#The best he can do is wait out a few centuries under the assumption that his lover will tire of him eventually and free him to this task

[y-rhywbeth2]

I'll cling to my "Durge remains an outsider and quasi-deity" headcanon 'til the world ends and won't let go, but I suppose there's a potential story in Jergal rendering them fully mortal, because mine... would not take the theft of their divinity well. (Having been forged and used as a murder weapon and other things beside from "birth", with promises of godhood and destiny whispered in your ear your entire life... all this warping your mind, and then being brutally murdered, having everything you were stripped away and told to live a normal life with all that blood and filth on your tainted flesh, and your mind warped and twisted into obscene shapes, left behind in a world you don't belong in... yeah no. That's not working out well with this guy.)

After a few subsequent rage freak outs the cycle would just begin anew as it continued in Bhaal; adventuring in search of power, researching gods and ancient powers to hunt down and slay for their divinity. Maybe the hunt should start with the Dead Three... Myrkul went down easily enough... Doesn't have to be a full god; just so long as he's not forced to be a person.

That or he'll just find a way to annihilate his soul.

[artisticmenace]

Hii!! I keep forgetting but I always wanted to ask! On your intro page(?) it mentioned a project of yours called ‘those days’?

I’m REEEEAAALLY interested on learning more about it!!! Lore drop?

IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY FOR CENTURIES

so basically Those Days is a comic that i am currently making. its about two guys, Scott and Rodney who are both 58 and live in the midwest(because i do). Scotts sister Deb has just passed away so his great nephew, Danny comes down. The story is them telling him(and this chick named Candy, which im still figuring out how to introduce) about their life and how they met. I have over fifty issues written, but none released because after a while, it was kind of a chore, and i wasn't sure if anyone was interested! so THANK YOU SOOOOO MMUCH for asking about it!

Scott is based off of those "bad" kids that are actually really nice and are sort of vigilantes. Rodney is an easy bullying victim and even though he could totally do something about it, he doesnt.

this is very much a story about people and what they are and how your initial judgment is not always the correct assumption. its also very much how the key word in the last part of that is ALWAYS. its about life.

ill leave some character intros under the cut i case you want those too bc i could blab all day about them. scott and rodney may or may not be my sons. my boys. there will be art too. probably silly art. mostly the main group of characters. not their families though because i have barely drawn them(character design is tricky)

if you want to see all my silly drawings, they'll be tagged #those days comic or with the characters full name. but yeah THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT THAT!!! I HAVE MOTIVATION NOW!!!! ok character rant under the more heeeheee

This is Scott

Scott has quite possibly the worst rbf ever and he looks like a scary mean guy. he steals his moms makeup because he can and he wears black eyeshadow 24/7. in reality, hes very nice and also has depression. hes a male MANIPULATED and has 6 semi terrible ex gfs. he is sort of homophobic at the beginning which is important to his lore. but even being a sad son of a bitch he can still beat the hell out of someone with a baseball bat. which leads to my next point. hes an adrenaline junkie. another design thing im slowly figuring out is simplifying his tattoos. theyre all on his torso and theyre all flowers. he loves flowers.

ROOOODNEYYYYY!!!!!

a lot of the time im trying to figure out how to draw him better tbh. Rodney has a prey animal stare. and he behaves much the same. hes pretty chubby but hes also fairly strong. he is very much a victim of child abuse but instead of becoming a bully, he just kinda gives up. he doesnt really have motivations outside of survival and hes not sure why. in fact, the primary reason he stuck around scott after meeting him was because scott believed him immediately after he said he didnt do something and made him feel safe. under the surface of being a prey animal, hes also incredibly angry. angry about a lot.

LUCY CAMPBELL EVERYBODY!!!

i dont draw her a lot...

