#So anyone that it would bother or someone using a screen reader knows in advance

[cassandracain52]

Sometimes I don’t think I’m that petty

Then I remember how when I first started writing on AO3 I would censor the curse words (because I was an anxious kid and thought my parents would find it somehow or smth idk)

and so many people would get so pressed about it and try to tell me how to write my stories and “grow up” even though it really didn’t matter that much cause it didn’t hurt anything and was never that serious but they were still so so triggered

so now even though I am now an adult I still occasionally censor the curses out of pure spite alone because f*ck you, I’ll write how I want

[sky-is-the-limit]

"Illicit Affairs"

F!Reader x Captain Price

CW: NSFW content, angst, age-gap, hurtful language, Afab!reader.

Distinctions: "///" and italics are used for flashbacks.

WC: 3493 words.

P.s: I'm not a writer! This is my first attempt at writing a long completed one-shot with a smut scene, so any feedback is more than welcome!

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

"For you, I would ruin myself

A million little times."

2 missed calls.

In the dead of night is when he calls. Soft whispers and long pauses as if a slight raise of the voice would make this real. Normal. Nothing with John Price is normal. You knew that since the moment you met him in that gloomy bar almost a year ago. It beckoned patrons in and then sucked them into a depression for the rest of the evening with bad drinks and rude staff.

Not the type of establishment for a young woman in her mid-twenties to stumble upon however your recent breakup ensured a long night filled with bad decisions and a clouded judgment to both the place and the company. Only if you knew how a drunken night and a soft whispered 'okay' would alter your life from that day on.

You remember every single detail like you're reliving the same memory every time your phone rings and you see the usual name pop up on your screen, making your heart ache. It wasn't the way he courted you that night. No, John was never good with words or romantic gestures.

He was sitting at the end of the bar, crouched over his drink while staring at his half-finished whiskey with tired eyes. You'd think someone as handsome as him would draw the attention of many at first, but it was obvious that the last thing he wanted was just that. His demeanour was unwelcoming, never spearing a single glance at anyone but the alcohol, his melancholy transparent to unwanted company.

You can't really single out what it was that made you sit down on the stool next to him that night. You remember reading about how Greek mythology described sirens. How seduction was tied back to them, enchanting sailors with their melodious voices only to drag them down at sea to drown. That's exactly how it felt when he turned to look at you, eyes locked in a shared understanding. You knew exactly where you'd end up that night from the second you ordered your first drink.

/ / /

"What can I get you to drink?" The bartender asked, his smile polite but not quite friendly.​

"A cosmo, please." Your attempt at not looking at the stranger next to you failed as your eyes trailed to him for a quick second. He wasn't bothered with your presence next to him, his gaze not leaving his drink as if it would get stolen. You weren't expecting much anyway. Maybe your mood on the inside was equally displaying on the outside.

"That would be 8,50." The drink is placed in front of you while you take out your wallet from your purse. You feel bad for yourself tomorrow as it seems that it's gonna be a long night of you doing this motion.

"Put the lady's drinks on my tab." Of course he'd sound like that. Gruff and husky. Little did you know that this voice that you hear for the first time would be the core of agony and bliss in your life.

The conversation shared between the two of you wasn't long. It wasn't a scene out of a rom-com where the two love interests would talk for hours, not noticing the pass of time as they discover that they're made for one another. All it took was 45 minutes of long pauses and blatant flirtatious remarks, tailored perfectly so as not to reveal much about him.

The question is, if you could go back in time to prevent this, perhaps if technology was advanced enough so you could slap yourself, would you still follow him out of that bar? Or would you save yourself countless sleepless nights of crying in your pillow because no matter what you do, you can never be enough. You already know the answer.

"My car is parked close." He mumbled, bringing the glass back to his lips, finishing it with one sip before titling his head to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours, there was a deep, obvious hunger within them yet searching for any signs of hesitation. It was crystal clear to both of you how this night would end.

"Okay." The soft tone in your voice, in contrast to your improper thoughts, led his lips to gently curl at the corners of his mouth, nets of barely visible wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Any doubts clouding your mind now entirely vanished to the sight in front of you. Not many words followed next. Only hand on your lower waist, guiding you through the semi-empty parking lot.

During those 45 minutes of conversation and thoughts running wild, your intuition was correct. He was exactly what you needed. The limited space of the car didn’t matter at all. Not when you were manhandled against the steering wheel, with his lips against your neck as his fingers were gripping tightly on your hips, guiding them up and down onto his.

The electric feel of his length inside your walls, blending with the intensity of being full to nearly a breaking point, sent your body trembling with pleasure. Something primal in your stomach twisted at the thought of being so effortlessly pliable to him. You were drunk on him and couldn't get enough.

An hour later, the windows were still foggy from humidity, a soft tune playing on the radio accompanying the comfortable silence between the two of you.

"I just realized.." a soft chuckle escaped your lips mid sentence, shaking your head sightly at the silliness of the situation whilst your fingers were fixing the state of your mini skirt.

"I don't even know your name." In other similar situations where you found yourself with a lonely stranger to spend the night, you never cared for their names. It was meaningless, you'd forget them anyway.

"John."

/ / /

The first piece of information about his life came unintended after three weeks, and so did the first disappointment. Before he dropped you off at your place the first time, you made an agreement. The chemistry was undeniably there. The weight was taken off from your shoulders even for an hour. An hour you'd both like to repeat, and so it was set. He'd call you whenever he was done with his hectic schedule, you'd meet him at the usual bar and then back to his car.

It was clear from both of you that these clandestine meetings would be physical, discreet, and nothing more. The heart doesn't listen though, does it?

/ / /

The night sky was aglow with bright city lights. The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the night sky and under it two liars finding comfort in each other, acting like it's nothing. Once again, you find yourself in the passenger seat of his car, trying to catch your breath from his touch while he lits up a cigar.

This time, he didn't bother putting on his shirt, and you can't help but stare. The way the moonlight paints his pale skin, eyes closed before exhaling the smoke towards the sky through the half-opened window. It's a nasty habit, the permanent smell of tobacco on his clothes, his breath, your skin..and yet you crave it whenever he doesn't call.

"Hey, uh, do you have any water with you?" It's only natural for you to be thirsty after another night with him. You always remind yourself to carry a bottle in your purse but always forget from the anticipation to see him.

"I think there's an unopened bottle in the backseat." He mumbled without taking his eyes off the night sky. With one knee on the seat, you turn your body around to reach for the bottle, but something else next to it steals your attention. A military jacket.

"I didn't know you were in the military." How would you know? He never shares any personal information. It's the invisible veil ensuring that your agreement won't change.

"I never told you." Right. His tone is different, though, not as stern as other times when he turned down any attempts from you to get to know him. Maybe it's time for you to test the waters.

"I have a question for you, and it's quite serious." Though you try your best to sound sincere, the tone of your voice immediately gives you away as you turn to face him, hugging your knees as your feet touch the leather seat of his car. You know it bothers him, but he never says anything.

"Oh no, what is it?" He matches your playful attitude, turning his head away from the moon so he can stare at you instead. It shouldn't mean anything that he threw his cigar outside without finishing it, and yet you can't help but wonder if it's a way to show you that you have his undivided attention. That he cares to listen, even if the question following is silly.

"What's your favourite colour?" You finally ask, seizing the moment to get a genuine reaction from him, no walls or guards up, and you do. It starts with a deep sigh and a disapproving shake of the head before a soft chuckle escapes his freshly kissed lips. In that moment, a scary thought creeped into your mind. If you could hear this sound for the rest of your days, you wouldn't mind at all.

The drive to your house felt different this time. More promising. Someone might call you deluded for even daring to think that getting two answers out of him means that it's a step closer to his heart, but you have to try.

The engine of the car stopping snaps you out of your thoughts, fingers touching the handle of the door nervously without the intent to actually open it. Try.

"Hey, um, so I was thinking, perhaps if you're free this week, uh-" What a mess of nerves. You don't even have to turn to look at him to feel his gaze on you, and suddenly, your skin is on fire. "We could go for a coffee? Maybe?" You blurt out, trying hard to ignore your heart trying to burst out your chest.

A shattering silence followed, making you want to exit the vehicle without saying a word, crawl into your bed, and pretend it never happened. It was the next part that felt like someone ripped out your anxious heart and tore it into pieces. A simple..

"No." He mumbled, turning his face away from you, but this time it was you who was staring. His fingers were gripping tightly on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Was it hope or plain stupidity that made you go on, push a little harder to get a complete answer out of him. You promised to yourself to never fall into desperation for another man and yet there you were, embarrassing yourself for someone who only spares a few words and an hour on you, rejecting the thought of getting to know more than your body.

"No, as in you're not free or -"

"No as in I don't want to, Y/N." His voice was painfully uninterested, not breaking eye contact so his point would get across before he continued.

"This.." He lifted his index finger to point between the two of you "is exactly what we agreed upon. I pick you up, I fuck you and I drop you off. That's only what is ever going to be." You knew. It didn't hurt less to hear it in that manner.

"Don't ask more of me cause I can tell you right now, you're not going to get it." Right.

`You're an idiot.` You quietly murmur against your pillow, hugging it tightly as if it could wash away the embarrassment that made your stomach hurt. The only reply you managed to give him was a small nod before exiting his car.

Your dignity to tell him that you can't see him anymore was nowhere to be found as you kept answering his calls every single time.

/ / /

It's your fault. You made an agreement and you were solely the one breaking it. In your defence, you didn't know that he would alter everything. That not a day would pass without him occupying your brain constantly, like he was a permanent tattoo you were meant to carry forever. The days turned to months, 4 months specifically, the unchanging routine slowly taking away pieces of your heart waiting for it to shatter completely.

At that point in time came the next piece of information you got to know about him that made you wish you'd stop answering the phone.

/ / /

"I'll be gone for a few weeks." You don't like the feeling creeping inside of you, you have no right to feel it. He's not yours to keep, he's not yours to ask if he's gonna miss you or if he's gonna call.

"Oh?" It came out as a mumble from your mouth, trying to appear nonchalant but fooling no one.

"Mhm." Another cigar, another incomplete answer.

"Is it a work thing?" No matter how hard you try, your nervousness gives you away, fingers fidgeting, eyes staring out at the sky.

"Mission, in a different country." He finally admitted, before closing his eyes tightly. He wasn't meant to confess that much.

"When will you be back?" You never learn, do you?

"If- When I come back, I'll let you know." Though the tone of his voice was unchanged, ignoring the slip of the tongue in the beginning, it made your world stop spinning and your heart drop to your stomach. If.

/ / /

The first few nights after that you couldn't sleep. The realisation hit you harder that you expected. You were falling in love and it was eating you alive. You didn't know where he was, if he was okay, if he was alive, if he was coming back to you. You weren't his home, though. You were merely a weakly distraction that he could replace with ease, judging from how little of his heart he gives you.

Nonetheless, it doesn't change how you feel. And so you lay in bed every night, recalling all the small details he has given you, all his unnoticeable habits that mean so much to you, the way his lips feel against yours, how he kisses you with the force of a thousand crushing waves like he's drowning and you're the oxygen he needs, how you feel like one soul when he's holding you close, arms fondling your sides while he's buried deep inside you, leaving breathless whispers against your skin.

Exhausted, you wait for your phone to ring one more time, to know that he's safe, home. When it finally does, with tears glistening in your eyes, you think to yourself that, yes, this can be enough. Until the next time.

___________

"You take me so well love, fuck-" His head fell back against the headrest, eyes closed and breathing heavy, his hands gripping your thighs as you were sinking down on him.

You could barely focus on the movement, pulling up slowly then rolling your hips down, hot muscles strangling his length while contracting around him.

"John-" His name escaped your lips incoherently, like a desperate cry while panting against his shoulder, feeling every inch of him inside you.

"You're gonna be the death of me-" His fingers weaved through your hair, pulling on it slightly with one hand, leaving the other free to softly press your back against the steering wheel, exposing your breasts bouncing to the rhythm of your hips grinding against him. He couldn't wait to have this sight in front of him again, dreaming about your soft skin, the sounds you make when he bucks up his hips onto yours.

He wasted no time wrapping his lips around your pert nipple, sucking slowly before trailing his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it in slow motions with the right amout pressure that sends you over the edge.

"Fuck-" You gasp loudly to the welcoming sensation, surging forward to press your lips onto his in a sloppy kiss. Your hands make their way to each side of his head as you press your chest against his, your nipples brushing up and down against his warm skin to match your hips, sliding down faster with each second.

"God, I missed this, missed you riding me so fucking good, love" He groaned against your lips, sending shivers down your spine as his hands held tightly onto your waist, thrusting you harder down his cock, so deep inside your walls that you can feel your slick coming out of your core.

"I missed you." You can't even process the words, they left your mouth before your brain could catch up, your hips snapping against his and the cry of his name filling the hot car, you orgasm pulsing in warm waves through your body.

This time he doesn't rush. He lets your body stay still, collapsed onto his with the only sound present being your breathless sighs. His hands are still on your waist, unmoving, holding you close against his chest while his forehead softly touches your shoulder.

"I missed you." You have to tell him. Even if you're not brave enough for anything other than a soft whisper, with eyes closed tightly awaiting for him to say something, even if it's something he'll blame on the high of the moment.

A few seconds passed in silence, his hands losing the soft grip he had against your waist. He won't get away with brushing your feelings aside again.

"Please, say something.." You plead in desperation, holding onto deluded hope that he feels something more, that he missed you too. With one swift move, he raised your hips enough so he can slip out of you with ease, carefully sitting you on the passenger seat.

"John?" It's pathetic, really. His name barely audible from your lips as a breathless whisper, begging for the bare minimum, as always.

"I'm not doing this, Y/N." He glanced at you for merely 2 seconds whilst fixing up his jeans.

"I- John, please-" You can feel your chest tighten with each second he's not looking at you, it was nauseating how he acted like this was beneath him. You barely notice the car moving, it was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque. You've always savored every second from the ride back home, the moonlight travelling through the night to shine on both of you, a soft tune playing the radio.. Not this time.

"No! Dammit, Y/N! We had an agreement, if you're too immature to keep it then maybe we should stop." John raised his voice slightly out of frustration, this was a new experience for him, you can tell from the way he's gradually losing his calm composure.

"Tell me that you don't feel anything at all. That you never thought of me once when you were away. Tell me something for fucks sake!" You plead, digging your nails into your skin in an attempt to keep yourself from breaking down, unsuccessfully. The tears creeping in the corners of your eyes betrayed your pride.. This time you won't back down.

"You're acting like a child. I'm driving you home and we can forget about this." This time his gaze lingered on you longer, hands gripping tightly on the steering wheel, enough to create red lines on the palms that were holding you close moments earlier. This is what he does when it feels too much, blames your age like it's the answer to all the issues he fears to confront.

"No, we're fucking talking about this. Don't call me a child for not having a heart as cold as yours." All you want to do is use your words like fists and punch holes in his heart. To wake him up from this delirious state.

"What the hell do you want from me?! Roses and dinner dates?! You knew what you got yourself into from the first damn night so don't turn it around to blame me just because you're too desperate to be loved." He hissed bitterly, every word calculated to throw sharpened knives at your heart.

The pain felt like a hot, sharp knife, covered in salt, slicing through your skin again and again. Constant. Unending. Inescapable. You barely become aware of the car stopping in front of your house until he stopped the engine. It's time for you to pick up your pieces one more time. One last time.

"I'll call you when-"

"I'm not doing this anymore, John. I'm done." Except it doesn't matter how many times you'll say it, it will not erase the memory of him from your bones, from your body that has had him a thousand times and aches for him a thousand times more. It will not erase the memory of him engraved in your heart that he stomped on like it was one of his cigars.

"Then I'll stop calling."

And so he did.

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

Imagine your dad being a Miguel O’Hara variant and meeting Miguel pt.2

Pairing : Platonic! Miguel O'Hara x Earth Bender Reader x Spiderverse

I am back with my rant. anyway, it’s pt.2 to this,

Wordcount: 1.3k

Miguel O’Hara Masterlist

OKAY SO

We're back on the rant.

Because someone (cough @arianaw30) commented about how Miguel would also be like a dad to Y/N whilst Miguel 2, her actual dad, is on a mission.

And I totally agree. 

Like imagine Miguel 2 being sent out on a mission and Y/N just deciding to hang out at HQ for the day. And this mission is on a regular week day so most teen spiders and regular spider people would be out and about in their regular lives.

Which leaves Y/N with Miguel. (And her bestie Ben Reilly, but he sleeps until it's practically night, soo-)

I can also imagine that Y/N received their own gizmo. And that they'd hack it. Because although they might hate actually learning stuff because they simply can't sit still, they are still very intelligent. Like they'd mess around with the colours, and as a bender with the surrounding pieces of metal as well. They'd definitely change the colour of the screen and remodel the whole thing, complaining before that it looks a little bland and boring.

Miguel would surprisingly be okay with it as well. He didn't make it to look specifically nice, more because it'd be useful. And he's got a soft spot for you. If it were anyone else he'd be yelling already.

Miguel 2 would also have told you bits about Miguel back at home. Like he would have told you that he's cold because he lost people close to him. He does leave out how one of those people was a variant of you.

Miguel and Miguel 2 are very different in taking care of you. Miguel 2 is the type to leave you be until you royally mess up, because he knows you best. Miguel himself is more the overprotective type, refusing to let you go on a mission, and also not to keen on having anyone spar with you.

Anyway, whenever it's mainly just the two of you, you keep him company. And although you're not a kid, you're surprisingly easily amused. (That's also because technology isn't as far advanced in your world as it is in his.) You can talk for hours on end with both Lyla and Miguel. Once Miguel asked how you don't feel offended when he's grumpy or particularly agressive, and you replied with a confused cock of your hand and the exact words 'what do you mean? You're my dad, of course I know you better than anyone.' And although you're technically not 100% his, he realizes you're right. Because Miguel 2 and Miguel are generally the same, save for a specific few details.

And I can also imagine Miguel keeping a closer eye on Ben Reilly when the two of you grow even closer. Neither of you have feelings for one another, your personalities simply bounce off one another with ease. Miguel still can't help himself, Just the classic 'don't marry until you're old type'.

Everything does come to tension when you're hanging out with Ben one day, and your dad, Miguel 2, calls for back up desperately. The call is through Ben's watch, because you're technically forbidden to interfere as you're no spider person. But you're stubborn, double so as you're from the Earth kingdom and an O'Hara. And so you of course jump anyway, sending yourself into this new universe.

You don't bother appreciating the beauty of this universe, instead choosing to directly go looking for your dad. And you're quick to find him, under a tentackle of doc ock. A villain your powers give you an advantage of, as the man has a lot of metal on him.

Now imagine Doc Ock's surprise when you rip off his tentackle with a few precise movements of your body.

There were already two spider people on his ass (your father and Peter B Parker), and now you've also joined. 

Now the battle continues mostly with Doc Ock focused on you, and with you setting his 'tentackles' stuck in the ground, bending them to be unmoveable one by one. Your Miguel is already back on his feet and on his way to you, but meanwhile Peter B Parker is completely and utterly amazed by your performance here. (He hasn't met you yet.)  

Dock Ock has a lot of arms, and eventually he manages to bring a scratch on your face. Not much more, because that was his last tentackle. Unhappy with his doing, you create a ninja star out of lava, and cut this arm off, before whacking him in the face with it. You're not merciless though, so you bend his tentackle arm closed to keep him from making a mess with the fluids that run out of it, closing it off.

Miguel 2 pulls you behind him roughly after that, trapping the man in their odd red prison thingy. Cue a little while later when you're in Miguel's lab with a few stitches in your face, and not one, but two dads being mad at you. 

For the first time, they agree on why they're mad at you; you weren't supposed to be there. The both of them yell in that classic angry dad type of way for a bit, before they eventually calm down. And than they grow all soft when you softly whisper out a 'I didn't want to lose you too.' Breaking their hearts just a bit. And Miguel 2 crouches down to where you're seated comfortably on the ground and simply hugs you, telling you he never would and that you would be okay. All you do is hum in reply, and Miguel 2 messes up your hair as he often does affectionately before seeing the look on Miguel's face and giving you two space by leaving, claiming he needs a shower (you agree).

Miguel doesn't really know what to say, but he wants to comfort you aswell. Eventually he settles with telling you that if something were to happen to your dad, you'd still have a home here in the society. You hum, before looking up at him, a question clear in your eyes. When he tells you to ask away, you fill his heart with a kind of pride that he hasn't felt in a long while. You ask him if you could follow in his footsteps. You want to work in the society as well, and be able to do what he's able to do, admitting that you look up to him. And he smiles in that kind of way he only dies around you, nodding and telling you he'll teach you his ways.

Miguel might have lost a daughter once, but it seems he's gained one along the way as well.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.���

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[keijislove]

Hi babe! I was wondering if I could request a Tony Stark x daughter reader? With lots of angst and her being locked in her room because she’s being bullied for her darker skin

(I understand if you’re not comfortable with this)

Safe Place: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

I think this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

Sorry :(

I hope you like this, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this matter, so I hope I captured the emotions right!

I AM APOLOGISING IN ADVANCE, THE HURTFUL COMMENTS MENTIONED HERE ARE NOT ONES I WOULD EVER USE IN MY LIFETIME.

GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE – YOU DON’T NEED DIMWITS LIKE RACISTS TO DEFINE BEAUTY. YOU WANT THE DEFINITION OF BEAUTY, GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

PUT A STOP TO RACISM.

WARNINGS: Slight EXTREMELY racial comments, mentions of death, toxic relationship, angst, Tony being a little... well, Tony.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was nearly everyone’s dream. Well, everyone you’d come across at school, anyway. It seemed rational from their point of view – big house, big bedroom, expensive branded clothing, basically an overall exquisite lifestyle coupled with fame of being his daughter which was sure to earn popularity points anywhere and everywhere. A man rolling in that amount of money would make a great dad... right?

You thought differently. Which was one of the main reasons you did not tell anyone who your father really was and your teachers understood your predicament and played along to your story of being an ordinary girl with no scope for coolness whatsoever.

Your mother had met your father a long, long time ago – when Tony was still in university. Of course, he’d left her before he even knew she was pregnant, and they never saw each other again. You didn’t exactly love your life as his daughter. In fact, from what your mother had told you, he was (in your vision) a complete monster whom your mother had the sad misfortune to meet.

It was her untimely death that had forced you to go live with the man who was the reason you were born and the man who ruthlessly left your mother to fend for herself and a baby. You had tried for foster care, but the agents told you that your father was still alive and more than capable of taking care of you – being the famous Tony Stark and all.

So it would suffice to say that Tony was lowkey shocked when you turned up at his doorstep one day with a grudging expression and declarations of being his daughter. He actually didn’t believe you at first and asked you to piss off which confirmed your earlier assumptions about his character – asshole. After you’d snapped at him and showed him all the legal documentations stating that you two were blood-related as father-daughter after all, Tony was even more shocked than earlier.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he felt sad after seeing your fourteen-year-old self standing at his doorstep. He’d missed your birth, your first steps, your first words, he even missed helping you with homework in preschool – basically all precious moments you enjoy with a child. But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be here – something that made Tony’s already overlarge pride swell like a bullfrog and stopped him from ever getting close to you. While you were busy thinking he didn’t want you, you overlooked a small detail – he took you in.

If anyone had the power to bribe an adoption agency to get rid of their kid, it was Anthony Stark, yet he never gave you away. The simple explanation (that he would never, in a million years, admit it to you) was that he didn’t want to lose you – around the only blood-related family he had left.

And so began your life as Y/N Stark. It functioned surprisingly well for your expectations. Pepper was really nice to you and those few occasions when the Avengers came over, you were able to talk to Natasha about ‘girl things’, her presence reminding you of the mother you had lost only too young. You sometimes even asked Bruce for help with homework, too proud yourself to go to Tony. Overall, you stayed out of his way while he stayed out of yours – an arrangement you were both satisfied with.

The worst part was that you never talked. Ever. You would wake up and walk to school, refusing Jarvis’ continued protests of letting you use the self-driving car, came home the same way where you did your homework and grabbed a snack before you ‘father’ came back upstairs from his little man cave in the basement and a small ‘good-evening’ passed between you two as you went your separate ways. This cycle repeated itself every day. Recently, your life at school hadn’t been going great.

You’d known that your skin tone was a notch darker than the others at your school – something you had gotten from your mother – and this was not something you really cared about. That’s when they started coming – the comments. What were originally small, snide retorts of ‘wash your face, ew!’ (A/N: I AM SO SORRY) had now escalated to them calling you obscene names you’d never heard before and asking you to leave ‘their’ school

Which was why, instead of being at school today, you were locked in your bedroom, sobbing into your pillow.

It had started out as a very unusual morning. After getting comments hurled at you left right and centre the previous day, you’d had enough. You’d woken up and declared to Jarvis that you were skipping school and he was to, under no circumstances, notify your father about this. After that you tried to eat some cereal, but the bubbling dread in your stomach made it taste like dry carpet, so you gave up and stomped into your room, locking the door before flinging yourself onto the bed and crying your heart out.

It was in times like these that you felt the need for something – a gaping hole in your chest. It seemed foolish to even admit it to yourself, but you really wanted someone like a parent. Someone who listened to your problems and comforted you accordingly, someone who actually cared about you. And since Tony Stark filled neither of these requirements, you gave up the foolish dream and sunk, once again, into your self-fashioned depths of misery.

-------

Tony casually sipped on his wine, putting one last screw into place to make the latest piece he was testing out. As he powered the device on, it vibrated for a moment before the words ‘model failed’ appeared on the screen Tony was examining.

He swore loudly and shoved it ungracefully aside before running his hands through his hair. There had been many an occasion where Tony seriously considered going to your room to just say something to you that wasn’t a monotonous ‘good evening’ or ‘the milk’s finished’ or something else like that. He wanted to talk to you. To you.

He wanted to get to know the real Y/N – what you were like when you weren’t too busy being bold and refusing to appear vulnerable. As if reading his thoughts, Jarvis’ voice filled the room suddenly.

“Sir, I do believe that Ms Stark is currently locked inside her bedroom. She refused to go to school just this morning.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why, did she tell you anything else?”

“Just this, Sir, along with a few obscene warnings of not informing you about this occurrence. If I recall correctly, Ms Stark told me she would rip out my sockets with her bare hands had I come to you.”

Ignoring the small smirk that was growing on his lips at the thought of you behaving exactly as he would, Tony wiped his tired hands on a nearby cloth before sprinting out the door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Go away Pepper, not in the mood,” came your muffled voice. It was weak and raw – evidently, you had been crying.

Ignoring the poking feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach, Tony knocked again.

“Open up, kid, it’s me,” he shouted.

“Definitely not in the mood, thanks.”

Tony sighed. This was exactly what he had tried so hard to avoid –turning out like his own father. Not knowing how to deal with a daughter properly, he just let you go about your business as you wanted, hoping that it would yield better results than what his childhood had been like. Now, looking back at how much he’d neglected you, he suddenly realised that he had done the exact thing he was afraid of – hurt you.

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark, open the door. Please.”

Perhaps it was the please at the end or the way he acknowledged you as his living, breathing daughter for the first time that made you stagger limply over to the door and push it open.

Your eyes were puffy, red and swollen from bawling nonstop and your brows were knitted into a disapproving frown. It broke Tony’s heart to see you like this.

“Listening,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“Okay, why don’t you sit down,” Tony frowned slightly.

You gave another hearty sniff and led him to your bed where you flopped down and watched as he took a seat beside you.

You both sat in a very painful, deafening silence for the next few minutes.

“You didn’t go to school today,” Tony casually remarked as you played with your pillow, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I did,” you said simply.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony offered.

“I really don’t,” you admitted as he burst out laughing and you gave a grudging giggle despite yourself.

“Seriously, kid,” Tony said in an undertone, “You’ve gotta open up a bit more. I mean, it’s been like what, two years since you moved here and you never bother telling me what’s going on. And look where that got you – come on, tell me what’s going on. Is it school?”

“Partially,” you quietly said to which he cocked an eyebrow.

“Completely,” you amended, sighing, “Kids, you know, they’re just being – well, mean.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded slightly, “You want to talk about it?”

“They... they make fun of me,” you admitted, “About – about my skin colour and stuff. And I know I’m being stupid, getting upset over this –”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony broke in, “It’s not stupid at all. Nothing gives anyone a right to talk to you that way.”

“Try telling that to them!” you burst out, final letting go of the pent-up emotions you’d been holding for days, “What did I ever do to them – it’s not my fault I look like this, maybe if I could choose what to look like, I’d choose something they want! Just about everyone seems to have a problem – what the hell do they expect me to do? It’s unjust, unfair, unsettling and unkind, but of course they don’t care, do they?!”

Tony didn’t even flinch throughout your entire outburst until you broke down and tears began rapidly pouring out of your eyes once more.

“Hey, hey, stop, listen to me,” Tony sternly said, seizing your shoulders and turning you to face him.

“You’re a Stark,” he said, gazing you dead in the eyes, “You are beautiful, you’re smart and you’re kind. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

This was too much for you to handle and you started sobbing again – sobs of partial happiness and partial guilt that didn’t look like they would stop anytime soon.

“Come here, kid,” was all Tony could say as he pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt while he stroked your hair, trying to calm you down.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been mean to you,” you whispered finally.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father all this time.”

You two sat in a now comfortable silence, occasionally clearing your throats or sniffling a bit before Tony finally spoke.

“If anyone says that to you again, I will have them cut up and fed to the fish in my house in Malibu.”

“Thanks, dad.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader; established relationship yoongi x reader

summary: The love of your life, BTS’s very own Min Yoongi, tells you he has a gift for you. But he also says you’re not allowed to refuse. What’s that supposed to mean, hm? Surely not... wild hot sex with the Golden Maknae himself?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship with Yoongi (takes place after his surgery); smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral, dirty talk, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking); idol!BTS; it’s self-indulgent and I’m a little ashamed but it’s too late now, whoops

--

Just... just looking through the Twitter tag couldn't hurt, right?

You scrolled through the pictures slowly. They performed really well these past two days. Received all the awards they deserved, because BTS were the best. Still, it depressed you seeing the empty space where Min Yoongi was supposed to be. 

But that was because Yoongi was beside you, propped up in the bed with pillows, scrolling on his phone with his right hand. Occasionally, he would lower it to use both hands, since his left arm was still in the sling. You two had watched the MMA and MAMA 2020 performances together. You knew he wanted to be there. You could hear it in his voice when he called in. 

Oh, that’s right, were you supposed to be in his apartment?

No. 

But you didn't care about rules and neither did Yoongi. 

Were you dating? Well, as much as dating could be when it came to a relationship with the most loved 'lil meow meow' in the whole world. 

Yoongi always gave you this look of disapproval when you called him that, but you would always just smile and say it again, slower. 

It was the kind of thing that simply fell into place and neither of you wanted to convolute it with too many other opinions or thoughts. What happened, happened. You weren't going to make yourself known or ask for impossible things. When he told you that he was getting surgery for his left shoulder and wouldn’t have schedules for a long while, you cashed in on all those sick hours you accumulated at work, stating you had to take care of a loved one. 

No one knew your loved one was Min Yoongi. And that's way you two liked it. 

Yoongi leaned over to the long straw of the water bottle tucked in the crook of your arm. 

"Staring at our maknae again?"

You stiffened. "I'm looking at all their pictures, Yoongi. Just happened to stop on Jungkook."

He took a short sip.

"Mmm-hmm."

A few seconds past. You stared at Jungkook’s intense dark eyes, his long hair flying about from dancing, his clenched jaw as he focused. Looking sinful in all white, tempting you to save the photos.

"You're not changing the screen."

"I'm admiring the stylists' hard work."

Yoongi hummed. "You're a bad liar."

You would have thrown your phone at him if it wasn't the special edition BTS S20+, complete with a Shooky phone case. You swiped past, seeing the image of Jungkook lifting Jimin in the Black Swan performance.

"I should tell him."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sick of me?"

"No." He pointed to his left arm. "Can't take care of you either."

"I don't want to be the reason you need more months of physical therapy. I'm fine."

Yoongi placed his phone in his lap and placed his right arm around your shoulders. "We could risk it," he purred. 

You chuckled. "I don't think that's a good idea." You leaned your head against his shoulder. "I want to see you preform again."

"But you still want to bang Jungkookie."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. "I'm only looking at the pictures, Yoongi. You know you're the only one for me."

"You wouldn't try? Even if he begged you?"

You turned to Yoongi and his crafty smirk. "No." You stared at his lips and leaned in, kissing him lightly. You smiled against them. "I love you, Yoongi." Your smile turned into a smirk. "I worked too hard to sneak in here. Even outsmarted Dispatch. You can't get rid of me so easily."

Yoongi smiled back. He leaned against the headboard.

"What if I was okay with it?”

You blinked at him. "Why would you be okay with it?”

Yoongi shrugged. "You're mine, no matter what, no? Not even Jungkook's dick is going to change that."

"... Hah?"

Yoongi held up his hand, long fingers spread out. He ticked them down as he spoke. "Pros: my woman gets to satisfy her little crush, gets the fucking she wants, and will be happy."

You felt your ears burn. "Yoongi..."

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, wicked smile on his lips. "Cons... none."

You rolled your eyes. "You'd be pissed off."

He tilted his head. "What do I have to be pissed off for? Are you saying there's a reason I should be worried?"

You frowned. "No. Even if it did happen, which it won't, you will always be number one."

Yoongi nodded. "There you go."

You let out a puff of air. "I don't think Jungkook would agree anyway. And I wouldn't do it, because it's not the right thing to do."

"Who decided it's wrong?"

You made a face. "I don't know... society?"

"And we trust that societal rules are just and moral?"

"I mean, no..."

-

Washing your hair was always a pain in the ass.

You had to blow-dry it upside down, add five products at different stages, brush it super carefully with a special brush to avoid breakage, collect the fallen hair and throw it out, blah blah blah.

You shrugged on one of Yoongi's shirts after the shower – the black-and-white checkered one he wore during his VLive. Running your hand through your hair, you finally picked up your phone. Yoongi was at physical therapy, so he wouldn't be back for a while. You had some messages from him, probably before he had to put his phone away.

I sent you a gift. It will arrive today. You are not allowed to refuse.

You raised your eyebrows at that. 

P.S. Merry early Christmas. 

Was it jewelry? You pursed your lips. You always told Yoongi not to buy you things. Firstly, because you felt bad you could never reciprocate the amount he spent. You didn't make the money he made, after all. And secondly, you weren't that interested in owning expensive things. The only expensive items you loved were technology-based. Yoongi and you bonded over the newest Samsung products and always kept an eye on the latest tech. 

Maybe that was it? Maybe you had to collect a package. You mused, brushing your teeth. You were going to borrow Yoongi's pants, but you had to go hunt for some. After the teeth brushing. 

You spat and gargled some water.

The front door opened. 

You frowned. Was physical therapy canceled? Yoongi didn't have people come in and clean the apartment, because he didn't want anyone to find you. You weren't supposed to be here and no one knew you were here – except for his members, of course. But they didn't have the key, so it had to be Yoongi. You waited, in case there was someone outside. You didn't want them to hear your voice. The door closed and relocked.

You spat and rinsed out your mouth before turning off the light and going to the hallway.

"Yoongi, was physical therapy can–"

The head of long black hair lifted and turned around. He was in the middle of taking off his black sneakers. He pulled down his black face mask.

It was not Yoongi. 

"Hey, noona."

Abort.

You backed up. 

"J-J-Jungkook?"

The mischievous maknae grinned. 

"I'm the gift."

Your eyes widened. You whipped your phone to your face, nearly dropping it, juggling it for two seconds before slapping it between your palms and rereading Yoongi's messages. Rereading them way too many times because what? What, what, WHAT?

"D-don't you have p-practice?" Why were you stuttering? You never stuttered. But you never had that conversation with Yoongi until a couple days ago either. 

"I have some time, but I have to go back, yeah," Jungkook replied, far too cheerfully for how flustered you were. He was probably trying not to laugh at you. 

"How did you get in? And what do you mean, y-you're the...?"

You felt like your world was spinning. Did Jeon Jungkook just announce he was the gift? What? You're not allowed to refuse. Of course, you were going to refuse! This was Min Yoongi you were in love with! The cutest in the entire world! 

Jungkook brushed back part of his long hair and tucked it behind his ear, revealing half of his forehead and his silver hoops. Smirk on his pink lips, the mole underneath his lower lip winking at you. Skin tan and glowing in the hallway light.

...

Okay, yes, Jeon Jungkook was very handsome, but it didn't matter because–

"Hyung and I had a talk. He gave me the key," Jungkook said, dangling it. 

"Hahaha, why would be do that?" you laughed nervously, still crab-walking backwards because maybe if you just fused with the wall then you were be spared from those penetrating dark brown eyes.

Jungkook stepped into the apartment, following you. “I was surprised too.” He smiled somewhat apologetically. “I guess he overheard me telling Taehyung that I would totally fuck you if you weren’t hyung’s girlfriend.”

You blinked rapidly. “P-pardon?”

Jungkook held up his hands. Oh dear. His pretty, large hands that reminded you of Yoongi’s, but his right hand was tattooed. “But I wasn’t going to do anything though. Promise.” His eyes shifted upwards and then he looked back at you, his rueful expression turning into one of slyness. Shit. “Well, until Yoongi-hyung asked me to, that is.”

You stumbled in the doorframe of the bedroom. To be honest, you kept backing up because Jungkook advancing on you was making you uneasy, hot, and bothered. With emphasis on the latter two. You still couldn’t believe Yoongi would do this to you. This was Yoongi! Mild-mannered, sweetie with swagger, SUGA of BTS!

Then you had a thought.

You were always very good at teasing Yoongi. Either to annoy him or sexually in public situations. You could imagine Yoongi’s smirking face now. Knowing he got the one-up on you. Knowing he’d finally shocked you.

You’re not allowed to refuse.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. A hot shiver went up your spine. Jungkook was right in front of you. Black parka, black jeans. Jungkook unzipped the parka, shrugging out of it. Black dress shirt. You knew Jungkook did not like wearing button-ups. Why was he wearing it? He unbuttoned the first one, revealing his collarbone. Then the second one. Open-mouthed smirk completed with his tongue between his teeth, dark eyes on your shaking form.

The maknae was going to fucking striptease you?

You held a hand up. “Hold on a second.”

Jungkook’s fingertips paused above the next button.

“You’re doing this… for fun?”

Jungkook tilted his head. “No. Not really for fun.” His voice was low, deep. His eyes trailed down your body, then back up to your face, lingering all over you. You swallowed. “I’m doing this because this is the only chance I’ll get.”

“What if I say no?”

Jungkook lowered his hand. “Hyung said you weren’t allowed to refuse.” His voice was softer now, almost pouting. Ouch. It actually pained you. You wanted to give in to him just like that. You loved Yoongi with all your heart, but the maknae’s charms definitely worked on you. They worked on everyone. Everyone loved Jungkook and wanted to give him everything.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, trying to reorient yourself, trying to find the right words. “I’m not saying I’m not interested. I definitely am.” He observed you carefully as you groped for the right words. “But this is a little crazy. And… you could get anyone.”

“I couldn’t get you.”

You slowly, slowly made eye contact with him. Jungkook took a step towards you. You didn’t move, transfixed by his chocolate eyes.

“The way you slowly fell in love with Yoongi-hyung,” he whispered, getting closer and closer. “You didn’t even notice. You still don’t notice. The way I stare at you, you and the beautiful shape of your eyes.” His finger came up and traced your eyes, rooting you in place. “Your cute nose. The shape of your lips.” His fingertip brushed against your lower lip. “So full. I watch you kiss him, wishing it was me.” He caressed your cheek. “The dimples that appear when you smile. So cruel.”

Jungkook’s breathing shallowed. His eyes flickered downwards to your hands, still clutching your phone. He reached for it and took it from you. Threw it onto the bed. Then his hands wrapped around yours, clutching them tight. You stopped breathing. Jungkook’s voice dropped several octaves.

“I watch your hands. Touching him, resting on his thigh, tracing up, palming him right in front of us.”

“I didn’t… think anyone would notice.”

Jungkook leaned in even more, still holding your hands tightly, as if they were going to disappear. You could smell his clean scent, like fresh laundry.

“I always notice,” he murmured. “Whenever you’re there, I can’t help but have my eyes on you. I couldn’t touch, but I could look. I thought that was all I could have.”

Jungkook let go of you. Hand dancing up your neck, cupping your cheek. Tilted his head, eyelashes lowering. Breath against your lips. Eyes pleading you, waiting for the heartbreak.

“Please let me kiss you.”

You’re not allowed to refuse.

You pressed your lips against Jungkook’s, eyes closing. It was impossible to say no. He was sweet and soft. You could feel his nerves and his fear in his kiss, not trying to ask for more, not wanting to ask for too much. It was you who hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Right, wrong? That didn’t matter right now. The only thing you cared about right now was taking Jungkook’s fear away.

You pulled him onto the bed, arms around his neck, mumbling his name against his lips. His breathing hitched, hands circling your waist, holding onto you.

“Noona…”

“Call me by name, Jungkook.”

He gulped, shaking his head. “I can’t.” He gnawed on his lip anxiously. You smiled, and took his hands, placing them by the buttons of his shirt.

“Weren’t you in the middle of giving me a show?” you teased. “You’re great at putting on a show.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a smile. “Oh yeah?”

You settled down into the bed, looking up at him from in between his thighs. You could tell Jungkook was still nervous, but there was something else too. His mischief was creeping back into his sparkling eyes. You cocked an eyebrow, smirking. He undid another button. And another. Carefully, playfully pulling the fabric apart, revealing a little of his skin at a time.

“Hyung told me you like staring at my pictures.”

You shrugged, licking your lips. “They’re nice photos.”

“Were you satisfied by just looking at pictures?” he purred, already reaching lower, lower. You could see the contours of his muscular torso, the top of his abs. Ugh, Jungkook was so attractive. Scratch that, so fucking hot. He reached the bottom of his shirt and placed two fingers under your chin, pushing it back up to his face.

“My eyes are up here.”

His fingers under your chin made you realize how hard you were breathing.

“Jungkook.”

He tilted his head at you, long hair covering part of his face.

Yoongi’s words came back to you. My woman gets to satisfy her little crush. At the time, you thought those words were referring to your crush in Jungkook. But perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe Yoongi was referring to you satisfying Jungkook.

“Don’t hold back.”

And then you got up from the bed, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt and yanking them down Jungkook’s shoulders, kissing him again, but harder this time, tongue sliding into his mouth and thrusting into it, taking his breath away. Jungkook’s eyes went wide, gasping against your tongue, struggling to get out of his sleeves before he scrambled for the buttons on your shirt, moaning as you sucked on his tongue, gripping his upper arms.

“N-noona…”

“Call me by name or nothing at all,” you growled dangerously.

His dark eyes bored into you, daring you. You nipped at his lower lip, grinning.

“You think you’re the only one who’s horny here?”

Your hands danced around his arms, reaching around him, and your nails scratched him down his broad back, hissing as he moaned, tipping his head back, Adam’s apple shaking. Fuck, it felt so good. It felt so fucking good to drag your nails down that back, seeing Jungkook lose some control, falling more and more into the moment. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him, shuddering as his hard body was pressed against you and your half-open shirt.

“I want it all,” you breathed. “I’m so greedy, but I want it all, Jungkook. Give it to me.” Voice dropping, inhaling his delicious scent. “Please.”

He growled deep in his chest and grabbed the bottom of your shirt, yanking up and revealing your bra clasp, undoing it easily. Pushed you back, swiftly pulling your shirt and bra off together, tossing it aside to the floor.

“Fuck, your tits are as pretty as I thought they would be.”

And then Jungkook’s mouth was on you, furiously kissing down your neck, licking your collarbones, biting your shoulder, his hands roughly squeezing your breasts. You moaned, your nipples pressed against his thumbs, pinching them against the side of his hand. His lips travelled down, down and then they latched around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue. Your hands flew up into his hair, gripping it tightly.

“Fuck, they even taste good,” he whined. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your back arched as he began to suck, running your hands through his hair, whimpering his name, telling him how good he was, how nice it felt, lost in the feeling of his tongue and his strong arms around your waist. He switched to the other nipple, saliva dripping. Licking it all over and then breathing on it with his hot breath. Your entire body trembled in his arms from the sensation.

“I’m drooling; that’s how fucking good you taste,” Jungkook mumbled, sucking hard and tight, dark eyes on you as you cried out softly, holding onto his head. Your fingers curled into his long locks, grasping them tightly. He raised his eyebrow, but you began to rock back and forth into his mouth, tugging your nipple with his lips. Jungkook’s fingers dug into you, erotic groans vibrating in his throat as you fucked his face with your tits.

Wetness soaked your panties, the scent of your sex getting stronger and stronger.

Jungkook removed his lips, sucking in a tight breath. Your name slid out of his mouth in a tight hiss, no honorifics. You felt your pussy throb hearing your name come from his lips, saturated with desire. You grinned.

“Took you long enough, Jungkookie.”

He chuckled, grabbing your hips and shoving them up into his jean-covered crotch. You gasped. You could feel his erection straining against the thick fabric, grinding against your soaked panties. Fuck, you couldn’t stop staring at Jungkook, him and his sharp jawline and his beautiful eyes and his playful smirk on his damn lips, infuriating and arousing you.

“You’re so fucking irresistible,” you whispered, rolling your hips into him hard. It was his turn to gasp, his turn to shudder at your movements. The way you could turn him from smug confidence to those submissive doe eyes was turning you on way too much.

You wanted to ruin him and be ruined by him.

You grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. He yelped as you slid down, nails racking down his torso, whimpering in your wake. The front of his jeans was wet with your juices. You undid the button, zipping them down.

“How are you going to explain this?” you smirked, gesturing down to the giant wet sport at the front of his pants.

“They’re black,” Jungkook panted. “It’ll be fine.”

You laughed, pulling them down his legs. Jungkook’s hand flew down, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a condom. You tilted your head.

“Only one?”

He looked down at you, startled. “W-well… I don’t know if you want more….”

You raised an eyebrow and reached over to the nightstand, opening it and taking out the whole damn box.

“Er… I cannot cum that many times. In one sitting, anyway.”

“Ah, well, let’s just see then.”

You peeled his jeans and boxer briefs off, licking your lips as your hungry eyes landed on his cock. Half-hard, pre-cum glistening at the tip. Jungkook swallowed nervously, but you crawled on top of him, immediately licking a fat stripe down his entire length. You moaned with him, feeling the blood rushing to his cock, pulsing against your lips. You hadn’t had sex in a while, trying not to tempt Yoongi or aggravate his injury. His recovery was too important to not only you, but the nation and the world. So, you kept your need to yourself, but now Jungkook’s cock was right on front of you.

And there was nothing to stop you.

You pressed your lips against his balls, licking them all over, playing with them with your tongue. Jungkook groaned above you, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as you began to suck on them, bobbing your head up and down. He was panting your name breathlessly, helpless as you pulled your head back, his balls slowly slipping out from between your lips.

You kissed up his length, tongue swirling around the head before taking him in, all the way, softly but firmly. If there was anything Yoongi’s tongue technology taught you, it was how to apply his technique to giving head, much to his surprise. You were good at extrapolation. You pressed the head into the roof of your mouth, raking it all the way to the upper part of your throat and tightening. Jungkook gasped, eyelids fluttering as your tongue assaulted the bottom of his cock, from the bottom of the head to the base.

