#SQUEAKY FEELS NOTHING FOR ANY PATHETIC HUMAN

[hor3nee]

• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

   Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

[wincore]

romeo roulette | jung yoonoh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader

summary: if finding your soulmate is the same as a damn game of russian roulette, you are determined to not pull the trigger at all. except, you know who your soulmate is and he doesn’t—and given a choice to pretend, you find that jaehyun is the lesser of the two burdens to bear.

genre: soulmate au, office au, fake dating, fluff (a lot), angst (a little), romcom, magical realism (??)

words: 21.2k

warnings: language

song recs: playlist here !

a/n: behold ! a kdrama compressed in a fic ! ok i was lying there was more than a little angst but all in good fun <3 i have never experienced working in an office (thanks to the panny) but i tried making it as accurate as i could !! hope you have fun with this <3

It’s not that you’ve never been looked at with a lover’s gaze, it’s just that whatever look Jaehyun has been giving you is mildly uncomfortable. It’s not supposed to be that way. Hell, even his hand clasping yours are a little too clammy for your liking.

Jung Yoonoh. Get your act together.

You wish he were a better actor than this. For someone used to eyes on him in each and every room he’s in, he’s not very good at making eye contact. You’ll be saving this performance. Not to stroke your own ego but at least you know how to behave under strong gazes.

There are three people staring at the two of you and your fingers intertwined, scrutinizing your postures and the expressions on your faces. Maybe Jaehyun should face them instead of glancing at you wordlessly. He’s a terrible liar for someone who acts so smooth. 

You look up with a short smile. The aforementioned three are your coworkers—former class rep at uni and your current boss Doyoung, your friend Soojin and Jaehyun’s friend Sicheng from IT. None of them look happy—like it concerns them. If there was a competition for nosy coworkers, this entire group would be winning awards left and right (and that’s including you). 

They’re going to find out, an annoying voice giggles inside the quiet corner of your brain. Like hell, they will. You didn’t take up acting lessons in college for nothing. You just need to focus on the details.

This whole charade dates its beginning to a week ago. 

If someone were to tell you Jung Yoonoh from marketing is your soulmate, you would most certainly either laugh or take it as a genuine insult. Hence, you were glad when you found that he isn’t. 

It was an accident. You had glimpsed at his soulmark, right below his collarbone, at a particularly wild office afterparty—and somehow, you thought it was fitting that his tattoo was a little red heart. For someone born on Valentine’s day (which you know from a night out with coworkers, not because you’re remotely interested), if his soulmark was not something as disgusting as a heart, it would be the textbook definition of irony. But then again, fate is a funny thing. Your soulmark is a heart roughly the same size, with a little more intricacy in the form of a piercing arrow.

Despite all, however, if someone were to ask you if Jung Yoonoh is the worst person to be your soulmate, the answer is no. You can name at least five coworkers off the top of your head that you’d choose him over. You would choose him over Doyoung (and especially his nagging), you would choose him over Taeyong because he’s too hot and you also don’t like men in a higher position than you are, you would choose him over Jungwoo because you suspect he’s secretly a furry. Jaehyun is certainly better than your deskmate Dongmin who, despite an angelic smile, is: a) too distant to make actual conversation with, and b) in a relationship despite being your soulmate. Sweet-tempered Dongmin doesn’t even know it’s you. You’d love to be the bearer of bad news but this one—you’re not exactly ready for it yourself.

So that’s the explanation for why you hunted down Jaehyun and in a desperate attempt to not seem pathetic, coerced him into a role that has carefully picked benefits for either of you. You just have to bite the bullet sometimes.

“And I get what out of this?”

“Me? Temporarily, that is.”

Jaehyun laughs in amusement and you drop your smile, almost offended. If you were a gift, you’d certainly be an attractive, spicy, hot one—he doesn’t have to look at you so incredulously. In a neat business suit, Jaehyun is as kempt as ever though his tie could do with some more work.  As an HR assistant, his appearance pleases you. However as a person, the perfection annoys the hell out of you. He could show himself to be more human. It would make your job (both the actual and the metaphorical) easier.

“I’m leaving,” he announces with a nonchalant exhale. “You keep messing around during work hours like this and people are going to think you’re jobless.”

“Wait!” 

You jog up to him and block his path, crossing your arms as you huff at his indignance. 

“I said no,” he repeats, and when he tries to evade you, you push him back with your palm flat against his chest. Jaehyun doesn’t show any more discomfort than usual, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You haven’t found your soulmate, right?” you say, taking a deep breath. If you have to resort to psychological warfare, so be it.

His smile wavers and he straightens, no longer leaning against the printer desk. “No. How does that matter?”

“It matters because you’re going to be my pretend-soulmate. Now, don’t be a pussy.”

He opens his mouth and closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “You can’t always trick me into doing what you want.”

“I’ll ask Doyoung if you say no.”

“See—enough with the tricks, they don’t work anymore. I’ve known you for two years.”

“I really will ask him.”

“Not convincing enough. You don’t even talk to Doyoung outside work.”

You groan into your hand, taking a few moments to come up with another plan. How is your obvious charisma not enough? You certainly can’t tell him how rejected you feel with the whole Dongmin situation even if his rejection hasn’t officially come yet. It’s too embarrassing for a grown adult to go through. You don’t mind being lonely for the rest of your life if you’re successful. There’s a price tag on each decision you make anyway.

“I’ll treat you to lunch every day. I’ll pay.”

You cross your arms, tapping your foot in anticipation. They say the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Besides, Jaehyun hates spending his lunch money on himself. This ought to do something.

Jaehyun places his hand in front of his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh no, out of your beloved paycheck? That’s kind of scary, honestly.”

“Jaehyun. Stop messing around. I’m being serious.”

He purses his lips, hesitation across his face. You don’t like the way he thinks, with quiet, lost eyes and no clear giveaways on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

You smile in relief though you try somewhat to not let it show on your face. 

“On one condition.”

Your eyes dart across his face, nothing that tells what he might suggest next. You hate when you don’t get to decide on things.

“You have to come visit my family next month and pose as my soulmate—”

“No way.”

“—and when this whole game you’re playing is over, you’re going to say I rejected you.”

You stare at him, weighing the odds. 

“Fine,” you say finally, voice pitched in slight annoyance.

Jaehyun shrugs.

“But I tell my parents that I rejected you. Or they’ll come after you with a task force or something.”

You mutter the last part.

He grimaces, holding his breath for a good few seconds and then letting it go.

“Alright. It’s not like mine and your parents know each other—or will ever meet.”

“Fine then,” you say. “We have an agreement.”

“We have an agreement,” he repeats.

Now, back to more pressing matters. The people in front of you aren’t a stupid lot—even if you've seen Doyoung spend $500 on plush toys, seen Sicheng absentmindedly walk into a desk and pretend to not be in pain for the next five minutes and Soojin somehow convinced a senior to get her coffee because she thought he was an intern (in her defence, it worked). 

The only way is to act through. You clear your throat.

"We… we discovered it last week. Our signs match."

Technically, you drew an arrow with a permanent marker over Jaehyun's tattoo in an attempt to resemble yours. It's not awful, but perhaps not perfect. 

“Discovered? Like just happened to find out?” Doyoung asks.

“Isn’t Jaehyun’s on…” Soojin leans in to whisper hurriedly in your ear. “On his butt? Did you guys sleep together?”

You contort your face in disgust. “The what? What? Who told you that? And no.”

Soojin makes an ‘ah’ sound and leans back. “I should stop listening to office rumours then.”

"You should." You glare at her.

Sicheng is the only one without questions at the tip of his tongue but the look on his face worries you most. 

“I’ve never seen your tattoo, now that I think about it,” he muses, turning to Jaehyun. “Although we’re roommates.”

Jaehyun clears his throat, looking around with shifty eyes. "Why is… why is everyone looking so suspicious?"

"It's just… so sudden," Soojin says, looking around at the others.

"Yeah," Sicheng mutters.

"Soulmate fraud is a big deal too, you know that right?" Doyoung informs. "You could get put in jail."

You throw up your hands in exasperation. "Why would we pretend? We don't have any reason to. And, uh, you're sure about the jail thing?"

You look at Doyoung, hoping your question didn’t come off too squeaky. 

"You’re right,” he says, sighing. “It’s so unlikely for soulmates to work in the same company, let alone the same building.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so lucky,” you mutter under your breath.

Doyoung sighs. "Look, we're happy for you. It's just that… it's a little sudden."

"Literally what I just said," Soojin says.

"Literally what she just said," Doyoung agrees quickly, not wanting to pick a fight. Sometimes you wonder who the real boss is.

"Look, just because we don't even acknowledge each other or find each other remotely attractive or wouldn't even be each other's office Christmas card candidate—"

Jaehyun nudges your side with his elbow and gives you a look that seems a lot like "You're making it worse".

You clear your throat. "That's what happens to most soulmates! You think you're going to land the perfect one and boom. You get a chump from marketing."

Jaehyun makes a sound of protest. "I didn't want a snob from HR either."

The two of you glare at each other, and you find that clenching his jaw makes Jaehyun slightly (around 0.05%) more attractive, or at the very least more bearable to look at.

Doyoung gasps. "Okay, I get it. You're having adjustment issues. I know a guy for that. He's helped every newly found soulmate couple adjust with each other."

"We don't need that," you interrupt, offering your fakest smile.

"You do," Doyoung responds, his smile equally fake. "I'll drive you this weekend if you're free. He’ll give you one free session. No more, because we all know how capitalism works."

People have got to stop copying your fake smile. You wish you could have it copyrighted because after all, it’s the same smile that tricks interviewees into thinking they got the job. It’s not evil if you say it isn’t. You open your mouth, look at Jaehyun doing the same and when you can't come up with an excuse, give up and nod. 

"Don't look so resentful," Doyoung says, tone slightly complaining. "I'm not doing this as your boss. We were friends in college and I'm just doing you a favour. A friendly favour."

Soojin hums in deep thought. "I feel like this is some sort of nepotism."

"I feel like you should open a dictionary once in a while," Doyoung mutters, only to get a vaguely threatening look from Soojin.

"Anyway," Sicheng diverts, eyes curious when he turns to Doyoung. "Why did you call us here?"

"Ah." Doyoung's eyes widen. "I heard promotion rumours."

Sicheng lets out a loud huff of annoyance. "You summoned us here for company gossip?"

Doyoung crosses his arms. “So, you’re not interested?”

“Who said that?” Sicheng responds quickly, leaning in.

The five of you huddle closer in a circle, looking as conspicuous as a cult. 

“You guys know that Jinyoung’s leaving, right?” Doyoung starts.

Soojin gasps audibly only to get a smack on the arm from Doyoung. “Why’s he leaving? He's like employee of the month every month. ”

A few chuckles pass through the group at her discontentment from months of losing out on the title.

“I heard he found his soulmate. Lucky ass gets tax benefits too now,” Sicheng complains. “Why is he leaving?”

“Oh, look who’s interested in gossip now,” Soojin coos.

Sichengs turns red in the face and looks away, clearing his throat. “You’re gonna answer my question, Doyoung?”

“Oh! Right.” Doyoung looks up from a text. “He got rejected by his soulmate.”

Soojin covers her mouth this time when she gasps and you can’t say your jaw doesn’t drop as well. 

“Rejected? Like our picture-perfect Jinyoung got rejected?” you repeat, trying to process the information. “Please don’t tell me he decided to be an idiot and sign a mutual rejection.”

“No, he didn’t lose his senses,” Doyoung responds with a duh undertone. “He’s getting the compensation money.”

You sigh. “Man, I feel bad for him.”

Jaehyun hums in agreement. There’s a hush over the group and you feel fear rise in your chest. You don’t want to be rejected. You’ve seen how happy Dongmin looks with his girlfriend—he’d reject you in a heartbeat. Of course, you could just receive the compensation money from the one-sided rejection and get it over with but you refuse to. It hurts to not be wanted. It hurts to not be wanted by someone who’s supposed to want you. To be specific, it hurts your pride. Every time you see the damn arrowed heart on Dongmin’s wrist, which he tries so hard to cover with his watch, you feel like throwing up. You’re glad yours isn’t as easy to spot—resting right above your hip bone.

“Anyway, someone’s getting promoted to that HR specialist position.”

You gasp. “Is it me? It’s me, right?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes and you elbow him. “What’s with you?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he says, shrugging. “Isn’t it stupid to get your hopes up over a rumour?”

Doyoung breathes out. “Wow, (name) really sucked the life out of you, Jaehyun.”

You glare at him when Soojin breaks into a fit of laughter. “You- you know what that- you know what that sounds like, right?”

Your face contorts into disgust and you shake your head. “Let’s be more professional, alright, Soojin?”

She clears her throat and straightens her clothes, like a teenager being reprimanded. “I’m your senior. It’s embarrassing when you say that to me.”

Jaehyun speaks up and turns to you. “I think lunch break is almost over.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So?”

“You’re forgetting something.” He smiles, dimples showing, but his eyes come off menacing.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You forgot about that stupid lunch promise. 

“Hey. Professional,” Soojin warns.

You groan and link your arm through Jaehyun’s, making him bite back a smile. What is it with men and getting weirdly happy about lunch?

“We’re gonna go get lunch,” you announce.

“Ooh, (name)’s ditching quality time with coworkers for dates now,” Soojin coos.

You roll your eyes and exit the office, stopping to wait in front of the elevator.

“I think that went well,” Jaehyun says, shrugging lightly.

“Shh. What if they hear us?”

“Do you think they’re X-men? We’re a long corridor and closed doors away.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Still…”

Jaehyun’s smug smile makes you want to smack it right off and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way with him. You swear he’s not as bad as some of the guys you’ve met but Jaehyun is simply annoying. An A grade nuisance. You can trust him though. If Soojin says he’s a reliable guy, you’ll believe her—she doesn’t bluff when it comes to seeing right through men, though she does have a tendency to believe stupid rumours.

“Your acting was shit though,” you snipe.

Jaehyun lets out a low sardonic laugh. “At least I was subtle when I was messing up.”

You cross your arms and huff. “You know what? You can take the next elevator ride.”

“Huh?”

You step into the elevator just as the doors open and quickly jam your finger to the close doors button. The look of betrayal on Jaehyun’s face is subtle but it’s enough to satisfy you. As the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens—it’s very applicable to elevators. He can take the other one.

However, almost immediately after, the elevator doors open and you groan, opening your mouth to send a sarcastic congratulations to Jaehyun for pressing the button on time.

Your words hitch on your tongue. Dongmin greets the two of you with a smile, standing beside Jaehyun, who has his eyes averted from you.

“Hey,” Dongmin greets. “Congratulations. I heard the news.”

“Thanks,” you croak, clearing your throat with a bit of heat on your cheeks. Jaehyun looks like he might burst into a fit of laughter any moment and you shoot him a subtle glare.

“Where are you headed to?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m going to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria.”

“We’re also headed to the cafeteria,” Jaehyun declares, with a smile that’s almost devilish.

“No, we’re not,” you say quickly, making Dongmin raise an eyebrow. You hold back a groan. If only Dongmin weren’t raised to be the politest man you know and a little bit more of an asshole. 

You hum and turn to Jaehyun. “I told you about that new cafe. Remember, honey?”

Dongmin makes an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Nicknames, already? Ah, I’m so jealous. It must be great to get along with your soulmate.”

Oh, the sweet summer child that Dongmin is.

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “Oh, won’t it take too long, darling? We have—”

He makes a show of checking his Rolex, a gift he received from his superior that he spares no chance to flex.

“—Around ten minutes left.”

You hold back a groan and plaster on your smile. “Come on. Now is the best time.”

“That sounds like a load of—”

You elbow Jaehyun hard in the gut and a restrained sound dies in his throat, eyes widening in the sweet look of discomfort taking over his features. You smile triumphantly and turn to Dongmin with an immediate change of expression.

“I’ll see you in office later,” you say, bowing slightly.

Dongmin nods and gets off on the fifth floor. You watch in quiet relief as the elevator door closes and turn to your dear companion, irked.

“Did you have to do that?” Jaehyun asks, voice raspy with pain.

“You deserved it. Don’t you dare make this a bigger mess than it already is.”

“You came up with it.” Jaehyun straightens, finally. Apart from the few loose strands of his neatly parted hair, he doesn’t seem all that disgruntled.

“And we’re going to set some ground rules,” you declare, closing your arms.

Jaehyun straightens to his full height, the space between the two of you diminishing. 

"Okay," he agrees. "Then we both get a say in it. It's a contract, after all."

"Fine. First rule, no being weird around Dongmin."

Jaehyun chuckles. "I think you need to be more careful about that than I do."

You pat his cheek. "Focus. Just don't- don't be around him for too long."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "Why are you so uncomfortable around him? I thought you were doing this because you didn't want to reject him."

You glance away, feeling uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter. I just don't want him to know."

Jaehyun hums. "Fine. My turn. No calling me a chump."

Your cheeks puff up as you try to contain your laughter. "It bothered you that much, huh?"

Jaehyun furrows his brows. "No one's ever called me that before. It's always 'oh my god, he's so handsome, who is he?' or 'ooh, I might faint from how hot he is'."

You giggle. "Alright, handsome."

Jaehyun exhales, his puffed cheeks making him look like a resentful five year old instead of a grown man with a professional job. You pause before you get back on track.

“No nicknames,” you blurt. “It’s weird when you call me something endearing. And your flirting feels kind of threatening.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

“See! You’re doing it again.” You cross your arms at the look on his face; anything close to victorious over Jaehyun’s features is unbearable to you.

He raises his arms in exasperation. “How are we supposed to make this work if we act like we don’t care about each other. Guess why Doyoung’s taking us to couple therapy?”

You huff, slightly pissed off. “You’re saying it was my fault?”

“I’m saying we could have avoided that with better acting.”

“You think you’re so—”

The elevator door opens with a ding on the first floor and you turn to find a bunch of interns back from their lunch break. It would be much less of an awkward affair if you and Jaehyun weren’t well into each other’s personal spaces, noses almost touching and with a mutual glare which could be easily mistaken for a look of something more sensual. You jump away from Jaehyun and leave the elevator as fast as you can, feeling far too conscious of yourself. With long strides, you exit the corporate airs of the building to a sunny, fairly populous sidewalk. 

Jaehyun catches up to you, bending and trying to catch a glimpse of your face with an incredulous smile over his.

“Don’t say a word, Yoonoh.”

“Ooh, you’re saying my name now.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I find it plenty funny.”

“That’s because of your trash sense of humour.”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

Mondays are the days that make you want to scream in agony, not Thursdays—though they are pretty high up on the worst days of the week list. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe pretending to be in love with someone you simply cannot be in love with is an awful idea. 

Soulmates don’t need to be in love with each other, you think to yourself. There’s plenty of soulmates who are just in it for the financial benefits; you can just pretend to be one of them. This dilemma is starting to fray your nerves and Jung Yoonoh, with his lax disposition and dimpled cheeks, is making it worse. And to top it off, you now have to take him to your favourite (kind of secret) cafe in the name of the lies that slipped your tongue. It was supposed to be a quiet comfort spot for you.

You blow a puff of air out and dismiss the thought. Comfort spots aren’t real anyway when you’re all grown. There’s bound to be a breach. 

However, you will not let the (lacking) romance department of your life get sorted out by someone who doesn’t even know you. Lady luck would be an acquaintance to you at most. If fate is a game of chance after all, you might as well be the one spinning the roulette. You look at Jaehyun, piecing together the perfect plan for this seemingly frivolous play-pretend. The game is in your hands now. 

You blink at the figure of Jung Yoonoh under February sunlight on a modestly busy sidewalk. It’s not something to be surprised at—however, the stark contrast in attire makes you stare longer than you intend to. Wearing a black graphic hoodie and pair of worn out jeans, Jaehyun looks about as casual as you can bear. It’s always weird to see coworkers out of formal clothing.

“Are you just going to stare at me till Doyoung comes and picks us up?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. 

“You look nice,” he says, and you glance down at your outfit with a flush of heat over your cheeks. It’s just a short A-line skirt, stockings and a sweatshirt. This is as basic as you get. What’s worse is that his comment didn’t sound sarcastic.

“You- You look nice too. I guess.” Once in a while, you will say something extremely stupid and pretend it never happened. The frequency increases around Jaehyun for some damn reason.

“You guess? I’m pretty sure I look more than nice.”

“And how long did you look at yourself in the mirror and practise catchphrases this time?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn the shade of cherries and you press down your smile. You knew that time you caught him talking to himself in front of a car window would play to your advantage. 

“What’s that you’re holding?” you ask, eyeing the plastic bag he’s holding.

“Ginseng,” he answers, staring blankly at the cars passing by. “I heard the couples therapist is in his sixties so he might find it useful.”

“Oh, old people stuff,” you muse quietly. “That’s quite thoughtful of you.”

You should’ve brought something, you think for a moment before realizing that couples probably don’t give separate gifts. 

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

You shake your head. “Anyway, we might as well kill some time. Twenty questions. Let’s go.”

He laughs. “What are we, in college?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Don’t make us sound like we’re thirty. I bet you’re the kind of guy who has his retirement plan figured out.”

“Wrong,” he emphasizes, face leaning closer. 

“Fine. I’ll start the questions, you unsalted block of butter. How many relationships have you been in?”

Jaehyun opens his mouth and closes it, ears turning red. “That’s your first question?”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m guessing it’s single digit and on the lower side.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many relationships have you been in?”

You shut your mouth. There’s a moment of silence, a breeze passing you by, carrying winter away in its arms to make room for spring. 

“Never found a relationship worth it,” you mutter, glancing away. 

Jaehyun hesitates before opening his mouth. “Me neither.”

“Good thing for us, eh? Love makes people crazy.”

Jaehyun faces you with a clipped smile. Never did you think Jaehyun from marketing would be relating to you on a personal matter.

“Oh, but I’ve had enough hookups and I can bet you’re mediocre at best in bed.” 

Jaehyun glares at you. “I am not and I can prove it to you.”

“Is that an invitation into your bed? No, thanks.”

He opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by the Hyundai Grandeur pulling up to the sidewalk and rolling down the driver window to reveal Doyoung. He looks as overworked as usual, but his eyes are more tired, a bit of makeup covering the dark circles. You’ve heard his soulmate is a makeup artist for an idol group and wonder how they even came to be. Does fate throw darts randomly and pick its choice?

“Get in. Quick,” Doyoung instructs. “I have to drop you off and head home. My family is visiting. I didn’t even get a warning and they think I’m in a gay relationship with Taeyong because we still have our friendship rings from college.”

You want to laugh and agree but Doyoung looks rather pissed off so you hold it in. The two of you do as told, getting in the backseat and shutting the doors in sync. The car smells rather leafy mingling with the scent of fresh clothes and you eye the jar dangling from the rear-view mirror. You open your mouth to ask what scent that is when Doyoung’s voice rings out.

“What’s that?” Doyoung signals to the bag with Jaehyun.

Jaehyun looks down. “Ginseng extract.”

“Oh, the gift pack?” Doyoung asks. 

Jaehyun nods and Doyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “If that’s for Mr. Lee, forget it. He hates gifts. Something about inward appreciation and shit.”

Jaehyun groans, massaging his forehead. “What do I do with this then? Is this guy a priest?”

“Give it to Doyoung,” you suggest. “His family’s visiting.”

You hear an audible hum of approval from the driver seat and turn to Jaehyun making a face of reluctance. Maybe he isn’t so magnanimous after all, you think smiling.

“You’re both quite tame today,” Doyoung remarks, just when the silence is starting to swallow the inside of the car. “Makes me wonder if you need Mr. Lee after all.”

“We actually don’t…” You shake your head. “We’re here and it’s free so why not?”

Jaehyun shoots you a questioning look. It’s not like you can cancel when you’re in Doyoung’s car and already on the way. You’ve known your boss long enough to know the wrong answer to his questions. You look outside at Seoul streets and sigh. 

Jaehyun looks at you, your focus elsewhere and wishes this would end already. He has no idea what overcame him to accept your ridiculous offer but he must be just as ridiculous. At the very least, he finds you quite lovely to look at—not that he’d ever admit it to you. The foundation to this weird bickering friendship (if he can call it that) would be ruined by that. His ego, however, has been boosted up a few notches from the fact that you called him for help. He looks outside the window, holding back a smile. It’s a sunny day.

The therapist, Mr. Lee’s office building is a fancy one with an even fancier lobby. Baby pink leather couches cushion your bum nicely as you wait for your appointment. The architecture is that of a corporate firm and you feel quite at home with the large glass walls by the revolving door. This therapist guy must be rich as hell. The receptionist wears a formal uniform; her blouse is light pink with a grey pencil skirt and you like the look of it. You wonder if asking her where she bought it is time-appropriate. More couples sit around you and you, unfortunately, have to scoot closer to Jaehyun as a result. You do not want to catch that disease they all have. Why are they even here for therapy if they’re smiling at each other in that sickly enamored way? 

Now that you’re here, you’re starting to feel that this arrangement was ill-decisive. You should’ve done a better job of acting. You wonder if you can get a refund for that college course on acting, pouting as the ticking wall clock gets on your nerves. Even the marble floors are pink; the walls are mahogany red and there’s a heart-shaped wall clock, and should you glance around more, you’re going to nauseate yourself. This guy certainly takes his job seriously—or just really likes pink-red themes.

A woman in her early thirties exits the elevator and announces your names, and you click your tongue at the fact that she used Jung for your surname. It sounds distasteful. 

You follow her, starting to get nervous. You really hope this Mr. Lee isn’t as good as Doyoung says he is. Your fraud falling apart within three days is too embarrassing a defeat, not to mention bordering on illegal if found out. What the fuck does the government care about broken hearts and beneficial relationships? It’s so nosy. You understand the financial situation in case of happily bonded soulmates but apart from that, there really shouldn’t be this much discrepancy in the name of love.

Love drives people crazy. You’d rather not lose your good sense in the name of something so inane. After all, money makes the world go around, not love. 

Restricting a gag at the deep red heart on the door, you push them open with Jaehyun to find an old man sitting on a similar baby pink couch as in the lobby. He gets up to greet the two of you, the wrinkles on his face deepening when he smiles. Despite everything, he has a sort of grace to him, the one that comes with growing old elegantly. An upbeat song plays on a record player attached to the wall, although at a very low volume, and the tune reminds you of Animal Crossing. 

“Doyoung told me about the two of you,” Mr. Lee says, gesturing at the two of you to sit down. “How long has it been since you found out?”

“Six days,” you answer at the same time Jaehyun answers, “Four days”.

The two of you look at each other.

“Four-Six days. We didn’t keep track.”

“Ah,” Mr. Lee says. “How do you propose to celebrate your anniversary?”

You hesitate opening your mouth and declaring that you don’t really need to do that crap. Mr. Lee notices your expression and breaks into gentle laughter. 

“I’m kidding. Anniversary dates don’t matter,” he laughs. “It’s okay to celebrate your 100-day on the wrong day. Don’t worry.”

You purse your lips. To your dismay, Jaehyun isn’t as bothered by the sickly pink environment and Mr. Lee’s relaxed demeanour.

“I have a hundred percent success rate,” Mr. Lee assures the two of you, looking directly at you.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you mutter under your breath and get a nudge from Jaehyun, who has his politest smile on.

You can’t believe Jaehyun has a better customer service mode than you do. If you didn’t know him, you’d be fooled into thinking he’s the nice guy character every office has. Unfortunately, that one goes to Dongmin. You hate getting stuck with nice guys (unless they offer financial stability).

“I think Doyoung might have been exaggerating,” Jaehyun explains calmly. “Whatever he told you.”

“He told me the two of you have a bickering problem. And staring at each other when the other isn’t looking.”

You cough. “That is not true. The staring part.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes at you. “I knew you were checking me out,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming, Jaehyun.”

Mr. Lee laughs. “Your bickering seems to be quite affectionate. I don’t know what that boy was worried about.”

You press your lips together into a thin smile, annoyed that anyone would ever describe your interaction with a man as affectionate. It makes you feel like an idiot. You were always better off alone—the universe was wrong to assign Dongmin to you. Maybe you needed to see the apparent love of your life clearly in love with someone else to snap you to reality.

“However, what is a playful lover’s fight in the beginning can turn into real fights.”

“Right,” you mutter. “It’s all fun and games in the beginning.”

“The two of you have almost no animosity—you’ve known each other before you discovered the soulmark, right?”

The two of you nod, having already reconciled yourselves to this session. It’s a one-time thing, you tell yourself. It will be over soon.

“The soulmate information shouldn’t influence the relationship you already had. If anything, it should be drawing you closer. First time awkwardness is common.”

He’s starting to sound a lot like your high school sex ed teacher. You get the idea to pretend to be sick and get out of this early.

“Company policy too,” Jaehyun mutters. “Unofficial company policy makes office romance out to be some sort of sacrilege.”

“You know, I was the CEO of your company so I do know the policies,” Mr. Lee says, smiling in the confident, reserved way senior citizens offering wisdom do. 

You choke on the water you were taking a sip of, a coughing fit overcoming you and Jaehyun hesitates before awkwardly patting your back.

“Huh? CEO? I’m sorry?” you manage. 

Mr. Lee lets out a loud, hearty laugh. “I stepped down two years ago.”

“That’s when I joined,” you and Jaehyun say at the same time.

Mr. Lee smiles at the two of you wordlessly. “I have an idea for the two of you. Why don’t you try turning your ‘I’s into ‘we’s? Do some activities together and when you talk about it, you’ll find yourself much closer.”

You narrow your eyes. “You know, Mr. Lee, I’m a little curious about your relation with the company—”

“My recommendations won’t help you get promotions faster.”

“Dammit.”

Jaehyun chuckles beside you but a glare from you turns it into a suppressed smile. The one thing that wouldn’t be a waste of time opened its door and closed it right back. 

“But you know how promotions work,” you press, leaning forward.

An alarm rings, so pleasant in tone that you know it’s a Samsung. Unfortunately, it’s the ugly flip model and you question Mr. Lee’s taste (and wealth).

“Oh, look, time’s up,” Mr. Lee announces, and you think you catch a hint of nervousness in his voice. 

Jaehyun springs up before his ears turn red, embarrassed by the gusto with which he himself got up and looks at you expectantly. You get up, sighing.

“Next time, Mr. Lee,” you warn. “I will get those details.”

“I charge by the hour.” He smiles.

“Stop threatening the therapist,” Jaehyun mutters to you, taking your arm and turning to leave.

“Oh, and,” Mr. Lee calls. “It’s always better to be honest than to pretend.”

You blink in surprise when Jaehyun tugs at your arm, bowing in thanks and leaving the room with you.

“Was it just me or did he see through us?” you whisper to Jaehyun.

He shakes his head, whispering back, “There’s no way he could tell. He’s probably referring to something else.”

“Like what?”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer.

“Tell me, are you always so domineering towards strangers even?” he asks. “I just thought you liked to press my buttons because I’m easygoing.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not as cool as you think you are, especially since you get so hot and bothered by me.”

“It’s just you,” he whispers earnestly and your pulse rises. “No one else.”

You cough to kill the awkward silence and walk faster to the elevator. Jaehyun follows at a leisurely pace and it’s never occurred to you before but the sound of someone’s footsteps can also be annoying, proof currently standing beside you.

The elevator doors open, and much to your appallment, a young couple happens to be full blown making out inside the elevator, hands where there certainly shouldn’t be in broad daylight. Jaehyun whips his face away, clearing his throat loud enough for the couple to detach themselves from each other and hurriedly exit, fixing their clothes on the way.

“So he wasn’t lying about the success rate,” Jaehyun states quietly, a look of resigned horror on his face.

You can’t even respond for a few moments, following him into the elevator and shaking your head to get rid of the thought that inevitably jams itself inside your head. It might have a point, however.

"Maybe we should kiss too," you think out loud.

Jaehyun stiffens, looking at you with wide, fearful eyes. "No."

"We have to kiss, we're dating!" You exclaim, hands on your hips.

"We're not actually—ah, whatever. It’s not worth bickering with you."

"Why? Afraid you'll fall in love with me?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, and you’re suddenly aware that your bickering keeps drawing you closer to each other, your faces nearer than you’d realized.

"If anything," he starts with a confident smile. "You better not fall in love with me."

"Oh, please. You're taking this way too seriously."

"You're the one that wants to kiss me."

Your cheeks heat up. "You're- I- That's not—argh, fuck you."

Jaehyun looks smug, and you have the unstoppable urge to punch it off his face. You take a deep breath. Violence is not the way, (name).

“If we were a few years younger, you’d be begging for mercy under me,” you seethe.

Jaehyun’s eyes shift over your face in confusion, ears burning bright red with each passing second. Before he can open his mouth, you let out a short yell.

“Not like that, you pervert,” you say, leaning away from him. 

“I didn’t even say anything. On an unrelated note, were you a delinquent in school?”

You roll your eyes. “Kind of. I had a temper and a sharp tongue.”

“And now you’re a people pleaser. That’s quite the development.”

You smack his shoulder. “You’re getting on my nerves, punk.”

He makes an ‘oh’ with his mouth before smiling. “You totally did the delinquent accent.”

“I’m guessing you were the shy, little boy who flushed red at conversations about kissing.”

Jaehyun clears his throat in annoyance. “I was not. I was quite popular in high school and college, you know?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s that face of yours.”

“Sorry, what? I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh, look, we’re on the first floor.” You exit the elevator, leaving a puzzled Jaehyun to follow in stumbling steps.

“I don’t think Doyoung’s picking us up,” you state. “You take the bus? Or do you have a car to flex? I don’t ride in anything below a Tesla, unless it’s Doyoung because he’s technically my boss.”

“You’ll have to do with good old rented Hyundais,” he answers.

You exhale. Maybe he’s getting used to you. The bus stop is opposite the building, the structure squeaky clean and a bunch of people waiting on the seats. It’s a busy place and you wonder if the scammy-therapist-slash-your-former-ceo’s business has anything to do with that. You sit the first chance you get, shoulders pressed against Jaehyun’s for the lack of space and admiring the passing traffic. Seoul really just depends on the lenses you see through. Work days make the screen tinted grey and blue and you hate them often but some days, it’s good to experience those. Weekends are brighter, sunny and usually not with Jaehyun but he doesn’t really put a damper on them either.

You scan his side profile, a little envious when you realize that his confidence isn’t misplaced. You might have trained yourself to be more of a pleaser over the years but he’s the sort of person people come to like naturally. Moreover, his skin is perfect and his hair is always looking styled even in a mess. Fate and Life are partners in crime when it comes to being unfair.

Jaehyun turns to look at you and you snap your head to your lap, turning on your phone and staring at the homescreen for a good few seconds.

“Twenty questions,” Jaehyun announces. “Let’s play again. I’ll go first. Do you check me out when I walk away?”

“What is this, playing my own cards against me?” You scoff. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“So, yes or no?”

“Sometimes,” you mutter. “But it’s not the good kind of checking out. I’m checking out how terrible you look with your mess of a tie.”

Jaehyun laughs, the sound a hearty rumbling sort and you can’t help but smile back at that. It’s kind of cute when he laughs—the sound of it and the way his cheeks are dusted pink.

“My turn,” you say with a cheeky smile as you lean in to whisper. “Have you ever had a wet dream about me?”

Jaehyun chokes on air, coughing out the surprise as he stares at you dumfound. You stick the tip of your tongue out and throw him a wink, thoroughly enjoying this victory against him. It feels great to fluster someone like Jaehyun.

“No,” he says with clear emphasis. 

“Even the night you said I was so unbearably hot very loudly to Sicheng?”

Jaehyun leans back sighing, covering his face with his hand. “I was tipsy. And it was my first night out with coworkers. Give me a break.”

You giggle. “Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. There were worse incidents that night. An intern threw up on Doyoung’s shoes—I can’t even imagine the horror the poor girl experienced.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, smiling through his hand. 

“Have you ever sent nudes?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

He sighs. “Maybe. Have you?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He curls his lips. The answer seems to be no but you’re at least seventy percent sure he would be attracted to you in a world where your personality traits weren’t being nosy and annoying.

“Do you think you’re a good kisser?” Jaehyun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Definitely.”

He scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms.

He shrugs, leaning in slightly as though flirting (if he had the audacity). “We could test that.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “What happened to no kissing in the contract?”

“It’s not officially there.”

You roll your eyes, glancing away. “You know, I’m starting to believe you were some sort of desperate fuckboy in college.”

“I- I was the hottest dude on campus and if we went to the same college, you would be pining after me. I literally had the Campus Prince title and girls would follow me to see me in class.”

He crosses his arms, a frown tugging down his lips.

“Ooh, Jung Yoonoh’s getting fired up,” you say in a monotonous voice. “Wonder how many girls you pulled with your chewed up fuckboy dialogue.”

Jaehyun scoffs but he clearly finds your accusations amusing, as hinted by his unbothered smile. He asks a question again.

“What’s more important to you—truth or happiness?” 

The question catches you off-guard. Jaehyun’s eyes are delicately curious, nothing too strong and even so, you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze.

“Huh?”

“Twenty questions. We were playing?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” You clear your throat, rubbing the back of your hand. “I… I’d choose happiness, I think. I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Really?” He doesn’t look too hellbent on taking apart your answer so you breathe out. He’s starting to pry into you finally. “I think the truth will make you happier.”

“That’s not- that’s not always true.” You look away, hoping the quietness of your voice ends the conversation there. You don’t know how to talk about it—you never really have. You’ve ugly cried over the lack of your love life to a stranger after five shots of whiskey but you don’t think you can talk about things like this sober. You don’t even know why you answered. Jaehyun makes you feel oddly comfortable.

Jaehyun shrugs, getting up when the next bus halts in front. 

“What did you major in?” you ask, following him.

“Business,” he answers before thinking. “Kind of hated it. But I started out with IT and that was somehow worse.”

You gasp, taking a seat beside him on the bus. “I started with IT too! It was a nightmare. You took that Database Management course?”

Jaehyun smiles. “It was like the course equivalent of reading the back of a Wi-Fi Router.”

You laugh. Maybe he isn’t so different after all. 

