chest, teasing his sensitive nipples as it rubbed gently.

Jin had his hand down the front of his pajamas, palming himself as he watched. The one wrapped around his cock let go, moving down and pushing into his ass, thrusting gently to relax the muscles. The final whiplike one shot out, curling around his cock and squeezing hard enough to make him whine. It let go then, and circled his tip with it’s own, teasingly gentle. Jimin watched with wide eyes as it opened like a flower and engulfed Jimin’s cock. The sensation was overwhelming. Warm and wet and unbearably tight, Jimin could see himself through the thin skin of the tentacle as it throbbed around him. He reached down, pressing at the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm, but Jin swatted his hand away playfully.

“Don’t stop your pleasure, Jimin,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust.

Jimin choked around the tentacle, shaking his head until it backed up and let him draw in a breath. “I don’t want to come too soon. I want to feel you – Make you feel good too.” His own voice came out thick and wet, like he was talking through a mouth of gum. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fluid he’d been swallowing.

Jin laughed then, crawling over Jimin. Jimin could see the tentacles coming from his back, surrounding them. “You think you’ll come once and be done? I warned you, Jimin… You didn’t know what you were getting into.”

Jimin swallowed hard. He licked his lips, tasting the fluid on them. “What am I getting into?”

“Humans… They’re so soft.” Jin slid his hand over Jimin’s stomach. “So easily exhausted and broken. My kind… We fuck for hours, Jimin. This is foreplay baby. So you can come. Enjoy it… Because I’m going to keep you coming. Until I can’t wring another drop out of your beautiful body and you’re full to brim with me.”

Jimin’s cock throbbed hard in the warmth of Jin’s tentacle. “Oh god…”

The tentacle prodded at Jimin’s bottom lip once more and Jin chuckled. “Keep drinking this like water and you’ll have a hard time resisting...” He warned. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

Jimin met Jin’s gaze. He smirked and opened his mouth, leaning his head up to suck gently at the tip of the tentacle. He pulled off with a pop and wet his lips. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac to want to be fucked by you, Jin. I’m yours.” He leaned up, pressing a desperate kiss to Jin’s mouth. The thin tentacle inside Jimin swelled further, working open his tight rim. The other began to thrust deeply, driving in and twisting, prodding deeper than Jimin though possible. He threw his head back, shouting Jin’s name as he came. The tentacle sucking at his cock seemed to squeeze tighter, and Jimin’s eyes fluttered open in time to see his come ballooning it like a condom.

“Wh—” He tried to speak, pleasurable shudders wracking his body. His question was answered when the tentacle pulled off his cock and rose, brushing against Jin’s lips. He opened his mouth, letting his eyes slip shut as it dribbled Jimin’s come onto his tongue. He moaned happily and licked his lips as he swallowed, looking down at Jimin.

“You taste amazing.”

“That was… Fuck.” Jimin gasped when the tentacle in his ass drove deeper, throbbing. “Jesus!” He whined.

“You’re so much tighter up here,” Jin teased, reaching down to tickle his finger over the smooth skin above Jimin’s pubic mound. He grabbed Jimin’s hand and pressed it down on that spot. Jimin’s eyes widened. He could feel the steady throb of the tentacle deep within him. He whined. “It’s gonna hit my stomach if you keep going,” he worried. “Don’t worry… You’re totally safe. I won’t hurt you.” The tentacle throbbed again, and Jimin shuddered.

“I’m so full.”

“This is nothing.”

“Can I see you?” Jimin panted. “You still have pants on…” He reached out for Jin’s pajamas, only to have both wrists yanked away by tentacles. They pinned his arms to the bed, and Jin smirked.

“You like this. Being bound like that, don’t you?”

Jimin swallowed hard. His cock was already thickening against his thigh, there was no denying it. He nodded.

“We’ll keep you like that then. No need to use your hands when I can pleasure every where at once anyway, is there?”

The tentacle previously in Jimin’s mouth prodded his lips again. He opened eagerly, and it drove in, bumping the back of his throat. Jimin’s eyes welled with involuntary tears.

Jin leaned down, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Breathe through your nose. Slow and steady…” Jimin obeyed, letting his eyes slip shut.

“Now, swallow, and don’t panic.”

The tentacle flattened a bit, pushing deeper into Jimin’s throat. He gagged once, twice, and then swallowed, his heart skipping a beat when the tip slid into his throat.

Jin moaned desperately against his shoulder, shuddering. “That’s it… Keep sucking and swallowing… Fuck—” He hissed. The tentacle remained somewhat flattened, allowing Jimin to breathe. He wanted to gag, but forced the reflex back with steady swallowing, the smooth, silky fluid easing the way each time.

Jin shuddered and writhed over him, his breath coming in uneven, desperate pants. Jimin lifted his hand as much as the tightly gripped tentacle would allow, grabbing Jin’s hand and squeezing.

Jin met his gaze, smiling open-mouthed. “So perfect,” he whispered.

Jimin felt his own cock, once again hard, engulfed by the same tentacle as before, a steady, firm sucking feeling along the shaft. He rolled his eyes back, the sensations entirely overwhelming, and better than he’d ever imagined.

The tentacles up Jimin’s ass drove deeper, and the thicker one began to throb. Jimin squealed around the one in his throat, feeling a strange pressure deep inside. Jin’s eyes rolled back and he shuddered, panting Jimin’s name.

At the same time, the thin one swelled further, stretching Jimin near to the point of pain. Jimin felt every little twitch and throb, a rhythmic pattern the same as the one deep inside his body. Come, he realized absently. He was being filled with come, or whatever the equivalent was. He began to bob his head along the tentacle down his throat, swallowing rapidly. He felt it slip a little deeper and swell, cutting off his breathing for a moment before it relaxed. Jin buried his head in the crook of Jimin’s neck, whimpering and moaning softly.

Jimin struggled against the tentacles holding his wrists, sobbing desperately. One let go and Jimin grabbed the tentacle down his throat, stroking and squeezing the part nearest his mouth.

Jin screamed against his shoulder, his entire body shuddering. The tentacle swelled again, but when it relaxed Jimin felt the thick liquid filling his throat. He swallowed as quickly as he could, fearing suffocation if he didn’t. There was so much of it, pouring out as rapidly as he could swallow. The tentacle retreated, still spurting the thick, hot liquid. Jimin gripped it to keep it in his mouth, feeling it spray over his tongue. It was nearly the consistency of come, but had the same burnt tea and honey flavor as before. He couldn’t get enough. He sucked hard as he could, swallowing every few seconds. It was dribbling out of his mouth, tingling as it ran over his chin and neck.

The ones in Jimin’s ass continued to spurt as well, the thicker one using the released fluid to drive a bit deeper. Jimin’s stomach ached with a fullness he’d never felt before. His cock throbbed and twitched, balls clenched tight to his body as he neared a second orgasm.

Jin pulled back suddenly, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “It’s my turn,” he panted. Jimin’s ass clenched around the invading tentacles. He spread his legs open wider, allowing Jin to move back and settle between them.

As he did, the one in his throat pulled back completely, spraying one final rope onto his chest and stomach. Jimin looked down, his heart stuttering for a moment. He prided himself on how fit he was, his toned stomach the envy of many of the other dancers in his classes. But now it was rounded, swollen just above where the tentacle was pouring into him. The iridescent black spray of the tentacle painted it in splatters, giving it an obscene look.

Jimin looked up at Jin, panic crossing his face.

“Don’t worry,” Jin soothed, sliding his hands over Jimin’s hips. “It’s normal. And you look so good… Belly full of me… Haven’t even had my come yet.”

Jimin shuddered, his cock throbbing. “Please—” He rasped, throat thick and sticky.

“Oh I will, baby. You’re gonna come one more time before I do. I need you nice and relaxed. You did so good. Made them come so much. Now you come.” The tentacle around his cock picked up its pace, rubbing along his cock and squeezing. Jin leaned back, tugging his pajamas off for the first time.

Jimin’s eyes bulged. As promised, he was more than well endowed. His cock was thick and long, curving upward at an angle Jimin knew would hit his prostate dead on. Directly under that, hanging a little lower was a second cock. This one was far less human looking. It was an inch or two shorter, ending in a relatively severe looking blunted tip. The head was conical, with little ridges as it widened. The shaft itself started slender but thickened toward the base, bulging out right above the base of it. Along the top of this second cock were thick bands of ribbing, almost reptilian in nature. Under this second cock were Jin’s balls, smooth and even.

“Are you okay?” Jin whispered, clearly noticing Jimin’s stare.

Jimin looked up, licking his lips. “Only if you promise you’re gonna fuck me with both of them,” he whispered.

Jin’s eyes widened a little. “It’s a lot.”

“I can take it. You’ve stretched me so good,” he whined, squeezing around the tentacle still swollen inside him, though the spurts of come had tapered off. “I wanna take them.”

He reached out with his free hand. “Can I suck them?”

Jin nodded. The thicker tentacle shot out and grabbed Jimin’s wrist, and both yanked him upright, shifting the fluid inside him and making him cry out in pleasure-pain at the sensation. Jin used his hands and the tentacles, arranging Jimin on all fours. The thin one still worked at his cock, eager to milk another orgasm out of him, and the other two remained deep in his ass, working as a plug.

Jin guided Jimin’s head down to his cocks, shivering when Jimin licked the head of the bottom one. It was rougher than a human’s, and the opening was on the underside of it.

Jin groaned. “Suck on it, baby… Come on, just like before. Suck it,” he whispered. Jimin opened his mouth obediently, letting Jin push his head down slowly. The cock filled his mouth, quickly, the swollen bulb at the bottom too big to slip past his teeth. He tucked his lips carefully when Jin hissed, tugging his hair. “Be gentle, sweetheart…”

Jimin began to bob his head in apology, moaning around him. The ridges felt foreign to his tongue, hard and solid with a thin softness of skin. He squeaked in surprise when he felt the tentacle from his mouth prod at his ass.

Jin chuckled breathlessly when Jimin pushed his ass back. He leaned over Jimin, spreading his ass. “You love it,” he panted. “Love them up your ass.”

Jimin whined and nodded, bobbing his head faster.

“Let it in then. Take the third one for me, lemme feel how loose you are for my cocks,”

Jimin pushed back against the invading tentacle, squealing when it slipped in between the other two. He shuddered as it rubbed over his prostate, snaking its way through him to join the other deep inside.

Jin tugged his hair. “That’s it, take them for me. So pretty opened up like this. Come on, suck the other one for me.” He pulled a little more forcefully, making Jimin’s stomach knot in pleasure. He pulled off Jin’s cock with a pop, panting and letting his mouth hang open. He looked up at Jin, smirking as well as he could. “If you like my ass open for you, what about my mouth? Do I look good filled from both ends, Jin?”

“Fuck—” Jin swore softly.

Jimin opened his mouth wider, letting his tongue hang out. Jin moved forward. He drove the human-like cock into Jimin’s mouth until it bumped the back of his throat. Jimin gagged hard, but leaned forward, eager for more. Jin’s fingers remained buried in his hair as he began to pump his hips, moaning low and deep in his throat. Jimin sagged on the bed, held up only by the tentacles inside him and wrapped around his middle and Jin’s firm grip on his head. The weight of the fluid deep in his guts was an unnatural, arousing pressure each time he moved. Every secret kink, ones he didn’t even know he had, Jin was hitting them all. His entire body was overstimulated but eager for more, buzzing with excitement. His cock was throbbing in the sheath of Jin’s tentacle, the others edging him closer and closer. And this wasn’t even sex for Jin’s kind. The idea sent a shiver through his entire body. He was in heaven and the night wasn’t even over. Jin’s cock nudged the back of his throat again, making him gag hard. He moaned brokenly when Jin pulled his cock free, only to replace it with the other. This one slid deeper, easily nudging further into his aching throat.

His orgasm took him by surprise this time. He screamed around Jin’s cock, shuddering as he spilled into the tentacle surrounding him. Jin pulled back, holding Jimin’s head up to watch his face as he shuddered and jerked through his orgasm.

“What a good boy,” Jin purred, making Jimin smile tired.

“Is it my turn to get fucked?” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah. Gonna fuck you good now, baby. You still want both my cocks?”

Jimin nodded. He made a small noise of surprise when he was lifted from the bed by the tentacles and flipped onto his back. The two suckered ones held his legs up to his chest and open, tilting his hips up.

“Relax. Wanna make sure you don’t lose a drop until I’m all done with you,” Jin instructed. The tentacles began to pull out one by one, leaving Jimin whimpering and empty. When the final deflated and pulled out, he whined. Jin sighed softly, smiling down at Jimin as he gazed over his body.

“You are so beautiful.” He dipped two fingers into Jimin’s ass easily, withdrawing them with a rope of the dark fluid. “And so wet for me. Relax, okay?”

Jimin nodded. Jin settled on his knees and began to bring Jimin down toward him. The tip of the first bumped against his hole and slid in with an embarrassing ease. Jin chuckled. “Now the fun part. He shifted Jimin, the tentacles still holding his legs open. Jin guided his second cock under the first and began to push.

“Breathe,” He instructed Jimin. Jimin nodded, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. The pressure was intense as Jin worked his way in, but not unbearable. Slow and steady, the cocks nudged forward together. Jimin whined and shifted, trying his best to help. He felt so full – even with the three tentacles in him prior and the weight in his stomach, nothing compared to Jin’s cocks pushing into him for the first time.

“Now the hard part,” Jin panted. Jimin could feel the swell of the second cock pushing against him.

“I want it,” Jimin whispered. “Put it in me… Make me all yours, please… Kiss me?”

Jin leaned down, catching Jimin’s mouth in a deep kiss. He pulled back and drove in over and over, working the thickest part in bit by bit. When Jimin’s ass opened to take it, letting Jin push in until their hips were together, they both moaned.

Jimin wrapped his arms around Jin’s shoulders, looking up at him. “So good… So big,” he whined.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, you know,” Jin teased. Jimin giggled, wiggling against his lap.

“You have. Nobody could make me feel as full as you.. Please… Soulmate… Take me.”

Jin lowered his head into another gentle kiss. He began to thrust gently at first, letting Jimin get used to the tug of the swell on his cocks. But as Jimin whined for more he picked up speed, seeming to sense exactly what he needed. The tentacles on Jimin’s legs released, allowing him to wrap his legs around Jin’s hips as he drove into him.

Jimin’s cock ached, hardening again despite the painful throb in his oversensitive balls. He reached up, touching the gently bobbing tentacles. Jin shivered.

“One of these days,” he panted as he fucked into Jimin, “I’ll use you with all of them at once.”

Jimin whined, his ass clenching down hard enough that Jin groaned.

“You’d love that,” Jin teased. “Being opened up on all of me. Feeling every single one fill you so full you look swollen. Really make you feel what it’s like to fuck a monster in your closet.”

Jimin screamed Jin’s name as he came untouched, his cock dribbling weakly despite the intensity of the orgasm. He clamped down on Jin’s cocks, earning a hiss.

“Fuck… God, Jimin—”

Jin drove deep and went still. His cocks throbbed and twitched, balls squeezing rhythmically against Jimin’s ass as he came. Jimin’s eyes rolled back before shutting, a small smile on his face. Even as his orgasm faded, Jin was shuddering through his, adding more to the small swell in his stomach. Jimin laid quietly, stroking Jin’s back and clamping around his cocks as he worked him through his orgasm.

When it faded, Jin sagged on his arms, groaning tiredly. Jimin giggled. “Wow.”

“Did I hurt you? Jin worried.

“I’m going to be sore as fuck tomorrow… But not even a little. I loved it… I .. I love you. I know we just met and that’s weird for you but… Soulmates are…”

“I know,” Jin hushed Jimin with a kiss. “I feel it too.”

Jin glanced down at their bodies. His tentacles slowly and lazily retreated, leaving his back bare and smooth to Jimin’s touch. Jimin glanced down, his cheeks pinking up at the way his stomach still was still rounded. He touched it lightly.

“I’m going to be a mess when you pull out.”

“Understatement… I can try to get you to the bathroom.”

“Not a chance… I can already feel it leaking out. I swear you dumped two gallons into me.” Jimin giggled a little. “Is sex always going to be like that?”

“No, not always. I can have sex like… I guess like a human would, only let one of my dicks extend, keep the tentacles away. I still come a lot, I can’t help that, but it’d be far less.”

“Well, that’s good to know… But I like this way too. Even if it is a mess.”

Jin shifted and lifted himself off Jimin gently. As soon as he pulled out, Jimin groaned, a flood of fluids following his exit. His cheeks pinked up. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.”

Jin laughed a little. “Why?” He stood and scooped Jimin up easily in his arms, nuzzling his cheek.

“I’m a mess.”

“I made you a mess. And you’re beautiful. Especially for my kind… Sign of a great night. Come on, lemme take care of you.”

Jin walked to the bathroom, still carrying Jimin bridal style. He laid him in the tub and turned on the water, digging around a moment for a wash cloth. “Give me one second.” He hurried out of the bathroom, leaving Jimin staring after him.

He leaned back in the tub, letting the warm water fill it and relax his muscles. He closed his eyes, his mind replaying the highlights of the evening. The way Jin’s lips felt on his own, the looks they shared, the smiles and soft noises Jin gave during his pleasure. A smile crept across Jimin’s face. He had a soulmate. A demigod soulmate. Sure, a monster, technically – But there was nothing monstrous about Jin.

Jimin glanced over when Jin entered the bathroom again, now wearing his pajama bottoms. He was carrying a clean pair of sweats for Jimin. “I changed the sheets and threw the others in your wash.”

“You certainly know your way around my apartment,” Jimin said. Jin knelt and grabbed the washcloth, turning off the water and soaping it up before beginning to wash Jimin carefully.

“I’m the monster in your closet. I’ve been watching you for months. I know everything about this place.”

“That’s comforting, in a way. You know all my bad habits and quirks… No nasty surprises.”

“Nothing nasty about you.”

“Can I ask a sensitive question, Jin?”

Jin nodded, shifting to the edge of the tub and reaching in to gently wash the tender skin of Jimin’s ass as well as he could.

“You’re a demigod, and a monster – Are you… Old?”

“I’m twenty-eight. I age the same as you do,” Jin said. “Fair question. But we all age.”

“So… Growing old together…”

“Entirely something that can happen.”

Jimin smiled softly at that. Jin pulled him forward, washing over Jimin’s back.

“Where do the tentacles go?” Jimin asked suddenly.