You heard something between the lines of, “Holy fuck”, “What the hell”, and “Oh my fucking God.”

You retreated for a second, wrapped your tongue all the way around the head and teased the thin skin right where the head and length connected, repeatedly rubbing your lips over it before going all the way down again.

Now Jungkook was absolutely incomprehensible as you began to suck him off, fast and tight, lips soft compared to the vacuum of your mouth. Was it unfair? Yes, it was, giving him soft and hard, rough and wet, scraping the head against the back of your throat and choking it with your muscles. Jungkook was whimpering and cursing, his thighs flexing under you, tasting so fucking good that you were dripping between your own thighs.

You didn’t stop.

Faster and faster, holding his hips down, watching Jungkook unravel under you, hands in his long hair and slamming his head back into the pillows, covering his mouth as he screamed your name into his palm. You felt his cock spurt his cum into the back of your throat, your muscles constricting as you drank him up, your moans added vibration along his length.

The first orgasm was always the most and tasted the best. So much, coating the entire inside of your mouth, your tongue swiping around his cock to collect it all. You lapped it all up, encouraging his cock to get hard again. Smirking as you succeeded, popping your mouth off gently.

“What position do you want me in, Jungkook?” you murmured, throat a little hoarse, taking the condom and opening it, rolling it onto his cock.

He moved his palm from his mouth, panting hard, hair all over his face. His intense brown eyes locked with yours and you knew the dynamic was switched.

“On your back. Want to watch your face when I fuck you.”

You could relent, rolling onto your back, removing your soaked panties, chest heaving in anticipation as Jungkook got up, towering over you. His hands gripped your hips, adjusting you to the correct angle. You could play the other part, with one small caveat. His eyes found yours, glaring at you.

“Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Make me.”

Jungkook thrust into you, hard, and you kept the smirk on your face as he forcefully stretched you out, pushing your limits.

“Hurts?” he taunted.

You licked your lips. “It’s not good unless it hurts.”

The slight irritation that flashed in his eyes spurred you on. You tightened around his cock, exhaling with a hiss. Fitting him to you, bringing out the dominance in him. Jungkook gritted his teeth and slammed his hips into yours. You had the audacity to chuckle.

“Did you really want me that bad, Jungkook?” you teased. “Or were they only pretty words? Are you a tiger or just a cute little bunny?”

Jungkook snarled low in his chest.

Then he began to fuck you, lifting your legs onto his shoulders and pressing down, smacking your ass with his hips. The position made you tighter, gravity making him pound you harder, forcing you to feel all of him as drove his rock-hard cock into you. Your hands flew up, one pressed against the headboard, the other clutching a pillow for dear life, eyes squeezing shut at the fullness and harshness.

“A-ah, fuck, yes,” you gasped. “So fucking good…”

Jungkook brought his face close to yours, hitting you deeper and just as hard. “Where’s your smirk now? Can’t give me one when you’re being punished by this cock?”

Your heart jerked in your chest at his dirty words, becoming even wetter with the dangerous edge to his voice.

“Listen to you, fucking dripping down my thighs with how wet you are for me,” Jungkook hissed, inhaling sharply as you throbbed hard around him. He groaned, clenching his jaw. “Fuck, I can’t help myself, I just have to fuck you like an animal.”

You snickered dryly, jerking your hips up to meet his. Not saying anything, letting your pussy do the talking because you were so close to orgasm that you roughly massaged his entire length, throwing your head back and moaning as you came around him. The squelching sounds between your connected hips got louder, drenching the air with the scent of sex and lust.

Jungkook sank his teeth into his lower lip, grimacing. “Fucking unfair how good you feel,” he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut, ramming his hips into you, muscles in his arms and shoulders tense. “Can’t even last, fuck.”

He crashed his hips into yours and growled your name in his throat, cock smacking against your walls as he came, swelling the condom full. You whimpered in ecstasy, back arching, clenching around his cock.

“Yes, Jungkook, oh, yeeees…”

It wasn’t enough.

Neither of you had had enough.

Jungkook gripped the end of the condom and pulled out, hissing at the sensitivity as he took it off. You tossed him a spare towel from the nightstand drawer and he cleaned himself, gasping.

“Hands and knees.”

You rolled over, flinging the box of condoms at him, and he caught it, dark eyes glinting.

“Spread that pussy for me.”

You reached back and planted your hands on each ass cheek pulling your wet slit open. Jungkook hissed and you could hear skin on skin of him jacking himself off to get hard again. An idea popped into your head.

You flexed your vaginal muscles, opening and closing your hole for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so damn sexy it’s illegal.”

You heard him get onto his knees. The sound of a condom being ripped open. His groan as he fitted the condom over his aching cock. His strong hands gripped your hips, the head rubbing against your entrance.

“Don’t know how long I can last,” he murmured. “I’m just going to go as hard and as fast as I can.”

“Do it, Jungkook,” you panted. “Make me feel you for days.”

He whimpered at your words and sank into you. Both of you moaning, your hands clutching the sheets, his fingertips bruising your skin, imprints of lust. Jungkook was pure, glorious power that threatened to overtake you, his cock throbbing and digging into your walls as he fucked you hard, muscular thighs slapping into yours. The poor bed could barely take it, but neither of you noticed, lost in the feeling of being filled and doing the filling.

His hand came down on your ass, a sharp, harsh sound that echoed off the walls and made your pussy clench. It barely hurt. You had felt worse before.

“You like that?” he panted.

“Fuck yes I do,” you gasped hotly. “Spank my ass, Jungkook.”

He did, thrusting into you and slapping you repeatedly, making your ass jiggle. You squeezed him each time, now rolling your hips back into him, arching your back as you came with a satisfied sigh. Your skin stung, your pussy was pulsating with abuse, and Jungkook’s cock hit all your deepest spots.

“Fuck, Jungkook, you’re so fucking good at fucking me,” you breathed, feeling him wind you up again.

He couldn’t even reply, only loudly moaning through the convulsions of your pussy radiating up and down his length. Good thing the walls were pretty soundproof, because it was a goddamn porno in the bedroom at the moment. It was obscenely lewd with the wet slapping of his hips into yours.

“So close, so close, squeeze me, fuck, choke my damn dick,” Jungkook rambled in between breaths, hissing as you did as you were told, gripping him every time he slammed into you. He came with a half-scream, half-moan of your name, whining at the sensitivity as you pulsed around him, leaking down his thighs and yours. It smelled so strongly of sex that you weren’t sure how you were supposed to clean this up before Yoongi came home.

Your phone buzzed loudly on the bed.

You grunted, clawing for it as Jungkook remained inside you, softening but refusing to leave your warmth. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your back.

You checked your messages. From Yoongi.

Your gift needs to get his ass to practice before he gets yelled at.

“Jungkook, you’re gonna be late.”

He groaned in annoyance, squeezing you tighter. Another message popped up.

Tell him there’s plenty of time before I fully recover. If he works hard and does a good job, maybe after I recover too.

You poked Jungkook. He lifted his head, pouting, eyes changing to excitement when he read the message.

-

part ii “You’re not allowed to leave until your noona is satisfied.”

--

masterpost

[babymilkawa]

a love that rings

bakugou katsuki, todoroki shoto (for the first half)

gn!reader :)

a soulmate au heavily inspired by the webtoon/kdrama love alarm

word count; 5682

warnings: angst, fluff, like one swear word

There are many things that Todoroki can put on his list of things he appreciates. The first bullet point, no doubt, would be your name in his curved but elongated writing, followed by several skipped spaces and then a list of the names of his friends. Except it doesn’t stop there. Below your name in those skipped lines there is an indented bullet point where little moments or traits of your relationship are written down. Here are a few: 

I love it when y/n tells me why they love me

I love it when y/n brushes their lips on my scar

I love it when y/n says my name in their sleepy voice

And it could go on and on. He’s still adding more to it to this day. 

Todoroki doesn’t know if you know about this list or if you have one of your own. He likes to know that it’s there, that he can always go back to it when he needs a reminder. And it’s never failed at that. Often times, he finds himself missing you late at night and he’ll just slip the paper out, reading it under the dim glow of his lamp. It’ll bring a fond smile to his face and he’ll be able to fall asleep just like that, counting the days until he gets to see you again. 

So he’s never doubted your relationship. He’s always felt a sense of security from you that he didn’t think he could get from anyone. Aside from that, Todoroki felt like life was moving at the right direction for him. He was making progress with his quirk and he landed an internship at an agency away from his father. Todoroki was slowly letting his walls descend.

One day, the two of you joined your usual cafeteria friends for lunch. Iida and Midoriya were talking about the most recent exam and Tsuyu and Uraraka were having their own conversation. But upon sitting down next to them, you couldn’t help but notice that they were both staring intently at their phone screens, giggling and occasionally gasping. Out of curiosity, you scooted closer and asked what had caught their attention.

“Oh, y/n have you heard?” asked Uraraka. “Apparently there was this app called love alarm that used to be trending in the early 2000′s! Now it’s getting popular again, you should really check it out.”

Her attention diverted back to her phone so you decided to see what was so interesting about it instead of asking her yourself. Pulling out your phone, you decided to download the app seeing as you had nothing else to do. Next to you, Todoroki was engaged in the conversation with Iida and Midoriya, nodding along as he put your favorite items from his plate to yours.

While taking bites out of your own lunch, you created a profile for the app, picking a picture that Todoroki had recently taken of you. You were presented with a loading screen and it was just about to be completed when a ringing sound echoed the cafeteria, followed by another in the same pitch. 

A blanket fell over the voices in the cafeteria and all heads turned to where the sound came from. Towards the east wall, where all the condiments are kept, two people stood facing each other, halos surrounding their feet. 

You were still confused as to what was even happening when Uraraka gasped next to you and whispered, “They rang each other’s love alarm! They’re soulmates!!”

Upon looking closer, you saw that they were students from Class 1-B. Tetsutetsu and Kendo to be exact. The pair of soulmates were glancing at their cellphones and looking up at the other, faces beating a shade of red. Then, one of the cafeteria ladies banged their spatula on a tray and ordered everyone to go back to their own business. 

Looking away, you focused your attention back to your phone where your own profile lay with arrows pointing to an empty bubble. Connecting two and two together, you realized that this app told you who your soulmate was. A lightbulb lit in your head and you turned to your boyfriend who was just about finishing up his lunch.

“Shoto! Have you heard? This app tells you who your soulmate is! See, mine is empty right now and I think it’s because you haven’t downloaded it yet.” 

You turned your screen towards him and he looked at it intently, mouth still chewing. 

“That's..interesting,” he said. “But why do we need an app to tell us that we love each other?”

“I know but Sho, I just want to see if this app is legit. Apparently, it was a thing back then too.” 

He seemed to understand your reasoning and frankly, he was curious himself. Pulling out his phone, Todoroki downloaded the app and set up a profile. As the two of you waited for his screen to load, you overheard students from other tables talking about love alarm too. 

“My parents said that this brought them together! It must be really accurate, then.”

Upon hearing that, your face lit up. It was true that you and Todoroki didn’t need technology to know that the two of you had nothing but love for each other. You already knew that he was your soulmate and that you were his. But the idea of having something like a man-made app confirm your feelings made you feel a sense of pride. It was the fact that you and Todoroki found each other even without one. 

Your boyfriend’s screen finished loading and the two of you leaned your heads together, waiting for a picture of you to pop up in his empty bubble. A line of sparkles circled around it and there you appeared, followed by a burst of confetti on the screen. You gasped and looked at him excitedly, shaking his arm. He smiled at you and looked at your icon on his screen, pride swelling in his own chest. The picture he had chosen for his own profile was one that you took for him. It was on the same day as the picture that he took for you, and arrows linked them together. 

Grabbing your own phone, you opened the app and waited eagerly for Todoroki’s picture to show up. You couldn’t wait to hear that same ringing sound you heard earlier and to see those overlapping halos by your feet. Then everyone would see that the two of you were made for each other, not even an app could disagree. 

But after staring at it for a good minute, the smile on your face started to droop. The grey bubble on your screen remained empty, even the smile in your profile picture looked a little upset. Todoroki was looking too but he said nothing. Why wasn’t his picture showing up? Was the app just glitching? All the excitement you had felt earlier drained away. Todoroki, sensing your change in mood, took your phone and helped you restart it.

“Maybe a lot of people are using it at the moment, that’s why it’s being a little slow. I’m sure I’ll show up if you check later,” he said, throwing you a soft smile. 

You simply nodded and turned back to your forgotten lunch. Around you, the cafeteria was still alive with voices and laughter. Somewhere in the back, another pair of rings echoed around. You picked at your food, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. That could’ve been yours. You and Todoroki could’ve had your own rings and everyone would congratulate the two of you. But instead, shouts of encouragement came from the back, not directed at you. 

Everywhere you went, you could hear rings across the halls or people crowding around their screens. It only angered you even further, knowing that your own love alarm was not functioning properly. It had been a few days since the events at the cafeteria and Todoroki’s profile refused to show up on your screen. He tried his best to console you and to let you know that it was just an app. Technology had its own mistakes, too. And you were starting to believe him. Your own friends had pointed out that the terms and conditions stated that it was only proven to be right 95% of the time. So really, it didn’t mean anything if the two of you were not paired as soulmates. It didn’t mean that you loved each other any less. Todoroki suggested that you both deleted the app and you agreed. But a part of you still wanted to wait and see. If Todoroki didn’t show up, would someone else? But you quickly became disgusted with your own train of thought. How would your boyfriend feel if you were his soulmate but he wasn’t yours? He would be just as upset. And if someone else was paired with you? Right, it would break his heart. You had to delete it right away. And you were just about to when a gruff voice called out to you.

Looking up, you saw that it was Bakugou. The two of you would meet in the afternoon sometimes to train while your boyfriend was at his internship. You and Bakugou both had quirks that went well together. You had the ability to slow down time around you, with a proximity of 10 feet. It came with the cost of extreme exhaustion which is why you had to train your reflexes to react quicker, extending your time while holding out your quirk. Even a few minutes or seconds could make a difference in battle. Bakugou himself was able to react quickly to any situation thrown at him so you figured that he was the best trainer in order for you to advance with your quirk. 

Forgetting all about your task to delete love alarm, you walked with your training partner and started to warm up. 

There was a calm silence between the two of you as you both stretched and warmed up your muscles. Glancing at him, you saw that his face was molded into a stern expression and you wondered if he ever had any other emotion. Then, just as the two of you were getting ready to start, you heard a pair of rings coming from outside Heights Alliance. The sound sparked curiosity in you and you turned to your partner.

“Have you heard of this new app called love alarm? People are becoming obsessed with it.”

He shrugged, “Not interested.”

“Aw, come on. You should give it a try, see who your soulmate is.”

“Like I said, I’m not interested. Now hurry up before it gets dark.”

---

After taking a cold shower and finishing your homework, Todoroki had gotten back from his internship, just about ready to crash from how exhausted he was. Seeing your boyfriend like this made you reach over to ruffle his hair, helping him take his hero costume off. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I was going to wait for you.”

“You must be hungry then. You can go without me, I just want to shower real quick.”

“I can wait for you, Sho. It’s no big deal.”

Too tired to argue, Todoroki nodded and went to go shower. As he was in there, you helped clean up his equipment and put his sweaty clothes in the laundry. 

Somewhere in between, his phone had slipped out and you picked it up. You were going to set it aside when it lit up, presenting his wallpaper, a picture of the two of you on your most recent date. It made your heart warm and you smiled down at it. That’s right. You didn’t need some man-made program to tell you that Todoroki was right for you. You already knew it in your heart. 

But you couldn’t help but wonder if he had deleted the app like he said he would. You realized you had forgotten to do that yourself. Oops. You could do it later. Now, you unlocked his phone, only to see that it was already on the app. So he hadn’t deleted it yet. Looking at the pictures of his gentle face and your happy features, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Like it was your fault that your alarms didn’t ring. Obviously it wasn’t true but then it didn’t make any sense either. Did you just not have a soulmate? Did the universe decide to leave you alone? Each person should have their own. There was always a pair. Then, you started to doubt your feelings for Todoroki. You knew that you loved him, though. Was it just not enough? You couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt for your boyfriend. He loved you so much, enough for the app to recognize it. Maybe you just had to show it to him more. Yeah, that was it. All you had to do was openly show and tell him how much he meant to you. 

Putting his phone to the side, you patiently waited for him to come out of the shower. You decided that now was a great time to start. As soon as he comes out, you would hand him his clothes and listen to him talk about his day. That was nothing different. But you would also make sure that he himself knew you were listening. Maybe throw in a light massage to his aching muscles. And that’s just what you did when he stepped out. 

The two of you walked hand in hand to the kitchen of Heights Alliance, sticking your noses up in the air to the smell of good food. As Todoroki was talking next to you, you saw Bakugou enter the hallway and you were about to wave to him when the sound of rings bounced the narrow walls. Looking around, you noticed that there was no one around but the three of you. Heart beating in excitement, you pulled your phone out. Was it finally working? Did you finally ring Todoroki’s alarm? The other two pulled their phones out too and you turned your screen, ready to show your boyfriend his picture below yours when you saw that..he wasn’t there. But there was someone below your picture, alright. Instead, it was the last person you would ever expect. Looking down at your phone, you saw that a picture of Bakugou was connected with arrows to your own. And a series of halos surrounded your feet, linking you with him. And Todoroki was caught in the middle of it.  

---

Back in your dorm, you found yourself angry, no, fuming. What kind of sick person would-would create something like this? Todoroki could sense your ignited emotions from across the room and he quickly went over to calm your shaking fists. 

“Y/n, look it’s noth-”

“I’m sorry!” You said, looking up at him with glistening eyes. “I-I should’ve deleted it when you told me to b-but I forgot and-”

“Y/n.”

You swallowed, tears threatening to spill out. You tried to read your boyfriend’s expression but your vision blurred and oh god, why couldn’t you have just listened to him then..

“I’m not..angry, y/n. Just confused.”

You sniffed and he wiped away the teardrops leaking at the corners of your eyes. 

“I didn’t delete it, either,” he said. “I forgot too. So, it’s not your fault.”

Right. You knew that when you looked at his phone. It wasn’t snooping, the two of you trusted each other and freely looked at the other’s phones often. 

“But..” he continued. “I don’t think it would’ve done much of a difference.” 

At this, you looked up at him and he nodded. “I did some research and apparently, your alarm won’t turn off just because you deleted the app. Once you download it and set up a profile, there’s no turning back.”

Oh. Oh. So that meant that Bakugou must’ve recently downloaded it. Because when you had asked him about it, he had said he wasn’t interested. Which is why your alarms didn’t ring while you trained. It was because he didn’t even have it then. 

But then, the idea of you and your training partner made no sense either. The two of you could barely be even called friends. He would often dismiss any small talk you tried to initiate and only commented about your sparring mistakes. So what made love alarm think that the two of you were for each other?

You thought that it was supposed to bring soulmates together. But all you could feel was a whirl of emotions, anything but love and connectedness. It would bring a wedge between Todoroki and you.

“Y/n,” he said, bringing you out of your head. “I think that this app is..what people say it is. Meaning, I think it’s accurate. After all the researching I did, I didn’t read a single story or review talking about how two people who weren’t meant for each other were put together. I love you y/n..but I don’t want to be the one who holds you back from..Bakugou. If he's the one who'll really make you happy.”

Realizing what he was hinting at, you grabbed at his arms, furiously shaking your head from side to side.

“No! This-this app is bullshit! We can’t believe it! You make me happy, Sho!”

Todoroki slowly detached your gripping hands from his arms. “I just want you to be happy, y/n. And if it’s with him, then I’ll let you go.”

No, he couldn't just leave like that. You made eye contact with him and slowly took in a deep breath, letting your muscles relax.

He immediately realized what you were doing and backed away. "Don't."

But it was the only way to make him stay. By slowing time down around you, you could prevent him from leaving, from stepping out that door and turning away forever.

Todoroki, however, was quick to step out, leaving a distance of more than 10 feet between the two of you.

Heart heavy, you could feel the tears creeping back up so you let yourself exhale. It was no use.

He felt like he was doing the right thing for you, but his heart still filled with pain and regret. Todoroki left your dorm, trying to forget the warmth emanating from your hands just seconds ago.

---

In another dorm, one floor down and several doors away, Bakugou lay with his head in his hands.

Y/n? My soulmate? He didn’t know whether to feel hopeful or pity. Pity would be for the man you loved.

Bakugou had always admired your strength and determination, your beauty. And only recently did he really accept his feelings for you. He was doing a great job at hiding it, too. If the two of you were ever put in the same sentence, the topic would only be about your quirks and training. Nothing more. He made sure to avoid conversation with you, even if a part of him was dying to know your interests, anything outside of your quirk and fighting ability.

But now, this new piece of information left him confused, lost as to what to do next. And he always hated this feeling. The feeling of not being in control of yourself. It meant he was weak, vulnerable to whatever was out to get him. He had to figure out the next steps, quick.

First things first, he would delete the app. Yes, the last thing he wanted was to even hear those rings again, especially if they were coming from him. He was sure Todoroki would hate it too, his own significant other, ringing another person's alarm. Though the blonde and Todoroki never really got along, he couldn't help but feel remorseful.

Bakugou sighed out loud. If only he hadn't downloaded it. After hearing you talk about it before training, his curiosity sparked and Bakugou just wanted to know if he even stood a chance. Of course, his goals of becoming #1 couldn't even compare to his desire for you, at least that's what he told himself. He had long accepted that it was just a crush, no need to think about how he might like the idea of you being with him.

After deleting love alarm clean off his phone, Bakugou pondered about what to do next. Scanning his eyes around his dorm, he carefully thought about what could be done to erase that look of horror from your face earlier. His eyes landed on his gauntlets and he grabbed his phone again. Bakugou would text you, saying that the two of you shouldn't train anymore. Although he couldn't think of anyone better than you as his partner, he had to let it go.

The text was about to be sent when a thought occurred to him. Why was he doing this? Why was he trying to cut ties with you all of a sudden? Did he..care about your relationship with Todoroki? No, that's not it. Even if Todoroki looked so hurt at that moment, there was still something about him that pissed the blonde off. Then what was it? Did his feelings for you grow so strong that he cared about your happiness, even if it was with another man?

Annoyed, Bakugou deleted the text. He could just tell you in person later.

---

Back in your dorm, you found yourself pacing back and forth. When Todoroki left, you didn't know whether to go after him or to let him cool off. He was clearly distressed. Maybe it was just something he said in the heat of the moment, breaking up. Yeah.

Leaving your dorm, you set out to go find him. In the common room, a few of your classmates were gathered around, casually talking in their free time. Todoroki wasn't in the room and you were about to leave when you saw him enter, his bi-colored hair standing out. Your face broke into a smile and a call almost left your lips when a pair of rings broke out, shushing the people in the room. Your smile faded a little as you looked at your phone. Nothing changed, as expected. Bakugou's profile was still there but it wasn't yours that rang.

"Momo!"

You looked up. Mina's figure was hovering over the said classmate who was seated on the couch. Sure enough, a small halo surrounded her feet, followed by more increasing in size. Peering over her shoulder, you saw who her soulmate was and your heart shattered. Your breath left your lungs and your throat closed up. All you wanted was to just get out of there. You didn't even want to see where the other set of rings lay, you knew they were there.

After you left, Todoroki found himself staring at the spot where you stood. His eyes were on you when it happened. He didn't have to check to know that Momo's rings were connected to his.

Right after he left your dorm, Todoroki received a notification from love alarm.

Todoroki Shoto, a shield has been gifted to you.

A love alarm shield: your soulmate will be blocked, replacing them will be the second choice.

You can request for a spear anytime after the transaction and all effects from the shield will be erased.

Would you like to use it?

He did it for you, so you could be happy with your soulmate.

And there in the common room, on his screen, was Momo's picture.

---

The next afternoon, Bakugou walked up to you and asked if you still wanted to train together. In your eyes, he could see that you had gotten no sleep, mind still foggy from last night's events.

You answered him with a meek "yes," hoping that sparring with him would wake you up and help you recharge.

After seeing your ex-boyfriend's face on another person's phone, you decided that it was right to let him go. You understood then, how he felt. If Momo and Todoroki were really meant for each other, you couldn't get in the way. You wanted him to be happy too.

Beside you, Bakugou was silent as usual, hands stuffed in his pockets. But you knew that things were different. You were each other's soulmate but you felt like you were close to him as much as you were close to Tokoyami, whom you've never even talked to.

You just felt so lonely. Last night was the first night in months where you slept alone, without the security of Todoroki's embrace. And it didn't feel like that was going to change anytime soon. Bakugou was never one for small talk so it was a waste of time to even try to become closer to him.

The blonde himself was contemplating on whether he should strike up a conversation or not. The reason why he always closed himself off to you was because he knew that if he really opened up, you would be able to see every crack and flaw and he would be left vulnerable.

Still, Bakugou couldn't help but think of the app as some kind of calling to him. He felt like he had to give it a try at least.

Turning to you, Bakugou saw that you were patting your pockets, a slight frown creasing your forehead.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I think I forgot my phone. Sorry, I'll be right back," you said, running towards the direction you came from.

Bakugou let out a sigh. Good, I didn't even know what I was going to say.

He decided to wait at the same spot instead of continuing the path to the field. It wouldn't take you long anyways, Heights Alliance was just in his view.

And only 5 minutes passed when he saw your figure come out of the dorms, jogging to catch up with him.

Then it happened again. A burst of halos surrounded you and looking down at his own feet, Bakugou saw that it was happening to him too.

You froze in place. Dammit, now?! As if things weren't awkward enough between us.

But 5 feet across from you, Bakugou was confused. He had deleted the app, didn't he? Why was it still linking the two of you together?

Slowly, you approached him and said, "Sorry, I know that's going to be annoying. You can't really turn it off."

"What?" You can't? That made no sense.

"Yeah," you continued. "Even if you delete the app, it'll still ring. Once you create a profile, you can't turn back."

That..sucked. And why were you apologizing? Bakugou thought. None of this was your fault.

"Well I guess you're stuck with me then," you joked.

Bakugou looked at you. "You're no bother."

He looked away but still noticed the surprise on your face.

"Really? I mean, training isn't too bad with you. I think we've both improved a lot."

Right. Training. He didn't care about your quirk or how compatible it was with his. He already knew all that. He wanted to know who you were. Your favorite food, hobby, cafe. And now was the best time, he felt.

And so as you trained, Bakugou let himself open up and he welcomed your attempts of small talk, listening intently to every word you said. Conversation flowed naturally out of the two of you and you wondered why it was never like this. Bakugou was someone who was so easy to talk to, even if it didn't seem like it. He probably just took some time warming up.

Over the next hour, Bakugou was able to learn more about you as a person. He felt like he was finally meeting you for the first time. It made him wonder too, why it took him so long to let you in. And to think that all he needed was a push from some app.

A half an hour had passed and training was going well. You were both drenched with sweat but adrenaline rushed through you and you eagerly welcomed it. It was times like this that made you energized. You could forget about every worry you had and focus on the moment, on the fire coursing through your veins.

You dodged a blast directed at you and almost froze it in time when you felt a kick to the back of your knees. What? How'd he get behind me so fast? Your legs gave out underneath you but a pair of strong arms were able to catch you before you met the ground.

Looking up, you made contact with a pair of red eyes staring down at you. He was close, very close. And only now did you notice how handsome the man in front of you was. His jawline was sharp and his nose had a perfect slant. He even had a few tiny freckles that spotted his cheeks. And..a small tint of pink.

Bakugou raised you upright and you both turned away. No doubt, your own face was rising with color.

Holding out a hand, Bakugou helped you get up and you were, once again, in very close proximity with the blonde. This time, you didn't look away. Instead, both your heads leaned in close until your lips touched and it felt..right. The kiss was short and left you wanting more. Bakugou had soft lips and he was surprisingly a good kisser.

For a second there, neither of you looked away. Your hand was still in his and your chests were almost touching. Then, as if realizing what just happened, you separated quickly. Bakugou cleared his throat and decided to call it a day. You nodded, suddenly feeling tired.

It didn't take long for the two of you to crave the other's lips, however. You found yourself in front of his door, asking him to tutor you before the next test. He would then make you dinner after a rough session, even if he was tired himself.

It soon led to lunch in the cafeteria together and hanging out with his friends. One day, he officially asked you out. You agreed, of course, and just like that, the hole that a certain someone had opened inside you was completed.

---

It’s been 2 years and you’re gathered around, taking your memorable graduation pictures. Bakugou’s got an arm around you and you’re both holding a bouquet of flowers his parents gave. The sun beating above you is burning through your black cloaks, making you look forward to that cold drink, sitting patiently at your favorite cafe with beads of water dripping down its shaft.

Looking across the parking lot, you can see other families and your fellow classmates crowding together for a picture to be framed, bright faces smiling behind a glass.

Todoroki holds his diploma tight and places a hand on top of his cap, not wanting the wind to blow away his hard work, his time in U.A., his memories. And looking back at the building behind him, he could feel all of them flooding back. Some were good, some were..best not to mention.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and Todoroki pulls it out. Speak of the devil. There was a message from love alarm.

Todoroki Shoto, a spear has been gifted to you.

A love alarm spear: all effects from the shield previously gifted will be erased.

You may not request for a shield after this transaction.

Would you like to use it?

Fingers hovering over the screen, Todoroki ponders. He's in a relationship with Momo. Would using this break them apart? He had asked her out without thinking one day and they had started from there. It took time, but they worked well on the field, quirks and minds blending together.

He doesn't regret asking her out, they have their good times. But he thinks about his future and if he really sees her in them. Yes, of course she'll be there. To say the truth, Todoroki just wants nothing to do with this app anymore. It gave him a new start and he'll end it at that.

Tapping the red letters on his screen, Todoroki tucks his phone away to lean in close to his girlfriend, smiling for yet another picture.

Hand in hand, you and Bakugou head towards his car, where Congratulations! has been written across the back window with marker. Flowers and their petals litter the exterior of the car as if the two of you had just gotten married.

Placing your bouquets and diplomas safely in the backseat, he drives you away, rolling down the windows as the two of you yell out your goodbyes to your classmates, promising to meet soon.

The air is nice and the wind blowing from the fully opened windows whips back your hair and kisses your face. Out on the sidewalks, people are biking around, enjoying the weather on this lovely day. It makes you smile, how content you are at the moment. You have your boyfriend next to you, a cold drink patiently waiting, and a bright future ahead of you.

Bakugou glances at you and upon seeing your smile, he spreads one himself.

There are many things that Bakugou can put on his list of things he appreciates. The first bullet point, no doubt, would be your name in his scratchy but still readable writing, followed by several skipped spaces and then a list of the names of his friends. Except it doesn’t stop there. Below your name in those skipped lines there is an indented bullet point where little moments or traits of your relationship are written down. Here are a few:

Y/n, I love them and I love that they remind me that they love me back

Y/n, I love them and I love that they support my goals

Y/n, I love them and I love that they are strong and independent

And it could go on and on. He’s still adding more to it to this day.

a/n: wow I'm like proud of this but the romance is where??

bnha masterlist

[etherrreal]

“resentment”

Pairing: oikawa x fem!reader Genre: angst Summary: you used to love oikawa’s determination, his drive, his willingness to give his all and sacrifice everything to get the things he wants. now those are the same things that make you resent him. WC: 6,700 Warnings: lots of angst, explicit language, reader’s kinda petty but so is oikawa, relationship isn’t toxic or anything but it could def be better A/N: shoutout to @shadowkunoichi​ for this request! your ask gave me enough serotonin to last for the rest of the week <3 it’s also important to note that the moment i saw oikawa’s smug ass face on screen my brain and heart immediately went “this the one” so here’s some pain ft. my favorite setter -Dawn

The first few times Oikawa cancels your dates for extended volleyball practice, you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you. You’re disappointed, of course –you barely see him enough as it is, despite living together for three months, despite dating for a total of eight– but it’s not the end of the world. It’s just another compromise you have to make, and it probably won’t be the last.

That’s what relationships are about, anyway, you remind yourself firmly, whenever the silence of your too-big for one person apartment starts to get to you. Compromise.

You’re no stranger to compromise, either. You can’t be, not when you’re dating a pro-athlete. You know better than anyone how talented Oikawa is, how admired. He’s worked so hard, and you’re so proud of him. You may not know much about sports, but you do know that your boyfriend has an amazing career ahead of him.

And while the selfish part of you would like to keep him all to yourself, you also know it won’t always be possible, and you tell yourself you’re okay with that. You love Oikawa, and you support every single one of his dreams, even if doing so means you have to eat dinner on your own sometimes.

It won’t always be this way, you tell yourself. It’s just for now. And it definitely doesn’t mean he loves you any less.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It helps that he’s always sorry about it. You hear it in his voice whenever he calls you to tell you he won’t be home until late, see it in the guilty way his eyes search for yours through the screen when he FaceTimes you to let you know you shouldn’t wait up for him. He’s even more torn up about it than you are most of the time, blowing your phone up with apologetic voice notes and text messages with too many emojis.

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: babe 😔😔

[you]:: yes baby?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😔😔😔😔

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😩😩😭😭

[you]:: oh boy

[you]:: you’re not gonna be home in time for dinner, are you?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i don’t think so 😩😔 we have that game coming up so we’ll be practicing all night

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m so sorry baby ☹️☹️ but i’ll have to miss dinner again 😭😭

[you]:: it’s fine, i’ll just find someone else to share my chicken with

[you]:: speaking of, u have ushiwaka’s #? i wanna see something

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: STOPPPP 😭😭 i’m sorry!!!

[you]:: allegedly

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: stop 😭😭 i mean it!! i love you pls don’t hate me 😩☹️

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m really sorry babe ☹️☹️

[you]:: if ur apology doesn’t include dollar signs then i don’t wanna hear it

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: check ur email

[you]:: ??

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 👀😇

You check your email, and sure enough, there’s a gift card there to your favorite clothing store, along with a note that reads “financial compensation for putting up with me <3 also if u ever share chicken with ushiwaka i’ll cry and then die so pls don’t.” It makes you laugh so hard you forget about being upset with him in the first place.

[you]:: i was joking!! u didn’t actually have to send me anything u weirdo

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i know 😇😏😘

And when he does make it home that night with an apology on his lips, a bouquet of flowers, and a promise that he’ll make it up to you, it’s hard to do anything else besides forgive him. Because you know that no matter how crazy both of your schedules are, no matter how lonely you might feel without him at your side, he loves you more than anything, and you love him as much in return. And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re thankful to have successfully made it through your first year of grad school with just a caffeine addiction and minor bags under your eyes, but not having to attend your classes or meet with your professors over the break means you’re at the apartment a lot more. You still have your job, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore Oikawa’s absence.

It’s not just dates he’s missing anymore. It’s family events, outings with your friends, getaway trips the two of you planned weeks in advance.

You know it’s not his fault. He has things he wants to accomplish, goals he set for himself long before he met you. The Olympics are coming up, and he needs to be ready. You can’t blame him for staying late to get in some extra practice, or for having to attend events with his teammates and his fans instead of you.

You can’t blame him for any of it, at least not without feeling selfish and unsupportive, and somehow that just makes it worse.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to build up the courage to talk to him about it. You almost don’t want to bring it up at all, but after weeks of missed dates and apology bouquets, of waking up without him and going to sleep before he gets home, you crumble. You don’t think you can keep grinning and bearing it anymore, not without starting to resent him.

You confront him while he’s sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of your shared apartment. It’s rare he doesn’t have a game on the weekend, even rarer he gets to spend the afternoon with you. It almost makes you reconsider –will this ruin your time together?– but you hold fast. You know that if you don’t bring it up now, then you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that much more silent heartache.

Oikawa, for his part, does well to listen as you speak. He watches you intently, pretty brown eyes soft and searching, as you tell him about how neglected you’re feeling, how lonely.

You know he’s not doing it on purpose. You know he’s meant every single one of his apologies, and that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to be in a relationship with him. And you love how driven he is, how determined he is to succeed.

You just...you miss him. That’s what it boils down to in the end: how much you miss him. You miss him now more than that time he left to spend a month back home in Japan while you stayed in Argentina, despite the fact that you’re in the same country this time, despite the fact that you share the same apartment. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s true.

“I know your career is important, and I would never try to get in the way of that,” you tell him, quietly, tiredly. There’s an exhausted air around you he’s never seen before, the kind of whispered sadness that breaks his heart. “But sometimes, Tooru...sometimes it feels like I’m dating a ghost. And I’m not mad at you, or angry, I’m just...lonely.”

You finally look at him, and the emotion in his eyes startles you. He’s actually tearing up –“you’re such a crybaby,” you like to tease him when his eyes water during sad movies, but you always comfort him anyway– and it’s enough to make your eyes fill with tears, too. He looks so sad, so broken, like knowing he’s hurt you –even if it’s been completely unintentional– hurts him too.

He’s quick to stand and walk over to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You return the embrace, resting your head against his chest while one of his hands moves to cradle the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, and you can tell by the way his voice shakes that he means it. “I know things have been crazy lately, but that’s no excuse for leaving you here alone. I never want you to feel like you’re anything besides the most important person in my life. I love you so much, and I promise I’m going to fix this. Things will get better, I swear.”

And in that moment, you believe him. You trust him, after all, and you know he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. So you let him mumble reassurances into your hair, let him kiss your breath away and shower you in the affection you’ve been missing for far too long.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, lost in him. Too easy.

He’s always been like that; charismatic and witty, magnetic and charming. It doesn’t help that he’s totally gorgeous, too. You knew, from the moment you met him, that if you ever let yourself fall in love with him, you’d be in trouble. It’s why you never took any of his advances seriously, at least not in the beginning.

But he was able to chip at your resolve with every teasing smile and playful wink, every reverent touch and whispered words meant just for you. He let you get to know him; the real him, not that flippant and perfect pretty boy facade he presents to the rest of the world, and so of course you fell for him, because how could you not?

Oikawa is stubborn and prideful, exhausting and even sometimes petty, but he makes you feel like you’re the strongest person he knows. He looks at you like you’re the only one he’ll ever want to see. He makes you laugh and keeps you on your toes, and you know right away –before you moved in together, before you told him you loved him– that you will never love anyone the way you love him, because no one else will ever be able to compare.

That’s why it’s so easy for you to believe him now. Because you know he loves you and that you love him, and the two of you are determined to make this relationship work. So when he promises that things will change, that he’ll be more present from here on out, you believe him.

It’s the first promise he’s ever made to you that he doesn’t keep.

For every event Oikawa does bother to make it to, he misses two more. Your parents, who adore him, wonder why they never see him anymore. Your friends start to ask if you even still have a boyfriend. You find yourself asking the very same thing.

You stop inviting him to events at your university and lunches with your friends. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment anymore, and you figure it’s easier to just save yourself from the inevitable. The apology gifts he gives you start to feel hollow, empty, just like your apartment. You stop opening them, letting them pile up in the corner of your living room. Eventually, he stops giving them to you.

You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if it upsets you even more.

The Olympics get closer each day. Oikawa’s practices become more intense and even longer than they already were. There are so many things he needs to do now: games to play, meet and greets to attend. Sometimes if he’s out too late he just doesn’t come home at all. The team sets him up at a hotel, and he stays there for the night instead.

It gets harder to catch his scent on his pillow where it lays beside you in bed, untouched and forgotten. It should hurt you more, but it doesn’t.

There’s an event being held back in Japan, promising a night of drinking and dancing and schmoozing. All the investors and international players and coaches will be there, and you promised a while back to be Oikawa’s plus one.

The vindictive part of you wants to cancel on him, just so he knows how it feels, but you decide you can put your pettiness aside for a few nights if it means free booze and food and a comfortable stay at some ridiculously fancy hotel. You wonder if that’ll be enough to fill the hole he’s made in your heart.

Besides, you want to remind him that you’re the kind of person who keeps your word, even if he’s not.

The flight is long and exhausting. So is finding your hotel and forcing yourself to get dressed, but you get through it. Oikawa looks unfairly stunning in his suit, but you try not to notice. He arrives at the party with you on his arm, wearing a silky gown that matches his tie and jewelry that glitters whenever it catches the light.

You’ve barely talked to each other the whole way here, but at the party, amongst his teammates, old rivals, and friends, you’re the perfect couple. You smile, laugh, and dance exactly when you’re supposed to. You play your role so well that no one notices how numb you are, not even Oikawa, even though he’s supposed to know you better than anyone else.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself at the open bar. Oikawa’s off mingling with god knows who, swamped by dozens of people who are always seeking his favor, trapped in his orbit. They praise his hard work, his tenacity, his determination. Once upon a time, you would’ve done the same.

But things are different between you now. What used to be Oikawa’s endearing stubbornness is now an outright refusal to meet you halfway. His determination to be the best has become an inability to compromise; his passion has become obsession. It’s strange to think how all the things that used to make you love him now just make you resent him.

But the liquor here is free and flowing so you knock it back like water, and it’s almost enough to make you forget your heartbreak, your anger. Almost.

All the drinking eventually sends you to the bathroom. You touch up your makeup as best as you can and wash your hands with one of the several different soap options, exiting the bathroom noticeably drunker than you were when you went in.

You’re off-balance enough that when you run into what feels like a brick wall but is actually just a tall, broad-shouldered man, you stumble and nearly fall over. He reacts quicker than you do, catching your elbow and steadying you back on your feet.

He asks you if you’re all right and you reassure him that you are. You swear you’ve seen his face before, but you’re too tipsy right now to bother to remember where.

“I appreciate the help,” you say sincerely, patting his shoulder. “But I promise I’m okay. Thank you again, really.”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you, and he’s proven right approximately five seconds later, when you turn on your heel to leave and nearly fall over again. Once more, he’s there to catch you.

You try to convince him that you’re okay; you’re just a little bit tipsy from all the champagne earlier, but he guides you to one of the stupid velvet couches in the hallway and makes you sit down. He tells you to stay there and wait for him, and you want to protest but he’s already gone before you can make any real sort of argument.

When he returns, it’s with a bottle of water, which you sheepishly accept. He stays with you as you drink it, and your vision and stomach start to settle. You thank him again for all his help. He tells you it’s no big deal, and when he introduces himself as Ushijima Wakatoshi, you laugh so hard you almost spit water all over yourself.

Ushijima raises an eyebrow at you. “Is there something about my name that amuses you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” It takes more effort than it should, but you’re thankfully able to force yourself to stop laughing. Talk about ironic encounters. “It’s just– I’ve heard of you before.”

“Are you a fan of volleyball?”

You resist the urge to snort, sending him an amused smile instead. “Something like that.”

The two of you chat for a little while, and it’s a surprisingly pleasant conversation. You quite like his company, and you appreciate how he’s willing to keep an eye on you solely out of the kindness of his heart, just to make sure you’re really okay. It’s hardly necessary anymore –the water’s doing a great job at sobering you up– but it’s a nice distraction from the reason you started drinking in the first place.

Or it was, until you start to hear that very same reason calling your name from somewhere down the hall. His voice gets closer and closer, and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself.

“What the hell?”

You open your eyes and suddenly Oikawa is in front of you, eyebrows drawn together and lips pulled into a deep frown. You can only imagine what you look like to him right now, low-eyed and tipsy and sitting on a couch next to his oldest rival.

You can already see the anger in his eyes, the suspicion. He’s jealous, and it’s absolutely ridiculous because he has no right to be. Not after ignoring you for so long. Not after reminding you over and over again that when it comes down to it, you’ll always be second place to his career.

You haven’t been flirting with Ushijima, but now you wonder if maybe you should have. There’s a bitter part of you that wants to hurt Oikawa as much as he’s hurt you, even if it’s only for a moment.

Ushijima seems completely oblivious to the situation, which you’re sure just infuriates your boyfriend even more. He’s described to you in great detail how one of the things he finds most frustrating about Ushijima is how completely and utterly unbothered he is by everything.

“Oikawa,” the man closest to you greets, standing up. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ushiwaka.” The smile your boyfriend directs to his old rival is tight-lipped and void of any of its usual warmth. Oikawa’s gaze settles on you next, eyes narrowing even further. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is plain, dull, as you tilt your head at him mockingly. “Do I know you?”

“Stop being cute.” The way he practically snaps it makes it clear he doesn’t think you’re being cute at all. In fact, he actually looks pretty pissed, and you almost smile at the realization. As petty as he can be, it’s clear you’re better at this than he is. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

Ushijima’s gaze slides over to you. “Do you know him?”

But you’re not looking at him. You’re looking straight at Oikawa, at the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he’s on the verge of fuming. Apparently, just the idea of you being alone with his oldest rival is more concerning to him than the fact that you’ve barely spent any time with each other in the past two months. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Of course.” You stand, closing the short distance between yourself and Oikawa. “He’s my boyfriend. My loving, devoted, perfect boyfriend.”

You place the hand that’s not holding your water bottle against his chest, perching on your toes to deliver a sweet kiss to his cheek. When you pull away, the stain of your lipstick remains, and you wonder if he can feel the resentment in it.

“I just forget sometimes, is all. You know, since we never see each other.”

You don’t bother to examine the look on his face. You can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You turn to Ushijima instead, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you again for your help, Ushijima. It was a pleasure to officially meet you. Have a good night.”

You turn on your heel and walk away, down the hall and past several magnificent paintings, past any apology you would normally be ready to offer. It’s petty and deliberate, the kind of reaction you didn’t think you were capable of before this, but it’s all you have left. Oikawa doesn’t care, hasn’t cared for a while actually, so neither will you.

You don’t know what he says to Ushijima or if he even says anything at all, but you do hear his footsteps when he runs after you. They slow as he gets closer, but you don’t stop walking, don’t turn back to look.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What– what the fuck was all that back there, huh?”

You stop. Slowly, you turn to look at him, but you don’t say anything. You just stand there, watching, waiting, feeling absolutely nothing as you do.

“‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’” It’s a poor imitation of your voice, but the intention is there. “So what, I don’t spend enough time with you and suddenly it’s okay for you to flirt with someone else?”

You laugh without humor. “That’s what you’re stuck on? The fact that I had a conversation with him and not the part where I said we never see each other? You truly have a gift, Tooru.”

The frown on his face deepens, but the anger in his eyes softens a little, replaced by a hint of guilt. There’s regret there, too, over not keeping the promise he made to you. You would be more moved by it if you weren’t so completely infuriated right now.

He closes his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I’m not going to have this argument with you. Not here.”

“Where should we have it then, hm? In the lobby? At the hotel? We’re damn sure not having it when we get home, because you’re never fucking there!”

You don’t mean to scream at him, but that’s what comes out. You’re not sure which one of you is more surprised by it. Oikawa stares at you, wide-eyed and stunned, as if you’ve just slapped him, and you stare back, breathing hard. You’re so focused on each other you don’t even notice you have an audience until you hear a new, familiar voice speak.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi steps between you, concerned and cautious.

He’s the only one here, thank god, but his appearance reminds you that this is definitely not the time or the place for any of this. You shouldn’t care who overhears you, but as angry as you are, you’re not selfish enough to air out your relationship’s problems in front of all of Oikawa’s friends and colleagues. You still love him, after all, even if it’s hurting you to do so.

Iwaizumi casts a wary glance between you and his best friend, almost like he’s preparing himself to play the unwilling referee in what seems to be an inevitable fight. Any other time, you might’ve laughed at the look on his face, but not now. “Everything okay, you two?”

It’s not. It hasn’t been for a while, and right now Oikawa’s looking at you like he’s finally realizing that too.

The car ride back to the hotel is eerily silent. You and Oikawa share no words, no fleeting glances; you don’t even sit close enough to touch each other, not even accidentally. The ride up to your floor is spent in a similar fashion, a cold distance settling between you that’s never been there before.