“You know, you do look like a business major,” you hum, furrowing your brows as you pretend to scrutinise him.

“So, you’re indirectly saying I either look like a rich kid or a jackass.” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“They’re both the same thing.”

The laughter from the two of you makes an old woman behind you grunt in displeasure and the two of you apologize. It’s nice to talk like college kids again. The Seoul sunlight shines on Jaehyun’s face and you bite back a smile when his dimples appear. They aren’t all that bad. If you get along like this, there’s no reason to worry about fate and the universe and other superfluous things offered to you on a boring old ceramic plate. It’s a smooth ride.

Your eyes drift to Dongmin’s workspace instinctively and you shake your head. This is exactly why you were avoiding him and even started the entire fake relationship with Jaehyun. You’d choose fake dating a (good-looking) chump from management over embarrassment and possible heartbreak any day.

You groan internally before glancing again and find the desk empty. Surprised, you blink and turn only to scream at Dongmin’s figure behind you.

“Shh!” he says urgently. “Don’t move. And don’t panic when I say this but there’s a bug on your shoulder.”

“What the fuck? Get it off, please,” you say, voice choking up.

Dongmin rolls up a stack of papers and you let out a low screech. “Don’t kill it on my shoulder!”

“Sorry,” he says and your eyes soften as he gently pushes the paper against your shoulder and takes it away. You breathe a sigh of relief and he signs you a thumbs up as he wiggles the paper in the air outside the window. 

“You saved me,” you say, smiling.

He returns it, his most beloved eye smile making you wonder if you made the right choice. Wouldn’t it be fun to just crash everything and watch it burn? You know you want to. Benevolence and grace were never your style. However, it’s his smile again that stops you. Maybe you don’t really want to be the bad guy after all. You’re sparing him from confusion and dread.

You’re sparing yourself from rejection and inevitable loneliness (yay).

It’s been a week, discussing details with Jaehyun before the both of you collectively decided to just wing it and hope you’re not caught. After all, there’s no real way to prove you’re not soulmates if you’re careful enough (the same way you can’t prove someone’s cheating if they’re careful enough but that’s quite a depressing analogy). Perhaps if you renounce the soulmate benefits (and Dongmin didn’t smile as often at you), it would be less morally taxing. You, however, are greedy. When you want something, you’ll do anything to get it.

You stare at the computer screen and sigh, cross checking the employee records for incorrect data and your eyelids start to droop. Of all the days, you just had to be assigned the most boring task on a Friday. You also should’ve gotten sleep instead of getting mad at Jaehyun’s dry responses to your plan of action. It was perfectly viable; unnecessary, but perfect nonetheless.

Soojin rolls her chair backwards into yours. “We’re going drinking tonight. Wanna come? You can bring your boy-toy too.”

You roll your eyes. “As much as I’d love to call him that, he’s still the chump from marketing for me.”

“Or,” Soojin emphasizes. “Your actual soulmate. How lucky is it that you work in the same building, in the same company?”

“I’m not sure if you’re being ironic.” You scroll through the database with trained eyes.

“I’m not. A lot of soulmates don’t even get to see each other because of their line of work. It’s so tragic.”

You’d be glad if you didn’t get to see Dongmin ever too. But you’ll keep that to yourself. You hum in response and hear a sigh from behind you.

“Let’s have fun,” she whines. “Is Jaehyun that much of a downer? He’s one of the hottest dudes in the building. I thought you’d be cheery.”

You pause and think to yourself. She does have a point. You’re definitely supposed to look happier. Your soulmate has the looks of a model and fifteen year old you would fawn over him no doubt.

“It’s the work,” you answer. “I’m working overtime to compensate for my rent.”

You work overtime anyway because you hate heading home to an empty apartment. 

“Ah, you signed a new lease, right? Near Songpa?” Soojin looks at you with pity and pats your shoulder. “You know what? I’ll treat you to drinks tonight. You deserve a day off, missy.”

You smile. “Thanks, Soojin.”

“And,” she adds in a singsong voice. “The love of your life is here.”

You furrow your eyebrows before tilting your head and almost sighing in exasperation at the figure of Jung Yoonoh outside the glass door. He may not show it, but you know distress when you see it. You’ve seen enough squirming undergraduates at company interviews. 

You quickly get up from your seat, praying that he didn’t mess something up. However, you find it cute when he looks like this, the urge to fluster him even more presenting itself to be rather tempting.

“I think you have a sick obsession with me, Jaehyun.” You cross your arms after closing the door behind you.

He exhales, closing his eyes for a moment before taking your arm and pulling you away from the door. 

“Woah, this isn’t high school. You can’t just pull me into a corner to make out.”

Jaehyun’s ears flare hot red and he clears his throat. “You’re in high spirits today.”

You weren’t, actually. Somehow, teasing Jaehyun gives you the same rush as caffeine. You just love when the nonchalance on his face turns into discomposure.

“I came to give Doyoung these files. Or you, since you’re practically his assistant.”

You ignore his comment. “There’s clearly something else.”

“The team sports event is coming up,” Jaehyun starts, hesitating. “I’m not managing it this year. I have to participate.”

“So?”

“So Dongmin has a higher chance of finding us out. What if he sees my mark in the changing room and it all goes to shit?”

“Great! He’ll think you’re his soulmate and I’ll be spared from this nonsense.”

“I’m being serious. It’s already difficult living with Sicheng and having to change with my doors locked. It’s kind of suspicious.”

“Do you guys sleep naked with each other or what?”

“No, but I do sleep with my shirt off.”

“Ugh. Why would you give me that image?” you complain. The image isn’t bad per se but it’s not what you need right now.

“You clearly liked it,” he mutters. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “You’re not doing this just to give me a load of unnecessary anxiety, are you? Do you know how swamped with work I am?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, no indication of which question he answered. “Also, is there a reason Soojin’s glaring at me?”

You wave your hand in dismissal. “It’s just the haven’t-warmed-up-to-coworker’s-new-boyfriend glare. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t seem too relieved but you have more anxious thoughts invading the privacy of your Friday evening. You have to keep up your composure. It could happen one way or another, perhaps in a situation better than a team sports activity, but you have to figure it out. You reject your soulmate anyway—the same way he would.

Glaring at Jaehyun one last time, you get back to your desk. Jaehyun looks at your receding figure and finds himself checking you out, the largest blow he’s taken to his dignity. He shakes his head, breathing in and out. This is so not like him. He’s supposed to be the suave, handsome guy who people can’t seem to get to and yet—yet, you do it so easily. It’s unfair. He swallows his heart and tells himself he’s too old to feel this way. He’ll just drown himself in work and pretend love is a commodity like everyone else with a corporate job is supposed to. 

“You know,” Soojin starts when you get back. “Jaehyun kind of looks high if you look at him long enough. Weed is illegal though but who knows? Maybe he’s a bad boy deep down after all.”

“Which rumour have you been paying attention to now?” You sigh deeply.

Soojin laughs. “It’s funny to hear everyone’s opinions. Even if most of them turn into scandalous tall tales.”

“Anyway,” she continues. “I’m clocking out. I’ll get Jaehyun to take you to the sake bar.”

You look at her, puzzled.

“You’re a matching set now,” she follows up and you groan.

“Don’t give me that cr—”

“Toodle-oo! Let’s have some fun before we’re grey and old, eh?”

You sigh and nod. Maybe you should look into a caffeine fix, even if it costs you a mental power outage at the end of the rush. It’s not like you to be so down on a Friday but alas, Fate is as miserable a woman as you are. The sake bar is starting to sound good.

Or, you could always watch a few ASMR cooking videos instead of staring blankly at the employee records. Either way, this Friday better improve by tonight.

“This is going great,” Soojin says, louder than she probably intended after her fourth shot.

“Of course it is,” you mutter. 

You haven’t yet had a chance to drink more because of two reasons: one) Soojin is hogging the alcohol and two) it would be embarrassing to get drunk in front of Jaehyun. Adding to your misery, Soojin has been gushing over her soulmate and the way she always makes breakfast for Soojin, listing off every single recipe she’s made. You would love to listen but you’re a tiny bit past your limit.

“Wooh, Jaehyun, you look hot,” Soojin whistles, in more of an older sister manner. “I can almost see your tattoo. Why don’t the two of you show us at the same time and we can take a commemorative picture?”

You cough loudly. “Mine’s on my waist, Soojin. I’m not ready to expose skin.”

“Right. Sorry.” She turns back at lightning speed to bother Dongmin with her stories, who smiles at her politely. It seems so genuine that you’re slightly enamored with it for a moment. There’s Jungwoo from marketing beside him, some more HR employees and thankfully, no interns. Doyoung is the only one partly miserable in the lot, talking into the phone for half an hour now. 

“Shit.” Jaehyun nudges you and whispers, “I forgot about the tattoo. This T-shirt makes it very visible.”

You look at him, alarmed. You fix his jacket, startling him, and pull the zipper all the way to his neck, making sure to backhand him on the chin.

“There.”

“It’s hot in here.”

“What do you want me to do about it? God, you’re like a child.”

“I’m like a—okay. Just cover my tattoo with foundation or something.”

“You think I carry around a whole bottle of foundation?”

Jaehyun blinks, deeming it safer to keep his mouth shut. 

“Okay. Fine. I have an idea. Come to the washroom with me.”

“Oh my, this isn’t your making out in the corner type of thing, right?”

You glare at him and he shuts up, following you quietly to the surprisingly clean restroom. The fact that it isn’t gendered makes you very glad. You make Jaehyun sit on the low enough basin counter and push your knee against it to balance yourself as you take out a permanent marker from your bag.

“I hope Doyoung doesn’t fire me for sneaking away,” you mutter angrily. “He didn’t even make me receive his calls all day.”

Jaehyun scoffs lightly. “Please, Doyoung adores you and your work ethic. He talks about it more than what I need to overhear. That and Taeyong’s detailed aquarium maintenance rules.”

“He does?”

Jaehyun clears his throat and you hold back bombing him with more questions till you’re done with painting an arrow into his tattoo.

“Isn’t it weird?” He looks at you with round, curious eyes. “Yours is a heart. Mine’s a pierced heart.”

“Hm. Funny coincidence.”

“Do you have to sit on my lap for this?”

“I’m not sitting on your lap,” you hiss. You are kind of close. You train your eyes on his collarbone as you pull his neckline down. 

It would be so embarrassing to be caught like this. You’d rather be caught making out with someone in the broom closet. You hold back a pained sigh. Jaehyun has some nerve speaking to you when you’re already annoyed with him. Couldn’t he just have worn his business attire? Why does he get to go home early? Taeyong is far too lenient a boss. You start swearing internally, getting nervous when you think about the consequences of your actions.

“Has anyone ever filed a complaint against you?” Jaehyun asks, and you nudge his chin upwards to draw the line on his tattoo.

“For what? Being perfect and successful?”

“For that attitude. The ‘take what I want’ attitude.”

You roll your eyes. “No. You’re saying it like I’m awful to the core for trying to take what I want. I haven’t got such a bad soul, you know, as souls go. You wouldn't write articles about how good a soul it is but… it’s well enough.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow and you avert your gaze from his eyes. This sort of proximity shouldn’t be bothering you, you shouldn’t be rambling.

The door opens right then and in a fit of panic, you do the unthinkable. You press your lips to Jaehyun’s and pray that whoever walked in has no idea who you are and more importantly, can’t see the permanent marker in your hand. 

“I’m so sorry!”

You know that voice. You half regret it when you hear it. Dongmin exits the bathroom as quickly as he entered and you pull away to look at the empty space. Beside you, Jaehyun stays so still that you forget he’s there for a moment. You breathe out in relief though part of you still feels a heavy ounce of regret.

You turn back to Jaehyun and find his doe eyes soft and lost in thought.

“I get it now,” Jaehyun whispers. “It must hurt. That he doesn’t care about the system.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That he’s so reckless about discarding you.”

You separate yourself from him further, standing up and brushing your clothes. “You’re overstepping.”

“Sorry,” he responds quietly. 

There’s a pause.

“Did you just kiss me right now?”

“Shut up. I didn’t want him to see us and especially this.” You wave the marker in front of his face.

“You just kissed me in a fit of panic. That’s the first time I’ve seen someone respond to panic this way.” Jaehyun looks a little too smug.

“What are you implying?” 

“You wanted to kiss me.”

You scoff. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” 

You want to knock the smile right off his face but you stick to flicking his forehead, his yell of surprise satisfying. This Friday night was supposed to get better. In fact, you are going to make it better if life won’t. The soju won’t drink itself and you deem that Soojin has had enough. 

Ignoring Dongmin’s confused look, you order far too many soju shots to be considered healthy. As you promised yourself, you are going to make this Friday better.

//

You just had to go and get drunk. Jaehyun stares at you, blinking slowly and wondering just how much you can embarrass yourself before it becomes a burden for him. He has to get you home; you’re practically a matching set now. But are the halves of a pair supposed to take care of the other when they get drunk?

“You know what, guys?” You announce, standing up abruptly and immediately getting pulled back to your seat by Jaehyun. It doesn’t stop your mouth however.

“I hate the stupid system,” you continue. “To tell the truth—”

He smacks his hand over your mouth. Jaehyun has had enough of the silent mini heart attacks you give him. The rest look at him with puzzled looks and he can’t even bring himself to give them a polite smile before dragging you out of the bar. The night breeze is cold enough—maybe it’ll sober you up.

"You're so annoying, Jaehyun," you mutter, massaging your forehead. "Did you know that?"

Or maybe it won’t.

"Never heard that before."

"How do you always keep to yourself and still be the center of attention?" You cling to his arm for balance. 

"Have you considered that maybe a polite man isn't as scheming as you think he is?"

You curl your lips. "Stop using big sentences. I hate that I barely know you, and I know everyone."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "You just enjoy the power that comes with figuring people out. Don't you?"

"Whatever you say. I want life to be a nice and smooth ride but then again, I can't even face my soulmate." You let out an airy laugh. "I didn't really need one though."

Jaehyun laughs in disbelief. "You look like you're dying of loneliness."

"Ooh, that's a big claim, Yoonoh."

"You say I keep to myself but what about you? You like hiding, don't you?"

You laugh. "Is this the part where I say we're nothing alike?"

He purses his lips, shaking his head in dismissal. He's just tired of chit-chat with someone who smells like she robbed a liquor store in Itaewon.

“You must think I’m some sort of selfish, vapid, work-obsessed overachiever,” you continue, tilting your head with a blank look in your eyes.

“Well, not exac—”

“But guess what? Your opinions are invalid, Jung Yoonoh. You’re just some chump from marketing. A very good-looking chump but still.”

Jaehyun swears under his breath as you fling your arms open in the same manner a speech-giving patriot fighting for freedom would. Unfortunately, the freedom struggle is private in this day and age, and you just smacked him in the nose instead.

You sigh deeply and he looks at you again, warily now as he holds his nose.

“You’re not exactly wrong either. I’m so empty. Like a bottle of soju with no soju. Could you bring me some?”

Jaehyun massages his temples and solidifies his resolve. He’s had enough stares from people on the sidewalk. With delicate concern, he holds you up with one arm around your waist, balancing your weight evenly so you can stand. Promptly, you bury your face into his neck and an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak evades the filter of his mouth. You’re just so adept at making his days (and nights) worse.

Jaehyun tries his best to carry you to the parking lot without any signs of struggle but good lord, are you uncooperative. Once he’s down lugging you to the passenger seat, he breathes out in relief at long last and makes sure you don’t fold in over yourself dozing off the seat. Getting you to sit up, he finds himself smiling the slightest bit at your smudged lipstick. Even like this, you’re quite pretty. 

Realizing what thought came over him, he shakes his head vigorously as if he’s committing a horrible crime. He just has to get you home—Soojin had texted him the address prior to the outing just in case—and then he can go back to pretending whatever he even is supposed to.

The sports event is really just HR and Management trying to one-up the other in a more quantitative way. You’re not really fond of the sweat and heavy breathing that comes with physical exertion if it’s for the sake of competition. Competition is such a childish, masculine way of handling things, especially emotions.

HR is leading in wins, however and that means you have something to rub in Jaehyun’s face. You hate participating but you’re not allowed to opt out without a medical certificate. At least one competition, and you had to choose the three-legged race. All these potential partners, and Dongmin had to choose you.

“I’ll win,” you tell Jaehyun, stopping by him once you exit the changing room. The indoor stadium is usually a recreational facility for senior employees but on sports day, it’s closer to a gladiator arena. The seats are green and occupied by grinning employees, most of them glad for a day off but also upset they don’t get to attend their personal affairs in it.

Jaehyun stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Shouldn’t it be a ‘we’? You need a partner. Oh, are you sad you can’t pick me?”

“Not at all.” You cross your arms, annoyed at his mock pity. 

Right then, Dongmin jogs up to you in a blue tracksuit. His hair sticks to his forehead because unlike you, he takes sports very seriously. Jaehyun, on the other hand, just seems to enjoy the competition. As a guilty pleasure, you’d like to see the two of them compete one day. That would be a competition worth betting on.

“I’ll have to borrow your soulmate.” Dongmin laughs. “The race is starting.”

Life strikes again with its poorly timed irony.

“Don’t mind me,” Jaehyun says politely.

The race is easier than you thought it would be considering most of the other employees struggle with teamwork. You’re the HR team for a reason. But then again, you feel a certain hollowness pervade you while you’re pressed to Dongmin’s side. Wouldn’t it be nice?

All you can think is that Dongmin and you are perfectly in sync. The realization comes off as sad despite your victory and the wide grins on both of your faces. 

Jaehyun purses his lips and gives the two of you a nonchalant look. He’s avoided getting caught in the changing room quite well. For some reason, he’s glad that you’re winning but also dissatisfied about it. He would certainly feel different if he were participating in that race, wouldn’t he? He would win. Losing a competition is a huge blow to his ego. Lately, he seems to be losing a lot of races. The two of you have been growing closer and he doesn’t mind late night discussions about flawed systems and childhood memories; but the fact that you’re growing on him is something for him to be on edge about. He’s never felt so close to someone, and still so far.

“Oh, they have good chemistry, don’t they?” Doyoung comments beside Jaehyun, before taking a sip from his bottle.

“What chemistry?” Jaehyun snaps and Doyoung almost chokes on the water.

“Chill out, man.” Doyoung eyes Jaehyun’s figure in concern. “She’s like officially yours.”

Jaehyun refuses in a series of sputtering responses. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not jealous. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I didn’t paint you as that kind of man either,” Doyoung mutters before speaking up. “But love, Jaehyun. Love’s a weird thing.”

Jaehyunn ignores his comment and walks down to the grounds, jogging up to you. He immediately forgets to say anything at all. Smooth move, Yoonoh.

You just stick out your tongue at him subtly.

“I told you we’d win,” you say.

Jaehyun crosses his arms. “Congratulations. I thought you, quote, hate this stupid competition for dunces.”

You clear your throat and Dongmin laughs beside you. Before he can offer his bottle, Jaehyun offers his own in a rush. You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it.

“You guys really are a perfect pair.” Dongmin laughs. “Sometimes I wish Mijoo was my soulmate.”

You give him a pitiful smile. There go your happy feelings of victory.

“But I’m happy this way.” Dongmin nudges your shoulder with his. “Don’t give me that look.”

That is not the look he thinks you were giving. You smile. 

“What about this? We can go on a double date! Those are fun, right?” Dongmin muses, crossing his arms.

“No,” you and Jaehyun refuse in a panic, and Dongmin blinks in confusion at the overwhelming response.

“I'm more of a homebody,” you explain.

“Yeah, me too,” Jaehyun agrees.

It makes Dongmin laugh aloud. “Oh, fate didn’t go wrong with the two of you.”

Your smile wavers. Did it go so wrong with you and Dongmin? Jaehyun’s hand brushes yours and you look at him. A perfect side profile and flushed hot cheeks with dimples to die for. You wouldn’t mind being in love with him. You don’t mind love much at all. 

Shaking off the thought, you watch as Dongmin leaves the two of you to run to the changing rooms. Eyeing Jaehyun’s red team sweatshirt with “Management” in big typography over the chest, you look back up to his face. 

“Why did you jog over here so desperately?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“Yes. I am irreparably in love with you.”

He leans in quickly and you flinch, making his dimples show up.

“Asshole,” you curse. “I’ll file you for harassment. Don’t do that again.”

“Isn’t it harassment when you feel me up while you draw—” Jaehyun leans in to whisper. “—the soulmark?” 

“I would never have my hands near your greasy existence if I could,” you huff, scandalized. 

But the thing is, Jaehyun is getting better at this game of flustering each other and you don’t like it one bit.

“Hey, you know Dongmin’s girlfriend?” he asks suddenly. 

You nod. “Kind of. I’ve seen her pictures on Instagram.”

Jaehyun pauses before humming in realization.

You cough. “Not that I was stalking them or something. Obviously.”

Jaehyun gives you a knowing smile but doesn’t question anything, much to your aggravation. It would’ve been better if you had a chance to prove you weren’t stalking them but then again, that is exactly what you were doing.

“Well, we went to the same college. Same major too.”

“Are you serious? Wait, how do you know? Does this mean you stalked their Instagram too?”

“Too?”

“Shut up.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“She’s not exactly the evil homewrecker type,” he says.

“I know that,” you snap. If anything, you feel like the evil homewrecker even if Dongmin’s supposed to be your soulmate.

They’re so reckless. Jaehyun was right—you do blame them in a way. They don’t care who they trample under their nauseating parade of romance. But then again, that parade is better than a personal rejection.

“I’m just saying… don't hold it against them.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice, Jung Yoonoh.”

Jaehyun shrugs, dropping the issue. The preparations for the next race is starting and it has something to do with passing balls from basket to basket—you get bored already when you see Doyoung stretch before shaking hands with Taeyong.

“Wanna get ice-cream? We funded the food truck this year.” Jaehyun looks expectantly at you.

“Sure.” 

You contemplate holding his hand for a moment but let that thought bury itself. You don’t have to pretend right now. 

Much to your despair (or delight) however, Jaehyun takes your hand absentmindedly as he walks towards the exit. It’s not that you’ve never held hands before, it’s just that Jaehyun’s skin is soft against yours.

“I can’t believe you and Mijoo were in the same course.”

It seems she’s ahead of you in every direction you look to tread on. Of course, you will not be telling Jaehyun that. You don’t exactly feel jealousy—can’t feel jealousy when your life is perfect as it is. And for Jaehyun? You hate to admit it but you’d trade places with Mijoo any day.

“Well, she didn’t really like socializing back then so I didn’t know we were in the same program either.”

You chuckle, glancing down at your intertwined fingers despite your best efforts. It feels nice like this. It feels nice to be wanted by someone—even if it’s a lie.

“Do you think- Do you think they’re brave?” You ask. “They didn’t even hesitate to disregard the system.”

“I think people in love are always brave.”

You hum, looking down at your feet. All the more reason the system fucked up. You were never even supposed to be partnered up. You’re not brave—the face you put on is. The idea of love seems to get further and further away from you.

Just then, Jaehyun tugs at your hand, walking slightly faster and making you complain as you jog to catch up with his long strides. The food truck is fairly large, on the street outside to the stadium entrance. February is catching up with its heat and you curse at global warming for this hot winter day.

“You can take up to five scoops of different flavours,” he informs you, grinning sheepishly. “I guess the cups aren’t large enough for beyond that.”

“I didn’t know you were this passionate about ice-cream,” you say.

“Sicheng rubbed off on me.”

You laugh. IT must have given Sicheng enough stress to develop a sweet tooth. You love the HR Department when you look at the others in your company.

Jaehyun has a nice smile. You don’t know why you think that but you do and now you can’t focus on anything apart from the pink dust sprinkled over his cheeks and the handsome dimples that accompany. You don’t want to stare but clearly, Jaehyun must have been blessed by some divide being if not for fate. Maybe he’s a mess up like you. As far as you know, his soulmate doesn’t exist. That little red heart is so simple that none of the soulmate designs match it.

A rather repulsing part of you is happy about it. You like the feel of Jaehyun’s hands. You like the way he looks at you. You wouldn’t mind it if he were yours.  

Jaehyun’s house is as cosy as his mother makes you feel. It’s been a while since you’ve been home and if you were perhaps less emotionally constipated, you would have tears welling up in your eyes. There’s quite a few relatives too but then again, every Asian family jumps at the chance to celebrate something as mediocre as engagements and marriage and soulmate findings. Apparently, hormones are perfectly fine to them once you’re not teenagers anymore.

This isn’t so bad. What was so scary about meeting parents again? Jaehyun’s dad did challenge you with a questionnaire but lucky for you, you know exactly how interviews work. You’ve got enough information on Jaehyun from the man himself for this visit. The briefing he gave you was boring though; you already know what you need to know about Jaehyun.

You sit at the table, while most of the other guests work in the kitchen. Jaehyun’s mother asks you questions about your life, friendly and welcoming in every way possible. Mothers are truly god-sent. You wonder how she produced someone as far from divine as Jaehyun. (Except in looks, perhaps.)

You say that out loud and get a sharp quip from Jaehyun, his mother’s eyes lighting up at your childish interaction.

“Oh my, fate is never wrong!” She remarks with a wide smile. “I’ve never seen Jaehyun open up so much with anyone before. He was such a shy boy in school, you know? All the girls would send letters and confessions and he would just turn red in the face.”

“Mom.” He smiles all too sweet at her but you can see the panic in his eyes.

She rolls her eyes before turning to you. “Darling, you have no idea how proud I feel to see him this at ease. I was honestly getting tired of all the ‘your son is so polite and well-mannered’ comments. Some bickering ought to do him good.”

“Mom,” he repeats, straightening. “I think auntie needs some help setting up the table.”

“Don’t shoo me away yet. I have to tell (name) about the time you were elected class representative in middle school. And all those sports and acting awards.”

“You don’t have to advertise me, Mom,” he says, dropping his face into his hands to rub at his eyes, already growing tired. “I’m already- I’m already hers.”

His mother coos and apart from the expected deep red flush on Jaehyun’s skin, you find yourself feeling hot in the face too. Jaehyun’s aunt calls for his mother right then and you watch as she makes her way to the kitchen entrance, the two women glancing at you and giggling to each other over some shared words.

Jaehyun takes the opportunity to grab your hand and walk away to a more obscure part of the house upstairs. With significantly less relatives, it should be a good hiding spot unless discovered by his giggling cousins that he refuses to introduce you to. 

“Aw, what a shy baby,” you coo, smiling at the thought of a younger, easily-flustered Jaehyun.

His ears are bright red and you think that he’s still easily flustered. He just doesn’t show it much anymore—there’s only one dead giveaway.

“Forget everything my mom said,” he instructs. “It’s not important information.”

“Oh, no, darling. Your mother is a gold mine of vital information. You know what? I’m going to go chat her up right now. I’m sure you were quite the teenage dream I should know about.”

Jaehyun grips your wrist before you can escape, pulling your closer.

“Don’t.”

You don’t know if it’s the proximity or the fact that there are most definitely a few family members that could walk in right now—but you find yourself embarrassed as you look at his face. It’s very pleasant, handsome even, and the strands of his hair look irresistibly soft from this distance. You reach your hand out and brush the hair out of his eyes, almost instinctively. 

“You have nice eyes, Jaehyun,” you say out loud, not sure why. He doesn’t fluster this time but it makes you all the more aware of your nearness.

Your eyes glance at the bottom of the staircase to see a little girl, around nine, hiding from behind the wall that separates the dining room and the kitchen. You return your gaze to Jaehyun with a smirk.

"We should kiss right now. Your little cousin's watching."

Jaehyun looks mildly disgusted. "Why would I want to kiss you in front of my cousin?"

You roll your eyes. “You don't get it, do you? The fastest way to convince a family is through rumours.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Oh my god, you're an idiot. Nosy cousins are the most effective way to spread rumours."

"Ah." Jaehyun looks enlightened enough for you to continue.

"Okay, but first you need to have these mints." You take out the emergency mints from your purse.

"What? I don't need mints. I have nice smelling breath.”

"Everyone needs mints, Jaehyun. Especially men."

Jaehyun sighs heavily. You take the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him into a corner. 

"Have this mint or else."

You hold his face between your thumb and forefingers, cheeks squishing under the pressure as you force a mint in. He lets you do it for some reason, looking lost as he gazes at you. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh my, you're enjoying this. Pervert."

"Wha—what? You have to stop thinking you're hot shit, oh my god. I just got distracted for a bit."

"By me, right?"

"No! I just zoned ou—you're enjoying this."

You bite down your smile but a giggle escapes you anyway. Jaehyun rolls his eyes though he smiles, looking far too close to irresistible when his dimples show.

"You can't keep teasing me," he says, voice low.

"I've been doing it for two years. I'm pretty sure I can do it for at least two more."

Jaehyun scoffs, laughing at your statement. "You know what? I'm going to get back at you from now on. I've been so lenient."

You snort before pressing the back of your fingers to your nose. "You? You're going to get back at me? You’re good at lip service, Jaehyun."

“Huh. You might be right about that.”

There's a beat of silence and you look at him expectantly. In the next beat of your heart (or lack thereof), he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours, surprising the life out of you as your back hits the wall. It's not just a touch either, his mouth moves over yours and when your knees feel weak, you reluctantly admit that the rumour about Jung Yoonoh being a good kisser is true. Maybe his body count isn't a lower-end single digit after all.

He pulls apart with a short smile tugging at his lips. "Satisfied?"

You sputter out a response before clearing your throat. “I- I don’t think anyone really saw us in this corner.”

Jaehyun makes a low humming sound. “Or you could just say you want me to kiss you again? I know I’m a good kisser.”

“Fuck off.” You punch his chest, eliciting a quiet grunt from him.

You move away from him, peeking from behind the wall. Oh, she saw it alright. The giggling gives it away and the fact that a few more younger cousins have gathered. This is ridiculous. The fact that you wouldn’t mind more is even worse.

You turn back to Jaehyun with steel-set eyes. “No more kissing. Ever. Never again. Kissing is officially banned.”

Jaehyun looks perplexed. “I thought that was a good kiss. Did you not enjoy it? What do you mean no kissing?”

“And I take it back.” The heat on your face is still burning steadily. 

“Oh, I see. You liked it so much that you’re embarrassed.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“So I’m right?”

You roll your eyes and quickly walk down the stairs, a few words of complaint left hanging in the air as Jaehyun follows behind, stumbling over the steps.

Jaehyun likes how comfortable this is. He doesn’t mind glaring daggers at each other but this is fun too. It’s like he doesn’t have to be careful about the lines he might be crossing—there aren’t any damn lines at all. He can’t call it love, at least not by definition, but something is there. Something that is solid enough and heavy enough. Something he would be ready to hold on to.

You laugh at a joke Jaehyun’s dad makes. A family is the only place to feel at home. It might not be yours but maybe at the end of the night, you can convince them to disown Jaehyun and adopt you as their child instead. His cousins seem to be interested in the same things you were as a high schooler and it surprised you. Your job lets you advise the older cousins in a fairly friendly fashion. The little ones seem to like your dress and you find them far too adorable with their pink cheeks and dimples, much like Jaehyun’s. Speaking of which, he definitely got them from his dad. You look around and wonder how Jaehyun has so many female cousins and not an inkling about how women work. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore that Dongmin discarded you so recklessly.

He’s wrong. Jaehyun’s wrong. It doesn’t hurt—didn’t hurt right now at the very least. When Jaehyun kissed you, you didn’t think of Dongmin or his girlfriend or anyone else. You thought that Jaehyun’s skin is somehow always the right temperature. 

You shake your head. Jaehyun drives your getaway car and you shouldn’t get too comfortable in its worn-out leather seats. This shouldn’t be any different to you; you aren’t supposed to find love in every corner. This was all a survival instinct. 

The more stories Jaehyun’s mother shares with you over dinner, the more you find it comfortable to be here. You don’t feel this welcome in your own apartment (although, there isn’t exactly anyone else living there but you and the goddamn pigeon that wakes you up at six in the morning). The more the night progresses, the more you want to believe in this lie. Jaehyun glances at you from time to time, his gaze neither uncomfortable nor harsh and you smile at him when he does. Right now, there is no loneliness and the air is warm and smells of freshly cooked food; the way familial love works is such a mystery. You feel content.

“Why are we doing this again?” you lean in and ask Jaehyun, eyes focused on the TV as he tries to fix it.

“Because I need to get out of work, and fulfilled soulmates get a day off on Valentine’s day.”

You nod. “Your apartment kind of stinks. I feel sorry for Sicheng.”

“This is clean,” he defends, pointing at the lack of any visible mess in his room. His work table, however, has too many items scattered over it to be called neat. There’s a fairly large TV attached to the wall and you’re a little jealous about it. You only ever watch shows on your (quite beloved albeit small) laptop. The blinds aren’t fully closed, the evening city lights trying their best to pry their pervasive fingers in and add something more to the peach hue of Jaehyun’s room.

The doorbell rings just in estimated time for food delivery, a sigh leaving your mouth along with a ‘finally’. His place is strangely comfortable and much less of the war zone that you expected. There’s no reason to feel awkward, really, or even the bubbling in your stomach. You’re not seventeen, in your crush’s house. Jaehyun isn’t even someone you like that way.

It’s just two friends hanging out and watching a movie and doing other friendly activities. Two friends hanging out on Valentine's day. Two friends who have kissed more than once.

What do lovers do anyway?

This thing with Jaehyun has turned into clandestine smiles at the office building, subtle texts of ‘did you eat?’ and ‘good morning, idiot’, racing hearts at brushing hands on the occasional off-work hangouts (you refuse to call them “dates”) and overall, a lot more pink hearts floating over his head when you see him. It’s positively appalling. 

You don’t mind it one bit.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” The delivery man wishes as he leaves and you feel a sudden rage bubble up in you. 

“Ah, does he think every couple celebrates Valentine’s day? And just because we’re in the same apartment means we’re a couple? Wow.” You cross your arms, scoffing. “Who’s he to wish me?”

“Why… Why are you getting mad?” Jaehyun asks quietly, slightly confused.

You glare at him, your anger not quite dissipated and walk back into his room, placing the box of confectionaries on the bedside table with a loud thud. Jaehyun follows, placing the drinks rather clumsily beside it. He gives you one last look of concern before settling down on his bed.

You let out another huff of complaint.

"Does everything have to be heart-shaped?"

You stare at the nauseating display of baked goods delivered in a pretty heart-shaped box. The brownie is in a clear plastic box that has a tiny bouquet of hearts atop it, the coffee cups have heart stickers around the rim, and the pastry itself is heart-shaped or rather, two halves of a heart. One of them is strawberry pink and the other chocolate brown.

“You seem… suddenly fired up,” Jaehyun comments quietly.

You don’t really care if you look crazy to him right now; he’s already seen the worse parts of you. You’re just so annoyed at all this red and pink that was delivered. Aren’t cafes supposed to stick with that beige-cream palette? 

While you contemplate, Jaehyun tears the little sugar packet and attempts to open the lid of the cup at the same time, your blood pressure rising at the sight because you were half sure he’d spill the drink. After much difficulty, he shakes the packet trying to get just enough sugar but of course, like the clumsy oaf he is, he misses almost entirely, spilling sugar over his coffee table. It’s oddly endearing but that’s a thought you’ll keep to yourself.

He turns to you with a sheepish grin and you give him a look of distaste.

“You are a sorry excuse of a person, Jaehyun.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t mess this up.”

You turn to look him in the eyes, the honey shade alluring under warm apartment lights. They really are pretty. 

“I, and every other sane human being, would not mess up adding sugar to a cup of coffee.”

“You faltered for a moment there.”

That was not the reason you faltered. You roll your eyes and look away, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste.

“How do you even like Americanos? Don’t you like a bit of cream and sweetness?”

 “I don’t really care for bitterness,” he answers.

“Wow, you must be a masochist.”

“And it’s quite obvious you’re a sadist.”

You snicker. “That makes us quite the pair.”

“I would like that sentence in a non-BDSM context, thank you.”

Jaehyun turns on the TV and the Netflix logo animation pops up. You raise an eyebrow at his ‘Continue Watching’ list, eyeing Bridegerton and Sweet Home, and wondering if he could be any more of an enigma. You can’t possibly figure him out at this point. You groan when he picks a title.

“Ugh. Do we have to watch a romantic comedy?”

“What? They’re funny. And I thought you liked those 2000’s movies.”

You believed in unicorns and sock goblins and love back then too. These days, you hate to see other people in love, especially when it’s fake. The movies you loved are now the movies you hate. The couples you eyed with delight at parks and cafes are now the bane of your existence. In fact, you’d go as far as to say that you enjoy the digital fireworks from a couple having a massive online breakup. Things falling apart are entertaining when it’s not happening to you.

You purse your lips. Can't you see other people happy without wanting to tear it down for yourself?

“Fine. But I’ll pick the 2000’s romcom.”

Jaehyun shrugs and hands over the remote. You see Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds on the poster and click on it immediately. The Proposal has a good enough comedy to romance ratio, in your opinion.

“I’m kind of surprised you came,” he says quietly.

“Why?” You raise an eyebrow. “Is it because of the suggestive nature of visiting someone’s apartment on Valentine’s day? Did you think we’d be doing something… more fun?”

You lean in and bat your eyelashes suggestively, although you’re clearly joking.

“I think you should know better than to get mouthy with me,” he answers as he leans in further, making your heartbeat hike at the proximity. Maybe he’s figured you out. Wouldn’t it be so nice to figure each other out at the same time—like puzzle pieces fitting together?

You move away from him. “Well, it’s not like I can go anywhere else. And I didn’t want to stay in my own apartment.”

“Maybe you enjoy my company?”

“Look, I would be sipping my coffee at a perfectly aesthetic cafe if it weren’t Valentine’s day.”

He raises an eyebrow at your nonsensical declaration and you sigh, trying to explain yourself.

“Cafes just terrorize the single folk on Valentine’s day. You should always go with Netflix,” you say.

“And chill?”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“As I’ve told you so many times, I am not stupid.”

You inhale, an idea presenting itself.  