“They retreat into my skin. Become just a part of musculature. I can feel them there all the time, and extend them at any time.”

“Same with your other dick? You mentioned retracting one.”

“Yes. The snake anatomy. I can use one or both. I tend to go with the more human looking one just because it fits this form better.”

Jimin nodded. When Jin determined he was clean, he opened the drain and helped Jimin stand, toweling him off.

“You’re being so sweet.”

“You’re my soulmate. And just gave me an amazing night. It’s the least I can do.” Jin paused, his brows furrowed. “I can’t believe I have a soulmate.”

“Is that something monsters and demi-gods don’t have?”

“No. I’ve never heard of it,” Jin admitted. “I didn’t even think we had a soul.”

Jimin reached out, grabbing Jin’s hand. “You do. You’re too kind not to. You share my soul.”

Jin smiled softly, squeezing Jimin’s hand. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share it with… Let’s get you to bed.”

Jimin let Jin lead him back to the bedroom, their fingers still twined.

They crawled in, and Jimin settled into the crook of Jin’s arm, resting his head on his shoulder.

“This feels nice,” Jin mumbled contentedly.

“Is it odd for you to be in this form? Human with legs?”

“No, this is the one I prefer. When I’m in my Naga form, my tail tends to get in the way.”

“Do you sleep like humans?”

“Opposite schedules usually – since I’m up scaring sleeping humans most of the time. But this is far preferable.”

Jimin giggled. “I wanna stay up and talk to you all night,” he admitted. “Learn everything about you.”

“We have more than just the night. You need your rest, especially after our activities. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Jimin closed his eyes, listening to the steady thump of Jin’s heartbeat. He’d found him. He found his soulmate. After all these years. It wasn’t the person he’d expected, sure, and they’d have some learning to do, but they were finally together. And Jimin had never been happier.

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Note

Hi lovely! Just sending my ask for what we talked about! I work for a bingo company as a chat room host. I talk to players, answer queries and running quizzes. Could i request a piece of patrick being bored while i work, tonight i work til 1am so once he finished school I'd be working. I can just imagine him being so bored and cute.

To add on to my recent ask...you'll know what i mean...ASSSSSSSSS DAT ASS!!!!

My dearest Charlotte, I know exactly what you mean ;) there’s nudity in this piece but it’s not NSFW so fair warning ^^ I hope that you enjoy this piece, please let me know if not and I’ll write you something else ksksksk this is personalised just for you, so enjoy! 💜

Quick disclaimer: It’s mentioned that Pat goes to school but Heath was 19 at the time of filming and so I write Pat to be 19 - 22 years old.

Word count: 1, 763.

You were already working when Pat came home from school.

You had over a thousand people in one chat room and over three hundred in another. You were typing as fast as you could to talk to players and to answer any questions they had, and your fingers felt like they couldn’t move fast enough, your brain working faster than your body could move. It made a panicked ache bloom in your chest sometimes, but for the most part were you confident and sure of yourself. You knew what you were doing. Your wrists were cramping horribly but you pushed forward to fulfil your minutely quota.

Your laptop was hooked up to another monitor so that you could see more of everything at once. Your eyes moved over both screens, your fingers were moving as fast as you could manage. You were well and truly in the zone, focused and working your absolute hardest. So focused were you, in fact, that you completely missed Pat coming home from school. Usually, he made a fuss when he came in, wanting all of your attention, but you started work at four fifteen in the afternoon and he came home at almost five. You were already in full swing and Pat sequestered himself in the living room so that you remained undisturbed in the bedroom.

You had a migraine, too, and you were feeling nauseous. You were tired and you were feeling bad about so many things; things you had no control over, things you couldn’t change. You desperately wanted for Pat to cuddle you and to take care of you -

Just as the lump in your throat, made up was it of a wad of emotions impossible to name or define, grew bigger and made your eyes sting with tears which only blurred your vision and made you blink them away rapidly, there was a small knock on the bedroom door and Pat cracked the bedroom door open just enough for him to come through. He shut it as quietly as he could with his free hand; the other was balancing a tray made up of a glass of water and some food for you. He tiptoed around the room so that he could set the tray on the nearest available surface, moving with exaggerated movements to, at the very least, make you smile.

You barely even glanced at him, your fingers moving over the keyboard. Occasionally did you mutter something to yourself, something which you needed to do or remember, and Pat was entirely enraptured by you. You were so focused but all the signs were there that you weren’t feeling good. Pat sat down beside you once the tray was settled and he further moved and laid down beside you, keeping to himself and being as quiet as he could. He had missed you today but you would be working until one in the morning and so Pat had to get his fill of you where he could. You were the best part of him, the most exciting part of his day, and Pat always made sure that you knew how deeply he loved you.

Pat was not a quiet man. He loved spontaneity and adventures, making you laugh. Your smile was one of his most favourite sights and Pat worked to see it every day. Some days, on his darkest days, it was for your smile that he even got out of bed. What the two of you shared was so deep and so rich that it was beyond words, though you exchanged plenty of those. He managed to lay there for half an hour before he sighed. It was a long and heavy sound saturated with boredom.

“Hey there, girlie,” Pat sighed, reaching out to touch the small of your back. His hand was pressed flat against your shirt, the heat of him seeping into your own body and warming you from the inside out. It felt good to have Pat there with you and you pushed yourself backwards just enough so that you could enjoy his touch a little more. Pat chuckled low in his throat and slipped his hand underneath the hem of your shirt so that he could soothe you as best as he could without disturbing you. He knew that you weren’t feeling okay but you wouldn’t finish for another five hours or so, and it was all that he could do to be there for you.

“Hi, Pat.” You smiled slightly, your heart squeezing with love for your Aussie. You loved him with your entire being and you knew that Pat loved you with all that he was, too. “How was school?”

Pat chuckled. “I don’t know. I skipped most of my classes.”

“Pat!” You scolded him half heartedly, your eyes not leaving your work. You had to remain focused no matter what. You continued to type with one hand while the other grabbed the glass of water. You drank deeply, clearing almost half the glass in one hit,

“Whoa, easy,” Pat laughed as he crept closer to you so that he could lean his forehead against the small of your back, underneath your shirt, “Breathe, love.”

“Mm.” A noncommittal noise and then, “No time.”

Pat remained where he was, underneath your shirt, his soft curls tickling at your skin, his breath gently fanning across your flesh as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose. You thought that he might have been asleep there, tucked into you. You felt him move as he pulled his legs up so that he was in the foetal position, curled up into your back. An arm lifted off the mattress which cradled Pat’s body and wrapped around your lower belly. He didn’t squeeze you, for that could hurt you on a bad pain day, but he shuffled closer to you, full lips clumsily pressing a kiss to the space of your back which was closest to him. “I love you.” A sleepy, incoherent mumble. Oh, but he was so tired. He often stayed up with you while you were working, so he was up at seven in the morning to get ready for school and he didn’t go to bed until one in the morning or whenever you finished. When he came home from school, he would collapse into bed with you (gently, so as to not cause you any more pain) and sleep until you finished work... and so the cycle would continue.

There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for you. True to his surname was he a romantic. He was a sweetheart and he told you every minute of the day that he loved you; with his words and with his actions so that never could you doubt him. In return did you reassure him of the same and the two of you clung to each other with all that you had. You were there for each other through your best days and through your worst; there was nothing that you wouldn’t do for the other person and there was nothing that either of you could ever say or do which would make the other love you any less or be any less proud of you.

“I love you too.” A pause and then, “Are you sleeping because you’re bored?”

“Well, that and I’m tired.” Pat’s body shook the bed with his laughter, his fingers stroking soothingly along your side, once again under your shirt. He craved you like his lungs needed oxygen.

A hand left your keyboard just enough to reach back and blindly feel along Pat’s legs. Your fingers rested upon his black jeans for just a moment, long enough for him to register that you were touching him, and then you had to get back to typing; there was always just so much to do. Pat ended up falling asleep against you, his arm curled around you. He must have been more tired than he had let on, but faithfully did he remain beside you until you were finished. You picked at the food he had made for you as your shift crawled past and at last, at last, when the clock struck one in the morning and your shift finished, Pat was the first one to spring up.

He was blearily eyed, his curls flat on one side where his head had been pressed against your back, and he helped you to put everything away before without finesse or thought did he strip down. First his charcoal grey long sleeved shirt, tossed unceremoniously into the corner of your room, then his black jeans were shed and left as they were on the floor, the trouser legs left inside out. You stared, utterly captivated, and Pat caught your heated gaze with his own. A wicked grin accompanied his next words to you. “I bet you’ve thought about me naked, huh?” Pat winked as he pulled down his boxers while he slid into bed. You caught a flash of his bare bum as he did so and you felt your entire body heat up in a blush.

“Thinking about it now, yeah.” Your voice was weak in your arousal and your body feeling shaky. Oh, the things he could do to you...

Pat threw you another wink and leaned over the bed to peel back the duvet on your side - get in - and you smiled in relief as with a weary sigh did you sink into bed. Pat leaned over and shut the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. Your head was pounding as your migraine got worse and your nausea increased, too, but Pat, intuitive as he was, began to gently massage your scalp with one hand, the other one draped over your hips again. He didn’t squeeze but his weight there was a deeply reassuring one.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Really shitty. You?”

“Worried. For you. Come on, we gotta sleep - busy day tomorrow. I love you, you know that?”

You tipped your head, searching, wanting. Pat chuckled, knowing what you were after, and his lips found yours in the dark. His kiss was sensual, slow and reverent as he explored your mouth with his, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss. You welcomed him into your mouth and turned to face him, moving your body carefully to get closer. You wanted more of all that he was.

As you pulled away, needing to breathe, Pat hummed softly, the noise swallowed by the returned sentiment, “I love you, too.”

It was your simplest, heaviest truth.

Patrick Verona @jokershyena @loveletterstoledger @itsthejoker @royaleclownx @tsukiakarinobara @arianatheangelworld @antonija89 @hotpacino

#jokerverona #requests closed #patrick verona #patrick verona imagine #heath ledger #heath ledger imagine #10 things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you imagine

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sincerelynamkook · 5 years

Text

Sincerely, Jungkook

Jungkook x Reader First POV

Genre: Soft/Fluff/Romance Word Count: 2693

Playlist: “Dear No One” by Tori Kelly // “Best Part” by Daniel Caesar ft HER

On a rainy day you receive a letter from the one whom your soul longs for...

Day 365.

I stare outside my window, soothed as I listen to the rain fall down. It’s a cold and gloomy day, perfect for my melancholic mood. I’ve done a great job of forgetting about him. But he comes to the front of my mind whenever I hear the word honey or when I see Twinkies as I’m grocery shopping or every time I hear Tori Kelly sing, and that last one sucks the most because I love her music. But other than that, I had moved on.

But today I can’t stop thinking about him. I keep wondering if he’s moved on too. Is he eating okay? Is he sleeping okay? He always had trouble falling asleep, always thinking of something to do instead of getting enough rest. Does he have someone new in his life? Does someone else hold the key to his heart?

It’s been a year. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525600 minutes since I last saw him.

Don’t you mean since you broke up with him? That question haunts me daily. I constantly ask myself if I did the right thing. He tried to reassure me that we could make things work but I also knew he and the boys were only just beginning their journey as artists. I knew they were destined for greatness and the daily news articles and trending hashtags will tell you I was right. They are all out here breaking records and boundaries every day. I know if he had stayed with me I would’ve only been a burden.

A knock at my door breaks me away from my grieving thoughts. I open it to find a courier guy.

“Y/N?” he asks as he looks down at the name on the small package.

“Yes, that’s me.” He has me sign the slip and hands me the package.

I walk back inside and head over to my living room, making sure to grab a scissor from the kitchen so I can open the package.

I sit on my couch getting ready to open the box when I see the return address, “GCF” and I freeze, the scissor slipping from my hand.

Why? What? How? Huh?

I’m at a loss for words. How did he even get my address? Why now? Why is he reaching out to me TODAY of all days? What the actual fuck?

I feel myself start to panic. Breathe I tell myself. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths until I’m a bit calmer. I open the package and the only things are a letter and a DVD titled “365.”

I grab my laptop and insert the DVD to watch it but then I change my mind and decide to read the letter first. I take a deep breath and begin to read:

“My sweet Honey,” a small smile forms on my lips remembering how he would sing Kehlani’s Honey when he would call me this, especially when I was ignoring him because he knew it would make me smile big.

“Did you know I fell in love with you before I even saw you? The sweet sound of your melodic voice stopped me in my tracks on that warm night in Malta. I was putting away my camera while I was walking back to my car, done with filming some footage for the day when I happened to walk by a busking with a small audience. I didn’t pay it any mind because no one was singing yet, but as I walked a few feet past it I heard you whisper a sweet letter to me.

‘Dear no one, this is your love song’ I stopped walking, feet glued to the floor. Your voice was sweet, like dripping honey. I felt goosebumps rise down my arms as I slowly turned around. I still couldn’t see you because the audience got bigger, probably due to your voice being like a sirens call to all of the town. I started to take out my camera as I walked back towards you. Your voice kept pulling me closer and closer until I could see you in the small screen of my DSLR. I squeezed my way through the crowd, wanting to be front and center. Is this how Army feels when they see us perform? Like they can’t breathe until they’re inches away from the stage? I was having difficulty breathing, I felt dizzy, but the moment I saw you...the moment I saw you with your eyes closed, hair dancing in the wind as you hit those notes in a breathy whisper, I felt like I could breathe again. That breath I was finally able to take made me realize I hadn’t been breathing all my life.

I recorded your entire performance that night. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, especially seeing you in your element as you sang about how you were independent but wanted someone to give you his jacket when you were cold. All I could think about was how I wanted to be that someone for you.

When you finished the song, you opened your eyes and shyly smiled as you saw how big the crowd was. Your facial expression in that moment...seeing how humble you were and realizing how passionate you were about your talent, had me in awe. Someone in the crowd started chanting “encore encore” which made you giggle...my heart burst. I remember feeling this sudden urge to sing with you which is why I got up and walked to the other mic stand to the left of you. I looked over at you to find you looking at me with a puzzled expression as I asked you in a whisper, “do you know ‘Best Part’ by Daniel Caesar.’ The guitarist started to play the melody and we began to sing. Singing with you was the highlight of my trip and if I could go back to the moment I would relive it a thousand times.”

I close my eyes as I start to hum the song, bringing me back to that memory. I was a bit nervous singing with this complete stranger who I had noticed walking down the block before I started to perform. He was in all black, with a bucket hat on his head which was big enough to cover his face, and he was focused on a camera. The look of determination on his face piqued my interest, but I forgot about him as soon as I started to sing. At the time I wasn’t looking for anyone, but seems like fate had something different planned for me because that’s when he came to me.

When he got close to me and whispered if I knew Best Part my heart skipped a beat, almost as if it was restarting into a heart that belonged to him. When he started to sing “Best Part” and I heard his soft voice sing “it’s this sunrise and those brown eyes, you’re the one I desire” I looked over to find him looking at me as if he had known me all his life. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms and a pull on my heart strings. I feel my heart strings get tighter as I recall the memories and emotions from that day. It’s too much for me to dwell on so I go back to reading the letter:

“Asking you out that day was the best decision of my life. That year we spent together was and still is one of the most memorable and most cherished years of my life. My brothers and I have done a lot of great things with our music and every moment we spend with Army is a moment I’ll never forget, but it still doesn’t reach the level of happiness I had when I had you by my side.

You were and still are the love of my life. I now understand why you broke up with me. Your poor excuse of being too different and not fitting into my lifestyle was bullshit and you know it.” I chuckle softly because he’s right.

“I’m not going to lie and say a day didn’t go by where I didn’t miss you. Even during my busiest schedules, I still thought of you every day. Every sip of coffee would remind me of you. The image of your nose scrunch whenever you’d take a sip of my Americano due to it’s bitter taste would come to mind. I still don’t understand why you’d drink my coffee knowing you’d rather drink sugar with a splash of coffee. I’d think of you every time it’d rain. Those tour dates in Europe were the hardest for me. Although, while performing I’d put memories of you to the back of my mind, as soon as I left the venue and into the pouring rain, images of you running in the rain would come to mind. I must have been crazy for you to book that rose latte cafe that had just opened up in Itaewon at midnight, just to be able to go with you. To see that beautiful smile on your face and admire the way it would light up every time you’d obsess over a cafe’s aesthetic. But my favorite moment from that whole night was running hand in hand with you to my car because we had to park half a mile away. The way you laughed as you tried to cover your hair with our hands, the way you cutely ‘yelled’ at me when I jumped into a puddle and splashed you, the way you looked at me when we stood outside my car in the rain. I can still feel the cold touch of your soft cheek as I held it in my hand and gently kissed you.”

I put the letter down and take a deep breath. Rainy days are the hardest for me for that same reason, and knowing that he was also hurting and struggling just as I was breaks my heart all over again. I pick up the letter again and am relieved to see that I'm almost done reading it.

“Rainy days will always be bittersweet for me, because they remind me of what I had and lost. Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you, for us. I’m sorry it took me a whole year to pick up my boxing gloves and get in the ring to fight the match that is us. I’m settled in my career now so there really is no excuse you can give me that would keep me away from coming after you, and even once I have you in my arms again for good, I’ll continue fighting all my life to show you how much I love you. Knowing you, you probably read this letter first, so now I’m asking you to watch the DVD.”

I wipe the tears that are running down my face with my sweater sleeves and press play on my computer to start the film.

It opens up to an empty studio room, and after a closer inspection I realize it’s Jungkook's old studio at their old building. I hear a piano rendition of “Best Part” start playing softly and I can bet my life that he had Yoongi make this version for him. My heart aches and I rub my chest softly trying to ease away the pain.

“Testing testing 1 2 3.” I hear his soft voice first, and then I see him come out from behind the camera to sit in his chair. His hair is unruly, face bare, and he’s wearing my favorite yellow hoodie. He bites his lip nervously and then leans on his elbow, resting his head on his hand. He sniffs a few times, god how I miss him.

“Day 1. Day 1 of being without you. Day 1 of missing you. Day 1 of waking up without you next to me, of not cracking jokes until you wake up to hit me with your pillow.” Not being able to see through my tears, I hit pause. He didn’t. He did not make what I think he made. I fast forward a few minutes and hit play.

“Day 15. Day 15 and I still miss you. I could still smell the scent of your perfume in my closet this morning when I was getting dressed. 15 days and I could finally drink a whole grande iced Americano.” Shut the fuck up. No, he didn’t. With more tears running down my face I fast-forward some more and hit play once again.