Lucy is scotts lesbian ex gf and best friend ever. she kind of pushes them together because she knows too much. shes incredibly easy to talk to and people would confess to basically anything to her. design wise she also has a terrible rbf and DONT BE FOOLED!!! SCOTT STOLE HER LOOK WITH THE EYESHADOW!!! she also has lots of tattoos and actually gave scott all of his.

JORDAN AND DIANE (theyre kind of a set)

again. barely draw them and diane has had a few revisions.

diane and jordan are very much gay and in love. diane's family is like. the only immigrant family for miles. shes very nice but fairly cynical. shes very used to the notion that she has to find her way in the world and that if she doesnt fight, she wont survive. jordan is anxious as hell and dianes sister HATES her because she knows that jordan is a lesbian and is in love with diane. jordan also doesnt know why or how shes alive.

edward! ive only drawn him once.

eddie is lucys adopted brother. hes brilliant and silly. also gay as hell. idk if youve realized but almost none of these people are straight. edward isnt a very developed character because he is very much a supporting static character.

clyde and parker

clyde and parker are the two main members of scotts gang. its not really a gang but it might as well be. they dont really become important until the whole 1992 thing. youll find out. clyde was scotts best friend for a long time before he started hanging out with rodney. they have some very complicated history. diversity win! clyde finds out that he, too, is bisexual and gets with eddie! i dont know if ill wver bring that up in comic.

so thats basically the main cast of characters youll see in the comic. THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!! SORRY I YAPPED SO MUCH HAHA.

the comic will be release on a separate blog called @thosedayscomic there isnt really much on there except a mini comic that takes place around 1996, scott and rodneys thirties. its just scott getting home from work and going to sleep haha.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Stabbed and Salacious [6]

*****Here's your warning. Be on guard.*****

The start to my stream with Ash, Larry, Sally, and Todd tonight has been uncomfortably... serene.

When I imagine any scenario with Sally involved, that's not a feeling I can even think of associating with him. So the simple fact that he's not addressing me too much and that he has a cheery lilt to his voice makes me feel nearly sick with anxiousness.

He must be smug about my obvious loss on Discord earlier. 

Not to mention, after I got caught, everyone dipped out of the chat and I didn't even bother defending myself. How would I even come back from that? But at the same time, I'm filled with this incredible need for a vendetta. I don't know how to save myself from this.

What's worse is my stupid attraction to this godawful Sally Face has only grown. I find myself flinching at every single word he says because it sounds different tonight. Maybe I'm still recovering from his photo, or maybe I'm not even that crazy. Maybe he's making his voice sound so seductive on purpose.

Definitely a possibility.

"Come on out, my little victims," Sally face purrs. His words are purposeful and absolutely vicious. I never should have gotten on tonight. To say that I'm quaking in my seat while I try to get a handle on this game (which is new to me) is the understatement of the century. I can't help but roll my eyes at myself for being so ridiculous.

Earlier, we started our streams with a couple rounds of Among Us and, surprisingly, Minecraft. Now we're all playing the Friday the 13th game and Sally's playing Jason. What fantastic luck.

I'm trying to hide wherever I possibly can with what time and mobility I have. It's my first time playing and I have no idea how to work anything. I don't even quite know how the game works, so I'm open bait to the one man who wants revenge on me most in this world.

Not only am I fighting for my life, I'm fighting for my dignity. My head is just above the water in this sticky situation I've gotten myself roped into and I need a good win to keep my head above water right now. Otherwise, I'll have to pull a y/n and change my name again. It's what I'm good at.

"I think I saw a little foot over there," Sally murmurs, more so to himself. The statement makes me stiffen up though and I stand completely still in the wide open spot I'm in on the map. He could be talking about anyone, but under the assumption that he's talking about me, I think my best option is to stop moving altogether.

Still, I bite my lip nervously as I wait, listening to the sound of my rapid heartbeat that only grows stronger as the seconds pass. Not a word is spoken between our group and the ensuing silence only makes my internal panic even worse. 

My heart is screaming at me to keep moving in case Sally sneaks up on me, but my brain is trying to rationalize everything and tell me that I need to relax. 