“Hey, since we’re technically a couple, shouldn’t you be sharing your Netflix password with me?” you ask, pressing your lips into your cutest smile.

“No.”

“You’re so stingy,” you mutter. It was worth a shot.

Jaehyun laughs, your hand reaching out to poke his dimples but you stop yourself. You weren’t supposed to get this comfortable. This wasn’t your place to be. Lost in thought, the moving screen leaves you unfazed and you can’t look at him anymore. However, Jaehyun reaches out right then and wipes at the space beside your lips, your focus lifting from the beginning scenes of The Proposal and latching onto Jaehyun’s lips.

There’s a pause, your head clearing itself of thoughts when you make eye contact with him. Soft hair, doe eyes, full lips and dimples—he’s so damn attractive, it hurts your existence. Does he have to be this close to you? You have mixed feelings about that look in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers suddenly.

“Yes,” you answer.

If you look from a rational point of view, you should not have said that. You should have said anything but that. But you don’t want to think right now. Jaehyun’s touch is warm over your skin as his hand rests under your jaw and the other on your waist.

You should not have said that. But you feel loved.

Somewhere along, you find yourself parting only to kiss again, the feeling of skin so delightful in a way you’ve never experienced. Your shirt hikes up and you see Jaehyun eye the little heart with the arrow—the sign you so despised with a gentle smile.

“It’s pretty,” he whispers.

It’s pretty but it isn’t his. He doesn’t have to look at you like that—he’s come a long way from nervous glances and now he’s the one making you nervous. Just say it isn’t love and it will be alright.

You part, sobering up for a moment and you disentangle your limbs to sit at the side of his bed.

“What’s- What’s wrong?” Jaehyun whispers.

You exhale.

“All my life, I wait and when it comes, it’s all wrong,” you say, staring at your lap. Self-pity is the most disgusting kind of pity to feel. You’re past crying at things like this. You’re past crying for an ounce of romance, every time you listen to a love song on the radio or look at an Instagram post of a couple or pass by lovers on the sidewalk content with each other. You don’t even have cats to return home to. Modern loneliness is wearing you down but you can’t believe in fairytales anymore.

He scoffs, smiling bitterly. “I don’t even know if this is worth losing my dignity over.”

“Jaehyun—”

“We can’t pretend anymore—I can’t pretend anymore,” Jaehyun exhales. “I want you enough to forget the system. Give me an answer. Please.”

You don’t mind forgetting the system right now. Jaehyun’s lips are always the right temperature; the warmth of his body seeps through his shirt as you press yourself to him in a hug. He’s perfect and right now, you want to believe he’s perfect for you—even if he isn’t, you want to believe it into existence.

You cup Jaehyun’s cheeks, unsaid emotion in his doe eyes, and kiss him. This time, you mean it with every ounce of your being. There’s no more flustering each other, just the hot flush of intimacy when you feel skin that doesn’t burn you. It’s just the right feeling. There’s no way this can be wrong. 

Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? You wish the voice would pipe down. It’s a coward, fearing fate just as everyone else does. But you are better than that, and this feeling is too enjoyable to let go. You don’t want this to fade.

Just then, Dongmin’s face comes to mind and you think that maybe if you kiss someone else with all you have, you don’t have to think of your shortcomings ever again.

Jaehyun pulls apart and you miss the warmth.

“You’re not… You’re not thinking of me, are you?” he asks. 

You don’t answer, even if the silence is overwhelming.

“I’d rather not have you close your eyes and think of someone else when I’m in front of you.”

“I’m sorry” is all you can say.

“You can at least pretend to love me.” His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Could. It’s not like this was ever supposed to work out.”

You gulp, looking away. “Jaehyun, come on. That’s not like you. We were- we were just… having fun.”

He takes a deep breath. “It hurts to not be wanted by someone you want. You know that. So why are you doing this to me?”

Because misery likes company.

“I’m sorry.”

It seems the phrase you barely uttered when you were younger is tumbling out of your lips in a mixture of grief and pity. Perhaps it’s karma. Perhaps it’s fate. Perhaps it’s just the consequences of your mistakes.

Jaehyun parts his lips, a sigh departing. He leans in again, pushing away all of his thoughts. A little more hurt won't kill him tonight. How and when did you bring him down to his knees?

However, he's stopped by your hands against his shoulders, his lips hovering over yours.

"Let's stop," you say. "You're right."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

“I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

You wish you could be brave enough to burn the instruction pamphlet from destiny. But right now, you need to get away from Jaehyun, away from any more misery business.

“I’ll get going,” you say, gathering your stuff. 

Jaehyun hesitates but doesn’t stop you. He would never stop you, can’t stop so how could he even dream of stopping fate? This can never work out. It felt right in the moment but you don’t know anything more than that. You can’t close your eyes and pray everything disappears. No one else will solve your problems for you, you know that.

It’s time you start fixing the mess you made. You leave with a polite goodbye and hear a loud sigh behind you once the door is closed. Blinking away the urge to walk back in, you take long and quick strides to the elevator. You’re going to fix this.

Maybe if Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’ wasn’t blasting at full volume at this stupid office party, you could be thinking a little straighter.

He was right. You can’t pretend anymore. There were thousands of ways this could have gone better. You didn’t have to pretend to be soulmates when you’re not. You could’ve discarded your belief in the whole system like Dongmin and Mijoo and dated someone out of spite. You didn’t have to drag Jaehyun into your sorry mess. You need to take out the nail you hammered into your own foot.

It’s the first time you’ve visited the rooftop restaurant from the company’s subsidiary chain of high-end restaurants but you imagined it would be bigger. It’s the news’ fault for making this place seem like a football field. However, you might be feeling that way because the distance between you and Jaehyun is suffocatingly small as is the distance with Dongmin. You don’t need to see Jaehyun tonight.

You don’t intend to make your confession a public affair and you certainly don’t believe in tack things like atonement. However, improvement begins with a step in the right direction. Maybe you’ll be a better person after this. Maybe you’ll still be as annoying and pushy as ever. You need to get it off your chest so you can proceed with the already tedious journey that comes with a soulmate rejection. You wonder why there’s so many man-made laws about soulmates when fate has made it complicated enough as it is. Love is the same as legalese when it comes to this system.

You flit about the crowds, smiling and greeting people and swerving away from Jaehyun every time he tries to approach you. You’re trying to make a good decision for once. He better not intrude. You’re wearing pink too, for the first time in a while: a satin shirt, pants and blazer set in dull pink.

“Dongmin,” you say, pulling him by the sleeve of his blue tux, and away from the rest of the HR team. “I have to show you something.”

“Hm? Show me?” He blinks at you. 

You get him to follow you to the inside the premises, stopping when you’re far into a 

“Uh?” Dongmin looks around before leaning in to whisper. “You’re not plotting to murder me, are you?”

You blink, and he laughs at you incredulously. “Why are you so serious?”

“I was lying,” you rush. “With Jaehyun. He’s not my soulmate. You are.”

Dongmin blinks in confusion. “Are… you joking? That was a weird joke but it could pass as funny—”

“Dongmin.”

You pull out your shirt from your pants, exposing the tattoo on your hip. It’s the little arrowed heart that has been plaguing you for years but now when you look at it, you feel no animosity. After all, it’s been through the same things you have. 

Dongmin’s face falls into stunned silence, eyes fixated on your waist.

“That’s- That’s my—what is this?”

Russian roulette is certainly not the same without a gun.

“I lied, Dongmin,” you answer, fixing your shirt back in. “I was so afraid of your rejection that I made an even larger fool of myself.”

His initial shock seems to have partly subsided.

“You… Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks momentarily hurt.

“You have Mijoo, Dongmin. I can’t ruin something like that.”

A love that doesn’t need fate to fix it.

Dongmin glances away in guilt and sighs, though the sound is croaky. This must be more than what he can take.

“I’m sorry,” he says, haltingly. “I hurt you, didn’t I? When I thought I was being brave, I hurt you instead.”

You smile bitterly. “We all hurt someone, Dongmin. I still have to fix that one for myself.”

He scans your face, lips trembling slightly as unspoken words die on them.

“We’ll tend to the legal stuff later, hm? No compensation. We can file a mutual rejection.”

“But—”

“Shh. I’m happy enough as coworkers and I get paid more than enough for this job. Might get a promotion soon too.”

You wink at him with an added finger gun, trying to play it cool. Despite everything, a weight feels lifted from your shoulders. Now that you are truly alone, you might as well embrace this growing loneliness crawling under your skin. Discomfort could be something you can get used to. 

When you get back to the warmly lit rooftop, the HR team looks at you curiously. You have the most self-destructive thought you’ve had in a while and tell yourself, you might as well if you've come this far. This is it. This is your social death. Honesty is the best policy, unfortunately.

“Dongmin and I have the same soulmate mark,” you announce. “We’re soulmates but we’ll sign a mutual rejection.”

Doyoung looks almost like he’ll faint and Soojin’s mouth is so wide open, you could practice throwing some mini basketballs in. This is your team—almost a second family, and it’s time you stop trying to hide yourself or disguise your feelings as something they’re not. They’ll get over it, as will you.

“J-Jaehyun?” Soojin looks to your side and you turn to find Jaehyun frowning.

“You could’ve discussed this with me,” he says, an odd sound of relief in his laugh. 

It hurts to look at him but you muster up your strength.

“I’m sorry,” you say, facing him. “I didn’t want to drag you into this hell with me.”

Into this loveless hell made for you.

“(name).”

It’s so painfully quiet in this corner; there are so many eyes on you and only the hurt taking shape in Jaehyun’s eyes knock some sense into you. 

“I’ll leave first,” you say, bowing as you take your leave.

You brisk up your pace and exit the venue as quickly as you can and into the building corridor.

Unfortunately for you, you recognize the pair of footsteps that follow you—both of them having their timings wrong. Boys don’t chase after the girl when she’s walking away. Boys should leave a girl alone when she feels like she’s about to cry.

You turn to face two men and groan internally. This is the worst possible situation—you’d rather crawl into a hole than look at either of them. The corporate light shines harshly on either of their faces but the look on them is so earnest, you want to close your eyes and scream. You don’t mind being alone. You were overstepping when you wished you weren’t.

“(name),” Dongmin starts. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. If you’d told me, we could have talked this out.”

A light scoff leaves Jaehyun and Dongmin purses his lips. It’s kind of funny watching both of their tall frames in hesitant postures and you cross your arms. You’re going to deal with this quickly like you always should have. If you’re dealing with fate, you need to have a clear head—and fortune doesn’t favour fools. Being with Jaehyun was nice but he is not yours. Dongmin may have been assigned to you but you’d rather not ruin someone’s relationship.

“What would we have talked about?” you ask. “Compensation charges? Apologies?”

You see a hint of positivity on Jaehyun’s face and turn to face him, frowning.

“And you. Don’t look so smug. You’re the reason I realized this crap. It hurts. Like hell.”

He opens his mouth but no words come when he’s far too taken aback. He can’t offer consolation now, not after everything. You knew this would happen. You would undoubtedly end up wishing you didn’t fall in love with him on the day you leave.

“(name). Listen to me,” Dongmin calls again, voice gentle.

Jaehyun sighs. “We’re both fucking this up, dude.”

Dongmin takes a sharp breath.

“You know, soulmates can be platonic,” he reasons, looking only at you. “People are made for each other differently and maybe you and I—”

“You’re just making her feel worse,” Jaehyun cuts him off.

“How do you know that?” Dongmin asks, finally turning to him. “Because you’ve spent a month or two with her? I’m her soulmate.”

“I think a month or two is much better than a stranger with the same damn birthmark.”

“Oh come on,” Dongmin scoffs. “The system exists for a reason.”

“I don’t give a shit about the system. The same as your girlfriend—oh, sorry, did you forget about her already?”

“It’s not like that.” Dongmin quietens. “We’ll figure something out.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. They’re worse than you are—honestly, you don’t know what you expected from the timid emotional maturity of men. Both of their polite facades have melted and you’re starting to miss their sweet-tempered work demeanour.

“Come with me,” Dongmin tells you.

He wraps his hand around your wrist and tugs, Jaehyun visibly tensing up at the gesture. He presses his tongue against his cheek in annoyance but refrains from doing anything rash. You feel sorry when you look at him.

“Dongmin,” you whisper. “Can we- can we have a moment?”

Dongmin nods in understanding and exits the hallway to cool off with a few splashes of water in the washroom.

“Would you go with him?” Jaehyun asks, jaw clenched. “An acquaintance as most? Are you willing to run into the arms of fate that you hated so much?”

He looks bitter and you can’t think of a sugar-coated response. You’ll just have to tell him how you feel.

“I need to sort things out, Jaehyun. This—”

You point from him to yourself.

“Couldn’t work out thanks to fate. Dongmin and I will never work out because he’s braver than I am. You know he’s doing all of that just so I don’t get hurt, right? He’s not suddenly in love with me.”

Jaehyun purses his lips, looking down to his feet. Is it so bad that he let jealousy get the best of his mouth? Envy isn’t so awful. He looks from your eyes to lips and wishes he were young enough to believe in fairytales.

“You don’t have to be brave,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be so brave to fall in love. You don’t have to be brave to stay with me.”

“We tried, Jaehyun. And we can’t cheat fate. That, at the very least, requires bravery.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. It hurts. It hurts so bad to look at him and face the consequences of this flawed design. It’s unfair. It’s unfair that you have to follow the rules even after trying your best to break them. 

“You wish you never met me, don’t you?” you whisper. “I made a mess.”

Before he responds, you bow in a short goodbye and walk towards the elevator. There’s no footsteps behind you, no Prince Charming. It’s just you and your high heels clacking against the cold marble as you head back to an empty home. You always thought freedom would feel different, that distance would give you perspective. It just feels awful when no one is around you at all. When you have no one to pick up morning calls from, receive texts from asking if you ate, spend time in peace without uttering a single word—are you free or are you lonely?

The rules state that the two of you are different. It is true. You are as different as love in real life and love in the movies; and neither of them have happy endings now.

You wish you drank some more last night if you were going to embarrass yourself like that. Thankfully, it’s the weekend and you have two more days to figure out how to face your coworkers. You frown when you think of Jaehyun. Were you wrong to tell him that you simply couldn’t choose him? What if fate is right and it falls apart? You stir your morning coffee, the will to drink it fading slowly. It’s already fallen apart—and it wasn’t fate who did that, it was you. Should you have taken his stupidly warm hands and asked him to follow you? You don’t understand how it works at all.

Centuries of questioning what love is, poking and prodding at it like a lab sample, and there’s still no perfect answer. Love is blind. Love is cruel. Love is a fever. Love is temporary insanity. Love is acceptance. Love will set you free. There’s just too many variations. You can never tell if fate is meant to make it easier or worse. 

No one questions you at the office and you're not sure if you’re glad or aggravated. Only Doyoung shoots you a pitiful look which you brush off and immediately get into work. Embarrassment is only real if you acknowledge it. However, every time Dongmin tries to talk to you, you ask for space and even alone in your thoughts, you don’t get it. They just have to drift to Jaehyun.

You wonder if what he said was true, that he wanted you enough to forget the system. It’s clearly ruined now. The spiral of thinking has you zoning out during work more often than not and even Doyoung ends up reprimanding you for your lack of focus. Sometimes you want to snap but other times, you’re just hopelessly reciting the events over and over in your head. This was supposed to happen, wasn’t it? You don’t even have the strength left in you to blame it all on Jaehyun.

You pace in the corridors after work, contemplating popping by the Marketing Department. What could go wrong? Sure, it was a little dramatic of you to leave like that but everything can be fixed, right? You groan. What you were supposed to be fixing, you made worse. Are your hands cursed or something? You shake your head, returning to your desk to gather your belongings and head home.

Unfortunately, the sight of Doyoung sitting in your chair alarms you and you stop a foot away. 

“If you’re going to reprimand me for watching cat videos instead of checking the employee records, I can assure you my efficiency is still top-notch.” 

“You’re—what? Never mind.” Doyoung shakes his head. “Can you give this ginseng pack to Jaehyun? I owe him.” 

Oh no. You know where this is going.

“You know I’m going to keep that for myself, right?” You make a face. “I’d rather die than face Jaehyun right now.”

Doyoung shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the one running to you. This is in case of an emergency.”

You give him a fake smile and Doyoung shakes his head. “Good to see you’re still great at pretending to be fine.”

You sigh. “Thanks for looking out for me, bossman.”

Doyoung blinks, hand covering his mouth when an audible gasp leaves him. “Woah. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you thank me. But don’t call me bossman ever again.”

“Noted,” you say, taking your bag and leaving with a short goodbye. You’re lucky he lets you off work early, even if you never took it. Employees usually can’t leave until their superiors does and if you were a senior employee, you’d be giving your juniors quite the hell.

You seem to be good at concocting hellscapes. Perhaps, you should look for job openings in the underworld. One last thought of Jaehyun exits your head and you take the bus home, admiring the city you live in and the warmth of people and their relationships. You don’t feel jealous; you just bask in them for the time—be it a mother and her son or two bickering sisters or a lovely old couple. That’s how it’s meant to be, then. That’s how love works.

Jaehyun smacks his head against the sofa armrest for the fifteenth time in a row.

“Dude. You’re going to permanently ruin the fabric.” Sicheng says, eyes trained on his laptop screen.

“I should’ve said something more.” Jaehyun’s voice is so zombie-like, he thinks he should cast himself in the Train to Busan sequel as an extra.

“I’m glad I’m not you,” Sicheng mutters.

“Can you give me some sort of consolation, at least?”

“That’s not what I’m your friend for.”

Jaehyun sighs and resumes smacking the back of his head against the armrest. He really needs to figure this out. After all, he can’t really Google the solution to this.

“One thing doesn’t make sense,” Sicheng says, finally looking up from his screen. “Why do you have the same mark as (name)’s if you’re not soulmates?”

“You’re so incredibly—but adorably—stupid, Sicheng. She drew it in with a permanent marker. She kissed me too! It was sudden and weird but I didn’t mind it.

“Yikes.” Sicheng makes a face. “So… you didn’t take a shower for how long now?”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“The ink hasn’t washed off. I heard you singing in the shower yesterday, how could you not have washed that off? Ugh. Don’t tell me you miss her.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen as he jumps up and rushes to the washroom. Looking into the mirror, the tattoo poking out from his T-shirt resembles yours a lot more than his. The arrow is still drawn in. Jaehyun’s shoulder slumps. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Turning the tap and letting the water flow, he wets his hand and rubs at his collarbone to remove the arrow.

Except it doesn’t budge. His skin turns painfully red from the rubbing but the ink, which usually washes off in less than five minutes has no intention of leaving. Did you use a different brand of marker the last time? When was it anyway? 

Jaehyun breathes out, firming his resolve. He needs to be with you.

Sicheng blinks in surprise as Jaehyun grabs his car keys, not even bothering to change from an all-black getup of a T-shirt and jeans like some emo teenager, and shuts the front door behind him. Not even a ‘goodbye, I’m leaving!’

Sicheng sighs. Love makes people crazy. He’s not falling into that trap when his soulmate literally doesn’t exist, the same as his soulmark. It seems the contestants in this game are full of exceptions.

You hit your head against your pillow. To visit Jaehyun or not to. You haven’t left your bed since you woke up around seven in the morning, and now it’s ten. Your bedsheets are a mess because you’ve rolled around too much on them (in despair, not with someone unfortunately).

You need the quiet sometimes to let your mind rest, to let your heart rest. You needed time. But maybe it’s been long enough and now you’re just searching for excuses to hold on to your last shred of dignity.

You lift your head up and glare at the box of ginseng on your table. Should you? You reluctantly get up, feeling a sting of pain in your back for lying in that awkward position for so long. Right when you’ve put on your slippers, the doorbell rings and you groan. How did the package you stress-ordered last night arrive so early? These deliveries are getting faster and faster.

You walk to the front door and open it thoughtlessly, freezing up at the sight. Your first reaction is to cover yourself. You’re not exactly your best-looking version at the moment. Jaehyun’s dark circles almost match yours but he’s better dressed than you are—in a black T-shirt and jeans while you’re wearing a Gudetama pajama set.

“We’re not just friends,” he blurts. “We’re not soulmates but we’re not just friends.”

“Huh? Oh my god, this is the most embarrassing I’ve looked.”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows in a question look. 

“That’s not important! Look—”

He pushes you inside, closing the door behind him. His hair is so disheveled and messy, he barely even looks like the same well-maintained marketing employee you know. 

Jaehyun tugs at his T-shirt, pulling down to reveal his tattoo—albeit with your marker-drawn arrow through it. He does have a pretty well-built chest, you note before chiding yourself for getting distracted.

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you, uh, need help scrubbing it off or something?”

“No.” Jaehyun lets out a huff of exasperation. “It won’t wash off. If it’s what I think it is—”

“Miracles don’t happen to people like us, Jaehyun,” you say quietly.

He gulps. “I don’t know about miracles but… I just needed an excuse to see you, I guess.”

You look up, a rose blush over Jaehyun’s bare face, and run your finger over the tattoo, sighing at the warmth of his skin. Your hand travels up to his cheek, resting atop it while you muster enough courage to look Jaehyun in his chocolate brown eyes.

You pull away. This isn’t the time. You still have an internal crisis to sort out. Are you even deserving of love? It makes much more sense if the answer is no. 

However, Jaehyun pulls you in by the waist, his right palm warm against your cheek.

“I don’t care what anyone says.” He runs his thumb over your cheek in a painfully fond manner. “You’re worth more than the price I pay for this.”

He leans in and presses his lips to yours swiftly, your head clearing of thoughts almost immediately. It feels so right, you can feel the spark, the red thread around your skin, hear the bells. This kiss was far more perfect than it was supposed to be.

You part, gasping. Jaehyun blinks at you, breathing heavily.

“Kiss me again.”

Jaehyun does as told and you might just believe in miracles this way. With his hand around your waist and in your hair, his lips over yours and the low rumbling laughter that parts the two of you—you might just believe in miracles. You might just believe that love isn't something you deserve by earning.

“I like this,” Jaehyun comments. “I like the way this is.”

You press your finger to his lips. “I think you should shut up and kiss me some more.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “I know you’re sexually repressed as of now, but that’s no reason to take advantage of me.”

You scowl, punching him on the shoulder and moving away from him.

“Come back,” he complains in a quiet voice.

“I am not going to do that.” You cross your arms.

“Come on,” he mutters, inching closer as you inch away, till your back hits the couch and you tumble backwards onto it, your legs on the headrest. Jaehyun laughs at your position, leaning in to keep his hands on either side of you, a doting look over him.

“Hey, did you know if I kicked my leg up, it would hit you in the balls?”

“Please don’t do that.”

You giggle, Jaehyun’s nose rubbing against yours in a bunny kiss. 

“Is your place usually this much of a mess?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. 

You sigh heavily. “I was having a bad day, okay? Or… a bad weekend.”

“Do you even have food?”

You look away, crossing your arms. Jaehyun sighs and shakes his head.

“We should go grocery shopping. How do you live like this?”

You scoff. “Oh, spare me the lecture. I’ve heard enough horror stories about your room from Sicheng. You can’t hide from me by sweeping your clothes and belongings into his room.”

“Snitch,” he mutters under his breath.

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your mouth and you immediately cover it. Jaehyun smiles at you fondly and you look away, unable to bear that gaze of his.

“It really won’t wash off, by the way,” Jaehyun states, scratching at his collarbone.

You narrow your eyes, smacking his arms away to roll off the couch. Taking his wrist, you walk into your bathroom and turn the tap on. Something’s strange. But also strangely right.

“Look, I already tried—ow! Don’t rub that hard!”

You blink in confusion, trying again despite Jaehyun looking like his soul already left him. It doesn’t work. Your marker isn’t even that permanent. At least his regenerating skin cells should get rid of that arrow. Unless the ink was deep enough to pierce all the layers, as in a soulmark.

You gasp.

“You were right!”

“I told you s—”

"That's the point, isn't it?" you say, realization dawning as your eyes widen. "To see if people will question the system at all."

Jaehyun shrugs. “Maybe.”

"Oh, all those unhappy marriages that could have been saved," you say as you exhale. 

Jaehyun chuckles lightly. "I think that the point was, people can be happy without their soulmates. It's whoever you make one out of. Or I Googled too many articles on anti-soulmate propaganda."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek. Watching his ears turn bright red is the cherry on top.

“Okay, fake-boyfriend-turned-real-soulmate.” You give him a cheeky smile. “Did you rethink your decision about sharing that Netflix password with me? I get the girlfriend free pass, right? Right?”

“I didn’t even share it with my mother.”

You whack his arm, him possibly used to it by now, judging from his lack of response. 

“Idiot.” You cross your arms. “We can Netflix… and chill then. God, I can’t believe I said that.”

Jaehyun breaks into a chuckle. “You’re so pushy.”

 “And you like being pushed around, nerd.”

“Who said that?”

Jaehyun wraps his arms around you, spinning you so that your back hits the door. He leans in to kiss you again and you smack your palm over his pouted lips. You laugh at his face, his eyes brimming with confusion.

“You’re in my apartment. I make the rules here. Think twice before you start a game with me, Mister.”

His shoulders droop. “Fine. Can you at least let me kiss you four times a day?”

“Five times, if you ask.”

He laughs before leaning in again. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“You are one hell of a woman. Emphasis on hell.”

You laugh and grab his collar, pulling him in for the kiss that seals this deal.

You realize a few things in the moment: a) You don’t have to play roulette to find love, b) You don’t have to pick your poison to find love, and most importantly c) Love is right where you make something of it. Fate is still not in your good books but if it bends to you this way, you don’t mind at all. If Jaehyun kisses you like this every day, you don’t mind one bit. 

[genshin-obsessed]

My (f/n) | Zhongli x Reader

Hello! This was originally a collab idea from a friend between like 5 people. The friend who suggested the collab pulled out and idk about others lmao so it might just be me. BUT I COMMITED AND DELIVERED SO! Cuz I’m responsible and amazing💖 anyway. It’s a reincarnation AU! Banner made by 🎭 anon! Thanks to @squeaky-ducky and @solies-scripts for helping me edit this💖

Extra sidenotes: Your previous self’s vision is pyro but you can choose whatever for the reincarnated version even tho it’s not mentioned. Also, Yehara and Lilith are my OCs (yes... more)

Length: 2.1k Summary: Zhongli loves and cherishes you above all else. One day, you’re snatched away from him and the world turns black for him. Yet somehow, a thousand years later, he sees you again.

The bright sun beamed down at the land below, illuminating everything in a golden glow. Zhongli stepped out into the light and closed his eyes, inhaling the fresh air.

Days like these were beautiful but they became a blessing all thanks to one person. A smile graced Zhongli’s beautiful features at the thought of them. His hand found its way onto his chest and he felt it steadily beat. He felt an overwhelming sense of serenity and it was all thanks to this person. You.

You, yourself, were a blessing in this archon’s life. He never thought he would ever feel like this. That he would ever feel love. What was love to archons? They usually loved the lands they resided over. The original archons held love for humanity and guided them.

For Zhongli, love was something of a general term. He loved the sun, the lands… today. But his love for you was something he couldn’t describe. Something the man of wondrous knowledge couldn’t understand.

Zhongli came to realize that love wasn’t something that could be easily explained nor did it need to be. Love gave him overwhelming happiness, so why bother trying to understand every aspect of such a beautiful idea.

The Geo archon walked through the city of Liyue and although he felt great joy, there was also a certain uneasiness. He paused and touched his chest once more as the anxiety grew.

Ultimately, the man ignored it, unable to find the root cause of such dread. He instead opted to find you, so you could settle his nerves a little.

***

“Zhongli!” You beamed once you saw him. He chuckled as you ran to him and wrapped your arms around his slim figure.

“You’re rather excited today,” he commented as he hugged back, “what brought on such elation?”

“Hmm, a very pretty man.” You said, cheekily. There it was, that smile of yours washed away any and all discomfort he felt.

“Oh, is that so? I’m quite jealous.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Zhongli chuckled once more as you leaned in and gave him a kiss. The sensation of your soft lips remained on his even after you’d pulled away. “What brings you here today?”

“I was thinking we could spend some time together. We could go for a walk, maybe set up a picnic since that’s what you wanted to do last time.”

“Really!? You’ll go on a picnic with me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Your radiant smile was contagious as he found himself smiling in return.

“I’ll set it up!! It can be a late night picnic or- oh! Oh! Let’s watch the sunset! Then we can have our picnic. I’ll set up candles!” Your enthusiasm was always something Zhongli loved. It benefited him more than he could admit.

“Alright then. Where?”

“Our spot!” Zhongli teasingly tilted his head making you pout.

“What spot? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! Come on, Zhongli!” Zhongli leaned in and pecked your pouty lips before nodding.

“I do. Then I’ll meet you there?” You nodded with a bright smile.

“Yes! Exactly! I’ll have everything set up and I want it to be a surprise.”

Zhongli spent a little more time with you before he left, since you needed to prepare for the date. Only a few minutes after he’d left you, the anxiety returned. He touched his chest once more with furrowed brows. What was this?

***

You smiled as you started to place the items down onto the blanket. You’d been planning this picnic for weeks now and you finally had the chance to do it.

You set the cushions and small table you had brought, placing the candles and wine bottle. The food would remain in the basket to keep it safe from bugs since you had to wait quite a while. Hopefully your pyro vision was enough to keep it warm.

“Hello, are you (y/f/n)?” A soft voice called from behind. You turned around and saw a shy, but beautiful woman with long pink hair. The clothes she wore indicated she clearly wasn’t from here. She fidgeted with her hand, showing she was nervous.

“Um… who’s asking?”

“Ah, sorry! My name is Lilith but you can call me Lily. I was told you knew where I could find a um… Mr. Zhongli?”

Zhongli? Why was she looking for him? Finding her safe enough, you opted to direct her to your boyfriend rather than giving information about yourself.

“Oh, yes I do! He’s back in Liyue but you’ll find him at Wangshen Funeral Parlor.”

“Thank you so much!” But she didn’t leave. A giggle escaped her lips and she met your eyes, giving you a dreadful feeling.

“Y-yes?”

“So he’s not here with you… good.” In the blink of an eye, Lilith was in front of you. She threw you back causing you to fly into a tree. You let out a scream as your weakened body hit the ground. Pain shot through you and you weakly looked up at her.

“Wh-why…”

“Pitiful. You’d think he’d choose someone of his caliber but no. He chose someone weak and pathetic like you. Your pyro vision was wasted on you.” Woah, where did her soft voice and shy demeanor go?

“Zh-Zhongli…” you called out as Lilith picked you up and slammed you into the tree once more.

“Call him all you want. But he won’t get here in time.” Lilith repeatedly slammed you into the tree before a sickening crack was heard.

A weak whimper escaped your bloodied lips as the light faded from your eyes.

“H-help m-me… Zh… Zhong… li…” Lilith caught your limp body and picked you up. A wicked smile played on her lips as she walked to her destination.

***

It had happened all so suddenly. Zhongli was meeting an acquaintance to talk about his work at the funeral parlor when he felt a sharp, intense pain in his chest and back. He just knew.

He threw everything away, apologizing to his friend and practically sprinting to where you two were supposed to meet. There he was met with a grim sight.

The picnic had been set up almost completely, but the large tree behind it was covered in blood. The Geo Archon knew exactly who it belonged to. He finally noticed the letter sitting on the table.

Once he read it, he ran to the nearest Statue of the Seven in hopes of finding you and whoever took you. But it was too late. When he finally reached the statue, his heart shattered.

Your body was on top of the statue, laying across the lap of the stone man. Blood trailed down your arm that hung over the edge and dripped from your finger. Your lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, the final sign of your death.

A large pillar solidified in front of him and he quickly climbed up to get to you. Zhongli’s shaky hand slowly and hesitantly touched yours. Cold. You were so cold. Where was your usual warmth? Where was that dazzling smile that often chased away his sorrows? Where was the light in your eyes? Where was the joy you brought him?

“M-my… (f/n)...” he murmured in a sorrowful tone, “what’s… no. No, this isn’t happening.” He pulled you down and into his arms, wincing at how lifeless you were.

You couldn’t be dead, you couldn’t have left him. He jumped down to the ground with you tightly in his arms. His eyes stung and his vision started to get blurry. Crying? An archon, crying? The tears slowly slid down his pale cheeks. His voice cracked when he spoke up.

“Wake up, my love. Please wake up.” He begged looking down at you. The blood trickled down your mouth, a clear sign you’d been killed recently. Within the hour, actually. “P-please blink… please wake up. Please come back to m-me. I just… I can’t do this without you. I…” what could he say? What could he do?

Zhongli had failed. He’d failed to keep you safe and alive. He’d vowed to always protect you and he vowed to never let you get hurt.

The tears spilled down his cheeks and the pain in his heart grew. He took your face in his free hand and took a good look at his consequence. At his failure.

“Tell m-me this is just s-some cruel joke, w-wake up and tell me this isn’t real. I-it’s just a n-nightmare, right? Right?” Zhongli held you tightly with his head pressed against your chest. Nothing. He heard nothing.

You never blinked, you never looked up at him with that adorable giggle, and you never exclaimed it was a joke.

You really were gone.

***

How many years ago was that now? Almost a thousand? Zhongli had never gotten over your death and how could he? His first and only lover had been ripped away from him and he still hadn’t found the murderer.

There had been a significant change in Zhongli since then. He was much more reserved and defensive but he was also very protective of anyone he came to call a friend. Ever since losing you, he found it hard to love and care for people the same way.

There was a constant emptiness, a loneliness that never left. No matter how many friends surrounded him, he always felt empty. Food and drinks were tasteless and the world lacked color. No smile matched yours, no warmth matched yours, and he never found a pair of dazzling eyes such as yours. And he was sure he’d never see them again… or so he thought.

“Zhongli! Are you coming?” Yehara asked, making the man look toward her.

“Oh, sure. Let’s go.” Zhongli had met Yehara a few years ago and had helped her during a commission. She hadn’t been doing so well and he’d practically saved her. Ever since then, she stuck to him like glue. Although he wasn’t terribly fond of her from the beginning, he grew to like her. Once they were close enough, Zhongli finally opened up about you and your death.

Yehara swore she’d help solve the murder and wouldn’t rest until he knew. Zhongli had grown much closer to her than he anticipated. The relationship gave him complicated feelings, ones he didn't want to even deal with.

At first, he wondered if he had feelings for Yehara or else why did he feel so comfortable with her? Why did he feel so safe? Why did he often find himself seeking her out when he felt alone? He was scared because you were long gone but for him it was just yesterday. Zhongli didn't want to move on, no matter how healthy it was. He only wanted you, nobody else. Not Yehara, not another archon, no one but you.

There were many things he felt with you that he didn’t with Yehara. Her smile didn’t light up his world, her laughter didn’t echo in his ears, her hugs didn’t leave him tingling, and her words never stayed with him for more than a minute.

There were many nights he spent thinking about himself and Yehara. Was he in love with her? It took some time, but he eventually came to the conclusion that didn’t. He hoped she didn’t either.

“Zhongli! Stop dozing off!” Yehara said, making him look down. He chuckled and patted her head, before looking away.

“Sorry, sorry. It won’t happen ag-” Zhongli stopped abruptly, his golden-orange eyes widened. No…

“Oh come on Zhongli, you just said this wouldn’t happen again.” Yehara huffed and followed his gaze. He was looking into a group of people but after a few moments, her red eyes widened as well.

A person, looking EXACTLY like you was smelling some flowers at a stall. You smiled and Zhongli’s heart sped up immediately.

“It’s them… that’s my (f/n)... I know it.” The archon whispered.

“That can’t be… I thought…” Yehara looked at Zhongli only to look back at you. The duo watched as you nodded and purchased the flowers and turned towards them. When your eyes landed on them you froze, almost as if you’d seen a ghost.

“They saw us.” Yehara gasped, bringing Zhongli out of his trance. You did. You were looking directly at him with the same look of shock. Without wasting any more time, you ran towards him and stopped right in front of them. Zhongli’s heart was beating out of his chest and he clenched his hands. Why were you looking at him like that?

“You’re… Zhongli, right? I’m (y/f/n)... I know you from my dreams.”

“Dreams?” Yehara asked and you nodded, giving her a soft smile. You were more beautiful than Zhongli had described. She could see why he was so infatuated.

“I began dreaming about you when I turned 20.” That was an odd coincidence, since you were 20 when he first asked you to be his.

“You… know me?”

“I do. I only know things from dreams and as dreams not memories… but since you’re here in front of me, there has to be some truth to them. So will you tell me more?” A smile of relief appeared on his lips and he nodded.

“Of course, anything for you… my (f/n).”

[oopskashish]

Her sweet love

A/N: this is for the writing challenge of @heloisedaphnebrightmore and @haracelovestruck . I enjoyed writing this so much, thank you for organizing the event💘

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Summary: After a lil prank of Y/N's friend, Draco takes care of her.

Warnings: a bit of a prank, a lil drowning but it doesn't happen too much, and too much fluff

Y/N and Emma were walking along side with the Black Lake, chattering away in the mildly cold weather of early November.

"My little brother has this obsession with those Weasley products and ended up spending his entire monthly allowance on puking pastilles." Emma laughed.

"You know, he is going to get money out of you." Y/N says idly, looking at the the clouded canvas of the sky, painted in the shades of greys and dull blue, somehow still looking beautiful.

"He can try."

"He was successful last year." Y/N murmur, pulling the sleeves of her sweater to cover her cold hands.

"That was last year." Emma insisted.

"If you say so." She replies, halting to look at the lake. The lively shades of turquoise was dancing fascinatingly in the waters where the giant squid and merfolks resided.

"You know," said Emma with a notorious twinkle in her brown eyes, "you can take a dip if you want."

Before y/n could have processed a word of her friend, she was in the water, with a force stinging her skin a little. She opened her eyes only to close them again. She pushed her way to the surface, and she gasped for the air.

The chill of the air combined with that of water was enough to freeze. Her teeth chattered, as she squeezed her eyes shut with her mouth gaping to inhale as much oxygen she could.