“Day 256. I thought I was getting better, finally moving on, but it rained today.” Fuck. He did. He really made a video journal of everyday we were apart. The ache in my heart is too strong, no amount of rubbing my chest will ease the ache away. I stare at his handsome face on my screen. His hair is longer and curlier, his fingers accessorized with multiple silver rings run over his lips back and forth. I notice a new piercing on his left ear. But it’s the look of sadness on his face, the look of grief that guts me. Hurting all this time made me ignore the fact that he too was probably hurting just as much as me. The tears won’t stop coming and next thing I know I am full on sobbing. Sobbing for the broken boy on my screen, for the broken promises we made to each other, sobbing for my own heartbreak. I notice there are a few more minutes left of the video so I fast forward a little more and hit play one last time.

“Day 365. It’s been a whole year since I started missing you. A whole year where I grieved for us. It took me a whole year, 365 days, to realize I can’t live without you. I know you still keep in touch with Jimin and that’s how I know you still miss me.” He says this last part in a cocky tone, smirking while doing so which makes me smile through my tears.

“I didn’t think I was going to send you this log until 3 months ago when I realized you were it for me. My heartstrings are pulled every time I think of you or every time I hear your name, meaning our red threads are still connected even after a year of not being together. We would be crazy to go our whole lives with our threads trying to pull us back together. Y/N, I loved you the minute I heard your voice back in Malta all that time ago, I loved you the day you left me, I love you every time it rains, I love you every second of every day. If you still love me, open the door when you hear your doorbell ring today.” The video ends with “Dear No One” playing softly and then I hear Jungkook start to sing the song. Grabbing some tissues, I wipe my face and try to stop the tears from falling, my heart stopping when the doorbell rings. My breathing stops as I just stare at the door. The doorbell rings again and I jump up from my couch and slowly walk to the door. Holding the door knob for a few seconds, I close my eyes and take one final deep breath.

I see him standing there right in front of me. Hair wet from the rain, hands in his pockets, leather jacket hiding his torso. He smiles softly at me and takes one step closer, then another, then another until he’s one step away from me. He brings his hand out of his pocket and softly caresses my cheek, wiping a tear that had escaped.

In his sweet soothing voice, he whispers, “Did you ever find your ‘no one’?

Closing my eyes, I bring up my hand to squeeze his that’s still touching my cheek. I lean into our hands and opening my eyes I softly whisper back, “I did. He’s standing right in front of me.”

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6ftgirlfriend · 5 years

Text

Falling For Stars

Collaborators: @sweetdreamsjetaime 💝/ edited by @lovebird1517 💖

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lucas Lallemant/Eliott Demaury

Summary: Rising star, Lucas Lallemant, has no clue what’s going on. For all he knows, his costar, Eliott Demaury, doesn’t give a fuck about him. He had made that pretty clear when he got all cozy with his girlfriend, Lucille, right in front of him. So can someone explain to him why the hell everyone thinks they’re dating? or Co-Stars to lovers!AU with all the angst/fluff and French shenanigans to keep me up at night!

Episode 1 - Regret.

AO3 Link

He was falling into oblivion, willingly with no sense of control

Falling from the heavens, they would shine so bright

Falling into the ocean of his eyes,

they would pierce through the soul

Falling into the storms of his embrace, they would unravel the heart

The collision was inevitable, the comet’s end

No shooting star should feel this, to be a burning and dying wish

It was endlessly cold, infinitely dark amongst the others

He was the fallen star, forever trying to stay ablaze…

—The Little Lone Star

SAMEDI 9:12

Lucas jolts awake by a sudden noise. He’s brought back to reality when he hears the roaring echoes of the shower being turned on.

He squints up at a pale ceiling that was not his own. His was made out of glass that allowed him to gaze up at the stars whenever life got too rough. He’s always found comfort in them, but they are not here right now to calm his beating heart. Where the hell is he? The bed sheets curled around his torso are definitely not his. They are soft and comforting yet suffocating at the same time. The tidiness and luxury of the bed are a sharp contrast to how messy and average he remembers his to be. He feels out of place. Seriously? What the hell is happening? The grey curtains hanging loosely against the glass frames barely prevent any sunlight from seeping through. Lucas almost goes blind while trying to blink his heavy eyes open. He feels dizzy, disoriented and worst of all; like total absolute shit. Fuck! How much did he drink last night?

The hangover reduces Lucas to nothing but a living corpse. He tries his hardest to sober up, but every single one of his brain cells is screaming at him to stop overworking them. Not only is the sun trying to blind him, but the birds outside are chirping loudly to God knows what tune. The sounds of bustling cars and productivity outside rang through his ears and intensifies his headache. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs at the absolute mess it is. Suddenly, a cool breeze grazes his exposed skin sending a shiver through his whole body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He curls up in the bedding once more but sits up in surprise when he notices that he was completely naked and space next to him is empty. He truly loathed his existence at the moment.

Lucas looks around the room with a big frown. The scattered clothes on the floor and the lone ripped condom packet by the trashcan don’t leave much to the imagination. Fuck, he had sex with someone yesterday in his drunken daze, didn’t he?

Lucas groans from the realization. He reaches for his clothes by the bed and tries to get dressed quickly. The sooner he gets the hell out of where ever the fuck he is, the quicker he would feel sane again.

He stops halfway through putting his shirt on when he hears the shower turn off. He turns to see an unfamiliar figure step out of the bathroom. Lucas chokes on air. The guy in front of him is half-naked, and Lucas’s brain short circuits. Droplets of water slowly drip down the man’s body, and Lucas uses his remaining self-control not to combust on the spot.

The nameless man seems unfazed by Lucas’s presence and proceeds to shake his damp chocolate curls into a small towel; his arm muscles flex with every movement. He looks unreal with a lean body that’s as tall as the door frame and broad, muscular shoulders. His skin is pale, and the yellow tint of sunlight makes him look as if he’s glowing.

Lucas snaps out of his daze and mentally scolds himself for thirsting over a stranger. The shame he was feeling a few moments ago comes back to hit him once again at full force.

Lucas doesn’t properly look at the guy’s face, but he knows.

It’s not him.

This man, as hot as he is, is not the one he wishes him to be. The one he dreams he could wake up to every morning. The one he wants is not his to take and keep. Lucas can’t even fantasize about what it would feel like to be with him. Yet, there’s an invisible pull that always leads straight to him.

Him, who, ever since the beginning, would send his heart running for the hills whenever he made eye contact with those steel blue eyes. God those eyes.

Lucas is too hungover to handle all this shit this early in the morning. He feels like an avalanche is submerging him. His whole body is frozen, and his heart is heavy. He fucked up. He really fucked up this time.

It hits him out of nowhere as the events of last night clear up in his head.

Regret.

***

YESTERDAY NIGHT, VENDREDI 21:41

The camera lights are flashing and lighting up the night. Lucas scoffs at all the people dressed in big fancy gowns and expensive suits. He wants to tell them that this is The César Awards and not a fashion show. Lucas lets it go because he won’t allow any negativity tonight.

He’s rejoicing because Je T’aime won Best Film. It’s the first movie Lucas played in that gained so much success. He even got nominated for the award of Best Actor because of it, but sadly he lost it to his costar, Eliott Demaury.

Lucas’s not even mad about it because anyone that has ever worked with Eliott knows that the man has a natural talent in acting.

Lucas remembers how shocked he was when he received the news that he would be staring along Eliott. Around that time, Lucas’s career in acting was starting to pick up after the public loved his performance in La Honte. His portrayal of a struggling teen with Tourette’s syndrome blew the masses away because it was the first time they saw mental illness depicted in a positive light. Two days after the news, he got to read over the script and instantly fell in love.

The film was based off a best-selling novel; about a Canadian teen, Hugo Babineaux, sent to study abroad in Paris, France. While there, he falls for his host family’s eldest son, Julien Favre. Julien is a devout Catholic, but couldn’t resist falling in love with the Hugo. Their forbidden love is passionate and bittersweet, as the film touches on the issues of homophobia and religion—the journey of coming to accept one’s sexuality and owning up to who you want to be.

Lucas practiced day and night to make sure he matched Eliott’s talent and did the role of Hugo justice.

But no amount of practice could have prepared him for the first time he met Eliott. Because fucking hell, the guy was beyond gorgeous in person.

Eliott’s icy gaze left Lucas breathless.

And I’m falling so hard for you.

He almost broke his neck from having to gaze up at him.

Would you be there to catch me, too?

He couldn’t be real. Those luminous caramel locks had to be made from strands of silk, entwisted, like a storm. He looked like an angel among men.

Maybe I should keep this to myself.

It was honestly intimidating to be working first time with such a renowned actor.

Waiting ‘til I know you better.

Lucas could only hope his weak, stupid heart could take it.

I don’t wanna be something you can throw away.

The film was a massive hit; the fans went crazy for the chemistry that Lucas and Eliott shared. They were the perfect duo. Lucas had come to understand everyone’s fondness towards Eliott, especially when he smiled so big that it reached his eyes. Or how his kind and bright demeanor would light up the room. But those little things shouldn’t matter. Why should he care that Eliott made his heart flip every time he enters a room?

It’s nothing but stage fright jitters. Lucas would reassure himself.

Eliott is an enigma. His happy-go-lucky attitude is a starch contrast to the vivid and dynamic characters he plays. His first role was that of a blind prodigal genius painter who had to adapt to life after a tragic accident flipped his whole world upside down. His performance in the movie landed him many awards, and he became one of the youngest actors to win the prestigious award in France.

Despite the unworldly harmony between Lucas and Eliott on the big screen and during interviews, it’s an entirely different story behind the scenes.

Anyone who knew these two could see the tension between them. Eliott loves to tease, calling him a hedgehog because of his wild spiky hair, and Lucas tries very hard not to blush every time he touched it. He also tends to sneak up on him and whisper random things in his ears, and that makes Lucas lose his mind. And Eliott’s answer to his flustered face is to outright laugh at him. Why did he let this guy get to him so much? Every time they would touch even by accident, Lucas would feel breathless.

Eliott must be doing it on purpose; he must enjoy seeing Lucas reduced to a complete mess.

But Lucas is done with these little games.

He plans to confront Eliott tonight and ask him exactly what the hell they are.

Lucas tried his best to avoid doing relationships, only settling for one night stands. He’s too scared of the paparazzi invading his privacy. Besides, Lucas isn’t out to the public yet. But he feels something for Eliott and is willing to risk it all for the chance of being in a relationship with him.

Lucas makes his way backstage to Eliott’s dressing room where the talk will take place. If everything goes well, they would be boyfriends by the end of the night. He abruptly stops when he sees Eliott in front of the room arms hooked around the small waist of a brunette. Lucas has seen her before. Her name’s Lucille Dubois; a supermodel, singer, and songwriter. She’s famous and loved by everyone. Lucas swallows the lump in his throat. They look good together. Perfect.

Of course, they would be dating. Lucas turns away, and his heart clenches at the reality that nothing could ever happen between Eliott and him. All the sneaky touches and stolen looks were for nothing. He can’t believe he let himself think that there was a chance Eliott would like him back.

He needs a drink. Now.

He heads straight out for the bar.

***

After only a few shots, the world around Lucas starts to spin, and he feels the adrenaline pumping through his whole body.

That’s when he sees it: a pair of long legs striding towards him in determination. Muscular and veiny hands pull him wrap around his waist and pull him in a tight hug. There’s barely any space between them, and Lucas shivers when a deep voice whispers in his eyes.

Lucas wishes the nameless hands buried in his hair belong to Eliott. But the reality hits when the man says in a low and raspy voice.

“I’m Étienne.”

Lucas looks away from his lips to his darkening eyes. Lucas is sure he won’t remember the name for very long, but he nods and presses his lips against his in a heated kiss.

He doesn’t know how they got to the apartment. Which wall he’s currently pressed against, but Lucas doesn’t complain. Their clothes are gone the moment they get to the bedroom.

Behind his closed lids, Lucas sees red flashes of visions. Is it another daydream? A memory? All he sees are familiar dark eyes piercing through him. Not now, please. Lucas runs his hand through Étienne’s hair in hopes of distracting himself from thinking of Eliott.

Why is he in my mind right now?

Étienne’s warm lips trace Lucas’s collarbone, and Lucas wonders what Eliott’s lips will feel like on his skin. He hates the fact that he’s so jealous of Lucille. All Lucas wanted to do when he saw Lucille wrapped in Eliott’s arms was to replace her. He wants to be the one that gets to kiss Eliott every time he wants and feel his beautiful hands on his body.

But that would never happen because Eliott doesn’t love me.

PRESENT, SAMEDI 9:31

A voice fades in,“…—cas, Lucas? Hello? Still with me?”

Lucas blinks at the waving hand in from his face. He cranes his neck up to look into a pair of concerned onyx eyes.

“Great, you’re back. You scared me.” Ethan? Elias? Says with a sigh.

His face immediately lights up when he locks eyes with Lucas.

“How was the view from up there? Did you catch any stars?”

His deep voice brings Lucas back to reality. Lucas must have been mentally gone for a long time because the man was now dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie. He was also holding a coffee cup in each hand. The aroma of the drinks makes him crave the caffeine he needed to wake up.

Lucas quirks his lips because he’s suddenly feeling shy. He’s still half-naked and is in desperate need of a shower. He stares at the wall behind the boy trying to find his way out of this shitty situation.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s been fun.’ No, too passive. ‘Look, this can’t happen again.’ Too insensitive. ‘It’s not you; it’s me?’ What a fucking cliche.

“Uh, ahem—No stars, just really tired.” He settles avoiding eye contact at all cost.

“Yeah, I get that.” The pretty stranger chuckles softly with a coy smirk.

“I mean we didn’t get much sleep last night. Are you sure you are okay?”

Lucas nods shyly, cheeks heating up.

“Good. How about some coffee? Croissants?” The guy smiles brightly and gosh, why does he have to be so lovely? It only makes him feel ten times worst for what he’s about to do.

“Coffee should do, thank you…?” Lucas dragged it out, waiting for a name as he takes the cup of coffee. The handsome stranger seems to get the memo and answers quickly. “It’s Étienne, Étienne Calvet.” Étienne’s smile grows wider when Lucas almost spills coffee on himself.

Étienne Calvet. The name rings a bell; he’s a famous model in Paris. He has soulful eyes and perfect features that are often present on brand names such as Givenchy, Lanvin, Prada, and YSL. Lucas heard a lot about him because Étienne is also a writer and openly bisexual. Lucas mentally scolds himself for not realizing who he is sooner.

“No need to thank me. Listen, last night, we didn’t have time to introduce ourselves, but I know you. Lucas Lallemant, right?”

Lucas could only nod, still in shock. Étienne squeals.

“Wow! I can’t believe it. You almost won the César Awards. Congratulations on the nomination! The movie was beautiful. That scene where he dives into the ocean when he found out—” Étienne goes onto praising Je T'aime in great detail.

Lucas wants to dig a grave and bury himself in it. Étienne sounds genuinely interested and excited like a fanboy meeting their favorite celebrity for the first time. Lucas is not sure if he should be flattered or creeped out.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it. He needs to come clean to this guy. He swallows his guilt down and proceeds to grab the sheets around his waist, giving Étienne a stern look as he gets up from the bed.

“Look, thank you, Étienne.” Étienne’s smile only gets brighter.

“For everything but I’m sorry this…” Lucas gestures between them. “It can’t happen again…” Lucas feels like vanishing into thin air when he sees Étienne’s eyes dime slightly. He gazes downward for a few seconds before bringing his face back up with his signature smile.

“As I said before, no need to thank me. But could we at least be friends?” Étienne is now looking down at the ground again, resembling a kicked puppy. He has a way of making Lucas feel like a total dick.

Lucas knows it’s not a good idea. He should decline and spare Étienne the heartbreak, but he’s not thinking clearly right now. So he holds out his hand with a small smile.

“Okay. Just friends.”

***

SAMEDI 10:19

After almost an hour or so, Lucas finally steps out into the streets of Paris. After running through the shower and exchanging numbers with Étienne, they said their goodbyes. Étienne’s hopeful expression is going to haunt Lucas forever. But for now, Lucas pushes all that away and focuses on getting home.

Lucas has always loved mornings the most out of all the times of the day. Fresh air, dew on the pavement and the calming ambiance are precisely what he needs at the moment to relax.

Which is why he decides to take a short walk around the city. He still can’t believe he slept with a complete stranger. A part of him gets it; he was heartbroken and miserable. For fuck sakes, the guy he loves is dating another person. He had every right to act on his emotions. He fell for Eliott like those shooting stars he sees every night before falling asleep. Ugh.

He shakes his head to snap out of his negative thoughts. This needs to stop. Seriously. He needs to focus.

Lost in thought, Lucas doesn’t notice a group of suspicious men following him. The men were discreetly taking pictures of Lucas, trying to figure out where he was last night. According to the rumors, Lucas left with a special someone. They were vultures preying on the carcass of any previous night’s drama.

They wanted to be the first one to get the scoop, and so they hurriedly make their way to an unsuspecting Lucas.

“Lucas Lallemant! Monsieur Lallemant! Can we ask what your whereabouts were last night!?”

Fuck. My. Life.

Lucas mentally curses his luck. He knew this was going to happen eventually, but why now? Lucas knows he looks like complete crap right now, and that’s not an appropriate look for the cameras. Great fucking timing. The universe must be laughing at him.

“Monsieur Lallemant, are you aware of the rife speculations that you might be seeing someone? Can you tell us who!” One of them urges boldly. What kind of sick question is that? Lucas is shaking; not only from anger but also from fear.

His fears of being outed. He’s afraid the world would criticize him, and people would label him as just another “gay icon.” He didn’t want to be a label. He’s just a man named Lucas that happens to like other men. That should not be a reason for people to criticize him.

Did they see us? Who else saw him leave the party?

Lucas is usually really good at dealing with the mobs of paparazzi, but today, he is beyond exhausted. Not wanting to start a scene, he quickly covers his face and flees from the scene. He vaguely hears them say something about a hickey at the back of his neck followed with the sounds of cameras flashing.

His eyes widen in panic.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Lucas can’t breathe because his lungs are now filled with dread. His heart is drumming quickly in his chest.

Flashes of this father’s disappointed scowl washed over him. He feels sick to his stomach. His dad hated his existence already, so what would he think when he founds out Lucas is gay?