The thing is that the few sane parts of me know that the odds have been against me since the second I got involved with Sally. In truth, I was fucked from the start.

But I don't hear any footsteps around me. Nothing's happening.

So I follow my heart's rushed commands and start moving slowly, looking for a new spot to run to and hide.

A hum reverberates through my headphones and a rush of air leaves my body. I'm so suddenly tense that my stomach aches as it turns in on itself. My head is filled with waves of thoughts and emotions that just can't grasp at the sound I've heard. And deep on the inside, all of my organs are raging over the thought that I wasn't able to hear that in person, and that I won't be able to hear something as pretty as that again.

It had to have come from Sally-- the pitch and tone matched him perfectly, even the slight rasp to his clear voice. 

I take a deep breath, trying to keep it as quiet as possible as I attempt to dispel my overwhelming thoughts that are doing their best to drown every little bit of my mind. 

"I know you're there, Larry," Sally drawls. "I love a chase. Don't you dare hide from me." A low, short chuckle follows his words before he says, "Run."

I bring a hand to my lips, cussing quietly over my slightly trembling fingers. 

Never in my life have I ever been so spell-bound and wonderstruck by just a few words. There has to be some kind of rhyme, reason, or magic behind the art. Especially since it's Sal. He must know the logistics of the perfect sound, frequency, and longevity of each syllable he speaks in order to make him sound so alluring. 

Paying too close attention to his words is the equivalent to trying to pet a wild tiger. It's beautiful, enchanting even and you feel drawn, but the bite isn't going to be worth it.

But the overwhelming desire to indulge in my desperation and yearning is quite literally incriminating to my heart and mind. I shouldn't get too close to him or his appealing nature. It'll only get me into trouble in the end.

So I cross my legs, gulp down the urge to make bad decisions while recording a live stream, and run off to a new place at the sound of Larry's frantic cackles.

Larry gets killed, of course. It's a fun moment where he runs past me, screaming bloody murder and laughing hysterically in fear the entire way. I watch from the shadows as Sally chases after him, light giggles following his form.

From there on, Ash and Todd get killed too. And then it's just Sally and I alongside a few other counselors who are running for their lives.

But I know he's looking for me.

I've been hiding for an eternity, waiting for Sally to grow tired of looking for me so he'll plow through the other players. Hopefully I can just find my way out of here.

I have a bad habit of treating this game like Dead By Daylight. I have an inkling of a feeling that I can actually survive, but I probably won't be able to.

A quick, anxious glance at my stream shows over seven thousand people watching me. My viewers have gone up significantly and it irks me a bit knowing I can't talk to them while being pursued by Sally.

"Come on out, bitch," Sally lazily says. It's a lot easier to ignore his attractive attributes when he treats me like this, so for once, I don't mind the insult. At least it's not his distractingly charming voice and words.

Still, my eye twitches a bit as I hold my breath, noting the moment he passes by me. I hope I've blended into the shadows well enough, simply waiting for the moment I can get him away then run to victory.

His feet move a bit farther away from me and I close my eyes, not realizing that a rush of adrenaline has spiked because of my near death experience. Crazy how this game gives me such realistic reactions.

"You're around here somewhere and I'm aching to get some blood on my hands," Sally slowly says, an amused sway to his deep voice that sounds as harmonic and entrancing as an electric guitar and bass playing perfectly at the same time.

Fuck this guy.

I don't say a word as I watch him saunter off in the opposite direction from me.

Once I feel that he's far enough away, I bite my tongue and crawl out of my hiding spot. I have a clear shot to victory, I just need to not screw up. And if I snap at Sally due to an unjust stroke of confidence, I'll fuck myself over. It's better to let him have this little victory for now because, overall, I'm leaving Camp Crystal Lake alive, motherfucker.

I turn slightly, setting my sights on a car not too far away from me. I just need to get there and fix it, then I'll be on my way.