Or maybe it’s been there for a while, and it took you screaming at him in the middle of a party for the two of you to notice it.

Miraculously, you make it into your room in one piece. The two of you remove your coats and shoes in that same suffocating silence. You make it to the bedroom without exchanging a single word, and he takes a seat on the bed while you sit in front of the vanity and begin removing your jewelry.

Another long stretch of silence later, and then he’s meeting your eyes in the mirror to ask, “Can we talk?”

You consider telling him to go fuck himself instead, but somehow you bite down the urge.

“About what?” You take off your necklace, a pretty golden chain with your birthstone on it that he got you for your birthday. “About how I wasn’t flirting with Ushijima? Because I wasn’t, if that’s what you’re still so torn up about.”

“I know you weren’t,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than you remember; that’s how long it’s been since you’ve really gotten the chance to look at him. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I do. You were jealous.” Your earrings are the next to go, another gift from him. He’s scattered himself into so many pieces across your life; you’re not sure how you’ll ever be free of him, or if you’ll ever want to be. “But you had no reason to be. I would never do that to you.”

“I know.” He looks down, fidgets with his fingers, meets your gaze again through the mirror. His tie is loosened around his neck, making him look disheveled in just the way you like. “I’m sorry.”

“Great.” Your tone is short, clipped, as you finally remove the last of your jewelry. “Is that all?”

“Please don’t do that. I’m trying to have a conversation with you here, so that we can fix this. I mean, don’t you want to talk about everything, especially after tonight?”

“I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Tooru.” You break your gaze from the mirror, turning to glance over your shoulder at him instead. “You know exactly what the problem is, just like I know you won’t do a single thing to change it. You can’t, because my feelings –our entire relationship– all of that stuff’s always going to come second to the things you want.”

The frown from earlier is back now, this time paired with a hard look, like he can’t believe you’re questioning his commitment, even though he’s given you dozens of reasons to do so. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You rise to your feet, a dry, humorless laugh escaping your throat as you do. “Tell that to the countless dates you’ve missed. Tell that to the bed you hardly sleep in anymore, to all the times I’ve fallen asleep without you and then woken up only to realize you still weren’t there.”

The words feel heavy and bitter on your tongue, your anger growing the more you think about everything you’ve endured over the past few months, all the different ways he’s managed to disappoint you.

“There’s nothing untrue about it, Tooru. You just don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

“Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me I don’t care about you?” he demands. “Of course I care. I love you, dammit. How could you ever think I don’t?”

“How couldn’t I? God, have you seriously not heard a single thing I’ve said this entire time? I’m practically in this relationship by myself, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to change that!”

“You think I like having to leave you on your own so much? You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing the look on your face every time I have to tell you I can’t make it to all the things I want to be there for?” He’s on his feet now, hand jabbing at his chest, like if he could rip out his heart and show you the scars there, he would. “Because it does, okay? It makes me fucking miserable, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be there, Tooru!” You don’t know when you started crying, but you are. You’re yelling too, hands shaking, voice raw. “You’re supposed to be there when I need you, not make stupid promises you can’t keep! And even if you can’t be there all the time, you’re at least supposed to try!”

“I am trying! I’ve been trying this whole time, and you know that!” He sounds as exasperated and raw as you do, waving his arms around, red-faced and distressed. “You knew what my goals were before we started dating. I never hid them from you. You knew exactly what I wanted, you knew how hard I would have to work, how hard it would be for us, and you agreed to be with me anyway! You promised me you wouldn’t let it come between us!”

“Well, that was before I knew how fucking impossible it would be!”

There’s nothing productive being exchanged between the two of you anymore. You’re just screaming at each other. You call him obsessed and self-absorbed; he calls you needy and demanding. He tells you to grow up and stop asking for so much, and you tell him he’s chasing a pointless dream.

You’re not trying to compromise with each other, or trying to make the other see your point of view. You both just want to hurt each other, and you do.

You’re crying by the end of it; so is he, but you both refuse to admit defeat. It’s one of the many things you have in common: your stubbornness. You’re out of breath and hurting and there’s a small part of you that just wants him to hold you, but at the same time, you can’t stand the sight of him anymore.

You storm out of the room before he gets the chance to, looking back to catch him throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. You throw yourself onto the couch and opt to sleep there for the night, because you know that if you don’t, you’ll probably end up strangling each other.

Oikawa, for once, is wise enough not to follow you, but there’s a quiet voice inside your heart that wishes he did.

You wake up the next morning with a stuffy nose and a migraine. The price of crying yourself to sleep, you suppose. Your appetite is gone but you know that if you don’t eat anything soon the pain behind your skull will only get worse, so you force yourself to stand from the couch.

You step on something hard, eyes widening at the indignant noise of protest it lets out in response. You lose your footing almost immediately, toppling over onto the carpet. It’s everything you can do to throw out your hands and avoid smacking your forehead against the coffee table.

“What the fuck, Tooru?” You scowl when you realize it’s not a random object you’ve tripped over, but rather your own boyfriend, who for some inconceivable reason is laying on the floor beside the couch. “It’s bad enough we spent last night fighting– now you’re trying to kill me, too?”

“I could say the same thing to you!” Oikawa exclaims, returning your scowl with equal exasperation. He’s rubbing at his chest, a pout tugging at his lips as he groans. “You just stepped on my chest. I could have died.”

“Oh, bite me, drama queen.” You roll your eyes, preparing to stand up again, but then you notice the dark circles on his usually flawless skin, the messiness of his hair, and the fact that he’s still wearing his suit from last night, though the tie is gone and the first few buttons of his shirt are loosened. “...did you actually sleep out here? On the floor? Why didn’t you just sleep on the bed like a normal person?”

“I couldn’t.” He pouts even more, and when you nudge his leg with your foot, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It didn’t feel right without you. It never does. But it felt even worse after last night.”

It melts your heart, you admit. Just a little. But it’s not enough to make you forgive him or to forget your argument, and right now he’s looking at you like he knows that too.

Still, you feel the urge to remind him, “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Not just for what I said last night, but for everything I’ve done before that. I never should’ve made you feel like you’re asking for too much, because you’re not, it’s just…” He takes a shaky breath, leans his head back against the couch from where he sits beside you on the floor. “...it’s hard.”

He turns his body slightly so he’s facing you fully. He starts to reach out a hand towards you, almost like he wants to cup your cheek, but he seems to think better of it and lets his hand drop down between you. You almost smile.

His eyes are hesitant as they meet yours, apologetic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, either.” You fiddle with the straps of your gown where they’ve slid down your arm. You were so exhausted and upset after your fight with him that you didn’t bother to change out of it. “...do you really think I’m needy and demanding?”

“Of course not,” he answers easily. “Do you really think I’m chasing a pointless dream?”

“Definitely not. Your dream isn't pointless, Tooru, it’s amazing, and it’s one I know you can reach.” Your hands brush where they rest between you. He tenses slightly, like he’s not sure you’ll want to touch him after everything, but you slide your fingers through his and watch as he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “I was just angry.”

“Me too.” He squeezes your hand, and you let him pull you a bit closer to him, let him press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I don’t want to fight with you. And I definitely don’t want to disappoint you anymore.”

“I don’t want to blame you or resent you anymore, either.” You inch closer and he lets you rest your head against his shoulder, resting his own against yours in return. A clock ticks on the wall behind you. For the first time in a while, it feels like the two of you are back in sync. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

It’s the million-dollar question, it seems. And it’s the one that, after weeks of heartache, of missing each other and blaming each other at the same time, he finally has the answer to.

When you return to Argentina together, everything changes. Oikawa’s determination goes back to being something you love, now that he’s putting it towards making sure the two of you get to spend time together. He’s at the apartment more; does his best to get to dinner on time, to attend outings with your family and friends, and to meet you halfway at fancy restaurants and magnificent museums and shower you with his undivided attention.

It’s not perfect. He’s still busy, so he can’t be with you all the time, but the effort is there. You see it now more than ever, and it’s all you’ve wanted.

It doesn’t last.

You spend three blissful months together, both of you putting in an equal amount of effort to make it work, to understand each other and support each other, even when it seems impossible. But Oikawa’s schedule becomes more and more unyielding as time goes on, and it’s not long before the cycle of absence starts all over again.

If you had to really pinpoint the beginning of the end, you’d say it’s the night of your presentation. The research project you’ve spent countless hours working on has finally been completed, and tonight you’re going to share it with the public; this thing you’ve struggled with since you entered grad school, this thing you’ve put your blood, sweat, and tears into, both metaphorically and literally.

It goes incredibly well, as your professors and mentors reassured you it would. Your classmates, friends, and parents are all there, and they get to watch and glow with pride as the room erupts into applause once you finish your presentation, knocking the whole thing out of the park just like they knew you would.

The only one who isn’t there is Oikawa, despite you telling him about this ages ago, despite it being written on the calendar hanging on your fridge. You know he texted you with some excuse, but you don’t bother to check which one it was this time.

It should hurt more. It should make you want to shout and scream, to sob and cry, but it doesn’t. The anger you felt before, the fury and heartbreak; it’s not there anymore. It’s gone. You’re not sad or upset or disappointed. You just don’t feel anything at all.

Your friends offer to take you out for the night to celebrate, but you politely decline. Instead, you make your way to the apartment you share with Oikawa, finding it emptier than it’s ever been before.

Months ago, you might’ve cried. Now you do nothing, say nothing, feel nothing. It’s just numb.

By the time Oikawa does make it home, you’re already packed. You’re sitting at the table, waiting, still as a statue. He greets you in a flurry of brown hair and frantic movement, an apology you don’t care to listen to fast on his lips. He whirls by you so quickly he doesn’t even notice your bags stacked next to you.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry! I know I’m late, but I’m here now and I promise I won’t be going anywhere for the next few–…”

It takes him a few moments, a couple of double-takes, but finally, he registers the silence around him, the sight of you at the table, surrounded by your things. For once, he has no idea what to say; you see it in the way he looks at you, the way he freezes, wide-eyed and almost afraid.

“My research presentation was today,” you start. “It went great. They’re going to publish it in a journal.”

You watch his face crumple right before your eyes, watch the way his shoulders slump. He looks more defeated now than during any of his previous losses, and so, so incredibly guilty.

“But I thought it wasn’t until–...but it was, wasn’t it? Oh, god. I– I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

You stand up. The smile you send him is tired and a little sad, but it’s not bitter, at least not anymore. You’re past that now. You’d like to think you both are.

“I’m so proud of you, Tooru. You work harder than anybody I’ve ever known. I just know you’re going to reach every single one of your dreams.”

You mean it, too. Oikawa has an incredible future ahead of him. You’ve always known that. Once upon a time, you believed you might be a part of it, but not anymore.

“...but I also know that I can’t be with you when you do. I can’t– I won’t be second place for the rest of my life.”

He’s incredibly stubborn, and this time is no different. He tries to change your mind, tries to convince you to stay, but it’s far too little and far too late. Too much has happened between you two, and you just don’t have it in you to be disappointed anymore.

You love him. You do. You always will, and you tell him so, too. But just because you love someone, you remind him softly, doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them. You love him enough to let him go, and you’re hoping he loves you the same.

“But you promised you’d stay,” he whispers, more heartbroken than you’ve ever seen him over all of this, over you. “You promised we’d figure it out. And now...now you’re just giving up on us?”

You place your keys on the table. The clock in your– no, his kitchen ticks along. It matches the slow, broken beating of your heart. He’s run out of time, and you’ve run out of chances.

“That’s just it, Tooru. I have nothing left to give you.”

This time when you leave, you don’t look back.

Written by: Dawn

[literaturehoeenergy]

You’re Pretty

pairing: Corpse Husband x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: i blushed heavily while writing this, js // a couple swear words

word count: 902

request: from @voidcaine​

“Hi, sorry to bother you 🥰 I was just wondering if I could request a Corpse Husband x reader fic where the reader got kinda famous making dance tiktoks and a bunch of her fans convice her to try playing among us. So she somehow ends up playing with Corpse and it turns out he’s a fan and has had a crush ever since he first found her acc? 💕“

a/n: Requests are never a bother! I hope that you like this :) please let me know if you guys have any other requests!

I wasn’t really a gamer. I played The Sims every now and again, but nothing too serious. I started making YouTube videos not too long after my TikTok had gained a following doing makeup, dancing, and other things. I had gotten a lot of comments and tweets asking me to play Among Us, but I didn’t really know how to play or have anyone to play with. So I reached out to my friend Corinna to see if she had played before and if she would be willing to play with me.

She gave me the info for a game she had planned with a few people later that day and I tweeted to let my followers know that I would finally be fulfilling their requests of playing Among Us with the time. I spent the rest of my day scrolling through Twitter and listening to scary stories, narrated by none other than Corpse Husband,  until Corinna texted me and told me to go ahead and hop on the Discord call. I joined quickly, kind of nervous to be meeting new people and playing a new game that required me to lie.

“Hey guys, this is my friend Y/N, she’s never played before so please go easy on her,” Corinna said.

“Hi, everyone,” I said quietly, adjusting my headphones on my head. Everyone said their hellos and went back to setting up their stuff the way they wanted. I took the time to start my stream and mute myself on the Discord call. “Hello all you pretty people, I am finally streaming a game for you guys! I’m playing Among Us with a few people who I’m sure you heard of because I know I have. We have Corinna, who you guys have seen on my channel, Toast, Sykkuno, Valkyrae, Edison, Faye, Sean, Felix, me, and the one I am most excited for -- Corpse.” The chat went insane when I said Corpse, as I expected.

I unmuted my mic on my Discord hesitantly. “How do you guys play this game so chill with so many people watching you? I only have like 20,000 and my hands are sweating.” I heard some chuckles from the call before someone answered.

“A lot of people watch you on TikTok, Y/N,” Rae said.

“Yeah but not live! What if I mess up and doing something dumb,” I laughed.

“That’s where I know you from,” a deep voice exclaimed. “I’ve seen you on TikTok.” Corpse.

“O-oh, yeah! Yeah, that’s where this all started.” Corpse has seen my TikToks? Everyone else said they’d seen me there or followed me on social media, which I thought was really sweet. “I’m also a terrible liar, so if I’m ever imposter, I’m sorry in advance.”

“You’ll do great, babe,” Corinna said sweetly. If she were with me, she would have patted my head, and I smiled at the thought. “Let’s get into it!” The game started and I let go a breath I didn’t know I was holding when “Crewmate” showed on my screen. Not much time passed before a body got reported.

“Can I ask a question?” I said quietly. They all agreed. “What the hell am I supposed to do for the thing with the hexagons?” There was light laughter before Corpse spoke up.

“You just have to click the red ones and it will clear.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks.” The meeting went quick since there wasn’t really any evidence, and we were back doing tasks. I noticed that Corpse was following me. “He’s either protecting me or he’s going to kill me,” I told my stream. “I’m stressed.” I did the hexagon thing and made my way to my next task, Corpse close behind. Another meeting got called and I took the time to ask Corpse what he was doing. “Corpse.”

“Yeeeeesss?”

“Why are you following me?” He giggled breathily and I grinned, glancing at my camera quickly.

“I’m protecting you, I can’t let you die.” I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as the call erupted in chaos.

“Why can’t you let her die?” Sean asked. I heard Corpse cough nervously.

“Uh, sh-she’s new, she’s never played.”

“Is it because you think she’s pretty?” Felix teased. I muted my mic on the call and squeaked.

“What is going on?!” I exclaimed

“So what if I think she’s pretty?” I gasped, slapping my hand against my forehead and staring at my camera. My chat was going insane. “She’s a good dancer, and she is pretty, I’m sure everyone thinks she’s pretty. I mean -- n-not that, uh, not that you’re like, regular pretty Y/N, you’re -- I mean -- ah, fuck.” Corpse’s mic went mute on the Discord call as he tried to collect himself.

“Uh,” I said quietly. “I’m, uh… I’m flattered.” The call was silent. “And I don’t really know what you look like, but I would put money on the fact that you’re pretty too, Corpse.” I muted my mic as soon as I got the sentence out. The amount of “awe”s in the call was kind of overwhelming.

“Y/N HAS A CRUSH ON CORPSE, AND CORPSE HAS A CRUSH ON Y/N THIS IS PERFECT!” Sean yelled.

“Hey, Y/N,” Corpse said among the chaos.

“Yeeeeesss?” I asked.

“Maybe we can talk without thousands of people watching us.” I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

“I would really like that.”

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 7

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

8 Years Ago – Age 17

“Y/N, do you know why you are here?” the shrink asked from across the large desk.  You looked down at the typical uniform of a patient at a psychiatric ward.  Yes you knew why you were in here.  A few months ago you witnessed your father’s dead corpse hanging in your living room.  The next thing you knew you were writing a suicide note of your own and your foster parents found it before you could do anything.  Now, you were stuck in a psych ward, probably until you at least turned 18.

“Yep,” came your short response.  

The shrink glanced down at her papers in front of her, going through all of your notes.  “We want to help you as best we can Y/N.  You’ve been through some very traumatic experiences in your life and you’ve witnessed a great deal.  We are going to get you all the help you need.”

3 Months Later

“Have you heard of Borderline Personality Disorder Y/N?” your psychiatrist, Dr. Wang asked.  

That made your head snap in her direction.  Here you were, still stuck in the psych ward after three months and you weren’t sure why.  “I’ve heard of that, yes.  But I thought I was just depressed,” you mumbled, chewing on your fingernail.  

You were clinically diagnosed with depression shortly after coming here.  

“Well, that’s what we originally thought at first.  But the longer you’ve spent time here, the more I and the rest of the staff have discovered it is BPD.  You’re intense mood swings, combined with your ongoing feelings of emptiness and the intense bouts of anger you have are all signs of BPD. We are going to switch up your medications and that will really help with your mood swings and anger issues.

~~~

 No matter how hard you tried, sleep never came to you that afternoon.  You tossed and turned all afternoon in your bed and nothing seemed to be working.  Not only that, but you were really starting to get more irritable as the day went on and you knew it was time to change the dosing of your medication.  It was like clockwork, every year to year and a half. The only problem was that you couldn’t leave the tower without Steve, Bucky or an anyone else.  How were you supposed to get an appointment with your Psychiatrist if you couldn’t leave the tower alone?  This only increased your anger and frustration as you got out of bed to get ready.    

You brushed your teeth and put on a some jeans and a t-shirt, not really caring what you threw on. All of the specific clothing you wore for work was in the closet of your game room along with your makeup and accessories.  

Upon leaving your room, you saw Steve and Bucky sitting at the island in the kitchen of your shared apartment.  They both looked deep in thought over some paperwork and you assumed it was for work.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, you were about to head into the elevator as you didn’t want to disturb them, but Steve spoke up and caught your attention.  “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, umm, I’m heading down to my game room.  I’m going to work tonight,” you mumbled out as you pressed the button for the elevator. You noticed it was on the ground floor and it would take a few minutes to get to your level.  

“What time do you plan on being done?” Steve questioned.  

You huffed in annoyance, already irritated as anger began to creep through your bones.  “I don’t know.  Whenever I get done,” you snapped.  Immediately you felt regret, but sometimes your emotions got the better of you when you were in dire need of a medication change.  

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Steve commanded as he got up from his seat and stalked over to you, hands on his hips.  You noticed Bucky looking at you from his seat with furrowed brows.  They had never seen you angry like this.  You were always so compliant and easy going.  

“Look, I’m sorry.  I’m just tired is all.”

Steve looked at you sharply, his lips in a thin tight line.  “Alright.  Just make sure you get to bed at a reasonable time tonight.  Promise?”

“I promise,” you answered back.  

~~~

In the comfort of your game room, you quickly got to work.  Digging through your closet, you decided on a light pink tank top that said ‘Gamer Girl’ in black letters with two gamer controls on it.  Since your webcam only showed your top half, you threw on a black pair of cotton shorts to be comfortable.  

Next, you put your hair up in space buns, making sure they were situated just right so they wouldn’t be in the way of your headphones.  You put on your typical game night makeup: bright pink eyeshadow with dark smoked out liner, some mascara and blush and you were good to go.  

Turning on your monitor, you began to power everything up and once that was done, you logged in. Immediately your followers started putting in their messages off to the side and you smiled as you read them. You always tried to read as much of them as you could.  

As the night went on, you knew you should pack it up and listen to what Steve said; getting to bed at a descent time and getting rest.  But you were having way too much fun tonight and so were your followers. It was one of the best nights you’d had in months and not just money wise.  

Ignoring the clock you continued to play and interact with your followers with the microphone that was attached to your headphones.  Every so often you would glance to your messages box and see what some of them had said.  Most of them were cheering you on but of course you always had some haters in there as well.  

It was when you noticed the screen name of one of them that made your blood run cold.  JSmith20. ‘It can’t be’ you thought to yourself, trying to keep as composed as possible as hundreds of people were watching you game in this very moment.  

John’s last name is Smith and he always told you how his favorite number was 20, because that was how old you were when you met him.  No, but he’s still in prison.  He hasn’t gotten out.  He’ll be in there for many more years to come.  It had to be one of his friends right?  The same friend that had been delivering those letters to your old apartment.  ‘Yes, that’s right.  It’s just one of his friends trying to torment you’ you thought to yourself.  

Then, the person behind that screen name typed a message into your message box.  

Hey babe.  Do you miss me yet?  I can’t wait to see you – J

Yep, your composure went out the window reading the message.   Then another message from him popped up.  

I see you are no longer living in that little one bedroom apartment.  Did you really think you could up and move and I wouldn’t be able to find you?  Oh babe, how cute.  I will find you and we will meet again soon.  I promise – J

As you stared at the words on your screen, you heard groans from the other players on your team.  You had just lost the game.  

“Shit,” you swore, anger bubbling up inside of you.  “Fucking damnit!”  You slammed your fist on the desk.  

You rarely lost games. Losing always put you in a foul mood. But because of already being irritable and your emotions on over drive, losing just made everything worse.  

Looking at the clock it was just before five in the morning so you logged off and shut everything down.

You took your hair out of the buns, immediately feeling the tension in your head ease.  Ever so quietly, you opened the door and poked your head out into the hallway.  It was bitch black so you used your phone as a flashlight and tiptoed to the elevator. Before pressing the button on the elevator, you paused.  What if the noise of the elevator woke up Steve or Bucky?  You had promised Steve that you would get to bed at a descent time and seeing as it was just about five in the morning, well, you kind of figured you’d be in trouble.  

Instead, you opened the door to the stairs which was situated right next to the elevator.  At least taking the stairs would be much quieter.

You climbed the stairs up a few levels until you reached your living level and you waited on baited breath for a few moments.  Nothing. Nothing but silence.  As quiet as a mouse, you snuck through the door and dashed to your room, thanking your lucky stars that the palm scanner didn’t make any noise.  

You took a nice hot shower, washing off all of your makeup and the stress of the last few hours.  As much as you wanted to forget John messaging you, it wasn’t going to happen, neither was any sleep.  

Rather than even bothering to get into bed and try to relax, you sent an email to your psychiatrist letting her know that you would more than likely need a dose change on your medications.  Frantically typing away at the email, you explained how you were beginning to get irritated and it was harder for you to control your bouts of anger.  

Luckily for you, Dr. Wang was an early bird and she emailed you right back.  She wanted you to come see her for an appointment and your heart immediately dropped.  That wasn’t going to happen as one of your rules was that you weren’t allowed out of the tower by yourself.  And as much as you liked Darcy, you couldn’t trust her to go with you and not say anything to Steve or Bucky.  

Typing out your reply, you explained that you were unfortunately not able to meet in person and if there was anything else that could be done.  After you hit sent, you began to pace in your apartment, clearly on edge with everything going on.  You just wanted to feel better; you hated feeling this way.  It was as if you weren’t in control of your body and you definitely weren’t in control of your emotions.  

A notification came through your laptop and you rushed towards it, almost tripping over your feet. As you read her words, you could have cried right then and there.  She had agreed to a phone call appointment and she had time right now to discuss things with you.  

Grasping your phone, you dialed her number.

“It’s good to hear from you Y/N,” Dr. Wang stated as she answered the phone.  

“Oh Dr. Wang it is so good to hear your voice.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, it has been a little over six months since we’ve last spoken.  How are things going with you?”

“Where to begin,” you started off saying.  You let her know that you indeed met your soulmates and had moved in with them. You went over the rules that Steve had given you and she made you feel better as she stated she had seen way worse rules.  Hell, she said your rules were like a walk in the park compared to some she has heard.

“Alright, now, let’s get down to business.  How are you feeling these past few days?” she asked curiously.  

“Ugh, not good. Moving was stressful but I have been feeling really irritated over the last few and I’ve had a few bouts of anger rush through me that makes me want to punch something, but I’ve luckily been able to hold back on that.”

“What about any risky behaviors such as reckless driving, spending sprees, binge eating, drug abuse or sabotaging anything positive in your life?”

“Not yet,” you stated. You knew the routine.  She was going over all the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder to see what has changed with you.  

“Ok good.  How about any intense fears of abandonment or rejection?”

That question always hit you like a punch to the gut.  The only reason you had stayed with John for so long was because of that right there. He purposely wouldn’t let you see Dr. Wang or he wouldn’t take you to get your medications refilled and because of that, you were starting to feel those feelings; not wanting to be abandoned no matter what.  

“Nope,” you replied.  

“Ok then.  I am going to increase the dosing on your current medications but I want to warn you.  Without you coming in and personally seeing me and without getting some blood work done, I don’t know how well this dosing is going to work, if it will work at all. We might need to discuss changing the medication all together,” she stated.  

“I understand Dr. Wang. And do you think maybe you could prescribe some sort of sleep medication for me too?”

“I can prescribe a one week trial of a sleeping medication for you.  After that, I really need you to try and come see me in the office and we can discuss that further.  Now, did you want me to send these prescriptions into your regular pharmacy?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you so much Dr. Wang.”

“No worries at all Y/N. Give the office a call and get an appointment set up.”

“I will.  Thanks again.”

Now that you had your medications all taken care of, you had to figure a way to leave the tower so you could get them.  

[straighttohellbuddy]

📓 !!

Okay im so excited please know I think about How The Light Gets In's world every day still, and so anyways here is a side story I want to write but there's a lot of set up regarding the reader and eef becoming friends again. For context, they were incredibly close around 2014-2017, but people were getting creepy and invasive and demanding about their friendship (think 2012 toxic side of the Phandom, if that makes sense), and a lot of the reader's relationships were strained at that time because while they had been successful before, they were absolutely blowing up after their first album released and they became far more mainstream. They felt like they were bothering the people they had become closest to, both because they're worried that they're a bother, and because gossip rags and paps would harrass their friends looking for a scoop, and so they ended up just completely cutting off contact without warning one day right before they went on their first tour. the start of HTLGI is about 3 years since they'd been in proper contact with any of the creators they were close to at that time.

DON'T LOOK AT ME on their 2017 ep Hyperfocus was a more general song in response to everything that had been happening in their life around that time, with a focus on how they stop associating with anyone for a while, without outright addressing it, but on their latest album n o s t a l g i a, read at 5am ft. Troye was specifically written at the start of quarantine, when the reader was getting back into YouTube, about their feelings regarding how their friendship with ethan ended, as they spent a lot of this time looking back of their YouTube career, and he was the person they were closest to for a very long time, before they iced everyone out.

OKAY SO THERES MORE OF THE BACKGROUND OF THE WHOLE FIC AND THE READER BUT

Werewolf Ethan & Mark. I'm sorry I don't make the rules. They have golden retriever energy you cannot change my mind. But also because this is the HTLGI you know that supernatural characteristics are able to be activated rather than just triggered by the full moon. What I'm trying to say is since this is set in the year of Unus Annus, they film a video together that's like, you know that show where a person has to try and outwit a professional tracker? Except its the reader being tracked by two werewolves at night in a national park. Reader is wearing some sort of night vision camera on themselves so whenever it cuts to them the audience can't actually see how they're using their powers, if that makes sense.

Also the reader agreed to this knowing it would probably be when they ended up telling Mark and Ethan about them being a demon.

Video is titled Hunting Down An Old Friend

A few Moments that the boys edit out:

The reader using their stupidly sharp prehensile tail to swing from tree branches, though they leave in shots where the reader's tail can't be seen.

Knowing that with the werewolves having advanced hearing, the reader would give themselves away by talking to the camera, they take a few minutes having flown up to a high tree branch, to pull out a notebook and do a little sketch of how Mark and Ethan appear in their Demon True Sight, and holding it up to their camera.

Werewolves being one of the animals who can kind of sense demons without being able to identify them, essentially like dogs can sense natural disasters and are often good judges of character, this can be heightened on command for werewolves. There's about 15 minutes of footage cut out of the boys discussing or mentioning how this place has awful vibes and that they should have done this during the day. It gets worse as they get closer to the reader, who didn't realise that the boys hadn't thought to ever use that particular power around them before.

("I say this with so much love and appreciation for you, dude," Ethan yells, looking up at you from the base of the tree they'd finally found you in, "but I- this is making me anxious I feel like something terrible's gonna happen, and we should probably get out of here and film the rest of the video back at Mark's." And behind him, Mark's nodding, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes scanning the trees for whatever was most likely the cause of this terrible impending doom.

Oh. It's you. And they don't know its you.

Now or never, you suppose.

"Can you cut the cameras for a second? You're going to be fine I promise," you called back, and though they obligingly did, they both seemed antsy. You cleared your throat awkwardly, "that... that terrible feeling, that's not the park or anything in it- well I mean, it is, but it's just- it's me."

and later

"Dude your wings smell like rotten eggs."

"To YOU Ethan! And no they don't!"

"If it makes you feel better they smell like burning and rotten eggs."

"It does not."

(for reference, when enhancing their sense of smell werewolves can kind of distinguish various supernatural creatures, or parts of supernatural creatures. Some creatures have an inherent scent, but some, like angels and demons, only have distinct scents when they've activated certain attributesor abilities; demon wings smell like fire and brimstone, which unfortunately means burning and rotten eggs. I like to think angels wings are like the love potion in Harry Potter that smells like the things you love the most. Mark and Ethan usually don't enhance it around each other because they smell like wet dog to the other)

This gets about 2k notes on tumblr. The reader likes it:

Ethan finally finding Y/N at the end of Hunting Down An Old Friend (2020) Colourised.

Other things to note regarding all this:

It takes a while to rebuild their friendship to the point where they're comfortable enough to be on camera together (eef and reader specifically).

However, the Unus Annus video is the first thing they properly do together, and the reader, in an effort to connect more and make up for the past, will join in multiplayer gaming streams if asked.

Impromptu duet in proximity Among Us of Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy, which has their respective chats and fandoms losing their minds, except it stops abruptly after the first chorus as they both remember the opening lines of the second verse (make it easy, say I never mattered -- those lyrics hit a little too close to home)

But also the reader convinces him to join him for a proper cover in like, February of 2021, and it's something deeply sappy (I'm thinking Bon Iver by mxmtoon because I think its sweet and fits them well)

Also Ethan being reminded that the reader is kind of a much bigger deal than when they'd been friends before.

designed to hurt (touch me) from their ep Working On It is nominated for a Grammy for Track of the Year, and n o s t a l g i a wins Best Pop Album (because it's my fic and I said so)

FIRST OF ALL designed to hurt (touch me) is a beautifully produced song about Corpse (which people do not know) and the title itself is literally making fun of something he said IMAGINE his reaction to it being Grammy Nominated 😂😂😂 God he'd be proud but lowkey fuming, meanwhile the moment the nominations are announced the reader tweets:

me: here is an album where I processed my entire world view including heartfelt explorations of the trauma of existing and oversharing in the public eye from a young age without the traditional barrier between audience and entertainer

the grammys: that's cute BUT you know the song you wrote to bully your boyfriend and also be horny on main for him before you guys were even dating? THAT deserves its own recognition.

meanwhile Ethan's like..... this is the same person who I filmed a video with playing cards against humanity, and you laughed so hard you almost threw up. I am very proud but deeply confused.

The Hot Meme of Late April 2021 is "2 time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" with a gif, still, or quote from the reader where they're just being an absolute chaos gremlin.

Of course we have "If I bleached my asshole for charity I'd do it tastefully."

2 Time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N speaking to their actual boyfriend in the year of our lord 2020: You are being executed for Clown Crimes.

ethan posts a short video to twitter simply of his screen where he's renaming a folder from "Never Before Seen Images of Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" simply changing it to 2 time Artist. The reader responds specifically to his tweet with a video of themselves asking Google how to hard reset someone else's computer.

So many screenshots from old videos surface that week.

I miss this world. Sorry this is rambly!!

[aiimaginesbts]

Eternal Summer (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Loads of Angst | Fluff mixed in between | Smut | Childhood friends to lovers AU Warnings: Language | Alcohol | Masturbating | Rough sex | Public sex Word Count: 39k+ words

Disclaimer/Copyright

Summary:  Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away.

Author’s Note: This is my fic for the ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ writing event hosted by @jamaisjoons​ with ‘Go sightseeing on a vacation’ as my prompt.

This grin just can’t be wiped off my face. While I’m aware that people passing by me are shooting me weird looks thanks to my humming, I don’t want to stop for their sake. I can barely hold myself from skipping down the street, lined with leafy trees on one side and boutique stores on the other – I’m that excited. The merciless rays of the late sun are welcome on my skin after weeks of slaving away even more than usual at work just so I can enjoy this long awaited vacation. It has completely paid off, since I’ve managed to settle everything I needed to with one day to spare. Everyone – myself included – expected me to be toiling away until the last minute. I even packed my luggage in advance, little by little, whenever I could, since I didn’t think I would have time to do it. So, with everything ready and time to spare, I head towards the only place I could think of going when I don’t know what to do with myself.

After making a stop at Se Hoon’s favourite restaurant to order take-out for dinner, I continue on my way towards his apartment. Since I plan to make this a surprise visit, he might still be working. Still, another glance at my watch convinces me that he will definitely be at home. Se Hoon prefers to work from home, so unless there’s work that he must settle at the office, he’s usually home by this time, even if he has to continue working there. It might mean that I’ll be shooed away while he finishes, but I don’t care. I’m content to just watch him as I eat my dinner. As long as I’m with him. We’ll be going together on vacation the day after tomorrow, but there’s no harm in starting early, is there? Plus, I’ve been too busy to see him lately. And the few scant times I could manage to get some time off, he would be busy instead. It seems like we’ve been missing each other for a while now, and I just miss being with someone.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and an elevator ride to the eighteenth floor later, I arrive in front of Se Hoon’s dark brown apartment door. I hesitate, wondering if I should let myself in or announce myself first. It has been a while since I’ve arrived here on my own, but recalling the times he got grumpy because he was interrupted to open the door for me way in the beginning of our relationship, I pressed the keys to unlock his door. No sense making him stop whatever he’s doing and come for me when I can open the door on my own.

Although I’ve been telling myself that I’m perfectly happy just to be in his presence this evening, my lips purse into a disappointed pout when I notice a pair of unfamiliar women’s black pumps at the entrance. It’s rare for Se Hoon to have visitors to his house, other than myself, but I suppose it’s safe to say that he isn’t done with work. At least his co-worker is willing to come over, so he doesn’t have to stay in the office. Otherwise I’d have arrived at an empty house.

Not wanting to interfere with his work by calling out, I kick off my similar, but lower, heels next to hers and start making my way inside. It has been a while since I’d had time to visit, but the surroundings are pretty much the same as I remember it from last time. Neither of us are the type of people to periodically arrange furniture, or make any changes at all, for that matter. Some people may find it boring, but I’m comfortable in its familiarity.

However, just a few steps in and my eyes land on an unexpected sight. A dark blue tie, adorned with a tiny white diamond pattern, lying on the floor. Se Hoon’s tie. I remember giving it to him for his birthday several months ago. Then a light pink shirt that I don’t recognise – I don’t pride myself on knowing Se Hoon’s wardrobe inside and out, but this shirt is way too small for him. My feet slow to a stop, but my breathing becomes laboured; like I’m running a marathon. Even though I scream in my head in denial, telling myself to turn around and not to continue looking, my eyes betray me by straying ahead, following the trail of clothes into his bedroom.

“Se Hoon?” I call out without thinking, but my voice comes out a croak, volume barely a whisper. The world I thought I had built solidly enough is crumbling under the soles of my feet. Familiar comfort no longer.

“Looks like our plane is here.”

Although my eyes are wide open and the world is bright, blinding even; the light from the sun is relentlessly shining through the gigantic glass panes of the airport, everything looks like a blur to me. I see vague shapes moving inconsequentially in my field of vision, but I can’t make out anything. The world hasn’t righted itself after it got thrown off its axis just yet. I’m dimly aware of where I currently am, of what brought me to this point. And yet in my mind, I’m still frozen in Se Hoon’s apartment two days ago.

While words cannot describe my feelings at the moment, I’m sure whatever combination of letters that the dictionary can come up with won’t be anything good. It doesn’t help that the voice that calls my name repeatedly in attempts to bring me back to reality is noticeably higher than Se Hoon’s. No, it isn’t even that. I wouldn’t be this bothered if it were anyone else’s voice. However, my best friend’s insistence that I return to Earth and get ready to board the plane throws my emotions into a jumbled mess. Forcing myself back to the present time, the surroundings gradually come into focus, like a camera lens finally being adjusted properly. “People are still getting off the plane, Jimin,” I grumble, sinking myself further into the chair in the waiting area petulantly. Maybe I don’t want to board this airplane after all.

This empty feeling has seeped in from yesterday. After a fitful sleep, I’d gotten out of my bed to stare at my luggage, all ready and packed for the next day. I wasn’t sure what time it was then; I’d rolled out of bed onto the floor and turning back to look at the small clock on my nightstand had felt like it would have consumed too much energy. All I knew was that dawn had not even broken yet, as the light blue curtains of my room, so useless at blocking even the smallest bit of light, were still dim. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and started to trace the royal blue strips lining the white canvas, I’d thought about the times I’d chucked the things I wanted to bring into the bag. When I’d seen a shirt that Jimin had said looked good on me, I’d thrown it in there. The cap he’d bought me on a whim after he’d dropped by my office for an impromptu lunch. A pair of socks that Jimin had insisted matched with the pair that he’d bought, just because both pairs have a striped motif. Earrings that he’d helped me choose because Se Hoon couldn’t make it for our date that day. Perhaps he couldn’t make it because of that woman, and not because of work, like he’d claimed.

Hours must have flown by as I’d sat there brooding. Not even sure what I was thinking about – was it really all about Se Hoon? My mind feels empty, but I couldn’t believe that I’d just been blankly staring at the luggage in the corner of my room for so long. And yet I must have had, because when the sound of my vibrating phone grated my ears, making me jump out of my reverie, the room was already bright despite the drawn curtains.

Groaning from grumpiness and the aching of my back and ass from sitting in one spot for so long, I’d braced my right palm on the still-cool floor to twist my body and reach for my phone. “Ugh.” My fingertips had brushed against it, causing it to move forward and teeter off the edge of my nightstand. The next round of vibrations had led to a losing battle with its balance, but thankfully I’d managed to catch it before it made contact with the hard floor. The scramble to play hero to save my phone had left me on both my elbows, horizontal against the floor. By this time, the call had become a missed one. Probably gone to voicemail, but that hadn’t stopped me from glaring at the offending device.

Before I could even look at the screen properly to check who had called, I heard the sharp beeping of my front door lock keypad, quickly followed by the chime indicating a successful breach and the softer click of the door opening to the intruder. Then a call of my name greeted my ears, betraying the identity of the visitor and setting my frayed nerves at ease. In a split second, however, my shock had melted away, leaving mild irritation in its wake. At first I didn’t want to answer him. Let him search the whole place, I’d thought pettily, even while knowing that my bedroom would have been the first place he’d check, then changed my mind. “In here.”

Trust him to hear me even though I’d hardly raised my voice. His chipper, “’Morning!” had reminded me that he didn’t have a clue to what had transpired the previous evening, leaving me torn between two choices; remain in my miserable mood and risk him prying for the reason behind it, or put up a cheerful front. I’m supposed to go for the vacation I’d been looking forward to so much, after all.

In the end, my “’morning,” had come out as a sullen reply. Simply couldn’t be bothered with pretence when this guy was concerned. With my partner for the trip automatically cancelling less than twenty-four hours ago, he was going to unearth the source of my moodiness sooner or later, even if I’d pretended there was nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He’d immediately quipped at my tone, joining me on the floor.

I’d narrowed my eyes at the luggage I’d refused to tear my eyes away from. Still, it was always annoying when Jimin would zero in on me like that.

“Just.”

Jimin had rested his back against the side of the bed next to me, keeping mum instead of answering. I’d always hated that he knew exactly how to handle me at times like these. Several minutes had passed as I’d stewed in silence, then inevitably worked out what I’d wanted to say, like he’d known I would. I’d let one or two more minutes go by, just to spite him, but in the end I’d relented with a resolved sigh.

He’d taken the cue to open his mouth. “Wanna grab brunch?”

Is it that late already? I’d thought, unwillingly softening just a bit more when he didn’t automatically repeat his first question. “Not now.” Holding fast onto my vast – though slowly depleting – reserves of gloominess and fury, I’d willed my stomach not to grumble just then. Under strict orders from my highly distressed brain, my stomach had cowered and obeyed, even as his question had evoked pangs of hunger. Another sigh, then, “I don’t know if I’m going tomorrow,” I finally gave in to the inevitable need to confess, if not my need to eat.

“What? Why?” He’d leaned forward in surprise. I’d wished he hadn’t. Despite not having shed a single tear, I’d had no idea what sort of expression I was making, or whether I had any control over it. Thoughts had been racing through my mind at uncontrollable speeds. Obviously I hadn’t used the time I’d had to think this all the way through. Should I tell him that I’d broken up with Se Hoon?

I hadn’t wanted to.

“Se Hoon has urgent business to attend to and can’t make it.” Ugh. Even uttering his name had made me want to spit and brush my tongue with a scrubber. Bringing my legs up, I’d buried my face in my knees, unable to bear the sight of Jimin’s brows furrowing with concern. Aside from the guilt I’d felt about lying to my best friend, the mix of emotions roiling inside me were – and still is – muddling. There was overwhelming outrage towards Se Hoon, which was not surprising. However, endless hours of pondering had made me realise that the nature of my grief was befuddling.

There had been no tears. Even after the shock of seeing Se Hoon in bed with another woman had worn off as I’d trudged all the way home, walking for about an hour instead of taking the subway, there had been no heartbreak over our failed relationship. When I’d finally reached home and collapsed on my bed, no burning tears had even threatened my eyes. Later in the shower, the only wetness had come from the metal pipes. I didn’t care about losing him. No, I’d thought, with Jimin’s presence solidifying my belief, I’m sad because I’m alone. Even when I was with Jimin – actually, because I was with Jimin – I’d felt so lonely. He made me feel hopeless. He made me feel like a loser. Especially now, I’d felt like I was worth nothing. No, I’d always felt like I was worthless when I was with Se Hoon, or with any of my other exes. That’s why I’ve always chased after a relationship. Because otherwise, I would be worth less than nothing.

It had made me all the more desperate not to let Jimin find out. Better to have him think that Se Hoon was being a jerk – which he was, and still is – by ditching me for work instead of finding out that we’d broken up. Jimin was sure to take great umbrage at Se Hoon – never mind that I  was the one who did the dumping – and would definitely demand to know the reason behind it. To tell him that I wasn’t even worth being faithful for… that would just take the ugly, miserable cake that is my life, wouldn’t it? I’d much rather die than come clean, so I’d pressed the truth as deep down as it could go, took a deep breath and turned to rest my chin on my knee, facing that frown painted on his adorably worried features.

“It’s work. You know how it is. Can’t be helped.” Tossed words accompanied by a cavalier shrug; hopefully passing it off as a small matter that I’d wanted it to appear like. There. It gave the impression that I had a responsible boyfriend, and I was being a magnanimous, understanding girlfriend. Plus, this way I could forge ahead with unloading my immediate problem to Jimin without seeming too pathetic. “But I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

“Hey, what’s the point of riding business if you’re going to zone out and queue with the people in economy?” Jimin’s irritated complaint as he swats my arm knocks me back to the present. Still in a daze, I let him grab my hand and pull me up and towards the air stewardess waiting to check the customers’ boarding passes without complaint, only having the presence of mind to hold my camera bag securely against my side. True, I was really torn between going on the trip alone or cancelling it altogether, but when I’d voiced my indecision to Jimin yesterday, I didn’t imagine that it would lead to this.

We zip past the long queue of people waiting to be allowed to board, all the way to the front. The sweet-looking stewardess takes a look at our documents and smiles, complimenting her rosy cheeks, made up carefully to look perfectly natural, ushering us in. As we stride towards the door to the aircraft, I can’t help but look at our connecting hands, then up towards his slender, but comforting back. Never in a million years would I have thought that he would actually offer to accompany me. In all actuality, ‘offer’ is too mild a word for what he did. After calling in to take a week off of work, then buying flight tickets while I’d showered, did he really think he left me with any choice?

He might have been right that not going just because Se Hoon couldn’t make it, after I’d worked my ass off to get a holiday, paid for the tickets and hotel, would be ridiculous. But I maintain that what he did in a span of less than thirty minutes – because it couldn’t have taken longer than that for me to shower – was the more inane of the two.

However, as we step inside the plane itself, past another stewardess welcoming us onto the flight, the reality of this finally starts to sink in. For the first time since I’ve become single, my face relaxes, and I can feel my whole body relaxing with it. While the cause of this current situation is unfortunate, the outcome is quite fortuitous. After settling in my window seat first, I glance towards Jimin, trying to get comfortable in the next seat over. I’m very aware that allowing myself to enjoy this, or even think about this, is idiocy of the highest degree. That it will just bring me more pain down the road. I know. Years of suffering had taught me that really well. Yet still, being the fool that I am, I don’t deny the giddiness of having Jimin come with me, instead of Se Hoon. Not to myself, at least. If it’s going to hurt me either way, might as well milk whatever joy I can get out of it, right? My future self will probably hate my current self later, so I apologise to her in advance in my head.

“Everything okay over there?” Jimin leans over the wide armrest to ask.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer simply, still half-lost in my thoughts. Sometimes I want to roll my eyes and laugh at myself. Whatever am I thinking, while Jimin is just trying to be a good friend? Imagination running wild can inject a really swift and powerful dose of euphoria, and goodness knows that my spirits need a bit of lifting, but prolonged daydreaming will not do anyone any good. Jimin is just a friend. Just a friend. Indulging in idyllic notions will just burn me in the end.

The process of achieving resolution is interrupted when the plane begins to move. It isn’t very obvious at first due to its size, but I notice it backing out into the runway. As it begins to pick up speed, I forget everything else; from depressing thoughts of being single, to silly fantasies. Turning to Jimin, I whisper excitedly; “My favourite part is coming!”

Before I can start to explain what it is, Jimin laughs and nods. “I know.”

Sitting back against the chair, I absorb the fact that Jimin remembers that I’ve told him before. It’s such a random piece of uninteresting information, but I suppose that’s what best friends pick up over the years. I’m sure I subconsciously collect seemingly useless information about him, too. Not wanting to miss it, I don’t comment any further, instead just grinning at him before shifting my attention towards the window. My heart rate picks up as the vehicle accelerates so rapidly that I feel myself getting thrown back into my seat, gaining momentum until it finally lifts itself up into the air. Sighing contentedly, I told Jimin; “It’s such a rush when the plane moves like that. Like our journey is truly starting, and we’re running towards it with all our might.” He just shakes his head with a chuckle at my childish delight. We’re already high enough that the view outside displays the landscape of Seoul city of buildings and cars. On any other day, I’d be down there somewhere. But not today. And while this may not have turned out exactly as I’d expected it to, I have no complaints about the arrangement now.