Emma had her head thrown back, her contagious laughter filling in the empty silence. Emma hunched over, trying to control her giggles, however the attempt was pathetic.

Y/N scowled and swam to the edge. She grasped her friend's ankle and pulled an unsuspecting Emma into the water.

Now it was her turn to laugh as Emma too gasped for air as she came to the surface. Y/N giggles as her furious friend glared at her and splashed water.

The splash war began, both of them laughing as they were practically drowning one another.

"STOP!"

The pair turned to a pair of Slytherin and a Ravenclaw.

"Hi Draco." Y/N smiles at the boy with clenched jaw and his eyes furious but the concern in them made her relax under his stare which would have normally made someone scared.

"Get out of the water, you two." Oscar says, a bit too sternly for their liking.

"Its just some good fun, love." Emma bats her eyelashes innocently at her boyfriend.

"Y/N will get sick," Draco snaps.

"And so will you." Oscar adds.

The girls sighed in frustration as they were pulled out of the water by the help of their friends.

Oscar was fussing over his girlfriend, muttering enchantments that would warm her shivering figure.

While Draco swished his wand, moodily muttering the spell which dried her clothes. She was still quaking with the chill that seemed to bury in her bones.

"Come here, I can warm you up." He mutters, taking her hand and pulling her closer. He took off his warm robes and sweater, leaving himself in a thin shirt.

"You'll get cold, Draco." Y/N pouts.

"You are already quivering," he states. "Arms up."

Y/N reluctantly raises her arms and lets him pull down the warm woolen sweater, and then he wraps her up his robe, checking over her once again.

Y/N was however ecstatic because of the scent that his clothes had. The expensive cologne blended in with cinnamon and apples, the green ones of course, with a touch of parchment was so captivating, and so uniquely him.

"I have told you so many times to not go into the lake when it's cold, but you never listen to me. Now look at you, being so cold." He grumbled, pulling her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her to keep her warm.

She leaned into him, loving how he rubbed his warm hands against her back. His concern made her melt into a puddle of love that was only meant for him, and no one else.

"Ah, someone had a dunk in the lake?" Blaise smirks, walking towards them.

Draco didn't say a word but took his friend's scarf and wrapped it around Y/N's neck.

"OI!"

"Shut it, Zabini." Draco snaps, pulling Y/N closer to himself, taking her cold hands and rubbing them.

"You're still freezing," he grumbles against her cheek, holding her impossibly close to his warm body. He had taken her hands in his and brought near his mouth and was blowing warm air into them, as he rubbed them.

"You don't need to do this, Draco." Y/N pesters, trying to take her hands away so that she can give back the scarf but Draco didn't let her do it.

"Let's get you a hot chocolate." Draco pulls her away from the group to lead her to the castle.

"My bag!" She exclaims, trying to stop him. Draco only twirled his wand in his fingers and flicked it, the bag swiftly coming towards the two of you. He took it and swung it on his shoulders.

Draco noticed how their steps were perectly synchronised, and unknowingly he smiled. With her on his side, he has started admiring little things in life and was slowly starting to appreciate them too.

"Draco?" She asks sweetly.

"Yes, love?" He glances at her.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

Y/N leaned more into his arms. He was somehow still warm in the windy weather. She had wrapped both her hands around his, letting his body heat bleed into her.

Draco enjoyed holding her this close, and he smiles as he watched her play with the rings that were cladding his slender fingers.

He ignored all the stares towards them and led her to the kitchens. He tickled the pear of the painting and the door opened. He had practically molded his best friend into his side as they entered.

"Master Draco, Mistress Y/N! What can we get you?" The house elves ask, gathering around them.

"Only some hot chocolate, nothing else." Draco said in a dismissive tone.

"Be polite." She whispered into his ear. Draco did nothing but pulled her into a hug, resting his cheek against her wet hair which were air drying themselves.

"I'm sorry if I was mean to you but I can't have you falling sick, sweetheart." He murmurs in her ear, and a shiver ran down her back at their closeness.

"Sorry." She croons into his chest, keeping her blushing face hidden there.

"Don't say that." He whispers back, running his fingers though her hair and untangling some knots. He smiled a little at the warm feeling that was spreading from his chest into his entire body by holding her close.

She gave him the surreal amount of happiness and warmth that he never knew existed. Her smile was enough to make his bad days into good ones.

He remembered seeing her in his second year when he was having a duel with Potter in the middle of the hallway. She ended up being hit by a hex and Draco didn't know why, but he ran to her and made sure she was alright.

From there, their friendship bloomed. It took a while for them to get closer, but after that stage, they have been inseparable. Even Lucius took a liking for her, which was both suprising yet not so surprising.

Y/N was a half blood and a Hufflepuff, which was already guaranteeing her to get in the line of people Lucius hates, but it was easy to love her. She was intelligent and charming, without even trying.

It took a while but Lucius come to terms with her well enough while Narcissa absolutely adored her with everything she has in herself.

While Draco, he was ready to summon universe if that's what it meant to see that winsome smile that invades his thoughts at any second of the day. He found perfection in her imperfections, thoroughly convinced that she is a wonder that somehow has blessed his life, and he loved her with all his heart and soul.

"Sir?" He heard the squeaky voice of the house elf. He parted away from his best friend and took the two mugs, and y/n took hers from his hand before he could have protested.

But subtly it made him happy because he could have an arm wrapped around her waist. They both went out of the kitchens and wordlessly made their way to the Slytherin common room.

Draco said the password and led her inside. He took her to his private dorm, which he got by his father's money request.

Draco opened the dorm for her, letting her go inside first to which she murmur a quick thank you. Draco let her keep their mugs of hot chocolate on his study table while he searched for some warm clothes.

He pulled out a black sweatshirt and joggers of the same colour and handed them to her. She made her way to the washroom and changed into them, folding the hem of the pants twice so that it could fit her waist.

When she came back, Draco had changed into some comfortable clothes and was sitting on the bed, staring at the fire.

She took this moment to admire the masterpiece of the human he is. The fire was making his silky white hair almost sparkle while his deep grey eyes were focused on the fire.

His elbows were on his knees and his hands were clasped together. His whole body was relaxed into the position and he was looking effortlessly glorious.

He was beyond enthralling to her, confident and head strong to his belief though some of his values changed after he met her. She was happy that he grew out of bullying and changed into a boy who was still brooding, but lovely as ever.

Draco's eyes snapped to her figure which was drowning in his sweatshirt. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her pad towards him, her cheeks warm with a delightful blush. They wordlessly took their mugs and sat down in front of the fire.

"Would you mind?" Draco asks her, his heart pumping faster as he gestured her to sit in his lap. She smiled a little and sat in his lap, letting his arms wrap around her and cuddle into her small figure.

She took out her wand and accioed her bag that was on the couch. She rummaged through it and took out a packet.

"What's this?" Draco asks in a whisper.

"Mini marshmallows." She answered, taking a handful and putting them in her drink.

"Would you like to try some?" She blinked up at him.

"Sure."

She put in some in his drink too, then packed it up and levitated her bag back to couch. She leaned against his chest, as she stretched her legs.

Draco gingerly tried it, his eyes widening after the sip. "Salazar, this is incredible. Why don't wizards have it?"

"Because muggles are better." She smiled up at him as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Anyway, this is he tiny version of a marshmallow. Usually they're this big." She showed the measurement by her thumb and index finger.

"Why do you like the mini ones then?" Draco asks her, pulling her closer to him.

"Well, when I was little-"

"Was?" Draco interrupts her, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

She narrowed her eyes into a glare, her nose scrunching up as she did so. She got even more annoyed when he smiled at her.

"As much as I love you and respect you, your anger barely intimidates me." Draco chuckles at her.

"I can be very scary." She states.

"You indeed look very intimidating as you hold this cup by both your hands, wearing my clothes that are practically drowning you, as you sit in my lap. I am terrified." He laughs.

She started to get off his lap but his arms wrapped around her waist before she could have done so.

"Noooo." He whined, pulling her impossibly closer and burying his head in her neck, his arms firmly wrapper around her waist. "Don't go, I am sorry, love."

Y/N smiled, this side of Draco was unseen by the world. The one that wanted affection all the time, the side that made her heart flutter in delight whenever it came out when they were alone.

"Draco." She croons, her hand sliding into those silky hair.

He hummed back in response, pressing a kiss on her neck.

"You're sweet, really really sweet." She whispers softly.

"Only to you." Draco states, pulling away and looking into her eyes as his hand slid up, along her side and then cupping her face. His eyes shamelessly fell on her lips and he stared at them, resisting himself the pleasure of devouring her lips.

Y/N heart melted as she watched the boy she loved so hopelessly look at her lips like that. As if he wanted her, just like she wanted him. She nodded at him when he looked at her for permission.

Draco lowered his head and gently brushed his lips against hers, his soul exploding at the gentle touch. He reached out for one of her legs which were sprawled across his lap, and placed it on his other side of the hip and pulled her closer.

He memorised those sinfully addicting lips which made see heaven with closed eyes. The sweetness of her lips due to hot chocolate was unparalleled and all he wanted was to kiss her till the sun couldn't shine.

Y/N mewled against his lips when he tilted his head and kissed her deeply. She was getting drunk off the kiss which had her head spinning. Her hands fisted the fabric of his sweatshirt, trying her best not to moan into the kiss.

Her head was getting heavier with pleasure and she pulled away for oxygen, resting her head against his chest, her eyes closed as she panted. She was still clutching his sweatshirt for some reason she neither knew nor cared to find out.

"You just kissed me." She awed, opening her eyes to look at the boy who was already looking down at her with disbelief in his eyes, but the way he held her so endearingly made her know that he was only shocked due to the bliss.

"I think so."

She smiled at him. "And you are not apologizing for once."

"No, sorry," he breathed, burying his head in her hair. "Sorry for not doing this sooner."

She smiled as she lifted his head, cupping that beautiful face she loved so much. "Don't apologise." She whispers, gently rubbing her thumbs against his jaw. He leaned into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his oh-so-kissable lips.

"I love you," she croons, making him snap his head towards her in surprise.

Those beautiful words that he so longed to hear from her were finally said and Draco couldn't feel anything but happiness that bursted into his chest and echoed in his bones.

His tongue went dry when tried to say those words back. He couldn't, he just couldn't.

So he leaned in and kissed her again, making her roll her eyes back into her sockets as he kissed her deeper, more hungrily as if he had been starving for her presence for eternities and now she is finally her.

She smiled into the kiss, not being able to resist to do so. She knew saying those words will be tough for him, but she was happy.

She didn't need to hear something she felt every single second they spent time together.

He always looked out for her, making sure she is comfortable with whatever is happening around them or otherwise it had to change. Whether it was the situation or the people, Draco dealt with everyone who dared to upset her in terrifying manner.

He always held her close to him, as if she was the stars to his sky. He walked her to every class even if it meant sprinting down half a dozen of stairs to reach his class within 2 minutes, he was ready to do it.

That overwhelming urge to make her happy showed her that he loved her unconditionally. His heart was hers and hers only for this life and all lives to come.

Draco parted away, panting. He smiled back at her, his heart fluttering when he saw that winsome smile stretched across her lips. He leaned in and kissed her smile, whispering how much he loved her without uttering a word.

He picked her up as he stood up and carried her to his bed. He laid her down, and hovered over her.

"My sweet girl." He whispered, pressing tiny loving kisses all over her face which made her giggle loudly, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders.

"Stay the night?" He asks her, pressing a kiss on her nose and then leaning away just a little.

"Okay." She whispers.

They drowned each other in love, holding onto each other as letters of a word, clinging onto each other to have some meaning.

-/-/-/-/-

Send me an ask if you wanna be in my taglist :) General taglist: @bl597 @obsessedwithrandomthings @firewhisky-kisses @pregnant-piggy @remmyswritings @harrypotter289 @mytreec @strawberriesonsummer @yourssuccubus @idont-knowrn @simplymagicalwritings @kalimagik @xdarthsanchezx @tinylumpia @hufflepuffgirly

[serahlink]

Knight in Orc Armor // F!Orc x FtM!Reader

Summary : After being harassed by some transphobic goblins, an unexpected hero swoops in to save the day.

Word Count : 2,675

TW : transphobia (including slurs and misgendering)

The weaved basket filled to the brim with fresh fruit and various vegetables weighed down in your arms. The market you were leaving behind was always a lively sight to say the least. Goblins, humans and orcs alike ran about, hashing out meats and services to one another. It was the one thing you liked about being in a close knit village. People were brought together in a way. That same gesture wasn’t given or taken by just everyone though. Being one of the only humans in the village usually warranted you relentless bullying and if that wasn’t enough, the fact that you are a trans man was a thing that some people didn’t take kindly of.

Being trans has always been a journey for you, you’ve seen and faced countless discrimination and rejection. While it never ceased being an unrelenting pain, you’ve learned to let things like that roll off of you. You built yourself out of cold stone and you were proud of that. So when you spotted two mischievous goblins in your periphery, you were ready to ignore them and be on with your day. Then their squeaky voices began to taunt you.

“Why, if it isn’t ol’ (Deadname).” One cackled out on your left, easily keeping up with your patient steps. The question was an innocent one enough if you completely disregarded respect of your gender and how menacing their intent was. “Still an errand girl for your parents, are ya?”

The other one chimed in. “That’s how girls are, y'know? Maidens who don’t stray far from home~.”

Their voices didn’t fail to make you nauseous. Their raspy strained tones felt like daggers on glass and the urge to wring out their scrawny little necks only intensified. As if their transphobic taunts weren’t enough, one suddenly jumped in front of your way. Your once unfazed gaze was now bothered and stared daggers down at the creature, who wore a look you could only describe as sadistic.

“You’re no fun at all.” The goblin opposing your side pouted, yet held the same expression as the other one.

With papery hands folded over each other mischievously, the goblin blocking your path grinned a gross smile, baring his yellowing blocky teeth. His knobby hand outstretched to the food kept relatively safe in the basket and you caught a determined glint in his bulging eye. “Now, why don’t you be a good village girl and hand over a fruit or two.”

“Like hell.” You bit back, hugging the basket protectively close. Your response only brought an inquisitive look back from him.

“Really?” The goblin feigned shock, his curling smirk on his lips. “I wouldn’t take that a hero’s daughter would get that kind of attitude.”

“Son.” You corrected firmly, biting back the harshness in that statement. “Hero’s son.”

Just then, the small creature slowly made his way to you until you nearly fell backwards on yourself. He then swiftly hopped up on the basket and dug his chipped nails under your collar, bringing you in a distance that’s too close for comfort. “You will never be a hero’s son. All you are is a pathetic excuse for a daughter, you hear?” With each venom in his statement, he inched closer to where you could feel the musk of his breath. It was nearly suffocating.

Nothing was more suffocating than the heat from your building anger. You could tolerate most things, but slandering you under your own father’s name is something you would not ignore. With one shakingingly angry hand, you slammed down the goblin to the dusty floor and didn’t hesitate to get in its face.

“Listen here, you ugly fiend. You have some nerve to put anyone’s name in your mouth, let alone bring my fathers profession into this.” You spat. “You will not tell me what I will or won’t amount to because of my father going off and making himself a hero, you got that!”

Surprisingly to you, the goblin actually had a bit of fear in his eyes and you pulled up, a smirk on your face. “I think you need to get out of here.”

The goblin under you scrambled to its feet and ran past you, back into the direction of the village market. You then looked to the goblin, who was looking in a direction that wasn’t you. It’s wide eyes fixed on something tall that towered above you both and it was merely then that you realized a heavy shadow was covering your own. Whatever scared the goblins clearly wasn’t you but something much bigger.

Behind you, a muscled arm that appeared to have the bicep the size of your face reached past to pick up the sneaky small being, who yelped as the towering being picked it up. Immediately, you knew what kind of creature this was. An orc. If it wasn’t by the animal skins and steel armor you picked up on that told you it was an orc, it’s size sure did.

Slowly, you turned around. Your expectations told you that you’d be face to face with a savage beast who would rip out the spine of the goblin right in front of you, as if to send a message. You thought this was where you had to be prepared to fight all the fear pulsing through your veins and slay this monster but all that subsided like a cool storm when you saw her.

Instead of meeting a snarling beast, you found a beauty in its place. The toned body of a female orc was plated by armor and draped with various skins, a bow resting behind her back. The strap of it hugged around her torso.. Angular features were broad and tense under dark hair that shaped her face. Her concentrated features glared down at the stammering goblin she held tensely under her strong grip.

All the goblin could spit out was excuses and frankly, the female orc wasn’t buying it. “Tell it to my bow,” She snarled, “or get out of here.”

She only gave a flick of her wrist at most yet the goblin ate dirt at the velocity he was thrown. Quickly, he was on his feet and sped back into the village without sparing a word.

In the sudden quiet, you could hear the quick beating of your heart rattling in your rib cage. It only occurred to you just then that she saved you. This random orc was literally your hero.

Suddenly, before you could even think, you were enveloped in strong arms and being swaddled by the orc bridal style. Her eyes looked everywhere, examining you as if to check for any marks or bruising. You flinched a little, hands scrambling to cling onto anything as to not fall; that very place being her chest and neck. “-! Uh, excuse me!”

Under you, the woven basket fell to the ground with some spare fruit catching dirt ground. “Dammit.” You cursed under your breath.

She looked down at you curiously, her eyes being all you could see.

“Can you, yknow, put me down?” You cleared your throat, fighting back your raging heart beat and flush in your cheeks.

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry,” To your surprise, she was sheepishly apologetic. “It’s just, you humans are so fragile so I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

Fragile? Since when were humans treated as a baby species?

Essentially, she let you down and joined you as you began to assist you in picking up the fallen goods.

“Thank you.”

The orc peered up when you spoke and you found yourself stammering slightly. “But you really didn’t have to do that.” You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, picking up the basket once more.

She grinned. “What for? They were giving you trouble and I couldn’t let them do that. It’s common courtesy. Besides, I don’t really like goblins anyway. Pests are all they are.”

She had a bit of an accent, you noticed, but you couldn’t place what kind. Her own was pretty thick but it was easy to make out what she was saying.

“How long were you standing there?” You asked.

It was her turn to become all sheepish. She shrugged, a soft frown began to befall her face. “Long enough to see most of it.”

You weren’t sure why, but something about that frown sort of made you feel guilty. After all, it was enough to be discriminated against. You didn’t want to be pitied.

Then, you cleared your throat. “Right, well, I guess I’ll be going now.”

She stopped you before you could go, practically snabbed the basket out of your reach by its handle. Just as you went to curse her, her cheeky smile stopped you. “Let me carry this for you. You’ve gone through enough trouble today, besides, I’m heading this way anyhow.”

In a way you did curse her. In your head, your voice mumbled curse after curse of her smile and how persuasive it was. Even worse, she acted all innocent, as if she had no clue that a dumb grin like that could make you fall to your knees. Either way, you couldn’t refuse her and against all odds you were walking home with an orc by your side.

“So, tell me about yourself.” The orc suddenly said and she was smiling when you looked up at her.

“Why don’t you tell me about you instead?” You offered. “I mean, you’re the one who swooped in and all. I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, that’s right. I never introduced myself, did I?” She laughed. “I’m Snatha.”

When she looked at you expectantly, you reluctantly introduced yourself. Snatha looked surprised, yet immensely intrigued. “That’s a nice name.” Her eyes lingered you for a minute longer. “You look a lot like him, your father, I mean.”

Her compliment nearly caused you to stop in your tracks to take it in. You’ve never heard something so heartfelt directed to you before. All your life you shaped yourself to be just like your father and it all usually fell on the hushed ears of people who ridiculed you constantly. Yet this one orc who barely knew you spoke of you as if she believed in you. It meant more to you than any transphobic comments ever did.

By the time you two made it back to your quaint village home, it was getting to be the peak of the afternoon and before you knew it, it was time to part with Snatha. You peered over at the orc herself who gently brought the basket from her shoulder to the ground. “Your house looks empty.” She commented.

“Yeah,” You mumbled. “It’s been just me for a while.”

The orc gave a sympathetic frown, realizing what your silence meant. Before she could give a word of comfort, you walked over and gestured to her to come near, close to your height. She obliged and when she was close enough, you granted her a soft kiss on the cheek. You pulled back and she looked back at you, face flushed and eyes wide; baffled.

“Thank you, for everything.” You smile. You would’ve gone and left straight for your house but instead, you took Snatha by the hand gently. “Actually..would you want to join me for dinner? It’d be nice to have someone to share a meal with.”

Her eyes drifted to your hand that softly squeezed hers and back to your hopeful face, a face she couldn’t have resisted even if she really wanted to. Snatha chuckled, “Of course.”

Instead of bringing the tall orc inside like you would’ve done any other sudden visitor, the two of you took to the back of your village hut where steamed meat was the main course tonight. The fire was blazing, crackling with each lick of flame. It was beautiful, you noticed, the way the light of the fire incandescently lit her features. Even if she was practically shoveling the food down her throat, you found it very endearing.

She only left a cleanly picked bone on her plate, leaning back with a hand over her stomach which was without a doubt full. “I haven’t had a meal like that in ages.” Snatha let out a full groan, smiling contently.

Just as you suspected, she must’ve been off either adventuring or maybe in the war before hand, perhaps both but you didn’t think to ask. Instead, you chuckled. “Really? Well, if you’d like, you can always come by here and get one. I’ll just have to remember to get more meat this time around.”

Snatha looked like she really liked the sound of that. Red glowed under her cheeks and while you told yourself it was because of the fire, some part of you suspected that it was more than that. “I’ll just have to take you up on your offer then, but don’t complain once I get stuck to you.” She teased.

You quirked a grin, then chuckled. “What makes you think I will?”

You could only smirk more and laugh as that red color you saw grew brighter and brighter and all she could do is sputter, struggling with what to say to you unexpectedly teasing her back.

After that, the conversation headed in the next direction. Next thing you knew, you were hearing Snatha’s war stories, stories she claimed to be from her own father which you learned died in a war years ago when she was merely a child. Across from you, she was animated on that log of hers as she practically reenacted the stories like it were theater. She was basking in the bravery and bravado of her warrior father, and it only immersed you in. It was easy to imagine the tall brooding orc dawned in warrior clothing atop a stone ledge, blood hungry eyes narrowed before leaping into battle, throwing no caution into the wind.

It was just like how you saw your father.

Slowly the warm hues of the afternoon were replaced by the cool blues and purples of sunset. It surprised you to realize you’ve spent the whole day with this orc and that’s when it disappointed you to realize it was now ending so soon. The two of you stood at the end of the trail where Snatha would depart from you. Before she did, she paused to say something.

Her eyes averted your gaze and she smiled, arm sheepishly rubbing her neck. “Before we say our farewells, I wanted to thank you for a great dinner. It’s one of the best ones I’ve had.”

“Same here.” You agree, also smiling.

Before she could turn to fully walk away, she paused and turned back to you. She looked a little reluctant and sounded a bit nervous. “By the way..I was wondering that, if you aren’t busy, if we could..I don’t know, go out somewhere sometime?” Although nervous, she indeed looked hopeful.

Her proposal surprised you a little. You knew the two of you took to each other well but to have her also feel the same way was surprising but also, you were relieved. Of course you’d love to spend more time with her. With a soft smile, you nodded. “Of course.”

Snatha lit up from her nervous demeanor, also relieved. “Oh! Oh– that, that’s great!” Her tone told you that she was surprised you’d even take up that offer even when you thought you made it clear you liked her. After a silent shared moment, she cleared her throat. “I suppose I will see you in the ‘morrow then, Sir (L/N).” Snatha forced a formal warrior voice that made you laugh.

“See you too, Warrior Snatha.” You gave your best impression of her back, failing at the orc accent you tried to maintain. Afterwards, you again took her by the hand and stood on your tippy toes to jump up and kiss her cheek.

“Safe travels.” You said, leaving Snatha to place a hand to the kissed spot on her cheek and smile.

“You too.”

[themysteriousauthor18]

Me attempting to write BillDip for the first time.

Dipper stared down in disbelief at the being in front of him. It didn’t appear that way, no they just appeared like any other human being. But with the searing pain of his hand and the flash of blue prior to touching the statue that was no longer there, Dipper knew. He knew this wasn’t just another person. 

What any other person would see is a young tanned man that looked to be in his early twenties sitting on the forest floor in front of him. His apparent however was a little off. For starters, his hair appeared to be black aside from his bangs parted to the right of his face that was a bright blonde. A nice contrast to the rest of his hair. But considering dyed hair was now a thing it could have been plaid off as such. 

The odd hairstyle was the least of the weirdness that stood out. No in fact the weirdest thing about the man was the black triangle eye patch the seemed to stick to his left eye without any visible strap. As if that were his eye or apart of it. 

Well, there was one more thing, the oddities of all. 

He was naked. 

Dipper, his mind finally clicking back to reality was quick to avert his gaze from the man who sat as if he were star gazing despite it being the middle of the day. With the 20 year olds pale face substituted with a dark crimson now he managed to utter what his mind was barely processing. “B-bill..?” His voice came out more scared than he would have liked. If Bill was truly back why did he appear like this? Appear human..and a better question, why the fuck was he naked? 

Hearing a ‘hm’ in response was weird enough. One for the fact that he wasn’t immediately destroyed just for uttering the name. And second, he did indeed sound like Bill, but the strange echo his voice always seemed to come with wasn’t there. So his voice just naturally sounded higher. 

Keeping his eyes off the dream demon was a bad idea but he couldn’t force himself to look at him especially with human...male parts. 

“What’s this? Thought you flesh sacks wouldn’t be around. I guess the sun hasn’t burned out yet..I don’t see any flying cars either so I guess I’m not that far into time.” Dipper listened closing to the sound of the rustling suggesting the other male was standing up. He chanced a look with the blondes back turned to him.

Is he really human, or this an illusion..does he have a tail maybeee--Nope keep your eyes up.

Visibly holding a hand out to block the lower half Dipper continued, ignoring the red on his cheeks. Now he was reminded why he always stalled in the boys locker rooms until all the other men left to get changed. 

But as Dipper struggled to form a sentence the blonde looked over his shoulder. Eyes widening as the dots connected. “Wait a minute! Wow! Is that my old flesh sack! Pinetree. Wow you humans really do grow.” Dippers jaw unhinged, weather it was in fear or just plain shock was unknown. 

When the dream demon turned and progressed forward the brunette backed away by extension. “S-stay back!” Bill laughed, amused. 

“Or what?” He pressed, taking another step forward and Dipper a step back. 

“I-I’ll punch you!” Idiot. He’s a dream demon, what is punching him gonna do? 

His threat did anything but intimidate Bill. It only earned another laugh from him, this time one enough to get the newd blonde to shed a tear with how had he laughed. 

“You may not be a squeaky kid anymore, but you still got your childhood humor haha!” Dipper, now up against a tree paled as Bill sighed as his laughed subsided. He grinned menacingly. 

“Listen kid,” he raised a hand. “Its been fun but I’ve got a pathetic world to concour.” He spared a glance down at himself shaking his head in disapproval. “Hm. Can’t do it naked!” He clapped his hands to summon some clothes.

...But nothing happened. 

For the first time both men shared the same reaction. 

Confusion. 

Bill clapped his hands again, when that didn’t work he tried snapping his fingers and when that didn’t work he had even tried saying ‘hocuspocus.’ Nothing worked. 

Powerless, he was powerless. 

Dipper couldn’t believe his eyes, this was to good to be true. Sure Bill could probably still stab him, but as far as having his magic? It wasn’t there.

He sighed in relief but that breif moment didn’t last long. Bill had the front of his hoodie within seconds and even without the red of his eyes there was still a slight bit of it on his ears and cheeks. “What did you do pinetree!” Even without the filter on his voice he still managed to intimidate Dipper if just in the slightest. 

“I didn’t do anything. All I did was touch your statue.” Bills one eye seemed to be enough to pour into the wide brunette’s eyes. After a second he moved away crossing his arms over his bare chest. 

“Well drat. Looks like that pesky salamander really did strip me of my powers.” 

And your clothes. Dipper mentally added. He watched the taller male shrug turning back around. 

“Oh well, I’ll just have to get them back..somehow. But for now I can’t exactly live out here. If he wants me to life among you mouth breathers then if thats what it takes to get my magic back, guess I don’t have a choice.” His tone carried a thick layer of passive aggressiveness. Clearly he wasn’t as happy or calm about it as he made himself out to be. 

“Now, all I need is a place to crash.” He tapped his chin, eyes slowly trailing over to the scared brunette. 

“Oh no-hell no!” 

“Didn’t think you’ve ever curse. Guess ya grew a pair kid.”

“There is no way I’m letting you stay at the shack!” Dipper said, coming off the tree now and glaring at Bill. The blonde grinned, strolling up to the brunette, shoving a finger against his chest. His face uncomfortably close.

“Oh yes you are. Otherwise you want me to tell your precious little family about how you’ve kept my statue a secret for,” he paused counting his fingers. “Hm lets see, seven whole years? Wow! I feel special.” Dipper growled, bearing his teeth as he clutched his fists at his side. Bill only grinned wider, pressing more onto that nerve. “And let’s not forget all those dirty little secrets you told me.” Bill paused, using his free hand to mimic a mouth. “ ‘Is it weird that I kind of miss the weirdness. Does that mean I miss you?’” Bill mimicked the poor attempt at Dippers teen voice.

“Seriously pinetree if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a thing for me. Wow your weirder than I thought.” 

Said brunette was a dark shade of red from the anger building up.  “They’d never believe you.” Inching a little closer Bill continued to grin. 

“Do you really wanna chance that? Besides, what will old foredsy say when he sees me around? If I choose to reveal myself that is.” Dipper stared him down. 

“If you hurt them-” Bill gave a harsh pat to the top of Dippers head. 

“Relax kid! Live a little, who knows when your pathetic life will end.” Dipper kept his eyes on the dream demon in the human body. “Now give me your hoodie or something, walking around naked ain’t exactly my style. But I’m sure your enjoying the view.” Dipper growled once more, averting his eyes when Bill swayed his hips.

“I hate you.” 

“Why thank you!” 

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Goodbye, Old Friend

AN: So I posted about this idea before, and Pluto said it would make for a good fanfic. So here we are! Takes place after the Brainwashed trilogy, in which Snowball is reverted to a normal hamster.

This fic is 9326 words and I have no idea how this got to be triple the length of We’re Just Mice or A Whole New World.  

Summary: Post-Brainwashed trilogy. Brain and Snowball were close once, until the world tore them apart. Then Snowball tried to kill him physically and emotionally. And now Snowball is a normal, innocent hamster. Brain tries to come to terms with this.  

FFN Link

Life returned to normal after they stopped that infernal dance from rendering Earth’s population criminally stupid.

He still aspired to take over the world, Pinky never pondered what he pondered, and Madonna seemed to have taken a leaf out of Precious the Cat’s evil book and given the world a new aggravating dance craze that was guaranteed to stall humanity’s progress by eight centuries.  

The only element missing was the occasional detour into stopping Snowball’s schemes when their ambitions and methods clashed.

He wouldn’t have to lose an entire night that could’ve been devoted to hypnotizing Dwayne Johnson so that he would promote the Brain as emperor of the world.  He would have more time to create an irresistible ice cream flavor, followed by assuming control of a popular ice cream franchise to produce it, and nobody would catch on to the sweet additive that would plant the idea of hailing Brain as their ruler.  

Logic dictated that he would be more efficient and focused.

And if his thoughts wandered onto that unwelcome emotional tangent, he should be pleased by Snowball’s loss of sentience.

Snowball was nothing but trouble. Always taunting him, trying to break his partnership with Pinky, and interfering with his plans. He knew how to damage Brain’s pride and dignity and take advantage of his flaws. He attempted to chip away at Pinky’s unwavering loyalty, scoffing at Brain for associating (not the true definition of their partnership, but it was better than relying or depending) with a lesser creature.

Brain growled, snapping his pencil in two and flinging the broken pieces against the wall. They landed on the tiled floor with a dull clatter. The noise wasn’t satisfying in the slightest.

Wonderful. Now he needed a new pencil.

Kicking aside the scraps of a non-viable plan, he stalked over to the pencil holder and selected the only writing utensil that didn’t have a scientist’s toothmarks all over it. Then he marched back to his notepad, intent on distracting himself with a complex stoichiometry formula.

“It’s like this, Snowball! One! Rainbow! Cumin! Troz!” Pinky exclaimed, batting a crumpled ball of tin foil into the air, each hit punctuated by a poor attempt at counting the integers above one.  

Snowball was more interested in mindlessly gnawing on the tin foil than playing Hacky Sack though. Not that it stopped Pinky, who switched to tossing and catching the tin foil with his mouth only.

Brain tried to ignore them, but concern for the other rodents’ lungs and stomachs overpowered his desire to write out mathematical operations.

“Pinky, find another ridiculous activity that doesn’t involve slobbering over random objects!” Brain snapped. “And give Snowball something edible to chew on!”

He kept his gaze trained on Pinky, who saluted with his mouth stretched to an uncomfortable degree by the tin foil ball. Snowball had prized himself on intelligence, and to see him behave so primitively was beyond mortifying.

Pinky made a muffled noise that could’ve been anything from “Aye-aye, Captain Brain!” to “Let’s sprinkle ourselves with fairy dust and breadcrumbs and fly to Neverland!”

With a heavy sigh, Brain delivered a hard slap to Pinky’s back. The tinfoil popped out of Pinky’s mouth, trailing saliva as it skittered across the counter.

“Thanks, Brain,” Pinky chirped. “Ooh, my back is super tingly. Just like the time I made a slip-n’-slide with aloe vera!”

“Yes, how could I forget?” Brain muttered. The excess aloe vera had ruined his hypersonic satellite transmitter after all. “Hand sanitizer was never meant to be used in such a manner.”

“Oh, but the aloe vera was so polite. The soap squirty-thing by the sink though, now she could use some lessons in saying please and thank you,” Pinky said, grabbing a food pellet from the bowl. He produced a small silver tray and made a show of preparing the food pellet for consumption, sprinkling some sort of invisible spice on the dish.

Brain rolled his eyes as Pinky draped a tissue over one arm and carried the tray above his head with just one hand, humming a nonsensical tune as he set the tray in front of Snowball, who sniffed the food pellet once and drew back. “Yerrrr dinna, monseeyour,” Pinky drawled with a horrible French accent. “Bon appetity!”

“It’s pronounced appetit,” Brain corrected. “I can hardly blame Snowball for being appalled.”

Pinky hurried back to the bowl, plucking a large food pellet from the top of the pile. “He probably just doesn’t like paprika. Maybe he’s more of a pepper type. Hey Brain, have you seen my pepper sneezy turncrankanizer anywhere?”

The pepper mill was hidden in the back of a kitchen cupboard, but Brain had no desire to experience a bout of unstoppable sneezing fits.

“I don’t know, Pinky,” Brain shrugged. “You never store your belongings in the same place.”

“Okay, just a dash then,” Pinky said, though ‘just a dash’ in Pinky’s vocabulary meant completely coating the food pellet with invisible pepper. He waved the new pellet in front of Snowball’s nose. “Try it now, Snowball!”

But Snowball chittered at Pinky and pushed the pellet aside, his nose quivering with apprehension.

Brain forced himself to look at a colorful, childish poster of the scientific method on the door instead of Pinky’s pathetic attempts to find Snowball something to eat.

Hearing Pinky adopt different methods to entice Snowball to try a food pellets, from airplane noises to grunts that accompanied silly faces, it brought memories to the forefront of his mind.

Memories that had never truly disappeared, buried into the farthest, deepest crevices by his ideals of global domination.

Making Snowball laugh after a grueling experiment left him sore and aching. Seeing who could make their wheel spin faster and faster until they collapsed from dizziness. Holding hands and sleeping against the bars of their cages because it was the only way to feel warm in those cold, lonely nights.

Life was simpler before the fallout, before the accursed gene splicer, before the world haunted every waking hour and dream.

By contrast, Pinky was a paradoxical miracle. Pinky was bred for companionship and comfort, but someone brought him into a life of sterility and mazes. He had every right to be angry, every right to lash out and bite the oppressors who lorded over his existence, yet he found the strength to smile instead.

Despite the pain, Pinky laughed. And Brain didn’t understand how.

A hard and dry object rolled over his foot, a welcome distraction from his darkening thoughts. Brain picked up the food pellet, scowling at the pigsty their cage had transformed into while he’d been distracted. Pellets were scattered everywhere, there was a puddle by the water bottle, and Pinky was inspecting the underside of the empty food bowl like he’d found an interesting speck of dirt there.

But Snowball was nowhere to be found.

“Snowball! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Your tummy’s gonna get Brain-grumbly if you don’t eat soon!” Pinky called, shifting the bowl like Snowball would just magically drop out from the bottom. “Poit, this speck of dirt is shaped like a squash! I never noticed before!”

“Pinky, there are many things you don’t notice,” Brain sighed. “Such as Snowball getting lost and not having the mental capacity to remember his route.”

“Just like how I lost my marbles last week,” Pinky sniffed, wiping his nose with his tail. Brain wrinkled his nose and passed him a tissue. Pinky accepted it with a grateful nod and blew his nose. “Poor Snowball. He must be hungry! Scared! Alone! Bamboozled!”

“Not to worry, Pinky,” Brain said, though it was taking a considerable amount of effort to stop his ears from drooping and betraying his own thoughts. “Your marbles have been missing a lot longer than just last week, I’m afraid. Now cease this blubbering and clean up our living quarters while I search for our wayward hamster.”

“Right, Brain,” Pinky nodded, a spark of determination shining in his blue eyes. “I’ll make those coins spick-span and squeaky clean!”

Pinky tied a cloth around his ears, humming a light, airy tune as he grabbed the broom and set to work. Brain quickly vacated the cage. Pinky would vigorously scrub every spot he deemed filthy, and living things were not excluded from Pinky’s cleaning sprees.

He started with a sweep of his usual planning station and nearby counters, discovering that his blueprints and measuring instruments were in slight disarray. His first instinct was to blame Pinky, but since his protractor hadn’t been carted up to the top shelf and used as a zipline in an impromptu game of Batmouse and Raven, it was more likely that Snowball knocked it over.