My character ambles over and my chest aches with every step out in the open. The ominous darkness and eerie noises as well as the knowledge of a killer close by fills me with unease. Anything could happen and being too imbedded in the game-- like I'm actually walking through a scary forest myself-- is dangerous. 

The last thing I want to do is scream loud enough for my neighbors to hear it or terrorize myself too badly.

I shake my head, trying to remind myself that I won't be hurt. I only need to win.

My neck is cool with sweat and I pinch my lips together, curling my knees up to my chest as I grow more apprehensive upon reaching the car.

But a damn knife flies into my back. An alarmed squeal leaves my lips as I jump in my seat and lean forward, making my character run for its life. Fuck the car, I can hide out for a while longer.

A menacing chortle that quickly grows closer sends chills through my body and I huff out quick breaths, trying to weave in and out of trees. I break into a full sweat and frantically wipe my clammy hands on my skirt, hoping I can actually get away from fucking Sally.

Another knife hits me, and then I'm enveloped in hands, looking into the zombified eyes of Jason Voorhees as he brutally pulls my jaw from the rest of my head. 

I lean back in my chair, listening to Sally's remorseless laughs as he looks down at my lifeless character. I'm filled with a violent fury that's incomparable to any other emotion I've felt in the past few days since working with this monstrosity.

"I think that's the most delicious blood bath I've seen all game," Sally says, a deep chuckle following and increasing the heat in my glare that no one can see. "A vendetta completed."

"Fucking dick," I seethe quietly, knowing he won't hear me anyway right now. He still has other counselors to kill.

My boiling anger increases a notch or two while watching Sal diligently and slowly take out every other player in the game. 

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth and my jaw is clenched tightly. I want to beat him at this game so badly but I just keep losing. He's hardly even trying to fight me all that much because it's so easy for him to overpower me-- that pisses me off. I'm tired of letting him come out victorious. My turn is long overdo.

I let my hands drop to my table and my eyes languidly wander across the screen as another counselor dies. 

With a groan, I lift a hand to rub my eyes, scrunching up my face in irritation. How is he pinching every single nerve of mine? He's like a crab claw that won't let go of my finger-- a painful fucking burden.

I hold all this anger toward him. I've focused it into one laser beam directed at him and I'm counting down the immeasurable days until I'm able to finally get everything out and beat him down with my words. 

And yet, I still dig my palms into my eyes at the sound of his laugh, readjust my skirt, cross and uncross my legs, talk myself through the endless fluttering in my stomach. I even have to hold back smiles at his clever phrases and slick tongue. 

Wish I had his slick tongue in my mouth, speaking of which, but I'd also genuinely like to punch him in the face.

Battling the desire to have him in any way I can alongside my deep vexation for the asshole is exhausting. I kind of just want to sleep on this entire situation, leave it for me to stress over tomorrow.

Why does he have to be hot, smooth, and an asshole? Why couldn't he have been sweet and kind like he was to Lexi?

By the way, I'm just beginning to accept that he's never going to call or text Lexi. I'm not sure if I'm happy or ticked about that. On the one hand, if he would call Lexi and express some interest, I could fuck this attraction out of my system. On the other hand, him messaging Lexi would out me immediately. He could find out my phone number from Ash, Larry, or Todd and that's some fire that I don't want to mess with.

"That's a win for me," Sally sighs out pridefully, gaining my attention again. The game has ended.

"You're fucking... damn," Larry breathes, seemingly at a loss for words. "You're too good. I don't want you to play a killer ever again."

"Hey, maybe it's just in my genes. Not my fault you can't compete with this skill," Sally boasts, humming contently to himself. Fuck, I wish he'd stop doing that. It feels like his voice circles me and leaves me caged in the memory of that stupid sound.

"I'd hope not," Todd scoffs lightly. "I'm getting off for the night though, so I'll see everyone when we get on again."