As though he’d picked up on my uplifted mood, Jimin asks jovially, “So, remind me, why did you choose to go to Malaysia?”

I remember telling him that I was the one who’d picked the holiday destination. This time, it’s not surprising that he remembers; the way my excited gushing about the trip had escalated as it had approached bordered on annoying, even I will admit that. “It’s a multicultural, multi-racial country, so there’s a diverse variety of things to explore,” I begin to explain, sounding like a tourist brochure, pause to consider, then confess. “Actually, we’re going to Penang, which is famous for having the best food.”

Even though his lips curl down, the way Jimin bites his plump lower lip and holds his shuddering body is a tell-tale sign that he’s not frowning; in fact, I know that he’s trying to hold back from laughing out loud. “Why am I not surprised?” Guffaws escape alongside his words, and I smack his shaking arms playfully.

“Shut up.” Although my pretense at affront is a tiny bit better than his attempt to keep a straight face, it’s impossible to hide the mirth dancing in my eyes. With impeccable timing, one of the stewardesses appears by our side to inquire about our choice of lunch. Ever a fan of chicken, I order without hesitation, whereas Jimin chooses pork as his protein.

“Mmm,” – is Jimin’s way of articulating the tastiness of his meal. “What’s the name of the place,” he picks up his boarding pass to sneak a peek at the name of our holiday destination before returning it into his seat pocket, “Penang food better top this.”

Of course, I have never been there, so I can’t guarantee anything. “If their food is that well known around the region, I should think that it’s better than airplane food.”

Both of us know that I’ve made a sound justification, and Jimin doesn’t have any comebacks. The journey grows quiet soon after, my full stomach encouraging my already heavy eyes to shutter closed. Our transfer in Bangkok, Thailand via Suvarnabumi Airport is a short, uneventful one, and from there, it’s a quick flight to our final destination. Watching the evening sky serving as the backdrop for the sun making a dramatic exit for the night is breathtaking. By the time we land, streaks of orange are all that remain of the sun’s waning presence, and a light smattering of stars twinkle, not to be outdone by the numerous city lights.

“So, are we going to take a taxi to the hotel?” Jimin wants to know our next move after retrieving our bags from the baggage claim carousel.

“Yep, but we won’t be using a taxi.” Armed with the WiFi device I’ve rented in advance, I breathe a sigh of relief as my phone connects to the internet successfully. Sometimes I feel a little ashamed by it, but I can’t stop the feeling of unease whenever I’m cut off and unreachable by phone. I keep imagining the worst things happening. “There’s an app people use here to call for a driver instead of using a taxi. It’s cheaper and easy to use.”

“Oooh.” As I open said app, Jimin looks at the screen of my phone over my shoulder curiously. Compared to Incheon and Suvarnabumi Airports, Penang Airport is very small, which I suppose is befitting of the size of the northern island. It makes the place seem especially busy, and we stand slightly away from one of the exits, doing our best to keep out of people’s way. There must be a lot of drivers on the app service, because one immediately takes our request. Ride secured, we make our way out of the building, looking out for a white car with the specified plate number.

Soon our luggage is secured in the trunk of the car, and we speed away from the airport. From the handy app, I find out that our tanned driver is a man named Hisyam. His fatherly manner and gentle way of speaking reinforces my instinct that he seems to be in his late forties or early fifties, a deduction I’d made upon seeing him. Our friendly responses when he’d initiated the standard questioning – where we’re from, and our purpose of coming here – encourage him to strike up further conversation. From my simple research about Malaysia before coming here, I know that being able to converse in English is enough to communicate with the locals, but I didn’t think that it would go so smoothly. I’d thought that it would be only mostly youngsters who are able to speak fluently in English, but despite his age, Hisyam sounds comfortable talking to us in the language. A comment on this from me has him explaining that many Malaysians can speak English well enough to be understood at the very least, which is a relief. It’s nice to feel so welcomed, especially since he has an eager and easy answer when I wonder where we should get our dinner aloud. “There’s a place that’s famous for its char kuey teow that’s not far from here. You have to try it!”

“Char kuey teow?” Jimin hasn’t eaten anything after our lunch on the flight earlier, and the mention of food, however foreign, quickly piques his interest.

“It’s stir-fried noodle,” he explains. “But the noodles are flat and made of rice. It’s a really popular dish around this region. I’ll drive you there first, if you want.”

Sneaking a glance at Jimin, I can see that he is also in favour of this. “Is that okay, though? Do we need to call another driver after we’re done?”

“I’ll just take some other requests until you’re done, then I’ll come back for you. There’s always people calling for service in this area,” he assures us. “This shop’s reputation is rightly deserved, I promise. So, don’t worry about me and enjoy yourselves!”

Good thing Jimin and I are able to decide on taking Hisyam up on his offer so quickly, because he really isn’t kidding – the restaurant is a mere few turns after that. It’s a place next to the large road, with most of the dining tables spread over an open space past the low fence enclosing the area of the restaurant. I suppose the cooking is done within the small building to the side of the restaurant. The tables and chairs are purposeful rather than decorative, but I know that sometimes a simple, humble place can serve better food than fancy ones. With Hisyam’s phone number saved inside my phone, Jimin and I take a seat at a table in the middle of the place. It has barely gotten dark, but more than half of the tables are already occupied by people who look to be locals. A good sign.

Thankfully the restaurant is well-staffed, and in less than five minutes, we’ve gotten our order in. “Smells good,” Jimin comments hungrily, eyeing the plates on the tables around us. I grin and stop myself from teasing him with the old ‘I told you so’ before I actually try the food. It arrives quickly, although I’m not sure if it’s soon enough for Jimin, who starts to dig in without even waiting for me. “Mmm!” His smiley eyes widen, with an extra twinkle as he swallows the char kuey teow.

If my reaction upon tasting it didn’t mirror his so much, I would have laughed at him. However, our driver’s recommendation has given us a great start to our trip – the char kuey teow tastes much better than I expected. Strips of rice noodles that look like a very thick piece of paper that had gone through a coarse shredder are coated with sauce. This dark sauce isn’t paste-like, yet not runny, either. It’s rich; probably infused with the flavours of the prawns and cockles that accompany the dish. The noodles slide down my throat easily, but chives and bean sprouts mixed in provides a contrasting, crunchy texture.

Our silence during the meal says everything about it. Neither of us are interested in talking; we’re too busy enjoying the food. Only after I finish the last bite do I come up for air to confirm what I already know. “How was it?” But Jimin can’t hear me with his body twisted away in his plastic chair. Even if he could, he’s too concentrated in his effort to attract the attention of one of the waitresses to pay me any heed.

Once the young girl has acknowledged Jimin’s call, he turns back to me. “I’m ordering another one. Do you want anything?”

Looks like Jimin had definitely enjoyed his meal. I did too, but my appetite is nowhere as big as his, so I add another order of milk tea to drink while I wait for him to finish his second plate. Less than half an hour later, we’re back with Hisyam, who is happy that his suggestion is getting rave reviews. “Your hotel is in the center of Georgetown, so it will take about thirty minutes to get there,” he informs us, explaining that Georgetown is in the northern part of the island, while the airport is somewhere down south. The three-story building that he points out sits at the end of the block, and he turns from the main road into a smaller one to let us off. He looks at the hotel in approval. “You chose a good place to stay,” he comments. “The last tourist couple I drove booked a famous hotel, but they didn’t know that it’s known for being haunted.” The corners of his lips twitch while his eyebrows scrunch in the middle, as if he still isn’t sure whether to laugh or sympathise with the poor people’s misfortune. “It broke my heart to tell them.”

“Oooooh, which hotel is it?” Pretty sure that I didn’t come across this morsel of information when I was searching for hotels to stay in, I wanted to know. However, Jimin protests, saying that he’d like to get some sleep tonight. He’s already going to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and hearing a ghost story just before that is not going to help him sleep easier. Hisyam and I whisper conspiratorially, arranging for a private story time via message while Jimin unloads our bags from the trunk of the car.

Unfortunately for Jimin, this isn’t going to be our first disagreement for tonight. Not ten minutes later we’re standing at the front desk, arguing over sleeping arrangements while the staff looks on patiently. “I should get my own room,” Jimin insists again, his tone riding the line between firm and incredulous at my disagreement.

“Why should we?” This is not the first time I’ve said these words in the last few minutes either, but I’m unwilling to back down. “The room is huge, and,” grabbing his arm to turn him away from the listening employee, “it’s really expensive.”

“I just won’t take a suite, then,” Jimin says with finality, accompanied by an eye roll.

Truly upset now, I let my lower lip jut out in an infuriated pout. “Even a normal room is expensive, and our rooms won’t be close to each other’s, then,” I inform him. “Is sharing a room with me really that bad? I thought it would be fun. Plus, I already feel bad enough for making you come here with me without having you spend even more.” Even though I know that Jimin can easily afford whichever room he wants, even the suite that Se Hoon and I had decided to splurge on to enjoy together, I’m not exactly sure why I want Jimin to share a room with me so much. The reasoning that I’ve given him are all true. Having him spend so much money, on top of messing up his work schedule to go on an impromptu trip with me makes me feel really guilty, even if he’d done it on his own accord. I just hope that’s the main reason I’m so adamant that we share the suite, more so than the fear of having my crippling insecurity issues creeping up on me alone in the room I was supposed to share with Se Hoon.

Since Jimin and I have had sleepovers when we were kids and had even shared a tent when we went camping with friends in high school, I didn’t think he would mind. So when he’d neglected to ask which hotel we would be staying in, I didn’t bother to book another room. In hindsight, perhaps it was just an oversight on his part. He did only have less than twenty-four hours to prepare to go overseas, after all. However, if he’s this against sharing a room with me, perhaps he does feel uncomfortable about it. Sighing, I decide internally that forcing him to share when he isn’t willing would eat at my conscience even more, so I face the staff again as my hand reaches inside my bag, rummaging for my purse. “Could you give us another room? As close to mine as possible, please.”

“Fine, fine, let’s share.” This isn’t the effect that I had intended – I’m fully prepared to pay for his room – but surprisingly, this made him finally give in. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded.” Now that Jimin has agreed, I find myself at odds, feeling like I’d coerced him into saying yes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could just get another room if you really don’t want to share.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nah, I just thought you’d feel awkward since you’re supposed to be here with Se Hoon. Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Oh. So that’s why Jimin had put up such a fight. The realisation makes me feel a little disappointed. I guess I’m a fool for expecting something else. Jimin had never been attracted to me, after all. Why would he care about sharing a room, other than concern over causing trouble in my relationship? If only he knew that he’s worrying about a nonexistent problem. “I’m sure. No worries.” Funnily enough, Se Hoon had been the one sharing his bed with another woman while we were still a couple, not me.

“I guess he thinks I’m a robot, too.”

“What?” I’m in the middle of confirming with the now-thoroughly-confused man at the front desk that we’re definitely not adding any extra rooms to our booking, so I’m not sure if I heard Jimin’s mumblings right.

“Nothing.” He dismisses me, taking our luggage and wheeling them towards the lift, leaving me behind to take the room key.

“Hey, wait! Oi!”

“Here are your room keys,” the young man at the front desk calls for my attention, and I turn around to take the two sets of cards from him. His, “I hope you enjoy your trip,” sounds more heartfelt rather than obligatory, sending embarrassed heat to my face. He’d obviously gathered that things are not hunky-dory between his guests… wait, he probably thinks we’re a bickering couple. At first I open my mouth, automatically about to launch into my go-to explanation that we’re friends, not a couple like I usually do back home, then I close it. There’s no longer a boyfriend who might find out that someone thinks that Jimin and I are in a relationship, and Jimin, that jerk, went ahead without me so he didn’t hear it. What’s the point of clarifying such a trivial thing to a stranger in a foreign land that I probably won’t ever see again anyway?

“Thanks.” Still slightly sheepish over our argument in front of the man, I quickly scatter away towards the lift. “Thanks for waiting,” I repeat the sentiment – but this time in a very different intonation that borders on the churlish – towards Jimin when I reach his side.

“Mm.” His non-committal reply doesn’t indicate whether he missed the sarcasm in my greeting or heard but doesn’t care to respond. It does nothing to improve my mood. I narrow my eyes at him, but he carefully avoids my glare, instead pressing the button to summon the lift, then keeping his gaze locked on the red digits changing from 2 to G. His reaction jolts me away from the displeasure I’d felt when he’d left the counter without me, back to the root of our argument. Uncertainty and guilt replace my ebbing anger.

“Sorry that you had to come all the way here to keep me company,” I begin my apology by addressing the sacrifice he’d made for me. “If it really bothers you, I don’t mind taking two rooms. I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

The lift doors open just then, and Jimin goes in without acknowledging my words, dragging both our luggage with him. I follow in and press the first-floor button. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not about to push it any further. I’ve said my piece. Of course, I’m still upset, but Jimin can be scary when he’s truly angry, and I’m not in the mood to deal with that right now. Not that I ever actually want to take on an incensed Jimin. But then, the lift has barely moved when he shifts to face me, his features not quite frowning, but nowhere near friendly, either. “Do you really not care about sharing a room with me? Se Hoon as well?”

“Yes, really.” Well, I really prefer it that way. Se Hoon doesn’t have a say in it, but there’s no reason to tell Jimin that. “No sense wasting money on another room when we’ll only use it to sleep, anyway.”

“You booked an expensive suite in a nice hotel just to sleep?” If I were still with Se Hoon, Jimin’s pointed question would have made me blush. However, all it made me think about is how Se Hoon fucked another woman two days before our vacation. There’s no doubt that there were other incidents before that that I’m not privy to. My blood boils at the thought.

“Well, right now I’d rather get herpes than touch him.” I reply acidly. Jimin might have done a lot for me, especially since I broke up with Se Hoon, but there’s just so much my self-beating, bruised heart can take. This time Jimin is the one doing the following, walking just behind me down the corridor until we reach the door to the suite. Holding the key cards up, I ask him one last time, “Are you sure about this? There’s still a chance to get another room.”

“No need, since you’re so sure,” his reply is slightly curt, but has lost most of the venom. I belatedly realise that he thinks I’m furious with Se Hoon for bailing out because of work, which must have had him softening towards me again. In reality, I’m far more pitiful than that, but I’ll take what I can get. Under his breath, Jimin mumbles again, “I’ll be sure to conduct myself like the saint you both think I am.”

The light musical notes of the door unlocking mask Jimin’s murmuring, so I only register his earlier response, taking it as a reconciliation. Opening the heavy wooden door, I fumble the adjacent wall for a switch, and upon turning it on, white light bathes the space to reward us with a very welcome sight. The entrance stretches and opens up to a spacious living room, decorated with black wooden furniture enhanced by splashes of red – small red cushions and red drawers. Simple white walls provide a nice contrast to the beautiful dark, polished timber floor. While I was looking for a place to stay while we’re here, I had seen some photos of the room, but seeing it in front of my own eyes is just breathtaking. From behind me, the sound of Jimin’s long inhale is audible as he takes it all in with completely fresh eyes.

Excited, I bounce further in towards the bedroom. On my left is a wooden door matching the ones I’ve walked through so far. The walls sandwiching it are also wooden with carvings, but the whole expanse is covered with glass. A peek through it reveals the bathroom, complete with a jacuzzi tub that had been promised in the hotel website in addition to a shower cubicle. The bedroom itself is as beautifully decorated as the living room. Majestic four-poster king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, matching the ornate tables and wardrobe well. Sliding glass doors lead to the balcony, and a large stained-glass window on the other side of the bathroom facing the bed completes the luxurious room.

“I’d be happy to just hang out here until the end of the trip,” Jimin comments in awe as he enters the room.

“I know,” I agree breathily, then compose myself before sending him a firm look. “But there’s food to be eaten.”

My honest statement invokes a helpless laughter from Jimin. “You’re not even pretending that you want to see the sights!” Just like that, all the animosity from before melts away completely. Jimin’s giggles must be infused with magic, drawing out a grin from me effortlessly every single time.

Finally, we collapse on the bed – Jimin resting completely on the left side of the bed, while I lay down partially on the side closest to the balcony with my lower legs dangling over the foot of the bed. If I let myself lay down properly, I know that it’s just a matter of time before I’m knocked out cold from the exhaustion of the journey. A bath in the tub sounds really nice, but it’s too much of a hassle for me now. I just want to sleep; but not with the day’s journey sticking to my body. After some time resting my tired muscles, I let out a loud groan and pull myself up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mm.” From the way Jimin lazily acknowledges my announcement, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sleep-talking.

“Do you want to take one too, or are you just going to stink up the bed the whole night?” Poking the sole of his right foot sharply with my finger, I try to verify this with him before I lose him to sleep completely.

“Mmph.” This time he rubs his face against his pillow, perhaps in an attempt to give a more intelligible answer that fails. Opening up his eyes a crack, he asks, “Together?”

I’m not sure if he’s really lucid or not. But I refuse to let him – and myself – entertain the idea for even one minute. My honest answer isn’t good for the health of both my mental state and our friendship. “I’ll wake you up once I’m done.” Jimin responds with another vague hum that I take as a ‘yes’.

Just a little over twelve hours later, I’m sorely wishing for a nice soak in the jacuzzi tub, followed by a nice afternoon just chilling in the hotel room being blasted by the air conditioner. Jimin echoes my innermost thoughts, as if he can read them; “I swear I must have sweat out all the water in my body,” he complains. “Why did you choose such a hot place to go for a holiday? Don’t people run to cool places in the summer?”

“I think it’s the opposite,” I muse out loud. “People go to hot places to escape the bitter winter.” Right now, the freezing winter sounds good to me. It’s slightly past noon and the sun, which has been slowly creeping up on us since about an hour ago, has become downright menacing. Mentally I congratulate myself on forcing an early start this morning, despite both of us being too lazy to get up several hours earlier. The sky had just been kissed by the sun when we set out from the hotel, using the app to get another driver to bring us to Beach Street.

Despite the name, the street is a few blocks away from the jetty. We started our Penang street art hunt here. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is home to numerous street arts, painted by international and local artists. From what I’ve read, there are some very popular pieces that still survive thanks to restoration, but the art scene changes frequently as the old murals fade with time and new ones take the spotlight. Thankfully, the ones I’ve really taken a liking to haven’t disappeared. An early start gives us some advantages – not having to compete with other people for photos, and most importantly, cool weather for a pleasant walk.

Trusty digital SLR in hand, Jimin and I enjoyed searching for the murals, snapping pictures with them as trophies. To my delight – and Jimin’s amusement – many of these artworks on the wall are interactive. The bicycle that a pair of painted siblings ride on is an actual bicycle that you can sit on, similar to the swings a bit of distance away. Jimin declared that the painting of a realistic little boy walking a very-cartoonish dinosaur as his favourite, until he finds out that the artist, Ernest Zacharevic later made a series of paintings he called the ‘101 Lost Kittens’ project. Whilst indulging him in his renewed vigour to find all the lost cats, I noticed that the street art isn’t all that the capital of the island, George Town, has to offer. Narrow streets snake around terraced store fronts and as the morning aged, some of them started to open. Most of them look old, but many retain an interesting charm unique to each one, be it tiles with beautiful patterns covering the doorstep of the store, or windows and doors carved in cultural patterns that hide a rich history that I’m not privy to.

Dotted between these cramped stores are various eateries, cafes, bakeries and bars, many whimsically decorated, just waiting to surprise us as if saying ‘peek-a-boo’! It wasn't long before our stomachs were rumbling, and we chose our breakfast stop. We managed to get roti canai, a flatbread eaten with curry, which was one of my goals for this trip. Jimin tsk-tsked upon hearing that my goals are food instead of attractions, but even he was mesmerised by the sight of the cook twirling the bread dough expertly in the air. “Okay, this is good,” he relents after taking a bite of the savoury bread.

After filling ourselves up, we resume the search for Jimin’s kittens, but I don’t think we managed to get even halfway before we’re reminded that Malaysia is a country that has sunny and rainy days instead of four seasons. And today is definitely sunny. My trusty cap might be protecting my face, but it’s not doing much against the unforgiving heat. “Korea isn’t this hot, even in the summer,” Jimin insists.

“It’s more humid here,” I explain as my eyes rove about the walls, looking for cat paintings. The grey cat surrounded by red fortune cats has been my favourite so far, but Jimin got more excited about the giant depiction of Skippy, the orange cat.

“How come real cats don’t come in this size?” One would think that Jimin’s wish was an adorable one, but I imagined if it came true, and was horrified at the thought.

“They would eat us whole!” Terrified, I eyed the painting up and down, trying to gauge its size. It must be twice as tall as I am. “It would be worse than a tiger!”

Jimin had laughed at my seriousness, but it isn’t long before I’m ready to call it quits, and he’s right behind me. “Summers are probably more bearable in Korea because we’re in the air conditioning most of the time, while we’ve been out in the sun all morning here.” As if granting my wish, I spy blinds hung over a shop with white lettering written across it. A peek underneath tells me that this is probably a café, since I see wooden stools and tables taking up the storefront space. Without hesitation, I grab Jimin’s arm and lead him towards it. I don’t know what sort of store it is, but I know I could use some shade right now.

It turns out that it really is a café, thankfully. Jimin doesn’t need much persuading to agree on grabbing a bite to eat; it’s lunchtime anyway. We snap up some seats inside, where the air conditioning graces us with its mercy. The menu quickly tells us that this place specialises in bagels. Our bagels are perfectly toasty and crunchy after being reheated over a wood fire in an oven, and I take complete delight in the sour kiwi slices coated in honey topping yogurt in an adorable glass jar. Since I don’t eat as much as Jimin, I opt for a lighter salmon and cream cheese bagel. Although I’m doubtful of the bagel’s ability to satisfy Jimin’s appetite, he insists that the bacon and egg served with his bagel is enough to tide him over.

As Jimin inhales his food, then orders more after giving me a sheepish shrug, my attention keeps straying to one corner of the eatery where I watch a group of young girls snapping pictures amidst raucous laughter. Grabbing the opportunity to catch Jimin’s attention when he looks up from his plate, I gesture towards the corner with my chin. “Look, look. We have to take a picture there.”

By the time we’re done, the girls have gone, so I pick up a piece of white chalk on a nearby table to write on the small chalkboard they’d left behind. “Name… Park Jimin.” The texture of the chalk isn’t pleasant to my skin, but I ignore it to fill in Jimin’s height and the date, chuckling when I think about what to write in the last space. “Charge… laughing too much.”

“What?” My best friend states his incredulity as he lets loose the same charming laughter that I’m charging him with. “Laughter brings joy to the world! How could that be a crime?”

“Shh,” I ignore his weak protests, shoving the board into his hands and nudging him against the wall. He guffaws as I lift up my camera and snap pictures of him against a lineup board to take his mugshot. He then declares that he’s good to go for another search for the lost kitties. But it has been a long day, and with our energy already been sapped by yesterday’s journey, the afternoon is spent in more leisurely walks instead, with Jimin quietly indulging my sweet tooth by popping into trendy and yummy cafes instead of religiously keeping an eye out for more murals. I silently appreciate his thoughtfulness but don’t comment on it, knowing that it’ll give him a golden opportunity to tease me for eating so many sweets. Of course, it might just be him wanting to escape the heat without admitting it, even though the sun’s power seems to have diminished as it slips to the west. Yeah, that must be it, I think to myself, refusing to read more into it.

We’ve just exited another café, the bitter taste of coffee tampered by milk and sugar still lingering on our tongues, when Jimin points out something unfamiliar on the road. “Look, what’s that?” It’s a small cart, just big enough so that two people can sit on the seat underneath a grey shade. Behind it is a bicycle with one wheel, attached to the cart to drive the small cart with two more wheels on its side – like a tricycle – forward. I’ve never seen one in Korea, but I do know that this is a mode of transport in several Asian countries.

“It’s a rickshaw,” I tell him, miraculously pulling the name from my memory.

“Huh.” Jimin eyes it with interest. It doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going. “Wanna try riding it?”

At this point, we don’t even know where we are. It has thankfully cooled down now that it’s late afternoon, but my feet are weary from walking so much. Still… My eyes move from the empty cart, where the two of us can sit comfortably and give our feet much needed rest, towards the back, where the driver is sitting. “It would be nice to support his livelihood, but I’d feel bad asking him to bring us around.” I turn to Jimin, unthinkingly placing my heart in my eyes as I entreat him to reconsider.

Taking in the thin, old man resting his forearms on the bicycle handles as he waits for the traffic light to change, Jimin nods his agreement. “You’re right, I can’t in good conscience hire a man at least twice my age to do that.”

So it’s with mixed feelings that I open the map on my phone to determine where we are. When the phone loads, I sigh with relief. We’ve somehow walked all over Georgetown to end up almost next to our next destination, Chowrasta Market, which is in turn a mere 5-minute walk from our hotel. The large three-storey building looks ordinary from afar, but when we get closer, my eyes widen at the selection of goods in the shops on the ground floor. “Oooh.” Lines and lines of pickled fruits and local titbits remind me of some of the stalls in Korean markets. The vibrant colours of the pickled fruits match the packaging of the snacks, making me go crazy trying to decide what to buy.

Sensing that a lot of time is about to be spent choosing snacks, followed by a lot of money traded, leading to him carrying a lot of things, Jimin interjects. “Why don’t we check out the other floors first? That way we don’t have to carry our purchases everywhere.”

“Okay,” I agree readily, but also absent-mindedly, and he has to take me by the hand to lead me further in towards the escalator. The first floor of the market is nowhere near as exciting as the ground floor to me at first glance. There are some clothing stores, which don’t manage to catch mine or Jimin’s interest. However, as we walk towards the back of the building, a familiar musty smell greets my nose, putting me on alert. Even as we walk in its direction, I start to lean forward, trying to get a good look as soon as I can. “Are those… books?”  

They really are. Several tiny stores filled to the brim with second-hand books – so many that we can barely walk between the shelves. Some people may find the air stale and stuffy, but I see it as staunch, ancient guardians protecting hidden treasures. And some of the books are real treasures; with the help of the shopkeepers, we unearth books in every topic under the sun, some of them a little worse for wear, but the newer releases – like the Harry Potter series – look practically brand new. I don’t find any books in Korean, which isn’t surprising, but I do discover a first edition of a title in the Lord of the Rings series. It isn’t in the best condition, sadly, but it makes me wonder what else I could find had I had the time to thoroughly comb the enormous collection of books. We barely made a scratch before Jimin cautions me against bringing home too many things.

Since I know I won’t be able to decide which book to buy, I decide to not get anything. Pangs of regret echo silently within me as we leave, but then I remember that a plethora of food stalls are supposed to line the few streets next to the market. Picking myself up, I grab Jimin’s arms with an excited grin. “Hey, why don’t we walk a bit more to the food stalls?”

“More walking?” Jimin despairs at the thought.

“It’s just a block or two from here.” As we go down the escalator, I pull him towards the exit by his arm, boding no arguments.

“What about the snacks you wanted to buy?” Digging his heels in, Jimin gestures towards the goods in the small shops we’re passing by, desperately attempting to keep further steps at a minimum.

Sadly for him, I already have a plan of action in mind, and there’s nothing he can do to dissuade me. Shaking my head, I explain to him the logical steps that we should take. “We’ll be passing by this place again on our way back to the hotel. We can buy them then.” As an answer to Jimin’s subsequent whine of protest, I tell him, “Shopping on an empty stomach will make you buy more than you should. So we need to get some sustenance before we buy these.”

Jimin may be following my lead out of the market and opposite the direction we came from prior to arriving at the market, but his mouth isn’t about to admit defeat so easily. “How can your stomach still be empty after eating so many sweets??”

It doesn’t alleviate his disbelief when he’s informed that I’m looking for one stall in particular – a famous cendol stall. When his question of “What is that?” is met with my answer of “It’s a local dessert,” he scoffs in incredulity.

However, as soon as we cross to the next block, both Jimin and I are easily distracted by the shops lining the ground floor. At first the t-shirts with Penang’s attractions, including the murals printed on them as well as the colourful clothes draw our attention. As I start to thumb through some trousers with unusual prints hanging on a rack, Jimin ventures inside the shop then quickly calls me over. I suppress a groan. The shops, with their open fronts, are not air-conditioned, and while the temperature has become much more bearable now that the sun is starting to set, I’d rather stay where the wind isn’t just coming from the fans affixed to the walls. But it is worth it. Even though it’s just your typical souvenir – magnets, miniatures of the country’s famous buildings, and other memorabilia – for me it shows what the country’s people are most proud of. An insight to the people’s minds.

There are also bags and purses of different sizes, some bearing similar patterns to the clothes, while some are woven. “Is this what you want, of all things?” Having Jimin’s heavy arm suddenly drop around my shoulder as I examine a beige bag with red square markings makes me grunt and sag a little.

“What’s wrong with wanting this?” To be honest, I don’t actually plan to buy it, but now I’m tempted to, just to be contrary. Jimin really brings out the childish part of me sometimes; a side that I feel is too immature to show others. My head swivels around to stick my tongue out at him for good measure, but then I notice how close his face is to mine. I can just move my head forward a little and kiss him. Alarmed that this thought is the first that comes to mind, I look back down at the bag so quickly I get whiplash.

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice my reaction to his extremely close proximity, because I can feel him shrug nonchalantly at my verbal response. “Mmm, well, if you like it that much, I won’t stop you.” He ruffles my hair affectionately, earning an angrier “Hey!” than I would have normally given him had I not been so flustered, before I saunter back towards the entrance of the shop, right towards the pants that I’d been browsing when he first called me in.

Sensing a possible sale, or, in hindsight, an opportunity to play the responsible cupid, the shopkeeper who has been watching our shenanigans quietly all this while sidles up to me. “That is a good choice, miss. You should ask your boyfriend to buy it for you.” The woman is very young; probably a few years younger than I am, and her speech sounds a little different than Hisyam’s. I sense that she isn’t as fluent as our driver the night before. However, I can understand her perfectly well, and that’s all that matters.

Or perhaps it would have been better if I couldn’t catch her words, because they made me even more agitated. But before I can tell her that Jimin and I are not a couple, she grins brightly and takes my hand in hers, pressing something small into it. “Here, I’ll give you this. Stay safe!”

Curious, I open my hand to see what she has given me accompanied by that suspicious, conspiratorial look. Eyes widening with surprise and hackles raised, I panic; “No no! You–“

“What’s going on?” Jimin walks over, making me shriek in horror and push the condom back into the shopkeeper’s hands then cover them with the bag I’m holding. I’m not sure why I’m so perturbed. It’s not as if I’m the one suggesting that Jimin and I have sex, but damn it, I want to. And I’m deathly afraid that my best friend would somehow figure out my secret, inappropriate desire.

But of course, my startled and over the top reaction only serves to drum up Jimin’s interest. “What are you hiding there?” It isn’t difficult for him to push my hands – and the bag, my only saving grace – away and uncover the little ‘gift’ that the owner thought she’d thoughtfully given to me. What is up with her, anyway?! I thought this is a conservative country! Looking back towards the winking shopkeeper, I decided that she must be a really forward woman, or a foreigner, despite not knowing enough to tell. Either way, the cat’s out of the bag now that Jimin has seen it. Blinking several times blankly at the small packet, Jimin then looks quizzically at me, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh God.” My mortified groan is muffled by the bag that I’d stuffed my head into, unable to bear the embarrassment.

Needless to say, we don’t buy anything from the shop. The steps we take forward are sluggish and unsteady, just like my emotions. Although Jimin had laughed it off as he’d simply told the shopkeeper that we’re all good the whole time he’d dragged me out of the small shop, his silence now clues me in on the awkwardness that he’s feeling, too. After the row we’d had the night before, I really don’t want this to go on. Must keep my feelings hidden. How hard can it be, right? I’ve done it all these years. No one had ever questioned my friendship with Jimin, so it must have looked easy on the outside. I hope no one would ever find out how torn and beat up I am on the inside.

“Sorry about that,” I broach the incident carefully, wanting to put it behind us instead of making it worse. “She suddenly shoved the… it into my hand.”

“Ah, no worries.” Scratching his head like it doesn’t matter to him, Jimin smiles, but he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “She must have been desperate to make a sale.”

“That must have been the weirdest tactic I’ve ever seen.” I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Good. This may have started out forced, but it’s sounding more natural to my ears now. Just ignore that the woman had thought that Jimin and I are a couple, and more importantly, how much I want it to be true. We’re really close friends, it’s normal that strangers would think that we’re more than that. Just laugh it off and things will go back to normal. They always do.

Shrugging, Jimin tries to give her some credit. “At least it’s a fresh approach!”

I start to shake my head, but we reach the other end of the building, greeted by the sight of a long line running along the side of the next block, starting at a small, humble stall. “There it is!” I exclaim in excitement, recognising it instantly from the photos I’ve seen online. Jimin’s grunt when I grab his arm to join the line goes ignored, but he doesn’t complain once we’re there, even though I can’t even see the stall from where we’re standing.

Thankfully, the line moves up pretty rapidly. Once we approach the stall, we see why; the green droplet jellies and red beans are already laid out and ready to be scooped into the small bowl with the white coconut milk and brown syrup. The only wait time is caused by the man making shaved ice from the initial blocks with a green machine that takes up almost half their workspace. There isn’t much allowance for chairs and tables by the roadside, so after paying, Jimin and I join the other customers in standing while downing our sweet treat.

“This is sooooo good.” My compliment is backed up by my tilting the remnants of the bowl into my mouth.

“Want to get one more?” Jimin says gamely, and I grin at the offer. Obviously he’d enjoyed it as well, but I shake my head.

“I’d love to, but there are more treats for us to try,” I explain, motioning with my chin away from the direction of the cendol queue. Sure enough, just walking down the road has us stopping every hundred meters or so to check out what this stall or that restaurant had to offer. And not just the local cuisine either! We even come across a Harry Potter café that serves more than just Butterbeer. Penangites sure love their trendy cafes.

It isn’t surprising to hear a local complain over the prices of some of these delectable goodies though. “This much for sotong kangkong?!” A woman about my age gasps after paying the waitress for two plates of some squid dish. I simply listen to her talk to her friends one table away as we skewer our own squid and water spinach, enriched by the dark, savoury sauce that has my taste buds dancing with joy.

Jimin, who is eavesdropping on their conversation too, remarks amusedly, “Looks like we got conned.”

“Not surprising. This place is well known after all. I’m sure they marked up the price since tourists come here a lot,” I muse, unbothered but interested. “It would be nice to have a local show us the good and cheap places. I’m sure there are many that are unknown to us tourists.”

“Hmm,” Jimin hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything else. For a few moments, I watch him in silence, waiting for him to express his train of thought out loud, but he doesn’t continue. By the time we start making our way back to the hotel, we’re so full that the walk is more than welcome. Not as welcome as the stop we make at the Chowrasta Market to buy some snacks – for souvenirs, but I admit to Jimin honestly that I can’t promise that at least half of them might be gone by the time we’re going back to Korea.

The food coma that we fall victim to continues into the late morning the next day, but it’s very well worth it. Both of us sleep so soundly that even the blazing glare of the sun can only make me moan tiredly, trying to shuffle into a better position to continue my slumber. Which is when I come to a realisation that jolts me wide awake.

Jimin’s arms and legs are wrapped around me.

No wonder I feel so snug and warm. It isn’t just all the food breaking down in my stomach. Jimin has hugged me on countless occasions before, but this feels different. More like what a couple would do, while I’ve always thought of our hugs as friendly. Or perhaps I force myself to think that way. I would use all my willpower to make myself pretend that this is the same as well, just for self-preservation. He’s just cuddling me in his sleep after all. It’s not like it’s intentional. Right?

I might have convinced myself, if I didn’t feel a definite, insistent hardness pressing against my butt. Yes, even that is unintentional I’m sure, but my dumb body can’t help reacting to it. Closing my eyes, I stifle another moan – not a sleepy one this time – as I feel how wet I’ve already become in reaction to him.

Against my better judgement, I arch my back, leaning forward and shuffling as subtly as I can into a better position. Tingles that spark like tiny electric shocks when my covered slit comes into contact with Jimin’s clothed morning wood has me stifling a wanton sound of pleasure. I’m not sure if he’s fully hard, but he feels like a good size. Any size would be good, as long as it’s Jimin. My hips rock back and forth, years of depravity leaving me utterly shameless. Unthinking about how wrong it is to take advantage of my unassuming best friend while he’s asleep.

My right hand dives down past the waistband of my shorts and into my panties, seeking the nub that would multiply the pleasure. “Hnn,” I bite my lower lip in an attempt to stop any further sounds from spilling past, while letting my eyelids flutter shut. The better to enjoy this — it is no longer a fantasy I indulge myself in when I’m pleasuring myself. If only I could have more. Deft fingers toy with my clit as I rub my pussy faster against Jimin’s cock. It’s undoubtedly growing bigger. It almost feels like it wants to pierce through the fabric separating us. Even though I’m really just dry humping him, moving by myself, it already feels incredible. What I wouldn’t give to have it inside me, giving my weeping pussy just what it’s craving. If only these fingers were his; flicking the stiffened bud while whispering in my ear, telling me to come for him...

As if answering my obscene prayers, a deep groan from behind startles me into a frozen statue. Belatedly realising the gravity of my actions, I yank my arm up and out of my shorts. Shit, what the hell am I doing??? However, taking a look at my hand; fingers soaked with my arousal, flowing all the way to my wrist, I have to gulp down another wave of desire. No, this is just too risky.

Heart beating deafeningly in my chest, I stay deathly still for a minute or two, hoping that Jimin hasn’t awoken and realised what I was up to. If he has, I don’t even know how to explain myself to him. Hell, I don’t even know how to explain myself to myself. Thankfully, he seems to be in a deep sleep. Even luckier for me, he just loosens his hold on me, turning onto his back with a deep sigh. Like a rabbit sprung free from a trap, I scoot out of the bed as fast as I can without waking him up. Once I climb off the bed, I spin around to look at him, making sure that he really is asleep. His face is positively angelic in his slumber. It would be painful for me to look at it if it wasn’t such a contrast to the tent that his hard-on is making out of the pristine white sheets. Sheets that would no longer remain unsoiled if only he had any interest in having his way with me. They would turn near transparent – if I’m already this wet from brushing against him and touching myself, what state would I be in if Jimin is the one touching me? If he’s the one rubbing against my clit frantically? If there was nothing separating us, if he’s actually inside me, stroking my inner walls with his hard cock? The beddings will be soaked through.

These traitorous thoughts make me whine out loud without thinking. The way I’m looking at him now is no way someone would look at a best friend. No; as much as I’ve convinced myself that I’ve been keeping my emotions in check, I haven’t been looking at Jimin as just a friend for a very long time.

And if he wakes up to find me drooling and mewling for him, there won’t be hiding it any longer. His breathing isn’t the long, calm ones of one in deep slumber. He could wake up anytime. So I hasten to the bathroom, willing my eyes not to stray towards his obvious yet unintentional arousal.

After swiftly divesting myself of my clothes, I hop into the shower, blasting it on full force. Two seconds later, I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from screeching and cursing at the temperature of the water. Somehow I’d managed not only to set it on full force, I had turned it on at the hottest temperature as well.

The cold shower I give myself after hurriedly changing the settings doesn’t do much to clear my mind. My body is crying from rebuffed desire. Clearly this sharing-a-room thing isn’t working out in my favour.

As a compromise to my physical needs that allows most of my pride to remain intact, I turn off the shower and get into the bathtub instead. Reaching for the hose, once again I turn it on full force, but this time only after checking the temperature. Uncaring if it’s shameless to do this when my best friend is asleep on the opposite side of the wall, I open my legs and direct the head between them. The intense pressure of the water hitting my pussy awards me with immediate relief from my pent-up frustration, immediately followed by building pleasure that had been denied from me in the bed just now. Keeping the steady jet continuously hitting my sensitive nub with my left hand, I reach down with my right to trace my slit. It’s completely drenched, and I know that it’s not all from the water coming out of the faucet.

My middle and index fingers slip past my entrance easily. Scooting down the tub to get into a better, lower position with only the upper half of my torso resting against the wall of the tub, I begin to move my fingers in and out of my warm depths. Pretending that it’s Jimin’s cock that I’d felt against my pussy, the memory still fresh, I burn the sensation inside my mind to last me for all time. Soon I’m panting and moaning, though still of sound enough mind to be careful not to utter his name out loud, but unable to stop the aroused sighs that fall out of my mouth at the thought of him doing all of this to me, and more.

The fantasy brings me to a climax in record time with a loud cry that I hope is masked by the sound of running water and thick stained glass. Just in case Jimin is awake, I try to clean myself up as fast as I can. If I’m lucky, maybe he’d still be asleep.

When I step out of the bathroom, he’s still on the four-poster, turned onto his side with his back facing me once more. However, I can see movement underneath the sheets that tells me that he is no longer asleep. Is he… masturbating? Even though it’s covered, I can see his right arm moving rapidly, almost desperately. His breathing is unsteady, just like mine was right before in the bathtub.

A part of me that must be sick and perverted wants to watch him. I stand rooted on the spot with my hand on the doorknob, fascinated, longing to see him pleasure himself. Dying to help him do it. Already my center is reacting again. I’m so ready for him. I’ve been ready for him for so long.

But before I can rationalise continuing to watch my best friend masturbate like a total creep, unthinkingly I release my hand from the door of the bathroom, causing it to close shut with a sharp click. Jimin immediately stills, confirming to me that my suspicions were right. The sound also brings me back to my senses. What should I do now?

In the end, I opt for the safe option, the one that I’ve chosen over and over and over again. Striding past the bed, I greet him as normally as I can. “Hey, wake up, we’ve already wasted half a day just snoozing.”

I’m sure that Jimin is going for a sleepy grunt, but it came out sounding more like a horny groan than anything else to my ears. To keep things from becoming awkward, I pretend not to notice it. Instead, I open the wardrobe in the corner of the room, giving him a chance to hightail it to the bathroom with my back turned to him. He grabs the opportunity readily. As he showers, I dress quickly then let myself out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind me. It’s so much easier to tell myself that he hadn’t heard my shameless moans while I was inside the bathroom if I don’t hear him making them either.

Since he doesn’t comment on it, I assume that he either really didn’t hear me in the bathroom, or that he’d rather not say anything in case I saw him and return the favour. I’m more than happy to just pretend nothing had happened. Especially the fact that I used him to get myself off, although I’m pretty sure he’s oblivious to that. Otherwise I doubt he’d let me go on for as long as I did. Masturbating is something normal, he’d probably spare me the embarrassment even if he hadn’t been caught doing it himself. But using your best friend for your own orgasm is something else entirely.

So, with me neglecting to say anything about sorting out his morning wood – which is completely understandable – and him either not knowing that he wasn’t the only one who got off today, or choosing not to mortify me by saying that he does, the afternoon is spent in peace at Batu Feringghi. It doesn’t cost us much to get a driver to bring us to the long stretch of beach less than half an hour from Georgetown. Going there on a weekday means that we’re spared from the throng of people I’m sure would flock the tranquil strip of sand and sea on weekends. The salty wind is refreshing on my skin; perfect after a proper rest the night before.

Even more perfect than the breeze hitting my face and whipping through my hair is having Jimin by my side, leisurely walking in a more or less straight line marked by the water kissing the sand. We’re close enough that the gentle waves wash over our feet every few seconds, but not too deep into the sea that we’re wet past our ankles. I want to go on like this forever, strolling next to Jimin, feeling like a real couple.

It isn’t long before the blissful walk morphs into a food outing though, as it has always been on this trip, when we spot a stall further up the beach and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he asks me if I want to check the food out. He knows me well, so I can see how he immediately thought that’s what I wanted. However, this time, I’d really rather just spend some quality time with him. No words or anything else needed. Just basking in his presence, soaking in the happiness I feel simply by having him here with me. Once we get back to Seoul, we’ll get caught up in the flow of our own lives again. With people we know all around us, we will truly go back to being just best friends. He will get a girlfriend, and I’ll probably find another boyfriend to fill in the emptiness that can never be satiated by anyone other than Jimin. Is it wrong of me to want to continue this make-believe game of being his girlfriend a little bit longer, even if it’s only in my head?

Of course, it’s not as if I can tell Jimin any of this out loud. Plastering a smile on my face instead, I jokingly praise him, “Wow, when did you learn to read my mind?” and start off towards the stall ahead of him. His, “Oy, wait for me!” is met with laughter, but it rings hollow in my ears. I bounce and skip along, but it’s hard to do so and maintain a steady foothold on the ground thanks to the soft sand giving way underneath my feet. My body feels unbalanced, struggling to remain upright despite – or perhaps because – of the jolly movements I’m forcing upon myself, parallel to the emotions I’ve been keeping inside me for so long. Always on the verge of crumbling, threatening to fall into the unknown, even as I put up a front of being Jimin’s happy best friend.

Blinking back tears, I clear my throat as I stop in front of the stall to read the menu. “What is this?” Pointing to a foreign word on the small white board propped in front of me, I ask the young guy, barely a man, manning the stall as Jimin steps up next to me, bumping my shoulder on purpose.

“Oh, uhm…” he looks visibly flustered, eyes moving all over the separated goods on his workspace as he tries to find the words in English to answer my question. He must be taking care of this place for someone. He seems new and a little inexperienced with customers. I feel bad for him, but I still want an answer, so I wait patiently, flashing him an encouraging smile.

Jimin is quick to take pity on him. “Well, all that matters is that it tastes good, right?”

Given an out, the young man breathes a sigh of relief, obviously feeling more at ease. “Miss, pasembur is a mixture of all these things,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards the ingredients laid out on the table in front of him, “covered with peanut sauce. Can you handle a bit of spice?”

Placated by his effort to explain, I lean forward to look at the dry stuff he has sorted out in different containers. Some shredded cucumbers and turnips, bean sprouts, fried tofu and a fried pancake-looking thing that looks crispy. “Yeah, I love spicy food!”

The ingredients just need to be put together in a large plate, and soon Jimin and I are sitting at one of the tables propped up around the stall under a leafy tree. Both of us take the chairs on opposite sides, so we can enjoy the view of the sea as we sip our coconut juice straight from the fruit. Halfway through our afternoon snack, Jimin muses, “I wonder how much weight we’ve put on since we’ve been here?”

His question makes the mouthful I have in my mouth hard to swallow. “Ugh, must you think about that? We’re supposed to enjoy our holiday with no worries!” I wag my fork at him grumpily, reaching for a glass of ice I’d asked from the boy to wash down the food with the cool, melted water.

My chiding rolls off of him like water off a duck’s back. “If I’m going to continue going with you for more food after this, I’m gonna have to make some space,” he says playfully, getting up with a gesture towards the small building that houses restrooms a few hundred meters away.

“Ew!” After sending a chuckling Jimin off by flinging what’s left of the ice in my cup at him, I turn back to the remnants of our food. The peanut sauce is only mildly spicy, but still very enjoyable. We’ve found out that the fried pancake-like thing is actually prawn fritters, but I like the turnip the most. Coupled with the heavier peanut sauce, the juice that flows into my mouth when I bite the turnip provides a refreshing, contrasting taste that reinvigorates my senses. As I try to pick out the turnip strips among the few other toppings left over, a man I haven’t seen before pulls the stool next to mine.