He would probably say with a disgusted face that he was disappointed in Lucas.

No!

Why should he even bother if he’s going to be a disappointment anyway?

Shut up!

Why can’t he be like the others? He just had to end up being the unwanted gay son, didn’t he?

Stop it!

Lucas starts running; becoming one with the wind. He is running away from not only the paparazzi but also all his problems. His heels are clicking on the stone pavement as he zooms past pedestrians and street performers.

Could this day get any worse?

And the universe gladly accepts the challenge. Within the next moment, his phone starts vibrating from a message. Lucas abruptly slows down and hesitantly pulls the device from his pocket, unlocking the screen.

It’s from him.

Eliott.

Eliott: “Mind telling me why people are saying we started dating?”

Eliott: “You could’ve asked me first, Lulu. ♥️”

The next text sent makes his heart drop. It’s a slightly blurry picture of himself leaving the bar. He looks extremely drunk and is holding hands with someone. Lucas is a hundred percent sure it’s Étienne dragging Lucas to his apartment. Thank fuck, the picture is so blurry no one could see anything but Lucas. However, the headline reads, “WHO WAS THIS MYSTERIOUS NEW FLAME?” And the article goes into details of webbing lies out of the photo.

It’s like time had stopped and the world froze. Lucas’ head is pounding from everything that’s happening at once.

This was it — the biggest mistake of his life.

He wishes for a falling star to crash upon him. He just wants it to end it all.

TO BE CONTINUED…

(A/N: Oh.My.God. This is my first time writing fanfiction, guys! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! Special thanks to @sweetdreamsjetaime and @lovebird1517 for helping me!

Additional info: I’m thinking of making this into a tv show format about these two soulmates having to work for their love (the angst, the drama!) but it’ll be worth it by the end. There’s going to be behind the scenes content too (meaning; covers, magazines, and social media content?), so watch out for those (SKAM style👀). I would also love to read your feedback and any thoughts you have on the story! ☺️ Thank you so much for reading! Best wishes!🌠)

#skam france #skamfr #elu fanfic #elu fic #myedits #elu aesthetics #ffs fic #falling for stars fic #i can't believe i did this #this was so fun!#I hope you enjoyed this #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu au #elu au fic #skam elu #elu

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poachedhazontoast · 5 years

Text

Fickle Feelings

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and atrocious writing. Proofread, but not really? It’s super late so I was pretty lazy about it x)

Summary: Harrison has never been one to admit when he’s wrong about something, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

A/N: I’m back! I’ve been sitting on this one for a while. I think it was initially supposed to be part of a writing challenge? But I honestly can’t remember which one and it’s probably long over with by now. Life just got in the way I suppose. Also, this just in! I still suck at writing endings. This is just a cute little fluff piece. Not my best (I think my personal one to beat is Stilettos and Starlight), but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

-Syd

Harrison ran his hands over the front of his shirt, straightening any creases that were visible. He twisted slightly, looking himself over one last time in the mirror before deciding that it would be best if he turned away, knowing that he would end up over scrutinizing himself if he stayed too long. He noticed that his hands were tremoring slightly and quickly shoved them in his pockets, shaking his head as he paced back and forth around his bedroom.

This wasn’t an overly extraordinary night. Nothing special was happening. There was no movie premiere to attend, no photo shoot to show up to, not even a party to get completely hammered at. Yet for some reason, Harrison found himself with clammy hands and a racing heart. All he was doing was going out for a drink with you and Tom, but he couldn’t get his damn nerves under control. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen you in over two months thanks to filming schedules. Maybe it was the guilt that he felt over being a terrible friend. Whatever it was, he knew he needed to figure it out. Soon.

His inner monologue was soon interrupted by a light tapping at the front door and the subsequent leap that his heart took into his throat. “I’ve got it!” Harrison yelled out to Tom, who he wasn’t entirely sure was listening anyway. He quickly wiped his palms on the front of his jeans before making the seemingly endless walk across the entrance hall. Not two seconds had passed after he pulled open the door before he found himself with a face full of hair, your arms around his neck, and his cheeks five shades deeper than they were previously. He didn’t have time to dwell on the newly exaggerated thumping of his heart before you had separated yourself from him, a grin spread across your cold-bitten cheeks.

“You’re never allowed to leave again. I forbid it.” You teased him as you stepped fully into the apartment, shutting the door behind you. “My life is so boring and predictable without you and Tom.” Harrison laughed slightly, still taken aback by your hug, cringing when he realized how high pitched it sounded. He knew that you noticed it too, the split-second quirk of your eyebrow giving you away, but he let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief when you decided not to mention it. “So, where’s Tom? I need to bully him into firing you.”

Harrison silently motioned down the hallway, slouching against the wall as soon as he heard the clicking of your heels dissipate once you reached the soft carpet of Tom’s room.

What the hell was that?

You and Harrison had known each other for almost five years now. You had shared plenty of hugs during that time, more than Harrison could count, but never in his life had he felt like that. Never in his life had he looked at you and been met with his heart trying to break through his chest. He slowly dragged his hand across his face, wanting nothing more than to get to the bar already so that he could drink away any remnants of your hand resting lightly against the back of his neck.

Harrison’s eyes snapped towards you the second you emerged from Tom’s room, barely noticing the man standing behind you. Not for the first time that night, he found himself suppressing a groan of frustration. If the current fluttering in his chest was anything to go by, he might need more than just a few drinks to get you off his mind.

~~~

Harrison didn’t get much of a chance to put his theory to the test. Apparently, there was an unspoken agreement between you and Tom that Harrison had designated driver duties today, and not even half a shot had been downed before he found the drink being snatched out of his hand. So here he found himself completely sober on a Saturday night, watching his two best friends get thoroughly smashed.

At some point during the night your eyes began to droop, and ever so slowly you began to lower your head against Harrison’s shoulder, drifting in and out of consciousness. Harrison’s stomach began to flip, and he was rapidly beginning to realize that you can get just as drunk off of another person as you can off of alcohol. His head was spinning, and he suddenly found himself struggling to keep his speech stutter-free.

A few moments of silence passed between Tom and Harrison, only interrupted by your soft snores. Tom seemed to be piecing things together in his mind, dragging his gaze between you and Harrison ever so slowly. His eyes gradually widened until they were the size of saucers, and Harrison probably would have found it amusing had he not known what was going through the brunette’s mind at the moment.

“Mum was asking about you the other day,” Tom took a swig of his beer before continuing. “She wanted to know if you’ve realized that you’re madly in love with Y/N yet.” Harrison inhaled sharply, the air hitting the back of his throat in just the right spot to send him into a mad coughing fit. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice it when you woke up, falling silent as you listened to the conversation.

“I-in love? What the hell, Tom?” He stared intently at the other man, who simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Hey, man. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Tom glanced down at you then, noticing how tightly Harrison had tucked you under his arm. “I think she has a point though.” Your ears perk up ever so slightly, the words coming from Tom waking you up fully.

“No.” Harrison shook his head a bit more vigorously than intended. “No. I would never- I don’t- she’s not- “Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. Maybe Nikki had a point. It would certainly explain why he felt like his mouth was full of cotton every time he looked at you, or why his heart felt like a stampede in his chest any time you touched him, or why he could never get you off his mind. But you were you. There was no way.

“Of course I’m not interested in her. I never have been and I never will be.” Still not noticing that you were listening to every word that he said, Harrison continued to drive the point completely home. “She’s just Y/N. She’s nothing special.”

He jumped in shock as you bolted out of your seat, mumbling something about not feeling too great. “I think I’m gonna head out, I’m sorry.” The boys began to get out of their seats but you cut them off with a look, reaching out and squeezing Tom’s shoulder. “No, stay. You deserve to have a good night out for once. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You swiftly turned around before grabbing your coat and making your escape from the room, trying your hardest to ignore the squeezing sensation around your heart and the tears springing into your eyes.

Harrison stared at the door silently for a moment before turning back to Tom, giving him a quizzical look. “What d’you think got into her?”

Tom simply sat agape for a moment, searching Harrison’s eyes for any sign at all that he was joking. When he didn’t find one he threw his head back against the cushioned seat of the booth, never taking his sights off of the man in front of him. “You’re a special kind of stupid, you know that?”

For the second time that night, Harrison found himself choking on his own breath as he glared at his best friend, a permanent frown settling on his face, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. “What the hell do you mean by that?” He wracked his brain for an explanation, but for the life of him he kept coming up short.

“’She’s nothing special?’ Not exactly the most charming words that’ve ever come from you, are they?” If Tom thought that this would clear Harrison’s mind of any confusion, he was sorely mistaken, as the bewilderment on the blonde’s face grew tenfold. Tom stifled a sigh, grabbing a handful of complimentary peanuts from the bowl in front of him before fixing his gaze back on Harrison, who was still waiting for him to explain. “Let’s put it this way,” Tom paused to toss a peanut in his mouth before covering it with his hand as he chewed. “You probably knocked her confidence down a peg.”

At this Harrison scoffed, rolling his eyes before realizing that Tom was completely serious. “Wh- oh, c’mon! She knows I didn’t mean it like that.” He rested his back against the seat, tilting his head as he let his gaze drift across the table, slipping deeper into his own thoughts with every passing second. What if she was upset because she wants you to think she’s something special…? He shook his head vigorously, clearing his mind of any thoughts that might give him hope of something more with you. “Besides, it’s not like she thinks of me in that way, either. We really are just friends.”

Perhaps he hadn’t noticed how bitter he had sounded, but Tom certainly did, and now it was his turn to plaster an incredulous look upon his face. He bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep from revealing anything to Harrison, knowing that if he was wrong, that if Harrison really did only see you as a friend, then letting him know about the feelings that you had confided in Tom about months ago would be the ultimate betrayal of your trust. Instead, he decided to go for a more subtle approach, and placed his hand on top of Harrison’s for the briefest moment. “Maybe,” he said with a pointed look, “you should go find her and make sure that’s really the case.” With that, he got up and left the bar, leaving Harrison behind with only the thoughts swirling around in his head and his heart thumping in his chest.

~~~

“Fucking hell.” You let out a growl of frustration as the fire from your lighter flickered out once again. Throwing down the cigarette that had been pinched between your fingers, you give up and heave out a massive breath, staring down at the city below. You didn’t make a habit of smoking, but sometimes it was needed, and when it was you always came to the roof of your apartment building. From here you had the perfect view of the streets, and a near guarantee that nobody would bother you. Only one other person knew about it, so when you heard footsteps approaching you knew exactly who it was before he began speaking.

“I thought I mind find you up here.” Harrison came to a stop by your side, glancing at you before finding a sudden fascination with his feet. The two of you stood in silence for a while, watching the traffic below, an awkward air settling between you. It spread all around, the tension becoming thicker with each passing second until finally, mercifully, Harrison broke it. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” You opened your mouth to feign innocence before he interrupted you. “I know you heard me, you don’t need to say that you didn’t.”

You tried to push back the waterworks that began to form again, but this time you weren’t so successful. Shame filled you as the dam behind your eyes broke, finally letting the tears slide down your cheeks in an undeterred manner. You knew that you had no right to be upset by what he said; it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t see you the same way that you saw him. But a part of you had still hoped that maybe he did. The part of you that noticed the way his breath hitched when your hand brushed the back of his neck, or the way that his heart went into overdrive anytime you rested your head on his chest during movie nights.

When you started sniffling you also began to laugh bitterly at the absurdity of the situation. “God, I’m sorry. I’m a wreck.” You reached up to wipe the water away from your face, but Harrison’s hand arrived at your cheek before yours could. Suddenly, breathing became an incredibly laborious activity, and you had to focus hard on keeping it even. He was a lot closer now, and you could see the guilt that formed in his eyes as he swiped gently under yours.

“I didn’t mean it, you know.” His voice came out barely above a whisper, and you had to strain your ears to hear him over the traffic below. “Of course you’re special. You’re my best friend.” You felt your body deflate slightly at those words, and Harrison must have noticed as well, because he was hasty in adding his next thoughts. “But you’re also so much more than that. I think about you all the time. I think about what you’re doing and what you’re wearing and how you’re feeling. I think about the tiny little crease that you get in your forehead when you’re working on something difficult. I think about the way you sing at the top of your lungs even though you know you’re completely shit at it. I think about how it would feel to wake up next to you in the morning and just enjoy each other while the sun rises, with nothing else to distract us. I think about- “

You were overcome with a rush of confidence and suddenly his rambling was cut off by the feeling of your lips pressing against his, softly at first, but more urgently when he began to reciprocate. The hand that wasn’t pressed against your cheek found it’s way around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

After a few moments you broke apart, resting your foreheads against one another, neither of you speaking, though not for a lack of words. It was simply that words weren’t necessary anymore. As you looked at each other, breathing in everything that had happened, anything that could possibly have been said vanished. All that remained was the certainty that this was right.

This is how it should be.

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

The Sleepover Fic

WELL, THIS ENDED DIFFERENTLY THAN I HAD PLANNED. GOOD LORD.

Summary: You enjoy a sleepover night with the X-Force at the X-Mansion --but partway through you get hit by a wall of depression. Fortunately, Piotr’s there to help you through it.

(Maybekindaprobablydefinitely inspired by the depressive episode I’ve had this week.)

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson (sorta).

Rating: T for language and depression.

@marvel-is-perfection

The idea, admittedly, is ridiculous. And that’s why you love it so much.

You’re camped out in the rec room with the rest of the X-Force, perched on the couch next to Piotr in your best set of pajamas --which, admittedly, were just a pair of pants that said ‘bacon makes everything better’ over and over and a random t-shirt. “Okay. So how does this sleepover thing work?”

The rec room’s been completely transformed, floor covered with various sleeping bags, cushions, air mattresses, blankets, and pillows. A pile of snacks covers every inch of the coffee table, along with a few soda bottles.

“Watch and learn, young padawan,” Wade says theatrically, waggling his nonexistent eyebrows for emphasis. As the self-appointed ‘party planner,’ he’d taken it upon himself to make sure that you and Russell checked off another box on the ‘well-rounded experiences’ list. “If you’re good, I might even let you try a little cocaine later.”

“No,” Piotr says automatically, acting as the self-appointed-but-also-kinda-volun-told adult of the night. “Absolutely not.”

“I was kidding, Russia’s Greatest Love Machine. Geez. I don’t share my coke with anyone.”

Yukio giggles while Neena --who’s only staying for a few hours, citing ‘having an actual life to get back to’ for why she’s leaving early--braids her hair. “So, what do you have planned, Wade?”

“Since when does Wade plan anything?” Ellie fires back, deadpan, while she continues beating Russell in Mario Kart.

“Well, I figured we’d hit all the sleepover staples,” Wade chirps. “A little Truth or Dare, some never have I ever, ooh, maybe some Seven Minutes in Heaven--”

“Several of us are minors, douchepool,” Ellie interjects, still deadpan.

“Okay, not that, then. And, when the night starts to wane, we’ll wrap everything up with a massive movie marathon. First person asleep gets pranked!”

“Nyet.”

“Oh, come on, you silver buzzkill! Pranking the first person to fall asleep is a fundamental part of any sleepover!”

“I would allow it if your pranks weren’t so destructive.”

“Okay, name one thing I’ve destroyed in the past twenty-four hours!”

“We’ll be here longer than a night if he does that, dipshit,” Nathan grumbles; he’s also only hanging around for a short period of time, but unlike Neena, his reason for leaving early amounts to ‘not sleeping in the same damn room as Wilson all night.’

Which, admittedly, given Wade’s tendencies to cuddle like an octopus, makes sense.

“Well, I think it sounds like a blast!” you say.

“Thank you!” Wade cheers. “Finally! You think I’d get more respect, considering this is my fucking franchise!”

You can’t help but laugh as Piotr cuts Wade off while Nathan presses his water bottle to his nose, looking endlessly annoyed. New experience or not, tonight was definitely promising to be a fantastic ride.

Truth or dare, as it turns out, is the best game ever to play with Wade Wilson.

First, he thinks of good parameters to keep things from getting boring; case in point, the first rule he establishes is that you can’t pick the same option three times in a row, thus keeping people from sticking to the --arguably safer--truth option for too long.

Second, he actually took the time to write down a bunch of suggestions from a website beforehand, thus preventing the inevitable ‘everyone’s run out of good ideas’ drudge.

Third, he mandates that all dare must be filmed for posterity’s sake. They can be deleted afterwards, but everything has to be caught on camera and reviewed by the group first.

Which is exactly how you find yourself watching a video of Piotr doing a traditional Cossack dance.

“This is amazing,” you giggle as you send the video to your email account.

Piotr simply shakes his head as he sits back down next to you. “If you say so.”

Things get better from there. You get to watch Ellie do a very flat rendition of ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ --which is funnier than it has any right to be--and watch Russell do a solidly decent lip sync to Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies.’

Funnier still is watching Wade try to bust Neena with truths and dares, only to somehow draw the most benign options from the bowls each time.

“How?” Wade screams when Neena does an effortless set of cartwheels. “I wrote these! There wasn’t even a cartwheel option in there! What sort of fourth wall, author interference bullshit is this?”

“Well, that’s another dare done for me,” Neena says, purposefully cheerful for the sake of pissing off Wade even more. “I guess it’s my turn. Cable --truth or dare?”

Nathan rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath that is most definitely a string of profanities, and grumbles, “Dare.”

Neena fishes around in the dare bowl before selecting a piece of folded Hello Kitty stationary. “Ask a neighbor if they have a condom you can borrow.”

Ellie lets out a snort. “Do it to Scott. Ask Scott.”

Nathan’s face goes deadly blank --and then his techno-organic eye flares as the corner of his mouth turns up in a vicious grin. “Yeah. Wade, I need your help for this.”

“Hey, you have to ask--”

“I’m asking. I just need you to stand next to me while I do it.”

Ellie practically falls off her air mattress as she cackles. “Fuck yeah. Wait, I’m coming to watch.”

All of you wind up following Nathan to Scott’s room, standing in various positions in the hall while Nathan knocks on the door with his human hand.

(For the record, the look on Scott’s face when Nathan asks him for a condom while Wade waggles his fingers at the bespectacled man is absolutely priceless.)

After that, Truth or Dare is declared ‘done’ on account of the fact that nothing will ever top that moment.

Things detour to a Mario Kart tournament, in which Ellie proves that Neena’s lucky powers have limits.

“This is the best thing ever!” Wade cheers as Neena comes second to Ellie’s first --again. “I take back what I said about you, author! You’re amazing!”