Snowball had clearly retained a desire to mess with him.

He returned everything to their proper positions, concluding that Snowball was in a completely different room.  Brain knew he’d have to make up for lost time later, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

As he crossed the next room, he gave Billie’s cage a wide berth. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with unflattering comments about his proportions, and he still had no idea what caused him to ever be infatuated with her in the first place. Luckily, she was too preoccupied with tying a pink ribbon to her tail to notice him, and he made it to the hallway without any issue.

Brain marched down the corridor and listened for any signs of activity, but there was only the sound of his footsteps and the white noise of the air conditioner. He stopped by the breakroom, grabbing an apple slice from a snack platter to entice Snowball into following him.

“Snowball, I know you require sustenance. If you refuse the food pellets, then I will procure some organic food for you,” Brain called into a room full of guinea pigs. Their noses twitched greedily at the scent of the apple slice, but Brain tightened his grip and ignored them.

These creatures weren’t genetically enhanced. Their only goals in life were food, reproduction, and mindlessly catering to the scientists’ whims. Once Brain determined Snowball’s absence, he hastily left and ignored the guilty pang at leaving the guinea pigs so listless and defeated.

It was fine, he told himself. He’d rule the world one day, and unethical practices would no longer be tolerated and paraded around as necessary for progress in scientific fields.

The next area was a medical room, and the constant humming of the equipment made Brain’s fur stand on end. It was deceptively white and sterile, a stark contrast to the shadowed blues and blacks that surrounded their cage. This was where humans acted as judge, jury, and executioner. Some came out with minor changes, others had their qualities significantly altered, and the unfortunate ones never came back at all.

Several vials of liquid weren’t aligned with the others along the shelf, and Brain knew they’d been recently used. Those vials were the reason Pinky wasn’t allowed to venture past the breakroom alone. The simpleton would believe it was apple juice and guzzle it down, and the thought that he could fall asleep and never wake up again would never cross his empty mind.

Brain wasted no time in ruling out this horrible place. A primitive mind would still register the sense of impending doom and avoid danger at all costs.

Then a sharp squeal pierced the air. Brain rushed into the hall, readying his apple slice for a bopping in case he needed to reprimand Pinky for abandoning his post, but no laughter or verbal tics accompanied the sound.

He tensed as the squeal echoed off the walls, accompanied by a shriek that was somewhat higher. Brain followed the sound until he was in front of a heavy metal door at the end of the hall. A radioactive symbol was posted on the door, though the lab didn’t carry such potent materials due to their high expenses. The bottom was blocked off with a thick seal that even Pinky’s malleable body wouldn’t be able to squeeze through.

The radioactive sign was just there to cover up the gene splicer, a byproduct of Project BRAIN’s failure. None of the scientists enjoyed the reminder of how their failed experiment costed them a hefty government grant.

Despite their attempts to keep the room secure, someone had botched it and left the door open enough for a curious hamster to slip through. Brain squeezed through the gap with minimal trouble, which he took as a small blessing since his head tended to get caught between spaces that other mice wouldn’t normally have an issue with.

The gene splicer was indistinguishable from any other piece of lab equipment. Still, Brain refused to go anywhere near it. Yes, the machine had granted him intelligence, but at the cost of his innocence. And though his fateful meeting with Pinky was an unintentional result of the project, it also cost him a dear childhood friend.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, the adage said.

Snowball was on the ground, scratching at a drawer in a feeble attempt to reach a cage that contained a ginger colored hamster. Snowball squealed, and the caged hamster responded back in kind.

Male hamsters were territorial. Brain saw that statement in a lab textbook shortly after Snowball’s descent into evil. And sometimes he wondered if Snowball’s idea of territory had grown to encompass the entire world after the splicing.

Well, he hoped they were being territorial. He didn’t want to consider Snowball scouting for potential breeding partners.

As Brain approached with the apple slice, Snowball’s frantic scratching gave way to curious sniffing. Dropping back onto all fours, Snowball scampered over to Brain. He didn’t have a chance to set the apple slice down before Snowball nibbled on it like he’d never eaten something so delicious in his life.

“You’re worse than Pinky when he’s in close proximity to a cheese platter,” Brain said.

Snowball polished off the apple slice in record time, rocking back on his hind legs and looking at Brain with round, pink eyes. Juice dripped off his fur, front incisors poking out in a ridiculous manner.

It was impossible to reconcile the prideful, ambitious dictator with the innocent rodent. If Snowball’s desire for power had been dormant in him all along, or if the gene splicer’s explosion damaged his mind, Brain would never know for certain.

His hand was resting on Snowball’s pudgy white stomach.

Snowball chittered, shuffling closer to Brain with a dopey smile.

Suddenly it felt incredibly disturbing that anyone with a logical mind, even a former one, would want to be treated like a common pet.

Brain recoiled, clutching his hand protectively as he placed a respectable distance between himself and the clingy hamster. Snowball had no dignity to preserve, no reputation to uphold. So Brain had to do it for him.

He once cherished making Snowball laugh by tickling his belly.

But those days were over.

Snowball dropped into a quadrupedal stance and scurried after Brain, chittering in his primitive language. Brain didn’t look at him. The noise was sufficient proof of Snowball’s presence.

He didn’t want to look at Snowball.

“Come…Snowball,” Brain ordered. Snowball’s name didn’t flow off his tongue well. Not like Pinky’s. “Let’s depart. We’ll stop by the breakroom on the way back to the cage. You still require food.”

Brain slipped through the gap in the door, and Snowball readily followed. Brain kept his head down as Snowball scurried ahead, behind, and in every direction that wasn’t straight. Occasionally Snowball nudged Brain’s hands, so he kept them folded against his chest to prevent any unwanted touching.

Physical contact with Snowball would inevitably dredge up nostalgia over the past, and Brain had dwelled on their shared history far too much already.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The breakroom was a welcome diversion.

Brain put several apple slices into a napkin, carefully sliding down the chair leg and setting his bundle in front of Snowball. The hamster squealed in delight and scarfed down one slice so fast that Brain couldn’t tell if he actually chewed on it. While Snowball filled his stomach, Brain retrieved a toothpick and stuck it into a cheese cube.

By the time he made it to the ground, Snowball was already finished with his meal. Curious, Snowball sniffed at the cheese cube.

“Back, Snowball,” Brain said, holding the items above his head as he attempted to nudge Snowball away with one foot. “This is for someone else.”

Despite his best efforts, Snowball still managed to place a paw on Brain’s head and nibble at one corner of the cheese cube. Brain growled, shoving Snowball’s paw off his face. A small strip of cheese hung from Snowball’s mouth as he tumbled to the ground.

Brain glanced at the cube, relieved that the damage was minimal.

“Your greed hasn’t been altered in the slightest,” Brain sighed.

Snowball gagged and spat out the cheese, now reduced to a mushy pile of dairy and saliva.

If Pinky were present, he would’ve found it blasphemous.

Brain was tempted to leave the mush behind and let some unsuspecting human step on it, but sanitary practices won out, so the mush was scooped into a napkin and thrown into the wastebasket.

Brain signaled Snowball to follow him into the main testing area. Though Snowball no longer had an interest in the cheese cube, Brain held it away from him.

As they rounded the corner, their ears were assaulted by a high-pitched giggle. Snowball pressed himself to the ground, his stubby tail quivering madly.

Though he didn’t remember their short-lived fling, Snowball was still annoyed by Billie.  

To Brain’s irritation, Pinky was perched on the shelf by Billie’s cage. Billie preened at the attention, while Pinky seemed more interested in weaving his fingers together.  

“Natch! Whaddya think, Pinky? I made it all nice and pretty-looking for ya!” Billie flicked her tail in front of Pinky’s nose, showing off her fluttering pink ribbon.  

Pinky glanced up from his fingers, which were now interlocked in some bizarre cat’s cradle pattern.  “It���s a lovely ribbon, Billie. Looks just like the loopy G in – um, Disney’s logo?”

“Loopy G! That’s funny!” Billie laughed again, oblivious to how Pinky backed away from her cage.  

Snowball made a noise of displeasure at her squawky giggles, drawing Pinky and Billie’s attention. Pinky perked up, all his previous discomfort vanishing. He rushed down from the shelf, forgetting that his hands were locked together. Predictably, he overbalanced and tumbled to the floor.  

“Narf!” Pinky exclaimed, hopping to his feet and wobbling around. The jolt had separated his hands, saving Brain the trouble of doing it himself. “Everything’s so tilt-a-whirly!”

Brain transferred the toothpick to one hand, squeezing Pinky’s nose with the other. Pinky’s eyes darted all over the place, but he settled within seconds.

“Hiya, Brain!” Pinky grinned, his tail swishing back and forth.  

“Hello, Pinky,” Brain replied. “I assume you’ve finished cleaning?”

Pinky nodded. “Yup! All the quarters are clean now! George Washington has never looked shinier!”

Before Brain could reply, Snowball shoved his way between them and forced Brain to release Pinky’s nose. He chittered in displeasure at being ignored.

“You’re not the only mindless creature that requires focus,” Brain scolded as he reached over Snowball’s back and shoved the toothpick into Pinky’s arms. “Be patient.”

Pinky gasped, clutching the toothpick like he’d unexpectedly won a beauty competition. “For me? Oh Brain, you shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, humming in pleasure as he took an enormous bite.

“If you’re going to react this way whenever I hand you something, maybe I shouldn’t. Try not to get splinters in your teeth this time,” Brain snapped. Pinky would enjoy a broken rubber band if he were presented with one, so it was irrational to be concerned about the cheese cube.  

“Ahem,” Billie coughed. Subtlety was not her strong suit. “Eggy, doncha know it’s rude ta interrupt? Didn’t your mother teach ya manners?”

“Manners are hardly a priority for wild animals,” Brain replied. “Now kindly refrain from distracting my associate in the future. We have important work to do.”

“Work!” Billie scoffed. “Ya have some nerve takin’ Pinky, but bringin’ Snowy here too? He made me take breath control lessons, for cryin’ out loud! But looks like the joke’s on Snowy! Pinky likes my voice the way it is!”

Pinky giggled, undeterred when Snowball aimed a growl in his direction.

“Told ya!” Billie exclaimed.

Whatever sympathy points Billie had earned from her failed relationship with Snowball evaporated into thin air. She’d never known the Snowball from before. She had no room to talk.

“Yes, hold yourself over someone who can’t understand the mortifying nickname you’ve bestowed upon them,” Brain retorted. “You must feel proud of yourself.”

“That’s rich comin’ from you,” Billie shot back. “Ya do it ta Pinky every day.”

“How I conduct myself in front of Pinky is none of your concern,” Brain said icily. He pushed Snowball closer to the door, hoping the solace of their usual living space would calm Snowball down from Billie’s incessant squawking. Snowball scurried into the other room without hesitation.

“Oh, but I think you’d be a good conductor, Brain,” Pinky said, poking his teeth with the empty toothpick. “Even if nobody in the Trans-Siberian Orchestra would be able to see you.”

For once, it wasn’t a completely terrible idea. The complication could be easily rectified. He’d have to file that plan for another night though.

“Your idea has merit, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “But it’s irrelevant to the topic at hand.”

“See what I mean?” Billie scowled. “Ya dismiss him. Ya call him names. Ya yell at him all the time. I can hear ya from my cage! Didja think these ears were for decoratin’ only? Snowy told me about ya when we were datin’. Said ya wouldn’t care what happened to anyone else as long as ya got the world! If this is how ya treat your friends, I can see why Snowy left ya!”

“Don’t!” Brain snapped, turning his back to Billie. His hands started to tremble, and he shoved them deep into his fur before he could smash the nearest object into the wall. “Don’t make assumptions about events you weren’t present for!”

“Brain?” Pinky whispered. He spread his arms with a questioning look, but Brain shot him a warning glare. Pinky’s ears drooped, yet he stubbornly refused to back off.

Brain no longer remembered what had caused the schism to widen beyond repair. Perhaps it was something he said. Perhaps it was something Snowball said. Or perhaps the world decided to make them a laughingstock, and there was no definite reason at all.

The plausible explanation eluded him. But it was a regret he’d have to endure.

Pinky tapped his foot rapidly, his bright smile replaced by an uncharacteristic frown.  

It was a rare sight on the carefree mouse, and Brain never felt prepared for it.

“Brain cares about the world, and I live here, so that means he cares about me,” Pinky declared. He held his head and tail high as he spoke with undeniable conviction. “He’ll kiss the world’s boo-boos away, you’ll see! Troz!”

Brain couldn’t entirely stop the warmth that flooded his body, even if Pinky’s defense was awfully sentimental.

Billie threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine! Tell him ta marry the world if he loves it so much! At least it’ll free ya up that way!”

“Maybe I will!” Pinky shouted as Billie stomped to the farthest corner of her cage.

“I believe we’re finished here. Come, Pinky,” Brain ordered. He gripped Pinky’s elbow and half-led, half-dragged him into the other room.

Snowball joined them halfway to the counter, abandoning a ball of tin foil he’d been pushing around.

“That’s a great idea, Snowball!” Pinky exclaimed, not caring that Snowball was burrowing between Brain’s hand and his elbow. “Let’s play football! Let’s see, that grape juice stain on the doormat can be the end zone. The gum under the spinny chair is home base. The Garfield and Otis poster is the hoop! Hmmm, there’s not much green or sand here though. I don’t know how we’d score love without sand.”

“I don’t know how you’d score anything if the players are incapable of counting,” Brain muttered. He glared at Snowball, who looked all too pleased that he succeeded in forcing Brain to release Pinky.

Whether Snowball retained his sentient persona, or if he’d always been like this and Brain’s memories were just rose-tinted, he didn’t know. Snowball couldn’t resist keeping Brain away from Pinky. He basked in Brain’s frustration, relished in his anger, cackled at his sorrow.

On that horrible night when Brain had gained the world but damned Pinky’s soul to hell, Snowball had invoked Pinky’s mannerisms to torment him. It was a terrible mockery of Pinky’s simple nature. To have the silliness but not the sincerity. To run on an exercise wheel without truly enjoying it.

Snowball was the first creature he’d ever bonded with. And Snowball had wanted Brain to be tormented with the knowledge of how he couldn’t save a kindred spirit who’d never done anything to deserve a terrible fate.

Brain curled his fingers into the fur on Snowball’s chest. Snowball’s content noises turned to a surprised squeal as he was unceremoniously hauled to a standing position. If Brain thought about it too hard, some part of him enjoyed causing pain in Snowball for once.

Brain tightened his hold on Snowball, pouring every ounce of betrayal and fury he’d ever felt towards his former friend into his grasp.

“You spit in the name of social progress,” Brain snarled. “You tried to manipulate Billie. You stole Pinky. You tried to kill us multiple times, even after I offered to save you in the jungle. You have no interest in bettering the world for us or anyone else. And you left. You left and I didn’t know where you were, or what you were doing, or if you’d been taken in by someone or picked off by predators or if you were alright! Were you lying in our childhood too? Was I just entertainment for you, even back then?”

Snowball squealed, his paws scrabbling against the air.

“ANSWER ME!” Brain roared.

His heart pounded in his ears, his breathing came out in ragged gasps. An unidentifiable force pressed against his chest, threatening to claw its way out. Just him and Snowball in a black void. Nothing else mattered. Not until he got what he wanted.

And then a warm hand enveloped his. Long fingers gently slipped into Brain’s fist and loosened it from Snowball’s fur.

Snowball plopped to the ground on all fours, his eyes round with terror.

The lab flickered into view. There was the counter, the shadowy cage bars that crisscrossed along the walls, the lab supplies. There was Snowball edging away in fright.

And there was Pinky, soothingly massaging circles onto the back of Brain’s hands.

“You don’t really want to hurt him,” Pinky said quietly.

Brain couldn’t look any higher than Pinky’s chest. As usual, Pinky’s faith in him was misplaced. Brain wanted to return all the hurt Snowball had inflicted tenfold. It didn’t matter how much he tried to avoid retribution.

Revenge was a fool’s game.

And somehow, Brain had become that fool.

Pinky had a special way of inspiring guilt without harsh words.

“I don’t know, Pinky,” Brain replied. He slowly stepped away from Pinky.

Snowball had crawled into the space between the wall and a table, the shadow of a thick bar across his face as he peered out at Brain.

This was Snowball’s future if he remained in the lab. He couldn’t help with world domination. He would just be another nameless experiment and doomed to fade into obscurity.

“You can’t stay here,” Brain murmured. “We’ll have to relocate you to another residence.”

Snowball reminded him of simple times, happy times, infuriating times. Too many bittersweet memories, too many clashing ideals.

Snowball blinked, uncomprehending.

“Yes, we’ll just need a few articles of clothing from past plans. A cover story. A man and his spouse are moving across the country and wish to rehome their hamster to someone who can provide proper nutrients and intellectual stimulation,” Brain declared. “We’ll need flyers, a proper table setup, and an application process.”

“Right, Brain,” Pinky said, already scribbling a preliminary design for their flyers. “We’ll find him a new home in no time!”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Twelve applicants so far and none of them were suitable for taking care of a rock, much less a living being. Belatedly, Brain realized that he should’ve been more selective about the locations of his flyers.

The application had a chocolate stain in one corner, random blue scribbles that wasted the ink of at least ten different pens, and several rips from coloring too hard. It was a travesty that would’ve made any actual employer tear their hair out and use ten vacation weeks to save their sanity.

“-my own little bunny rabbit! I will name him Mr. Georgie-Porgie and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him and pat him and love him and never let him go- “

Snowball’s terrified screech was all the reason Brain needed to push the eject button, springing Elmyra Duff out of her chair and into the night sky.  

No matter what Brain thought of Snowball, he would never condemn him to a life of dress-up, embraces of certain death, and being christened Mr. Georgie-Porgie Fuzzysprinkles Bunny-Wunny the Third.

“Pinky, coax Snowball out with an apple slice. I need to go shred this abomination of a document.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Brain felt the side of his head for the tenth time since he started interviewing Applicant #32, making absolutely certain his temporal lobe was firmly embedded in his skull. The application was marginally better than the others he’d reviewed so far, if one chose to ignore the ‘evil genius’ portion under occupations.

“Do you have a goal in mind regarding pet ownership, Mr…ah, your name again?” Brain asked, forcing himself to read off a list of questions he’d prepared. It was better than looking at someone with an entire vital organ for their head.

“I’d prefer to be called the Lobe,” the squishy pink mass atop a human body replied, adjusting his tie with an air of importance.  

“Narrrf! Just like the Brai-“ Pinky caught the warning look from Brain, “the Brady Bunch! The is a funny name!” He burst into a flurry of giggles, his dress billowing around him as he doubled over in laughter.

Brain cleared his throat, redirecting the Lobe’s affronted expression to him. “My wife had a…traumatic injury that enabled her to enjoy sitcoms with hackneyed plots.”

“Ah, now that’s just tragic,” the Lobe mused.

“Agreed,” Brain said. “Now, if you’ll answer the question.”

“Very well. I would raise your hamster to destroy my mortal enemy, Freakazoid,” the Lobe shook his fist. “He thwarted my schemes, ruined my traps, and called David Hasselhoff stupid! I will make him pay recompense for his actions!”

Snowball scampered across the table, nose twitching as he regarded the Lobe. Brain reached for the eject button, not wanting to give Snowball to anyone who would enable his bad traits, but the Lobe scooped Snowball into his palms before he could press it.

“There’s a certain adorable appeal to you,” the Lobe said, bringing Snowball up to his face for a closer look. “Freakazoid will never see us coming! We’ll be unstoppa-yeeeeowwww!”

Snowball chomped down on his nose…well, in the position where a nose should be.

The Lobe screamed, toppling off the chair as he dislodged Snowball from his face with a wet-sounding splat.

“Never mind!” the Lobe hollered over his shoulder. He rushed to the exit, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t want your devil hamster anymore!”

Brain set the eject button aside. There was no need since Snowball handled the rejection for him.

Snowball turned around, revealing a spongy pink blob in his mouth. Snowball chewed slowly.

Brain recoiled, and even Pinky looked nauseated.

It took a solid twenty minutes before Brain could bring himself to call Applicant #33. Seven minutes to convince Snowball to spit out the inedible substance and rinse his mouth, and another thirteen minutes for Brain to wash up and change into a spare suit since Snowball had decided to spit the substance into his face.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Brain took a sip of tea from his thimble to wash down the rasp in his voice, worn from repeating the same questions.

“I think so, Brain,” Pinky nodded. Unlike Brain, he wasn’t worn down at all. “But Space Jam would pair much better with peanut butter than with Bugs Bunny.”

Brain rubbed his temples. Nobody was a suitable candidate. Too young, too flighty, too inexperienced, too busy, the list went on. “No, Pinky,” he said. “I loathe to say it, but we may have to leave him at the mercy of a pet store. I won’t be there to control the circumstances of his purchase, but…”

“Snowball should be happy in his new home, Brain,” Pinky said. “How would you know he’d be happy?”

“If it concerns you, Pinky, I could insert a hidden camera into Snowball’s enclosure,” Brain replied, his mind racing with a thousand precautions to take in case tonight didn’t pan out. “I could monitor it from here with the proper signals. I’d have to keep my plans contained within the lab for a period of time, but it’s doable.”

Pinky still looked unsure.

“We could disguise ourselves as pet store workers and screen potential owners that way.”

Pinky played with his tail absentmindedly.

“Film a commercial that features Snowball suffering with melodramatic background music and hope someone’s protective instinct will override rational thought?”

When Pinky didn’t respond a third time, Brain bopped him on the head to get his attention. “Pinky!” he snapped harshly. “Don’t you have any inane contributions to my ideas?”

“Zort! Sorry, Brain!” Pinky laughed, shaking his head to get rid of the excess dizziness. “I was just wondering how Ellie’s doing. She’s filling the appaloosa in right now.”

“Were you chatting with the applicants?” Brain asked. He glanced at Snowball, who was fast asleep on a red pincushion. The past few hours had finally worn him out.

“I went out for a walk while you were talking to that guy with the tweed elbow patches and combover,” Pinky said. “He took a while, didn’t he?”  

“You have no idea,” Brain grumbled.

It certainly explained the suspicious lack of narfs and poits during the excruciating stint with Applicant #41. And it hadn’t been much of an interview either. Brain had learned more about the man’s failing marriage, gambling debts, and inability to fulfill a lifelong dream of being a world famous stand-up comedian than he wanted to. On top of that, Snowball had stolen the eject button, disconnecting the wiring and forcing Brain to engage him in a game of keep away, otherwise Brain would’ve been rid of that annoyance much sooner.

Pinky scratched his head, a rather futile gesture for him in Brain’s opinion. “The stars were really pretty tonight, like little specks of Christmas lights! I was looking at them when Ellie accidentally stepped on my dress.”

Brain glanced at the hem of Pinky’s dress, making Pinky twirl around to check for costume damage. But there was none to be found. “It doesn’t look ruffled.”

Pinky giggled as the hem settled around his feet. “It’s really more of a pleat than a ruffle, I think. Then Ellie took out a needle and thread and fixed it in a jiffy!”

“You don’t think,” Brain sighed. “I assume you invited her?”

“I think you’d like her, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed. “Just give her a chance!”

“Pinky, your preconceptions on what I like tend to be wildly inaccurate,” Brain said, but reluctantly decided to humor Pinky anyway. “However, you can fetch me her application. If it doesn’t meet my standards, we’ll turn her away at the door so I can partially reduce the migraine this mess will surely cause me later.”

Pinky slipped through the mail slot, returning a few moments later with a rolled-up application in tow. He hummed a dreamy tune as he presented it to Brain.

Once the application was unfurled, Brain summoned the little energy he had left and concentrated on the surprisingly professional penmanship, refusing to acknowledge the knowing gleam in Pinky’s eyes.

Though Brain scrutinized the document for faults, there was little to be found. Easy to read, correct grammar, and the education history was extensive. There were two PhD’s listed, along with a third PhD in psychology that was currently in the works.

In fact, the only thing unusual was that her surname and occupation were both listed as Nurse.

Overall, it was the best application Brain had reviewed all night. And it happened to be the result of Pinky’s dumb luck.

Pinky grinned. “Can I get Ellie now, Brain?”

“Very well. And send everyone else home while you’re out there. I don’t have the energy to handle more idiocy tonight,” Brain said, folding the application neatly and leaving the important information sticking out.

While Pinky carried out his orders, Brain checked on Snowball. The hamster slumbered on, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. His limbs were splayed out and hanging over the pincushion, but it didn’t appear to bother him, so Brain left it alone.

“Dreaming about a lush apple orchard somewhere?” Brain asked, keeping his voice low so he could have ample warning about Pinky’s return. To Brain’s relief, Snowball didn’t reply. “Perhaps you’ll be taken in by someone who owns one, if this human can’t match up to her application.”

There was a high possibility of never seeing Snowball again, no matter the outcome. While their origins were similar, there were too many bumps, too many circumstances, too much bitterness for their paths to coexist ever again.

Brain had Pinky. Snowball needed someone who would care for his needs too.

Snowball snorted and rolled over, unconsciously placing his weight against Brain. They’d slept like this before, in more ignorant times. There were no cold iron bars between them now.

The door handle clicked.

Brain shoved Snowball back onto the pincushion, rushing back to his chair and correcting the brown wig that had been knocked askew in his haste. Snowball’s eyes fluttered open, but he yawned and drifted off again.

“Enter,” Brain called. His heart pounded, and he hoped nobody would be able to hear it.

The door swung open and a blonde woman strode in, each clack of her heels confident and purposeful. Pinky was perched on her shoulder, and he gave Brain a cheery wave while she closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Ms. Nurse,” Brain said, gesturing to the seat in front of him.

Ellie sat down, her posture poised but comfortable as she set her purse in her lap. She would be considered attractive by human standards, though she didn’t flaunt it. “I’d rather be called Ellie, if you don’t mind. Only my colleagues and the children I work with call me Nurse.”

Brain nodded. “Ellie then. If you’ll give me a moment.”

He scanned the question set, debating the pros and cons of running down the list or selecting a random order. Pinky jumped to the table, the hem of his dress catching around his feet and making his landing less than graceful. But he recovered quickly, peering over Brain’s shoulder at the paper.

Describe your occupation.

Have you had pets before?

How much do you know about hamster care?

The questions blurred together, and Brain’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know what to ask first. Each question would either result in the applicant’s rejection or lend consideration to Snowball’s new home.

He shrugged to get Pinky off his shoulder. He wasn’t helping.  

“Your wife was telling me about you,” Ellie offered after Brain dragged the silence for too long.

Wife?

Cover story. Right.

“And what did she say?” Brain asked, unsure of why he was forgetting his own plan. He would probably have to perform damage control in case Pinky let something slip.

“That you care very much about your hamster and want to give him a good home,” Ellie replied, not reacting when Brain scowled at her. He didn’t ‘care’. He was rehabilitating Snowball. That was all. “And how you want someone to provide proper…instinctual stickers? Sorry, I must’ve misheard that part.”

“A gold star for every instinct! Narf!” Pinky cheered.

Brain wasn’t surprised that Pinky had misconstrued his intentions into something sentimental and nonsensical. “Intellectual stimulation. I will not tolerate Snowball wasting away on newspaper strips and food pellets.”

“I’d have to purchase supplies, but I’m sure I could create a miniature obstacle course for Snowball, in addition to setting up challenges where he’d need to solve a problem to get food,” Ellie said, glancing at Snowball curiously. “Did you name him Snowball because of his belly?”

“Yes,” Brain said quickly. He felt Pinky’s gaze on his neck, but waved off his concern. “Moving along, what would be your goal if I allowed you to keep Snowball?”

If Ellie noticed his deflection, she didn’t comment. “Finish my dissertation. I’m working on a PhD in psychology. More specifically, how animals affect human behavior. I’d show you if I had the documents, but your wife caught me while I was on my way home from the local university. She’s very persuasive.”

“At night?” Pinky gasped, hands flying up to his mouth.

“Pepper spray and several self-defense courses. I can take care of myself,” Ellie reassured him.

Pinky wiped an invisible bead of sweat off his forehead in relief.

“And that’s all? Just a means to an end?” Brain growled, hand twitching towards the eject button.

He might’ve been curious about her PhD’s before, but now he knew her motivation. Snowball would be used and thrown away. Her pitch had been excellent at first, but she slipped.

“Animals can help humans develop empathy,” Ellie replied. “That’s my topic.”

Brain’s fur bristled faster than Pinky could smooth it down. There had been no empathy when he was robbed of his childhood best friend. No understanding of anything he’d been forced to suffer through on his quest for world domination.

“Brain?” Pinky asked, his voice cutting into the haze. “Can we let Snowball see her? He should have a say too.”  

“Oh yes, Pinky. Brilliant idea. Because Snowball can think for himself,” Brain muttered.

Pinky shuffled over to the pincushion, mindful of the long hem. Before Brain could stop him, he shook Snowball awake. Brain gritted his teeth, remembering too late that Pinky didn’t understand sarcasm.  

“Wakey, wakey,” Pinky hummed in Snowball’s ear. “Someone wants to meet you.”

Snowball’s nose twitched, his legs kicked out, and he yawned luxuriously before finally crawling off the pincushion.

“He’s adorable,” Ellie smiled, though she thankfully refrained from making those ridiculous high-pitched noises humans seemed to emit whenever they were addressing animals.

Still, Brain crossed his arms. There were better adjectives to describe Snowball. Greedy, selfish, and irritating were the first ones he could think of.

Ellie placed her hand on the table while Pinky directed Snowball over. Snowball sniffed her fingers twice, then balanced on the edge of the table.

Brain saw Snowball’s hind muscles tense. He abandoned his chair, knocking it over as he rushed to help Pinky cling to Snowball’s back and balance his weight so he didn’t fall off. Snowball wasn’t enhanced anymore. A fall from this height could be dangerous.

But Snowball had no qualms and launched himself onto Ellie’s purse, Brain nearly falling over the edge himself if it hadn’t been for Pinky latching onto his bent tail and hauling him back to safety. Snowball burrowed underneath the flap that held her purse closed.

Just as Brain recovered from his adrenaline rush, there was a distressed squeal from inside Ellie’s purse. Ellie undid the catch and peered into the opening, her eyebrows rising in surprise. She reached in and pulled Snowball out. His incisors were caught in a plastic wrapped apple.

Snowball screeched, limbs flailing as Ellie set him on the table. Without hesitation, she held him firmly with one hand while removing the plastic from his teeth with the other. “This was supposed to be my lunch,” Ellie explained when Brain glared at her. “I got caught up in research and didn’t get a chance to eat.”

Once the plastic was gone, she carefully opened Snowball’s mouth. “Doesn’t look like he swallowed any,” she reported as she let him up. She unwrapped the apple, Snowball slipping though and tearing a huge chunk out of the fruit’s skin before she could finish. “He’s definitely a glutton for apples.”

“Feed him lots of apples! That’s his favorite!” Pinky chirped.

Though part of him was grateful for Ellie’s forethought, Brain wrenched Snowball’s jaw open to see for himself. Snowball made a muffled noise at Brain’s rough handling.

Her work had been thorough. No trace of plastic in sight.

The incident proved that Snowball’s health and well-being would be taken care of. Brain had run out of excuses.

His observations converged into one conclusion.

“You passed,” Brain murmured.

Ellie was taking Snowball home. He would never see Snowball again. Wasn’t that the plan all along? To find someone who would care for Snowball?

Then…

Why was he hoping for a failure?

Ellie glanced at him as she ran a finger across Snowball’s back. Snowball didn’t seem to mind. “Did you say something?”

“Just take him! Take him and leave already!” Brain spat.

He stomped over to his miniature desk, slamming one fist into its side. He didn’t make it to the chair though.

His legs buckled before he could sit down, and he couldn’t make them move. His throat felt too tight, his lungs aching for air. Or maybe it was his heart’s fault. Perhaps it was a heart attack causing the pain in his chest. He no longer had the strength to hold his ears up, and they fell limp, broadcasting his vulnerability to the world.

Harsh, ugly noises clawed their way out of his throat. They came fast, merciless, and innumerable.

A warm presence settled against his side, drawing him closer until Brain’s head rested against fabric and fur. Like a child, he sought out the source and clung so it wouldn’t disappear.

“Ellie’s waiting outside, Brain,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I asked her to give us time to say goodbye.”

Goodbye was such a final word.

“Why?” Brain choked, once he found the proper syllable.

“Cause you didn’t get to say goodbye before.”

As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. But Pinky only knew the bare facts of the sorrowful tale, the sparse details Brain had shared with him. How Pinky inferred it was beyond Brain.

He wanted to deny it. Argue that an angry goodbye still counted as a goodbye.

But he never had the opportunity to say goodbye with any sort of emotion, rendering it a moot point.

“I don’t know, Pinky,” Brain murmured. He wiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks, noticing little damp spots all over his disguise. “It seems so…absolute.”

“Poit. You always help me when the words swirl like Campbell’s alphabet soup on my tongue. You just need the right letters,” Pinky declared. He stood up and helped Brain to his feet.

Brain blinked the rest of the dampness away. He took a deep breath, then took a step towards Snowball, who was watching him curiously while scarfing down the last of the apple.

And he froze.

Each step brought him closer to saying that final word.

Pinky nudged him from behind, helping him step forward when he was too afraid to do it himself.

“Snowball, come here,” Brain ordered. It took all his willpower to keep his voice steady.

And Snowball obeyed. He looked at Brain innocently, like nothing had ever changed between them. Like the world had never gotten in the way.

The words didn’t come.

Brain threw his arms around Snowball’s neck, eliciting a surprised squeal. But Snowball didn’t pull away, and Brain committed the feel of his fur without barriers to memory.

Then Brain released him, fearing that prolonged contact would result in a crying spell that would never cease.

The carrier was on a nearby counter. It was time for Snowball to go in.

Brain didn’t bribe Snowball with food this time. He didn’t need to. Snowball followed him across the longboard that served as a bridge between the table and counter, trusting Brain even as he led him into the carrier.

It was lined with several soft, fluffy hand towels. Pinky had plucked them out of the lab’s selection. His choices were excellent. Snowball would be comfortable despite the cramped space. Squeezing past Snowball, Brain moved out of the carrier and firmly latched the door behind him.

Snowball shuffled over to Brain, front paws grasping the bars as he balanced on his hind legs.  

Brain placed a hand against Snowball’s stomach, the warm white fur intermingling with the cold mesh of the carrier. There was a barrier that could never be crossed.

Snowball closed his eyes, a pleased trill escaping him.

Pinky stood off to the side and pursed his lips together as he tried to stay quiet. He wasn’t successful, but Brain appreciated the gesture.

“I lied earlier, Pinky,” Brain admitted as he stroked Snowball’s fur through the bars. Tickling wasn’t something he could ever go back to. “Snowball wasn’t named for his physical characteristics.”

Pinky blinked. “Did you name him like you named me?”

Of course Pinky would view it at a sentimental angle. It was just a fact and nothing more. But since Brain brought it up, he supposed he owed Pinky an explanation.

“We learned how to read together after our splicing. One night, someone left a book behind. Animal Farm, by George Orwell. There was a character…a pig named Snowball. The pig led a revolution against the farmer, and inspired both of us with his ideals of a better world. And I told him to take on Snowball’s identity, because he loved the character so much.”

Pinky was quiet for a moment, then he offered Brain a tiny smile.

“Thanks for telling me, Brain,” he said, unmistakable sincerity pouring from every word.  

“Yes, but don’t get used to it,” Brain replied. “If you have anything you wish to tell Snowball, now would be the time.”

With some trepidation, Brain removed his hand from Snowball’s stomach and stepped away from the carrier. Snowball whined in protest, but Brain didn’t give in. This would be the last time he’d ever touch Snowball.  

“Snowball,” Pinky began. The hamster paid no attention to him and only focused on Brain, but Pinky refused to let it discourage him. “I promise I’ll take care of Brain. Make sure you watch him on TV when he gets to be king of the world! Don’t worry. I’ll hold onto him so he doesn’t fall off the boat. Eat your veggies, brush your teeth, drink lots of milk…”

Seeing that Pinky had nothing of substance to say, Brain ordered him to bring Ellie in. Brain closed his eyes, the brief silence reminding him of the nights when it had just been him and Snowball fighting to make sense of an oppressive world.

Snowball would have a fresh start. Someone he could make fond memories with, memories that wouldn’t be tainted by loss, hatred, and anger.

In the end, that was all Brain wanted for Snowball. Just the simple joy of knowing someone would care about him.

He heard the clack of Ellie’s heels against tile, Pinky tripping over his hem again, and Snowball scratching at the bars of the carrier.

Brain opened his eyes, bowing his head as Ellie lifted the small carrier off the counter.

“I apologize for my outburst earlier,” Brain said. “Take care of Snowball. He was...is very important to me.”  

Ellie nodded. “It’s alright. And I promise I will. Best of luck during your move.”

She stopped halfway out the door, letting Snowball see them one final time. Brain held up one hand. That was all he could manage.

Snowball gripped the mesh and squealed. It could’ve meant anything, but Brain decided to interpret it as a goodbye for his peace of mind.

“Good luck with your dessertation!” Pinky called after her. “Save me a slice if the judges don’t eat it all first!”  

The familiar inanity helped the ache in his chest. Not enough to heal completely, but just enough to close the hole.

Brain headed over to the window, and Pinky dutifully followed. Ellie crossed the street, rounded the corner, and then she and Snowball were gone.

They shed their disguises. Their mission was complete, and there was no need for clothing anymore.

Brain stood there, raw and exposed, the complete opposite of what an emperor should project to the world.

The tears fell anew.

Pinky tucked Brain under his arm, humming a soothing melody into his ear. Bracing himself against Pinky’s side, he allowed himself to speak those final words.  

“Goodbye, old friend.”

And it was freeing.

End notes:  I think this is the most tonal shifts I’ve ever had in a oneshot. Pinky keeps breaking into the angst.