Confused, I give the surroundings a quick glance before turning back to him. Only one other table is occupied. The rest are empty. Even while sitting, I can tell he’s taller than many Malaysians I’ve seen so far. He’s fair-skinned, and although he looks Asian, he doesn’t look quite like a Malaysian – I’ve seen many of the main three races of Malaysians; Malays, Chinese and Indians – and I’m no expert, but there’s something about him that tells me that he’s a tourist, too. “Excuse me, why are you sitting here?”

“So I can take a better look at you, cutes,” he responds arrogantly, turning me off in a split second. Trying to find someone to hook up with on his vacation, I suppose.

Frowning, I pointedly continue spearing one of the small nuggets of the pasembur with my fork, uncaring of what I choose to pop into my mouth in a show of blowing him off. “Well, I don’t care to look at you, so please leave.”

As expected, he’s not going to give up so easily. “I came over ‘cause you look really bored, sitting here alone by yourself. The name’s Charlie. Why don’t you come with me? My room is just over at that hotel,” he points towards one of the ritzy resorts by the beach, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction by looking at it. “I’ll show you a fun time.”

“No, tha–“ I start to turn him down again, but he grabs my hand, uninterested in my response.

“Hey! Ah, uhm…” Before I can put up a struggle to get myself free, we’re stopped by the boy taking care of the stall. From the way his words are coming up in short stutters, it’s clear that he’s scared out of his wits. Yet he’s still standing up to the much bigger man for my sake. “The miss has a boyfriend!”

“Eh?” Charlie looks from the boy to me, then scans the open space. “Where is he then?”

“Uh.” Great. What am I supposed to tell him now?

But before I can think of a reply, he shrugs indifferently. “Just ditch him, then.”

Again, I start to pull away from him, but this time it’s Jimin who stops us in our tracks. “What’s going on here?” His tone is light, but I can sense the undercurrent of what I’ve named the Angry Jimin; the quiet man who speaks in a soft voice, hiding a dangerous persona that can cut a person with one cold look. In all the years I’ve known him, I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Jimin like this with the fingers on one hand, but the departure from the usual Jimin that I know is so drastic, there’s no mistaking it when he’s truly furious like this. Even though I know that I’m not in the wrong, he has me shaking in my flip-flops.

Charlie, on the other hand, does not recognise the cue signalling that he’s in hot water. “Who are you?” Then, making the same assumption as the boy, “what, are you her boyfriend?”

Afraid of what Jimin might say and its consequences – not just about Charlie, but I selfishly can’t bear to hear him say that he’s not my boyfriend, either – I wrestle away from Charlie’s grip, rushing forward towards Jimin to link my arm around his. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

My unexpected move confuses Jimin, earning a bewildered expression from him, but Charlie doesn’t seem to care either way. “Tch. Look man, don’t be such a spoilsport. I just want to borrow her for a couple of hours. Or do you wanna come join us too? I hate sharing, but I’m sure we can find someone for you, too. If you don’t mind ‘em ugly,” he laughs nastily, reaching out for me again.

However, Jimin snaps out of his bafflement quickly, and snatches Charlie’s wrist in a firm grip before he can get his hand on me. “Do not touch her.” Jimin’s icy voice intimidates Charlie, I can tell, as the latter hesitates for a moment. But he waves away the warning.

“Aw, c’mon. I–aaaaaaargh!” Charlie’s flippant tone hikes up several notches as his knees buckle, attempting to wrench out of Jimin’s grip, which has tightened so much that his hand is starting to bend at an unnatural angle. Once he manages to get out of it, he backs up several large steps, staying clear out of Jimin’s reach. “What the fuck, man! I thought we were cool! If you’re going to be such a stick about it, you could’ve just said something!”

Now that his switch has been turned on, Jimin is in no mood for any tomfoolery. “I told you not to dare lay a hand on her. Now. Fuck Off.” His words still come out composed and almost unaffected, but his normally smiling eyes now have a malicious glint to them, and even Charlie has learnt his lesson.

We leave the place soon after he does, after I thank the boy for standing up for me. Both Jimin and I know where we’re heading to next; I told him our plans before we headed out a few hours earlier, and I think that we’re walking in the right general direction, but neither of us are checking if we’re going the right way. When the heart is lost, does it matter where the body goes? I’m not sure what’s going on with Jimin, though. He isn’t checking if we’re going the right way, and he doesn’t seem to care, either. I’d ask him what’s bothering him if I wasn’t so preoccupied myself. Having him protect me like that made me ecstatic, even though I was also scared back there. But the aftermath is excruciating. Having him act like he’s my boyfriend, as short-lived as it was, only makes it more painful to face reality. He will be that for another lucky girl, one day, forever. But that girl isn’t going to be me.

While I’m musing on the thoughts that I’ve been burying for ages and plan to do so until the end of time, Jimin isn’t planning on taking the same approach. I should never have worried about asking him what’s wrong – he’s going to address it himself without any prodding from me. “You could’ve just told that ass that your boyfriend is back at home.”

Frayed nerves and a permanently broken heart immediately fuel the ire that rises inside me at his comment. Is that really important? “Do you really think he would have left me alone if I’d said that? He was trying to take off with me even with you there,” I bite off bitterly.

Jimin sighs, unable to argue with the validity of my statement. “I guess that’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to pretend to be your boyfriend to chase him away.”

“Why, is the idea of being my boyfriend that horrible to you?” No, wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t lash out like this. I’m only inviting trouble. But I can’t stop. Jimin might have not done anything wrong, but I still can’t help being resentful towards him for this. I can’t stop hating myself for still being hung up over him. He might not have meant anything hurtful by it, right now and back then, but it doesn’t stop it from eating away at me, turning me into an ugly monster inside.

At least he has enough wits to recognise that he’d put his foot in his mouth. “No, I didn’t mean–“

“Just stop.” I don’t want to hear it. I can’t bear it. His meaning is crystal clear. It always has been. Jimin just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend. However, if I hear the exact words, I don’t think I can handle it. All of me wants to run far from him, but I can’t do that without appearing even more suspicious than I am now. So I settle for increasing my walking speed just short of a run, surprising Jimin as I leave him behind to cross the road. The few seconds it takes for him to wait for the cars to pass and lengthen his strides to return to my side grants me a bit of time to furiously blink my tears away, clearing my throat. I hope he’d missed the way my voice cracked just now.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Jimin pulls me to the curb, holding me by the shoulder to face him. “You’ve been acting weird. I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just–“

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I throw out fake words meant to reassure him, using my phone as an excuse not to look at him. “Just checking the direction for the night market.” My thumb shakes with the rest of me, making it difficult to type, but I will myself to make it steady. I can’t break down now. Not after all this time, in the middle of the road in a foreign country, no less.

“No, you’re not.” It isn’t the same Jimin that had dealt with Charlie earlier, but I can tell that I’m trying his patience. Still, I can’t tell him. If I do, not just this trip; everything will fall apart. And I need Jimin more than I need air. If I can only have him as a friend, then I’ll take it with the heartbreak that comes with it.

“Just let it go. Please, Jimin,” I plead with him, finally tilting my face up towards his concerned one. The annoyance on his face crumbles when he sees the raw agony I know I can no longer hide. My watery eyes that betray a world of pain, even if he doesn’t know why. His hold on me loosens, then releases me, his arms falling limply to his sides. The last thing I want is to see him like this. It’s even worse because I’m the cause. But there’s nothing else I can do. “I’m sorry.”

“If you think it’s best for you, I’d do anything,” Jimin says, not asking for an explanation. “Just know that you can come to me about anything. Anything at all. I would always be there for you.”

I nod appreciatively, thinking to myself that he can’t be the medicine to the disease that he himself has created. “Thank you,” I whisper. We stand like that for a while, ignoring other people walking by us, some peering curiously at two foreigners just frozen there. Wiping my tears as discreetly as I can with him watching, I take a few deep breaths, determined to return to my normal self again – as normal as I can be, anyway – and get this day back on track. It has been a roller coaster so far.

The night market spanning along the main road and beyond are made of countless makeshifts stalls that light up the descending night. I can see just about everything I can think of here – from the standard souvenirs, to traditional clothes and bikinis, knockoff bags and watches, to paintings. Normally I would have soaked up the atmosphere, growing so excited that I’d border on crazy just trying to decide what to buy and ending up with more goods than I could carry, but somehow I can’t quite muster up the energy. It isn’t the fault of the vendors, who are friendly and inviting, but not too pushy. Nor is it because I’m turned off by the prices; although I do notice that things here are a little overpriced compared to some other places I’ve been to so far. As desperate as I am to return things to how it was before, I can’t get over Jimin rejecting me as a girlfriend. If he doesn’t even want to pretend to be my boyfriend, I can only imagine how much of a turn off it is to him to have it become a reality. And while I’ve known all along that this is how he feels, I’ve spent so long denying it to myself as I pretend on the outside that I’m all good with it. Without anyone knowing, I’ve allowed myself to fantasise being his girlfriend for too long. It’s just daydreaming, I’d thought. Just a fantasy. I know what’s real, I’d told myself. But I didn’t realise that it had made me hope that it would someday come true, and to be forced to face reality like that – it left me in a state of shock. Things are even worse, because I’m here with nowhere to run from him.

It certainly doesn’t help matters that many of the vendors assume that we’re a couple. While not surprising, it makes the air feel more awkward between us, and drives the knife deeper into my heart. I don’t need to be reminded that Jimin doesn’t see me as girlfriend material, no matter how much it may seem differently to everyone else. Every “No, no, we’re just friends,” I tell every friendly seller is a cruel admittance to the fact that I’ve been denying since we were young. Like a punishment for thinking that I can one day have more than I deserve. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And this whole day is just full of occurrences driving the point home, over and over and over. I want to cry my heart out in anguish. I want to scream my lungs out in frustration. And I want to run, to the ends of the earth, and fall off to a place where I can hurt no longer.

I’m sure Jimin knows that something isn’t right with me, but he doesn’t say or ask anything. While I really appreciate that he’s giving me space and keeping his distance so I can lick my wounds as best as I can in such a crowded place, a foolish part of me still hopes that he cares. His suggestion that we call it a night and get an early start tomorrow after popping for dinner at a food court wedged among the stalls is a very welcome one. At this point I just want to sleep and forget all this ever happened. The latter might be too much to ask for, but I can’t imagine that some rest would make anything worse than it already is.

 “When I said an early morning, I didn’t mean this!”

Jimin’s whining is ignored, although he doesn’t notice me giggle softly at his dismay. I’m glad that a few hours’ sleep is enough to restore the normalcy between us. At least that’s how it looks on the surface. My own feelings for him, now escalated to an irreversible state, have been repressed back inside me, where they have been kept carefully under lock and key for as long as I’ve realised them. And I tell myself that I’m okay with this. I’ve always known that Jimin will forever be my best friend, and only that. It was just my stupidity that kept embers of hope burning within that it might somehow change. As long as I can extinguish my impossible wishes, I can hold onto what I have – Jimin’s friendship. That is more than enough. It has to be. The alternative is to confront him with the truth, and lose him.

So I choose to maintain this delicate equilibrium. What happened yesterday should never come to pass again. I was careless, foolishly allowing my real feelings to surface. That mistake should never be repeated. Hopefully Jimin would think that I’m just still upset about Se Hoon, and leave it at that. Jimin has never been all that keen on talking too much about my boyfriends. The time we spend together has always been for just the two of us. We may chat about our partners once in a while, just to check in on the other person, but we never delved into it. I never cared to talk about my boyfriends when Jimin is the only one I truly wanted, and perhaps Jimin has never had much to share about his relationships, either. It would just be frustrating if I had to listen to him talk about them, so if he doesn’t say anything, I’ve never asked.

Addressing him from the front on the narrow dirt path, I point out, “It’s not that early, you know,” then yelp as I almost stumble over a root jutting out of the ground.

“Look out!” Relying on his animal-like reflexes, Jimin rushes forward and seizes me by the arms before I tumble to the ground. Wrapped in his arms, his sweat and slightly heavier breathing from the exertion of our exercise should be anything but romantic, but as I look up into his soft eyes, filled with concern, I can hear my heartbeat pounding erratically in my ears, and I know it’s not because we’ve been navigating this leafy terrain over the past half hour. Even in this awkward, uncomfortable position, with most of my body weight resting on him and both of us smelling way less fresh than daisies, I can’t help but notice how inviting his lips look from this close proximity. I’d give my whole fortune to be able to kiss them.

No. I’m letting myself fall into the same trap all over again. Before I do anything I will regret later, I clear my throat and extract myself from his embrace. Jimin lets me go readily. “Sorry,” I mumble to hide both my embarrassment and disappointment.

At first, Jimin looks as stunned as I feel, but my movements and apology snaps him out of it. “I told you that hiking is a bad idea,” he takes the opportunity to chide me for my choice, in the aggravating I-told-you-so manner only a childhood friend can manage. It automatically incites an immature response in me, pulling me away from my years-old worries, if only for a moment.

“It so isn’t! Just wait until we get there. Besides, it’s the perfect way to burn off all the food we ate.” Finishing with a loud huff, I turn around and continue on the narrow trail towards Monkey Beach, a stopping point on our way to the Muka Head lighthouse in Penang National Park.

We arrive at the beach just a little under an hour later. It’s already midmorning, and the sun has begun its work warming the sand and the water. I had my fill of the beach yesterday, and there’s still more hiking to do before we reach the lighthouse, but I can’t resist running my hand through the clear water and then splashing an unsuspecting Jimin who’d crouched down next to me. “Hey!” He scolds me indignantly as I erupt into laughter; my first uninhibited one since only yesterday, but it seems like forever since I’d last felt such unadulterated joy. The world just isn’t right when things are not going well with Jimin. It makes me more determined to keep everything just as they are. A life where I’m on the outs with Jimin just isn’t right.

If either of us thought that going to Monkey Beach was tiring enough, we’re in for an unpleasant surprise. While the trail to the beach was slightly challenging, it was mostly flat. From the beach to the lighthouse is a far less forgiving climb – one that would have knocked me out if I were in a worse shape than I’m in. Jimin, the fitter one of the two of us, insists that we would have gotten to our destination in less than forty minutes if I hadn’t stopped to catch my breath, but I pretend not to hear his annoying remark, choosing to roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him when his back is turned.

Despite the journey that was more tiring than we’d bargained for, it’s well worth it now that we’re here. The lighthouse is an old one; there’s nothing really remarkable about its appearance. Our climb is really rewarded by the view that we see from the top of the lighthouse. Jimin makes his way up first, then calls out to me excitedly, and I give up on regaining my strength at the bottom of the lighthouse to join him. The narrow walkway surrounding the lighthouse peak offers us a fantastic view of the islands surrounding this one, and we stand there for a while, just taking in the endless stretch of the blue sea, trying to figure out where it meets the azure sky in the horizon.

The climb down from the lighthouse is significantly easier compared to going in the opposite direction, and we find ourselves back at the beach in no time. “Do you know that we can see turtles here?”

“Where?” The possibility of this gets Jimin on his toes at once, excitedly looking around the beach for any stray turtles wandering around. I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiastic response.

“I don’t know. I read that you might see them here. Maybe we’d have a higher chance to see them at one of the other beaches in the park. It’s a nesting place for the turtles, and the season is right about now.” My clarification disappoints him, and his shoulders sagging makes me want to pull him into a tight hug. “Do you want to go there and see if we can find any?”

At first he brightens up at the idea, then looks at me sceptically. “How far is it from here?”

“Uh…” As much as I like playing tour guide, I’m not actually sure of the answer to his question. “A little far, maybe? The way there uses an almost completely different trail, I think.”

That draws an easy response from him; “pass”. By the time we’ve walked all the way back to the park entrance, had a tasty lunch and got back to our hotel to shower, it’s already late in the afternoon. “The day just flew by,” Jimin remarks as we sit in the car, on our way to our next stop.

“I know, right? But this isn’t bad.” We’re on the main road, surrounded by buildings on our left and right, but we must be on the edges of the island, because I can see glimpses of the sea and the reddish-purplish dusky sky as the car zips by the gaps between the buildings. “It’s kind of relaxing when we’re not rushing from one place to another.”

“I wouldn’t call a morning hike relaxing though,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, earning a playful smack on the arm from me.

The easy-going mood and light banter continue even after we get to Straits Quay, a beautiful marina enclosed by a shopping mall. Perhaps too easy-going, as we indulge in some drinks after dinner. Having western food is definitely a departure from the norm after several scrumptious Malaysian meals, but I don’t mind the change very much. Especially now that the alcohol has made its way into my system – losing my inhibitions is making me tap into my repressed emotions more deeply than usual, and it’s confusing me. While I’m happy that Jimin is here with me, I’m also tired and angry at him for rousing my irrepressible hopes once more.

Without thinking, I’ve downed more than I can handle. I’ve belatedly realised that Jimin is keeping a modest pace, not imbibing even half as much as I have, but at that point, I’m beyond caring. “You should slow down a bit,” he warns me, and only then I put my mug down with a sigh, heeding his advice. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Although I’m starting to feel a little woozy, I still have a bit of wits about me yet.

Jimin stares at me, trying to judge if I’m still of sound mind. He must have been aiming for the delicate balance between loosening my tight lips and inability to think coherently, and I’ve fallen neatly into his trap. “Is everything going well with Se Hoon?”

“Why, do you think there’s trouble in paradise?” My answer is sharp and bitter out of sheer anger and defensiveness, instinctively seeking to protect myself even when I’m not in the best state to do so.

“I’m just concerned. I know you’re pissed because he bailed out of this trip at the last minute, but you seem more… prickly than I thought you would be,” Jimin hedges, expertly opening my precious treasure box of jealously guarded secrets. I’ve always worried that Jimin knows that I’m keeping something from him. He could always tell when there’s something I’d rather not tell him, and he usually manages to make me spill everything out. Everything… but my real feelings for him.

“And whose fault do you think it is?” I ask testily, not thinking that there can be more than one answer to this question.

“Se Hoon?” Jimin’s wrong answer makes me want to slap my forehead. At this point I’m not sure who’s the stupid one; him or me. Of course he would think Se Hoon is behind my irritable behaviour, but should I have clued Jimin in on my troubles in the first place?

“Not any longer.” His clueless answer bursts the balloon of fury blowing up within me, and I deflate in my seat. How can I expect him to put all the pieces together when I’m withholding so much of them from him? Jimin can’t possibly know that I’m hopelessly in love with him. Not when I’ve done everything that I can to hide it from him. But I’m tired of concealing things. I’ve gotten sick of it for a long time, and it has risen stealthily to the surface, slipping through my defences, biding its time until an opportunity comes for it to spill forth. Like right now. “We broke up just before we came here.”

“Oh.” His response is quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s indifferent, or sad for me, or feeling awkward from the sudden news bomb. “So it wasn’t some business thing that made him cancel the trip?”

“It was business, alright. A meeting with his colleague on his bed.” Funny, I should feel more upset about it, but I’m not. Whatever Se Hoon has done during the course of our relationship has never affected me much one way or another. Naturally he did please me and annoy me at times, but nothing he ever did got to me the way Jimin does. It’s the same for all my past relationships. I’m aware of that. But what else can I do but accept these pseudo relationships, since I can’t have the one I truly want?

Jimin’s brows shoot up upon hearing this, then crash down in a frown, accompanied by some colourful curses under his breath as he processes the information. “Sorry about that. Never liked the smarmy guy anyway. You can do way better,” he rattles off the typical sympathetic words that don’t do anything to lift up my spirits. “You could have just told me though,” he mumbles, almost as an afterthought, but I can tell that he’s offended that I kept it from him. Far from making me feel guilty though, his expectations that I share anything about my half-hearted relationships only serves to stab another wound in my already well-punctured heart.

“Guess I don’t want to feel like an even bigger loser in front of the guy who rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel.” A large lump lodges itself in my throat, obstructing my air flow, but the words come out anyway.

“What do you mean?” Leave it to Jimin to be stymied even after being told outright. “Who are you talking about?”

I don’t know what else I would have blabbed to him if a wave of dizziness didn’t strike me right then. Finally, something – alcohol in this case – saves me from my stupidity, even though it was precisely the same thing that led to my foolish confession in the first place. “Whoa!” Jimin reaches out to steady me, almost upsetting the glasses on the table in the process. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough.”

I’m not sure when or how Jimin paid for our drinks, but he must have somehow, because we made it out of the shopping mall and down at the seafront without anyone hounding us to pay the bill.

It’s hard to believe that this beautiful place is this quiet when the night is still young, but I suppose we have the weekday to thank for that. The sea breeze does wonders to whip me awake, and although I remain tipsy and a little unsteady on my feet, I manage to convince Jimin that I’m up to the night-time stroll without any danger of falling into the sea unsupported in no time at all.

The yachts lined up along the marina give the place a luxurious feeling, while the lights from the high-end apartments above the shopping mall illuminate the scene behind us against the darkness of the night and the mysterious sea before us. A white lighthouse marking the end of the yachts is clearly much newer than the one we visited earlier today. What it lacks in character and history, it makes up in pristine beauty, befitting the dreamlike scenery we’ve found ourselves in. While I’m not exactly in a romantic mood that this setting is obviously perfect for, I can still appreciate the atmosphere. Well, as much as I can while focusing on putting one foot in front of the other without losing my balance.

We turn right at the lighthouse, following the wide walkway past white houses surrounded by greenery; surely a picture-perfect setting had we seen it during the day. Lamps glow softly above us as we walk unhurriedly to the end of the straight path, both unwilling for the idyllic time to end. The silence between us is a companionable one. Jimin and I have never felt the need to fill them with idle chatter if we have nothing to say to each other. Or even when we do, sometimes, like we do now. I’m slowly becoming aware of the fact that I have said something I never should have, but I’m still buzzed enough to not care about the consequences.

However, Jimin, the more sensible of the two of us at the moment, isn’t content with letting things be. By the time we turn around to head back towards the shopping mall, I start to feel the weight of the empty air, filled with burning questions on the tip of Jimin’s tongue. In my heart of hearts, I don’t want to do it, but I look at him nevertheless; a silent permission for him to go ahead and say what is on his mind.

“When you were talking about the guy whom you couldn’t confess to, whom did you mean?”

Somehow I just knew that he’s going to zero in on that. “Does it really matter?” I sigh.

“Of course it does! I want to know who is stupid enough to reject you before you could tell him anything.” He pauses, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Of course he doesn’t know. He isn’t even aware that I know what he said, so long ago. Heck, he probably doesn’t even remember – people don’t tend to remember things that aren’t important to them, anyway. I want to snort in derision at his comment. He doesn’t even know that he’s talking about himself.

I shake my head; partly in mild disbelief, but mostly in hopelessness. The events of yesterday had solidified reality and brought me back down to earth. “It’s not gonna happen, so I’m trying not to think about it. Even if it’s just pretend, I just want to feel cherished, by the right guy, for once.”

Jimin stares at me intently, both of us standing so still we could be mistaken for statues but for our hair and garments swaying gently in the calm breeze of the night sea. I can tell that he wants to say something, to offer me words of comfort, but the agony that I’ve suffered for years must be showing on my face. A pain so deep that nothing he can say can make me feel better. Yet I wait. Hanging onto foolish hope that the source of my sickness can provide me with the remedy I need. An eternity passes by, and I know that there’s nothing he can do. So I give up, and step forward, alone. Perhaps this time I really can leave him behind.

But of course, my feet somehow get tangled with each other, and I start to trip. “Whoa!” Jimin’s quick reaction saves me in a very similar fashion to what happened less than an hour earlier, pulling me back against gravity. “Oof!” Like a big oaf, I stumble heavily into his arms, almost causing him to topple over. He manages to stay upright though, leaving me in a very awkward position; a heart-thumping position that I’ve always longed to be in, and also one that is counter-productive to my aim of forgetting him. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I’m not. Intoxicated, the closest I’ve been to outing myself in ages, in dangerous proximity to the man whom I can never have. Carefully, trying not to lose my balance again and to avoid making it look like I’m pushing him away, I extract myself from his embrace. Immediately my body cries out for the warmth of his body. It isn’t that cold, but my desire for his nearness transcends physical needs. Best to get out of this situation before I start daydreaming again. “Can we go back? I’m not feeling so good.”

Without protest Jimin agrees, helping me call for a driver this time, and soon we’re back in our hotel room. We take turns showering, the motions almost feeling like a routine at this point, like we’ve been living together for years instead of this being only the fourth night we’ve shared a room consecutively. Ever since the ride back to the hotel, we haven’t said much to each other beyond short, necessary things, like, “I’ll pay for the ride.” Rather than awkward, the silence is heavy. Jimin seems lost in his thoughts while I’m just trying to clear my head for the most part. When we lay down on the bed together, I’m more aware of his nearness than ever before.

Skin prickling and thoughts all jumbled up, I shift to rest on my side, facing away from him. Perhaps I can try to get some sleep like this, I try to convince myself even though I’m hyperaware of his presence behind me. Why is this so damn hard? Tears well up behind my eyelids at the futility of it all. Jimin is just a guy. Okay, he’s an amazing guy, and the greatest friend anyone can ask for, but he is still just a normal human being. With flaws. He irritates me at times. We get into arguments and fights. So why is it that I can’t let him go? Why do I still pine for him? Why can’t I fall in love with someone else? It’s not like all my past boyfriends were assholes like Se Hoon. There have been decent guys. Nice guys. Men who are just as good as Jimin. Maybe even better. Why am I not with them? Why didn’t those relationships work out?

A wet sob makes its way out involuntarily, inducing one more, then another. I hope Jimin is asleep, so he doesn’t hear me. Slowly, I begin to slip out from under the covers, trying to keep the pitiful noises wedging in my throat contained, at least until I can make my way to the balcony where I can cry my eyes out. However, before I can reach the edge of the bed, Jimin grabs hold of me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Shh,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, stroking me softly without demanding an explanation.

His gentle encouragement eases me to let myself go, drawing up the white blanket up to my face, cupping it as I cry in earnest, drenching the quality cloth with my tears. Although Jimin doesn’t know that he’s the cause behind my sadness, it doesn’t make his tender brand of solace any less comforting. For me, Jimin has always been able to evoke the most extreme emotions within; the highest bliss, the deepest pain, the best comfort. And even though I can’t let it go – perhaps I never will – the overwhelming agony eventually subsides. Tendrils of exhaustion begin to creep in on the edges of my consciousness, as they always do after a good cry. My eyes will probably be bloodshot and puffy tomorrow.

After finding a dry spot on the blanket to wipe them, I twist around in Jimin’s arms to face him again. None of the lights are on in the room, but the pinpricks of light from the lamps outside shine dimly through the thin inner curtains that have been drawn over the glass doors, softly illuminating the room like faraway stars. I can make out Jimin’s kind expression as he looks at me, plump lips curled into a tiny smile. “Thank you.” My gratitude comes in a soft voice, even though I can’t return his smile.

“Anytime,” he answers lightly. The arm that was wrapped around me lifts so he can caress the side of my face tenderly with his hand. His touch feels like heaven, and my eyelids flutter shut, wanting to savour and burn this kind warmth into my memory so I can relive it a million times in the future.

When I open them again, my sight is clearer than before, with all the moisture previously clouding them washed away like they have been wiped by the windshield of a car. Jimin looks so close. Over the course of our friendship, I thought I’ve seen all of Jimin, but this is different somehow. He has never looked so attainable. I’ve never wanted him as much as I want him now, right at the cusp of cementing the determination of letting him go forever.

Against my better judgement, I shuffle closer to him, but he doesn’t move away even though he’s now just a hair’s breadth away from me. We’re so close, our breaths are mingling together. His palm is still cradling my cheek. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but he’s looking at me as if… as if he actually loves me. I’m not sure what came over me, but I lean forward, doing what I’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to in all the years of knowing him;

I kiss Jimin.

Even though I can feel his surprise from the way his body stiffens and his lips part in astonishment, I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid of his reaction now that I’ve taken the plunge. I don’t know what’s possessing me to make such a rash move after holding back for so long, and I’m sure I’ll live to regret it. Either from the embarrassment of being rejected, or from losing Jimin’s friendship. Maybe both. But right at this moment, I don’t care. If I’m never going to have him, the least I can ask for is one kiss, and savour it as much as I can before he pushes me away.

However… he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, actually. Once he’s gotten over my unexpected move, his arms wrap around me once more, but this isn’t the tender hold meant to comfort me. No, Jimin is squeezing me with a strength that I’m not even aware he possesses, his hand cupping the nape of my neck so he can kiss me more passionately. His tongue teases my bottom lip; not making its way into my mouth, but rather content tracing my lips, as if getting to know every corner of it before going further. It’s like he’s turned the tables on me, leaving me in shock. But not for long. It’s impossible not to react when Jimin’s soft lips are melding into mine, his breaths fanning across my face, the sensations too real for it to be a dream.

It gets even more vivid as his body, much like his mouth, brushes intimately against mine, and I feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire against my stomach. My own body jumps to life immediately. I can feel my blood heating up with need, my leg hugging one of his so I can press my aching pussy against it, and I moan into his throat wantonly. The sound rouses Jimin from his trance, and finally he does what I’d expected him to do from the very start. Sitting up, he breaks the kiss, leaving me disappointed, befuddled and breathless. I hadn’t thought about how I would feel about his reaction – or rather, I didn’t expect that he’d only push me away after reciprocating my kiss, and thus have no clue what to think of it – but his fierce scowl has me trembling in fear. What have I done? Why is he like this?

 “Why did you do that?” Jimin’s voice is rumbling and low, a sure-fire mark of seething anger, and this time I’m on the receiving end. I open my mouth to explain, then close it again. No words will come out. How am I supposed to explain myself? Even if I’m honest with him about my feelings, I already know what his answer will be. While I’ve gone and done the stupidest thing possible, I still can’t bear to hear the rejection from him as he looks straight into my eyes. Seeing that no answer is forthcoming, he bites out, “Do not test me like this.”

He extricates himself from me none too gently, almost kicking my leg off of him so he can get out of the bed. Still trying to gather my wits, I sit up, wanting to call out for him, but he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed in fury as if anticipating what I will do and daring me to do it. I draw back like a frightened deer and let him leave the room. The door closes shut softly, but in the silence of the night following what had transpired, it’s as loud and final as a booming thunderclap in the sky. As much as I want to go after him, I know that’s not a good idea. Especially when I don’t know what to say. What did he mean by testing him? Me kissing him might have been a stupid decision, or even a drunken mistake, but it certainly wasn’t a test. I can’t figure him out. Heck, I can’t even figure myself out.

Even though I should be tired, sleep eludes me tonight. I can’t stop thinking about my unrequited love for Jimin, what happened tonight, the incident that occurred so long ago and all the time in between. With my exhausted body and my overloaded brain wrestling for control, I slip in and out of consciousness several times during the course of the night, but when the darkness is lightened by dawn, I’m still no closer to figuring anything out than I was in the beginning.

Jimin hasn’t returned to the bed, either. A blessing, perhaps, because I can’t face him right now. I’m not sure if I can look at him in the eye ever again. After taking a quick shower, I get dressed and make my way out of the bedroom. As expected, I see him passed out on the sofa in the living room. Guilt hikes up my conscience. I should’ve been the one to take the couch, not him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But instead of waking him up to tell him to sleep on the bed, I tiptoe out of the room, praying that he wouldn’t wake up.

Yes, I’m running away like the coward I am.

At first I wanted to just leave, but I remember that we’re not in Korea, and my disappearing without notice could cause real panic. So I scribbled a simple note saying, ‘Going out for some fresh air. See you later.’ and left it on the small wooden table next to the couch Jimin was sleeping on before slipping out. It doesn’t diminish my guilt for abandoning him on a trip like this, but it does lessen it somewhat.

Not enough for me to enjoy the time by myself, though. Even though the nasi lemak highly recommended by locals and tourists alike hits all the spicy and yummy levels on the scale, the rich coconut rice accompanied by fried anchovies and peanuts, slices of cucumber, boiled egg and fried chicken – talk about decimating two generations in one go – is only enough to fill my stomach, not my happiness meter. I stay long after my food is gone, sipping the milk tea absent-mindedly until late morning, when I figure some of the touristy places must be open by now.

Using the handy app, I get drivers to take me around a temple and a museum, but as interesting and beautiful as they are, I’m unable to get myself to enjoy them. After ending up walking aimlessly and failing to take anything in, I accept the fact that I’m just wasting my time. Resolving to find a way out, I pop into the first café that I see. With a clear aim in mind, I try to focus, forcing myself to push past the dense fog of self-loathing and denial.

Yet still almost an hour later, I can’t think of anything to say to Jimin. Is there any excuse for acting as moody as I have been, lashing out at him, then getting stupidly drunk and making a move on him like that? On top of that, I even walked out while he was sleeping. He has every right to be royally pissed off at me. Knowing Jimin though, he’s too kind to be mad at me for long. He really is more than I deserve. Looks like I’ll have to be angry at myself for the both of us. And I think that I’m doing the job quite well on my own.

In the end when I pull out my phone, instead of a long explanation that Jimin deserves, I type, ‘Jimin, I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. Please let me know how I can make it up to you.’

Before I can close the chat, a reply from Jimin appears on the screen. ‘When will you be back?’

I hesitate, wondering which answer would be the right one. Does Jimin want me to come back, or is he so angry that he wishes not to see me, at least for a little while? ‘Do you want me to go back now?’

While waiting for Jimin to type out his answer, I fidget in my seat, belatedly weighing my choice of words. Did I sound like an errant child who is being questioned by her parents about her whereabouts? Or did it sound like a desperate admirer finally being given the time of day? The latter is probably closer to the truth, I laugh deprecatingly at myself. Jimin’s reply, however, doesn’t fall within my expectations;

‘The sooner the better.’

Curiosity filling me to the brim, I quickly make my way back to the hotel. Why on Earth would Jimin want me to come back as soon as I could? Does he not want to do anything touristy by himself? Or does he want to scold me? Or… does he want to continue where we stopped last night? I shake my head in disbelief at my foolish dreams. As if he’d want to do that. Pushing me away and sleeping on the couch made his rejection painfully clear.

Heart threatening to burst out of my chest in anticipation and fear, I pause for a minute to take a deep breath before opening the door to the hotel room that Jimin and I share. “Sorry I–“

“There you are.” Jimin greets me with a smile that has my pulse racing. Memories of last night flood my mind just at the sight of him, but somehow Jimin is acting like nothing had happened. I should be relieved, but for some reason I feel dismayed. Did the kiss mean nothing to him after all? After pushing me away and going so far as to sleep on the couch, I thought my coming onto him had an effect – anger, frustration, befuddlement – something. Anything. I’d risked everything for that kiss. And for a second, I was sure that he’d kissed me back. It doesn’t seem like something that can be swept under a rug. I was expecting a severe scolding. A less sane part of my brain feeds to the hope that he would pull me into his arms and kiss me, just as passionately as we did last night. However, he’s just walking around the room, collecting things as he speaks. It feels anticlimactic.

“Have you had lunch?”

I shake my head. I’ve only had a cup of coffee at the café while I agonised over what to say to him. I haven’t given a thought about lunch. Looks like all that effort was just a waste of time.

“Good. Are you ready to go? Let’s grab some food together,” he says, swiping up keys from the small table where I’d left the note for him this morning.

“Uh, okay,” I reply stupidly, not really being given a choice, as Jimin strides past me to get the door. He is acting slightly weird, but at least he doesn’t seem outwardly angry at me. I’m not sure if this is better, but my instincts tell me to go with the flow, so I follow him out of the building without protest.

“Where are we going?” Instead of waiting at the hotel lobby to call a driver, he leads me to the parking lot next to the hotel. My bewilderment deepens when he presses a button on the set of keys and a silver sedan unlocks with a flash of lights and a friendly beep. “How did you–?”

“Rented it,” Jimin answers simply, opening the passenger door and beckoning me in. In my state of confusion, I thought he wanted me to drive, but then I remember that here the driver’s seat is on the right, not the left. “It’s not that hard to find, and I can just leave the key at the hotel lobby for the owner to collect later.”

“Okay…” It doesn’t really answer the question I have in mind, but I’m not even sure what I want to ask, so I suppose this answer is as good as any.

“Buckle up.” Before I can follow up on his instructions though, he reaches over my seat to pull the seat belt and strap me in. When his body brushes against mine, all the air whooshes out of my lungs, like I’ve been hit in the stomach. He may be able to do it but no, I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. But I want to remain friends with Jimin more than anything else, so I don’t comment on it, even if I can’t act as nonchalantly as he is.

He has no problem driving on the opposite side, easing out of the parking and making his way down the small alley to join the busy main road with no issues. The only thing that might clue anyone in that he’s not actually from around here is his phone on its holder on the dashboard, displaying the directions to our destination on the navigation app. It says that we will take about forty minutes to get there, but not the actual location we’re headed to. “Where are we going?” I repeat my question from earlier. “Is it too far to get a driver to drive us there?”

“Hmm.” Instead of answering me, Jimin glances at the screen of his phone. “It’ll take us a little under an hour to get there, so I guess it is kind of far, or maybe too expensive?”

“Uh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. How am I supposed to know how much it’ll cost us to get there with a driver, or how far is ‘far’? A question better kept to myself, because I’m sure Jimin would find it ridiculous if I voice it out loud. Why ask when I’ve no idea what I want to get out of it?

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jimin continues, seemingly knowing what I want to say when I don’t even know it myself, as usual. “I’d like to spend some quality time alone with you, just the two of us. It’s not the same when there’s a driver here.”

“Oh... okay.” My dead heart sputters weakly to life, but I tell myself not to read too much into it. Isn’t that what always gets me into trouble and hurts me in the first place? “It does feel a little awkward to chat between the two of us when there’s someone else there.” Yeah, that sounds like what a friend with no romantic feelings would say on the matter.

Laughing, Jimin nods, agreeing with my statement. “I totally get you! Even if we’re not speaking in English, I feel really guilty when we don’t include them in the conversation.”

“It’s the worst when the driver is totally quiet and unfriendly!” Relieved, I catch Jimin’s jovial, cheerful energy and run with it, happy that this car ride isn’t going to be as awkward as I was afraid it would be.

“What about those who play awful music?” Jimin challenges.

“No, no, that’s still not as bad as the ones who don’t play anything and won’t say a word!”

In this vein, we continue merrily all the way along the coastline of the island. “Look, Jimin, there’s an island over there!”

“Hmm?” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he briefly looks in the direction I’m pointing at. “Oh, that’s pretty close, isn’t it? I wonder what island it is.”

“Yeah, there’s a ferry making its way over there,” I inform him as I figure out the keywords to type into my phone to find out about the island. “Turns out it was a leprosarium, then became a quarantine station, and then a prison, but now it’s a resort.”

“Yikes, that’s weird.” Jimin cocks his head, unsure whether to laugh or disapprove. His sentiment echoes mine.

“I know, right?” Casting a look at the cluster of buildings I can see from inside the car, I try to reason the decision behind building a resort there. “Maybe there’s something that still draws people to it, even with its history.”

“Maybe.” His concentration back on driving, Jimin simply agrees with my assumption. “Maybe we can check it out next time.”

Next time? Just two words can make my mind race with endless possibilities, but I force myself not to think about them. It’s probably Jimin making polite conversation. I watch him steer the car smoothly out of the exit, gliding onto the spacious bridge that spans out almost ninety degrees away from the island. “You’re really good at this.” Grasping for a topic that would take my mind off his vague invitation to come to the island again, I comment on his superb driving skills on the left side of the road.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not my first time.” Even though he tries to play it off coolly, I can make out the smug smile yanking at the corners of his lips. It’s so easy to make Jimin happy — just a praise and he’d be on cloud nine. Like a cute puppy. I try not to laugh at the imagery. “Several of the countries I’ve been to also drive on this side.”

“Oh... really.” Just like that, the wind is blown right out of my sails. Are these the trips that he’d invited me to, but I couldn’t go either because of work or because I thought that going on one with him would be too much for me to take? Whom did he go with? Were other girls there with him? My jeans are too unforgiving for me to grab, so I clench my fists around nothing; the dull pain of my nails digging into my palm feeling like a punishment I very much deserve. I don’t have the right to ask or even think of any of this. The more I ponder on it, the more pain I’ll put myself through; I know this, I’ve told myself countless times, yet I still can’t stop myself from doing it.

Thankfully, just then, Jimin’s stomach roars past my troubled thoughts. “Have you eaten anything?” I ask him guiltily, remembering that I’d left him to his own devices just this morning.

“Yeah, just something light near the hotel.” He grins sheepishly, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to push his hair back to cover his embarrassment. Somehow he melts my soul with his cuteness when he makes such an expression, and when he concentrates on driving again, he makes my heart thump hard from how cool he’s become. Feeling flustered on my own, I whip my head to the left to turn my attention out the window once again. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary to capture my attention this time, so I’m left to the mercy of my self-deprecating line of thinking until Jimin’s poor stomach rumbles again.

“Maybe we should stop to get something to eat.” Really, I don’t need any more reminders of my childish behaviour from last night to this morning. I don’t know if I can feel any worse than this.

Chuckling apologetically, Jimin reassures me, “It’s fine, we’re going to a place where we can eat.”

Slightly irritated that I have to ask this a third time, I grind out, “and where would that be?”

“You’ll see,” Jimin says teasingly, darkening my mood, but I don’t retaliate — I shouldn’t be cross with him.

“Well, I hope it’s not too far from here.” Giving in, I simply cross my arms petulantly. “If I hear your stomach growling one more time, I’m gonna go deaf.”

As Jimin promised, it’s not too far after we’ve gotten off the bridge. “This is still Penang, you know,” he informs me as he veers left to exit the highway. “It’s not just the island; part of Penang is also on the mainland.”

“Really...” It’s interesting that he’s playing the tour guide now. All the top Penang attractions I saw on the Internet are on the island, so I’d missed this fact. I wonder what Jimin has found that makes it worth driving all the way here. It doesn’t look to be a bustling city like Georgetown. While not exactly rural, the town seems more relaxed, with two-storied shops and houses filling the landscape instead of towering buildings. After only a few turns, we enter an even less developed area, this one a village. Brick houses are mixed with ones made out of wood, with trees growing all over the place, lending the scenery on both sides of the road a more natural appearance, different from the carefully structured planning of the city.

Shortly after, Jimin turns right and pulls over by the side of the road. I peer over the dashboard to see what’s in front of us — it’s a dead end. “Are we here?”

“Yup,” Jimin quips happily, getting out of the car, and I follow suit. It really feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere. Especially since we’re at the end of the road, facing a river with a very narrow bridge that’s only wide enough for pedestrians and motorists to cross, giving the impression that there’s no way out.

However, the small shop on my left at the end of the row catches my attention. I can tell that it’s been there for years and years; there’s an air of homeliness, like it has blended completely with the surroundings, and it’s filled with people. Most of them are much older than Jimin and I — probably around our parents’ age, or maybe even older than that. From their relaxed, casual dressing, they seem to be villagers. A few men are chatting excitedly over white cups of coffee, but the other patrons are all eating, despite it being slightly late for lunch. Jimin and I sit at one of the two tables just beyond the threshold of the shop, which is the only one available. I shift in my seat a little, looking around for a menu. They’re usually displayed somewhere on the wall, or given on the tables, but I don’t see any. “Ah, you’re the one who called earlier, yes?” A middle- aged man comes over to our table, all smiles as he greets us.

“Oh, you remember me?” Jimin’s obvious surprise at being remembered has the man chuckling good-naturedly.

“Of course, we very rarely see foreigners all the way out here,” the man, later introducing himself as the owner, explains to us. “It’s not exactly a touristy place. There’s a university campus close by, and I bet not even half of them know about this restaurant!”

Neither of us know how to respond to that, but the owner seems more than happy with the customers he has. And from the lack of empty tables, I’m guessing this place is actually a local favourite — with the villagers, if not the students of the nearby campus. Small and out of the way it may be, but this restaurant has a certain charm to it. The menu turns out to be very simple; freshwater curry prawns, fried fish with three-flavoured sauce and stir-fried cabbage. We forgo the fish in favour of the prawns, which were caught just this morning, and is the signature dish, as well as the cabbage.

Thanks to the simple and limited menu, our food arrives at our table quickly. The owner recommended that we get bread to accompany our prawns instead of rice, and I’m glad we’d followed his advice. The slices of white bread are perfect for soaking up the curry, and the concentrated flavour married to the sweetness of the fresh prawns is nothing short of bliss. In his state of hunger, Jimin had ordered a daunting kilogram of prawns, and although it takes us a while to finish them, it’s not as gargantuan a task as I was afraid of when I first saw the plate. Washing down the food with some homemade sugar cane juice, I smack my lips happily at Jimin. “How did you find this place?”

“It was just a stroke of luck. I was scrolling through the phone while waiting for you to come back when I saw it.” It might have sounded like Jimin was trying to make me feel guilty if he didn’t say it with a nonchalant shrug and follow it with, “I was hoping to help you take your mind off of things.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It seems like I haven’t made such a blunder last night as I’d thought I did. He was so angry when he’d pushed me away then, even though he’d reciprocated the kiss for a bit. I’m sure I hadn’t imagined that. What was that all about then? Something tells me that it wouldn’t be a wise decision to ask, as much as I’m dying to find out. The last thing I want to do is to sour the mood once again, after Jimin had gone out of his way to make me feel better. It’s more than I deserve, after the way I’ve treated him. So I decide to just play along, ignoring the stronger feelings and questions burning away at me, like I always do. As long as I can keep being by Jimin’s side. The momentary lapse in judgement last night could have destroyed our friendship, but somehow we’re still here, eating and talking and laughing like nothing had happened. The enormous burden that the fear of losing Jimin had pressed on my chest eases off of it, now that I’m assured that things are back to normal. Although the niggling desire for something more remains there. Always there. “Thanks, Jimin.”

Jimin’s smile at my appreciation is more dazzling than the late afternoon sun behind us. The sight of it cements our friendship, now back to equilibrium. Our passionate kiss is to become a hazy, slightly drunk mistake, and will be swept under the rug to be forgotten forever, except in the innermost secret corner of my heart, where I tuck in the sweetest memories of myself with Jimin. Tiny, insignificant instances that are surely nothing to him, but are the most precious jewels of my life, to be taken out and admired whenever I’m at my lowest and loneliest. Or sometimes even when I’m not. 

A belly full is one of the easiest ways to make Jimin happy; next to praising him, and seeing him happy is definitely the simplest way to make me happy in turn. How can I not be, when presented with those bright giggles that eat up his whole body, always leaving his position on any chair in precarious balance, and scrunching up his face so adorably? Before I get lost in my thoughts of him again, I snap myself out of it by asking, “So, where to next, Mr. Tour Guide?”

My impromptu title for him jolts him into an upright position in his red plastic chair, immediately assuming a serious, business-like mien that has me in stitches. “Ahem,” he glares at me warningly, wanting me to play along. “Looks like we have–“ he takes a peek at his watch “–a bit of time left before dusk. But I think we should go soon.” Indeed, we had been sitting there for way past an hour, and the place is completely empty of other customers now. I wonder if the owner is keeping the shop open for our sake. Clearly Jimin is thinking the same thing, because he thanks the owner profusely as he pays for our meal before we leave the premises.

As Jimin skilfully manoeuvres the car out of the dead end, he playfully manoeuvres his way out of answering my increasingly insistent questions regarding our next destination. His refusal to tell me only digs my hole of curiosity deeper and deeper, however, I can’t help but laugh and wish that he doesn’t give in to my badgering. For Jimin to be this happily secretive; it must be a pleasant surprise, right? Despite myself, I’m starting to really look forward to the unknown evening plans.