We tell Todd goodbye, then Larry goes not too long after him. With the three of us left, we end our streams too, but I stick around while Ash and Sally chat.

Truth be told, I'm not quite sure what I'm waiting for. Maybe a chance to bitch at Sal or maybe it's just to hear his hypnotizing voice for a bit longer.

"Are you going to get off or what?" The sudden snarky tone makes me focus in on Ash and Sally's conversation that had been drowned out by my thoughts for a bit.

Ash is quiet, the only sign of her presence being a muffled groan. That clearly tells me that the dickhead himself is talking to me.

"Oh, shut up," I bite out, squinting my eyes at my computer screen. "I'm not even bothering you."

"Your presence pisses me off. Leave," he simply replies, his delicious voiced tainted with nonchalance and agitation. 

"You're such a dick," I spit out venomously once I can't come up with anything else to say. Knowing that he has an advantage over me yet again is making my chest bubble with barely contained anger.

I glare down at the microphone that Ash was kind enough to send me years ago when she and I used to run around our map in Seven Days to Die. Usually, the device brings me memories of joy, but tonight I can't gain any positive feelings from it.

"And you're a foul-mouthed bitch," Sally Face replies, his voice seemingly more amused than angered. Though, I can definitely detect some aggravation in there.

His response makes me itch. I haven't said more than maybe three words to him tonight-- before we started arguing of course. So where does he find the audacity to call me foul-mouthed?

I snort. "Yea, okay. So what does that make you then? A stuck-up nobody? Your fans only know the idea of you." 

My pickings are slim and I'm just grabbing onto any little option I have. I know I'm practically fighting fire with gasoline considering Sally doesn't show himself for his own personal reason, but I have my own reasons too. I can push his buttons on the topic because hitting me in the same place and on the same level wouldn't be enough to top the damage I did. He's smart and methodic so he at least knows that much.

I suddenly notice that Ash is missing from our group call. She must have left.

Frowning, I lift my phone to send her a text and apologize. I'm even about to just hang up on Sally too. What's the point of arguing? It's only aggravating and it's not like he'll ever explain why he hates me so much.

But Sally Face grunts and the sound makes a flame of irritation light up inside me again. "The same goes for you, you fucking brat," he spits. "No one knows who you are. At least they see me-- I've never even seen anything above your neck."

"You'd be the last person to see me, asshole." My words come out quick and aggressive, I even lean closer to my computer, simmering with audible rage. "I don't know why you have such a problem with me," I continue despite knowing that my attempt to get any reasoning out of him is futile. 

How could I have fucked up twice with him and still not understand how? I've never even met him as y/n and he still can't stand either side of me, with the exception of Lexi, of course. I want to know what I did. Being the target of hate with no explanation maddens me beyond comprehension.

Honestly, he probably doesn't understand why the fuck he hates me either. He just dislikes  things and people out of spite. He hates because he's angry at or about something. He converts hurt feelings into negativity-- that has to be the reason why he's so aggressive and rude. What else could it possibly be?

Obviously, my spit-fire persona doesn't make his resentment toward me any better. I'm on his level and he can't win on command. He's still an open book so I can tell that losing our battles pisses him off too.

"You just show up out of nowhere and become besties with my group," Sally Face scoffs. "Like who the fuck are you? Did you pay Ash to play with you or something? You were nonexistent a week ago. I wish you'd have stayed that way. All you do is fucking bitch and yap like a little chihuahua."

That's a lead, one that I already had my suspicions about, in fact. That still doesn't justify his behavior though.

I bite my lip, my fingers quivering under the weight of my fury as I grip onto the edge of my desk. "If you weren't such an asshole, I wouldn't have to bitch and yap. All you do is talk over me." I gulp, licking my lips and trying to shake the fighting response out of my mind. I should just leave this alone for the night. I shouldn't entertain it at all. But I continue anyway. God only knows why. "It feels like you're constantly choking me--"

"You like that though, don't you?"