You shoot a confused look at Piotr, and opt to settle back against his side when he shrugs, expression easily confused. “Hey, Wade, you’re good at Mario Kart, right?”

“Well, I don’t want to toot my horn, but my skills in Mario Kart come in second only to my skills at Skee-Ball.”

“Do you think you could beat Ellie?”

Wade’s eyes narrow when Ellie barks out a laugh. “Oh, you think you can win?” He swipes a controller off the coffee table and plops down next to her. “Bring it on, Negasonic Soon-To-Be Loser.”

The match is over sooner than you ever would’ve expected for two reasons.

First: Ellie and Wade decide to jump straight to the hardest option possible --Rainbow Road in Mirror Mode.

Second: No one has the stomach to watch anything on the TV afterwards.

(For the record, Ellie wins, and Wade isn’t happy about it).

Never Have I Ever doesn’t last long, either. Mostly because Wade’s done just about everything anyone can think of, or has had just about everything happen to him.

It does result in some awesome story-telling, though. After a certain point, the game completely tapers off in favor of telling stories entirely. Wade and Neena both have the best, hands down, but Piotr and Yukio come in at a close second thanks to their unique backgrounds and heritages.

You quickly realize, though, that you don’t really have anything worth contributing to the story-time session. There’s nothing from your childhood that’s really worth repeating, and your friends already know everything that’s happened to you here.

Suddenly, you feel completely detached from the room, from your friends, from everything. It’s like someone’s cut the cords keeping you tethered to the world and you’re drifting away from reality.

You get up abruptly, managing a smile and citing some sort of excuse about needing to use the bathroom, and get the fuck out of there.

The bathrooms at Xavier’s, unfortunately, aren’t designed for one person at a time. They’re built like locker room restrooms --albeit much cleaner--with multiple stalls and sinks.

You take the stall furthest from the entry, lock yourself in, tuck your legs up as you sit on the toilet lid, and hope that no one comes looking for you.

You aren’t sure if you want to cry. You can feel the sensation tugging at you --grief, rage, pain--but it seems just as distant as the rec room, numbed by your unwitting ejection from reality.

A larger part of you just wants to disappear for a bit. Slip upstairs, get in bed, hide in the darkness of your room.

They probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone, you think --even your internal voice seems dulled in the face of this sudden shut down. It’s not like I was really contributing anything anyway.

A different part of you doesn’t want to leave your friends, if only because you don’t want to have to explain what’s going on; fuck, you barely even understand it yourself.

That, and they’d probably come looking for you if you did head up to your room, and as much as you love them you just want to vanish right now and get away from the noise that’s always everywhere--

You let your forehead rest against your knees. Fuck. The fuck’s wrong with me?

By the time you manage to uncurl yourself and stand up --and it takes a while if the stiffness in your legs are anything to go by--you’ve made up your mind. I’ll just say I wasn’t feeling well and decided to go to bed if anyone asks tomorrow morning.

You don’t get too far with your plan, though, because Neena and Piotr are waiting for you just outside the bathroom door.

You flinch back, startled. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Neena says with a sunny smile. “I’m heading out for the night. Wanted to make sure I said good-bye.”

The ‘need to disappear’ feeling only gets worse, more grating and jarring, when she wraps her arms around you. Fuck. This is hell. You manage to eek out a ‘good night’ and let out a shaky breath as she walks away.

Because you’re not out of the woods yet. Piotr’s still here, watching you with gentle concern.

He brushes his fingers against your upper arm. “Are you alright, myshka?”

Your brain completely cuts out, leaving you adrift and barely able to stay upright. Talk. Say something, for fuck’s sake!

Instead, you just let out a breath and sag against him.

He kisses the top of your head and wraps his arms around your body. “How about we step outside, just for moment? I think fresh air would do you good.”

You let him steer you towards the front door, moving without thought. You suck in a breath when the cool night air hits you, rattling your brain a little from whatever’s come over you.

Piotr, to his credit, doesn’t leave you. He keeps his arms around you, rubs his hands up and down your back, kisses the top of your head, lets you lean against him like he’s the only thing in the world keeping you upright.

He kinda is, if you think about it.

He stays quiet, though, just letting you suck in breath after breath of fresh night air, letting your press your face against his chest and just breathe.

“You gonna ask me what’s wrong?” You ask after a while, voice a little too sharp, a little too acidic in the face of your unwelcome melancholy.

Piotr just kisses the top of your head. “Do you want me to?”

He’s gentle, not passive aggressive in the least, genuinely giving you an out if you don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t deserve him. “I just wanna disappear. Everything feels... like it’s too much.”

“Did not having happy stories from your childhood upset you?”

Bam. Right on the money. Whoever’s said that Piotr Rasputin is an idiot is dead wrong --blindly optimistic at times, yes, but never stupid.

“The fuck am I even contributing to the group?” You let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I’m such a downer. Can’t enjoy everyone else’s happiness, can’t contribute my own.”

“Nights like these aren’t about equal contribution,” Piotr murmurs as he kisses your forehead. “And it’s okay to be sad that you don’t have similar tales. Besides, not everyone contributed equally. Cable was mostly silent as well, as was Russell.”

You let out a frustrated huff. “Yeah, but --I just-- Piotr, what’s the point of having me around if I can’t keep up with everyone? What’s the point of me being a part of the X-Force if I can’t contribute outside of fights? We’re supposed to be a team --a family.”

Piotr clasps your upper arms gently as he crouches in front of you so you can see his face in the dim light of the moon and the lights from inside the mansion. “Myshka, family means we take ups with downs. You do not have to be happy all the time --especially if something upsets you. And aside from your many valuable skills --and there are many--we keep you around because we want you with us. You, as you are, is enough.”

Your throat constricts at the thought, and you bury your face in his shoulder in an effort to hide your tears. “I just wanna be good enough.”

“You are,” Piotr croons gently in your ear. His arms wrap around you, shielding you from the chill of the night and bathing you in warmth and love. “You are more than good enough, myshka.”

When you finally come down from your grief --pain, anger, sorrow, everything--who knows how much time later, you find that your brain’s turned back on.

Not all the way. But just a little. Just enough.

You slump against Piotr’s shoulder and chest. “I dunno if I wanna go back to the group. I kinda just wanna go back to bed.”

“Do you think that’s what would be best for you?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Khorosho. That’s fine. How about this: come watch one movie with us. If you still want to go to bed after, you can. If not, you stay with group.”

You let out a shaky sigh and nod. “Okay. That works.”

You almost chicken out as you walk towards the rec room. You can feel everything shutting off again, and you don’t want to suck a night of enjoyment away from the group.

But Piotr’s hand is a comforting, solid presence on yours, a tether to reality that you can’t bear to let go off.

The warm light of the rec room almost seems too bright as you step over the threshold, and you grip Piotr’s hand tighter.

Yukio greets you with a bright, sunny smile and pulls you in for a hug. She doesn’t mention your red eyes or puffy cheeks or the fact that you were gone for so long. “We need someone to break a tie on the first movie choice.”

“Listen, Negasonic-My-Name-Won’t-Age-Well, ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ is a literal, actual classic. It deserves to go first.”

“And ‘Get Out’ is both cutting edge and critically acclaimed. I still don’t see you making any points that actually tilt the argument in your favor.”

“Will someone just make a damn decision?” Nathan growls as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

You manage to smile, buoyed by your friends’ enthusiasm, as everyone looks at you. “‘Get Out’ first. I have a feeling we’ll need Monty Python to cheer us all up after.”

“Go to sleep, lyublyu.”

You blink wearily, the images of ‘Robin Hood: Men in Tights’ blurring before your eyes. You’d made it through the first three movies just fine, but you were barely holding on now. “I don’t wanna fall asleep first. Wade’s gonna prank me.”

Piotr lets out a gentle, quiet laugh and points surreptitiously across the room. “I do not think that will be problem.”

You manage to lift your head and clear your vision long enough to see that Wade’s long since passed out, slumped against an equally dead to the world Nathan. “They so like each other.”

Piotr chuckles and tugs you back down against his chest. “Da. Now rest, moya lyubov’. Everything will be fine.”

You lay your head down and finally let your eyes close.

You wake up on the couch alone, carefully tucked under a quilt and head propped up on a pillow.

It doesn’t take too long to figure out where Piotr went thanks to the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen --and the tone deaf humming; Piotr’s many things, but a naturally gifted singer is not one of them.

You sit up and stretch, rolling your shoulders and neck to work out the stiffness that came from not sleeping a proper bed with a proper pillow.

Nathan and Wade are nowhere to be seen; presumably, they’ve gone back to their rooms --or room if Wade managed to invite himself into Nathan’s bed without getting punched.

Ellie, Yukio, and Russell are still asleep on the floor, cushioned by air mattresses and blankets. Russell’s sprawled out like a starfish, and Ellie and Yukio are holding hands even though they’re sleeping on separate mattresses.

There’s a notification on your phone --a text from Neena.

Neener Wiener: Hope you’re feeling better this morning.

And you...

You are feeling better. Not completely, but a little.

It’s something.

You smile to yourself, just a little, and get up to join your boyfriend in the kitchen.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #cablepool #sleepovers are fun until the depression kicks in #words to live by #this got a lot angstier than i'd planned on #sorry about that #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

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badacts · 6 years

Text

whither shall i follow

this is the complete piece i wrote for @thezinezone ‘s STRANGE CONSTELLATIONS, a trc zine all about the gangsey. i loved writing for it - keeping under the max word count was the hardest part! the final zine is beautiful so consider getting a copy and supporting a great cause

It’s Gansey’s yearning for ostensibly normal post-graduation rites of passage that’s to blame. Well, that, and Henry’s need to encourage every bad idea any of them have ever had.

“You’re already going on a road trip,” Ronan bitches, slinging an oddly malformed duffle bag into the trunk of his car. “This is a waste of time.”

“Your oh-so-valuable time,” Blue says, with slightly less bite than she might have used a year previous. So, no actual hate, but a decent seeming of it. She is wearing knee-length khaki shorts, like a spectacularly unsexy version of Indiana Jones, and an oversized ACDC t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Gansey is currently unloading a bargain box of twelve white candles into the Pig. Watching this, Adam says, “Isn’t the point of camping having a campfire?”

“The point of camping is pissing in the woods,” Henry chirps from the front seat of the BMW. He claimed it upon arrival, with a grand cry of ‘shotgun!’ despite that none of them cared to compete with him for it, and has been doing something with his phone ever since. Selfies, Adam suspects.

“These aren’t intended to replace a campfire,” Gansey explains. “They’re for the seance.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Even Henry looks up, expression shifting from ‘smize’.

“You lived with a dead guy once,” Ronan says eventually. He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t really need to.

Gansey looks perturbed by their reactions, almost affronted. “It’s a thing.”

“Ineloquent,” Henry comments. Whether it’s a criticism is debatable, considering the growing delight on his face.

“Camping in the woods, marshmallows, figuring out which tent Henry is going to sleep in, amateurish communication with spirits - they’re all part of the experience.”

“Obviously, I’ll be sleeping in your tent,” Henry says. He’s not wrong - it is obvious. “Blue requires my body heat, and Ronan might dream a murderer or attempt to hold my hand in his sleep.”

“In your dreams,” Ronan replies from where he’s retreated to the driver’s seat of the BMW. There’s the distinct sound of someone being hit, and a squawk.

“Yes, it is a thing. From Cabin in the Woods,” Blue tells Gansey.

“Wrong Turn,” Ronan contributes.

“Blair Witch Project.”

“Cabin Fever.”

“Do all those movies contain seances?” Adam interjects.

“Don’t ask me,” Ronan replies. Adam can’t hear the shrug, but he knows it happens anyway. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

“My point is that you should not base your ideas of typical teenage experiences on films where most of the teenagers involved end up brutally murdered,” Blue continues. “Plus, you know. Our lives thus far.”

“This is not like that,” Gansey says. “That was magic. This is teenage incompetence, and the worst that will come of it is irresponsible fire management involving the candles.”

Even Adam makes a disgusted sound at that. There’s rustling from the front of the BMW, and then Gansey is at once attacked with a still-laced sneaker and a hat last seen perched on Henry’s hair. The hat falls short, but the shoe bounces off Gansey’s left thigh when he moves into its path trying to evade it.

“When we get murdered in the woods, it’s your fault,” Blue intones, for a moment sounding just like Maura.

The fact of the matter is that most of the area within a few hours drive of Henrietta has felt the imprint of, at the very least, Gansey’s feet in his previous explorations. Instead of putting him off of his idea of camping, this has just imbued him with the impression that he knows of all the best camping areas, even if he has never personally stayed at one.

Adam sleeps most of the drive once he’s tuned out the sound of Henry and Ronan’s bickering, stretched awkwardly across the back seat of the BMW, and only wakes when the engine turns off.

“C’mon Parrish,” Ronan chides, twisted around so that he can shake Adam’s ankle. Like most things about him, it’s a study in contrasts - brisk voice, soft expression. “Wakey wakey.”

“I am awake,” Adam replies, which is at least seventy percent true. “We here?”

“No, we’re on the side of the road, I just had to make a quick stop to bury Cheng’s body. Yeah, we’re here.”

“You can’t kill him. Can you imagine how much Blue and Gansey would bitch about it?” Adam peels his face off of the interior of the car. He might have drooled on it, but if so it’s not the first time.

“It truly hurts me that that is your only concern,” Henry says from somewhere outside the car.

“Yeah, I bet your heart is breaking, you annoying fucker,” Ronan replies, which means that his irritation has crossed over from his normal levels to whichever Henry seems capable of inciting. Adam deals with this by pushing himself out of the car and into the great outdoors, ignoring it entirely.

Blue is allowing Gansey to help her into her backpack over by the Pig. The gracious nature of it is new, but when he watches it Adam can just about imagine Blue in her thirties acting just the same way. Occasionally, anyway. He doubts she’ll ever change that much.

“Cute,” Ronan commentates, seemingly oblivious to the fact he is putting Adam’s pack over one of his shoulders even as he says it. “We walking, or what?”

“It’s an hour hike,” Gansey says, shouldering his own pack, as though he hasn’t already told them it’s an hour hike multiple times. They’ve walked far further without half as much organisation, which Adam assumes is ‘part of the experience’ also. Gansey is, as ever, a gleaming example to hikers everywhere, down to his well-broken-in boots and his precise understanding of hike planning. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes mother,” Blue replies, elbowing him in the ribs and ignoring that Henry is still fighting with his own pack over by the BMW. “Lead the way.”

The area Gansey has selected for them to camp in is, admittedly, quite lovely. It’s not Cabeswater - nothing else is - but the grass is long and rich-smelling, and there’s a tiny stream curving around the edge of the clearing on three sides, murmuring sweetly to itself.

The tents are quickly raised side-by-side and then abandoned in favour of establishing a fire pit. By the time they’ve collectively gathered stones, wood and Ronan’s obviously-dreamed lighter, the shadows are stretching long. Blue is allowed the honour of lighting the fire, though Adam is the one who nurses it into something other than a pathetic smoke trail.

“Dinner,” Gansey announces with obvious relish once they’re seated, and produces five packages of freeze-dried meals. “Would you like beef stroganoff or beef stroganoff?”

“Were they having a sale?” Henry asks, accepting his gingerly.

“I thought it would be the one least likely to look edible,” Gansey replies. “I was curious.”

“Not curious enough to investigate the multitude of other options, I suppose.”

“Mostly I thought it would be easier to prepare them together,” Gansey admits. “Blue?”

Blue was apparently in charge of carrying the cooker, and Henry the metal pot. True to Gansey’s prediction, the resultant brown sludge they cook looks utterly disgusting, though the smell is surprisingly inviting. It’s only when they go to serve it that they find that, while Adam brought the tin bowls, Ronan didn’t bring the cutlery. They eat with their fingers instead, Adam’s turning pink with the heat of it and his mouth.

Gansey also has all the necessary ingredients for s’mores, which they blacken in the fire a few times before Adam gives up and uses the cooker instead. Gansey eschews that in favour of sugar-charcoal, even when Henry Googles and recites statistics of charcoal as a carcinogen. Blue puts him in a chocolate-smeared headlock to stop him, and his phone nearly falls into the fire.

It’s full dark when Gansey, his contacts exchanged for glasses glinting in the light, starts to drift a bit. There’s a quietude in him now that isn’t emptiness, but instead something bigger. Like Cabeswater is living inside of him, a complicated and immense kind of peace, and even as that calls to the like in each of them, the rest of them have to act as the anchors to hold Gansey here.

It’s not so bad, really. All it takes is Henry elbowing him and passing him a candle to bring him back.

“It’s time,” he says, all delight, as Henry gives the rest of them candles too. “Should I refer to the WikiHow page for seances, do you think?”

“Please do,” Henry replies, passing Adam his candle. It’s a chunky, inelegant thing with a crooked wick, and it smells like a caricature of vanilla.

Blue squints at Adam for a moment, and then snatches the candle from his hands. “Not you.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right,” Gansey mutters after a moment, brow furrowing. “We don’t any of your actual magic involved in our pseudo-magical ritual. Scram.”

“By that logic, Ronan shouldn’t be involved either,” Adam points out, though he does scram.

“He’s awake, it’s fine,” Henry replies. “Lynch, no magic for the next ten minutes.”

“No problem,” Ronan says lazily, still lying beside the fire. “I’m not holding any candles.”

“They go at the cardinal points,” Gansey says, and then produces a compass so he can place them correctly. Then he extracts a large bag of salt from his bag, holding it aloft. “Henry, pour this in a circle around us, if you will. Be careful not to leave any gaps.”

“This is beginning to sound suspiciously like one of movies you mentioned earlier,” Henry says to Ronan, though he does as bid anyway.

Once the salt is poured in a vague oval shape, the candles are placed and lit, and the others sit in their Gansey-assigned places, the ceremony can apparently begin. Adam settles in the mouth of one of the tents, watching them thrown into relief by the campfire in the centre of the circle, Blue’s face painted gold and the line of Ronan’s spine a silhouette.

“Oh! We need an offering,” Gansey says. “I hope you all brought something suitable?”

Thus begins a ten minute debate on what can be classified as suitable. In the end, they have a handful of wildflowers (Gansey), a collection of pennies (Henry), a tin cup of water from the stream (Blue), and a stick of gum as well as an empty wrapper (Ronan, obviously). His assertion that Noah would have loved it is the only thing that stops Gansey from sending him out of the circle to hunt for something ghosts would like better.