Instead of going to the mysterious location, though, he drives us around the small town. As expected, there isn’t much for visitors to be interested in. “There is supposed to be a haunted mansion somewhere in here,” Jimin interrupts his tour-guide-like speech by breaking into an evil grin, the picture of the very devil with the dark orange and red hues of the sky colouring the background behind him. “Wanna go and see it?”

I don’t have to look at the rubber plantation on our left to imagine the horrors that await beyond the rows of rubber trees. “NO!” Finding Jimin’s raucous guffawing grating on my indignity, I pout petulantly at him. “Hmph. You laugh at me, but you don’t want to go either, do you?”

That was effective in getting him to stop. “You got me there.”

“Really, what would you have done if I’d said, ‘let’s go’? I bet you’d pee your pants!”

“No I wouldn’t!” It’s Jimin’s turn to be affronted. I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from bursting with laughter. “I’d just say we don’t have enough time to visit it, because I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Oh, have you now?” Every opportunity to tease him is a chance that cannot be wasted. “And is that really true?”

“No,” he admits unabashedly, drawing chuckles from both of us. Just like Jimin knows I’m not the greatest with ghosts, I’m perfectly aware of how easy it is to scare him. “The house has an interesting story to it though. It’s supposed to have ninety-nine doors.”

“Really?” Scaredy cat I may be, but I always love a good story regardless of the genre. Horror stories are always great – as long as I don’t have to watch, or heaven forbid, experience it myself. “I wonder how big it is, to have that many doors. It’s such a specific number though.”

Jimin shrugs, not knowing the answer to that and seemingly not caring enough to find out. “A witch doctor is supposed to be staying there now.”

“Oh?” Since Jimin has turned the car around, I peer at the trees now on my right, trying to catch a glimpse of the mansion in vain. “I wonder what happened to the owners.”

“Murdered, supposedly.”

With a shiver, I tear my gaze away from the shadows of the trees that had been hypnotically pulling me in. “Okay, let’s stop talking about it. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Aww, sorry if I scared you.” Letting the car move at a snail’s pace along the empty road, Jimin strokes my hair gently. Normally my instinct would be to swipe his hand away, perhaps with a warning to not treat me like a child. However, his touch is oddly soothing, so I simply sit back in my seat, enjoying the comforting touch. It’s not often that Jimin would treat me as preciously as this. Better set aside my ego and make the most of it.

In no time at all, we’ve arrived at a parking lot next to the river. I don’t see the curry prawn restaurant anywhere, and I wonder if we’re currently on the other side. I’m pretty sure we crossed a bridge at some point. Jimin leads me out of the car and up some narrow steps to a small jetty. Sitting down along one of the edges with our legs hanging over the side, we settle down to gaze at the beautiful sunset. “I was going to book a sunset cruise, but I wasn’t sure if we’d get here in time for that.”

“Sorry,” I apologise again in a small voice. Although it isn’t Jimin’s intention to make me feel bad, I can’t get over my guilt. I’m sure if the tables were turned, I’d be completely livid with him. So to have him treat me this kindly makes me feel doubly worse. “I don’t know what came over me.” At least that’s the truth. After managing to reign my feelings for Jimin in for so long, to have it all spill in the span of one night was beyond careless. It’s unbelievable.

Lucky for me, Jimin remains mostly oblivious to the whole thing. “It’s okay. I’d be out of sorts too,  if my girlfriend did to me what Se Hoon did to you.” Jimin tries to lay his hand on my shoulder, but I move away.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I mean, hypothetically.”

“Oh.” My idiocy knows no bounds. I settle down again next to him, trying to play it off like I was just surprised that he had a girlfriend that I didn’t know of. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s had one, but he had always told me about them. It pained me to listen, every single time, but I did anyway, because in a perverse way, I wanted to know about the girls that Jimin is into. Not that any of it matters. Nothing would change the fact that he isn’t interested in me. Even after everything that had transpired last night; after I’d told him that he’d rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel, after that kiss – especially after that kiss – he still doesn’t realise. That’s how little thought he has given to having me as someone more than just a friend. Zero thought. He just thinks that I’m unstable and vulnerable after a bad breakup and is trying to be a good friend. My wandering hand finds a small pebble on the dusty and less than clean jetty, and throws it into the river with all my might. That’s what I need right now. A good friend. Yeah.

All in all, I suppose I have to be grateful. At least things haven’t become awkward between us. I can even almost enjoy the gradual darkening of the sky as the wisps of colour dissipate into the overwhelming dark blues and blacks. Not far behind us, lights from the building next to the jetty battle against the darkness, illuminating the river and trees beyond. “What’s that place?” I wonder aloud.

“A café,” Jimin replies, catching me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to know. Peering at the two-story building curiously, I see waiters seating some customers at a table on the space on the first floor, which is left open to the elements.

“It looks nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” There is a note of relief in Jimin’s voice. “I booked a table for us, for dinner later.”

“Didn’t we eat just a few hours ago?” Trust Jimin to want to eat again so soon. I can still taste the thick curry on my tongue as I laugh and shake my head at him.

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” He levels his serious gaze at me. “I believe it’s already been a few hours since we last ate.”

Trying not to spray saliva all over him, I curl my lips down in an effort to hold in my mirth. “Is that why we’re here, then?”

“No, actually we – oh! Speak of the devil.” His words are interrupted as our space is invaded by a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. Despite his tired appearance, he’s still all smiles. “Mr. Jimin?” He inquires.

“Yes, that’s me,” Jimin confirms. “I was starting to worry that you’re not coming.”

“Sorry for being late! My wife was supposed to wake me up from my nap, but then between cooking and our son, I was forgotten.” Jimin and I exchange amused glances. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who thought that the man could do with some sleep. “But that’s okay, since it’s just the two of you today, I’d say we’re right on time. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I whisper to Jimin as the man leads us down the jetty and into a boat, which can easily accommodate at least six people, but will apparently only bring the three of us tonight.

“You’ll see,” Jimin sits next to me and squeezes my hand, determined to not give anything away. If I was told that I’d be getting in a small boat with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, shrouded by the cloak of darkness a few days ago, I’d be alarmed. However, Jimin’s presence changes the experience into an exciting, mysterious adventure.

And we’re off.

The boat glides away from the jetty and the lights of the café, further and further into the ghostly arms of the shadows, barely making any noise. Soon, the river widens, and we can no longer see any signs of civilisation. Only the moon, a whisper away from being full, and the glinting stars offer any glowing relief to the endless blackness, made even darker by the trees lining the riverbank. “These are mangrove trees, called berembang,” our tour guide gestures to the crowding trees clustered together, shielding everything on land from view. I doubt I would be able to see anything but branches and leaves even if we came during the day.

But we’re here at night, and a different sight awaits us.

Our guide steers us close to the riverbank, and stops the boat. “Anytime now,” he informs us cryptically, and I take a look around. What are we supposed to see? With the meagre illumination from the moon and the stars, most of the trees remain in eerie shadows. I silently hope that we’re not on some ghost-hunting expedition. For a split second, I feel panic rising within, but then I remember that there’s no way Jimin would want to go for such an experience either.

Then I see it. A blinking light, so soft and unworldly that I thought I’m seeing things. Before I can pull on Jimin’s shirt to ask him if he saw what I’d seen, I see another small, flickering glow. And another. And another. Suddenly we’re surrounded by them; tiny lights that shine brightly, suddenly from seemingly random locations, making the trees around us glitter like Christmas trees. “Wow!” I whisper in awe.

“Fireflies,” Jimin breathes into my ear, his hushed tone pulling me in against him, unthinkingly wanting to be close to him in such a magical world that we’ve been suspended in. Their light joins the reflection of the stars in the river. Our very own stars on earth. With Jimin’s arm holding me tightly and the ethereal scenery all around us, it’s hard to tell if I’m awake or if I’m  in the most amazing dream I’ve ever had. The same gentle light from the fireflies that juxtaposes with the inky blackness of the night also casts an angelic glow over Jimin’s features, taking my breath away. There’s something in the atmosphere that makes me feel closer to him than usual, and that makes the whole experience even more dreamlike. My hand stretches out to touch the marvels of nature, but even if I can reach them, I can’t bear to actually brush against them for fear of hurting such minute, wondrous creatures, or bring myself back to the real world. So we watch them in silence for a while, until the tour guide breaks the moment by asking if we’re ready to go back.

It feels like time has stopped while we were on our journey, but in reality, only about an hour has passed. Part of me wanted to stay there forever, surrounded by glimmering lights, where real life feels so far away. To be with Jimin, just the two of us. The lights from the café next to the jetty, while not exceptionally bright, are jarring in comparison to the gentle twinkling of the fireflies. I almost refuse to get off the boat. However, all good things must come to an end, and I let Jimin help me out of the boat and lead me to the café.

“Are you hungry?” He asks after we’re seated at one of the tables on the open first floor.

“Mmm, not really,” I muse as I thumb through the menu. Majority of the food here is of the western variety, and although I do enjoy it, I’m still full of the prawn from earlier. Mostly I’m eager to hold on to the memories of the boat ride. Irrationally, I’m afraid that having a meal would distract me and cause the warmth of Jimin’s embrace as well as the magic of the fireflies to slip through my fingers.

“Neither am I,” Jimin sighs with regret, clearly wishing that he could fit some more food into his stomach. With an eye roll, I tell him that I’m not surprised – he ate the lion’s share of the prawns, and there was way more than what two people could normally eat. “Maybe we can share a cake.”

“Ooooh, cake!” His suggestion is met with enthusiasm on my part. Although I’m loathe to share my dessert with anyone, Jimin is – a very, very occasional – exception, and my stomach is panicking at the thought of being stuffed with more food, so I relent. The burnt cheesecake we choose makes me regret having to share a little. It’s downright heavenly; I can probably eat all the slices available if I don’t mind the button of my jeans popping right off. Thankfully, Jimin is fuller than I am, and gives up after about two small bites. “Are you sure you don’t want any more?” This is a treat that warrants opening up that extra stomach I know we all have for dessert, but at the same time, I slyly hope that he doesn’t take me up on my offer.

Shaking his head, he gestures for me to finish it. Quick as lightning, I pull the plate towards my side of the table gleefully. Now that I don’t have to share it with anyone, I can take my time to savour it. In my excitement, I don’t sense Jimin’s intent gaze on me until I’m about halfway through the slice. Realising that I must look like a complete and utter glutton, I pause and smile at him sheepishly, trying to wipe off any crumbs as inconspicuously as I can. Trying to cover my embarrassment, my mind races for something to say. “Thank you for such a great day.” I can’t believe I didn’t think about telling him this until now. He must have put a lot of thought into this, and at the last minute, too.

Those words bring the most tender expression I’ve ever seen grace Jimin’s face. My breath stills for a moment to give my brain a chance to process and commit the sight to memory. “Everyone needs to feel loved once in a while, right?” This is the first time I’ve heard him say such a thing so seriously, without it sounding like an off-handed comment. He always makes these sort of statements like it’s an insignificant matter, sometimes literally waving the words away with his hand in the air as he says them. However, the look in his eyes is intense, as if I’m the only thing he can see. It helps his words come across — I do feel very loved. Maybe not in the way I’m hoping from him, but loved nevertheless. At least that’s what I think, until he continues, “And if I could, I want to cherish you always.”

This is the problem I have with Jimin. Biting my tongue to keep from asking him to elaborate his statement, I try to not get my hopes up. He’s forever uttering things that make me feel special, while I know he doesn’t mean anything by them. His rejection from years ago is as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Yet to this day I still can’t get over him, even after being forced to hear the bitter truth ages ago. “Thanks.” Lowering my gaze towards my plate to hide my tears, I stab at the cake. Suddenly the delicious dessert doesn’t look so appealing anymore. “You don’t need to go this far just because you feel bad for me though. I’m a big girl. I can handle a breakup or two.”

My statement, heavily injected with denial, is met with complete silence. Nervously, I lift my head, chancing a glance at him out of curiosity. His soft features have been rearranged to one of... anger? Frustration? He’s taking deep breaths, as if to calm himself down. At the moment, he’s about to burst into a tirade, which occasionally happens when I do something stupid that warrants a scolding from him. But this time, for some reason, he’s trying to hold it in. While I’ve never relished being reprimanded like a child, no matter how much I deserve it, funnily enough, I find myself eager to find out what he’s trying so hard to keep in. “I didn’t do any of this because I feel bad for you,” he grinds out between his teeth — even after cooling down somewhat, he’s unable to completely contain his vexation. If this is his tempered down version, what had he originally meant to say? “It’s only because you’ve broken up that I can do this. I’ve always wanted to indulge you. All the time if I could, but you’ve always had a boyfriend, haven’t you? I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Okay, this is seriously maddening. How am I supposed to get over him when he frequently sends mixed signals through his words and actions? Sometimes I really want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him hard and demand him to treat me like a friend since he only sees me as one. I like to tell myself that he treats me differently than his other female friends when I watch him interact with them, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. I know I can’t look at them objectively. What if I’m fantasising by myself, fancying that he treats me better, when in reality he behaves similarly towards everyone, and I’m just seeing him with rose-tinted lenses? I really hate myself when I’m like this. When it comes to Jimin, my logic lays down the hard truth mercilessly, but my wishful side can never fully accept it, encouraging me to indulge in useless visions of us together. 

Out of reflex more than anything else, I laugh self-deprecatingly. If imagining being with Jimin would bring me the most pain, then I’ll just focus on everything else. Even if that may hurt me as well. Nothing can be as bad as being rejected by him. And thanks to my brain reminding me that he doesn’t want me everytime I fantasise about us, I’ve felt the pain of rejection again and again, even if it’s all replayed memories in my own head. “Being single sucks,” I try to make it out as a joke, stabbing at the cake, picturing Se Hoon’s face there and maiming him repeatedly. It’s nowhere near as satisfying as it would be to do it to the real thing. He’s the reason Jimin is here now, so close to me for such a long duration while I’m single and vulnerable. Fucking Se Hoon. “It just reminds me that I’m not good enough for the guy I really want.”

“That guy must be the stupidest person on Earth,” Jimin quips loyally at once. I keep my head down so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his ignorant statement. How can he be so dense? The most devastating moment of my life, doled out by the person I love most, my best friend, and he doesn’t even remember that he was the one who’d said that.

Jimin and I have known each other since we were in kindergarten, but I have no idea how long it has been since I fell in love with him. It’s just one of those emotions that builds up gradually, so subtly that you don’t notice until one day; BAM! You realise that you love him and there’s no turning back. But even back then, before the rejection,  we’d grown really close, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to jeopardise our friendship by coming clean about my romantic feelings for him.

It turned out that my hesitation was for the best, because Jimin made his feelings for me crystal clear in our second year of high school. He doesn’t know that I’m aware of it, though, since I’d heard my name being mentioned by one of his friends as I was approaching, and quietly hid against the wall around the corner to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Jimin’s then-new-girlfriend was with the group, being harassed by one of his friends, Ji Woo. Although I can’t remember who she was, or even her face, I do remember feeling some satisfaction over the fact that Jimin’s friends didn’t like her. It was a feeling that I shared. “I’m surprised you’re with her, Jimin,” Ji Woo had commented, not at all caring that she was right there with them. “When there’s already a perfect girl for you.”

“Really?” Jimin had pressed the button on the vending machine, and I’d heard the loud clanking sound of his drink being dropped into the hatch. “And who is it? Must have walked right by me.”

“He means your best friend, you dumbass,” another one of Jimin’s friends, Ha Rim, had filled him in. His then-girlfriend had made an outraged sound at hearing Jimin’s friends promote me to replace her, but no one other than Jimin seemed to pay her any attention. They were acting like only thin air was present where she stood, which was a good indication of how annoying she was. I never understood what Jimin had seen in her. True, she was extremely pretty, but other than that, she had no redeeming qualities. Peeking out of my corner, I’d seen Jimin rub her shoulder placatingly as he’d chuckled.

He’d said my name in a disbelieving tone, as if the idea of me being his girlfriend was so ridiculous that it was out of this world. The way he’d said it echoed in my mind for many weeks after that. I could still hear it in my head sometimes. “She’s one of us, yeah? You don’t fuck a bro, that’s gross.”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate you treating her like one of the ‘bros’, Jimin,” Ha Rim had rebuked him gently, but it didn’t change Jimin’s mind. He’d just shrugged, not willing to get into an argument with them.

“Whatever it is, she’s just not girlfriend material.”

I hadn’t stayed to hear anything else after that, since I’d fled from the scene, afraid that my sobs would break out and they would discover me. Since then I’d done everything I could think of to get over him, but nothing had worked. All my boyfriends were just distractions, temporary fixes to the gaping hole in my heart that could never be filled.

“How I wish he knew that,” I say cryptically. A savage laugh bubbles up my throat, hearing Jimin unknowingly call himself stupid, but I refrain myself. My rage over his befuddling attitude still manages to sour the delectable dessert, and I shove down the rest of it. Before the day is completely ruined, it’s better if we return to the hotel. 

Being the dense dummy that he is, Jimin doesn’t notice that anything’s amiss, and we get into the car to drive back without incident. The bridge back to the island isn’t too far off from the small town and soon we’re on it once more. “There’s another bridge connecting the island to the mainland, you know,” Jimin breaks the more-or-less comfortable silence with this little tidbit of information.

“I know. You can see it from this bridge.” It makes me look to my right, past Jimin in the direction of the first bridge, just to double-check if I can see it from here. I’m sure I saw it during the day, but it’s a completely different scene now that it’s nighttime. The orange lamps overhead lighting our way along the second bridge are dull, but the same ones appear romantic and beautiful after a stretch of darkness in between the two bridges, illuminating the first bridge. Is the view of the second bridge just as pretty if we were to look at it from the first one? I’m not sure, but I’m content with enjoying the view from here.

“Then do you know that this is the longest bridge in Malaysia?” Jimin’s voice draws my eyes back from the distance to the man being outlined by the scenery I’ve been staring at. Unlike the flickering glow of the fireflies, the bulbs shine relentlessly from afar, never giving up on irradiating Jimin’s face. While not quite the same view, these lights make him look just as dazzling as he had in the boat. A halo of soft backlight, juxtaposing against the night to bathe him in their radiance.

Although I’ve been staring at him like an idiot, or perhaps because I’m proving myself a veritable one, only when he calls my name does it dawn on me that we’re having a conversation. Well, sort of. I’m not really in a chatty mood, but he has been making stabs at sparking up a discussion. “Uh,” I grunt without thinking, then mentally hit myself for pushing myself further down the ‘being a dummy’ road.

“What does that mean?” Jimin laughs, sparing me a quick glance before turning his focus back on the road. The windsocks are blowing merrily in a perpendicular direction to the mostly straight lanes, and Jimin is taking care not to drive too fast. It’s hard for me to ensure that we’re not speeding when there are hardly any cars around to compare our speed to. I can almost believe that Jimin and I are the only ones in this world, on a never-ending road surrounded by the sea. “Do you know or not?”

“No.” My eyes shift away as I answer, since I have no idea what I don’t know. Which is a fair answer – either I didn’t hear what he’d asked me, or I simply got distracted and forgot. Both sounds highly likely. Sensing a risk of him further probing me on whatever topic it is and figuring out that I haven’t been paying attention, I roll down the car window, hoping some fresh air will clear my mind.

Boy, is that a wrong decision. A strong, unrelenting gust of wind immediately blasts into the car. Jimin’s surprised yelp is barely heard over the loud howl from the sea, exacerbated by the speed we’re going at. Before the window has even reached halfway down, I pull the tiny lever the other way, quickly closing it back up.

“What was that?” As soon as soothing quiet fills the car again, Jimin demands to know the reason behind my inexplicable actions. While he doesn’t sound angry, it’s obvious that he’s genuinely concerned. I can’t blame him, after everything that’s been happening since last night. “You’ve been acting really weird.”

My reflection on the window on my side of the car shows a frowning woman with mussed hair chewing nervously on her bottom lip, brows fused together in confusion and frustration. “I feel out of it. But I’m not sure why.” This much is true. After suppressing my feelings for Jimin successfully since I was in school, why are they surfacing now? If I’ve known that we will never end up together for just as long, why is the pain becoming unbearable now? How can one kiss cause my world to implode? The emotional roller coaster has wrung me out and left me completely bewildered. Everything is so jumbled up inside my head that I’m not even sure where to even begin unravelling the mess.

At first Jimin doesn’t respond, which is understandable. I wouldn’t know what to say to such a vague statement either. We eventually reach the other end of the bridge. The scenery morphs from a dreamy wonderland to cold reality, with factories lining up the side of the road, replacing the endless sea. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?” This time I’m sure I haven’t been wrapped in my own thoughts, yet I still can’t make the head or tail of whatever Jimin is asking. Maybe I’ve lost all my wits for the second night in a row, even though this time there isn’t a drop of alcohol in me.

“The one that you want,” he clarifies bluntly.

What am I supposed to answer? ‘It’s you, stupid’?

Not wanting to make the rest of the ride more awkward than it is, I shrug. “Just a guy.” Just the kindest, perfect, heart-warming, densest guy.

Up until he parks the car next to the hotel, Jimin attempts to wear down my defenses, unwilling to leave his curiosity unsatisfied since I don’t fly off the handle or directly ask him to stop. Truthfully, the urge to tell him is becoming stronger by the minute. The dam holding my feelings back has become strained without my noticing. Just one more drop of persuasion threatens to loosen my tongue.

After making sure that I’ve gotten out of the car safely and closed the door, he locks the car. However, when he starts walking towards the hotel, I follow him at a much slower pace, lagging behind. Alternating between looking at the ground and his lean back. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that I’m getting farther and farther away from him; my slowing and fainting footsteps are a giveaway. Unsurprisingly, he turns back, wanting to return for me. However, his approach only heightens my nervousness. “Do you really want to know who he is?” I blurt out when he’s about a meter away from me. If he gets any closer, I don’t think I’ll be able to gather the courage to say it.

Thankfully, he stops at my question. Sensing my vulnerability. Like a bewildered, terrified animal, wary of anyone getting closer. “Of course, if you’re okay with sharing with me.”

Before I can change my mind or rethink my decision, I take the plunge. “It’s you.”

“Huh?” Why is he acting shocked? I think angrily, unfairly. He has no right to be surprised by this. This is not supposed to be news to him. “I’m the one? That you’re not good enough for?”

“It’s you, Jimin. You’re the one I want to be with.” Damn it, my voice is already cracking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. All the things I’ve bottled up inside have become hot and angry from the constantly added pressure of being kept secret for so long. At this point, I might hate myself more than I love him. I hate myself because I still love him. “Isn’t it laughable? Even though you already made it clear that I’m not good enough for you from the beginning, I still can’t move on.”

Horrified by the words rushing like waterfall from my mouth, I try to escape, but Jimin catches my arm as I stride past him. I would have stumbled if his grip wasn’t so strong. In contrast to his strength, the street lamp is enough for me to see that all colour has drained from his face. “I would have never said such a thing. When did I say that?” His challenging words come out in an intense whisper, like he can’t believe he ever did such a thing and yet unsure if he hadn’t.

“I don’t know. High school, maybe?” It’s too late but I still play it off as if it isn’t a big deal. Like I don’t remember every detail of that excruciating incident vividly. “I’m not girlfriend material, and you made sure Ji Woo and Ha Rim know that too. And.. someone-or-other girl. Whoever it was you were dating back then. Can’t remember her name.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Jimin to grow paler, but he does, and his hold on me loosens as well. Not wanting to hear an insincere apology years too late, or worse, an encore of how I’m not girlfriend material, I yank myself out of his grasp and practically run into the safety of the building.

Once I’m ensconced in the relative safety of our room, I sit on the edge of the bed and take three deep breaths before panicking. What have I done?! It doesn’t look like Jimin pursued me inside, but he’s going to come in sooner or later. What will I say to him then? How will I ever face him again?

Sighing, I let my body slump dejectedly. I shouldn’t have said anything. Ever. I’ve always known that, but all the pent-up emotions have accumulated for far too long, and under constant continuous stress on this trip, they finally spilled over. And I had to choose the worst time and place to do it — in a foreign country where I have no place to run to. Just as I’m berating myself for that particular bit of foolishness, I hear the outside door to our room open and close. Belatedly realising that I should have searched for a place to hide before agonising over my recent mistakes, I get into a frenzy, whipping my head around every which way, desperately looking for a hole to crawl into.

That’s how Jimin finds me with my arms stretched wide, holding the doors to the wardrobe open, and one of my legs inside the furniture. “Uh.” Not the first time a dumb monosyllable is all I can think of today, but still, way to go.

“What are you doing?” Seeing my crazy antics, Jimin’s tortured expression rearranges into a befuddled one.

“Uhm, nothing.” Climbing out of the furniture, I pretend that I walk out of closets every day of my life. It doesn’t help ease the awkwardness after I close the doors and lean on them, though. I don’t trust myself to not say any more stupid things, and it looks like Jimin doesn’t know what to say either. But he does have something to say, if the way he opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again is any indication. Seeing this, I keep quiet, waiting for him to figure out where to start. I’m not sure if I’m going to like anything he has to say, but short of jumping out of the balcony, I don’t see any way to escape from him. I cast a longing gaze at the door leading to it, wondering if it’s at all possible.

After what feels like an eternity, Jimin hesitantly hedges, “Uhm, can we… talk?”

I nod, still not trusting my verbal communication skills.

Jimin walks further into the room to take a seat at the edge of the bed, less than two meters from the wardrobe, and I have to fight the urge to distance myself from him. He inhales deeply, loud enough for me to hear, and finally starts. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said back then. I didn’t even remember that it happened.”

“Of course you didn’t. It didn’t happen to you,” I bite out. Even though I can see that he’s beating himself up over it, I can’t help but drive the nail a little deeper. It has been a wound that has always festered under the surface, never healing.

“You’re right.” Jimin’s ready admission makes me feel slightly bad for being mean over it. “I have no excuse. It was a horrible thing to say. And it wasn’t true at all.”

“It wasn’t?” Damn it, I’m not supposed to be happy about it! Getting my hopes up over just a few vague words is only going to screw me over again, but I can’t stop myself from being elated. Did I mishear him? Did I misunderstand him somehow? So many lessons and I clearly haven’t learnt anything at all.

With a shake of his head, he explains; “Back then I was a dumb kid with raging hormones, and all I could think about was fucking everything that moved. Heh.” He lowers his head and scratches the back of it sheepishly, aware of how immature and shallow he was. Involuntarily, I soften at his words and actions, with his hair getting messy from his vigorous haphazard brushing. “You’ve never been someone that I want to simply fool around with. I might not have been smart enough to realise how special you are back then, but I knew that much. I must have said that to get that girl to go out with me. You, not being good enough for me – that’s ridiculous. If anything, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Oh.” Despite wishing for something like this, now that it has become reality, I can hardly believe it. “So me not being girlfriend material–“

“Was not true at all.” Jimin leans forward to take my right hand, securing it in both of his. He turns up his eyes at me, silently pleading for me to understand. To forgive him. And my defences against Jimin have always been paper-thin. “Is still not true. God.” He hangs his head again in defeat, slightly pulling me towards him as he sags against the bed. “It can’t be more opposite than that. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for the longest time.”

“What?” I try to breathe, but the air is lost somewhere in my lungs.

Instead of answering, Jimin stands up. The sudden movement startles me, especially as it puts him just inches away from me. The warmth is not just from our connected hands now, but I can feel it radiating from his whole body in the coolness of the air-conditioned room. His words coupled with his nearness make me even hotter – probably even more than the scorching outdoors in Penang during the day. When he reaches up to softly caress the side of my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I can’t be sure that I haven’t self-combusted. “You’ve become more than my best friend for ages. I might have even loved you since we were in school. Hell, I don’t know.” Taking another step forward, he closes the little distance left between us to lean his head against my shoulder. Facing this completely unexpected progress, I stand there stiffly, not knowing what else to do except trying not to lose my head. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but you’ve always had a boyfriend hanging around. Every time I swore I’d tell you once you broke up, but before I could work up the courage to say anything you’ve already found a new one. You never considered me, so I thought you just didn’t think of me that way. I guess I know why now.” Lifting his head, he stares into my eyes earnestly. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. His face is etched with regret, and yet I can see hope buried in his eyes. It mirrors the hope I’ve always felt. I just didn’t know that he felt the same way. “I’m really sorry for being a dick.”

A bubble of horrified laughter bursts out at hearing him describe himself as such. Trust Jimin to mend my bruised heart so easily, and break such a heavy moment by sort-of-playfully bashing himself. He deserves it, but now knowing that I’ve put him through similar anguish, I can’t stay mad at him for long. “It’s okay,” I say with a teary smile.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. I love you.” He cocks his head, then asks, “You’re single now, right?”

Another string of gleeful laughter fills the room. “I am,” I confirm.

“Would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend, then?”

“I would.”

“Finally,” he sighs in relief, and my next round of giggles is lost somewhere between our lips as Jimin kisses me. If our first kiss was incredible, this one is a hundred times better. With no more doubts plaguing my mind, I can give all of myself into my love for Jimin. Just as he’s giving to me. At first he cups my face in his hands, tilting his head to deepen our kiss. In the hazy air of passion, it’s unclear who started to open up beyond the joining of our lips. I know he traced the line between my lips at some point, but I also sucked on his full bottom lip that has always, always caught my attention. Among his many flattering features, it’s the one that has always struck me as striking. A guy shouldn’t have such seductive, plump lips that no woman can resist.

Soon his hand is pressing me to him from the nape of my neck, like I’m not close enough to him. He needs to bring me closer. Our tongues dance with each other, within our mouths like they’re dark, dangerous ballrooms, before things get more intense, and these caverns morph into wet, sweaty arenas, where we wrestle out our lust. In a match that is a win-win for both players, where the energy only heightens, never ending. The palm covering my cheek moves so his arm can wrap against my waist, crushing me against him. Every part of my body is touching his, sending tremors of excitement from outside in. I huff against his mouth, out of breath, but past caring. I just want Jimin. More of him. All of him. And then some more.

From the looks of things, Jimin doesn’t want to let me go either. A tell-tale bulge is impossible to miss, but when I feel it pressing against me, a modicum of sense nudges against my muggy brain. Regretfully breaking the kiss, I pant out, “We should… take… a shower,” in between fighting my lungs for air.

Jimin’s groan ends in a whine that usually gets him what he wants. “Do we have to?”

“We should. I’m all sweaty.” Being outside most of the day has left me sticky. It’s one of those things that you can’t forget or ignore once you’ve noticed it, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. What’s going to transpire between Jimin and I is a no-brainer, and I don’t want my first time with him to be when I’m smelling of sweat.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to sweat either way.” Unwilling to stop for something as trivial as cleaning up when we’re bound to get dirty again, Jimin slips his hand under my shirt, attempting to get me to agree with him.

However, I will not be deterred, even if my moan at his palm stroking the side of my body doesn’t sound very convincing. “Please, Jimin. It would make me feel better.”

This time Jimin’s groan is one of defeat. “Fine.” Honestly, I’m surprised that he relented so easily. I never really noticed how much he normally gives up for me. Perhaps I only notice when he’s whining like a child on the occasions where he really doesn’t want to give in, so I thought that he always gets his way. But if I really stop to think about it, he rarely pulls such an act – most of the time he actually listens to what I want, or outright asks me, and goes along with whatever I wish. Heart swelling with renewed affection, I nod without hesitation when he tugs against the hem of my shirt. “May I?”

Baring the tops of my breasts by removing my shirt, he can’t seem to stop himself from ogling them in my bra. Pushing so my back is against the closet, he dips his mouth against the skin available to him as his fingers fiddle with the clasp of my bra. Once the garment is loosened, he all but pulls it off, tossing to the floor, so he can move on to my nipples. “Jimin!” My cry for him is from pleasure, but he mistakes it as a warning.

“Just… for a little bit.” My right nipple pucker under the ministrations of his tongue, growing stiff more quickly than it takes for him to unbutton and unzip my jeans, dragging them onto the floor with my panties. It’s all happening so fast. I haven’t even processed the fact that I’m now completely naked before him, in the dimness of the room filled only by a lone lamp in the corner I’d switched on when I came in. He slips his knee between my legs, spreading them apart. What his words cannot achieve; lowering my defenses, is being threatened by the difference between the texture of his jeans and the smoothness of my bare legs.

And Jimin, that devil, knows this very well. Propping his leg up against the sturdy wooden wardrobe, he brings it into contact with my exposed center. The friction draws a moan from me instantly, and without prompting, I begin to rub against him like a deranged nymphomaniac, seeking traction from the rough material against my pussy. He hasn’t even touched me there, yet I’m already wet enough to lubricate my movements against his muscular thigh. Each stroke stimulates countless sparks that shakes my body like electricity. I know I should stop, but I can’t. Latching on to his upper arms, I lift my head up to look at him imploringly. “Jimin… please.” Right now I’m not even sure what I’m asking from him.

There must be something on my face that makes him look at me with blazing fire in his eyes, before swooping down to brand another soul-searing kiss on my lips. How am I supposed to hold myself back when he’s holding me so closely, when his hard muscles encourage me to move my hips even faster, when he takes my lips like he wants to inhale my very soul into his body? It hasn’t taken much, but I’m already trembling with my impending orgasm. “Fuck,” Jimin spits out, abruptly wrenching himself away from me. My feet land flat against the floor as I howl in protest at having my high yanked away from me.

He doesn’t listen to my objections. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the bathroom, his free one working furiously to tear his own clothes off. His haste almost makes him trip at the threshold of the bathroom as he attempts to step out of his jeans. My horrified chuckle at this is met with an impatient, don’t-you-dare-laugh glare, which makes it even harder to hold back my mirth.

“Get in,” he growls so ferociously that I stumble backwards, laughter gulped down as my body follows the motion of his chin. Predatory eyes burn holes along my body, suddenly making me self-conscious of my nakedness, but not for long. My own gaze is fixed on him as he moves forward, the clumsiness from a second ago replaced by panther-like steps, only pausing to take off his underwear in a far smoother move than he did his jeans. For the second time, I gulp; on my saliva this time, upon seeing his erection spring out from its confines. While his length looks average, his girth has me excited and apprehensive at the same time. He steps into the glass cubicle, backing me up against the wall, and closes the door separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom behind him. The shower is spacious enough for two people to fit comfortably inside, yet I somehow find myself cornered like a trapped animal. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks edgily. “You wanted to shower, didn’t you?” He reaches around me to turn it on.

A stream of cold water hitting my skin makes me gasp, forming goose bumps that are soothed away once it warms to the temperature that Jimin has set. As incensed as I am by the unexpected shift in our relationship and Jimin’s enthusiasm, I’m comforted by having the grime and sweat of the day being washed away.

Jimin’s mind isn’t as easily distracted though. Pressing me up against the wall facing the shower head, he envelops my lips in another fervent kiss. I’m more than happy to give in to it, wrapping my arms around his neck, but instead of holding me, he extends his reach towards the soap, pumping a generous amount of viscous liquid into his palm. “Looks like I’m going to have to help you wash if I want to move things along,” he mutters against my lips.

His soapy palms move slowly down, from my neck, branching outwards along my clavicles then dip down to cup my breasts. My breathing grows heavy as he massages them. Moans start forming in the back of my throat when he begins paying attention to my nipples, flicking them almost playfully with his thumbs. He doesn’t remain there long enough for me, one of his hands continuing down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. “Funny, I’d say it’s wetter here than my whole body.” He rubs his fingers against my folds, as if inspecting them. I can’t argue; even though most of the shower water is hitting his back, my pussy is arguably wetter than he is, and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the pipes.

Without warning, Jimin pushes his index finger in, eliciting a startled gasp from me. “So wet,” he crows delightedly at how easily it slips in. “Do you think you can fit another one in here?” He doesn’t wait for my response before cramming another finger in, making me whimper in pleasure. “You like how it feels?” I nod, turning my face away in embarrassment. It doesn’t deter Jimin. He simply whispers in my exposed ear, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

Yes. I want it so badly, yet to say the words is mortifying, so I nod again. Jimin tsk-tsks disapprovingly at my refusal to vocalise my answer. “Communication is key to a relationship, you know,” he teases, pushing his fingers in up to his knuckles, but refusing to move them any more. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you won’t tell me?”

This cruelly taunting side of Jimin is new to me. I can’t say that I hate it. Not when it’s turning me on so much. “Please Jimin,” I plead with him. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin puts on a show of considering my plea. Then he shakes his head, and I know that he never intended to do it in the first place. “No, I don’t think I will.” Leaning forward, he nibbles at my earlobe, telling me, “I’d rather taste you instead.”

Getting the full brunt of the jet of water from the shower when Jimin suddenly kneels at my feet, I sputter in surprise. Jimin uses my momentary confusion to spread my legs even further apart so he can bury his face between them. “Oh!” My hands fly to grasp at his wet hair, holding on for dear life as he goes all out from the get-go. Easily capturing my clit between his lips, he sucks hard, making my knees buckle and my previously unfulfilled orgasm rush back with a vengeance. “Jimin!!” He’s relentlessly alternating between flicking the tiny bud with the tip of his tongue and trying to suck it right off, and I can’t withstand his attack. Flick, flick, flick. And then suck, as hard as he can. In less than a minute I’ve lost completely, making him bear my weight as I cum violently. If he isn’t holding me up by the waist, I probably would’ve collapsed, maybe even slipped in the wet cubicle. Without missing a beat, he releases my clit to run his tongue along my slit, lapping up every drop of his victorious spoils and prolonging my orgasm.

Standing up, he maintains his hold on me, which I appreciate because I still don’t trust the strength of my legs. “You okay?” I can barely register his question in the hazy aftermath of my orgasm, but I manage to nod. Jimin pumps more soap to wash me with as I recover, then swiftly washes himself. Once he determines that both of us are clean enough, he turns the water off. “Can we go now?” He asks, wrapping his arms around me so he can rub his dick, which has grown slightly soft, against my belly. It’s unfair that he’s pushing his advantage like that. Just doing this is getting me aroused again.

As much as I want to get out as soon as we can, there is unfortunately one thing that we need to do first. “Jimin, we should dry our hair. Otherwise we’ll catch a chill.”

Relenting after letting out only one dissatisfied huff indicates that he agrees with me. It doesn’t mean that he’s happy with it. I smother a smile at his adorable childishness, which is a stark contrast to what he was just doing to me in the shower, and what he wants to skip all these small details to do to me in bed. By the time I’ve wrapped myself in a towel, he’s already by the socket next to the sink, hair dryer in hand. “Hurry, hurry,” he urges, pointing the device on full blast to my face.

“Ooof!” Instinctively squeezing my eyes shut to protect them from the powerful gust of warm air, I blindly swipe in his direction, hoping to smack Jimin for his immature prank and the mischievous guffawing that comes with it. Once Jimin directs the nozzle back towards his own hair and out of my face, I fix him a glare, which he returns with a Cheshire grin. He rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, anxious to be done with it. Sure enough, he finishes in record time. “Come on, let’s do you.” He tries to turn me around, but I refuse the offer, giving his messy job, with soft strands sticking up every which way, a pointed look.

“I’ll do it myself, thanks.”

Wisely deciding that handing me the hair dryer will be quicker than trying to argue with me, he relents. Then he leans against the wall next to the sink. With only a towel around his waist, looking like he has all the time in the world to just watch me do something as mundane as drying my hair. I turn towards the mirror, mentally instructing my eyes not to look at him. However, they’re not keen to follow orders, and flick towards his reflection every few seconds. It’s impossible for me to calm myself down like this. Especially not when I can see the obvious tent in his towel, threatening to part the cloth that’s barely covering him. It must have grown harder from the friction against my stomach just now, as well as the anticipation of what’s to come.

 “You can go ahead and wait outside.”

“Eh?” He starts to protest but stops when he sees my entreating look. “Okay,” he yields in a wounded puppy pitch. “But hurry, okay?”

I nod, only turning towards the mirror again after I see him closing the door to the bathroom. I’m glad that he’s giving me this bit of space to think. Even though I’m ecstatic by this turn of events, there’s so much to process that it’s overwhelming. And I’m hesitant to go all the way with Jimin without sorting it out. To me it’s a monumental thing. A really huge step. My sigh is drowned out by the loud whirring of the hair dryer, but the sound has become white noise.

So the incident that has plagued me for so many years turned out to be a misunderstanding. While it doesn’t excuse Jimin from what he’d said, there was never any truth behind those words. It had always baffled me that Jimin would think, much less say, such a thing. Even if he wasn’t interested in me, it doesn’t seem to be in line with Jimin’s personality to measure a girl’s worth so much as to label her something as horrid as ‘not girlfriend material’. The most is he’d think someone isn’t his type, and just move on. He’s one of the kindest people I know, but he isn’t perfect. I’m aware of that. We were young back then. It makes more sense that Jimin was only thinking about getting a girl in bed with him rather than weighing the consequences or fairness of saying something so hurtful.

Switching the electric device off, I gaze at myself in the mirror one last time, finding resolution. What matters now is the future. Am I ready to go forward?

The first thing I notice when I enter the bedroom is that Jimin has gathered all the pillows on his side of the bed, and is resting against them. Before I can wonder what he’s up to, he notices my presence and sits up, like a puppy waiting for his master to come home. It would have been heart-meltingly cute and endearing if he wasn’t gripping his erection in his right hand. Was he masturbating while waiting for me? The thought of it is more arousing than I’d have thought. Maybe there is something wrong with me. “Come here,” he beckons me over, and I approach him a little warily. He helps me atop the bed, manoeuvring my legs so I sit astride his lap.

This puts me face-to-face with him, but more importantly, he’s holding me so I’m sitting right atop his cock. I can predict a very speedy loss in focus. “Jimin,” I begin to ask, then moan when he grinds his hips against mine. “Jimin, are you sure about this?”

“A hundred and ten percent,” he responds, but his attention isn’t on me. Even in the semi-darkness, I can see his eyes are narrowed in the direction of our lower bodies.

Exasperated, I try again, wanting to make myself clear before anything happens that I may regret later. Damn, I’m cockblocking myself, but I know that I’ll be in a world of hurt if this turns out to be a temporary thing. I may be asking for too much, but I can’t do it. Not with Jimin. “No, not just this. I mean… are you sure about… going into a relationship with me? What if…”

Jimin looks up, his expression turning serious, and places a finger against my lips. “Stop that. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I think I know you pretty well.” He briefly stops, waiting for confirmation, and I nod. No one knows me better than Jimin does. “You always overthink things, and when you’re not doing that, your head is filled with thoughts of food.” Even though his assessment is accurate, it doesn’t stop me from hitting him in the chest indignantly, but he only chortles. “It doesn’t matter what you lack. I still love you after all this time, and I’m confident that I won’t stop, no matter what happens. And about what I said back then…” Adopting a sober mien, he brushes my cheek lovingly, leaning closer to gaze into my eyes intently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede tearfully. There’s no one else who can put me at ease so easily. I wouldn’t say that the years-old scar has magically healed, but his touch soothes away all the pain. Closing the scant centimeters between us, I give him a quick peck. An innocent move, which Jimin changes immediately by drawing me into his arms, pulling me back in for a far more intense kiss. He pulls on my towel, already loosened by my movements, exposing my body to his touch. It’s like there’s fire in his fingertips, setting me aflame wherever he touches – from my hip, to the side of my waist, up to my breasts. Devilishly zoning in on my sensitive spots, sweeping back and forth over the stiffening tips of my chest. All night he has been giving me pleasure, and I want to return the favour.

Ignoring both the loss of the heady sensation from being in contact with his cock and Jimin’s growl of protest, I shift myself down towards the foot of the bed. Taking his half-hard erection in my hand, once again I marvel at its girth. Already I can’t wrap my hand completely around it. The thought of having it inside me is making me shiver in anticipation. Wanting to get a feel of it, I slide my hand up from the base, taking care not to be too rough with my dry hand. It’s enough to get Jimin to moan, the wild yet melodic sound instantly heating up my insides with lust. I want to make him feel good. I move down even further, lowering myself to do just that, but Jimin stops me halfway. “Wait.”

Surprised that he would keep me from sucking him off, I glance up at him, tucking my hair behind my ear so that it doesn’t obstruct my view. “Hmm?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” he exhales restlessly. Grabbing me by my waist, he lifts me up slightly, getting me off of him. Then he wiggles down the space between me and the mattress, comically moving to lie down on his back. It’s hard not to snort all over him.

“What are you doing?” Just how many times is he going to make me laugh while we try to get it on tonight?

“Getting what I want,” he pants, and I’m guessing it’s due to the exertion of his completely unnecessary action rather than being horny. Jimin is such an idiot sometimes. He ignores my eye roll though. “More importantly, are you ready for me?”

Instead of waiting for me to formulate a verbal answer, he reaches down to find the answer for himself. I jolt forward with a moan when Jimin swipes his fingers over my slit, then immediately rams two inside me. I’m sure I dried myself off after getting out of the shower earlier, but somehow I’ve gotten wet enough for his digits to slide into me without much resistance. “So wet already,” Jimin answers for me, even though the mortifying squelching sounds coming from my pussy makes it pretty clear that I’m ready for him. “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Even though Jimin’s fingers are wrecking the best kind of havoc in me, I want the same thing. More than that, I want to make him feel good too. Before I can put my plan into action though, Jimin slaps the bed angrily. “Shit. I’m clean, but I don’t have a condom.” Scowling, he runs his fingers through his hair angrily, following it with a longer string of curses than I’ve ever heard him utter in my presence. I bite the insides of my cheeks so I can swallow the bubble of laughter back into my throat.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m on the pill.” Although I haven’t slept with Se Hoon for ages, I kept taking them. Maybe I’ve continued doing so out of habit. Or maybe I was always unconsciously hoping for something to happen between me and Jimin, as far fetched as it seemed. Well, it’s clearly not as impossible as I’d thought.

“Thank goodness,” Jimin collapses back onto the sheets in relief, amusing me to no end. He doesn’t miss it, and shoots me a look that tells me he’s aware that I’m finding him funny. “I don’t think I can hold back at this point,” he warns me darkly, and I take it as a cue to continue. Bracing my hands on his chest, I sit up shakily. Reading my mind like he always does so expertly, he removes his hand so I can move my hips along the length of his dick. Up and down, up and down, covering him in my juices. I don’t know how he became this hard when I’ve barely done anything for him. But I’ll pleasure both of us now. Lining the tip of his cock with my pussy, I take a deep breath as I feel the bulbous head poking against my entrance. Then I face up to find that Jimin is staring at me with such scorching fire that I can feel my skin blister from the heat. He might just want this more than I do, although I can’t imagine a yearning any stronger than mine.

“Hnng,” I groan as I lower myself down slowly. Belatedly I attempt to figure out the last time I had sex in my head. Even before breaking up, Se Hoon and I hadn’t slept together for a while due to our busy schedules. I didn’t think much of it back then, and had thought that he didn’t mind, either. It turns out that he didn’t mind, but only because he was satisfying his urges with someone else. But I don’t want to think about that now. Not when Jimin’s cock is parting my flesh, its girth pushing my walls aside to make its way in. It’s not even halfway in yet I’m already breathless. The burn feels amazing, even if it’s making me mewl from the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks through gritted teeth. “Go slowly.”

Unable to voice an answer, I bob my head in acknowledgement. Taking my time descending on Jimin magnifies the sensation of his cock stretching me out. By the time I’ve sheathed myself over him completely, I feel ready to burst. I’ve never felt so full and I tilt my head back as if to absorb the feeling. But I’m not the only one adjusting to this. Jimin’s grip on either side of my waist is slightly painful, betraying a strength that I wasn’t aware he possesses. “Fuck, so tight,” he grinds out like he can hardly stand the pleasure. “Fuck.”