There's an almost unnoticeable difference in his voice. His tone is just a bit deeper, the connotations a tad darker, and he drags the words out slowly-- like each sound is a melody waiting to be sung. 

But the problem here is that I do notice, and I acknowledge the change. I don't know what to make of it.

I'm struck into silence, my voice dying out as I struggle to catch the breath that's rushed out of my lungs. Did I hear him right? I know I couldn't have heard differently-- his voice was loud and clear-- but it doesn't make sense. Something like that wouldn't come from him and be directed at me. Ever.

Or would it? 

I think back to the day I sent everyone photos of me. When Sally wouldn't answer and got really defensive over Larry's joke about him masturbating to my pictures.

What if Larry wasn't too far off?

...No. There's no way.

Like the intellectual that I am, I force out a breathless, "What?" 

At this point, I'm waiting for some kind of confirmation on whether my internal war is won or lost. His voice alone makes me feel hot with need, but I don't want to chase an impossible daydream just because he's trying to get a reaction out of me. Which, honestly, he probably just wants to dig my grave even deeper by getting me to admit that I'm attracted to him. Why else would he say that I'd like to be choked?

Sally Face hums, the sound making my heart thump against my ribcage. My head feels fuzzy, like my brain is bouncing around on a fuck ton of bean bags. I can't take in as much oxygen as I would like to; my breaths come out rushed and heavy. Worse, my cheeks burn with more fury than a thousand suns colliding all at once. But worst of all is that I'm falling into that fantasy anyway-- a fantasy where I get to have my way with this insolent man-- whether that way be pleasurable or destructive. 

But right now, I'm wondering if he'd like to choke me too.

"You seem like the type of woman who enjoys a hand around your throat. I'm sure you just love the idea of my hand being the one to leave you breathless."

Has he crawled into my head?

Sudden heat pools between my thighs. I shift, crossing my legs as I blink at my screen, unable to get a single word out.

He sounds intrigued, curious, and just a little annoyed. If anything, it seems he's testing the waters and trying to see what he can make out of the tense situation he's dragged us into.

I lick my lips, hoping to lubricate my dry mouth a bit. It feels as though all of the moisture has traveled down to my core despite how badly I wish I wouldn't respond to Sally like this. Fuck, I shouldn't feel this way.

The way he's speaking, so dirty and promiscuous, makes me feel differently about him for the first time in days. Acknowledging attraction is different from chasing dangerous opportunities.

Suddenly, I can see it. Most of all, I wish I could feel it. The way his ring clad fingers would squeeze my throat, leaving me breathless and begging for more. The way he'd ask me to beg-- we all know he would, he loves when people fall at his feet-- the way his cool skin would feel against me. How would he smell? Like cologne and shampoo maybe, musky but sweet. Or maybe he'd smell the same way he did when we first met.

I take a deep breath, choosing to remain silent as my hand inches toward my thigh. 

Hundreds of different thoughts race through my mind. Yea, maybe this is risky. But the way his voice alone has me dripping in an instant is just something I can't pass up. I can't even arouse myself this much, and Sally Face has managed to do it within two seconds. 

I have access to a pleasurably sick and twisted, possibly embarrassing, fantasy that I'll probably never get again. Ever. Because this is me and Sally Face-- two complete opposites.

No. I can't. I won't. I won't give him the satisfaction-- I won't give myself the satisfaction. I can handle up on the burning in my body and my raging pulse below later. 

I know he wants to damage my dignity, maybe even my reputation. He isn't being serious right now, he's just chasing another win in this longterm game we have going on.

"Your silence speaks numbers," Sally Face says, voice deep, raspy, and smooth. This is far different from the high pitched, aggressive voice he normally uses with me.

I keep trying to tell myself that he's just toying with me, trying to get some incriminating evidence of how fucking hot I think he is. But the way he speaks right now alongside his word usage is just dragging me further into the abyss of craving him even more.