They deposits the offerings in the stream-washed pot, and then resettle, reaching out to join hands. Gansey prompts, “Henry?”

Henry takes over without pause, all ringmaster-grandeur. “Welcome, kind spirits, inside our circle. We’ve gathered here to commune with you in the hope that you’ll show us a sign of your presence. Please, speak with us.”

In the following silence, there’s an unmistakable sense of actual expectancy from the four of them in their flesh-and-salt circle. Even when you’re performing a WikiHow seance, it’s hard to remove the idea that it really might work when you’ve seen real magic.

There’s nothing. Adam listens, hears nothing, and then looks into the fire to the things he can always see if he looks long enough.

“Is anyone with us?” Blue asks. The shapes in the flames brighten in response to her voice, but Adam blinks them away.

“That was boring,” Ronan says after approximately two minutes of absolutely nothing happening.

“That was perfect,” Gansey crows.

“We really should have brought an Ouija board,” Henry muses. “For maximum effect.”

“The maximum effect of nothing fucking happening?”

“Let’s end the ritual,” Blue says sternly. “In case.”

“Thank you for your presence,” Gansey says. “Go in peace.”

It’s probably Adam’s imagination that the fire ripples just a little bit with Gansey’s words, like someone has just moved past it. No one else notices it, anyway.

Adam jerks awake because Ronan does, because it’s impossible not to pressed this close and because by now it’s habit.

“It’s okay,” Adam is already mumbling, and then jerks again when Ronan, sounding much more alert than he does, demands, “Did you hear that?”

Adam listens. There’s a rustling outside of the suddenly-very-flimsy tent walls, and for a moment he enters the pleasant fantasy that it might just be the wind before he realises that there is no wind. Instead, it’s the sound of something moving nearby - something large.

“It’s probably just a bear,” he says, though quietly.

There’s not much light in the tent, but he can see that Ronan’s eyes are wide as he hisses, “I can’t believe you can say ‘just a bear’.”

Instead of continuing that...potential argument, Adam pushes himself up, rustling free of the sleeping back and groping for the flashlight by the tent door.

“Adam.”

It’s said in his ear, breathless and half-whispered. Literally breathless - there’s no warmth of exhaled air.

Also, it’s his deaf ear.

The strangeness of it is compounded when Gansey says from outside the tent, the kind of calm that just barely covers for alarm, “Ronan, Adam. Get up. Slowly.”

Adam unzips the tent door and slides free, feeling the intensity of Ronan’s movement behind him as he follows. It’s black outside besides the very faint glow of a few embers and the stars overhead, and Adam can only tell where Gansey is because of the sound of his quickened breath.

“Look,” Gansey whispers, and Adam nearly says at what when he sees what Gansey means.

It’s dark. There’s no explanation behind the two matching pinpricks of red-orange light at a edge of the clearing just beyond the edge of the trees. Eyes, set higher that they would be on any normal-height human.

Ronan mutters a curse, clearly seeing it too. Henry, despite having seen Cabeswater bleed to death, says, “Mothman?” in a voice that trembles but still has a tracery of humour in it, because that’s just who he is.

“What do we do?” Blue asks. Adam can’t tell where she is in the dark.

“Running water,” the voice in his ear whispers again. There’s a echo of command there, and also sudden and welcome familiarity.

“Across the stream,” Adam tells the others. “Backwards. No sudden movements.”

It’s only the star-shine that means they can find the stream at all, nevermind backwards and too frightened to look away from the eyes. There’s no doubting that’s what they are, despite the fact they don’t blink - behind them, there’s intent, alien and only barely readable as that at all. Adam’s bare feet slip in carefully, the water surprisingly deep but the bottom firm enough to hold his weight. The other four do the same, hissing at the cold of it.

“Now what?” Ronan asks, his hand finding Adam’s.

“Cross it. Get to the other side,” Adam says, with sudden surety. “I don’t think it can follow-”

It happens very quickly. Blue, off to Adam’s left, draws in a quick breath and stumbles over something on the streambed, falling backwards in the stream with a splash and a sharp, “Fuck!” There’s a soundless moment where nothing happens, and then there’s a long lowing noise like a big animal dying.

“Fuck,” Ronan echoes, and jerks in Blue’s direction to pull her free of the water even as he shoves Gansey up onto the bank.

Adam, torch in hand, flips the switch. The beam of it falls directly on the - thing as it bounds across the clearing, strides too long and shambling, like the body can’t quite keep up with the intent of whatever is inside of it. It’s all fur and stench, the awful smell of death. Henry makes a low, sick sound, dragging Adam back over the stones along with him. They fall back onto the bank together, scrabbling up onto the grass.

For a moment, Adam doubts. The thing is so tall it looks like it could simply step across the water. There’s no explanation for the way it halts at the far edge of the stream and looks down at the water, close enough they can see every falling-apart inch of its hide. It looks like it crawled from a grave. Maybe it did.

It makes that noise again, a gentle and carrying threat. Adam’s heart is beating so hard he thinks he could drop dead, half-tangled in Henry and aware there’s no outrunning the thing if the voice is wrong.

His flashlight goes out. Blue shrieks, and there’s a flash of bright white like lightning from their side of the stream to the other, illuminating the thing for a split second before it makes impact. There’s a rush of noise and movement, retreating, and then the flashlight comes back to life. There’s nothing there.

“...is it gone?” Henry hisses, pushing himself up from his elbows. “What did you do, Parrish?”

“Nothing,” Adam replies, distracted by covering each inch of darkness with the beam of his flashlight looking for movement. There’s nothing, besides what looks like a few gobbets of meat on the ground and impressions of distorted footprints. “It wasn’t me.”

“Christ fucking alive,” Ronan says. “Was that…?”

“Noah?” Blue whispers.

There’s no wind, no voice murmuring in either of Adam’s ears. But on the other side of the stream, the fire, just embers, flickers back to life.

#trc #gangsey #whither shall i follow #strange constellations #my fic #horror themes #the raven cycle

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bloggingwithmattporter · 5 years

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My Relationship and How It Ended

All through our lives, we wonder who our partner will be and how will we find them? Going out with friends, talking online for a while or just simply a bump into each other. At the age of 20, I was amazed at the thought of how i'd meet someone I could be myself around. Myself having an incredibly outgoing bubbly personality, I always knew that I could be seen by many people, but never knew that I would find someone who I'd consider to be perfect for me. For years I've been independant and achieved things by myself with no partner by my side, I didn't want anyone nor was I looking for someone. But yet, I always thought to myself "I wonder if my future girlfriend would be proud of me", which actually makes you realise you're more lonely than you thought, but hey, that's okay because you know one day you will find her.

Everything changed for me one night, a few weeks after I started a new job. I decided to go out one night, which i remember fondly enough that I would've rather stay in and watch some films, but decided it would be a great time to celebrate the job I acquired. When you were like me and decided to drink yourself silly every single week, you had to find reasons to go out. Little did I know, going out that night would change my life in millions of great ways, which is now terrifying to think about.

After a fair few drinks, I decided to go out into another area of the club to share my loud obnoxious personality around. The moment I walked down there, was like a movie. I saw a girl, even in my intoxicated state, I could tell she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid my eyes upon. I instantly came up with a goal to make her laugh. It takes a lot to make me nervous, it was trait that I never had. I went up to her and at that exact same time, she walked up to me and introduced herself. You know how I said it was like a movie? I said that because when I looked into her eyes, everything around me froze, I was just standing there. After what felt like thirty minutes, I introduced myself then we sat down and had a drink. I wouldn't be able to tell you the exact conversations that we had, but I can tell you I interrupted her to inform her that I needed to do a pee followed by what I thought to be an FBI cross Ninja jump over the table, but according to her that was never the case... I still stick with what I thought it felt still to this day. When I returned we had another drink and spoke some more and introduced us to each others friends. One of my friends, Jordan, looked at me when I introduced her and smiled at me, for some strange reason, he knew I was interested, suppose I've never really introduced a girl to my friends before. As this night drew to a close, I lost her and eventually stormed out of the club because I had enough. Little did I know, she was asking about me when I left. I got home, surprisingly, and fell asleep.

I woke up to a message from her asking me out on a date. I immediately felt emasculated, but that was okay. Obviously I said yes. We went to a Shannon Noll concert, it was a perfect time spent together and the happiest i've been in a very long time. I still remember how it felt to feel true happiness after such a long time of being alone.

As messages upon messages went by between each other, it was suddenly a week or two later. We had organised for me to stay over her place, have a couple of drinks and listen to some old school music, the best kind. As she's on the floor choosing the songs to put on and I am sitting on her bed, that strange feeling erupted in me again, true happiness. I didn't know at the time, but she was radiating something I haven't felt before, whether it was her great music choice or just being around her. As the night progressed, next thing we know we were in bed together 'cuddling'. We were talking about something that made me laugh, which at the end I did something I couldn't take back. I laughed and then said I love you, which i quickly recovered by saying "lol jokes, you wish". Yes, I actually said that and it turned out more funny than what we were previously discussing. This became a running joke for years to come. I remember laying there thinking "Why did I say that", I was confused about how it happened because it just completely slipped out, I didn't mean to say it but knew I felt it. This was when I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes. In the end, it was a perfect night spent by someone whom I believed I loved very quickly. I had never felt this way about another person before.

A week at work progressed and we decided to stay over again, same music, but this time we felt closer than ever. It was an amazing feeling for me and I was honestly just falling harder and harder for her. I knew the next time I saw her, I wanted to do something special, so I surprised her with a little getaway to a nice resort at the Sunshine Coast. When we got there, we checked in and went across the street to Woolworths to stock up on food and the dinner I was going to cook for her, Beef Strogonoff. When we returned, we got the keys and went to our apartment to find out that there was in fact, no kitchen. So it turned out to be a KFC night. This was when I knew she was the one for me, as we finished eating, i decided to rip the KFC bags and dress her up.. it was incredibly hilarious at the time and damn she could pull the look off. We got into bed and watched Eurovision trying to understand the words they were singing, it was great and it was definitely a great weekend. Once again, the kitchen became a running joke too, I could never escape it. After this weekend away, we sat down and decided it would be best if I moved in with her, as I’m always there anyways. So a month after dating, we were living together and I’ve never felt so much happiness, everything was perfect and working out for me.

Months and months went on, we sat there laughing about the possible arguments we would have because we have never argued before. I knew for a fact that I was so in love with this woman that I never wanted to lose her. We were perfect for a very long time. I’d get lost in her eyes every time she would laugh, or how her eyes opened wide when she was explaining a story or a topic she was passionate about. She has the most incredible smile with a beautiful laugh.. which includes her little snorting she does when the laughing can’t stop.

Every morning I would wake up, give her a kiss on the forehead and say good morning. Every night, I’d give her 10 kisses on the forehead, we both made sure to count as it all became a ritual. There were so many memories, inside jokes and little rituals we had that we got so used to that it all became normal. I was still in love with this woman at the age of 23.

Suddenly, cracks started to appear because of my inability to talk. I know, how does someone not know how to talk? That was and still is the hardest thing for me. I am so used to not sharing my feelings about negative things and instead keep it bottled up inside, its a very unhealthy thing to do and still to this day I'm slowly learning.

We were having many fights, breaking up but working our way back to each other every single time. We knew we wanted to be together and we were too stubborn to admit it at times, we were an incredibly competitive couple. Ask her about the monopoly game, she'll tell you she won..... thats because she did but I can assure you we never played monopoly again. I cannot elaborate on the amount of fights and quick break ups we had, we had a severe rough patch. But everything was perfect and I was still the happiest guy in the world.

The last time we broke up was around May 2018, the month we got together in 2016. This was a tough break up but we got back together a week later. I know, people may think how is this healthy, but when you're in love with someone, you'd do anything to make sure it works. Everything was perfect for many many many months. We discussed getting our very own place and we started to buy furniture each paycheck so we would be able to move into a house that wasn’t partly furnished, having kids (even agreed on some names to respect my mother which meant a lot to me) and more importantly, the engagement I was going to do at the start of the year.

I started an incredibly bad addiction to video gaming every day for hours on end, instead of the usual couple of hours a week. I became lazy and didn't appreciate what I had right next to me the entire time. Nearly 3 years we spent together, you would think that I would be more attentive. I just forgot about every thing in my life and was just committed to video games like the person I was long before I met her. I stopped wanting to have sex and I stopped wanting to go out on weekends with her. This all hit home and completely shattered me after she told me she was getting male attention elsewhere. I stormed out with all my stuff and didn't look back once.

A week has gone by and I just sit here in silence every single day. I've eaten half a sausage roll that made me vomit, a few chicken balls and a handful of chips, against my will. During my silence, I realise how much I have changed. I have gone from the alcoholic version of myself to a guy who found out he was ready to settle down, the mature Matt I thought I wouldn't find until I was very much older. I'm not going to lie, this last paragraph is hard to type because I just fall back into the ifs and buts. I know for a fact, all I had to do was to get off that Xbox and give her attention, clean the room when she asked, give her the intimacy that we both required but I slacked out on and most of all, show her the amount of appreciation I have for her since we got together. I feel as though I never want to show another woman intimacy or become close again, unless it’s with her. The constant knot in my stomach won’t dissapear. The world knows just how much I do love her and all my good friends know how much I appreciate and love her, it just turns out I forgot to reassure the most important person to me.

I realise that I don't blame her for any of this because I guess it is all my fault. Every girl in a long lasting relationship needs to know that feeling that their partner does in fact care about them. I just guess for me, it is too late for that. I would do anything to go back to the life we had with me bringing an insane amount of changes that would make any girl feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Not only did I lose my girlfriend, I lost my best friend and the only person that knew exactly who I was and who I am still to this day. She knows more about me than anyone else on this planet and i'm not afraid to admit that. She was my definition of a soul mate. I've never felt more comfortable and open with someone in my life and I highly doubt I'm going to find that feeling with anyone else for a very long time and even then, the chances are slim. All our inside jokes and memories haunt me every single day because they were the happiest times of my life. Every song that comes on the radio, its hard to listen to. All the songs on my phone, I can't listen to because each one takes me back to a time with her. It's hard to watch Netflix alone because I watched basically everything with her many times over. It's hard to get up in the morning and go to work, because every morning I would drive there knowing how close our future home was and how ready I was to propose to her, she was the reason why I got the new job a few weeks ago. The memories are suddenly everywhere and every day you're just caught up in constant nostalgia. The pain doesn’t disappear.

If I could go back in time and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. If she messaged me and told me she wants me back, I'd be there in a heartbeat too. With Christmas and New Years coming up, this is going to be a hard problem for me to recover from for the rest of the year. We had so many plans, I had many plans she didn't even know about. Nearly 3 years down the drain because I was too stupid to show her the amount of love and appreciation I have for her.. it truly fucking hurts. Being so ready to settle down, just for it all to come up above your feet isn't the best feeling.

The hardest part about break ups, is trying to forget about the imagined future you two had planned together. Our future looked so perfect. Going from being so happy, to suddenly depression hitting you straight on the head. The emptiness and loneliness is something I haven't felt in my life and I wouldn't wish it upon my worse enemy.

I don't expect many people to read this, but if you do, thank you for letting me vent and taking it on board. If you're in a relationship, please, tell your partner you love them and that you appreciate them, that's all it takes. Listen to them, talk to them and be there for them through everything life throws their way. Don't get caught up in technology or social media, they can easily become the source of break ups in this generation, which fucking sucks. Put your phone down and just show your partner that you love them. Never would I have thought I’d lose the one piece of me that meant more than anything else on this planet.

Most importantly, to her. If you're reading this, please know that I love and I miss you more than words can explain. I'm sorry that I didn't show you just how much you meant to me and just assumed you knew. You were, and still are, my world. The things we have done together are things I'll forever cherish and miss. You were my soulmate and I wish I could just show you all the changes I'd make to prove just how happy we can be. I would do anything to have you laying in my arms again and hearing you laugh. You are the only person in this world that I need and I’m honestly shattered to know I wasn’t that person for you. My friends keep telling me to move on.. why would I want to, and how could I move on when I know I’ve already met my soul mate? I’ll forever miss and love you.

I honestly thought typing this would make me feel better, even in the slightest amount, but in the end I guess it just made things worse for me. The hardest part for me was leaving someone who I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with. I don't know where I would be or the type of person I would be if she didn't enter my life. She brought out the best version of me that was possible.

If you're going through a rough time, talk to a friend or family member. Please know, it's not embarrassing to seek professional help.

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my-sea-of-stars · 6 years

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The fact that I was waiting for my girlfriend to come from college even though I legit wanted to die ever so slightly. I was absolutely devastated when I got into town that I was sitting in Starbucks with a coffee in on the hand and my phone in the other. I couldn’t pick what song I wanted to listen too because I was distracted by the crowds of people that flooded the shopping centre. I sat casually as I waited for my girlfriend, I didn’t mind if she was late considering I was constantly late all the time.

It took her sometime before she finally approached. For the girl who always had a big smile when she spotted me, didn’t. She was silent when she sat down beside me as I gave her a smile but it didn’t seem to work. We decided to leave the Café as I followed her to see where we’d be off too. She was beyond agitated but I could tell that she was trying her hardest to be here in the moment. We walked among the city as she was quite silent before she decided that we’d walk all the way back to my Luas stop and take it to Stephens Green.

She didn’t speak about much and kept in her she’ll even though I pushed her to do so. She refused even though I could tell something was bothering her. We walked among the streets before she stopped me as she entered a shop as she told me to wait outside. She came back out in delight with a smile on her lips before she told me later that she had went back to see a girl from her past. I could try to be pissed but at least someone had gained a smile on her lips that she most definitely deserved even if it wasn’t me.

She was starving and needed to just get some food in her system whilst she tried to enjoy her night and make something positive from an awful situation. She was my girl even on her bad days so I even if I’m a genuinely pushy person, I only wanted her to feel safe and sound when she was with me. Sometimes I had no filter and my head was a mess where everything just flooded out of it. We walked among the streets before we found a alleyway that was hidden away from all eyes in Dublin.

She ended up grabbing my hand as she tugged me down it with a brief chuckle from her lips as she turned around to kiss my lips softly as I did my casual roll of the eyes before we entered a shop that sold second hand books that were ancient along with vinyl records. Of course, her childish smile emerged when she seen the records. Her mood was still a low when she was searching through the records and in that bookstore, we were almost like fire and ice in that moment.