Hope you enjoyed, because this fic was a challenge. A fun challenge, but there were parts where I needed to take a moment and scream into the void.  

[banashee]

Part 7 of my @badthingshappenbingo​

Square: Forcibly stripped

Please see more detailed warnings on the bottom!

Blindsided

 When he walks down the hallway, handcuffed and flanked by two security guards, Clint wonders if this whole thing really is supposed to be an undercover mission or just a clever ploy to get rid of him. On the outside, he remains calm, but on the inside, he is torn between laughing hysterically at how dramatic that sounds, and being utterly terrified because as ridiculous as it seems, it might be a very real possibility.

 His first mission in ages that doesn’t involve Agent Coulson, and look where it gets him - a prison with windowless cells and a brain full of triggers that are just waiting to be set off.

 *+~

     “What the hell do you mean I will go undercover? None of this was discussed beforehand. None of this was prepared for, I didn’t sign any related paperwork or agree to any of those things in any way shape or form.”  

     Clint is glaring at the senior agent in front of him. This comes as a complete surprise to him - and they’re already on the quinjet. Agent Taylor decides that now is the perfect time to drop that bomb, after hours of preparation for a mission plan that apparently won’t happen that way. Taylor shrugs it off.  

     “Plans change. You should get used to that, Agent Barton. It’s easy. You get in, listen around and then report back. We’ll get you out when the time comes.”  

     “‘When the time comes’ I will kick your ass to Director Fury’s office. Sir.” he bites out, not even bothering to keep the venom out of his voice, not even bothering to try and make the ‘Sir’ sound like anything less than an insult - it may be unprofessional, but even more so is blindsiding and agent like that. It endangers lives and entire operations.  

     “You do that. Until then, follow your orders, Agent.” Taylor says, then turns on his heel.  

     It’s not like Clint has got a choice at this point.  

 *+~

 Cold dread runs down his spine when Clint realizes that this fucking  idiot has given them his real name. No fake identity, no nothing. It doesn’t help his suspicions that all of it was intentional on Taylors part at all.

 Did Fury approve of this? Does he know? Did he plan this? Questions run wild in his head, but Clint manages to keep his facial expression neutral. It looks like he will be on his own for this. Not for one second does he believe that they will move a single finger to get him out “when the time comes”.

 God, he hates this choice of words.

 The room around him is cold and sterile. There are four people besides him - all guards, tall and strong looking. If he wasn’t handcuffed, Clint could easily take on two of them, possibly even three, but as it is, his hands are bound and he doesn’t have any time to move and get himself in a position that’ll favor him. If he had time, he might have been able to attempt an attack - but it won’t help.

 Besides, he is supposed to go in and get the intel - not escape. He needs to remind himself of it, even when every single one of his instincts scream for him to make a move, do anything to stop this.

 Then he’s shoved against a wall.

 “Hands on the wall in front of you. Don’t move.”

 Clint doesn’t obey - a pathetic attempt to resist, even though he knows it won’t be of any use. Seconds later, he regrets it, when his entire body cramps under the sudden hit of electricity - one of the guards tased him.

 The pain hits him, and it feels much longer than it takes in reality - it always does.

 “Hands in front of you. Now.”

 The man who talks sounds bored, and there is not a hint of emotion in his voice. This is just another part of the job for him.

 Clint doesn’t want to, but he still does as he is told - he will have to get in, eventually, and he can’t afford any unnecessary injuries.

 ‘In case they won’t come get you’ he very carefully doesn’t think, but he works with that assumption. It’s better than depending on people who will happily sell him out like that.

 Clint would love to have Phil’s voice in his ear - he’s the only person he knows for certain he can trust, has proven it over and over again over the course of the 5 years that Clint has worked with him, almost exclusively.

 But as it is, Phil is on a deep cover mission of his own - which is why Clint was sent out into the field with Agent Taylor in the first place. He didn’t particularly like or trust the man from the start, which isn’t surprising to him at all. He’s still weary, unsure who he can really trust in this shady organisation of spies.

 Agent Coulson, he knows, is a rare and wonderful exception in this place filled with cold and calculated people - he cares, on a human and personal level. Coulson never lets his Agents down, and he certainly would never blindside them like Taylor just blindsided Clint.

 Phil Coulson would never in his life send an Agent into a mission that involves one of the very few things that they requested not having to do.

 It just so happens, that Clint has a past that is both dark and messed up in many ways. He’s made mistakes, some of which still haunt him. He’s been on the wrong side of the law, simply in order to survive.

 This isn’t the first time he’s been sent to a prison, either - 6 years ago, he’d assumed he’d either rot there or die an early death, before he was even old enough to legally drink.

 Back then though, he was told there was a visitor, and that fateful day was the first time he’s ever shook Phil Coulson’s hand and his life has changed for the better.

 He’d gotten a job, a home, and a new squeaky clean criminal record.

 Clint had actually been stupid enough to think it would last.

 But now, he’s back into one of those godforsaken sterile rooms, knowing exactly how this is going to go. His brain screams panic and he has to use all the self control and training he can find in himself as rough and uncaring hands remove his clothes, one after one in a swift and efficient motion.

 The cold air hits his skin, and then the same rough hands, covered in rubber gloves, start searching him for any hidden weapons. They search him thoroughly, so much so that he suspects they take their time in doing so on purpose, just because they can.

 This entire process is painfully humiliating, but the worst part is the complete loss of control. Clint is familiar with that, too, and he does his best to retreat back into the back corner of his head - the safe space where he can go when everything else just hurts and hits all the wrong buttons in his brain.

 Strange and unwanted hands all over him have been part of his life for too long - drunk foster parents, or even worse, the countless “customers” that visited the circus late at night, for something entirely different than a show in the big tent - Clint has learned early on to shove all emotions aside, deal with them later on,

 If and when he will be able to deal with all of this now, he doesn’t know. He still won’t allow himself to let any of it show -       they     will always come up with something worse if they notice that they actually get to him.

 Clint knows that, too.

 Then, he’s hit with the cold spray of disinfectant and can’t suppress a flinch at the sensation.

 “Get dressed.”

 Someone shoves a pair of pants and a shirt at him. Even though he longs for a bit of fabric shielding him from view and hands, the process of getting it on feels just as humiliating as being forcibly stripped.

 ‘Loss of control’ a voice in the back of his head supplies, and it is just that.

 When they walk him into the cell, Clint moves mechanically, not registering anything around him.

 ‘Focus’ he tells himself in the privacy of his mind, ‘Don’t forget your mission!’ but as it is, he is busy trying to not fall apart. ‘Keep it together’ the voice instructs, and he gives his best effort to do just that.

 He only looks up when the handcuffs are removed, and the door slams shut behind him. Several locks click into place.

 Clint expected a cold room in isolation, but as it is, there is another person already there, lazily sprawled on one of the thin cots.

 The man looks up, scruffy and unwashed, and there is a dark look in his eyes. When recognition hits him, the smile turns downright predatory, revealing brown and yellow teeth, and quite a few missing.

 Clint steps further into the room, and cold dread hits him once again, because he, too, recognizes the man in this cell. He keeps his face carefully closed off, but the alarm bells in his head are deafening.

 This is going to go badly - he just knows it.

 *+~

     Bingo Square: Forcibly Stripped  

*+~

Trigger warnings:

- violence - power imbalance - being forced into a triggering situation - references to childhood sexual abuse - references to forced prostitution - Trust issues - PTSD references - please let me know if you would like me to tag anything else

[friendlytikek]

Summary: Charles doesn't remain conscious after the bullet hits him in Cuba. Erik doesn't handle it well.

(Available on AO3 or down below!)

There’s an agonised, strangled gasp from behind him, and that’s when Erik realises his mistake. 

Bullets are not something to be careless with. The damage they can do is incredible and Erik knows this all too well, which makes this mistake even worse. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, it never even occurred to him that while he was deflecting the bullets they might hit somebody much more important than himself. 

The others are staring not at him any more but behind him, where Charles must be dead on the sand. Their expressions are all full of horror and Erik suspects his own mirrors theirs too.

He turns, too slow, in time to see Charles finish his lifeless collapse to the floor. There’s not even an attempt to catch his own weight with his hands. The world feels as if it’s passing by in slow-motion and Erik’s moving before he can even really think about doing anything else. The missiles suddenly seem so trivial and begin to drop from the sky, forgotten. Each explosion sounds a million miles away. 

All that matters is Charles. 

Nobody else has moved yet. They must all be too stunned, too horror-stricken to do anything. The world narrows down to only him and Charles, who is awfully still on the sand. Erik crashes to his knees next to him and instinctively, rolls him, then yanks the bullet out of his back as if that’ll be able to undo the damage that has already been done. 

The bullet is tossed aside, a little bloody but mostly covered in some slippery, unknown liquid, and Erik focuses all of his attention on Charles again. He turns him all the way over and hopes against hope that he’ll see those bright blue eyes, the hint of a smile to let him know it’s all okay, but instead, Charles is still, his eyes are closed, and he’s horribly, horribly pale, sand clinging to his face. The only indication he’s alive at all is the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, in the vain hope Charles will somehow hear him, but there’s nothing. Charles is limp and still. When Erik raises his head, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, the others have all stepped forward as one and before he can think about the fact that Charles needs help now, he’s barking out, “Back off!”

They all stop and their expressions are just as terrified and filled with horror as they were seconds ago. They aren’t doing anything to help. It’s Moira who dares to step forward first and Erik’s lips curl into a snarl, his arms cradling Charles, protective. 

Charles is dying and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. 

“You did this,” he snaps at Moira. One hand curls into a fist and the dog tags around her neck slowly begin to tighten. She gasps and clutches pathetically at the metal. She’s always had it out for mutants; she’s probably planned this all along; she did this… Erik glances down at Charles’ slack face, hoping he’ll grimace, open his eyes, and agree that yes, Moira did this, but that isn’t going to happen, because Charles is dying and it’s… 

It’s Erik’s fault. 

Nobody else’s. 

The weight of his dismay and guilt hits like a freight train. Charles is dying and it’s all his fault because he didn’t think before deflecting those bullets, because he’s too weak to stop bullets before they do any harm. He’s failed, again, to protect someone who means the world to him from one tiny piece of metal.

Horrified at himself, he releases the metal from around Moira’s neck and doesn’t bother to acknowledge the sound of her dropping to her knees. Her gasps fall on ears that only want to hear Charles’ voice. The human will recover. Charles won’t. 

Charles is dying.

“Wake up,” he says to Charles, the hand was a moment ago trying to kill Moira moving to his face. He brushes away the sand stuck to Charles’ cheek with his thumb. “Wake up.” 

He can hear someone sobbing. Raven, he suspects. The others are moving towards them again and Hank’s saying, “Erik, we need to get him medical attention now.” But all Erik wants is for Charles to wake up. 

Desperate for anything from Charles, Erik reaches up, Charles still balanced on his lap, and pulls the wretched helmet from his head. That gets flung down next to the bullet, that one bullet that just had to lodge itself right in Charles’ back. Not caring about the others watching, he presses his forehead to Charles’ sandy one, and thinks, over and over again, Wake up wake up please wake up wake up.

There’s nothing but silence from Charles and a sob tears its way up Erik’s throat before he can stop it. He’s killed him, he’s killed Charles, and he tries again, one more time, with a pleading, Charles, I’m sorry. I love you. Wake up.

No response. Erik despairs. 

“He needs medical attention.” 

Hank’s voice is firm, his expression grim, and his hands are clenched into fists. The others flutter around behind him, unsure of themselves, and Shaw’s mutants are a distance away, looking completely lost without their leader.

“Erik. We need to help him.” That’s Raven, her voice cracking, and then suddenly both Hank and Raven are kneeling down in front of them, looking just as desperate as Erik feels. 

“He’s dead,” Erik says hollowly, staring at them both, his entire body feeling numb. There’s sweat beading on his forehead.

“No, he’s not,” Hank says, and how can he possibly sound so patient when Erik has killed Charles, the man who gave his all trying to help them to improve their abilities? “Erik. I think you’re in shock. Charles is alive. He’s breathing, see? If you focus, you’ll be able to feel his heart beating. But you need to let me see him. He needs medical attention now. Now, Erik. Lay him flat for him.” 

With hands that don’t feel like his own, Erik carefully begins to shift Charles from his lap, Hank’s murmur of, “Gently, gently,” hardly even registering. 

Some distant part of Erik knows he’s not helped the situation any by tearing the bullet out and manhandling Charles onto his lap, but that’s so far away in his mind, he can’t focus on it right now. 

All that matters is getting Charles help. 

“Moira, are you okay? Can you help me?” Hank is asking and the human is nodding, crawling over to them, her neck bruised and face pale but otherwise, apparently, unharmed. “Can’t do anything with the…stupid fur… I think you’re the only other one who has any sort of training.”

It’s Raven who grabs Erik’s shoulder and gently tugs him back, to give Hank and Moira space. He hears Hank tearing pieces of his own uniform off and watches numbly as he hands them off to Moira. They’ve rolled Charles onto his side and Moira’s pressing the fabric against the bullet hole, to stop the bleeding. 

The bleeding. 

Erik glances down at his lap and there are glistening patches on the fabric, which can only because of Charles’ blood. The world spins around him and he feels as if he can’t breathe. I love you, he thinks again, hoping Charles might just hear him, and he follows that with, I’m so sorry.

“You!” Hank suddenly shouts, pointing at the red teleporter, who looks shocked to have suddenly been addressed. “Get over here. You have to help us. He needs to go to the hospital. Now.”

Whatever conversation they have, Erik doesn’t hear. All he can do is stare at Charles, who still hasn’t woken up, still hasn’t so much as brushed Erik’s mind with his. Is he paler than he was earlier? He can feel his heartbeat if he concentrates. That must be the iron in his blood. But that doesn’t mean Charles isn’t dying. 

“Erik,” Raven says, forever or a few seconds later. She shakes his shoulder and the world slides back into focus. “Erik, the teleporter’s taking us to the hospital. You, me, Moira, Charles. We need to keep Charles as still as possible while we move. Then he’s going to come back for the others, the teleporter.” Erik doesn’t understand why the teleporter is helping them at all, but he isn’t going to complain. 

Alex and Sean don’t look happy with the plan, the two boys glaring openly at him. Hank looks resigned. “You need to go now,” Hank says. It clicks a moment later why he can’t come to the hospital. Blue. Fur. 

Everything still feels numb. He lets Raven guide him to Charles’ side and finds himself asking, “Why me?” 

All Raven says is, “Charles needs you.”

Erik doubts that. Charles is dying because of him. He deserves so much more than Erik. He deserves somebody who is actually in control of their powers, who doesn’t let their rage get the better of them. 

He’s distantly aware of Raven putting his hands where they need to be to actually be of use while they travel. Charles is still beneath them. Everything else is a blur. 

In a poof of red smoke, they’re gone. 

It can’t have been more than ten minutes since the missiles first fired, but it easily feels as if an entire lifetime has passed since this nightmare began. 

.x.x.x.

Hospitals are awful. They smell too clean and the floors are too squeaky and although there’s lots of metal, it doesn’t feel as comforting in this context as it does usually. Metal typically makes Erik feel warm and reassured, because it’s just about the only constant in his life aside from rage. Yet in the hospital, it all feels cold. Cold and dead, like Charles almost was, because Erik put a metal bullet in his spine. 

Charles isn’t unconscious now, doctors have assured them. He’s sleeping. Resting. He woke shortly after his arrival at the hospital, panicking, and he projected, I can’t feel my legs, so strongly, they suspect the entire hospital likely heard it. 

Nobody else has mentioned it. At the moment, they’re hoping nobody pieces together that they weren’t the only one to feel the vivid thought in their brain. 

Raven has been crying ever since and Erik doesn’t feel much better than she clearly does.

The concussion is what knocked Charles out, because it transpires if something applies enough force to damage the spinal cord, it can, in turn, jolt the brain. He’ll be fine. The concussion isn’t the worrying part, because Charles has been conscious, has used his powers, and has even spoken to the doctors, according to their last update.

It’s the damaged spinal cord and the fact Charles can’t feel his legs which is worrying. 

Erik didn’t really want to listen, but the numbness has faded somewhat and he’s taken in every word the doctors have told them in the last few hours. He knows nearly every detail of Charles’ current condition. 

He also knows Charles is never going to forgive him for the fact that it's incredibly unlikely he’s ever going to walk again. 

Paralysed, thanks to a bullet Erik should’ve had better control of. 

Sitting on the awful, plasticky chair next to him, Raven lets out a quiet moan. “He’s not going to be able to walk. It’s Charles. How can he not walk?” she asks, and she’s asked a similar question several times in the last few hours. 

“We don’t know that it’s permanent,” Moira says quietly, reaching out and laying a hand Erik assumes is meant to be reassuring on Raven’s back. “The doctors said, when the swelling goes down…”

“That there’s a chance the damage isn’t as severe as they’re assuming,” Erik snaps at her. “A chance. Don’t give her false hope.” 

Raven lets out another moan and drops her face into her hands. 

Over her head, Moira glares at him. The thin line of bruising around her neck has become more prominent. “Shut up,” she says, and that’s that. 

They settle into an awkward silence and continue to wait. 

.x.x.x.

“Mr Xavier is awake. He said he’d like to see Erik?” the doctor says, sometime later. They all scramble to sit upright, eyes blinking open. It’s been so long, Erik let himself drift off to sleep, exhausted, his body presumably trying to process the events of the day. His sleep hadn’t been pleasant, his dreams filled with bullets and an uncomfortable awareness of what he’s done to Charles, as well as Shaw’s dead face. 

Raven gives him a nudge when he fails to respond to the doctor. Clueless as to why Charles would want to see him first, Erik staggers to his feet. As more time passes, he’s beginning to feel more ridiculous in his Division X uniform. Swallowing hard, he gives the doctor a nod, and allows him to lead the way into Charles’ room.

It’s dark outside, but the curtains haven’t been shut yet. Charles is lying prone, head tilted to one side, facing towards the window. His own uniform is gone, likely cut away in the urgency of everything, and replaced with a white hospital gown. There’s thick bandaging beneath the gown, the padding around his middle a tell-tale sign. The room is quiet as Erik steps around the bed, to sit in the chair by Charles’ side. 

Charles raises his eyes to meet his and they’re so full of anguish, it almost breaks Erik all over again. 

“Why did you want to see me first?” Erik finds himself asking. “I shot you. You should send me away right now. Far away. You could make me go. No helmet now,” he says, lifting a hand to his head, to make his point even clearer. 

There’s no immediate response from Charles, but to Erik’s horror, his eyes start to swim with tears. 

An awful silence drags on.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Charles eventually murmurs. His voice cracks as he adds, “I need you.” 

“You don’t need me. This is my fault. I shot you, I did this, if it wasn’t for me you’d be okay. You need the opposite of me,” Erik argues, all in a rush. These are the thoughts that have been clattering around his head for hours. “You need better than me.”

Silence again, until, minutes later, Charles says, “I just need you. It was an accident, Erik. Please don’t… blame yourself. It was an accident.” He’s a little firmer the second time around. 

“I did this,” Erik repeats, quieter, and he drops his head to rest it on the mattress, near Charles’ own head. A sob rises in his throat and he has to fight it back down. Charles is alive, but Charles isn’t okay, and that’s on him. It’s only on him. “I’m so sorry, Charles. I’m sorry.” 

He isn’t expecting Charles to start carding his fingers through his hair, the way he did this morning, when they were lying in bed, mentally preparing themselves for a hell of a time. 

Like Erik is still worthy of his touch. 

Erik isn’t sure how long they remain like that. It could’ve been minutes or hours. Then Charles says, “It was an accident. And I know you’re sorry. I forgive you. I still love you, too.” He visibly swallows. “But Erik… our ideologies. We don’t want the same thing for mutantkind at all, my friend. You were going to kill all of those men. You want supremacy. I want peace.”

Does Charles really want to have this conversation now?

“Yes, Erik. I’m sorry. I can’t do things… your way. I won’t kill to fix the world. We need to… we’d be better off…” Each word is killing Erik. “I think it’s best that we part ways.” 

It feels like the world is spinning again. Erik really has broken everything. He’s lost Charles. 

“Oh, my love.” You haven’t lost me. We’re just on different paths.

Charles’ fingers are still carding through his hair, like he hasn’t just ripped Erik’s heart out of his chest with a verbal hand. “They’ll try to kill us, Charles. They fear us, they hate us. They’ll round us up and slaughter us, one by one,” is all he can bring himself to say in response. 

“And then I’ll fight back. But I won’t attack them first. Look at what we’re capable of. Of course we seem terrifying to them. That doesn’t mean we need to satisfy that narrative. We can educate them and show them that they don’t need to fear our powers. We can teach them to embrace them instead, like we embrace our own abilities,” Charles says, and Erik can’t help but wonder at the fact he hasn’t broken Charles’ sense of optimism at all. “You haven’t broken me, Erik. I just can’t walk. I’ll be okay.” But even as he says that, his voice cracks again. “I need you, and I don’t want to let you go, Erik, but we don’t want the same thing at all.”

It hurts. It hurts so much, but Erik didn’t wait all this time, didn’t hear Charles forgive him, didn’t hear Charles say he loves him again, just to be told it’s best they part ways. Compromising isn’t in his nature at all, but he lifts his head and says before he can doubt himself, “We do want the same thing. We just have different methods.”

There’s a sigh from Charles and a warning note in his voice, despite him being gentle as he says, “Erik…” 

“I won’t attack them,” he blurts. “Unless I think there are mutants in danger. If the government starts hunting us like animals, I’m going to act immediately. I might even rip them apart. But I won’t go to war. Not yet. I’ll… I want to be by your side, and I want you by mine.”

Compromising on his ideologies doesn’t feel entirely right, but isn’t this what people are supposed to do for love? 

Charles is quiet for a good while. “You’d really stay with me? I… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I want to find more mutants. Possibly… train more mutants. Help them master their mutations. There were so many, when I used Cerebro…” Charles sounds a bit sleepy now, and his eyelids are drooping. 

“I know,” Erik says, swallowing hard and leaning in to press a tender kiss to Charles’ forehead. “There’s so many of us, Charles. We’ll help them. You and I, together. We’ll find them and we’ll help them. But first, you need to get better.”

“You’ll stay?” Charles asks again. 

Erik remembers how much it hurt to exist, when he thought he’d killed Charles. He knows, for a fact, he doesn’t want to live this life without him by his side. Even if compromises need to be made. Even if there’s a lot they’ll need to get through first. They’ll find a way to create a better world for mutants together and make their ideologies both work, somehow. It might be a pipedream, but Erik’s willing to try if Charles is. Maybe it will work, or maybe it won’t, but he plans to give it his all. 

“I’ll stay,” he tells Charles, and he means it. 

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

There have already been many reactions to the movie and a lot of them are probably much more coherent and eloquent than mine, but I felt the need to add my own (albeit jumbled) thoughts into the mix.

I get it, okay. I get what the Russos were trying to do. I get that they wanted to elicit a powerful emotional response from their audiences, gleefully hoping for tears.

 I did cry, I won’t lie about that.  But the emotion I felt most strongly was anger.  Anger and resentment.

 There are oh so many things I resent about this movie.

 I resent the fact that Clint, a character who went on a murder rampage, slaughtering countless of people (sure, perhaps not innocent, but still human beings) gets to go back to his family like nothing happened – happy faces, laughter and idyllic setting.

 I resent the fact that Thor, a character who had gone through so much growth and then suffered such immense loss, was turned into a pathetic, beer-bellied, unkempt, sniveling mess, good for little more than comic relief.

 I resent the fact that all these amazing characters were brought in for this epic fight scene only to be completely dwarfed by the scale of that fight.  To the point that their participation was of little to no consequence. I saw Valkyrie and T’Challa for, like, 5 seconds.  Was Shuri even there?  Carol’s role was so hyped up and then… she gets punched out?  What was even the point?

 I resent the fact that Marvel cannot hire a fucking Russian native speaker.  I don’t know what all Black Widow’s background is supposed to be, okay? I’ll give you that.  But if her name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova, then her father’s name is Alian, not Ivan.  Okay? That’s how Russian language works.  It’s called a patronymic.  “Alianovna” literally means “the daughter of Alian”.  Not Ivan, Alian.  If her father was Ivan, she would have been Ivanovna.  It’s as simple as that. And you can’t just get some random patronymic from a stranger, unless that stranger officially adopted you.  So, unless Natasha was adopted by this Alian guy, (which wasn’t in her backstory, as far as I know), then Alian is her father and she would have known that.  So this whole B.S. about her not knowing that her father’s name was Ivan is just that – B.S. Hire a fucking Russian native, Marvel. Stop being so cheap.  

 And now for the last two characters.

 I understand that the Russos are Captain America fans. I get it.  I recognize that they are so far up Steve’s perfect ass that they can probably see the world through his nostrils.

I should have learned my lesson with CACW, where America’s Golden Boy was allowed to disregard the value of every human life around him for the sake of his buddy and still be hailed a hero, while the guy who was putting everything on the line to keep his friends AND civilians safe got skewered emotionally, pummeled physically (by said squeaky clean hero) and got labeled a villain for all his troubles.

I should have learned then, but I didn’t, and that’s on me.  That’s why I find myself here now – angry, disappointed, but not surprised. Not really.

 But I still feel like the Russos failed Steve Rogers in a big way.  By writing him so completely, so utterly OOC.  And I’m not even talking about the utterly inconceivable scene where such a flawed character suddenly becomes worthy of wielding the Mjolnir (like, seriously? So, what, because he finally realized that Tony was right all along and decided to “fix” things, he gets to be worthy of it? If it’s that easy, shouldn’t pretty much every other character in that movie who was ready to sacrifice themselves for others have gotten the same honor? I call B.S., Russos, sorry).  No, what bothered me the most about Steve’s arc is how utterly anticlimactic and simple they made it in the end – tied up in an idyllic little package with a neat little bow circa 1940s.  Steve, the man out of time, the man whose only mission in life was to fight, who was perfectly at home in war and felt completely out of place in time of peace, who scoffed at Tony’s idea of quiet retirement… That man, that eternal soldier, whose only true peace should have come with self-sacrifice for the greater good, suddenly decides to get married and retire? To settle down in an alternate timeline and have himself a happy, idyllic life?

 I resent that.  I resent the fact that Steve got a happy ending that made absolutely no sense from the point of view of his character arc.  And, more than that, I resent the fact that the ending the Russos wrote for Steve is the ending that should have been Tony’s.

 Tony.  I remember reading all these pre-Endgame posts about how wrong it would be for the Russos to kill Tony off.  How unfair to his character, to the guy who wanted nothing more than to “go home”, to buy Pepper a farm and settle down there with her and their future children.  How entirely anticlimactic after everything he’s been through.  I remember somebody saying that it wouldn’t make any sense for the Russos to kill Tony, that they wouldn’t be so stupid as to try.

 Well, thank you, the Russo brothers.  Thank you for proving to everyone that you can, in fact, be that stupid. That you can take a character like Tony and ignore everything about him, forget everything about his arc, and cheapen all of it, all of his sacrifices, all of his struggles, all of his pain and suffering by giving him exactly what he always wanted and then ripping it all away from him because you felt that it made for a more powerful impact.  Thank you for showing, yet again, how little you know or care about Tony Stark.  That in your minds the only non-enhanced noncombatant human, who has been brutally tortured, plagued by PTSD, betrayed over and over, who has sacrificed  so much for the sake of others, and who has wanted so desperately to have a family with the woman he loves, doesn’t get to have his happy ending.  That all he deserves, according to you, is a few short years of happiness, a glimpse of what it might and should be like, but plagued by nightmares and guilt.  That all he deserves is to be guilted by his former teammates (who, lets face it, care about Tony Stark only insofar as what Tony can do for them – and once Tony refuses to help them initially they simply move on to the next best thing) into walking away from that life, into risking it all yet again so that others (like Scott and Clint and Steve… ) can get their own selfish need for happiness satisfied. That all he deserves after doing what’s right (yet again) is unimaginable pain and death.

 Thank you for that, Russos. May you rest in hell.

That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. Sorry for the long rant.  I am now going to go and ignore the fact that Endgame happened.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4537 Chapter: 4/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 4

Living outside of time was strange. Intellectually Madara knew that when he left the village it had been the rainy season and there was no reason to expect snow for several more months, later than the year before if the almanac was to be believed. Knowing that, it should have felt so much more odd to stand in the open doorway of the castle and stare out across snow covered grounds that looked closer to the heart of winter than the middle of autumn. He wondered for a moment if being bound to this place made him just a little more connected to the magic and therefore a little less surprised by things but cast that idea away rather quickly. That wasn’t what he wanted to dwell on today.

He’d gotten himself all nicely dressed in a pair of sturdy boots Hashirama dug up for him and one of the thick coats hanging in the room he shared with Izuna. The plan had been to walk around the edge of the grounds and see how far his binding would allow him to stray but now that he was here he felt almost exhausted just thinking about the effort.

Considering the lack of moving time Madara couldn’t be sure how long he’d been standing there in indecision when movement caught his eye and he turned his head to watch the beast himself come around the corner. Despite telling Kagami just a few days before that he didn’t mind if the damn thing roamed his own castle the meeting was still so unexpected Madara froze and could do nothing but stare until he was spotted in return, the creature pausing between one long step and the next. He met glowing red eyes and, incredibly, he first thought was ‘he looks sad’.

Whatever the beast’s thoughts were it seemed pretty obvious they had nothing to do with whether or not Madara looked sad. More than anything he looked like he was contemplating which spire to climb so he could throw himself off of it, though that might have been an effect of the deep brows his twisted face was cursed with, something Madara hoped had not been there when his face had been human – ostensibly. His mane of white hair shifted around him as it was pulled by the gentle wind and the slight movement made it a little easier to distinguish his shape from the equally white snow behind him. It was possible that his coloring was an effect of the curse. Considering what Madara had seen in that portrait, though, he would guess not.

“Finally came out of hiding?” he called, partly to break the silence and partly because he just didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut sometimes. He wasn’t surprised to see the creature frown.

“If my efforts towards making you more comfortable are so unappreciated I would be more than glad to forego them in the future.”

“Oh don’t be a grumpy idiot now,” Madara snapped. “You did enough of that the last two times I saw you. I think we both know at this point that you’re not going to eat my fingers for an afternoon snack so stop pretending.”

The creature snorted, blowing out a puff of steam in the chilly air around them. He stomped one of his hooves without really seeming to notice and settled in to a more natural stance than staying paused between steps had left him in. Madara considered him for a moment and then turned away to look around them with deliberate nonchalance. With his gaze focused a little closer to himself than the far distance he could see tracks his eyes must have passed over before, evidence that his present company had been out here for quite some time with the way they started in one direction and seemed to loop all the way around the building to where the beast was now coming from the opposite side.

“Been out here for a while huh?”

“An old habit from when I first began testing the boundaries of my imprisonment.”

Madara blinked. He really hadn’t expected them both to be out here doing the same thing. Without thinking about it he asked, “How far can we go?”

Even more surprisingly, he got an answer.

“To the west our borders reach just beyond the gardens. Our northern wall marks the edge in that direction. To the south we are granted some two miles of forest trails behind the stables and to the east we may alight on the shore beyond the lake but no farther.” The creature shook his head. “You will know you have reached the edge when you find yourself turning back against your own will.”

“Oh. I kind of thought it would be painful or something. Like a shock or a burn maybe.” Madara fought the urge to scratch at the back of his head awkwardly, feeling a little stupid for automatically assuming that.

“We suffer enough by being here,” was the only answer he got.

Feeling even more awkward now, Madara shifted his weight and half turned back towards the inside of the castle. “Right. I guess I don’t really need to go explore for myself now then. Waste of time. Look, like I said to the others, this is your home. So if you want to walk around or something don’t worry about bothering my brother and me. You don’t even have to talk to us or anything if you don’t want to.”

“That is unexpectedly kind of you.”

“Not really. Its common manners. I do understand those, you know. Except right now I’m going to ignore manners and go back inside so I’ll see you around maybe…uh…” Madara faltered when he realized he was about to call the thing ‘Beast’ as an actual title, something that might really have gotten him eaten.

It took a moment but the creature eventually seemed to realize the cause of his hesitation and narrowed red eyes in to a glare. “My name is Tobirama.”

Unable to decide how he wanted to deal with the revelation of knowing the monster’s name, Madara stumbled over a few half sentences which might have been strung together as a goodbye of some sort and fled back indoors. He hurried all the way up to the room where he was grateful to find Izuna missing. Today being a rare day when he felt well enough to move about on his own, Izuna had gone down to eat breakfast in the kitchen for once and actually socialize with their animated hosts. Madara was grateful not to be questioned as he removed all of his unused winter wear and proceeded to stomp circles around the beautiful carpet until his heart stopped racing inside of his chest.

He had spoken to his own jailor. Worse than that he hadn’t actually hated speaking to the thing. Or Tobirama, as was apparently the name he should have been using. Having a name for the twisted face did strange things to his mind and Madara realized that he was immediately thinking of Tobirama as more human just for being able to stop referring to him as ‘the beast’ or ‘the creature’. With a name instead of a scary title he no longer had over-exaggerated images come to mind of foot long teeth or hands so big they could crush his entire head in one fist. The reality of Tobirama was that he was half of a twisted monster, yes, but that the other half of him remained pathetically and painfully human. And Madara wasn’t sure what to do with that.

As had become his first instinct lately, he thought about going to talk to Hashirama about it. Surely one who had been here since before this whole mess started would have a few helpful insights. Then he thought the better of it and considered going over things with Izuna instead. His brother knew him better than anyone in the world, after all, and it might have been more helpful to talk to someone who would understand his reactions to everything. He was still undecided when he stepped out of the room and nearly leapt out of his skin at the squeaky panicked voice under his feet.

“Do not step upon me!” When he was able to see through the fright Madara looked down to find little Kagami scrambling out from underneath the path of his footsteps.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “I almost squashed you like a bug!”

“I am so very sorry!”

Realizing he was still holding one foot up in the air, Madara set it down out of the way and shook his head. “You should be a little more careful about where you walk. He looks harmless but I’m pretty sure Hashirama would light me on fire in my sleep if I actually hurt you in any way.”

“He might weep for a very long time but I am certain Hashirama could never hurt you. The one you would really have to look out for is sensei!” Seeing him fall in to a more natural stance, Kagami hurried over and began scaling the seam on his pant leg, using folds as handholds until he was able to swing over and climb up to sit on Madara's shoulder uninvited.

“Comfortable?” Madara asked him dryly.

Kagami beamed. “Yes! Sensei is so tall I often get dizzy riding upon his heights. It is pleasing to see the Uchiha line has kept its traditional stature!”

“You know, you’re a kid and you still talk fancier than I do. I can’t decide if it’s just years of exposure without aging or if kids from your time really were just overly educated. Wait. In all the time I’ve been here I don’t think either of us has ever mentioned our last name. How did you know we’re Uchiha?” It was a legitimate question he thought. There had been a couple of occasions when they maybe should have given their family name to be polite but Madara had held back in the beginning because he didn’t want to be followed if he somehow escaped and then later there had been no reason to think about it anymore.

So it was weird to him that Kagami would know this without being told and he thought he was well within his rights to question it. He was quite surprised to see the little soldier looking back at him as though it was odd to have his knowledge questioned.

“How could I not recognize another of the Uchiha family? The hair alone is distinctive enough but the jaw and the nose too, it is as like as looking in a mirror!”

“You’re…an Uchiha?”

“Of course!”

“There are more of us!?”

Kagami blinked. “Are there none left?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Not that I know of. Our parents never mentioned having any other relatives anywhere. We used to have three other siblings but none of them lived much past puberty. As far as I know it’s just us. And…you?” Madara tried to wrap his head around how long the family tree would have to be to connect him and the little boy on his shoulder who was somehow both younger and older than himself.

“There used to be dozens of Uchiha in this city. Before the sickness came our family was one of the most prominent, sworn to serve the royal line, and even I was already being groomed to stay away from potential brides who might not be good enough to marry in to our bloodline. When the Sannin Tsunade removed us from memory there would have been more than a dozen Uchiha left in the city. I thought they would have had children.” He hung his wooden head in sorrow and Madara looked away.

He’d known that the people inside the castle were stopped in time and that they had been watching each other fall in to permanent slumber one by one for years but it had never occurred to him that they might have had ties with people outside the magic as well, that they would have been forced to come to terms with the inevitable death of their missing loved ones. In a way he could almost relate.

“It’s not actually a city anymore,” he corrected, not sure how to keep the subject from getting any darker. “Where we live it’s just a village, barely even that really.”

“The peoples must have left when they could no longer remember what kept them there.” Kagami shifted and tugged at his own tin soldier hat thoughtfully.

“Hold on…”

When his face suddenly dropped the boy on his shoulder went as tense as a boy made of metal could. “What is it? Have I done wrong?”

“No I just…is that what happened to the other brothers?” He almost regretted his words when Kagami’s face fell.

“The two other royal brothers? Yes, that is what happened to them.” The boy sighed despondently. “Itama-sama and Kawarama-sama. Unfortunately they were both away from home when the magic was cast. As the youngest brothers they were expected to join the cavalry and they happened to be leading an official inspection of each border unit when the Great Sannin removed us from time; we can only assume they lived out the rest of their lives never knowing the family they were missing.”

“At least they had each other?” Madara tried.

“Oh yes! That is a very kind way to look at it! Thank you, cousin!”

That brought him up short again. Kagami shifted around and began to braid three tiny strands of his hair together while Madara worked his way through being addressed as cousin when he knew for sure the relationship would be wildly more complicated than that. After a few seconds he decided it wasn’t worth hashing out and finally changed the subject entirely.

“Did you need something? Or were you just wandering around the upper halls looking for something to do?”

“Indeed! I came to ask if you would please speak with my sensei,” Kagami said. “He has been most reluctant to come out of his rooms even after you said you didn’t mind and I was hoping you might tell him so again.”