He chuckles at my refusal to answer and the sound sends my brain into a frenzy. That's good. He's on top of his game tonight and it pisses me off, but turns me on all at the same time. How can someone do that? Talent like this shouldn't exist. It's incredibly dangerous.

The proof lies in the skirt bunched in my hands and the clenching of my thighs. Good God, how could just a laugh send me over the edge?

A whimper slips past my lips and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that Sally didn't hear. It could have been interpreted as me crying or something, but it sounded far too lewd-- though I'd never admit it to anyone other than myself. More than anything, I want him to skip over whatever this is and let me wallow in my pitiful lust for him in peace.

Sally hums again and his next words make the decision that I couldn't force myself to take action on. 

"What a little slut," he seductively says, and I can feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. My mouth gapes and the insides of my thighs are soaked by now. What a fucking mess.

His voice drips with shameless desire, something I never could have expected, but fuck it sounds so good coming from him. "Are you touching yourself?" 

"No--" I rush to say with a raging blush on my cheeks. How could I do something like that over a call? Not to mention, how could I do it over him? I definitely thought about it, but there's no way I could do that.

But, if this is all real and his unhidden desire isn't a facade... if we're really going to cross a boundary...

"Listen, Vi," he starts darkly. My thighs clench together tightly and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Just his damn voice alone. "Maybe your words don't normally work for me, but in this situation, I need to hear them. Silence is out of the question, so I'll ask you again. Are you touching yourself?"

I shiver at his use of my nickname, my lips parting. Maybe I wasn't doing much touching beforehand, but now I want to be able to tell him yes. He's never called me by name before and hearing it now, during a time of such heightened emotions, makes me yearn for a chance to hear him moan. To know that he'll get some kind of pleasure from just the thought of me, just the sound of my voice. 

My teeth clamp down onto my bottom lip as I nervously spread my legs a bit, trailing a hand over the inside of my thigh. The light touch makes goosebumps erupt on my skin, but it fills me with a sense of urgency. I'm ready to chase a high I don't get too often.

My fingers run over my panties, the sensation of my cool digits finally touching my heat after craving some kind of release for the past hour or so is erotic. Compared to every other time I've done this, it feels so much different now. Every light touch has me shaking uncontrollably and I've hardly done anything yet. 

My hand dips into my underwear and the tip of my index finger ghosts over my clit as I test the waters, thinking of all the ways the man on the other side of this call can bring me to the most extravagant climax I'll ever see in this lifetime. If only I just give in and let him.

And I think I'll do just that.

"I am now." I finally answer him, the words coming out as a breathy moan as I apply pressure, beginning to move my index and middle finger in slow circles. 

Pleasure erupts within me like a volcano, sending sweet tingles up my spine and rapturing heat to every part of my body. Fuck, just admitting such a thing makes this ten times hotter and I never would've imagined I'd be into something like this.

Sally and I's current circumstances are insane. I didn't think something like this was possible and I'm absolutely raving over my slow-building movements and the thought of how this is going to play out.

My pussy is dripping, my fingers slick without even having to do much work. Sally Face is something else-- talented in ways that I never thought were possible.

I'm faintly able to hear as Sally sucks in a harsh breath, then the sound of a zipper. 

My heart skips a beat then picks up speed, pounding so powerfully that I can feel it in every inch of my body. My eyes widen as I pause my movements, my body almost jolting from the lack of contact. 

I immediately return my fingers to my clit, using more pressure than I did before. I flinch, tilting my head down embarrassedly as I continue moving my digits, indulging in the addictive feeling of bringing myself pleasure because no one can do it as well as I can, though I think Sally may end up being good competition.

I let out a quiet moan that dies out quickly, but I know he hears it.

"Good," he says breathlessly. "Keep doing that. Touch yourself for me-- and you better only think of me."

My eyes shut in ecstasy and I throw my head back, releasing another soft moan that isn't nearly as nerve-wracking as the first. My hand travels over my soaked pussy and my fingers are working faster, handling the ache that only continues to build up.