After giving myself a few seconds to get used to having him inside me, I begin to lift myself up again, then sit back down on him, making both of us groan. I don’t know if I can ever get used to this. Still, I repeat the motion, impaling myself over and over his cock, hips accelerating as I get a sense of the rhythm. Jimin’s unconcealed moans spur me on; knowing how good I’m making me feel drives me to take it higher. But I’m not the only one determined to bring pleasure to my partner.

Even as I bounce on his cock, Jimin manages to reach for my clit, capturing it between his index and middle fingers in a ‘V’. Helped by my rapid movements, he pulls up, exposing my clit to the air. Tongue licking his lips, he looks at it like a delicacy that he’d love to devour. However, unable to do that, he makes do with his thumb. He alternates moving it in circular motions around the nub and grinding against it, all the while pinching it with his other two fingers. My hips stutter from his ministrations, but I don’t want to stop. I can’t, even if I wanted to. Not when he’s stimulating me like this. But I can feel the end approaching me rapidly, faster than I want it to. “Ji—Jimin, wait.”

I should’ve known that he’s not going to do as I say this time. “Give me a good reason to wait,” he challenges.

“I can’t take it.” My body is already shaking from its proximity. I’m about to crest the high, but I want to last longer. “Please, Jimin, or I’m going to come.”

“All the more reason for me not to wait, then.” Jimin takes my reasoning and tosses it out the window. In direct contrast to my request, he teases my clit even more, pushing me forward so I can’t stall it any longer. The knot growing inside me shrinks into itself, compressing impossibly before exploding like fireworks. With a cry of his name, I catch myself from collapsing completely on top of him by bracing my hands on either side of his torso. Jimin releases my clit to grab my waist, pushing me down against him, moaning as he feels my muscles contracting around him. “You’re so sensitive,” he remarks as I start to recover.

There’s nothing I can say to his comment. There’s nothing to say, really. I don’t recall ever being this receptive to someone else’s touch. It has been a while, I think, not wanting to admit that my sensitivity might have been caused by the person touching me, rather than the duration I’ve been deprived of such attention. Burying my face into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder, I inhale his scent; the perfect home to come to after falling down from my high. The realisation that I must be crushing him with my weight comes suddenly. I jolt up to move off of him, but he tightens his hold on my waist, halting me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, I must be heavy, and I–“ Jimin doesn’t give me the time to inform him that I can barely move, returning me back into place right above him and whispering;

“I’m not done yet.”

Digging his fingers in so deep I’m sure he’ll leave me with bruises, he pulls out of me, all the way to the tip. My sigh at the loss becomes a shriek midway when Jimin slams back all the way in without so much as a warning. He doesn’t stop there; in fact, that’s the speed that he’s setting for me. Pounding into me from underneath without mercy, without hesitation, without pause. My relaxed legs quickly grow tense again, as his rapid thrusting stokes a new fire in me. “Jimin, Jimin!” I call out for him in between gasps, every thrust knocking the air out of my lungs and every shred of intelligible thought out of my head, until his name is all that remains. My feet curl inwards, trying to withstand the pleasure but in futility. If he isn’t gripping me so firmly, I would have ended up sprawled over him. However, I have nowhere to run. Forced to take every single one of his hard thrusts. Each one making my lower body wrap tighter and tighter around him.

“Close.” Out of breath, Jimin manages to utter only one word, but he slips a hand between our bodies, closer now that I’ve crumpled over him under his rough pounding, leaving no question as to what he means when he pinches my clit between his fingers again. My body contracts until there’s no space left, and I can’t breathe. Whether my brain is hazy due to the lack of oxygen or because I’m on the verge of cumming, I don’t know. One moment later I climaxing again. Jimin doesn’t need to be told that; my cries of ecstasy and squeezing walls are enough to clue him in. He wraps an arm around my waist and seizes my right shoulder, holding me even more securely in place as his hips accelerates to a speed beyond my imagination. Panting and moaning, I latch onto his shoulders so I can receive his rough thrusts, each one knocking me several inches upwards. Unlike before, Jimin doesn’t give me time to recover, too focused on using my tightening muscles spasming around his cock to reach his own high.

It doesn’t take long, but I’ve regained enough sense of mind to register him sinking his face against my neck as he comes. Each of his grunts accompanying every deliberate, deep thrust, pumping his seed into me is so close to my ear, I can feel the hot air that comes with them. There is an odd feeling of being the one to comfort him as his body quakes. It’s like he trusts me to keep him safe at his most vulnerable, and I immerse myself in the feeling proudly for a while.

By the time Jimin rolls me over to the side, I’m starting to get drowsy. My legs twitch when his limp dick slips out a little, and my eyes flutter open to find that he’s staring at me. “What is it?” Absurdly, I feel a little shy. This is just Jimin after all. On the other hand, I’ve never been with Jimin like this before.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

The relatable statement makes me grin. “I know. Me too.”

“It seems like such a waste to just… go to sleep.”

No way. “What do you mean?”

“You know, just…” He shrugs with all the innocence of a toddler, but it doesn’t fool me for one second. Especially when he nuzzles against my neck, then almost immediately switches to kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh. A pressure within makes me moan, feeling myself getting fuller as Jimin grows hard again. “I spent four nights in bed with you and I couldn’t even touch you. Do you know how difficult that was? I was about to go insane.”

The dawn of the following morning is slightly chilly, but that’s what makes it refreshing. Even though I greet the day with a yawn as I rest my forearms against the railing of the balcony, I’m feeling very content and reinvigorated. A light mist shrouding the garden before me gives it a cool, dream-like quality. Each plant has bountiful leaves – it’s always summer in Malaysia, after all – and each one is heavy with morning dew. I wish I could reach and touch the moisture with my fingers.

With time, my brain starts to function more efficiently, and I begin to think about the events of last night. Of course I’m ecstatic about finally being in a romantic relationship with Jimin, the man that I’ve been pining over for so long, but I’d be lying if I say that I don’t have any doubts. I’ve been so focused on getting over him that I never stopped to think what it would mean to have my best friend as my boyfriend. The obvious question is: what if it doesn’t work out between us?

Like Jimin said last night, he has known me for many years now. There aren’t many flaws of mine that he isn’t aware of. I’m quite confident that I know most of the things I need to know about him too. And just like Jimin, none of it has made me fall out of love with him. If anything, his imperfections make me love him even more. I can’t think of any reason that would make us break up, but it’s always a possibility. What would happen to our friendship should the worst come to pass? I hope we can still be friends somehow.

Just the thought of it is depressing enough to make me heave a sigh. There’s no point in speculating about the future. I already know that I can barely endure not being with him. It was torture to watch him with girlfriends when I so desperately, so selfishly wanted to fill that role. Now that my wish has come true, we just have to go forward and do our best. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not delusional enough to think that everything will be perfect from now on, but I hope for every rainy day we have to suffer through, there will be a sunny one that will balance it out. Smiling to myself, I enjoy this blissful feeling I never knew I’m capable of feeling. With Jimin, I’m sure my life will be full of happy days, like an eternal summer.

“What’s up with you?” A teasing, rhetorical question comes from behind, making me jump in surprise. I turn around to find Jimin leaning against the frame of the glass door, looking cool as a cucumber. But I see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “One second you were sighing, and the next you were grinning like an idiot.”

Feeling blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment at being caught entertaining my thoughts, I spin back to face the garden. “Nothing! How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to want to get a closer look at you.” Jimin approaches and hugs me from behind. He wastes no time sniffing against my neck like a little puppy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm.” How could I not? After that second round, I was ready to nod off, but he’d recovered by then and had asked me if he could take me up on that earlier offer to give him a blowjob. How could I say no? And he wasn’t content to finish up in my mouth, either – no, he wasn’t as rough as he was the first time, but he still finished inside me. It left me exhausted and I went out like a light afterwards. I’m not sure what made me wake up so early, but I do feel well-rested, though quite sore.

“I’m glad.” I can feel and hear him smiling against my ear rather than see it. Although I’m not sure if he’s glad because I’ve gotten enough rest, or because the stiff shaft I can feel pressing against my back needs some attention. Given that he’s already tracing the crevices of my ear with his tongue, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“I’m beginning to think that you’re a monster.” My complaint doesn’t sound very convincing since it’s followed by a keening moan. He’s quick to slide his hand up my thighs and under my bathrobe, discovering that I’m not wearing anything underneath. His sharp inhale lets me know how aroused he got from that revelation.

“I’m not usually this horny,” he admits, leaning me down to rest my upper body against the railing so my ass juts out. I can hear the shuffling of his slippers as he moves back, but before I can turn around to see what he’s doing, I feel his tongue running all the way from the bottom up to my asshole. My back arches from the unexpected jolt of pleasure, hitting me like a bolt of lightning down my spine. “Maybe we need to make up for… what, a decade’s worth of love-making?” Despite being sore, my pussy clenches at the ridiculous notion. A whole  decade? “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” The loud, wet sounds his tongue makes as he laps against my slit doesn’t leave me any room to argue. I only let out a whine when he reaches around to press against my engorged nub. “You’re swollen,” he says concernedly, contrasting with his unrelenting ministrations. “Are you okay?”

“If you’re worried–mmmnn–“ Against my better judgement, I push myself back against his mouth, craving for more. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin’s reply is lost somewhere within my folds, but once his tongue pushes past my entrance, I stop caring about his answer. It’s amazing how easily Jimin unearths my most sensitive spots. Not just how putting pressure against my clit stimulates me more than circular motions, but also how a feather-like touch along the side of my body makes me tremble or that lightly nibbling my nipples makes me buck beneath him. However, a night of thorough attention has made all of me super sensitive, and I’m already on the verge of tears while my head is screaming for more. “Jimin, please,” I beg. “I need you now.”

Those words are all the encouragement that Jimin needs. Standing behind me, he lifts the lower part of the bathrobe up so he can press his insistent hard-on against my entrance. “No, wait, Jimin.” Remembering where we are right now, I begin to panic. “Let’s go inside.”

Of course, Jimin has never been one to listen to orders. “No one’s up yet,” he overrides my protest, and cuts off any oncoming ones by slamming his hips against mine, pushing his thick cock all the way inside in one stroke. Tears fall from my eyes and my scream breaks the stillness of the morning at the brutal insertion. “Shh,” he comforts me, raining kisses all over the side of my neck and shoulders as I sob. “Someone will hear us if you don’t keep it down.”

“Damn it, Jimin, you’re the meanest – ah! Ah!” I can’t even finish reprimanding him. How can I, when my body reacts to him so easily, and the fact that anyone passing by can see us, or other hotel guests can hear us turns me on even more? Taking a little mercy on me, Jimin grabs my chin, directing me to look back so he can kiss me, somewhat effectively swallowing my moans. The intense kiss matches the force of his thrusts below; slower than last night but with more strength. He lowers his hand to slip it inside my bathrobe, groping my left breast, using it as an anchor as his cock drives me to oblivion. Everything he does intoxicates me, making me drunk to the point I don’t know up and down, so that I no longer give a damn about anyone seeing him pounding into me in broad daylight. All I can think about is the tingling sparks of friction from every stroke of his cock sliding in and out of me, the tiny pinpricks of pleasure and pain like scorching embers feeding a bonfire growing more and more out of control within me. “Jimin,” I gasp when he releases my lips for air, “coming.”

He kisses me, then pulls at my lower lip. “Come,” he coaxes me with his fingers pinching my nipple, making me mewl, and with the short words his brain can muster in his state. “With me. Now.”

After several hard thrusts, Jimin brings me to my climax and follows me right after. He holds me tightly, supporting me so my shaking legs don’t suddenly give way from under me, although I can tell from his quivering body that he’s having trouble keeping himself up. The sturdy railing provides the support we both need, and we cling to it as we catch our breaths. A few minutes later, we’re still panting, but Jimin slowly sits down on the floor, guiding me to sit across his lap. I’ve hugged Jimin countless times before when we were still just friends, but I think after sex might be the best time for cuddling with him.

His comforting arms almost lulls me to sleep, but the gradually escalating heat of the rising sun brings me back to my senses. Opening my eyes, I ask drowsily, “What time is it?”

Jimin shrugs. “Who knows.”

Resisting the urge to follow his devil-may-care attitude, I climb out of his lap to crawl towards the table where I’d left my handphone. My eyes widen when I see the numbers on display. “Jimin! There’s less than three hours before our flight! We need to go, now!”

We get ready and packed in record time. Soon we’re begging our driver to drive us as quickly as possible to the airport, both of us still huffing and panting, but this time for a completely different reason compared to this morning. The young driver shakes his head in disapproval, but accedes to our wishes, driving at a speed I’m not sure is legal, expertly zipping in and out between cars. We earn a few honks, but I try to detach myself from the chaos, leaning back against the seat to try and calm my racing heartbeat.

“This is all your fault, you pervy animal,” I hiss at Jimin under my breath. “If we can’t board our plane you’re going to pay for both our tickets back home.”

Jimin’s smirk is charming and utterly unrepentant. “Worth it.”

Thank you for reading! As always, comments/asks/likes are very welcome :)

[lils-writes-stuff]

Hit

spencer reid x reader

Best years part eleven | part ten | part nine | part eight | part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three |part two |part one

Summary: a day so normal can turn on a dime so quick.

warnings: normal criminal minds things, torture, kidnapping, confession of undying love, angst 

A/N: based on season 7 episode 23; it’s a doozy and this is going to get good. 

 The morning seemed normal, nothing special about it really. It was a Saturday, a beautiful Saturday morning where Y/N thought nothing, particularly life-altering, would happen. 

 But, oh, was she wrong. Spencer was going to a convention with Penelope who didn’t want to go alone after her and Kevin’s breakup. Hotch was spending the day with his son and Beth, his girlfriend. JJ was spending the day with her son Henry while Will worked. And Derek was with Emily looking at her new house, who Y/N was supposed to meet but never did. 

 The day was so normal, she woke up at seven, got dressed, and went out for coffee and a muffin before going to meet Emily and Derek. Everything took a turn of fate when she walked out of the coffee shop, seeing the person she had no expectation of seeing that day. 

 Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she made eye contact with Caroline’s sickeningly beautiful ones. She had a smile that played on her face that told Y/N she had already done something to her. 

 Y/N looked down to her half-empty coffee cup, horror washing over her face as she realized that the man who had made her drink (who she recognized but couldn’t place)  was the man from the diner. 

 She had been drugged and there was no way of getting out of it as her vision blurred and she watched as Caroline got closer.

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

 “Thank you,” Emily said, grabbing the paper from the realtor as she exited the bottom of the house. 

 “Thanks.” Derek nodded to the man. 

 The two walked up the steps from the basement and onto the sidewalk. 

 “I don’t know,” Emily said, conflicted about her decision on the house.

 “Emily, what’s not to know? It’s a beautiful place,” Derek said, confused about Emily’s words. 

 “There are cracks in the foundation.” Emily turned to face Derek. Her face was ridden with hesitance about the home. 

 “Cracks can be fixed,” Derek replied. 

 “No, they can be hidden, they’re still there.” Her words were talking about the house but truly she was talking about herself. 

 “What, are you afraid the place is gonna fall down?” Derek asked her with a puzzled face.

 “I’m afraid it’s never gonna be as strong as it was,” Emily replied, still referring to herself.

 “Okay, somebody’s heart is not into it,” Derek stated, catching onto that this wasn’t really about the house anymore. “What’s going on?” 

 She let out a telling sigh. “I don’t know. When I first came here, I felt like I was home and now, it’s just an uphill battle.”

 Derek looked back at the house, thinking about what Emily was saying with intense thought. 

 “People kill for opportunities like these, am I crazy to pass it up?” She asked. 

 “Well, you gotta do what’s best for you,” Derek replied. She nodded, letting out a quiet ‘yeah’ and shoved the paper into her purse. 

 As the two began to walk down the street Emily thought back to Y/N. “Hey, I wonder where Y/N is? She doesn’t show up for something without telling someone.” Emily began to feel that gut feeling she gets when something was wrong. 

 “She’s probably with Pretty boy, two of them spending a day together,” Derek said not really concerned. 

 “No, he’s with Penelope, they’re at a sci-fi convention, that’s why I asked Y/N to come with us.” Emily pulled out her phone to call Spencer, but couldn’t as she got a call from Hotch. 

------------   

 When Y/N woke up, she was cold, her body shaking from her drenched clothes that clung to her body. The next thing she noticed was that her hands were zip-tied to the sides of a bolted down metal chair. 

 Her eyes still heavy, she assessed her state and where she was. 

 “Loopy, I am very loopy.” Her words were mumbled as she didn’t feel a need to stay quiet. “An apartment.” That’s where she decided she was, the small empty room telling her that. It was mostly dark, a hanging light above her head being the only source of light.

 “Wow, for someone who is just starting to wake up, you are very observant.” A voice came from the shadows of the room. Caroline walked out, her tall figure had aged since Y/N had last seen her, she almost looked old. Her long brown hair had lost some of its volume but she still retained the beauty Y/N saw all those years ago. 

 “You’ve gotten old,” Y/N said, her eyes squinting as she looked at the new forming wrinkles on Caroline’s face. “Must be from all the stress of trying to stay hidden and the prison of course.” 

 “And you still have the attitude I remember,” Caroline laughed, enjoying the moment they were having. 

 “What do you want?” Y/N asked, not wanting to appease whatever moment she was having anymore. 

 “I think you know what I want.” Y/N had an idea, but she didn’t know if it was right. 

 Her to suffer, more than likely, her friends to suffer, sounds more probable. She probably needed to get off from watching her longest victim suffer again.  

 “I have some theories,” Y/N replied, her eyes meeting Caroline's. 

 “Ah, well then Ms. FBI-profiler, let’s hear these amazing theories.” Caroline pulled a chair from behind her. She sat in it backward, her legs draping over the sides. 

 “I rather keep them to myself.” Y/N was stalling now, hoping to God that someone would notice she’s missing and find her. 

 “You know, Honey-- do you still go by that, or have you grown out of it?” The nickname made Y/N want to puke, the sound of it coming from her lips bringing back many painful memories she had locked away. 

 “Things like that, are what are gonna get you hurt.” When the words left her lips, an electric jolt shocked Y/N in her side. The jolt was enough to send her doubling over in pain, but it wasn’t enough to cause major side effects.  

 Caroline laughed and stood up, clapping her hands together. 

 “That’s what I like to see!” She exclaimed as she walked closer to Y/N. She grabbed her face with her index finger and thumb, squeezing her cheeks enough to leave bruises. “And Honey, we’re just getting started.”

-------------- 

 When the team arrived outside of the bank of the robbery, it was frantic. Cop cars, helicopters, swat, the whole get-up was there.

 JJ ran to Will, who was one of the responders to the robbery that was called in. His partner had been shot and killed, but all JJ was worried about was him. 

 “It’s definitely them,” Will said looking at Hotch. “I only saw the King and the Jack, but I figured the queen’s inside, too.” 

 Hotch was listening but he was looking around for Y/N. Spencer was doing the same, but his concern was higher than Hotch’s. 

 “The media’s calling them the Face Cards, seven bank robberies in seven months, they’ve killed one person in each robbery.” Hotch began walking to the swat cars and tent set up. “Has anyone talked to Y/N?” 

 “She was supposed to meet me and Derek at the house-showing this morning but never showed,” Emily answered then turned to Spencer. “We thought she could have been with you.”

 “No, I called her this morning before I left to meet Garcia, she said she was going to get a coffee before she met you.” Spencer was scared now Y/N didn’t do this. She would never go off without at least telling someone what she was even remotely doing.

 “Okay, going back to this case, serial killers who have a thirty-day cooling-off period and we’re only hearing about this now?” Emily asked, changing the subject to the case at hand. 

 Spencer was listening, but his thoughts kept going back to every word Y/N had said to him that morning. Going over it, over and over again. Nothing told him anything that would hint she would be leaving or doing something spontaneous.

 “Well, headquarters has always characterized them as robbers first, serial killers second,” Hotch replied to Emily’s question. 

 “No one kills seven people without serious psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer said, trying to stay somewhat focused on the case. 

 She’s probably fine, she’s probably fine, his gut was speaking louder than his brain that she wasn’t. 

 “I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Hotch said looking at Spencer. He took note of the way he was nervously swaying and messing with his hands. That was one of his tells that something was bothering him. 

 “So why are we here?” Rossi asked Hotch.

 “Because crisis negotiation is overseas,” Hotch replied. 

 “What more do we know about them?” JJ asked. 

 “They’re organized, they’re efficient. Each strike lasts about two minutes.” Hotch turned and began walking again to the tent set up. 

 “They gotta be scouting the banks in advance,” Derek speculated. “Why haven’t we been able to I.D. them off of the surveillance footage?”

 They walked into the FBI on-scene command center where Penelope sat in front of a makeshift home base. 

 “They hack the security feed and turn off the cameras, both during the initial canvass and during the robbery, until the masks come back on, and then we’re allowed to watch.” Hotch stood behind Penelope, looking at all the screens with the footage. 

 “They’re using the hostages as human shields,” Rossi said, observing the way the hostages were lined up in front of the doors. 

 “This is the first time they’ve been interrupted. What went wrong?” JJ asked. 

 “It’s a big bank, it’s possible they weren’t about to round everybody up before someone triggered an alarm,” Emily answered with a theory. 

 “Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered? Letting us see inside gives up a tactical advantage, they gotta know that.” Derek said, confused as to what their plan was.

 “They don’t seem to care,” Hotch said. 

 Spencer stopped all thoughts he had on this case when the words left Hotch’s mouth. 

 “She never cared about if people saw her it seemed.” Y/N said as the two sat over dinner. She was in a blue dress that complimented her skin and eyes so well, Spencer remembered. “She said she always loved to put on a show.” 

 “Reid?” JJ asked, pulling Spencer out of his memory. 

 “What?” He asked, not knowing what she had just said. 

 “I said they’re overconfident and arrogant and was wondering if you could relay onto that,” JJ said, repeating her words.

 “The, um, the face card masks could add to their narcissism,” he responded, recalling what he was thinking before his memory. “Their personas are the royalty of poker.” 

 “JJ and Prentiss look at past robberies, that’s gonna be our victimology, pull another analyst if you need to,” Hotch ordered, the two leaving the van to head back to Quantico. “Dave, I want you to handle negotiations, and Morgan, strategize tactical options with MPD.” They all nodded and left the room, Rossi staying along with Spencer. 

 “Reid, do you have any idea where Y/N is?” Hotch asked him, knowing this wasn’t normal for Y/N to not show up like this. 

 “I-I had a thought,” Spencer responded, nervous all a sudden that if he said this it would be true. “I think Caroline Roberts might have her.” 

 “How can you be so sure?” Hotch asked, unsure if that was true. 

 “Because when you said that these guys didn’t seem to care, I remembered something Y/N said about how Caroline liked to put on a show.” Y/N’s voice rang through his head, the words from that night repeating over and over. “She also would have the ability to control an operation like this, Y/N always said she had a thing for robbery.”

 “Who’s Caroline Roberts?” Rossi asked, looking between the two. 

 “The woman who tormented Y/N in college,” Hotch answered, knowing that there was no hiding it from Rossi anymore. “Garcia, can you track Y/N’s phone?” 

 “Yeah, of course,” Penelope’s voice was shaky as she began typing. She was worried about her friend. Y/N had told her what Caroline had done and if that’s where she was she didn’t want her to be hurt. 

 “Reid, do you think this Caroline woman had something to do with these robberies?” Rossi asked. He had no idea what was going on with Y/N’s past, but if it could help them with this case, he wanted to know everything. 

 “She could, but that’s only a hunch,” Spencer responded. 

 “Her phone’s sim card has been removed, I can’t track it,” Penelope said, a tear rolling down her cheek knowing that meant she was probably taken.

 “Reid, go back to Quantico to help JJ and Prentiss, I will let you know if anything comes in.” Hotch did not need Spencer here as Caroline showed up with Y/N, it didn’t take a profiler to see that Spencer would risk his life for Y/N. That is not something he needed today. 

 “But Hotch--” 

 “Now.” 

--------------- 

 “Agh!” The jolt of the taser made Y/N scream again as it shocked her for what felt like the hundredth time. 

 “Tell me all about this new boy of yours Honey.” Caroline stood in front of Y/N with a hose she attached to a sink. “Tell me all about how much you love him.” 

 “How do you know that?” Y/N said, panting heavily from the jolt she had just received. 

 “That’s not the answer I was looking for.” Caroline turned the hose on and sprayed Y/N again. 

 Y/N was gasping as the water running all over her face and chest made her shiver.

 “I love him, yes I do.” Y/N said, just wanting the water to stop because she was freezing. She did not want to admit that to her, but that atser was really painful and she just wanted it to stop.  

 “See was that so hard,” Caroline said, talking to her like she was a child. “I just want some girl talk, you know like we used to have.” 

 “That’s not what you want.” Y/N muttered under her breath. 

 “Speak up Honey, you know I can’t stand when you mutter,” Caroline said, holding her hand around her ear. 

 “I said that’s not what you want, bitch.” The words were hard and cold as they left Y/N’s lips with hatred. “You want to watch me suffer and fall into pieces again, but I won’t let it happen. You’ve been sending me letters again, you’ve been watching me suffer from a distance for your own amusement.” Her voice was seething as she glared at the woman. 

 “Well, guess what, I will not let you break me again, ever.” She leaned forward in the chair, tugging on the restraints that were bound to create bruises. 

 Y/N was a woman now, who wasn’t afraid to tell Caroline off. She didn’t want her to have what she wanted. 

 “Are you sure about that? That I won’t get what I want, I mean,” Caroline laughed as she spoke. She walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed an IPad. “I mean the letters I’ve been sending have been fun and all, but I needed to see you again. To watch as you collapse into a shell of who you were-” she took in a hiss of a breath- “well, I guess it’s who you’ve become.” 

 When she opened the IPad she pulled up to a live feed of what looked like a bank robbery. She pointed to a woman dressed in all black. “You see her? That’s my partner, I love her, well I love what she can get me really.” 

 “What can she get you?” Y/N asked. If she was here she might as well get as much information as she could. 

 “Well, she’s gotten me lots of money since her and her gang of robbers has gotten me,” Caroline explained. She pulled her chair closer to Y/N, so now they were face to face. “I am, well, I guess you could say their boss, but the two guys she works with don’t want to put a title on it. In fact, I think they think I don’t exist, crazy right?”

 “Crazy,” Y/N said with no emotion. 

 “They also don’t know that this whole thing is a set up for my partner and her boyfriend, who also works with us, to satisfy whatever need they have. I don’t even really care what that is to be honest. And for me to torture you again by making you watch your family suffer.” Caroline was laughing as she pulled the IPad back to her to look at the feed again. “Satisfying my needs.” 

 Y/N’s face filled with horror. “What?” She gritted her teeth with anger at her words. She wasn’t scared yet, her first instinct now being anger instead of fear like it used to be. 

 “I said, my team will get yours to suffer so I can make you watch, and then I am either going to kill you or you can join me in my escapade,” Caroline continued. 

 Y/N shook her head, tears of rage falling down her face. “No-no, I will not let you do that.” Her voice was thick and full of determination. “They will find you, they will.”

 She leaned forward again, with much more force that she hoped it would break the restraints or move the chair. “Do not touch them.” 

 “Yeah, not so sure I’m going to listen to you on that one,” Caroline said, sucking in a breath. She got up from her chair and walked over to a camera in the corner. She pulled it closer and turned it on. A flashing red light appeared and Caroline walked back into the frame. 

“Say hi to your friends Y/N!” She said, her voice happy as she waved to the camera. Y/N had tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked at the camera, a pleading look on her face. 

----------- 

 “In six robberies no one’s been able to build a sketch of the unsubs before they put their masks on,” Emily said to Spencer and JJ as she read some of the files. “These witness descriptions are all over the map.” 

 “Probably because of the trauma suffered inside,” JJ said looking at Emily. 

 Spencer sat with a marker as he worked on the map, his mind not being able to focus completely as he thought more and more about Y/N. God he felt so stupid, he had o focus and all he could do was think about her. 

 “Reid, what you got?” Emily asked when she noticed Spencer had stopped writing on the map. 

 “Uh, I-I've noticed that they’ve been zig-zagging north and south but in a relative straight pattern from Washington, D.C.,” Spencer said. His words were stuttered as he tried to focus on what was in front of him. The two women noticed but didn’t mention it yet. 

 “This is the largest bank they’ve hit, before today, it’s just been small branches in rural communities,” JJ said. 

 “So today was always a part of their plan but why the nation’s capital?” Emily asked, her pen pointing to Spencer’s map. “To make a statement?”

 Spencer tried to think more into it as his mind overlapped stuff with what Y/N had told him about Caroline and their victimology of the case. He was currently coming up with nothing, but that was because he had only gotten through half of the information in his head.

 But for all he knew, Caroline had nothing to do with this and Y/N could be lying in a ditch dead from something else. Okay, so that wasn’t very probable, but he was so annoyed with the fat of not knowing, he lost rational thought about it.  

 “I pulled schematics from the previous banks,” Kevin Lynch said walking into the room with some blueprints. “This is the first one with the metal detectors, maybe that’s what went wrong.” 

 “No, they cased the branches too well in advance. They’d know to be ready for them,” Emily said, debunking Kevin’s theory. “These are takeover robberies. No faces, no passing notes, no prints. They’re professionals.”

 “Hey, there is something all these robberies have in common,” JJ said, bringing the attention to her. “The queen’s the only one who pulls the trigger.” 

 Spencer was pulled back into another memory of something Y/N had told him. 

 “She always said, ‘Y/N, the woman has all the power, they can pull the trigger if they have the right mindset, anytime they want, it’s how we are made.’”

 They all sat quietly again and began to work. When Kevin had left the room, JJ and Emily looked at each other before turning to Spencer. 

 “Spence, what’s up?” JJ asked, concern evident in her voice.. 

 “Y/N.” He said with a sad voice. 

 The two women looked at each other confused, not understanding what he meant. 

 “Spencer, I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that. What about Y/N.” JJ’s voice was motherly like she was speaking to a small child. That’s how Spencer felt about this, small and helpless.

 “I think she’s been kidnapped by whoever is controlling this,” Spencer explained, finally looking about at the two. 

 Spencer knew he couldn’t hide this if it meant they could stop the madness inside the bank. 

 “What do you mean?” Emily asked, confused about what Spencer knew. Her question made him irritated because all he had right now was speculation on the matter. 

 “When Y/N was in college, she was mentally tortured by a woman who took her under her wing named Caroline Roberts,” Spencer explained as he looked up to JJ and Emily. 

 “Mentally tortured? Like, she verbally abused her?” JJ asked, not fully understanding. 

 “She would torture Y/N’s friends and convince them it was either Y/N’s fault or they did it to themselves. Y/N couldn’t handle watching people she cared for getting hurt, so she isolated herself from the rest of the world, no friends, no boyfriends, and she limited conversations with her mom and best friend so Caroline couldn’t find them,” Spencer explained. His voice raised with annoyance with the woman who did this to her. 

 The information JJ and Emily received overwhelmed them. Spencer just spat it out, but he didn’t care if it meant saving the woman he loved, he would say it. 

 “Well, how do you know she’s behind this?” Emily asked. 

 “Because I remember every conversation we had about Caroline, and there are things happening here that line up with things she would tell Y/N.” Spencer jabbed his finger into the table aggressively as he got irritated. It wasn’t completely true, he needed confirmation on it because for all he knew she was lying in a ditch.

  Stop thinking that Spencer.  

 “Spence, this is good, what you remember might help us solve this,” JJ said, her hand grabbing his bicep. 

 “So when we say something that reminds you of it, tell us, okay?” Emily said looking at Spencer. 

 He nodded. God, he felt so helpless. He felt like he couldn’t do anything to save Y/N, but he promised her he wouldn’t let Caroline hurt her, and he intended to keep that promise. 

--------------  

 “All right Honey, you ready to shine,” Caroline said walking behind Y/N. “If you say anything about what I told you, I will kill them faster than you can say my name, understand?” 

 Y/N nodded, too tired from being jolted again and again to muster up the voice to speak. She knew they were lies, Caroline wouldn’t kill them without making her watch them suffer first. Having her see them panic as they looked for her or watch as she was tortured. She couldn’t do it, it wasn’t who she was. 

 When the video became live, a link appeared on Penelope’s computer. Curious she clicked on it on another screen, keeping the ongoing investigation on the one directly in front of her. 

 She gasped as she saw Y/N on the screen. Her hair was wet and clinging to her face, her light blue shirt was stretched from all the water and almost see-through, her black jeans were dripping at the hems, and she was barefoot. 

 “Sir, I found Y/N,” Penelope said, bringing Hotch’s attention away from Strauss and to her computer screen. A tear rolled down Penelope’s cheek as she watched the woman she recognized as Caroline take a taser to her back. 

 Y/N’s back arched as she tried to pull away from the pain. She let out a cry of pain, this one being the worst pain she’s felt yet. 

 “I said to say hi to you technical analyst Y/N,” Caroline barked at Y/N. “What’s her name? Isn’t it Penelope? I noticed she had put tabs on me, your doing I assume.”

 “Oh god,” Penelope cried as she watched Y/N and heard her name. 

 “Garcia, can you track this?” Hotch asked, rushed as he leaned next to her. 

 Garcia began typing furiously on her computer, trying to triangulate where the video was coming from. “No, sir, it says it’s coming from inside the bank, I think she connected the feed to the banks so we couldn’t track it.” 

 Y/N screamed again as Caroline shoved the taser to her side. Hotch and Penelope winced as they watched her scream. 

 “Hi, Penelope.” Y/N panted, tears spilling out of her eyes from the pain. She wasn’t going to lose, her competitive nature wouldn’t allow it.

 But damn, that taser hurt, even after she had turned it down.  

 Caroline laughed again. “Now tell your unit chief you can’t come to the scene.” 

 “Hotch, I can’t make it into work today…” Y/N trailed off. She was panting and becoming really tired again. Caroline stalked over to the hose picking it up and spraying Y/N to keep her awake. 

 Y/N gasped as the cold water hit her stomach. 

 “Continue please,” Caroline said, turning off the hose. 

 “I can’t make it because this bitch is too much of a coward to work her own unit in the field as you do.” Y/N knew that her telling Hotch that Caroline was their leader would get her in trouble, but if it meant helping them she would do it.

 “You little--” Caroline grabbed the taser again and put it against Y/N again. Y/N screamed but then laughed when it was over. Adrenaline mixed with some anger was fueling her words. “What’s so funny?” 

 “They’re gonna stop this,” Y/N sang a laugh taking over her at the end. She sounded loopy and almost crazy with the way she was singing her words. “And Honey, believe me Spencer will know what to do.” She hoped Spencer would remember the time she told him about the nickname, praying he would know where to find her,   

 “How? We have this all planned out.” Caroline crossed her arms over her chest. 

 Hotch, Strauss, and Penelope watched the scene intently as if it was a movie. 

 “Because they’re smart and they know how to.” The kick of adrenaline was wearing off now, and her eyelids become heavy again. 

 “Okay, we’re done for now,” Caroline said walking over to the camera and turning it off. 

 “No,” Penelope said as if she could be heard. “We-we can’t show Reid that.” 

 “We have too, he might know what she meant,” Hotch said, pulling out his phone to call Spencer.

- 

 Caroline squatted in front of Y/N, grabbing her chin she lifted it harshly to have her look at her. “I’m giving you a break, for now.” 

 “Wow, how nice of you, why?” Y/N’s words were slurred from her exhaustion. 

 “You’re gonna need your strength for when your boyfriend gets there, so you can tell him how you feel before he dies,” She said with a chuckle. 

 Y/N’s stomach churned at the thought of her hurting Spencer. Her face red with anger, she said through gritted teeth, “They’re gonna stop this.”

 “Damn Y/N, when will you learn, the good guys don’t always win,” Caroline said, moving from her squatting position to standing. She gripped the hair on the top of Y/N’s head, pulling her head back to have her look at her. “One of your cops shot one of the brothers, so there’s no telling what’s going to happen now, so just you wait.” 

-----------   

 Hotch stood with Rossi outside of the bank as they called in to let them know a medic was on his way in. 

 “Why hasn’t anyone come in yet?” The king, now identified as Chris said to Rossi on the phone. 

 “We’re sending in the medic now, Chris. Tell Oliver help is on the way,” Rossi said, identifying the two men to let them know they had their identity.

 “Hurry.” Chris hung up the phone.

 Rossi, Derek, and Hotch stood watching the live footage from the post outside. After Identifying the two men, the queen took off her mask and looked directly into the camera. They watched as Green, the medic agent, entered Oliver collapsed. 

 “This is not good, Aaron,” Rossi said.

 “Morgan, tell Green to make a move before Chris does,” Hotch ordered Derek. 

 “Green, you gotta go, Green, go,” Derek said into his mic. 

 Green leaned up from over Oliver now dead body, reaching into his bag for his gun. Before he could get a shot off, Chris’ anger struck and shot Green right in the chest, then one right in his head.

 They all stood in disbelief shaking their heads. 

 Back at Quantico, Spencer rushed down to Penelope’s office where Kevin was. Hotch called him and told him they had gotten a video feed from Caroline of Y/n.

 With every step he took, he felt lighter. Knowing there was a video gave him hope and almost felt like security.  

 “Kevin, Hotch said you have a video of Y/N,” Spencer said, leaning down to look at the screen. His voice shook with anticipation and order.  

 “Yeah, uh, let me just skip to the part--” Kevin began running the mouse over the video bar but Spencer stopped him. 

 “Don’t skip, I need to watch the whole thing,” Spencer told him. 

 “I don’t know if you want too,” Kevin said looking at Spencer sympathetically. 

 “I need to, Kevin.” 

 He didn’t care if she was yelling at him that she hated him, he needed to see the woman he loved. He knew what it was like to be tortured like this and he didn’t want her to go through two days of pain and suffering like he did. He hated that thought. He hated it so much that he almost wanted to throw up. 

 Kevin sighed and clicked play. Spencer watched with horror as Y/N screamed in pain. Tears filled his eyes as he watched his love in pain. He wanted to throw up now, and his hand was ready to reach for a trash can to do so. 

  “They’re gonna stop this,” Y/N sang a laugh taking over her at the end. “And Honey, believe me Spencer will know what to do.”

 When the name Honey left Y/N’s lips, Spencer was sucked back into another memory. 

 “She called me Honey, a mock to my southern background I always thought. But the first time she called me it was when I moved into a new apartment, and she was still being nice at this time.” 

 His feeling of nausea went away as he now knew where she was and that gave him a good feeling. 

 “An apartment, that’s where she is,” Spencer said, wiping the stray tears that he let fall. “Kevin I need you to look up apartments or properties, things like that, bought in the name Caroline Roberts.” 

 Kevin began typing on the computer, all different receipts popping up on the screen. None showing any apartments or properties in her name. 

 “There’s nothing man, I’m sorry,” Kevin said as he came up with nothing. 

 Spencer wanted to throw something. He wasn’t mad at Kevin, he wasn’t, he was furious at Caroline and himself. She probably used a fake name, a stolen card or she’s in an abandoned building. So many thoughts were circling his mind it made him want to pull his hair out.   

 Why didn’t he just stay with her this morning? That could’ve prevented all of this. He felt helpless, and all he wanted to do was hold Y/N in his arms, but he couldn’t. 

 His brain raked through everything he was told about Caroline. How she had to have the satisfaction of watching someone suffer, how she had to watch her victim fall apart. That’s when he knew. 

 “There’s gotta be more. She’s going to give us another message.”     

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

 Emily had received a call from Clyde Easter, giving her some information on the mystery woman. Easter informed her that she had been a part of robberies back while Emily was in Paris she had heard about, but the woman had no partners. 

 “What if the smaller banks were training runs for the Stratton brothers?” Rossi asked. Spencer, JJ, and Emily were still back at Quantico while Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan were still at the scene. 

 “Well, it could be. She took two relatively amateur thugs and turned them into an elite team of efficient robbers,” Derek said.  

 “And don’t forget, we found out from Y/N that Caroline Roberts is the head of the operation,” Hotch added. “She could have helped the female unsub train the Stratton brothers.”

 “But why? To turn them into patsies?” Emily asked, confused. 

 “All right, so let’s look at it. Up until now they’ve been highly organized, striking only on deposit days when the most amount of cash is on hand,” JJ said, verbally having them take a step back to look at the whole picture.  

 “But today’s different, it’s their first Saturday hit, where families are present, more foot traffic throughout the day, and their leader has taken someone captive who is a federal agent,” Spencer said, his voice cracking when he spoke about Y/N. 

 “It’s a riskier attack,” Will spoke. 

 “We should consider the media attention, too,” Hotch said, looking at Will. “It’s the first time they’ve had an audience.” 

 “That might be why the female unsub is so vain, she wants to look good for the cameras,” Emily posed. 

 “She searches the bank but doesn’t actually look for a means of escape,” Rossi stated confused as he watched the footage of the woman walking around the bank. “She appears to be almost enjoying the situation.”

 “We know the brothers are in it for the money, but what are Caroline and the mystery woman in it for?” Hotch asked.  

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

 Y/N gasped as the cold water hit her face. Her eyes shot open and met Caroline’s, who was holding a bucket that she filled with water. 

 “Rise and shine Honey,” she said with a sickening smile. “My people are trying to get out, they’re getting a little antsy. And get this Chris, one of the guys, he thinks he’s in charge.” She laughed at her words. Caroline was trying to make conversation, her sadistic way of torture being that she would act like a friend than an enemy.

 “Haha, that’s funny,” Y/N said, giving a fake laugh. She knew Caroline liked to pull the strings from behind the curtain. It was her way of getting whatever she wanted.

 “Your team I believe has also discovered that my partner has an accomplice in the bank, took them long enough. They’ve found out that we wanted them there.” She was laughing as though saying it took them long enough.

 “Wait, there’s another one?” Y/N asked, confused. She had no idea Caroline would work with so many people that could take control. 

 She nodded her head as the response to the question. 

 “It’s gonna be a huge blast watching them, well, be a part of a blast,” Caroline said, revealing that she had more planned than Y/N initially thought. 

 “No, they’ll find out, they will.” Y/N shook her head furiously, tears streaming down her face again. She had given up on trying to stop them. 

 This was the first step of her unraveling. She had given up on trying to stop tears and her body was just falling into every word she said. This was not what she wanted to happen, she needed to fight back.

 “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Caroline placed her hands on her hips. A pout on her face as she looked at Y/N with fake sympathy.  

 “Okay-” Caroline rubbed her hands together as she got excited for what was to come next- “It’s time!” 

 “Time for what?” Y/N asked, not amused by her excitement. 

 “Time for you to confess your feelings for Spencer of course,” She scoffed in disbelief that Y/N would even ask such a question. She brought the IPad back over to pull up the live video feed. 

 Y/N watched as what looked like Will enter the building. “Will?” 

 “Is that his name? I didn’t know, JJ’s husband though right?” Caroline asked looking at Y/N who didn’t respond but watch the screen intently. 

 “Well, he shot Chris’ brother Oliver, so this should end well,” Caroline said excitedly. 

 “No, no, stop this, Caroline he has a son, a beautiful son, don’t let him hurt Will.” Y/N’s voice hadn’t been so pleading yet. She couldn’t dare watch as the love of JJ’s life and the father of her son die. She knew Caroline deep down inside her had some morals, for what she didn’t quite know but she knew it was there.  

 “Yeah, can’t do that.” 

 Y/N kept pleading her voice cracking as tears fell down her face. He has a vest on, he has a vest on, she repeated in her head. Will walked in with his hands up, Chris pointing the gun at him as he entered.

 “Let these people go,” Will said to Chris. 

 “All right, you, you and you-” Christ pointed to a woman and two children. “The kids, get out.” The mom and two kids ran out of the bank. 

 Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She was relieved that the kids got out safe. 

 “Hey, what’s your name?” Chris asked Will. He had lowered his gun by his side by now, but Will still kept his arms up. 

 “William LaMontagne Jr., MPD,” Will answered. Chris looked back to the woman before smiling in a mocking way. 

 The next moments played in slow motion as Chris turned back around and shot Will. 

 “No!” Y/N cried. He has a vest on, he has a vest, she kept saying to herself. The video feed then cut out as Will fell to the ground. 

 “Oh, that sucks,” Caroline winced.

 “JJ, I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered to herself. She was apologizing like how she used to in college. That was Caroline’s know that she was getting into Y/N’s head.

-----------

 “How’s JJ?” Spencer asked Penelope over the phone. He was with Kevin in Penelope’s office in Quantico still, everyone else at the scene. 

 “It’s bad, Reid,” Penelope responded. Not only was Spencer worried sick about Y/N but now his best friend’s husband could be dead. 

 “I should be, we’ve learned everything we can from here,” Spencer said as he began to pace around the room. 

 He wanted to throw up again. There had been no word on Y/N since the video and his mind was thinking the worse. No one could go look for her because one: all teams were deployed to help with the bank. And two: because they had no idea where she could be. 

  He was really trying to get rational thought back, he really was, but it was hard. He was in love with her and all rational thoughts are clouded by his overwhelming desire to hold her. He needed to do it, to smell her shampoo, to feel her soft skin, and to kiss her lips. 

 “No, you can help more by helping me and your brain works faster than mine,” Penelope said, typing on her computer swiftly. “And Hotch told you to stay there remember?”

 “Yeah, but seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside, or finding Y/N.” Spencer’s eyes went to the TV with the news on.

 Spencer could hear Penelope’s shrug of sympathy. He could feel the pout she was giving, and it only made him feel worse.  

 “Kevin, can you pull up the surveillance feed prior to Will being shot?” Spencer asked, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. That was really difficult.  

 “Sure, what are we looking for?” Kevin asked as he began to pull it up. 

 “The female unsub disappeared once before if she wasn’t looking for an escape--” 

 “Reid, you need to see this,” Penelope cut Spencer off. 

 Popping up on Kevin’s computer was a now live feed, but not of the bank. It was Y/N sitting in the chair of the apartment she was being held captive in.

 “Garcia, is this live?” Spencer asked getting closer to the screen as he saw Y/N scream when Caroline put the taser to her back again. He winced as he watched her cry. All he wanted to do was reach through the screen to save her. 

 “Yes, it is.” Penelope’s voice was cracking from her tears.

“Say it,” Caroline sneered, grabbing Y/N by the back of her hair and pulling her head back to look at the camera. “Tell him what you’ve been so afraid to say because of me.” 

 “I love you.” Her voice was thick as she tried not to cry and she was panting from the pain still.

 Spencer stood speechless, that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. Not at a time like this at least. 

 This isn’t how she wanted to do it, not at all. She wanted to tell him while they sat and read, or when they laid in bed at night and talked into the early morning hours, she didn’t want to tell him like this. 

 “Oh come on you can do better than that.” Caroline’s words were seething and evil as she enjoyed watching the woman battle with her emotions. “Tell him all about how you feel, because if you don’t you won’t be able to repeat it again.” 

 They were empty threats, Y/N knew that Caroline wouldn’t kill her yet.

 Y/N breathed in deeply, a fatal attempt to compose herself before she spoke. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I love you more than anything I could ever love. I love how you know exactly what I’m thinking when I can’t express myself. I love how you hold my hand when you can tell I’m nervous. I love-” she choked up as her tears began to roll down her flushed cheeks.