My mood was as cold as the ice and her emotions were like a fury of fire. I went over to the old dusty books as I traced my fingers among the pages when it was seen to have familiar signatures of the readers who had it before which was quite interesting to see. I decided that I’d go back and see what my girlfriend how got into. She done this thing where when she got excited about something, she’d give a toothy smile.

She was searching through the records to find something that caught her eye but finally she settled on the bright cover of the album that read ‘Fickle Friends’ She got an enormous loving look on her face as she was proud to finally found something she liked. She was bursting with happiness and she always had these moments where I felt myself fall deeper and deeper in love with her. I was a anxious mess around people but when I was with her, I always decided that I’d ask the questions that she was too nervous to ask which didn’t bother me because I’d be willing to do it for her sake.

We had a lovely chat with the man behind the counter as she bounced from side to side, happy with her latest find. A gem of the record shop even though I’ve never heard of the ‘Fickle Friends’ well, I had but never really listened to them. She tugged me out of the shop before she turned around and pressed her lips up against me in a way that made me melt right there and then. She needed to get some food into her system because she always complained about me not feeding her like the god damn Hamster she was. She settled on an Italian restaurant as we went in and she was in her little moment with all her Gluten free food.

We sat down facing each other before she jittered on the opposite side of the table as she found something on the menu she liked before she placed her order. She ended up playing into my sick sadistic thoughts as I turned my head to notice a woman wearing a full on kimono as I tried my hardest not to laugh even though she was leading me into temptation.

We laughed as she began to speak to me across the table like it was just normal for us to be doing this. She ate her food and had that lingering smile on her lips that would make anyone fall in love with her. She called me a dope a few times and I just dealt with it. We watched as a man began to put candles on the table as she decided to go on strike for a pinky promise. She held her hand over the candle before she whined at me which I quickly promised her because nothing was truer than me loving her. I grabbed the candle as It sat on front of me before she gazed at me with a smile on her lips. I didn’t know what she was thinking about or what was crossing her mind as she stared at me with this longing look in her eyes.

I was curious about what she was thinking about when she looked at me. Her only words that she shared with me were that “You look pretty in the candle light” which was bullshit and she had shit taste in girls (Actually she has really good taste in girls, she just dates shit ones) - Her words, not mine. I fixed the record for her considering she decided that she’d have to open the entire thing. We ended up leaving as we walked to our local music store as we looked at CD’S, her mood sank again and I tried to comfort her. I ended up taking her out of the store as we sat and waited for my Luas together.

I leaned against her in a way that made me feel safe like nothing in the world could go wrong within this very moment. She tugged me into a deep and passionate kiss as I continuously smiled against her lips before she decided that she’d start saying Harry Potter quotes and we decided to become passive aggressive when a girl looked at us as we spoke the beauty of Harry Potter out loud. We ended up settling that Goblet of Fire was the best Harry Potter film and book. We got on the Luas as she kissed my lips and every time she kissed me it was like she was kissing me for the first time, it got me.

I leaned against her as we stopped at her stop before I decided that I’d be the idiotic and romantic girl from a John Green novel and hop off the Luas to make sure she got to her bus safety. We laughed gently as we held hands together before a serious tone ended up filling the air as we turned into waves when a storm hit. I can’t cope with people touching me when my mood begins to drift away, I got into a state of panic but it gets worse when I’m allowed have free rein over my emotions. I couldn’t believe that I was actually becoming more of a mess then I usually am. She always done this thing where she tried to grab me so she could get control over me even when I was falling apart.

She grabbed my wrists as she tried to keep a firm grip on me even though I pulled away. She usually got angry and tried to push me away but after a few seconds, she calmed down. She allowed me to speak before she shut me up with her lips against mine. When the Bus pulled up and the state of mind I was in, I stood there and just admired the girl that I loved so very much. I told her how much of a wonderful person she was because sometimes I felt like if I was to go anywhere then at least when she thought of our last encounter then she would of heard some positivity from me. She deserved more than just some positive comments.

I just wanted her to know that I loved her and no matter what happened with how messy I am that everything would be okay. I just wanted to make sure she was able to know that she was worth my time, she was worth someone's time with or without me in her life. She stopped and turned around to look at me when I called her a wonderful person and that instant look of worry hit her even though she was almost in awh, I simply loved her and that was it.

We found love in simplicity.

#my observations #observation #my baby #my girlfriend #I love her #shes so sweet #Shes literally the love of my life #Fuck everyone else

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the-revisionist · 6 years

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the tristan chord, chapter 19

Note: Sorry this took so long!

xix. What time is it in the Milky Way?

her eyes are closer to me than my own honor ~ Anne Carson

“Are you going to put the tofu in the sauce?” Greg asks.

Wooden spoon poised above a pot of tomato sauce, Caroline hesitates. It is Wednesday evening. She is tired. The day—filled with interviews of teaching candidates, meetings, chatty texts from one lover in New York that she largely ignored and morose ones from the other one who was meeting in Halifax this morning with her solicitor about her impending divorce and Caroline sort-of ignored those too, a toddler who wanted and got, thank you very much, Christmas lights put up in the living room, in August—is fit to burst at the seams. Thus she gazes longingly over Greg’s shoulder at the glass of wine abandoned on the dining room table and is damned if she’s going to ruin her perfect Marcella Hazan tomato sauce—the simmering translucent half-onion poaching in a fragrant bloodbath—with crumbly bits of protein that resemble glue paste falling off ancient discarded wallpaper.

Helpless, she prevaricates. “Um.”

“No?” Greg pulls the Labradoodle Pout face.

“Well, Gillian’s coming for dinner and she likes things that are, you know—” Caroline pauses while attempting to find the most innocuous yet accurate term to describe Gillian’s culinary sensibilities, which are as omnivorous as her sexuality: If she’s hungry and it’s not a lot of fuss she’ll have it, even if it gives her indigestion.

But then you are an awful lot of fuss, Caroline reminds herself, and so goes yet another theory.

Greg wastes no time in supplying a descriptor for the woman he takes for thick-headed rube, even though he is too well-bred—and afraid of Gillian—to say in polite company: “Simple?”

“No,” she retorts defensively. “I’d say her tastes are more classic. Pure. She has a very, you know, refined palate.”

Skeptical, he nibbles at a corner of his beard. “Isn’t Gillian the one who ate a chicken kebab she dropped on the kitchen floor?”

“It wasn’t the floor, it was a kitchen chair, and the five-second rule was met.” As a rigorous scientist Caroline knows the five-second rule is absolute bollocks but as an unsparing bitch she will do anything to win an argument. “And, y’know, Alan and mum will be here too, and they aren’t that keen on tofu either.”

“Well it’s just sad, I think.” Greg folds his arms. “That they won’t try new things.”

“Have you ever slept with a man?”

“I fail to see why you keep asking me that question.”

“Just making a point this time. Gillian might try the tofu chips. Especially if she has wine with dinner.” She pauses. “Like, an entire bottle of wine, but yeah, she might.”

“She’ll probably just wrap them up in prosciutto like you do,” he replies morosely.

“It’s a testament to the sturdiness and versatility of the chip.” She smiles brightly, considers this a good save. “Hey, I ate the amaranth porridge this morning.” All the more reason to reward herself with wine tonight. Greg’s penchant for randomly assigning certain foods to days—Tofu Tuesdays, Amaranth Wednesdays, Quinoa Fridays—has only affirmed Caroline’s commitment to a parallel schedule of inevitable alcoholism.

Before walking away, he reverts to the Labradoodle Pout. His courtship of Blackburn Barbie, aka Brigitte, has not been going well and as a result he has been as mopey as Morrissey around the house. In turn Caroline has ramped up efforts to be kind and supportive or, at the very least, less bitchy—for starters, eating amaranth porridge without complaint. In addition, she consented to doing yoga with him on occasion; her motivation here is purely selfish, because she realizes that keeping up sexually with the likes of Gillian Greenwood may require a level of flexibility suitable to a preteen gymnast, or at least as close to that state as her sad-sack, wine-fueled, middle-aged body can attain. The other day during their marathon post-flood shag session she got such horrid back spasms at one point that Gillian leaped out of bed and started getting dressed because she assumed a trip to A&E was imminent. But a back massage, a glass of wine, and a story about a runaway lamb safely recovered during the storm fixed her up just fine.

Or maybe it was the timbre of Gillian’s voice as she relayed the tale of the lamb, floating ethereal as smoke above her as she lay face down on the bed, muscles melting under a vigorous work-over: Poor damned thing, she were afraid of the rushing water, y’see, so I had to cross over to the other side, grab her, and carry her—imagine me, wading through a stream, water up to my knees with a lamb across my shoulders, bloody lucky she’s so tiny and I know that creek bed like the back of my hand. When the spasms and pain finally subsided she rolled over, practically into Gillian’s arms, and stared up into those eyes which, at that moment, were the softened green-gray of the hills on a cold rainy day.

Gillian then smiled and said, better?

In response Caroline squeaked that she would really really really pretty please like to try that position again.

Nah, Gillian said. Can’t send you back to Harrogate all busted up. Besides, I’m rather enjoying you naked, helpless, and on your back—and in the 37 minutes that followed, she made absolutely certain that Caroline enjoyed it too.

But yoga is worth a try, lest she earn a reputation as a pillow queen—and that particular phrase riles up thoughts of Sacha, who is still in New York and whose initial copious outpouring of archly romantic texts at the beginning of the trip has dwindled down to an occasional flurry. Like this morning’s perfunctory check-in: a photo of the sunrise from a penthouse, a snarky recap of a dinner party, asking about Flora and work. Neither texts nor thoughts have led Caroline anywhere closer to a clue on what or whom she really wants. There is a lot to be said for being in the moment, Sacha had once said, and in this particular moment she is making spaghetti sauce and looking forward to seeing Gillian and admitting to herself she has a ways to go before completely fucking everything up, so there is that. For the moment she will settle for occasionally fucking up her back; at this morning’s quickie yoga session her back gave out a mere ten minutes into the routine, prompting Greg to chirp that the first downward dog is always the hardest while clearly under the illusion that his commentary was in some way helpful.

With the sauce at perfect simmer she sprawls in a dining room chair for a moment, drinks wine, smiles at the frosty white glint of the Christmas lights from the living room ceiling that reflect into the hallway, and briefly persuades herself that she is queen of all she surveys when reality so far has only proven that she is nothing more than everyone’s bitch and a pushover for a three-year-old. She knew the moment Greg brought up Christmas plans last night at dinner—a pointless topic of conversation given that she can barely plan an outfit for the following day not to mention that she has her head up her arse about two very different women and if she has to eat quinoa pilaf one more time this month she may go mental—that a seed of holiday longing would be planted in Flora’s attentive, obsessive mind. The child spent the morning relentlessly grilling Caroline about when Christmas would occur and, more urgently, about the appearance of Christmas lights: where lights? when? Which devolved into the terse, repetitive command of lights! as if she were a tiny demented film director.

So she got the lights.

Appeasing a child can be easy enough; a middle-aged sheep farmer a far different matter and especially when you take sex out of the equation. She has no idea what frame of mind Gillian will be in when she arrives for dinner. Her one-liner texts from the morning consisted of bitching about parking in Halifax, the lateness of the solicitor, the bad cup of tea she had at an overpriced shop, and then later, her father’s never-ending critique of her driving as she took him to a doctor’s appointment. Over the course of the day Caroline experienced uneasy moments of doubt, fearing that Gillian might yet again reconsider divorce, might give Robbie yet another go. If nothing else, her hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-husband is expert at mining and manipulating the deep well of Gillian’s remorse to his ultimate advantage—performing an emotionally elegant sleight-of-hand that magically strips away her ragged self-esteem under the guise of stalwart support, convincing her that despite evidence to the contrary she fails at everything and possesses nothing but raw, naked vulnerability. A bizarro world version of the emperor’s new clothes, and gaslighting at its finest. She is certain Robbie does not possess enough self-awareness to know what he does; it is precisely in those who lack it that the most craven impulse outs itself with unerring cruelty.

Meanwhile Lawrence arrives home, glares uncomprehendingly at the living room’s Christmas-in-August décor, and mutters a hit-and-run insult on the way to the refrigerator: “You’ve lost your mind.”

For an infinitesimal moment she regards him, and then raises her glass in a toast. “Probably genetic, so welcome to your future.”

He rolls his eyes, drops a satchel on a chair. “Our future is the shitshow outside.” He guzzles neon-flavored Powerade. “Gran and Alan are in the driveway shouting at Gillian.”

“Right.” Caroline sighs and returns to tending the sauce on the stove, poking at the onion softening slowly under its pearlescent dome.

“Please tell me we’re not eating weird shit tonight,” Lawrence begs.

“Spaghetti.”

“Thank God.”

The dinner guests plow through the doorway unannounced and without knocking. Gillian resembles a weary, wounded fox pursued by two gabbling old hounds—furrowed, scowling, and wincing as sniping cross-conversations pursue her. She wears one of her better flowery dresses and a matching navy blue cardigan sweater. The color-coordinated ensemble indicates that she asked Raff to pick it out, a task he does routinely, as he recently confessed to Caroline, but also reluctantly: This kind of thing will put me right into therapy, I know it will, he had said.

Greetings are, apparently, out of the question as Alan and Celia carry on conversing. “What do you mean, the doctor wants to change your medication?” Celia says.

Alan sighs. “It’s nothing, just a wee uptick in dosage—”

The remainder of the sentence goes unheard because Gillian finally meets her gaze and grins, and Caroline’s besotted brain goes on the blink at this live demonstration of collision theory: The chemical reaction, the charge that always existed between them is different now, the limits of those preexistent bonds are broken and altered into something new and viable and intense, and in the anguished relief and the reliable comfort of mere proximity now runs a strain of undisguised joy.

At any rate, she is pretty certain it’s not just the fact that she offers Gillian a very generous pour of a very good white.

As Gillian gratefully downs the vigonier, Alan sighs. “We’ll talk later,” he says to Celia. “Right now we are discussing Gillian—”

The mere utterance of her name brings about a reversion to a perpetual solid state of anger. Nose buried in the now-empty wineglass, Gillian seeks reprieve; she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, as if she can absorb each and every boozy airborne mote of wine. Then: “No,” she replies edgily. She sits the empty glass on the table and its jarring scrape marks a change in mood. “We’re not.”

“If you agree to settlement—” Alan begins.

“No, I won’t.” Gillian exhales violently, nods at the empty glass. “That’s all right, then,” she drawls, and then sets her lusty sights on Caroline in such a pointedly restrained fashion that a clandestine current of meaning crackles beneath innocuous conversation, and they both know that this combination of glance and tone will be interpreted by clueless observers in multifarious ways—as an in-joke about the wine or a veiled sarcastic commentary on divorce, present company, life as a whole—except the correct one.

At least this is what Caroline hopes, because she notices her mother’s eyebrows arch in a curious fashion.

“Settling would be the easiest solution,” Alan continues, oblivious to how his daughter’s eyes rake over her stepsister.

Caroline looks away, bites her lip, gives the sauce an agitated stir that splatters the stovetop. “Glad you like it,” she replies softly.

“There more?” Gillian asks in an undertone that makes her shiver.

“Oh yeah.” Worrying that her quick assent runs a bit too throatily sensual, she clears her throat in such a larynx-shredding way that she sounds like Rumpole of the Bailey straining on the shitter.

Solicitously Celia fetches her a glass of water.

Alan reaches a point of shouty exasperation with his obstinate offspring. “Are you listening to me?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Gillian is right there on the summit with him. “Yeah, I am, Dad. But what you don’t get is, is, it’s done. I’m done. I’m not getting back with him, that’s a pipe dream, and I’m not giving him some sort of ‘financial settlement’ either—”

Oh, the finger quotes, Caroline sighs dreamily. How elegantly she employs them.

“—and if you think I’m going to ask Gary for money you’re out of your f-f-bloody mind, he and Felicity already done enough for me. No, the quickest and cheapest way to get out of this bloody mess of my own making is my way.” Then, despite her best efforts, she surrenders a couple f-bombs: “And if it means I have ‘adultery’ written on my fucking divorce petition and ‘whore’ written across my fucking forehead, well then, let’s just leave it, all right?”

This effectively silences nearly everyone but Lawrence. “Wow. Dinner might actually be interesting for once.”

Before Caroline can defuse the tension by offering drinks all around, Gillian seizes her by the wrist and, with a gentle tug, leads her out of the room. “Going to have a chat. Be right back.”

“Here we go again with the girl talk,” Celia says indulgently, as if Caroline and Gillian are teenagers gallivanting off to talk about boys and jewelry and makeup.

“Talk some sense into her, Caroline!” Alan barks.

“Someone stir my sauce!” Caroline shouts back as she is led down the hallway, helpless as Richard III with the kingdom falling down about him, sauce probably ruined and the battle surely lost. Did Richard feel this euphoric as he headed for the fall? At the very end, what did he feel other than sheer relief at the inevitable?

“What is this thing in the sauce?” she hears Celia trill.

Alan is apprehensive. “It’s not the tofu, is it?”

Before she can scream no it’s not the bloody tofu Gillian gently shoves her in the bathroom, slams the door shut, locks it, and before Caroline can eke out a word of concern or affection Gillian claps a hand around the back of her neck and kisses her ruthlessly—that all-consuming kiss that she specializes in, the kiss of Don Juan’s reckless daughter. They pinball around the tiny bathroom, collide against the sink, knock a hand towel off the towel rack, and kick the metallic bin that sounds a scuffling hiss followed up with a booming gong. She nearly trips over her own feet but instead plops down right onto the toilet seat, opting to give Gillian credit for steering her there rather than lust-driven clumsy happenstance, which accurately describes her dance style circa 1989 and usually at its most frenzied to Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round.” Then Gillian is on her lap—kissing her throat, biting her ear, fingernails of one hand etching the border of her scalp while the other eagerly cups her breast. She gathers a fistful of Gillian’s dress, the scratchy-soft fabric binds her knuckles and balls into her palm; self-bondage is the only thing preventing her from clawing bare skin with her nails and sliding her hand between those thighs and that is good because they are too close to fucking and the deep, sweet thrumming that rolls through Gillian’s throat drives her absolutely mad and she’s never been like this with anyone else before, no one, not John, not Kate, not Sacha or even some anonymous bint on the dance floor, no one. She has never been ravenous and reckless like this, never before abandoned her carefully considered plans of what love was or how it should be conducted. Love the abstraction, love the reality, dovetail dangerously into the current moment.