Madara gave him a dubious look. He’d already said his piece; it wasn’t up to him to make sure the man of the house knew he was allowed to walk around in his own home. Especially not if that man was an honest to god King. Besides that, he had only just seen the creature that morning and had his entire world turned upside down just by learning its name so he wasn’t exactly in a big hurry to go and buddy up for a good conversation at the moment.

Spinning on his heel, Madara cupped the little toy on his shoulder so he wouldn’t fall off and carried both of them back in to his bedroom, crossing over to flop down on the bench where they could both see through the window. As he’d suspected, the view from here looked out over the gardens where Tobirama had managed to wander around and was currently pacing his way between rows of hedges. Kagami left off his braiding and clambered down Madara's arm to press both hands against the cold pane. He looked down at his sensei with painted lips turned down in a sad expression.

“I just saw him,” Madara explained. “I was going to figure out how big this gilded cage really is but I ran in to him at the entrance and he told me how far we can go in every direction. Then I kind of insulted him and left.”

“You insulted him?”

“Well I didn’t mean to! Do you know that no one hads ever bothered to mention his name until now? I didn’t know what to call him and I, er, I almost called him ‘beast’ right to his face.” He screwed up his face when Kagami turned to look at him, shocked. “I know! I know!”

“That must have truly hurt sensei’s feelings.”

Casting his gaze out the window at the forlorn figure wandering through the snow alone, Madara grunted. “Suppose I’ll have to make it up to him or whatever. That’s his whole thing right? The curse? Hashirama said that he saw himself as a monster for what he did during the plague so the witch lady cursed him to look like one. I wouldn’t want to be reminded of that either.”

“If only sensei would stop thinking that way things could go back to how they were,” Kagami said.

Still watching the slow steps and the way the wind pulled carelessly at Tobirama’s wild hair, it took a few seconds for Madara's brain to catch up with that. “What does that mean?”

“That is how sensei could end the curse if only he believed what we all know. The Lady Tsunade told him that if he could look in to a mirror and see himself as a human then all would be as it should. I think that is why he hides himself away. Not because he cannot look at himself but because he cannot look in to the eyes of everyone he believes he has let down by extending this shadow of a life. And the more years pass the more he believes he was right all along, that he has always been a monster.” Kagami let his words trail away in time with his stiff fingers sliding down the pane of glass and Madara finally realized why the odd story-telling cadence of the boy’s speech felt so out of place.

“You’re still trying to get me to go talk to him, aren’t you?”

“Sensei is lonely!” Kagami wailed, turning to fall against his arm and wrap around it with all four limbs. “It has been years since he met anyone new, I beg of you to spend a little time in his presence and help him to see that he is not a monster no matter what face he wears!”

Already frowning, Madara let the crease between his brows deepen a little. “Manipulation is not your strong suit, tiny soldier boy.”

“Does that mean that you will do it?”

“Shut up.”

Izuna returned shortly after that and their conversation turned to other things, mostly introducing his brother to the idea that they were somehow very distantly related to the only child left in the castle. In the end all three of them collectively decided that addressing each other as cousins was probably the easiest way to go.

For a few days after Madara was able to distract Kagami away from the subject whenever it came up, not quite ready to do as he knew he eventually would. His hesitance wasn’t so much out of any desire to stay farther away from his captor but rather it was born out of his utter lack of any idea what to say. How was he meant to convince Tobirama that he was still human inside when Madara himself saw little of that left in him? Of the few times he’d met the other he had seen only anger and a deep abiding sadness. Human qualities for sure but were they enough? Was that all there was to him?

At a certain point he couldn’t avoid it anymore – and Kagami realized he was being put off, which ended in him moping adorably in a corner for an hour, leaving Madara to explain to the others what he had agreed to do. He left the room to seek out the lord of the castle more to escape Hashirama's fire-hazard attempts of an enthusiastic hug than anything else. The dumb candle seemed way too happy about the prospect of everyone getting along together.

Saying he would speak with the lord of the castle and actually doing so were two different things, however, and it proved a little harder to track his quarry down when he didn’t really have any idea where to look. According to Kagami there was no one in the royal apartments. He didn’t really want to go tramping around in the snow but that was really his only other idea. With great reluctance he wandered down to the front hall, thinking that perhaps he might be able to spot the beast from the door again and save himself the trouble of going all the way upstairs to dress in warmer clothes. To his great luck both tasks were unnecessary.

Both him and his host stood rigid with surprise when they almost collided going around a corner. They stood blinking at each other for several seconds before Tobirama snorted and moved to step around him, jolting Madara in to action.

“I was just looking for you,” he said, somehow managing a casual tone.

“Were you?” Tobirama lifted both of his heavy brows and Madara fought the urge to scowl defensively.

“Look, if we’re going to spend an unknown number of years locked together in the same castle then maybe we should get to know each other or something. You can’t hide from me forever. That sounds boring.”

He lifted an eyebrow of his own as if to challenge the half-human standing more than a full foot above him and Tobirama stared back with narrowed eyes, clearly doubting his intentions but not willing to call him out just yet. Quite likely he had also been a victim of Kagami’s pep talks trying to force them to socialize with each other but Madara was willing to bet that Tobirama was too lonely to pass up the opportunity to make a new friend. And also probably too proud to admit that.

“If you think that is best,” Tobirama answered eventually. His words sounded awkward, chewed over and halting, like he wasn’t sure of them but had nothing else to say.

“Right, because you’re obvious super worried about what I think.”

The frown lines on Tobirama’s face deepened with frustration. “Do not look for insult where none was meant. I was agreeing with your proposal.”

“Alright, okay, I can play nice. Go on then.”

“Go-?” To his amusement, Tobirama stared at him with only more frustration. “You were the one who asked me to converse. Why should I be the one who must ‘go on then’?”

“You’re royalty; aren’t you royal types trained in how to socialize and stuff?” Madara asked.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me if my social skills are a bit out of practice after so long without meeting anyone new. One does tend to let one’s propriety slip when the only decent conversationalist around is my own brother. And his wife, of course, but unfortunately Mito and I have not been on good terms for the past decade or thereabouts.” Tobirama wrinkled his nose, the face of a man remembering a wrong he’d committed but wasn’t ready to apologize for.

Sensing a good story behind that, Madara was about to ask for a retelling of whatever Tobirama had done to insult Mito a decade or so ago. Clearly it had nothing to do with their general situation since that had happened more than several decades ago as far as he could tell. Before he could ask, however, the rest of that little speech caught up with his brain and Madara nearly lost his jaw as it fell open.

“Wait. Your brother. Hashirama is your brother!?”

“Yes.”

Reeling back, Madara gripped both sides of his head and stared in to the middle distance. “My whole life is a lie. Oh my god he’s the elder brother in the story. Hashirama caught the plague and then a magic lady saved him but she didn’t save anyone else and you had to – oh damn. Wow.”

Tobirama watched judgmentally but thankfully in silence as Madara went through all the general stages of a mental breakdown. He’d known the story since day one, accepted all of it as true in the meantime, but the story Hashirama and Mito told him just hadn’t felt real until he realized he’d been staring all the characters of it in the face this whole time. Hashirama was the eldest brother, the one who was meant to be king, who had apparently not falling in to the long sleep. And in front of him was Tobirama, doomed to watch his older sibling live out life as an animated candelabra because of mistakes he had made during a reign that was never supposed to be his in the first place.

“Fire and flame,” Madara swore under his breath. “Your life sucks.” He said it without thinking, without aim, so the bark of laughter that sprang out of his companion nearly startled him right out of his skin.

“If you wish to put it in such crass terms, yes.”

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean to bring anything up! Crap. See this is why I don’t talk to anyone either!” If his trousers had pockets Madara would have shoved his hands down deep and hiked up his shoulders uncomfortably. Without pockets he could only fold his arms and pout.

Above him, Tobirama cocked his head to one side with a shadow of what might be translated in to a smile.

“Perhaps the two of us might find some common ground after all,” he said.

“Maybe. Come on, let me drag you back to the kitchen so Hashirama can get all the weepy gratitude out of his system and then we can go sit down somewhere and tell each other our favorite colors or something." Madara beckoned with one hand and was gratified when Tobirama followed placidly, not a hint of kingly pride balking at being told what to do. That was a good sign.

Keeping stride with Tobirama’s massive legs turned out easier said than done and Madara had to power walk for a couple of hallways until his companion rather shamefacedly shortened his steps. As they neared the kitchens he looked down with a hesitant expression.

“You do not actually expect us to make such simplistic conversation as trading favorite colors, do you?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you less grumpy,” Madara declared. “How else am I supposed to get to know you if we don’t ask questions or something?”

“Pray think of something a little more interesting.”

Without thinking Madara rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, a response he usually reserved for Izuna or Hashirama, the people he actually felt comfortable joking around with knowing he wouldn’t insult them. Then since he couldn’t snap his tongue back in to his face without making himself look even more foolish he did his best to play it off like he was completely comfortable teasing a seven foot cursed king who trapped him here with a magically binding vow. Incredibly, he did not get stomped to death by two sharp hooves.

Somehow his casual attitude seemed to break a little more of the tension between them and as he reached for the door to go face Hashirama together Madara almost smiled, thinking to himself that maybe being locked in a castle with a mythical creature wasn’t quite as terrible as it sounded.

[littlebxwpeep]

Emotional Breakdown >> Oneshot

Frankie has never had medical problems, throughout her life she’d always stayed squeaky clean when it came to that sort of thing. Sure she had a few personal issues to deal with but nothing that affected her health in any way. Only that all changed a year ago. Frankie found herself in a stressful situation and struggled to deal with things the way any normal person would. She stopped eating properly, socialising and acting like a human for a little while. She knew a break up wouldn’t be easy but she never expected it to go as far as it did for her, a year off work for stress was not her idea of a good time.

Her first panic attack happened at work, nothing really triggered it she was just minding her own business sewing some gear when she started hyperventilating, her wind pipes closed up and fear was evident in her face as she was confused as to what the hell was happening. That was probably one of the scariest moments of her life, the not knowing killed her all through her hospital visit especially when she wasn’t getting the answers she wanted.

For a while the panic attacks stopped, she got help with her mental state and she became a better person for it. She thought she’d finally beat the war with her head.. that was until last night, just like the first panic attack it happened almost out of the blue. Nothing had triggered the attack, she was simply sewing once again. However, she had eventually put it down to the fact she’d just come back to work and all the memories, although kept to the back of her mind, they were still there. Maybe she was more bothered by the changes than she let on. Was this really her mind way of telling her it was too soon? After how hard she’d worked to fix herself it all seemed to slip away last night and she hated herself for it.

After the attack, Frankie just sat there for a few minutes shouting at herself for being so pathetic. Something had control over her and she needed to find out what it was before it happened again, next time she could rip her own damn finger off. She ended the night peacefully, refreshing her mind with a hot bath and cuddles from her dog before heading off to bed for an early night. The following morning was better, she felt a little clearer and hoped the day would be problem free.. only that wasn’t the case. After stepping out the shower, Frankie opened up her phone and got a memory reminder, at first she ignored it laughing to herself at how long ago it was and how different things were. She thought nothing of it and continued on with her morning.

Afternoon came and Frankie was doing some laundry as she always did when another notification popped up only this wasn’t such a pleasant memory, she only looked at the post for a few seconds when she could feel her throat closing up and her temperature rising. Taking a seat quickly, she tried to gather her breath but with no hope, within seconds she couldn’t breathe at all. Gasping for breathe, there was nothing she could do but try and calm herself but that was easier said than done. Luckily, Benny was nearby and sensed something was off, he rushed to her side like always and his touch was enough to slowly calm the woman down. He started licking at her face as her breathing started to slow down and return to normal. What would she have done if he wasn’t there to save her every time? Once she felt more herself, Frankie became enraged, she felt ridiculous for letting her mind fail her once again. In one swift movement, she’d thrown her afternoon coffee across the room, it shattering into a million pieces. She was pissed by this point, she felt embarrassed that she could let such a thing upset her after all this time and she had no idea how to fix it. Did her returning to work fuck all her progress up? 

[lovemybluebully]

Is This a Joke?

Ugh! I'm late AGAIN getting a holiday fic up, but I spent a bit of time on it so I'm gonna post it anyways. Hope you'll still enjoy it! I wanted to get it up at least before the new year started, and it’s 11:30PM here so I managed to pull it off! YAY!! Happy New Year everyone!! And of course it's a tickle fic because, yeah, I can't help myself. XD Summary: It's Venom's first Christmas, and he and Eddie agree to exchange gifts for the holiday. Eddie can't resist having some fun with the idea at his buddy's expense, but then Venom decides to have a little fun of his own. M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 3,290

Just like every other holiday that came up, Eddie had to explain everything there was to know about Christmas to his symbiote companion; the origin, what it stood for, the religious customs and traditions that came with it. Everything.

Venom was definitely the curious type, and predictably flooded Eddie with questions about every little thing they came across when walking through the city. Finally Eddie had ended up introducing Venom to the internet and the Google search engine where every answer he desired could be easily found. Though the one concept that Venom had become particularly excited about was the exchanging of gifts. After Eddie had explained how it worked Venom was eager to get in on the action and find something special for his human friend. They agreed to take a day separated from the other so that they could keep their gifts a surprise. Venom had actually took on another host temporarily in order to purchase something without being detected. Later when they had reconnected and Venom was back inside of Eddie's body it wasn't long before he was pestering the man about what he may have gotten for him. "What did you get us, Eddie? Is it something delicious? Can we eat it? Hmm? Tell us tell us tell us!" Each word was enunciated with ticklish pokes into Eddie's sides, making the reporter giggle and smack at the playful symbiote tentacles with his hands. "I caahaan't tell you, asshole! Heehehehee, it's a surprise!" If Venom wanted to he could easily obtain the answer, but he wasn't trying that hard to get Eddie to spill the beans. He was actually moved that his host wanted to surprise him with something, and had vowed not to probe inside his mind for the week so that the secret wouldn't be spoiled.

Still he couldn't help but wonder and daydream about what it might be. In fact the alien had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd been a lot quieter than usual for the past few days; something Eddie took notice of as he chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"You. Still trying to figure out what I got for you, huh?"

"We like surprises, Eddie, but the anticipation is killing us!"

"Don't worry, it's Christmas Eve so you'll find out tomorrow."

Venom smiled in the most giddy way that Eddie had ever seen, and it was definitely funny to see the monstrous alien in this type of light. Eddie laughed and scratched the symbiote head under the chin as he nodded towards the few presents placed underneath the small tree in his apartment. "In the morning those'll all be yours, buddy." ............................................................ "Eddie......"

"Eddie!"

"............EDDIE!" As he opened his eyes Eddie unsuccessfully stifled his laughter when he found Venom grinning into his face with a fluffy Santa hat on his head. It really tickled him to see that Venom had embraced the Christmas spirit like this.

"Get up, Eddie! Get up! It's Christmas morning!"

"Is it? I had no idea. Well I doubt Santa left anything for a couple losers like us," the man smirked as he sat up and stretched out his arms before rubbing his hands over his tired face. "Screw that fat guy. I know Eddie didn't forget us," Venom smiled, pulling on his host's arm to hoist him out of the bed.

"Alright I'm up, I'm up," Eddie smiled as he slid out from underneath his warm blankets and allowed Venom to drag him over to their Christmas tree. The symbiote was acting just like a little kid would on this holiday morning. Shifting into his humanoid form, Venom crouched on the floor anxiously as he watched Eddie select a present from all the others. "Here," the journalist handed him the large package, "Open this one first."

Not wasting any time, Venom quickly used his claws to tear away the wrapping paper as he revealed a big box of assorted chocolates. His eyes lit up when he saw what it was as a bit of drool began to seep from his mouth.

"Thank you, Eddie! We can't wait to try some!"

He had already started to open up the box, but Eddie held out a hand to stop him.

"Why don't we wait until we've had breakfast first, ok buddy?"

"Ok, Eddie," Venom pouted a little as he reluctantly agreed. He perked up though when Eddie handed him another gift.

"Alright, now this one. I think this'll come in handy for you," his mouth twitched as if he were trying to hold back a smile, but Venom didn't seem to notice since all his focus was on the package in his hands. "This is heavier than the last one. Is it more chocolates?!" The symbiote asked excitedly as Eddie put a hand over his own mouth to hide his smirk and simply nodded. "Maybe. Open it and see."

A few seconds later the wrapping paper was shredded and Venom was left staring dumbfounded at the box in front of him. "...........What. Is. This?" "You can't tell? It's an electric toothbrush. We gotta keep those teeth of yours all squeaky clean with all that chocolate you're eating, don't we?" His attempt at keeping a straight face was beginning to fail as he watched his friend's eyes narrow in annoyance. "Is this some kind of joke?" Venom growled as he ripped the toothbrush from it's packaging and switched it on, staring at it with contempt as it began to buzz and vibrate. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?" Eddie couldn't stop himself and had fallen over laughing now, which was the wrong thing to do because Venom was quick to pounce on him. The symbiote wasn't angry about his host's practical joke, though he did have revenge on his mind. Strong tendrils wrapped around the reporter's arms and stretched them over his head with Eddie still laughing too much to object.

"Eddie wants to laugh, hm? Well we'll give him something to really laugh about." Eddie's giggles turned more frantic and hysterical when a mass of tendrils started to tickle up and down his sides, expertly honing in on the weakest spots. Having just gotten out of bed his only attire was a worn-in t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, which left him pretty vulnerable for such an attack; he was doomed.

"Okaahaay! Okaahaahay, it wahahas a baahaad idee-heeheeheea!" Eddie giggled madly as he made pathetic attempts to squirm away, knowing there was no escape and that he'd might as well save his energy. "I think you knew we'd react this way. Sounds to us like you were asking for it, weren't you?"

"Nohoho! I'd nehehehever! I haa-hate beheeheeing tihihickled!"

Venom could see in his mind that Eddie didn't truly mean that, and that his thoughts were nothing but gleeful delight. Despite his words, Eddie was enjoying this fooling around and so Venom saw no reason to back off just yet.

"Well that's a shame, Eddie, because that's what I got you for Christmas.....lots and lots of tickles!" The tickling on his ribcage intensified as Eddie threw his head back in howling laughter, though continued to jokingly provoke his alien buddy.

"Ehehahahahaa! Wehehell thaahaat's a shihihitty presehehent! I hohope you g-got a gihift receipt!"

"It's non-returnable. Too bad for you. You'll just have to accept my present," Venom chuckled while one of his tendrils picked up the electric toothbrush so he could examine it more closely as he pressed the switch to turn it on. He then noticed how Eddie's t-shirt had bunched up from all his thrashing to reveal part of his belly. Now he had a very evil idea. "Hmmm, I think I know a good use for this....," Venom grinned as he applied the whirling toothbrush to Eddie's stomach, receiving an explosive reaction.

"Naahahaahah! Thaahaahaat's nohot whahahat thaat's fohohohor!"

Eddie squealed and vainly tried to roll to the side as the brush drew slow circles over his belly with the circumference of every stroke getting smaller and smaller until the vibrating head of the toothbrush dipped into his navel. "Shit shihihihit! Stohahahahahop! No no, waaahahahat are yoo-hoou doing?! Ahahhahaha!" The reported squeezed his eyes shut as he laughed his head off through the overwhelming feelings of the brush traveling up his sensitive side.

"But Eddie, we need to make sure you're squeaky clean. Every nook and cranny needs our attention," Venom teased while he swept the toothbrush slowly between the spaces of each rib as Eddie cackled and jerked his body like a beached fish.

He hated when Venom found ways to use his own words against him.

"You pretentious asshohohole! Oh fuhuhuck! Holy fuck, not there!! No please, dont don't doh-OHOHAHAHAHAAHAAHAA!!" Eddie squirmed with all his might, straining to pull his arms free and wishing he could sink down into the floor and disappear as the unorthodox torture device swirled deep into the crater of his left armpit.

"Stahahahap it!! Noooahahahahahaa!! Gehehet outta my pihihihit!!"

"Ok ok, we will get out of your pit," the alien said as the brush shut off and was removed from the tender area. Venom's smirk should've told Eddie that this wasn't over, but the man was being a bit naive and had started to relax. "Besides, you have another one!"

Eddie was still too busy trying to catch his breath to protest, but the panic in his eyes said it all as the toothbrush came alive again and whirled around under his right arm this time.

"Aaahahahah!! Hahahahahaha-nooooo!! Fuhuhuhucker!! Yoohoohoooou suhuhuhuck!!"

"On the contrary we do not 'suck', but we can do this...."

The long tongue flowed out and began to drag repeatedly over Eddie's bare belly, coaxing the tears from his eyes as he laughed insanely and kicked his feet against the ground. It slowly licked up his side, pushing his t-shirt up until it was right back into his other armpit to enthusiastically lap at the sensitive skin.

"Baahahahaah quihihihihit iiiiit!! B-Bad symbiote! Baahaad symbiote!! No lihihihicking!! Yoo-hou sick fuhuhuck!! Thaahaat's naahaasty-eehehehehee!!" "We forgot what a little bitch you could be, Eddie. Of course we know how to make you really cry like a baby," the symbiote's teeth gleamed as he grinned as wide as possible and began moving down Eddie's legs, wrapping them together with his black goo in the process to keep him from kicking out.

The seemingly disembodied head was now facing the bare soles of his host that were madly twitching as Eddie tried to free himself. "What have we here?" Venom grinned evilly and drew out a high-pitched squeal as his tongue licked up the bottom of a lethally ticklish foot, "Ohh so many nerves in such a small area. Maybe we can scrub them all away?" Eddie's eyes widened as he heard the buzzing sound of the toothbrush being activated once again. "No wait, just wait a minute! I said waaAAHAAHAAHAHAHA!!"

The feeling of the stiff bristles twirling around in the sensitive lengths of his arches made Eddie nearly hit the roof. His mouth opened wide as he laughed at the top of his lungs with his entire body thrashing in vain to break free of the gooey restraints. "Staahahaahaahaahahahap Vehehehehenom!! Thaahaahaat's the wohohohorst spohahahahaaat!!"

"Oh Eddie, you say that no matter where you're tickled," Venom smirked as he spread apart the man's toes one by one so the brush could work it's spinning magic on the extremely tender spaces, making Eddie screech like a little kid. "AHEEHEEHEEHAHAhahahaaha!! I t-taahaake it baahaahaaack!! TH-THAAHAAHAAAT'S the wohorst spooooooot!!" "Like we haven't heard that before." As he continued to zig zag the brush all across the bottom of one foot he then began to teasingly flick his tongue on the squirming sole of the other foot to double poor Eddie's torment. "HOHOLY SHIHIHIHIIIIT!! GAAHAHAHAAHAH!! I-I SAHAHAHAHAID NO-HO LICKIIIHEEHEEHEEENG!!" "Yes, you did. But when have we ever listened to you?" Venom's grin grew as his tongue stroked beneath the pads of the wriggling toes; the slight roughness of the dexterous muscle causing an extreme tickling sensation that Eddie couldn't stand. "AHAHAHAHA EHEEHEHAHAHAHAHA!! ENOHOHOHOUGH!! PLEEHEEHEEASE!! OKAAHAAY!! THE TOOHOOHOOTHBRU-BRUHUHUSH WAHAS N-NOHAHAHOT YOHOUR REEHEEHEAL PREHEHESENT!"

Venom withdrew his tongue for the moment to look curiously at his friend, though the toothbrush continued it's reign of terror. "What does that mean 'not our real present'?"

"Ihihit wahahas a johohohohoke!! I woohoohoo...!! I wouldn't do-hoo thaahaahaahaaat to yahahaha!!"

All tickling finally stopped and Eddie tried to compose himself through his residual giggles as the alien looked back at him in wonder.

"So you did get us something else?"

The symbiote's smile grew. He hadn't been truly upset at thinking the gag gift was his real present, but he was glad to know that Eddie had taken this more seriously than he originally thought. "Venom it's your first Christmas, of course I got ya something that matters. Just please....for the love of GOD, get that thing away from my feet," he laughed nervously as he nodded down at the toothbrush that was still buzzing away within inches of his cringing toes.

With the flick of a tentacle the toothbrush was shut off while at the same time gently releasing Eddie from his bonds. As he sat up he saw that Venom had shifted into his humanoid form as the alien handed over the hygienic device in good gesture to the blushing man. "Well that really backfired on me, didn't it?" Eddie laughed as he threw the toothbrush as hard as he could at the wall so that it exploded into several pieces of broken satisfaction upon impact, "Now just gimme a second here..." He then crawled over to the tree and reached into the very back behind his recliner chair and pulled out a box that Venom hadn't noticed before. Brushing the pine needles off that had fallen onto him in the process he turned and handed the package to his friend. "Here's your real present, dude. Don't think you'll end up tickle torturing me after this one," Eddie chuckled as Venom narrowed his eyes teasingly and took the box from his hands. "We will see, won't we?" Immediately he began to rip open the wrapping paper until it was all removed before cutting open the tape holding the box closed. Inside was tissue paper and more tissue paper as he dug to the bottom to find what Eddie had wrapped so meticulously. There he saw that it was some kind of framed document as Venom curiously pulled it out of the box and began to read. After absorbing the words he then looked up at Eddie with astonishment in his eyes as the man gave a small smile and nodded. "Yeah. I'm serious, buddy."

Venom then looked back at the frame and began to read it out-loud. "This is to certify that Venom has been formally adopted into the Brock family by Eddie Brock, and has agreed to hold and keep safe this symbiote forever in a loving home. He is entitled to all the rights and privileges there is as......a brother," Venom choked the last part out and Eddie saw something in his eyes that he had never seen before. "Just wanted you to know that you've always got a family with me, Venom. I mean, the papers aren't official obviously 'cause I don't think they allow you to adopt anything other than another human, but I thought you'd still appreciate it and...."

Eddie was cut off as Venom grabbed him into a tight hug, nearly smothering him as he held him against his chest.

"Th-Thank you, Eddie! Thank you! This means so much to us! We will love Eddie forever, and protect him with our very life! He is our brother, and we will never let anything bad happen to him ever again!"

Eddie laughed gently as he reassuringly patted him on the back. "I love you too, man. You know as crazy as it may sound, besides Anne, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." "We will always have your back, Eddie. You will never feel alone again. If you're cold we will keep you warm. If you're hurt we will heal you. If you're sad we will make you laugh. You won't have to worry about a thing, Eddie! We'll take care of you!"

He lifted the man off the floor in his excitement as he gave enthusiastic licks to his face, making Eddie giggle as he strained his neck and tried to push him away.

"Heeheehe, dude, that tickles! Okaahaay, I get it! You're welcome! You're welcome!!"

Reluctantly Venom set him down, though he was unable to wipe the sharp-toothed grin from his face. After a moment Eddie cleared his throat as he then glanced over at their Christmas tree. "So uhh...," the reporter nodded to the last package underneath the tree, "That for me?"

Venom suddenly lost his grin as he looked over at the crudely wrapped gift. He knew Eddie wouldn't judge his wrapping technique being that it was his first time attempting such a thing, but for some reason he still stared at it with guilt.

"Yes, but..."

"But what?" Venom picked up the small package and held it away from him. "No, just forget it. It's stupid in comparison to what you've just given us."

"Ahh c'mon, Venom. Whatever it is I'm sure I'll love it."

Venom hesitated for a few long moments before finally handing it over to him, and then changing back into his serpent form in his anxious state. Eddie chuckled lightly as he tried to make sense of the excessive amount of tape covering the wrapping paper before finally pulling out a pocket knife and slicing away. Venom fidgeted and watched nervously during the whole process.

Finally Eddie got through the wrapping paper and reached the box, opening it as he peeked inside. He smirked as he reached in and pulled out a ceramic coffee mug, turning it over and glancing at the inscription on the side.

"World's Best Human Host," he smiled as he read it outloud, "You actually had them make this for me?"

Venom nodded apprehensively, though perking up at seeing that Eddie showed no signs of disappointment.

"I love it, man."

Venom's grin instantly returned upon hearing those words. "You...You do?" "Yeah, I really do. This is the best gift I've gotten in a long time, and I'm gonna use it every morning from now on. See? I'm gonna put it right here where everyone can see it," he said as he walked over and placed it on the counter next to his coffee maker.

Venom beamed happily, knowing that Eddie liked it, and put it where it could be shown off to everyone. He quickly crawled over, making Eddie giggle as he slithered up around his body until he was splayed across his shoulders. He adoringly rubbed his head against Eddie's, making a purring noise in the process.

"Thanks, Eddie. We're so happy right now."

"Me too, buddy. I love both the gifts you've given me."

Venom paused and his head craned around to look Eddie directly in the face as he cocked it to the side in confusion.

"Both? But...we only gave you the one thing."

Eddie chuckled and shook his head, knowing full well that the symbiote had no idea what he was talking about. "You gave me a lot more than that, Venom. You gave me your friendship at a time in my life when I needed it most, and I'll never forget that. I meant what I said, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He pulled Venom's head against his in a warm embrace as he stroked underneath his chin, making the symbiote alien glow with affection. "Same here, Eddie. Same here."<3

[cartoonlonk]

The Lonk breakdown

HEAD

FACE SHAPE: Big and round, very baby faced. CHEEKS: Chubby, the one place people enjoy playing with the most ( be it pinching, squishing, poking or even pulling ) CHEEKBONES: Not very visible due to his chubby cheeks. Jawline is lined perfectly. LIPS: Thin and in the shape of cupid’s bow. At times, it becomes cat-like when he smiles. They’re soft and lightly dusted in a pink hue SKIN COLOR: Tanned but not too tanned, he has an olive glow to him SKIN TYPE: Soft due to the amount of lotion he has grown accustom to wearing to ward off the pesky sun. EYE SHAPE: To describe them simply, cat-like would be an overused but accurate term. they’re wide and slightly slanted; one could say that they almost appear to glow in the dark. perhaps, but it’s only a speculation. his pupils are sharp and ovacular, his irises are big and knowing.  EYE COLOR: They lack color, dark as the night—Twilight colored if you will, it is most likely due to genetics and how the lighter the eyes are, the harder it is too see out in the sun. Despite this, they tend to shimmer with life and energy. EYEBROW SHAPE: Thick, they take up most of his forehead. They’re bolded to the ends closer his ears but as they arch over to his nose. As someone who enjoys saying very little, his eyebrows are the the things he goes to on how to express his feelings.  EYEBROW COLOR: Black EYELASHES: More pronounced than what his character model displays. It makes his eyes look bigger too. NOSE SHAPE: Short and round. Easily to be depicted as pig-like HAIR TEXTURE: It is generally messy and he rarely ever brushes because he’s 1) lazy and 2) doesn’t exactly see the point in doing his hair ( he travels the great sea with a bedhead). He DOES wash, but with little access to running freshwater ( or clean water, for that matter ), it’s salt water, which explains why he constantly smells like the beach and why his hair is all rough ( the salt crystals cling to his hair–– -it’s just a grainy, sticky mess ). If he did ever get the chance to wash up properly ( whenever that will be ) then his hair is extremely soft. He likes to use watermelon scented shampoo. HAIR COLOR: blonde, almost rivaling the sun. HAIR LENGTH: Short, though his bangs cover his eyes at times and his sideburns reach down to his shoulders. When wet, the rest of his hair reaches to his shoulders as well. EARS: Long, pointy, they flop, twitch and wiggle with his emotions. That said, they have great hearing; better than a human’s but no better than a dog’s. This also means they’re highly sensitive to touch especially.

UPPER BODY

SHOULDERS: Normal?? They meet his ears at the middle, not bulky at all. ARMS: Short and slender, they have a few scars that are hard to see here and there. STOMACH AREA: it’s thin but also chubby(?), for multiple reasons. before you picture him as a walking toothpick: around his abdomen, he is still sorta squishy because of some leftover milk-fat. It didn’t quite die out because he never really exerted himself physically daily while he was growing up on outset, so of course he’s still very soft around some parts of his body. very ticklish. do not engage WAIST: Slender and feminine like his shoulders. Hands enjoy resting there to pull off sassy remarks and gestures LOVE HANDLES: — CHEST / BREASTS: He’s going through growing pains at this age in his chest area but this is not at all noticeable. He wears bondage around his chest  BACK: Normal posture, though he sometimes slouches due to how much heavy weaponry he carries or if he’s just sleepy. Has a scar that drags from the middle to his side. This had killed him but he had a fairy around to revive him from the dead HAND SIZE: small and somewhat delicate, concerning that he is still but a growing child–– -however, they’re a bit calloused around the top half of his palm and the mid of his fingers ( especially his left hand ) because of rough play ( adventuring business: climbing, hitting things, holding his sword–– -you name it ). nonetheless they’re quite soft and he likes holding hands with people a lot.

LOWER BODY

HIPS: Feminine like, fun to sway them when he’s feeling sassy. BOTTOM: Squishy?? SURE?? A fun pillow THIGHS: ?? IDK. They’re slightly toned  CALVES: Slender and has a bit of muscle due to his constant running around LEG LENGTH: Short

OTHER

BODY HAIR: he hasn’t grown it yet SCENT: something reminiscent of the ocean–– -sea salt and ocean water, most of the time, fruity too, since he loves to eat tropical foods. HAND NAILS: short, sometimes dirty TOENAILS: short VOICE: Childish and kinda on the boyish side. Squeaky HEIGHT: 4′8′’   ( 144.5 cm ) PIERCINGS: N/A and will never get any since he know his ears are sensitive TATTOOS: N/A WEIGHT: 84lbs BRA SIZE: --- SHOE SIZE: Bruh idk his feet are fucking tiny. PREFERRED CHOICE OF SHOES: nearly worn-out boots that have been soaked in the sea numerous times, but they’ll keep you going. Also WTF ARE SHOE LACES? CLOTHING STYLE: blue for the oceans that you used to know nothing about, taken and replaced with the green of fields to honor your predecessors, unknowingly. wearing these clothes fill you with courage and determination. GENERAL BODY SHAPE: link is really fucking short, and i’m not even being blunt. he’s that short–– -four feet, eight inches of fury ( if i really wanted to analyze the models, he’d be about two or three feet ). from the beginning of wind waker to the beginning of phantom hourglass, he grows only about an inch or so more. because he averages a meager four hours of sleep a day on average, he doesn’t really have the energy to grow. And while his height makes for a disadvantage ( it’s quite pathetic ), he often has to use his entire body’s strength to make up for the distance ( jumping and catching high ledges for example ) and he becomes pretty adept to overcoming obstacles with his physical abilities. he’s pretty fit and athletic, but not toned or at all muscular because of his body is still premature.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 9

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 9: Feeling Are Illogical

This has been quite the peculiar day.

First in the matter of its abnormality was that my two most frequent sentries, who have been silent as death in their vigil since my arrival, had become unnervingly unconcerned with the danger their job entailed – guarding me, the most harrowing thing – and were now seeing fit to chat between themselves like a pair of irritating school children standing in a lunch line. I did not care to learn their names, I did not care to hear their conversation, and I did not care to let them know how much their inattentiveness irked me. Comfortableness leads to error, after all. So I retreated to the far corner of my cushioned cell in its limited refuge.

I stayed in that position for so long that I lost track of time and forgot myself and my surroundings, feeling instead the tug of the subconscious and falling into the depths of my ingenuity. I was still aware of any changes in the physical world, but for all intents and purposes I was not actually there. If not for the damned collar around my neck, it would have become a literal thing as well.

When I came back to myself some hours later, it was to find dear Dr. Flug conversing with my jailors in abhorrent chumminess. It was enough to bring an angry tint to my eye that the psychiatrist must have noticed, because he turned in that moment and we made eye contact. I knew he had been discussing me – it was written all over his sagged, sacked face. I joined the little powwow in my own terms and learned exactly what was going on.

My anomaly proceeded to surprise me yet again, demanding my attention and my word. Such a manner of action I would normally perceive as rude and unbecoming, but on his visage it could almost be considered brave. It was enough to intrigue me, and when he correctly guessed that I was indeed a creature of my word, it pleased me for reasons I could not immediately distinguish.

His disgusting, syrupy smile threw me off even more so, and I was forced to retreat again, defeated even as my opponent failed to realize his participation. I loathed and luxuriated in the feelings it brought and gnashed my teeth at the troublesome contradictions.

Now, the complexities of language have always been one of the few aspects of culture I can truthfully say I appreciate from the unfortunately domineering species on this planet. Metaphors, word plays, and related nuances are especially interesting to watch as they change and develop over the decades. Some, of course, are less interesting than others. I’m not particularly fond of the phrase ‘it never ceases to amaze me’ yet am often amused by it, because humans as a whole have such pathetic minds that it’s no wonder they are constantly in awe of the things they can’t grasp – which is quite the multitude, I can assure you.

Occasionally I am forced to concede the usefulness of phrases such as that one, and this was one of those instances. Dr. Flug Slys had so far exceeded every expectation, sidestepped almost every snare, and caused contradictions that I very rarely experience from humans. I hated that, hated how I have been unable to read him so readily as I have so many others. That wasn’t even mentioning his darkness, which I still had yet to fully pinpoint and desired to know every juicy morsel about it. It was thrilling and perplexing and altogether something I was not used to.

‘Not used to’ was not a sentence I have needed to use to refer to myself in a very, very long time.

The day took an abrupt turn after that to territory resembling a circus act, if I may be frank. A group of medical doctors came to my hallway corner, accompanied by Flug who buzzed around as a dumb little busy bee. They all fretted and fussed over a giant blue bear wearing a fitted green sweater, of all things. It was downright deplorable.

Just as my psychiatrist had informed me, this pitiful excuse for an inmate was ushered into a neighboring padded room and I took the risk of inching along one wall to obtain a better look at the procession. Flug was wrapped in the bear’s gigantic arms, whispering his psychologist promises and making a fool of himself, but the others did not seem to notice or mind it. Infuriating.

Most of the physicians gave mumbled opinions and medical babble and were content enough to leave mere minutes after their source of scrutiny was successfully stuck in its cell. A few were stupid enough to look in the direction of my window, but I knew they couldn’t see me. Lights of all kinds – electrical, oil, fluorescent, it didn’t matter – would always malfunction in periods of long exposure to my presence, and at nearly five days these ones were too far gone to recover.