  “I love how when you get excited you overly talk with your hands. The way you smile when you talk about a book, makes my heart soar. When you make me a cup of coffee in the morning, I know that’s how I want to spend every morning until I die. I love the thought of you holding our children and teaching them how to read. I love the thought of you holding me while I cry over how stressed I am with work and kids and you telling me everything’s going to be okay. I can’t even breathe at the thought of not loving you, because I-I never thought I would have or need someone like you before. Everyone talks about their great love. I never thought I would have one, but you’re it, Spencer. You’re my great love.” 

 When she finished, her eyes were filled with tears that she tried to keep at bay until the end. Finally, she released them. She was shaking, not only from the sobs raking her body but because she was cold. Her wet hair on her neck made her shiver as Caroline let it go. She knew that Caroline wanted more, she always did, and when she did that is when she would tell Spencer about the bomb.  

 Spencer watched the live feed. His own eyes welling up with tears. 

 “Spencer.” Penelope’s voice was quiet and sad as her voice was heard over the phone.

 “We have to find her.” He was pacing, hand grabbing the back of his head, breathing heavily. “She’s gonna be okay, she’s strong, she won’t be beaten,” he muttered the words under his breath. 

 “Anything else, Honey?” Caroline asked Y/N, she was squatted in front of Y/N. 

 “Spence, I’m sorry, you got to stop them you’ve gotta- she’s got a -” a Harsh slap cut her off. She was trying to tell him something and Caroline wasn’t going to allow it.  Caroline stood up and turned off the camera, the feed becoming static again.

 “No,” Spencer’s voice cracked as Caroline shut the camera off. “Kevin pull up the videos of the female unsub.”

 Spencer stared at the blueprints of the building, following the path the female unsub was on from the videos. “She was following the electrical lines…” he finally knew what was about to happen. “Gas mains. Oh, no.” 

 “Garcia, get them out of there!” Spencer exclaimed to Penelope over the phone. 

 Penelope, Strauss, and Rossi ran out of the van. Rossi yelled into his watch to abort. 

-

 Caroline held the screen of the live feed she was able to get off the bank. Y/N watched as some of the agents walked in. 

 “No, no,” she whispered tears rolling down her cheeks. An explosion was heard and the feed cut out. “No!”

 “Now we’re getting somewhere.”   

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part One

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

You ran.

The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.

You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…

It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun. 

You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality. 

You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it. 

Damon was dead. 

You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…

You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.

Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.

You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range. 

...

The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs. 

It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted. 

There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.

You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."

You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour. 

You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived. 

Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.

Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door. 

You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location. 

For an hour.

This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.

I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried. 

The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.

He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.

His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door. 

"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."

Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory. 

"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily. 

"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it. 

"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"

"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.

"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."

"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse." 

Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…" 

Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet." 

"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.

"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion." 

His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!

"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do." 

"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.

"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"

You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.

"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.

"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.

"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition." 

He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"

"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?" 

To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-

"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.

"What?"

He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.

He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."

You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."

"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."

"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.

"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."

"Saders?"

"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."

Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.

"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."

You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically. 

"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort." 

Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry." 

"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously. 

"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-" 

Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. 

"-h-hot." You finished weakly.

"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.

Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.

"Y...Your-?"

"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."

You nodded, your throat gone dry. 

"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."

Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.

Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"

"Just-! Just say yes or no." 

"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"

"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."

"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent." 

You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.

Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."

Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon. 

"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over." 

You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry." 

"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."

You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.

You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb. 

"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out. 

The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now. 

"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"

You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.

You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he…? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'." 

Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room. 

Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."

You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.

"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."

You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.

Part Two

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 23

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1772

Chapter Summary: Reader gets jealous upon watching Vladislav seduce a woman (to eat).

A/N: Hi guys. I may not be posting every week from here on out, though that’s still the goal. With the new semester in full swing I don’t always have time to work on my fic :( Hopefully it’ll never be more than a week without updating, though. Thanks to everyone for reading! <3 As always, this is also on AO3.

“Did you fuck last night?” Deacon asked.

You didn’t look up from your laptop, still hard at work. You didn’t even know what time it was, long since having covered the small time display with a post-it, not wanting to be drawn out of fixing the work problem that you may or may not have, but definitely did, cause. The fact that Deacon was up, though, meant that more time had passed than you’d thought.

Eyes still glued to the screen, finally nearing the end of your task, you responded with a deadpan, “I’m sure you know that we did not.”

Deacon grunted. “That’s what Vlad said, too.”

“Well?” you prompted. “Why would you need to ask me, then?”

“Maybe he lied.”

“Why would he?”

“To protect your modesty.”

You snorted, finally navigating to the site for clocking in and out. “Does Vladislav seem overly invested in modesty of any sort?”

“…No.”

“So why would he lie?” you repeated, closing your laptop. “We didn’t even get-“

You froze upon turning to look at him.

“Deacon, what the hell are you wearing?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately. That was the problem. It was just a horrid combination that you hadn’t yet seen. Somehow the color orange had become involved.

“Are you going somewhere tonight?”

“Yes. We’re going out to find victims. Do you want to join us? We’re meeting Nick at Boogie Wonderland. I think Stu might be there.”

“Stu?” You’d go if Stu was going, but you didn’t want to be the only human there. At least, the only human who wasn’t on the menu.

“Pretty sure.”

“Yeah, then I’ll go.”

And that was how you ended up watching the man who had just taken you on the best date of your life try to seduce women on a crowded dance floor. Not your best idea ever.

You scowled into your drink.

You knew you were being stupid. He was just trying to eat them. There was no reason to be jealous.

Jealous. Ugh.

You’d had one date with the man and you were jealous.

If he found out, you might just have to die of embarrassment.

You jabbed the straw into the ice and glared.

“Need another?” Stu asked, appearing behind you.

You huffed. “I guess. Struck out?” You glanced back to the table where Stu had been chatting up some cute brunette.

“I guess,” he parroted back to you.

You moved your gaze to where Vladislav and Viago stood with a gorgeous woman. She placed her hand on Vladislav’s arm and you turned your face to your newly refilled drink, loudly, angrily, sucking it up through the straw.

Stu, having followed your line of sight, offered you a sympathetic smile. “You know, I really don’t think you have anything to be worried about, Y/N.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m just working myself up.”

“You never really struck me as the jealous type.”

You shrugged your shoulders. You liked to think you weren’t usually the jealous type.

“Really,” he said, somberly, “You don’t want to be her.”

You nodded. You knew that, of course. Maybe you should slow down. The alcohol may be exacerbating your ire at the situation.

“Hey Stu!” You both looked up to find Nick standing behind you, shouting over the music. “I’m going to head out. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

Stu nodded, and Nick turned his attention to you.

“How was your date last night?”

You blinked in surprise. Stu only knew about it because you’d told him tonight at the bar.

“Viago mentioned it,” he explained.

“Oh. Well, it was pretty nice, actually. We’re going out again the night after tomorrow.”

He gave you a thumbs up and left. If it wasn’t for his vampiric hearing, you’d have guessed he hadn’t been able to pick out your words over the background noise.

“I should probably head out, too.”

“No!” you protested, as Stu pulled out a few bills and laid them on the counter to cover his tab.

“I have to work in the morning.”

“So? I do too.” It wasn’t technically true, as you could get your hours at any point in the day, but Stu didn’t know that and you wanted him to stay.

“Then you should probably get home, too.”

You scowled, and Stu valiantly hid a laugh at your overdramatic response.

“Do you want to split a cab?”

“No,” you sighed, realizing you couldn’t convince him. “I want to finish my drink, and the busses are still running for a while.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Try not to let it bother you too much.” He gestured to the dance floor at large when he said ‘it,’ but you knew what he was referring to.

You turned back to your drink, trying not to glare at it again. After all, it hadn’t done anything wrong. When you looked back up, Stu was talking to Vladislav. He pointed to you. Oh crap. You looked back down, not wanting to make eye contact while Stu was very clearly ratting you out. You took back everything nice you’d ever said about him.

“Hi there,” Vladislav whispered into your ear. How did he get here so fast?

You winced into your drink.

“Hi.”

“A little bird told me someone needed a bit of attention.”

You rolled your eyes and loudly pulled more alcohol up through the straw.

“That little bird was Stu, and I’m going to kick his ass.”

Vladislav lowly laughed into your ear, and you tried not to smile as its warmth bubbled through you. You turned to look up at him and, of course, his smile was contagious. That bastard. No one would let you wallow in your misery in peace.

“Don’t be too hard on Stu. After all, it worked right? I’m here now,” he whispered in your ear, gently brushing your hair aside.

You knew he was just teasing you, but his voice was starting to make you melt, anyway.

You pulled yourself together and smacked him on the shoulder. “Take your ego down a notch and don’t be such a dick.”

For a second, you feared you’d overstepped a line. In this strange new limbo between friends and something more, you weren’t sure what was and wasn’t appropriate anymore. Thankfully, though, he threw his head back and laughed, and you actually let yourself smile. Sometimes he could be so stoic, so inexpressive. When he laughed, it was such a juxtaposition from his default state. It was warm and bubbly and you couldn’t help but feel it all the way down to your bones.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. He grabbed your hand and yanked you over to the noisy, crowded dance floor before you could answer him.

You decided to have fun, jumping up and down, moving your body more or less in time with the thumping bass of the music. Vladislav’s dancing was… eclectic. But this was a club full of drunks, so his dancing didn’t really stand out any more than anyone else’s did.

Vladislav moved his hands to rest on your hips, and you instinctively moved forward, closing the gap between your bodies until you were flush against one another. You were more or less grinding on each other, now, and you felt that maybe you should be embarrassed. You weren’t.

He ducked his head down until you felt his lips brush against your neck. You relaxed into it, tilting your head to give him better access. A shiver ran down your body at the realization that his fangs were so close to your vulnerable, exposed neck. Vladislav gently nipped at the soft, thin flesh. It hadn’t hurt, but you yelped in surprise anyway.

He moved a hand from your hip to place it reassuringly on the small of your back and brought his lips up your ear. “Relax. I’m not going to do anything.”

You weren’t entirely certain what he meant by ‘anything.’ If a regular human guy told you he wasn’t going to do anything, you’d take that to mean he would keep his hands to himself. You very much doubted you could make such an assumption regarding Vladislav.

More likely, he’d meant he wasn’t going to do anything with respect to drinking your blood. Of course he wouldn’t. You knew that. You’d simply been startled when he’d playfully, flirtatiously nipped at you… because he was a vampire.

“Sorry!” you shouted over the music.

Vladislav chuckled lowly in your ear, and actively stated backing you off of the dance floor. It wasn’t much of a task, as you had gradually made your way towards the darkened back corner of the room over the course of your dancing. As Vladislav fluidly advanced, his hand still guiding you from the small of your back, you almost tripped over yourself as you were raced back. You were backed into the wall, and his hand moved from your back to the wall beside your head.

“You need to learn to relax and have some fun.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his lips crashed onto yours, effectively silencing you. You brought your hand up to his open shirt, fisting your hand in the material and holding his body to yours. His tongue delved into your mouth and you moaned around it.

Soon, though, your brain moved from solely registering sensation, and you tasted him. The acrid taste of metal suddenly flooded your mouth. Your hand that had been pulling him towards you instead pushed him away while your other rose to wipe your mouth.

He hadn’t even left the club! When had he found time to-

“Y/N?” Vladislav’s concerned voice pulled you from your thoughts. He looked almost hurt.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes searched your own.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I- it tasted like blood…” you trailed off and looked down. You weren’t sure entirely why, but you felt like a supreme asshole.

“Ah…” Vladislav began. “Yes. I just ate.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly covered. “I’m sure I taste like cheap booze…” You nervously laughed, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

“Y/N-“

“Really, it’s fine.”

And it was fine. It had just startled you. Of course he tasted like blood. He ate blood. You knew that.

You’d come to terms with that.

It was fine.

“Maybe we should-“

You silenced him with a kiss of your own. He stood all too still for an excruciatingly long moment. Eventually, though, he leaned into it, reciprocating, pushing you back into the wall as your hands rose to his chest.

And it was fine.

[cle1024]

save me, save you | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin 

genre: angst, fluff 

summary: getting involved with the mafia was certainly not something you aimed to do in life―it was something you would’ve gratefully avoided, you much preferred breathing and living peacefully. yet, somehow, meeting him made the danger worth it.  mafia!au, gang!au, fem!reader 

warnings: mentions of murder, violence, drugs, swearing 

a/n: so uh,, i know nothing about saving someone’s life or fixing up a stab/bullet wound, and i also wasn’t taught much about human anatomy, so there WILL be inaccuracies in the medical scenes. i apologise in advance and i guess this is a cringe warning for anyone who is actually educated on those situations, i dropped out of science so can’t relate. i started this not long after miroh dropped i could just never be bothered to finish it until recently, but third hyunjin fanfic in a row here we come!!!!!! 

There was no doubt in your mind that Felix Lee was your best friend and always had been. 

The two of you grew up near one another, subsequently attending school together for the majority of your lives. It was the third day of school when the freckled boy approached you, tanned skin and dark hair, but a bright smile and sparkly eyes. 

“My name is Felix, let’s be friends!” 

“Okay.” 

Life by Felix’s side was enjoyable, content. Life was normal. And so, when Felix broke the news that he was moving to South Korea, you were understandably devastated. Though, you knew how much it meant to Felix: getting more in touch with his culture, family, and pursuing his studies more seriously and competitively. Nonetheless, despite all the pain and upset you felt, you supported his decision and maintained contact with him. 

That was six years ago when Felix left. Now, you’d both graduated from high school, Felix had acquired a stable job (that’s all he would tell you about it), and you were applying for an international studies program. You had no interest in the program initially, but your local universities had less than stellar resources for the course you wanted to study, and your teachers had constantly reassured that you were smart enough for a more prestigious institution elsewhere in the world. That and the fact the program meant your tuition would cost much less. You hadn’t expected to be accepted into the program, nor did you expect to receive a letter from the prestigious Seoul National University accepting your enrolment, yet you sat there with the printed letter in front of your awestruck face. It was only natural that you immediately text Felix—you told each other, almost, everything and he lived in Seoul, this could be the reunion you’d joked about when he first left. 

  |  so i got accepted into seoul national university    |  but i don’t speak good korean    |  lix: LMAO ME NEITHER HOLY FUCK 

Twelve months had passed since that message was sent. Your were almost fluent in speaking Korean, you much preferred just listening to it and speaking English with Felix. A sigh escaped your lips as you trudged to your apartment door, exhaustion racked your body from the unbearable demand of studying medical science. You tried to convince yourself it would pay off, but you weren’t certain yet. Perhaps when you sit your exams you’ll find out. Exams. Why did you have to think that up? It drew a small groan from your mouth as you shoved the key into your apartment door, prepared to fall face first into the couch and complain to the air. Though your desires could not be fulfilled. Sitting on the very couch you intended to fall into was Felix, twirling a swiss army knife twirl around his right fingers as he watched his phone intently. There was also a gun on the coffee table. Someone’s gun was on your coffee table. You had a lot running through your mind, many questions and minor concerns about why the fuck Felix had illicit weaponry in your house, but all you managed to say was, “oh.” The boy obviously hadn’t heard you come in, his head snapping up and his fingers halting their twirling. Looking in your eyes, he felt obligated to tell you everything.  

“That means I’m, basically, part of the mafia,” he paused to lick his lips, “we don’t sell weapons to the wrong people or kill for money. It’s more about… corruption and the occasional cocaine,” he summed up gently. You could definitively say it was the wildest fucking thing Felix had ever said to you, and you’d had some pretty odd conversations at two in the morning. As far as you knew, his job was stable and high paying, but you didn’t know it was completely and utterly illegal. Most sane people would flip their shit in this situation, cut off ties with Felix and shove him—along with all his weapons—out of the apartment. You didn’t react that way, and you weren’t sure whether it was because you were far too open-minded or because you had slowly lost your mind over time and become desensitised to any sort of shocking news. 

“Oh.” 

Felix chewed on his lip as you processed the information, clasping and unclasping his hands. He prepared for the worst, but you simply shrugged, “okay.” 

Felix was beyond bewildered, “y-you’re not mad? Or scared?” Your eyes softened at his questioning. 

“Felix, why would I be mad? It’s your life, do whatever you want with it. Your job doesn’t change the fact you’re a freckled sook who cried when you made your ramen too spicy.” 

“Okay, that was one time,” you laughed at his defensive expression and that was enough to break the facade completely. The two of you laughed for a little while until Felix’s face returned to a more serious expression, “Y/N, I promise you, you’re in no danger whatsoever. The golden rule in this district is to leave innocent people out of it, regardless of how much someone fucked you over. If anyone, and I mean anyone, does anything that alarms you or threatens you, you call me right away. Understand?” 

A soft smile stretched across your face at his concern, “of course I will,” Felix breathed a sigh of relief. If anything happened to you, especially at the fault of his job, he’d never forgive himself. To him, family came before his own safety; you were his unbiological sibling and he would always protect you as best as he could. 

It was all fine and dandy until someone broke that rule. Your eyes stung with exhaustion, the bright screen of your laptop glared at you as you tiredly read the words displayed on the screen. There was nothing you craved more at the moment than sleep; you seemed to be craving that a lot since you came to Korea. At first, you thought the distant sound of a doorknob being wobbled was one of your neighbours. It was a Friday night—or Saturday morning, you supposed—they’d probably gone out, got shit-faced and stumbled back home, having forgotten how to unlock a door. But then the noise stopped, a door squeaked open and was gently shut. You heard the door click back into place, and that’s when things started to feel off. It sounded too close to be next door—now that you thought about it, neither of your neighbours would even be out at this time. Perhaps it was Felix, he had often complained about how shitty the door to your apartment was. With a stretch of your arms and legs momentarily you pushed yourself from the bed, creeping towards your bedroom door. The cool metal of the doorknob brushed against your skin, seconds away from being opened when a series of crashes sounded from the small living room on the other side of the door. Felix may be clumsy, he may sit up too quickly and hit his head on tables, but he rarely managed to break anything in the process—if he did then the sound was followed with a string of English curses, but cuss words never came. You were starting to believe it was Felix. With all the courage you could muster, you opened the bedroom door and stood shocked at the scene in front of you. A vase lay broken on the floor—crash one. Your white sofa had been tipped backwards, the cushions scattered the floor. The coffee table had been overturned, candles left strewn on the floor. Your porcelain plate, which had previously sat by the sink, was attempting to escape the kitchen in hundreds of pieces—crash two. The wooden shelving unit diagonal to your bedroom had been tipped over, all your picture frames smashed into dangerous shards of glass—crash three. The chest of drawers near your bedroom door had been left untouched for the time being, a photo of you and Felix at seven years old perfectly intact. In the midst of chaos, a man stood with a black ski mask covering his face. All you could see where his ominous brown eyes, staring right back at you. It felt like you were staring into a dark pool, full of mystery yet devoid of emotion or sense of reality. It seemed to happen in an instant; one minute you were standing there in an intense stare off, the next you had been shoved against the wall of your living room right next to your bedroom door, your phone falling from your free hand in the process. His glove-clad hand wrapped securely around your throat, the pressure of his fingers increasing to cut off your air supply once and for all. You clawed at him, but you already knew it was no use. He was twice the size of you, had the upper hand, and had already weakened you significantly. You’d already accepted that you were destined to die at some point, everyone was, but you’d always secretly prayed that you’d get to say goodbye first. You didn’t want to leave without telling your parents you loved them, or telling your friends back home that they were some of the greatest people you’d ever met, or just saying a simple ‘cya’ to Felix, as you always did. Felix. The memory struck you like lightning as your vision started to spot slightly. When he confessed to you about his career, made that promise of protection, he had purposefully left something behind. 

“Take this,” Felix said as he held the swiss army knife towards you. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“If you ever need to defend yourself and I can’t, for some reason, use it.” 

You’d made the wise decision to hide it in your living room, behind that picture of you and Felix. If you could stretch your arm just a little further, you could grab the red covering. Your fingers strained as you held out for the weapon, head lifting up as your vision worsened. The sharp metal tickled at your fingers, causing you to desperately snatch the weapon up. You used all the coherence you had left, swiftly flicking the knife out of the plastic covering. Your vision was blurred, severely, and you could feel yourself losing consciousness. Just a little longer. With all the strength you could muster, you brought the blade upwards, taking no notice of where you stabbed him. A grunt left his lips, followed by some choked gasps. His hand unlatched from your neck to grab his own. You fell to your knees, wheezing for oxygen desperately, taking deep breaths as you coughed and gasped. Your eyes traveled downwards, catching sight of the red. There was blood all along the knife, staining your fingers. The man lay ahead of you on his back, blood spilling from his throat as he twitched and choked up the metallic substance. It was all over the floor around him. You could tell you’d caught an artery. In desperation, you tugged the purple hoodie from your shoulders, holding it against the man’s open neck wound. It seemed to get harder to breathe, even without the hand working to restrict your. Hands shaking, covered in the man’s crimson blood, tears streamed down your face. With the absence of your purple hoodie, now stained with the blood of someone else, the cold air nipped at your exposed skin. There were some red smears on your once white singlet. Why was there so much red? The shaking of your hands only worsened as you crawled to sit against the wall, hand reaching for the cellphone you’d dropped in the commotion. You only needed one person right now. The phone didn’t ring for long. 

“Y/N, what’s up?” Felix spoke calmly through the phone, blissfully unaware. A sob forced up your throat as you tried to talk. 

“F-Felix, I killed someone. Oh, God, I killed someone,” your voice came out between broken sobs. You could imagine Felix standing up in a panic, gathering his shit and furrowing his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean? Where are you?” 

“I-I’m at home, someone came in and I didn’t know what was happening and I-I stabbed him, Felix I sta-” 

“Hey, take a deep breath, okay? I’m on my way right now, don’t move,” you nodded in response, knowing fully well that Felix couldn’t see you. Mumbling an okay, you ended the call. 

Felix gently pushed open the door, ushering in the others. Chan, Minho and Changbin had insisted on coming along with Felix, worried someone else could be lurking and waiting for Felix to enter your apartment block. The apartment was in disarray: furniture tipped, photo frames shattered, a plate thrown carelessly like a toy. A body surrounded by blood, and Felix’s childhood friend sitting against the wall behind it, shaking. The purple material of your hoodie was stained, noticeably so, laying across your legs haphazardly. Felix rushed forward, crouching to your level and pulling you into his chest. The others watched from a few feet away, uncertain of what to say or do. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” Felix cooed as sobs wracked your form. He swayed you gently, petting your hair to calm you down. The youngest turned his attention towards the other boys once your sobs quietened slightly, “Minho, can you take Y/N back down to the car? We’ll be down in a minute,” Minho nodded silently, gently walking towards you to scoop you up in his arms, the hoodie remaining bundled up on your legs. Neither of you said a word once you entered the car. Minho peeled the cover up from your lap, slightly gagging at the toxic iron scent of the blood. He gently take your hands in his as he washed off as much blood as he could with a white cloth and water bottle. Your mind was evidently elsewhere. 

Chan and Felix returned to the car ten minutes later after thoroughly searching for stolen possessions. Chan filled Minho in on the details, hoping you’d gain some closure from hearing them, “he was from NCT, had some silver bracelets and their wallet shoved in his bag. Changbin called Woojin, they’ll put everything back in place,” Minho nodded softly as Felix opened up the car door on your other side. The car starts as Felix takes one of your hands in his, the red stains faded to a lighter tone. You seemed to take no notice, staring blankly at the car’s console in front of you. 

It was late, or early depending on how you see it. Red lines illuminated in formation of the time, 3:36am. The car had pulled up in front of a dark house in a quieter area of Seoul, yet still off one of the main roads. You concluded that it was only quiet because of the ungodly time, otherwise there would be cars cramming the streets, honking left and right. Chan exited the car first, purposefully closing the door gently to not alarm or shock you, Minho following suit. Felix opened his door, tugging your hand gently to encourage you to leave the vehicle. It was as if you were on autopilot. Blood splattered legs moved on their own as the green hoodie Minho had leant you protected your arms from the chilling night air, Felix’s arm slipped around your waist to support you as you walked into the house. He noticed that Woojin’s car was missing from the street; he wondered how long it would take Woojin and Changbin to fix up your apartment. As you stepped foot inside the quiet house, it revealed itself to be much larger than you initially thought. The kitchen was furthest from you, a spiral staircase to the right that led you both upstairs and downstairs, a hallway that trailed off from the left side of the living room. The living room was cozy and inhabited by two boys packing cocaine. Lovely. 

“Hey ma- what the fuck?” The smaller of the two, a brunette boy with chubby cheeks, spoke as he raised his head to greet the returning members. The other boy, with lighter brown hair, almost a dirty blonde, mirrored the other’s confusion. Neither had expected to see a random person with bloody hands, legs and absent eyes being guided through the house by Felix. The freckled boy didn’t stop to greet them, immediately guiding you upstairs to wash off in the bathroom. The two boys immediately understood the severity of the situation, but they still craved for answers. 

“NCT went after them. All they did was defend themselves from death,” Chan spoke firmly, his eyebrows slightly curved in a mix of sympathy and fury.  

Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed, “but we don’t go after innocent people?” 

Chan huffed in response, “clearly NCT had other plans. Where’s Seungmin?”  

“Basement. Jeongin’s there too,” Hyunjin spoke as he turned his attention back to the white substance on the coffee table. Chan nodded firmly before leaving, Minho falling onto the empty couch across from the two boys to stretch his tired limbs. Hyunjin sat with furrowed eyebrows, staring at the table intensely. 

“Hyunjin, you good?” Minho questioned in concern. 

“Yeah, just… something feels off about this.” 

Jisung huffed a laugh, “well, yeah, NCT just broke a golden rule.” 

“That’s the point, why would they?” Jisung had suddenly lost interest in the business transaction being organised on the table, Minho sitting up in curiosity. Hyunjin flickered his eyes to the staircase momentarily, “you know how anal they are about maintaining that rule. Taeyong made the damn rule after…” Hyunjin trailed off as all eyes lowered solemnly, no one wanted to utter her name. They all knew how much it hurt Taeyong when she was murdered, everyone was hurt, shocked. There was no reason to bring up old pain, “why would they break it now?” Minho tilted his head as he wandered over the possibilities, Jisung put his focus back on the white substance with a sigh. 

“Whatever the reason, Chan will make them pay,” his nimbled hands continued with his previous work, “no fucking doubt.” 

Chan stood as Taeyong entered the cafe, bowing and shaking hands before sitting down again. It was better to meet in a public setting, less likely for emotions and irrationality to get the better of anyone involved. The older ran a hand through his fiery red hair in frustration, “what happened?” 

Chan lowered his voice cautiously, “Felix’s friend, Y/N... one of your men tried to kill them this past Friday.” 

Taeyong moved forward in his seat, leaning his elbows on the table with narrowed eyes, “what are you talking about?” 

“Ji Hansol broke into their apartment and almost killed an innocent person. One of your men broke the golden rule.” 

“Where is he?” Taeyong was evidently furious; that rule was the one thing he drilled into his employees’ minds. 

“Dead. It was either him or them.” 

Taeyong shook his head in disbelief, “if they hadn’t have already killed him I would’ve done it myself,” he paused abruptly, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement, “wait—Ji Hansol?” Chan nodded, “how is that possible? He’s meant to be in China.” 

Chan mirrored Taeyong’s look of confusion, “then what the hell was he doing here?” 

Taeyong sighed, “as suspicious as it looks, I swear on her life that NCT was not behind this in any way. I’ll get the documents to prove he wasn’t meant to be here, I’ll help you get to the bottom of this, I’ll do whatever I can,” his voice softened significantly, “no innocent person deserves to die.” 

Lee Taeyong, as intimidating as he could be, was truly a weakened man. Behind the eyebrow slit, dark narrowed eyes, fiery red hair and commanding presence, he was a grieving lover, a leader of men who could die under his call. Chan knew he hadn’t lived the same experiences as the older, but he understood the fear that plagued him. The fear of losing everything, everyone—the only difference was that Taeyong had already experienced that when she died. Seulgi had done such a good job at keeping Taeyong together, but in doing so she became the only thing that could tear him apart. 

No one had a clue as to why you were targeted to begin with. NCT had proven their lack of involvement, none of Chan’s gang — which you’d come to know as ‘Stray Kids’ — had done anything to provoke Hansol, and he clearly wasn’t here to give an explanation. Seungmin had spent weeks researching the man, with the occasional help of Jeongin when he wasn’t at school or using an innocent childlike facade to coax information. After just over two months, Seungmin had finally found out what happened. During that time, you hadn’t left the guest room unless it was absolutely necessary. Felix and Changbin had returned to your apartment the day after the break-in to collect the belongings you’d need most desperately; none of them wanted you returning to the apartment until there was an answer. 

Seungmin’s chair swivelled around to face Chan and Taeyong in the doorway, “Voler.” 

“What?” 

“It’s French for ‘steal’ apparently,” Seungmin gestured his pen towards his desk, “it’s also the name of a huge hitman and robbery scheme across Asia. It’s believed to have stemmed from the Yakuza, but nothing’s confirmed. Our dear Hansol happened to be a loyal member.” 

Taeyong shook his head in disbelief, “I-I don’t understand, how could he betray us like that?” 

Seungmin sighed softly, “it paid very high, mainly because the stakes were so high. That doesn’t matter though, we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands now,” Seungmin’s hands sifted through the scattered information on his desk, a small noise of triumph leaving his soft lips once he retrieved the piece he was looking for, “they’ve got a base in Ilsandong-gu, Hansol was stationed at that specific base-” 

“Which means they were more likely to have involvement in Y/N’s robbery,” Chan voiced earning a satisfied nod from Seungmin. The curly-haired man turned to Taeyong, “you in?” 

Taeyong eyed the younger two momentarily, “without a fucking doubt.” 

Woojin grunted slightly as he supported Hyunjin with his left arm. They all knew the dangers this mission presented, but none of them quite preempted severe injury. Everything had been going to plan; Changbin sniped the first man who presented himself, Minho snuck up on the second, then all hell broke loose. There was blood everywhere, gunshots whizzing past barricades left and right, it was pure chaos. Hyunjin had been grappling with a rival member, trying to gain dominance in order to reach for the gun abandoned beside the two. He had almost reached it when the other forced a knife through his abdomen towards the upper right of his belly button. Changbin took the chance to shoot the perpetrator in the head after noticing the situation, desperately signalling to Woojin. Soon, all of SKZ were alerted of Hyunjin’s state, covering Woojin from gunfire as he half-dragged half-carried Hyunjin out of the warehouse. 

When you heard the door burst open, the last thing you expected to see was a groaning Hyunjin leaning on Woojin for support. You saw the blood staining his shirt, pouring from his abdomen, causing your stomach to churn and rid of the desire to eat the sandwich you’d just made. You hardly knew Hyunjin, or Woojin, or any of SKZ except for Felix, but you knew where your morals lied. If there was a man bleeding out in front of you, you’d do everything you could to save his life. There’s no denying that you didn’t have extreme confidence in your medical ability, at least in terms of operating on dying people, but you put that aside in the moment. You knew how the human body worked and how to save it, all you had to do was not fuck up in the process. Instantly, you snap into action, trailing behind Woojin towards their designated medical room. The only time you’d entered the room was when Felix forced you inside so Woojin could properly check the bruises on your neck. You had taken notice of the lack of anesthesia or oxygen masks to be used in desperate situations—Felix had once told you that Woojin always patched them up, but he also told you that no one had ever been fatally wounded. 

Woojin’s panic was evident in the way he hastily laid Hyunjin down on the operating table, eyes darting around frantically. With quick steps, you moved beside Woojin, “get a cloth or something to put in his mouth, it’ll muffle the screams,” the older nodded quickly. You turned your attention back to Hyunjin—he was paler than usual, sweating and groaning, his condition was only worsening. As soon as Woojin had shoved the cloth in his mouth you proceeded, ordering him to hold Hyunjin down to the best of his ability. You were glad Woojin was strong; Hyunjin would be in a hell of a lot of pain. Hyunjin’s neck tensed as you placed a hand on the knife’s handle, grunting slightly at the movement. You took a deep breath, laying a hand on his abdomen for support as you removed the knife from him as quickly as you could. A pained scream tore from Hyunjin’s throat, guttural and haunting. The cloth had done little to muffle the sound. Your hands applied pressure to the wound, frantically working to halt the bleeding before it was too late, all the while Woojin promised he would treat Hyunjin to a free meal if he got through the pain. 

Hyunjin’s chest raised up and down peacefully as he slept in the white bed of the medical room. After screaming and groaning his way through the process of getting stitches, he haphazardly downed a glass of water before falling asleep. You found it difficult to monitor whether the boy had made it or not due to the lack of heart monitor, the peaceful sounds of his breathing would have to do for now. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/N, really,” Woojin spoke warmly. You’d have previous assumptions about the mafia and gangs, mainly based on Hollywood flicks that dramatised the career choice, but the nine boys seemed to throw those all out the window. Woojin had a nurturing and calming presence, Felix was playful and giving, that Minho guy who’d fixed you up that night was quiet and respectful. To be fair, the rest of them could have entirely fit the stereotype of the mafia, you just hadn’t interacted with them enough to find out. After the events that brought you here, you decided it would be best to just stay out of the way and keep to yourself—both for your benefit and theirs. You didn’t want to interrupt what they had going on and you didn’t want to interact with anyone. With a polite smile you nodded your head, unsure of how to respond to Woojin. 

Chan stood in the doorway as you laid the damp cloth on Hyunjin’s head. Two days had passed since the stabbing and you’d devoted all your time to helping Hyunjin—you figured it would be a good way to repay them for letting you stay here, and you were the most qualified to do so. Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to get back to work but his body simply refused. Exhaustion wracked his limbs when he was awake and every time he attempted to sit up, let alone stand, his head felt like a bowling ball and weighed him back down. He’d fallen asleep not long ago, before Chan came to check on him. You weren’t aware of the older’s presence until he spoke up, startling you into a flinch of fright. 

“Thank you for doing this.” 

You half-smiled at him, “it’s okay.” 

The male sighed gently before walking into the room, the click of the door shutting behind him sliced through the room’s air. You felt his presence beside you as you refused to meet his gaze—he was far too intimidating even by just standing there, “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this,” his voice was gentler than before. Soft, calm, genuine—he probably wouldn’t fit the stone cold stereotype set by Vito Corleone in The Godfather, “we’ll figure out a safer place for you to go, but, in the meantime, just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. I truly am sorry that you got dragged into this.” 

You turned your head in order to meet Chan’s gaze. It was soft, genuine, and almost broken. You got the feeling that he didn’t enter this lifestyle willingly, that he knew exactly what it was like to suddenly be affiliated with a lifestyle you had little to no prior knowledge about. Chan wasn’t here by choice, but he stuck by it. He followed through with what fate served him and he built an empire from it, he found a family to live through the darkest of days. You admired that more than he could know, “I will. Thank you for what you’ve done.” 

Chan didn’t voice it, but he saw your arrival as a potential opportunity. You were familiar with medicine and how to properly patch someone up after they receive a life-threatening injury. Rather than losing two fighters when someone is injured, surely it would be better to have a designated nurse who could stick to the job, instead of forcing Woojin to rush through life-saving surgery in order to make it back to a mission in time to drive everyone back to the house. Chan knew it was a desperate deal, stupid and selfish in all honesty, but your arrival could’ve been a long-term blessing in disguise. After all, Chan’s life had been largely riddled with bad luck, perhaps karma had finally taken mercy on him. 

At least a month had passed since the incident—you really had no concept of time in this place—and Hyunjin was slowly, but surely, recovering with no sign of infection. You’d also seen his bare abdomen one too many times at this point since he insists on being shirtless―he avidly insists “it’ll be easier than fucking up my shirt.” Aside from monitoring his recovery and trying not to stare at his perfectly sculpted abdomen, you’d began to form a good bond with Hyunjin during your time together. You never talked to him until the incident, mainly because you never had a reason to leave the room you were staying in, and you couldn’t deny you were slightly mad with yourself for not conversing sooner. He was entertaining to talk to, a little bit of a drama queen sometimes, yet intelligent and open-minded. Hyunjin had a good mix of personality traits, you slightly envied him for such. Surely conversing with someone like yourself was bland and repetitive. 

Of course it was unbeknownst to you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth; Hyunjin had taken an interest in you since you began caring for him. All he had known about you prior to your care was that you and Felix had been good friends for a while, you were studying at university, and your shit got rocked by someone you didn’t even know―it was an unfortunate turn to say the least. The fact it happened to you made Hyunjin curse the forces that caused it; there was no reason for you to be dragged into this kind of unforgiving, inescapable lifestyle when you had a heart of gold. He could vividly recall the conversation that prompted the revelation, it must’ve been two or more weeks into his recovery. 

“I assume you study nursing or something, right?” 

“Medical science, but close enough,” you shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Why medical science instead of becoming a doctor or something?” 

“We all die one day, I’d rather help find a cure for something than force people to suffer through it slowly.” 

Hyunjin hadn’t known how to respond to that, so he didn’t, but it resonated with him. The whole reason he’d joined the business, this kind of inescapable lifestyle, was to earn enough money to pay for better treatment for his mother. He got close, really damn close, but he just didn’t get there in time. The first non-business phone call he got was to inform him about his mother’s passing, he hadn’t received another since. 

It was evident to Hyunjin, and every other member, that you were incredibly smart―a fact Felix would boast as if it was his own. Your skills, mainly in the science field, could come in useful to the gang: you had a good medical understanding, knew which chemicals could do harm or hinder a person momentarily. Chan was intrigued by your abilities and more than willing to take you on board, but no one ever joined without the approval of every member. Gaining such had been a difficult task, with Felix insisting that he didn’t want to see you hurt or in harm’s way―his mind quickly changed when Jeongin asked “wouldn’t it be just like a sleepover?” Hyunjin wasn’t as easy to persuade. He didn’t share the fact he was hesitant, but he didn’t need to. It was written all over his symmetrical face. 

Truthfully, Hyunjin had grown a little too close to you during his recovery, obliviously until he had a startling epiphany. You were the last thing he saw when he fell asleep, the first thing he saw when he woke up. You cared for him more than yourself, it was evident in your under eye bags and weight loss ― to the point where he had refused to eat unless you were eating with him. When he looked at you, the evening sunset highlighting you perfectly and your hair unstyled, yet sitting neatly on your head, he knew he was in deep. Regarding his feelings, he had two concerns: whether you felt the same way, and whether Felix would be accepting of his feelings and approve him as a candidate for your love; he didn’t need the added possibility of you fucking dying to become the third concern. At the end of the day, he supposed it didn’t matter. Felix would never want anyone to hurt you, and even if he didn’t intend to, Hyunjin knew he would inevitably end up doing so. 

When Chan proposed for you to join their gang, you were hesitant to say the least. For you, there was no desperate situation in which you needed cash quickly, no reason to put yourself in harm’s way. It was dangerous, Chan admitted that to your face, but he promised you consistent protection and a position that didn’t include staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Y/N, you’ve been here for four months already. How many times have you been hurt?” 

You didn’t like his persuasiveness, or the fact he was right. Since you moved into their guest bedroom you’d felt safer, no longer feeling eyes follow you or whispers of your name in the middle of the night. There was a small part of you that wanted to decline the offer, return home to your apartment and never look in the eyes of Chan or Hyunjin ever again. Of course, that was only a small part of you. Although you hated to admit it, you knew you’d never be able to return to that apartment. Not without seeing the blood all over again, feeling the breath leave your lungs or hearing unexplainable noises elsewhere in the apartment. With a soft movement of your head, you agreed, “okay.” 

Chan smiled with a strong nod, he was fond of you after all, as were the others in the group. It seemed that everyone was in support of the decision, especially your freckled friend who beamed as he exclaimed, “it’ll be like an eternal sleepover!” 

“That sounds like a nightmare if you’re involved,” Seungmin deadpanned, but his stoic expression was quickly replaced by an amused smile at Felix’s pout. Though, everything wasn’t as it seemed. Hyunjin, as much as he wanted to be, wasn’t excited. You joining the gang ― regardless of whether you would be in the middle of the action ― meant seeing you everyday. Seeing you everyday meant realising how much he admired you. And admiring you meant he would only fall deeper. How could he tell anyone that, though? Such an objection would send a rift of embarrassment, discomfort, awkwardness through the house; everything would fall. There was no time for silly crushes. All he could do was admire you from afar and ache every time you walked away from him, completely oblivious to how he felt. When did he become so weak? Hyunjin didn’t like feeling vulnerable, and that’s exactly how you made him feel. With a soft sigh, he decided it would be better to just stay away. 

It was a solid plan―for a month, until Hyunjin was injured again in a trade gone wrong. If he was being completely honest with himself, which he recently was not, the constant thought of you kept him from concentrating during the trade. He felt so out of it, blocking out the sounds of his non-biological brothers yelling as a bullet whizzed towards him. No, all he saw was the way you looked so ethereal in the light, the way you would always be just out of reach. All he could think about with you, there was no time to consider the scars being etched in his abdomen. Faintly, he could feel the burning in his chest, Chan’s arms dragging him away as bullets rang out from Changbin’s position on the roof. He didn’t register being put in the car, or Chan demanding he keep his eyes open with a hand pressed tightly against his chest. He could feel his feet dragging slightly as Chan and Woojin dragged him inside, the sight of Hyunjin’s pale face and bleeding chest forcing Seungmin, Minho and Jeongin to abandon their intense game of uno. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, shit,” Chan and Woojin couldn’t find the time to scold Jeongin’s language, too concerned with the dying boy in their arms. Jeongin’s feet pounded up the stairs, throwing your door open and tugging you to the first aid room. The confusion on your features transformed to gut-wrenching worry as soon as you caught sight of Hyunjin, his shirt off and a cloth being stuffed in his mouth―you couldn’t tell whether it was Minho or Woojin who was holding him down while the other gathered the necessary equipment, everything seemed to blur as you jumped into action. You’d found someone willing to sell you, an unlicensed medical student, anesthesia, but it was due to arrive next week―just your luck. Chan’s hands clamped on Hyunjin’s legs, Seungmin turned away to avoid the gruesome sight, Jeongin lingered by the door. 

“I’m sorry,” the words came out as a whisper as you took the scalpel from Woojin, slicing across where the bullet had entered. The entry hole was too small to get it out safety―who were you kidding, you weren’t even sure if you could get it out. The cloth only slightly muffled the pained groan Hyunjin let out, gosh, you wished that anesthesia could’ve come sooner. Screams of agony tore from his throat as tweezers worked to remove the bullet, the writhing of his legs causing anxiety to rise in your chest. 

“Keep him still,” Woojin ordered. One sudden move and you’d live with the crushing guilt of knowing you let Hyunjin die. Hyunjin seemed to vaguely register Woojin’s words, opting to tense his muscles rather than squirm away from the pain. Seungmin covered his ears with a solemn expression while Jeongin looked away in discomfort, the shrill cries continuing. It was close, too close for your liking, to hitting Hyunjin in a fatal area or embedding deeply in his chest. 

“I got it,” you mumbled as the bloody metal was dumped in the dish beside you. Woojin ushered everyone out of the room, Hyunjin’s screams of agony downgrading to groans. 

“Give me a call if you need anything,” the oldest closed the door behind him. You heard the front door slam open and shut with frantic footsteps, marking the return of Felix, Changbin and Jisung. Words were calmly and indistinguishably spoken by Chan. Though, it didn’t matter what he was telling them, your priority was making sure Hyunjin wouldn’t cease breathing. His eyelids were fluttering shut from exhaustion, an action that would flare alarm in your chest. 

“Please, don’t fall asleep.” 

The cloth was removed from his mouth when it was over, your hand raking his hair away from his sweaty forehead, ridding of the uncomfortable sensation. A sigh passed your lips, voice soft as you spoke, “you need to stop making a habit out of this,” it was directed towards Hyunjin, but you weren’t sure he heard it. 

Hyunjin wanted to respond, something flirty he could blame on his disorientation and pain, but you were already urging him to down some bottled water. As you cleaned the utensils, Hyunjin allowed his eyes to flutter closed, whispering a gentle “thank you, Y/N.” 

Time passed without your acknowledgement; had it been weeks, months? It all blended together, you couldn’t be certain. Hyunjin was close to recovery, but not quite there. Frankly, you were getting tired of his occasional complaints about not “being in action”. Part of you hoped he’d stay out of action if it kept him safe, but you knew that wasn’t an option in this kind of lifestyle. The roots of his hair were coming through, the dirty blonde darkening to have a light brown tone instead. It was the little things that were becoming noticeable as you spent more time with him; the moles on his face, the way the sun seeped through the window and reflected so clearly in his eyes. He sat on what was referred to as the ‘operation table’―except it wasn’t padded and was likely meant for veterinarians―as you searched for mild pain medication. When you turned around, you couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him. His head was turned away from you, gazing wistfully out the window, the setting sun illuminating his honey skin in rays of golden sunshine. He looked like a statue from Greek mythology, sculpted by the Gods to embody perfection, frame marked with the scars of a warrior. They littered his abdomen, one from the stabbing, one from the bullet, one on his lower back that Woojin had patched up for him before you came ― it was obvious in the way it was majorly faded. A sigh passed the male’s plump lips, looking down at his fidgeting hands before looking up at you. If only you knew what he thought about you. How he felt you were incomparable, the finest piece of art to ever be masterfully painted. The oversized white shirt you wore contrasted your glowing skin and hung around your figure in an unfitted, yet still accentuating, manner. It wasn’t quite long enough to hide your blue pyjama shorts from sight. You approached him quietly, holding out the painkillers and a glass of water. Pulling yourself on the table, you sit beside Hyunjin as he downs the painkillers and watch the sunset. He glances over at you curiously, gulping down a mouthful of water, “you seem to be pretty good at saving lives, why aren’t you a doctor already?” A light laugh passed your lips. 

“Because I’m not studying to become a doctor, and I haven’t spent, what? Nine years studying?” 

“It takes nine years to become a doctor?” Hyunjin’s eyes almost bulged out of his skull. You shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Something like that,” a comfortable silence settled between the two of you, watching as the sun swam closer to the horizon, “besides, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the pressure of saving someone’s life.” 

A chuckle sounded from Hyunjin, “you say that, yet you’ve saved me from death twice.” You grew silent, he looked at you knowingly. The thought had never crossed your mind, you didn’t want to consider the possibility of Hyunjin dying―you didn’t want to imagine any of them dying, Hyunjin was the only one who’d come close so far. 

“Yeah, but that’s… different.” 

“How is it different?” Hyunjin looked towards you with a quirked eyebrow; you often wondered that too. You refused to look at him, too afraid of spilling all your secrets with one glance―but they came out in whispers, regardless. 

“Because… I can’t live a life where you’re dead.” 

The words almost slipped by him, blending in with the light breeze swirling outside, but he caught them. In one sentence, Hyunjin had the answers to every question that’d swarmed his brain since the week after his stabbing. There was no hesitation in his actions, cupping your left cheek in his hand and turning your face towards him. The sun glistened in your eyes, highlighting the enchanting colour of your orbs, shadows danced lightly on your face. In that moment, he wanted you to know that you wouldn’t lose him, no matter what. His eyes fluttered shut as his head dipped down, fulfilling the dream he’d chased since you first saved him. Your lips pressed together in a warm embrace, melting together as if they were made for each other. His tongue swiped at your lower lip, asking for access that you granted. As the sun rays of gold heated your skin and framed your soul, Hyunjin swore he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.