The kisses slow down and in the hunger that lingers between them, like silence seeded into and enriching the adagio of a symphony, Caroline realizes that their burning savor is not from desire or wine alone but running along the familial lines of whiskey. She breathes gentle accusation into Gillian’s willing mouth: “You’ve been drinking.”

It hardly seems unexpected, this pattern typical of Gillian: comfort sought in a bottle or a bloke. Should be glad it was the former and not the latter, Caroline thinks. So far as she knows, anyway, but then she can hardly demand sexual exclusivity when Gillian has given her free reign with Sacha. Their collision, their chemistry, has not completely broken all the bonds, nor recalibrated all the equations and reactions and networks. It has not—and most likely will not—reconfigure this whole complicated mess of molecules known as Gillian Greenwood, and this tempers Caroline’s disappointment.

Gillian pulls away slightly and squints comically, in the hope that playing up the role of lovable drunk will allay any potential Carolinian outbursts that simmer beneath a beautiful breastbone clad in an overpriced, casual linen blouse.

“Did. You. Know,” she drawls, punctuating each word with a soft jab at Caroline’s sternum, “that for the past two and half years, ever since they got married, Dad and your mum have been cruelly, cruelly hoarding a spectacular bottle of single-malt scotch in their little love shack, a bottle they got as a wedding present from the bloody vicar?”

Caroline sighs, groans, buries her face into Gillian’s neck—and inhales the weird manly shower gel that Raff owns and that his mother, out of sheer laziness, uses as well, and it possesses the power of a thousand colognes magnified into one spicy scent, like cheap cinnamon roasting in a toxic gas fire. On an actual man she would find it absolutely repulsive, but on a woman, this woman, it’s an inexplicable turn-on and so she sets to feasting on Gillian’s throat, but careful not to leave a mark. “I did not.”

Distinctly aware that she has offered herself as first course on the dinner menu—at least for the hostess—Gilliam stammers and squirms. “I n-needed to, um, reward myself for today.”

“Speaking of rewards— ” Caroline whispers. She releases the dress around her hand—and herself from the bonds of being good—and slips it between Gillian’s legs, fingers flat along her warm thigh and touching the scrunched elastic boundary of her panties, and then someone pounds on the door with such unbridled fury that Caroline knows immediately that it’s her most troublesome and stroppy child and she is both grateful for and infuriated at the unintentional cuntblock.

From her comfy perch in Caroline’s lap Gillian attempts an elegant, faun-like leap to safety but instead elaborately and drunkenly staggers, kneels, and twists, inadvertently graceful as if she’s attempting an Orthodox Jewish wedding dance—but for the saving grace of frantically latching onto the sink she nearly ends up face down on the tiled floor.

“GREG IS MAKING THE PASTA,” Lawrence booms. “AND HE’S STIRRING THE SAUCE.”

Because Lawrence only pays attention to shouting, Caroline has no recourse to volley back a bellow. Which, given a heightened level of sexual frustration, is easy enough: “TELL HIM NOT TO GET RID OF THE ONION. I HAVE PLANS FOR THE ONION.”

Whilst straightening and smoothing out her dress, Gillian stares at her suspiciously.

“IT’S ALMOST READY AND IF YOU DON’T COME OUT NOW YOU’LL BE EATING TOFU CHIPS ALL NIGHT.”

“ALL RIGHT. WE’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE.”

“HAVE YOU WASHED MY SHIRTS YET?”

“FUCK OFF, I’M NOT YOUR SERVANT.”

“BOY YOU’RE JUST REALLY MOTHER OF THE YEAR, AREN’T YOU?” She hears him stomps away.

“Mother of the year,” Gillian echoes. Tipsily she giggles, leans against the sink, hugs herself, and Caroline is struck—not for the first time—by the fierce singularity of her solitude, witnessed many a time in crowded pubs, at weddings, during dinners, over cups of tea and glasses of wine, even lying next to her in bed. You cannot fix people. This Caroline now knows. She spent eighteen years indulging John’s fantasy of being saved from himself and those efforts were, in fact, the essence and bedrock of their marriage. But the urge to fix and to save and to make right remains deeply inculcated in her; it is a force that compels and confounds at once.

Wobbly, she gets up. In two steps she’s in front of Gillian and grips the edge of the sink with both hands, thus penning the shepherdess like one of her ewes. Not that she wants to trap Gillian, but rather retain meager control over not only the situation but also her wandering hands. In response Gillian’s fingers tap the buttons of her shirt, drumming out a subversive Morse code, dots and dashes of defiant desire. “You going to tell me what happened today?”

“Didn’t drag you in here to talk,” Gillian says, with a tug on Caroline’s blouse. A kiss, a nip of the lower lip, the sweet shock of pain. “There’s nothing to tell.” The lie is followed by a softer, wetter kiss. “It’s shit. It’s toss. It’ll be over soon.” Gillian pauses and there is a sensual wavering of the moment, as a flag in full furl before the wind dies down, all revealed in the microcosmic flutter of her eyelids. “We can talk later. If you like. After dinner.”

“All right.” Caroline is grateful she’s still holding onto the sink’s edge, because her knees buckle. “You look good. Really good.”

Gillian barks out a laugh and gives her a playful push. “You hate this dress.”

“What? No.” Automatically, Caroline straightens with indignation.

“Called it a peasant dress once, you did.”

“I did not.” Even as she denies it, she can hear herself saying it while in that cabernet-tinted cloud of repressed emotion that she operated in when they first met.

With an eyeroll, Gillian shoves her against the bathroom door, bites her neck, her earlobe, runs a wild, unrepentant tongue along the gentle swell of her throat, and hisses “peasant” at her.

Caroline shivers. “Must’ve been drunk.”

“Or just being a bitch.”

“Or that.” She sighs. “So. Shall we? Once more unto the breach, then?”

While brushing back the bangs from Caroline’s forehead, Gillian smiles with undisguised fondness; it’s unnerving, exhilarating, so much so that Caroline is caught deliriously off guard. “Comb your hair first,” Gillian replies. Then, with an exaggerated look at Caroline’s chest: “And calm your tits.”

As Caroline takes mortified account of over-exuberant nipples, Gillian darts out of the bathroom. She exhales a long breath, brushes her hair, and wills her body into submission.

In the kitchen Greg has taken over. She sets the table. Gillian gets more wine. Alan and Celia seriously debate whether Alan’s doctor resembles Richard Harris “before he started looking like a drunk.” Lawrence ignores everyone and everything except his mobile. Flora runs amok and takes it upon herself to show the Christmas lights in the living room to Gillian, who reacts with the appropriate awe and outlandish questions that make Flora cackle with delight: Did you put those up yourself, love?

Dinner starts out pleasantly enough, if only because everyone sublimates a spectrum of frustrations with pasta. Sacha would approve, Caroline thinks—and quickly quashes that thought as she admires her own plating expertise.

“The sauce is great,” Greg says, and then adds teasingly, “despite the lack of tofu.”

Caroline leans back. “Yeah? Thanks. And thanks for helping.”

“Your own recipe?”

“No. From Marcella Hazan.”

Lawrence, of course, tosses in the first conversational Molotov cocktail. “That another girlfriend?”

Gillian chokes on wine in such an elaborate fashion that it distracts Flora from endlessly twirling—and eventually wearing— the spaghetti on her plate.

As his daughter violently coughs and wheezes into a napkin, Alan shakes his head. “Always eats and drinks like a convict, she does. Gulping down everything.”

“Marcella Hazan was a food writer,” Caroline replies patiently to her idiot son. “And she’s dead.”

“Was she a lesbian?” Lawrence drawls mischievously.

Celia sighs. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Spastic fit over and done, Gillian wags a finger at her wineglass. “That’s, um, really, really powerful stuff, Caz.”

“Then maybe you should stop for the night,” Alan says.

Gillian gives him a disingenuous, snarling smile. “Well, old man,” she begins slowly, “maybe you should—”

“—have dessert!” Caroline interjects as Gillian glares at her, boldly telegraphing a reproach for preventing her from telling her father to fuck off.

Exhausted from an afternoon of father-daughter verbal sniping, Celia jumps in rather desperately: “What is for dessert?”

Beaming proudly, Greg pats his belly to indicate that a culinary delight is headed to the table: “Strawberry banana tofu ice cream.”

The family scatters to the wind: Lawrence scuttles upstairs, Celia murmurs something about biscuits at home that need eating before they go stale and drags her grumbling husband away lest he take up verbal fisticuffs with his surly daughter again, and Greg engages Flora in a game called “A Night at the Races,” where he and Flora run up and down the hallway in a very obvious attempt to tire her out. Briefly Gillian joins in the race until she is reprimanded for running with wine, and then disappears into the living room.

All this happens as Caroline cleans up. Afterward she relieves Greg of parental duty and gets Flora in the bathtub, where she is copiously splashed and anointed with suds in the process. Prelude to bedtime includes more running around upstairs, then the reading of a tale involving pandas playing badminton—the lesson implicit in the story involves good sportsmanship but Caroline’s takeaway is that maybe pandas shouldn’t be playing badminton to begin with. At the end of the tale Flora is still awake and demands more panda adventures. So Caroline improvises a story of a panda chemist who creates a magic potion that turns humans into pandas. As she rattles off ingredients for the imaginary formula—lewisite, calcite, phosgene oxime, titanium, feta cheese, pseudoephedrine, monkey brains, eucalyptus oil, banana farts—Flora falls asleep to the litany and Caroline dismally realizes that all her children are bored silly by her beloved chemistry.

Downstairs she finds Gillian alone, sunk into the couch, shoes kicked off, bare feet on the coffee table and terribly close to a glass of wine. Despite the relaxed pose her restless hands wrestle in the soft, inviting arena of her lap. She stares up at the small, white lights that limn the dimensions of the room and form an unimaginative rectangular constellation around them. Gillian likes starwatching, can rattle off useless facts about the planets, and Caroline swears to God that she heard Gillian say Cassiopeia the other day when they made love—a faint, ardent susurration on her skin. Caroline knows little about stars except that they collapse and break apart and their remnants hold court in the glimmering corridor of a nebula. Perhaps that’s it, Caroline thinks. There is no fixing or handling Gillian—who looks up at her now and smiles. There is nothing to do but gather together her bright broken pieces and keep them safe.

“This is nice,” Gillian says. “With the lights.”

The glow of the room brings her back to the Eddie confession, the two of them sitting on the sofa in Gillian’s home in front of the fire. In the years since they have sat together in silences ranging widely from the amiable to the charged, and so much has happened since that evening: Deaths and births and marriages and divorces and in the midst of it all is this woman whose presence in her life, whose volatility she cannot contain or really even fathom, remains fixed and constant.

Tiredness kicks in, the flow of lust runs sluggish in her veins. That and Gillian looks fairly knackered as well, so she doesn’t have to worry about another barely controlled makeout session. But before attempting any gesture that could be viewed as more than sisterly affection by even the most objective bystander, she glances around. “Where’s Greg?”

Gillian stifles a yawn. “Went out, he asked me to tell you. Meeting his lady friend for a drink.” She snorts and says the woman’s name in a wispy falsetto: “Brigitte.”

Sputtering a laugh, Caroline dives into the couch next to her. “Oh God. He told you about her.”

“Yep. Know everything about her now. Like, for example, she got perfect A levels—”

Caroline snorts derisively. “So did I.”

“’Course you did. I know what kind of wine she likes—”

“What?”

“Fucking chardonnay, Caz.”

“Is that different from regular chardonnay?”

Gillian grins and leans into her. She takes Caroline’s hand in her own, her thumb presses into the fleshy swale of Caroline’s palm, massaging a sweet pressure point that makes Caroline sag contentedly into overstuffed cushions. “Get this, she cried at the end of Titanic. I mean, I cried at the end of Titanic but only because I’d just wasted three hours of my bloody life watching it.”

“I fell asleep during Titanic,” Caroline confesses.

“Smartest decision of your life.”

While Caroline is content to have Gillian’s head resting against her shoulder and her hand massaged and caressed ad infinitum—as such they sit in silence for several long, exquisite minutes—she wonders if the subject of the day in divorce court should be raised. She hadn’t even known about the event until Alan mentioned it yesterday. Gillian has so many layers of unpredictability that sometimes in comparison other people appear almost logical, forthright, and uncomplicated. Of course, the limitations of her emotional intelligence force comparison with Kate—wondering once again if Kate had untold contradictions and complexities of character, or if Caroline was simply too selfish and self-involved to put forth a real effort of discovery. Think we all know the answer to that, twat, she tells herself. If Kate were alive, would she still be blundering through existence with a wife who was largely unknown to her? Has Gillian, through her own desperate needs, somehow inadvertently brought out powers of perception in Caroline that were otherwise dormant?

Sod it, she thinks, and asks cautiously: “Was it bad? Today?”

Gillian groans and, to Caroline’s disappointment, releases her hand and sits up—rather, hunches and hovers nervously over the coffee table. “Same as it ever is. My brilliant history of disappointing everyone. See it on everyone’s face. My dad. Robbie. Even your mum.” She reaches for the wine, stares into the glass. “Maybe someday you’ll look at me like that.” She gulps down the last of it and before Caroline can vigorously deny the claim, plows on. “Let’s begin with the old man, shall we? He cares what people think, my dad does. Remember when Gary gave that interview and ‘outed’ him, so to speak? Well, he’s acting like this is on the same level, it being on ‘public record’ that I’m an adulterer. Like who gives a shit anymore about things like that. Anyone who knows me knows it’s my fault anyway, right? Yeah, I know, you’re gonna say not my fault, shouldn’t have married Robbie, should have embraced a life of lesbianism—”

“I’d never say that,” Caroline replies.

Gillian squints at her accusingly. “Probably thinking it.”

“I think that about every woman, really.”

This, at least, makes Gillian grin for a moment. “But the thing is, I did marry him, I did cheat on him—I did.” She repeats it softly: “I did. And it’s just one more thing I’ve done wrong in a very f-fucking long list and every time he looks at me, I see him ticking off things in that mental list”—her index finger spasms and marks off items in imaginary list written on air—“all the things he knows I’ve done, all the things he suspects, and, Christ, it’s all m-messed up, really messed up—you know why?”

“Why?”

Gillian stares at her with the same sneering incredulousness that, most likely, greeted Robbie when he made the following suggestion: “After all this shit we talked about with the bleeding lawyers today, as I’m leaving he waylays me and says he still wants to get back together. Work it out. He looks at me as if everything about me is wrong, that I am the source of all his misery, and he still wants me. It completely does my head in. Is that what love is supposed to be?” She shakes her head, burrows back into the sofa. “He’s wanted to marry me since he was sixteen—he, he said that to me once. His way of proposing.”

“He’s not sixteen anymore,” Caroline replies. “And neither are you.” She thinks of Robbie—who never set foot outside of the country until his honeymoon, always wears the same shirt-and-tie combo to holiday gatherings, who still owns a Yorkshire rugby team blanket that he bought some thirty-five years ago and always insisted using it as a throw on the marital bed and then got quite cross with Gillian when she used it as bedding for an arthritic old sheep dog.

“Even when I was sixteen, I—Jesus, I didn’t want to marry anyone. I mean, I didn’t know who I was. Couldn’t find my arse with both hands. Still can’t.”

“It’s not love on his part,” Caroline says as she absently tucks hair around Gillian’s ear. “It’s an inability to grow up, move on, let go. He thinks he has some special claim on you, because he was your first—”

Gillian stretches and sits up, moving out of Caroline’s grasp. “He wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t he?” Admittedly Caroline is unsure of details; trying to establish some sort of shagging timeline with regard to Gillian’s romantic past has always seemed a fool’s quest, or at the very least an effort warranting a first-class historian possessing patience and superior spreadsheet skills beyond her own modest capabilities.

“I mean—he, he was the first person I had it off with, but he wasn’t the first person I loved.”

“Eddie, then,” Caroline says. Which makes sense. Gillian has never said as much explicitly, but in her stories about Eddie his magnetism, charm, and good looks were easily envisioned and Caroline vividly imagines the façade of his rough, alluring beauty, as if he were some kind of modern Dorian Gray, that overlaid the monstrous, festering piece of shit that he actually was.

Poised attentively on the couch, Gillian tucks her hands under her thighs. It’s a new trick, Caroline has noticed, a move to prevent her from biting her fingernails. Instead she ends up gnawing her lower lip. “No.”

Caroline pauses. “Oh.” She hopes that she has struck the right note of calm interest and not condescending, snotty-bitch surprise.

“You want to ask, I know.”

“You’ve no obligation to tell me anything,” Caroline says firmly, then continues in a slower, gentler tone: “I can guess, based on things you’ve told me before.”

Gillian says nothing, only frowns and looks away.

“It was one of those women? From Hebden Bridge?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never talked much about them. Or—her.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You were very young.”

This statement of fact, framed however cautiously, lingers as an accusation and puts Gillian on the defensive. Which Caroline did not mean to do, but there was no other way of putting it out there. She rolls her shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“You were fourteen.”

“Fifteen,” Gillian corrects absently. She stills her restless hands, her fingers interlock and lace together tightly over her knee and remind Caroline of a puzzle she had as a child, she thinks it was called a bamboozler, where the challenge is careful dismantling followed by skillful rebuilding. Gillian looks up again at the orderly constellation of white lights that bathe them in a Milky Way of memories. It takes 25,000 light years to travel to the Milky Way, a journey that would be an epic mind-fuck of time’s perpetual collision: future, present, past. What time is it in the Milky Way? Caroline wonders. With increasing distance the past entices, always, and Gillian is no more immune to it than Robbie or anyone else.

“You’re thinking it was wrong,” Gillian says. “That she hurt me, took advantage of me. Maybe that’s all true. Yeah, I guess, I guess maybe it is. But you don’t understand. You don’t know how it felt—how I felt. It was like, like a new world for me and I was the bloody center of it, she made me feel that and—I really, really believed it, all of it.” She pauses. “Including the part where she said she loved me.”

With this crucial piece of the Gillian Greenwood puzzle in place, a design looms large, a pattern discerns itself. Enough so that Caroline requires for the moment no further details, no more components. Even though Gillian adds softly, “And I loved her.”

CHAPTER SOUNDTRACK:

Ella Fitzgerald, “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” Cigarettes After Sex, “Apocalypse” The National, “Empire Line” BONUS NONSENSE! Marcella Hazan’s tomato sauce recipe.

#last tango in tomato sauce #ltih #Caroline x Gillian

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