It took far too long, but eventually the only ones left were the bear, Flug, and my two barely-vigilant but ever-present security force. The new inmate gurgled in some vague semblance of sanity and speech and I could feel my lips curl involuntarily in disgust. But I had told Dr. Flug that I would not provoke unless made to do so, and I am a fiend of my word.

My psychiatrist finally spoke words that no longer dripped sickening honey, and it perked me into giving my attention.

“It’ll only be for a-a little while, okay? No longer than two weeks, your doctor promised me. Look, I even brought all your toys and things, see? We can arrange them later or play with them if you’d like.”

The bear sat despondently in his room, unwilling to let go of Flug even as the doctor attempted to bring his gaze towards some stuffed animal. I scoffed at the sight and received an actual, heated glare from my anomaly. He was growing balls yet again.

“Okay, 505, I need you to listen carefully. There’s another patient i-in that room over there, see that? No, I know you can’t see him in the dark, I can’t see him right now either but he’s there, okay? Now he’s my newest patient, the one you smelled earlier – easy! It’s alright, he’s not gonna hurt you!”

I flicked one eyebrow up in unconcerned enjoyment as Flug tried unsuccessfully to keep his giant, heavy, struggling bear from knocking over his sad little painting canvas. They didn’t so much wrestle but awkwardly fumbled around, one having the sensible goal to get as far away from my room as possible and the other trying to hold him. I decided I’d help things along.

“Perhaps there is something I could do, dear doctor?”

The instant freeze-up from patient and guardian was downright hilarious. I stepped again to my window and offered my most winning smile. The bear, 505 as he seemed to be called, gave a lovely little whimper and became as still as a hunted deer. Flug expressed the further growth of his distasteful disrespect by planting himself in front of the creature and crossing his arms.

“I thought we p-promised you wouldn’t mess with him.”

Saying ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – a common trope most used to avoid blame or individual responsibility. I had the distinct notion he frequented this phrase far too often.

“Why, Dr. Flug, we did indeed, but I am not ‘messing with him’ as you so crudely imply. I am simply offering my services in your patient’s readjustment. Surely there is something I can do?”

“N-No thank you.” My psychiatrist clenched his teeth in a wonderful grating of bone and turned his back – turned his back on me! – in order to give his full attention to the sniffling bear. “505, it’s really okay. I asked him to leave you a-alone and he will, I promise. There are cameras up here and he can’t get out –”

“Don’t bet your life on that, Flug.”

“…He can’t get out and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll visit every single day instead of every two, and we’ll do finger painting tomorrow just like I said we would. Alright?”

505 had enough instinct to keep his bulging eyes on me even as he nodded. They hugged, a long and nauseating process, and then Dr. Flug removed himself from the room, closing the door. I could no longer see the bear and would have to move my position to do so, but instead I remained where I was as my psychiatrist marched up to my window with a squeaky little hiss.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I’m standing here, Doctor.”

“You know e-exactly what I mean,” he took ahold of his headwear and tugged at it none too gently. “I had your, your word. You said you’d leave h-him alone.”

“So I did.” I made an observation of his body language, having never encountered it before. Angry bag creases around the goggles, which itself was doing nothing to mute the furious betrayal in his eyes. He was rigid – a common occurrence but the foreign emotions were adding a layer of fight to his stance instead of the usual flight. His fists were trembling only just.

I narrowed my eyes in contemplation of what these changes looked like on my doctor and what I thought of it. He was still glaring at me expectantly, so I threw him a proverbial bone.

“I was simply offering my assistance, Dr. Slys. I have never gone against my word and I have no plans on doing so now. I will leave your 505 alone so long as he leaves me be in return.”

“But you – he w-wasn’t – fine. Just, fine. I’ve g-got enough to worry about right now, I won’t p-poke the hornet’s nest.” He pressed the palms of his hands against his goggles, pushing them into his face. No doubt that was very painful.

“An excellent idea, Doctor. I’ll pass your courteousness along to the hornets.”

Flug shook his head in disbelief and took one last measured glance at the bear, who was peeking carefully out of his barred window. They waved pitifully at each other before the psychiatrist left, and I kept my eyes on him for as long as I was able. My guards trotted along dutifully after him, my guess to gossip.

This 505 character had his terrified gaze on me and I felt all my previous irritation return full force. I gave him a clear look of distain and he whined and shuffled but did not hide. I raised an eyebrow.

“It appears we are at an impasse, bear.” I lounged lazily against my door. “I cannot provoke you without due cause, and although your mere presence is quite vexing you haven’t actually done anything to warrant my aggression. At least, not according to our dear doctor.”

The bear made a noise that I suppose could technically be classified as speech. It was barbaric, but easy enough to decipher.

“Because he asked me not to, and I vowed to him that I would not. Is that really so hard to believe, bear?”

There was a reply that told me in no uncertain terms that yes, it was very hard to believe. He sniffed the air and shuddered, providing another topic for the pointless conversation.

“So you can smell me? That isn’t uncommon among animals. I have a magnetic presence to many species.” Except humans – the dense, ignorant whelps that they were. “What of it?”

‘Why doctor smell like you?’

“I am his patient, bear, same as you. We don’t participate in…infernal displays of affection as unprofessional as you displayed earlier, but I have reminded him of his place. Surely you have noticed his limp from days ago?”

‘Dark spot,’ the bear looked down at himself. I could see only to his neck and assumed he was referring to his chest or stomach.

“Dark spot? Do you mean a bruise?” The affirming nod made me chuckle. “Yes, that would be my mark. I have not seen it, personally, and I’m surprised you had that chance. Flug seems rather prude. What was the coloring?”

My unwanted neighbor grimaced and pointed at me. It took me but a moment to realize.

“A black bruise? Oh, how wonderfully nasty.” I tilted my head as the bear swallowed nervously and fidgeted. He seemed to share some traits with his care provider. “I can’t help but notice you are not restrained as I am. How have you managed that, bear?”

Shoulders shrugging and befuddled blinking were my answer. It set a bothersome twinge of jealousy into the brim of my hat, but I supposed it made sense. This thing was no danger to anyone. If I was being begrudgingly honest, he really didn’t belong in this place, either.

I wondered if Flug shared a similar thought.

“Bear, I have another question.” He shook in place and it made me roll my eyes. “Come off it, I am only keeping up our small chat as a matter of necessity. I do not have the privileges to pass the time as you seem to.”

This we seemed to agree on, at least, because the patient unfurled himself just a little and responded fairly less hesitantly. ‘What?’

“What do you think of your doctor?”

‘Oh,’ he cocked his big fluffy head at me, almost enough to trigger my gag reflex. ‘Good doctor, friend. Helps me. Plays with me. Best friend!’ This statement was topped off with a horrendously cheerful, dimpled smile that had me flexing my claws within their confines. My accursed collar beeped at me in warning.

“Is that all? Just shallow, silly things?” I started to turn away, feeling like I had wasted time even in its abundance.

‘Broken. Like me.’

I stopped short and snapped my neck around to meet his gaze. I was so startled that I didn’t take pleasure in the bear’s wince from the sound of cracking bones. He looked very unsettled at my change in attitude but I cared very little to keep up appearances with this morsel of information just beyond my reach.

“What do you mean, broken.” It was expected of him, demanded of him, and he knew it.

‘Ah, ah…’ the patient tucked his snout just below the window, to where I could not see his mouth. ‘I’m broken. Hurt. Hurt by people. Hurt by –’ the bear cut himself off and started whining nonsensically. I recognized the signs of distress and was forced to back down in remembrance of my promise to my doctor.

“Goddamn it.” It took every ounce of willpower I had to step away from my door, but I did it successfully and sild down against the wall, crossing my legs and listening to the cursed bear whine and whimper and slowly come back to himself.

I waited until there was definite silence from his side before I returned to my feet and peered out the window. I could see about half of the bear, laying on the floor and cuddling pathetically with a stuffed purple whale.

Every time I learned something about Dr. Flug, it only seemed to lead to more questions. He had a delicious sort of darkness, and from what I gathered was very protective of his inmates to the point of gaining a rare expression of bravery. There was little doubt he would go to great lengths for the bear, if not all of his patients. It made me wonder whether he’d extend that protectiveness to my person.

He was also apparently ‘broken’, but in what way and how much remained to be seen. It frustrated me greatly, forced to watch my words and my actions in this horrible prison when all I wanted to do was take.

That bear was a nuisance. He was a nuisance even before he arrived, for causing my confrontation with my doctor and making Flug act the way he did, the root of my bemusing contradictions. The bear was even more of a nuisance now that I knew he had such valuable information but could crack so easily. I would have to tread very carefully to get what I desired.

One thing was undoubtable however – this patient was more useful to me than I first thought. How useful exactly was the question, but the feeling in what passed as my ‘gut’ told me it was very, very much so.  And it all revolved around one solitary little twig of a human who hid his identity behind paper and seemed just as breakable.

A most peculiar day indeed.

Just a few more chapters and I’ll be all caught up, hooray! 

[stormears]

KatsuDeku Fic Snippet

Hi. I’m passing out free samples of KatsuDeku fic. Big sample. 6,000-word sample. I hope some of you will read and tell me how I’ve done so far. Never written for this fandom before. This will be on A03 eventually. 

Super abridged context: Izuku never manifested a quirk and Bakugou went to Yuuei without him. Haven’t seen each other in 4 years. (They are 19ish?) Vague apocalypse and sickness occurred the past year or two. Survivors of the sickness became alphas, betas and omegas because fuck you. Bakugou survived to become alpha and finds Izuku in the middle of nowhere. He’s apparently not diseased/changed into any dynamic, evasive about what he is doing there and whether he’s even quirkless. Bakugou wants to apologize. Izuku wants to leave. 

Or, canon-divergent AU, omegaverse, post-apocalypse, drama, hurt/comfort and relationship rebuilding/fixing because I WANT ALL OF THAT. There’s gonna be an evenly matched alpha-vs-omega fight scene which is what I am all about.

They fell down together and almost in tandem. Wild rickles of their blood were shooting vertically up as they went down. Rocks hit his head and his legs as he went. Their movement blocked and blurred and revealed light at such a speed that it stung his eyes. He felt the wind and fear and that ache in his eyes. Then he hit ground and the impact shocked him.

The ground pushed into him when he hit it like it held a grudge and wanted him to hurt. He was trained for worse pain than this, and he was a king now, but his body wasn’t responding well. The strength of that grudge had crushed something in him. A muscle pulled too taut, or a cracked bone that he couldn’t feel yet. Pain. Pain. Not enough pain to stop him. But the sight of the stranger who’d fallen in with him had stopped him. He panted, he shuddered, he saw glimpses in the corners of his eyes of years-old nightmares.

His hero’s mask had been pushed slightly askew and his eyes were opening wider than the eye holes would allow, so his view of the other boy across the cave floor was being ringed by quivering, vibrating black.

The other boy had a name but he didn’t dare think what it was. He didn’t dare touch it. That name in his head was decorated and dirtied and covered in fingerprints and now it was poisonous. A long inhale brought a sharp, hateful stinging sensation to his left shoulder and abdomen, the side he’d landed on. He sank whole torso in that direction, taking the pain, pushing his attention into it. Hurt, hurt, fucking hurt.

With his better arm he reached to the left one to detach the grenade gauntlet. In a minute he’d get around to pulling his hand out of it so its weight wasn’t dragging on his wrecked arm, he told himself, but he was a weak liar. Now the gauntlet sat unlocked and loose on his forearm, but attention was thirty or forty feet forward, by the cave wall. A body had smacked against that wall and slid the last few feet down to land there. But it was already moving.

It was the other victim of the sudden ambush aboveground. A shadow had blasted into his view from the side, green-black in color and running hard and swift along the ground like a sprinting rabbit. The rabbit didn’t flee, but attacked: it leaped towards one of the nearby lumbering creatures like a predator would. The mindless creature was shoved into the ground and broke its body against concrete and dirt like the touch of the shadow was a living gunshot.

From afar it was clear that he hit was a bone-breaking force, and he didn’t recognize the sight of it. It was an enemy taking his prey from his territory. He had bared his teeth, prepared to attack with bits of the monster’s broken teeth still lodged in his abdomen, but then lowered his lips. The shape, he knew it. He knew that person. It made no sense. The professional man and the beast in him were both unable to react. And then the monster holding him in its mouth let go, and the ground collapsed, and then they both fell.

Now the shadow was motionless, stripped from a deadly gunshot to an empty gun. Rocks had filled in most of the hole above and left scattered beams of sunset light for them to see by down here. It was enough to display the shadow as being definitely green, a dark shade like ferns and forests. A color that did not belong here. But for the alphas defending the coast, there was no life left here. Nothing unburnt. The green was something that was alive, but it was also something that in its previous human life might have been a professional hero. For all the variety in style and material seen in the old industry, the aesthetic was unmistakable. There weren’t as many people wearing such clothes as there used to be. And he didn’t know who it was. The stranger was a threat. Till now. Now he was almost pulling away.

The body was moving. His pupils dilated and his breath drained out in a long gasp that the cave amplified and echoed. The sound of his own awe was foreign.

The body was still alive and functional even after such a hard fall. Perhaps it would try to stand up. And see him. And speak to him. His body jerked to the side as though jabbed with a prod because some part of him absolutely did not want to do that. That he would be so weak was fucking pathetic. To be conquered by fear was not for him. The pain of the fall, the confusion of this thing in front of him, it wouldn’t stop him. Not even him.

He would stand first and speak first, he thought, and get ahead of this. Even after he recognized who he was looking at, he knew the threat was great. The threat of what he might find if he walked closer was greater than what was above the ground even now. This one was digging underneath his skin. Bakugou Katsuki was a king, the owner of what remained of this region, and he would not be threatened.

This surety filled him in an instant. It swept through the cold dread that held him and he rose up like he always did, not unhurt, but unstoppable. He hissed his breath through clenched teeth and pebbles were brushed aside by his breath. His good hand slapped down onto the ground and he pushed himself up. The grenade gauntlet on his left arm fell off easily, and he cared nothing for the right one, so left it on. The green shadow-man was still face-down on the cave floor, his hands slowly gathering underneath him that he might push himself up in a bit. But his face was still hidden, so it didn’t matter.

Bakugou crossed the cave floor in slower steps than he expected. His legs were taking his commands only lazily. He tightened his core muscles in an exaggerated fashion to keep his torso from leaning in absurd directions. The bite from that bird creature minutes ago had done something to him. Maybe in its past life as a person, its bite was poison, or sleep-inducing. A minor explosion from one palm had flattened it into a meaty smear just before he’d fallen.

He crossed the final distance separating him from the face-down shadow. Only by seeing with his own eyes would he know if this really was him, or a copy or a fake, some stranger. If it was, he would flatten the bones in their face for daring to toy with him. If this was a fake, an enemy attempting impersonation, then it wouldn’t live. He would drop the body outside, where its pack would find it and get a good idea of what happens when people fucked with him.

The shadow-man was alive and would get up soon. Bakugou perked his ears to listen to the noises he was making: the jagged, on-and-off gasps that meant painful breathing, wet inhales from blood in his throat. Getting closer and closer, passing the edge of one of the shafts of light, he saw more colors. A green outfit and green hair, very thick, flopping into the shadow’s eyes. His face was still turned down and out of his view. The shadow dared to hide from him

Bakugou was close enough to see him shivering with effort, pulling at reserves of strength that were empty to try and stand up. He attacked.

He kicked out at the fragile left shoulder and it shoved him onto his side. It still left his head bowed and hanging, out of his sight, and he made no noise at all, so he kicked again. It nearly made Bakugou fall over. But with this hit, the enemy’s head and shoulders were knocked upwards and against the wall behind him. It turned his face towards him. The thump of him hitting the wall was pleasing. He brought out a second thump by dropping his boot down hard onto the exposed chest, to plant him there and see him better.

“Who the hell are you,” he barked, even though he was nearly sure he knew. There was still time for it to be an unfortunate lookalike. It was not.

It was not someone with a resemblance to him. It was him, an unsettling, dreamlike, almost too-optimistic older version of a child he hadn’t spoken to in years. Deku was a quirkless boy made up of squeaky awkwardness and twig limbs and big eyes that made schoolchildren salivate at the chance to shove and insult him. This person was slim and freckled and still pinned under his foot, but he wore an alien expression of defiance that Deku had never worn. He had a hard, tense body that had experienced some physical training that Deku had never done. He wore a hero’s outfit that Deku had never worn and he was not limply cowing under Bakugou’s glare or his heel.

Looking up at him, did he look just as alien? The change that had occurred in a child called Bakugou Katsuki hadn’t altered him, only intensified what was already there. He was dressed in hazardous colors: black, orange, green, exactly what his younger self had dreamed about. His younger self had dreamed of being tall and muscled and unstoppable, and he was. The soles of his boots could grind and the metal knee guards he wore could crack bones, and he had. He radiated hostility like a man who would use his new status to demand compliance, because he did. From childhood and even till now, Bakugou was mostly what he seemed to be.  

For a few seconds, the rabbit-runner trapped under his foot had his gloved hands fisted in the dirt and rubble bits beneath him, not even trying to remove the pressure of the boot on his chest. His legs twitched, maybe kicked, minutely. Like he didn’t know what to do. His outfit had smears of dust, one of the sleeves torn elbow to wrist. A scar was underneath. His face was Deku’s face. Izuku Midoriya’s face. Absolutely.

Bakugou leaned a little closer. He was fascinated. He was unsure. The scent that came up towards him was plain sweat and no had signal to it.

No signal. Like people had been before the sickness. A trick?

But for now, somehow, he put that oddity aside. He saw pictures of a child named Izuku in his mind. He saw the constant smiles and the wailing and saw him in his house, his school, trailing in his wake with pilotfish instinct. Everywhere. He remembered. All of it. He wanted to speak.  

He said the name exploding in his mind right now: “Deku.”

Deku, no impostor, living and breathing right below him, took in a deep breath. It made his chest and the boot on top of it both lift up a little bit. Proof of life. For a moment, he did not say anything or acknowledge that a king had spoken to him. Bakugou waited.

He took in another breath. One of his hands moved backwards a little, the fingers unclenched. “Y…Yes. It’s me. I…I didn’t know you were alive.”

It was his voice. His face, his scent, and his voice. Midoriya Izuku had been abandoned at least four years ago, hadn’t been around him since their voices were cracking in middle school. But he was here now.

“I saw you on TV last year,” he said, and took a heavy inhale. “You’re still here. Oh. I’m glad you’re okay.”

The confusion was starting to eat him already, so he spat it out. “What. Are you doing here.” He pressed his boot harder. His heart was beating faster. “Did you actually leave a sanctuary zone?”

“I, um. Yes,” he replied. Another inhale. “I volunteered. I went with a pro. We’re meeting south of here.” He had the voice of earnestness that he always had, and of prey. Unease was seeping from him. It had chipped at the strength of his glare from before. Curious, the alpha tried his scent again. And then a third time. He found—nothing.

It gave him pause. It made him try again and taste the air with nose and mouth both. He watched Deku’s movement’s for signs and leaned a little closer to take a better scent. Deku communicated by puling back his head a little and a funny pursing of his lips that he did not like this. But he didn’t communicate it with scent, or with posture or teeth. He had none of it. He smelled like sweat and green grass. Nothing else.

Bakugou’s mouth was parted in something like awe, again. “Have you changed?” He asked, even though he almost knew the answer.

Immediately, he replied, “I haven’t.” But he didn’t explain any further than that, so Bakugou pressed.

“What symptoms do you have? What dynamic do you feel? You don’t smell like a damn thing. What happened to you?” Deku looked like he was going to reply to at least one of these things, but he didn’t even let him. “You don’t have the disease, do you?”

After one hard breath, he replied quietly, “No. I don’t.”

Alive but not diseased. There was no such thing anymore. “How?”

“I don’t know.” Deku stated in a clear voice that perhaps was even authoritative. “I’ve been exposed as much as anyone else has. When it was first happening I did stay indoors. But that doesn’t guarantee anything. Of course. But I never had any symptoms, even though I was watching for them. Not even the stomach pain.”

“So you made it this long by staying indoors? Hiding?” he replied with a grin. That rang true to the cringing little child Izuku. The one he stepped on. He frowned.

“That’s not true, I never hid. Through any of it.” Deku stated. He met the alpha’s eyes and his voice was so strangely clear and sure, but the rest of him wasn’t. His hands still twitched in the gravel by his sides and refused to lay a hand on Bakugou’s foot as though he feared to touch him. Bakugou searched for some awareness in his eyes of that mismatch, but there wasn’t any.  

Deku added, “I’ve been outside a lot. There’s been plenty of chances for me to get unlucky or make mistakes. But I—” The anxiety bled off of him now and the heartbeat under his boot was picking up. “Y-You, you changed. You’re one the bigger ones. That type is called kings, right?”

The type he had become was obvious, and the statement was bait especially tailored to the preening people who made up much of his “type”. He brushed that aside and reached towards that anxiety instead. “The fuck are you scared of? I’m not hurting you. None of the creatures are coming down here.”

“I’m not—I’m not—” he said, and then took a breath and became more solid. “I’m fine. Sorry. Can you move your foot, please?”

“Tell me why you left a sanctuary zone,” Bakugou said. “And where was it? What’s wrong with it? Is there a new sickness? Riot? Did they break one of the walls?”

“No,” Deku said airily, with his brows pushing together. Like these ideas were very silly.

“Then what?”

“I just told you I’m meeting someone.”

“What, you have a dentist appointment across the country? I’m not playing here.” He pushed his foot down harder on his chest. Hard enough that Deku’s arms at last came up from pressing on the ground and slapped onto his ankle to push it and reduce the pressure. He even felt his grip. “If you left a sanctuary zone for no reason, you are in some shit trouble. We don’t have to prosecute and throw people in jail anymore. It’s the pro’s judgment only. So talk. And quick this time. Why are you wearing that?”

As he spoke, he gestured sharply with his chin towards the outfit. Deku read his accusation well enough. The outfit he wore had the aesthetic of any pro: colorful and recognizable, not to mention stretchy and durable and fire-retardant. It was meant for men and women with quirks for destruction and rescue. Deku had never manifested anything, much as he longed to and cried for it. So in a time when chaos allowed it, he had stolen one.

Deku said, “It’s my costume.”

Pushing his boot down, Bakugou told him, “No, it’s not, Deku. You tell me who you fucking stole it from. If you actually stripped it from a pro’s dead body, I’m going to fucking end you.”

He raised his palm and the fire-retardant glove it wore, and he let the smoke seep through it from his palm, but this threat did not change Deku’s expression in the least. He was armed with his lion-glare again. Bakugou stiffened, again, at the foreign sight.

“This is my outfit, and I didn’t steal from anyone. It’s mine.” Deku replied. His hands were tight on Bakugou’s ankle and he did not explain himself further.  

Bakuogu fired one shot from his palm. One hot, hard firecracker shot, the size of a rain grain, burst on the ground near Deku’s ear. It burrowed into the ground like a bullet and flashed when it struck there, so close to the his head. The speed and the shock burst his freak composure; his head jerked only a little but he shouted in surprise and screwed his eyes shut. Bakugou exhaled, finally having cowed him.

“Stop that,” Deku barked with his eyes shut, and then coughed. His right eye had gotten the brighter burst of the flash, and it was squinting more than the left, but both eyes stared defiantly upward again. “Little hard to talk with your foot on me. Can you move?”

“Give me a reason to believe you’re not a thief or I’m taking a slice of your ear.” Ignoring whatever reaction his earned him, Bakugou examined the outfit, which was mostly green. Black, shock-absorbing pieces over the legs, beige gloves, fat red shoes like a child posing as a basketball player. There was a metal piece around his collar that looked like an animal’s lower jaw, with points on the top side like fangs. Best Jeanist would have liked it for adding a touch of cool-ness to sharpen the look. But the outfit itself didn’t speak of any particular quirk or specialty. Here in the dirt and the half-dark, maybe he looked like a plumber.  

“I never said it was a pro outfit. It’s a sidekick outfit.” Deku admitted with a toss of his head, moving his thick hair. “It’s mine. I ordered it, I designed it. Myself. Through four drafts of material. It was my senior project in high school. Okay? Now move your foot!” And Deku moved it for him.

Deku’s grip warped the shape the skin on Bakugou’s ankle. For the past minute it had been tight, and in an instant his ankle was being strangled. His lip curled slightly from a sensation that was far too close to pain. Deku pushed his former friend’s foot upward and then shoved it away so that he could sit up. There was a scratching sound against the gravel as Bakugou’s other foot pivoted slightly to keep his balance on the gravel.

Once Deku sat up, he was even more an enigma as before. His hand was nursing his much-abused stomach as he sat up with the lightest of groans as though it had been a mild, annoying stomachache that he’d been facing seconds ago and not an alpha stepping on his ribs. As though he were not the only man alive walking and living with no disease, no dynamic to speak of, no quirk, no protectors, no explanation, some-fucking-how no particular reaction to seeing Katsuki again. When he looked up again there was at least something familiar and sensible about him: a good half of their memories of each other were from this perspective exactly. Deku looking up at him while Bakugou looked down.

He was trying to keep steady and not lose himself. He said, “Tell me who in the fuck would take a quirkless apprentice.”

Deku’s breathing had slowed and he did not try to look away this time. He sat up a little straighter. “Twintail. She’s from Miranata. The Long-reaching Hero.”

“Who the hell is that.”

“Her quirk is Double-tail,” Deku explained. He sounded casual. “She reaches into broken buildings with her tails and grabs people from under rubble. Or she’ll lower us into the rubble and we’ll work to dig people out, and then she’ll lift us and the victim up to safety.”

It wasn’t appropriate or whatever, but Bakugou fucking laughed. “That is the most dumbfuck idea I’ve heard in life. That hero won’t lower her own selfish ass into the rubble?”

“I asked to help her, and she lets me,” Deku said with undeserved finality. “I’m sorry I had to take up your time, but I have to go. I’m glad you’re okay.” He put his other hand behind him and started to stand.

It wasn’t appropriate or whatever, but Bakugou almost laughed. “You’re not leaving,” he told his former friend. The cave carried an echo for him. His voice on all sides, demanding. “Not until you tell me how you got here. How you lived this long. I can’t fucking believe that you made it this long.” He had to pause to take him in again: Izuku alive, outside of his mind. “So, you don’t have a quirk. And you don’t have the disease and haven’t changed? Don’t fucking play me. There’s no cure. There’s no immunity. And there’s also no pro hero who’d take a quirkless, disease-less sidekick on and make you do her job for her and then make you go to a sanctuary on foot, by yourself. Explain whatever you’re actually up to. Now.”

Somewhere aboveground, a building was shifting and dropping more pieces of concrete onto the ground. It made the walls around them vibrate. Deku, now standing, shorter than him, weaker, glaring like he himself were an alpha, had found his insane courage again.

He actually said to him, “It’s none of your business.”

Far to the north in another sanctuary camp, there was an insolent bitch who had said these words to Bakugou’s face six months ago and he’d clawed some skin off of their chest and now the fingers of his left hand buzzed with the need to feel the ribbons of that stupid beta’s skin and shirt in his hand. But he couldn’t claw Deku that way. That would be bad. His calm-breathing routine was interrupted just then because he had gone rather numb.

Deku broke eye contact to dismiss or hide from a reply that was not coming. “I’m on an assignment from another pro. I don’t care if you believe me, but it’s true,” he said. “I did leave a sanctuary zone, because I volunteered, but I’m on my way to another. I left two weeks ago and I’ve been okay by myself, so you don’t need to worry about leaving a helpless civilian, all right?”

“I’m not leaving a quirkless civilian here to die. Doesn’t matter who sent you. That decision’s way above your pay grade, Deku,” was Bakugou’s reply, but it was nothing like he wanted to say.

Instead of biting his tongue in frustration about how this conversation wasn’t going how he wanted, he was distracted by a stronger unease-anxiety-fear-scent coming from Deku, like a fresh sheen of sweat. And Deku’s lips pursed at the difficulty of saying no to that.  

He looked up, almost looking through his hair, almost looking shy. “You could just pretend you never saw me?” Deku offered. “It’d be easier for you to not have to deal with me.”

“Not how it works, Deku,” he replied. His tone of voice was firm, a sound that would push down reluctant betas’ heads when he wanted, and it did the same for Deku. Finally he appeared to be made passive like he ought to be.

“I really am a sidekick,” his former friend said again, slowly meeting his eyes again. “I know I can’t make you believe me. And that’s fine. You don’t need to.” His mouth made a ‘pap’ sound from his mouth closing so quickly. Stopping himself from saying something. “I’m sorry for…um, falling here, the…rocks…” And then he stopped fully.

Bakugou, himself still unsure why the ground had caved in under his feet to land him here, still feeling the sting of the fall in his left side, still waiting for a goddamn explanation, didn’t add anything to that piddling, trailing-off sentence.

Time was dragging. Deku leaned most of his weight from from one obnoxiously red shoe to another and grasped his right arm with his left hand. There was this sskrrsccch noise of fabric moving against itself as his glove slid up and down his sleeve and it lasted six long, godawful seconds.

Bakugou stood still and watched him. Neither one could talk, or leave.

He tried again. He tried to say what he meant.

“So how’d you—” Pause. Awkward. Could get an ulcer from how awkward this was. “How’d you get the sidekick job. With Twintail.”

Pause. Deku’s expression shifted through a couple shades of confusion. “It was on a notice board at my college the first month I was there. I applied online,” he said. “And that’s it.”

“She was just like, fine with quirkless people applying?”

“She was.”

That nothing-answer had them both frowning at each other. Waiting to see if one or the other had something to add. He went for it. “So you liked it? Learned some paramedic shit?”

What are you asking me this for? said Deku’s face. But Deku’s words were, “I did. A lot of the people I helped would come up pretty badly hurt. But they could get that chance to recover that they deserved.” He stopped there, at what seemed like the beginning of a story. “So you’re a combat hero, right? Your quirk could really—”

“What the hell are you hiding?”

The cave ate up the echo of his voice.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Deku said with a little indignation, just enough to sound modest and real and show that he knew what he was doing, and goddamn, Bakugou could smell it.

Even if his nose were sliced off, he would still know he was right. Deku’s old motormouth was just now coming alive. “I’m sure it’s weird to have to see me again. And I, I really thought I’d never see you again, either. Except on TV whenever we get that back. But I told you exactly what I’m doing, and that I’m even here is more than enough to show that you don’t need to waste your own time escorting me to a sanctuary, because I can make the rest of the way on my own an—”

“Shut up. Shut the hell up.” And he did. “You talk in circles any more and I’ll break your fucking legs and haul you to a sanctuary on my shoulder. I’m giving you a chance to tell the truth, you lying little shitbag. I can smell that fear on you. You can’t fucking fool me.”

This time he didn’t talk back. He had gone still, like a rabbit, and his eyes were wide, like he knew he was cornered. Bakugou hadn’t meant to draw the truth out of him that way, not now.

“You—” Bakugou stopped in his bout of yelling and took in a breath, like he was taught, and remade his present thought with different words. “Doesn’t matter that you made it this far out. Can’t let anybody quirkless out on their own. I’ll take you somewhere.”

This almost-calm declaration had stunned Deku to the point that his jaw hung open and he gaped like his entire brain had suddenly vacated. “That. Um. Th-that’s not necessary. I’m really grateful but I can—”

Bakugou’s nails pinched into his palms and he was back to yelling. “I said shut up! Shut it with that fake humility horseshit! I’m trying to help you!” He started moving towards Deku, taking huge steps. Deku almost jumped out of his green sidekick suit.

“I don’t need help from you! Just stop! Please.” His hand stayed clamped on the opposite arm. He started backing away.

“Will you quit trying to shake me like I’ve got lice or some shit?!”

“That’s not what I—”

“It’s like you think I’m gonna beat you up! I’m not in fucking middle school, all right?” The discomfort was rising to nausea. Bakugou was leashing every thought he had and crushing it into the form he needed it to be. “So if you’re worried about that, don’t be. Not gonna rag on your for being quirkless or  you can’t pass English class.”

They were close enough to throw punches and Bakugou was close enough to be stopped by the impossible affirmation that Deku did not have the dynamics disease, because he smelled like any person did before the sickness and everything else. And he was close enough to smell that wave of anxiety from him again. He was close enough now to feel an unpleasant, sandpaper sensation in his mind to know that Deku was afraid of him.

Izuku was afraid, Izuku was afraid, Deku is afraid of the dark and of sharks, he remembers. He cried when he watched Jaws. There’s one Deku standing right in front of him, nearly a grown man, but he doesn’t see that one. He sees one that is ten years old, exactly ten, and curled up and squashed into a corner of his mother’s couch, and he is screaming.

Katsuki had turned eleven not long ago. He jumps up to the couch to be nearer to Deku, and then he kicks him. A long, dragging wail cuts off suddenly, ends with a cough. Deku won’t shut up. Deku won’t shut up.

The springy cushions or his silly, flailing limbs made him bounce upward from the cushions, and Katsuki kicked again. He still won’t shut up, and Katsuki, ideas all drained, starts to panic. He grabs the little bottle and he hides it in the couch cushions beside his friend, so his right ear is tense and alert for parents coming to interrupt them and in the left is Izuku’s “AAAAAAAHH—”

His mother is safe in a sanctuary now and he killed and trampled people to save her but in this memory she is coming up the stairs and soon she’ll know the innocent and awful thing that he did.

The little and filthy Katsuki and Izuku, and the hissing Mitsuki coming up the stairs, were flattened. The roof of the house caved in. Their bones were smashed and were dust in their bloodstreams. Skulls and pelvis and toes all slammed to the first floor of the house and their bodies now silent, flat smears of blood on the carpet. And then the house was, too, as the true and present Bakugou flattened the memory itself. He didn’t let the rest of the memory play out.

He’d thought about this enough. And his nostrils were flaring with a bullish impatience. This whole conversation was so awfully stilted and bad and he needed to say what he wanted to say right now, All Might’s words be fucking damned. His throat was closing up.

“So. I’m. I was a little shitrag when we were kids.”

Deku didn’t say anything and the cave gave them dead, cringing silence again. They both had to listen to Bakugou’s jagged inhale and hear in that he was afraid, too.

His face contorting in some weird ways, probably, but he kept at it. “I bet that’s why you’re sweating, right? Not happy to see me. Fine. Whatever. That’s like,” he paused for air and for bringing his ranging eyes back to Deku’s face. His eyes were so wide. “I was such a cunt sometimes. I know it.”

“Okay,” said Deku tonelessly.

“Total cunt. My general state of being was just a bratty little cunt and I should’ve gotten slapped.”

No response.

“And I said some shit to you, and like, acted in some. Fuckin’ ways. Stupid. Sorry for fucking you over  on…stuff…on that weather project we did, fifth grade. I still remember that stupid-ass conference with the teacher.”

“Um. Me too.”

“Breaking the desks and shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“…Yeah. So. Sorry. For that. And all the rest of it. For all of middle school. Elementary school, too. Every time I was talking shit to you. And for how I was to your mom.”

“…”

“I mean it. You didn’t deserve any of that. Sorry. Deku.”

“…”

“..?”

“Please get away from me.”

“What.”

Deku’s hand clapped over Bakugou’s and swiped it off his shoulder. Then he turned away. Bakugou almost bit his tongue “What—hey! Get back here!” He pursued him. Deku was walking faster but not fast enough. “I’m fucking apologizing! You should be fucking grateful!”

“Please. I want to go my own way. I’m not trying to start a fight with you.” Deku’s head was just slightly bowed, but the alpha still reacted as though challenged. His offer was rejected. His first kindness in years, ignored.

“If you’re hiding something and refusing to even talk to me, then yes you fucking are.” Between one long, struggling breath Bakugou let go of the quivering hand that was holding his weak human patience in place. Deku saw the change and he froze.

The fangs were bared and obvious so that he would not misunderstood. They were inhumanely long. There were specks of blood from the last throat he had bitten into and torn out with his teeth not one hour before Izuku had dropped in front of him.. The change had spurred bone growth that gave survivors like him sharpened fangs like predatory beasts—dragon teeth, said Ryuko once, before enemy survivors got her—a quirk for all survivors. It changed the makeup of their blood, the heat of their bodies, the way they spoke and moved and interacted as people.

Even Izuku’s lack of a change didn’t spare him from reacting to what he saw. Alphas could not be ignored. He was an unchanged person still, but he could look an alpha in the eye and feel that primal fear that lived in every language and person.

Bakugou, a king, an alpha, was at work in his mind and his new instinctual network to shutter his temper. This creature in front him, beta-like, even omega-like, had brushed off his questions for longer than anyone ought to be allowed. He had given him patience and been refused.

“I’m not another alpha,” Deku whispered. His head was still rightfully bowed. “I’m not a beta. I’m just a person trying to be on my way and I mean no threat or offense to you. The one—”

“You’ve danced around me enough.” he said, and erased Deku’s words from the air. “I should cut you open for trying to toy with me.” His capacity for word and thought was being erased, too. He’d held onto it for Deku, for this pathetic, dying conversation that had been years in the making. But he had waited for nothing. “Looks like I judged you wrong. You’re still a pathetic fucking leech. I tried to be fucking nice to you.”

Deku’s actually dared to look angry. A face he had never seen.

He replied, “You’re not nice and you’re not sorry. You’re just guilty—” He saw red, felt red. “—you selfish, rotten bitch.”

That was the end of talk for them both. Bakugou charged.

-

I was very intrigued by the idea of Izuku, who seems really forgiving, actually telling Bakugou to fuck off, even once, and what would make him go that far. Intrigued by the idea of a slightly older Bakugou chilling out and seeing the mistakes of his youth like most people do in older adolescence/young adulthood. Intrigued by him wanting to make up for his shitty behavior and Izuku wanting to accept that he’s changed and is legitimately sorry. 

Intrigued by the idea of them traveling together through a mostly empty landscape while they sort out their relationship and Izuku having a rocky and slow transition into an omega. I have 6 pages of notes for this story and a 3-page outline of it from chapter 1 to the end. 

Goddamn can someone pass me a little critique, I would love some writing and story critique.