Sally groans on the other end of the call, a shuddering breath leaving his lips that I wish I could see-- that I wish I could feel. My fingers quicken their pace, rubbing against my bundle of nerves in the most compelling way.

I imagine his hand taking the place of mine, sending me into an endless wave of pleasure-- taking me to heights of debauchery I could never dream of. If anyone could do it, it would be Sally Face. I have no doubts about that.

"Tell me exactly how it feels," Sally grunts, his voice shaking with the force of what he's undoubtedly doing. Just the thought makes the aching in my lower stomach grow and I yearn to see the look on his face. I long to see his hand working along his member.

I can't believe I got this lucky. What's more unbelievable is the fact that I managed to convince myself to actually cross this line with him.

Still, I feel more than just shy when it comes to finding an answer to his demand. He knows what I'm doing, I wish he didn't want me to say it. I don't... think I can say it. Doing it is one thing, but explaining it is something else entirely.

He lets out a frustrated noise. "Say it or I'll leave the call," he threatens, sending me down an even more fucked up path than the one I was already traveling on. His voice is like melting ice, coated in slick and filthy promises, but the looming threat of ending this for good is hidden underneath.

I might rot in my own mind for the rest of time, but I'll do anything to keep this up.

Biting my lip, I drag my fingers down, slipping them between my wet folds before bringing them back up to my clit to continue the erotic pleasure that I'm combining with just the sound of his voice.

"It feels so damn good. I'm thinking of how you look right now. Wishing it was your hands on my pussy instead of my own," I moan out, shutting my eyes again as I readjust my sitting position.

I spread my legs wider, stretching my shoulders as I go faster, applying more pressure.

"Good girl," he says between the tantalizing sounds of his hand stroking his cock on the other end of the line. His breath hitches with every other intake of air, a grunt or a whimper following soon after. "Tell me how much you hate me."

I laugh softly through my quiet moans, a salacious type of exhilaration taking over me and robbing me of my ability to rationally think. I'm too excited, too deep in the sensation of his voice and the dirty things he's saying to me. The disgusting things he wants me to say and, even more, the appraisal he's given even though he holds such strong disapproval toward me.

My hand slides lower and my fingers slip into my heat, the feeling of being filled up making a strangled groan leave my lips. I curl my fingers, hitting my favorite spot that has me mewling like a kitten. And despite feeling amazing already, I wish he was doing this.

"I hate you so fucking much," I groan, my voice high pitched and purely lustful. "You piss me off and I hate that all I want to do is fuck you lately. You hot, aggravating piece of shit." My voice falls into a sinful giggle again as a smile pulls at my lips.

I'm getting so damn close way too damn quickly.

My body is hot and quakes as I focus in on Sally's filthy words and sounds of pleasure, alongside my own delicious movements. What I wouldn't give to be with him at this exact moment. 

I'm almost shocked by my own thoughts.

Sally moans beautifully, the sounds of his squelching movements picking up speed. "Fuck, that's hot," he seemingly chokes out between the force of his brutal pace and the overwhelming feeling that's taking over his body.

The added image of his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, bringing himself to climax just because of the sound of me-- the idea of me-- brings me one step closer to the edge.

I add a second finger to my dripping cunt, thrusting them into myself even faster than before. I'm almost to the peak, just getting to the edge.

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much-- you have no idea," He says between gritted teeth before sucking in a strangled breath. "Which is why you're not allowed to cum. If you're so fucking desperate for it, you can wait until I have my hands on you."

A scoff leaves my lips and I only continue what I was previously doing, finding his command hilarious and attractive. Like hell I'll listen to him.

But I stop upon hearing Larry come into the call with an echoing scream.

I fly into a sitting position, my hand leaving its previous position. Harsh pants wrack my body as I shiver, growing aggravated over the pain of losing the climax I was so close to achieving. 

Sally's gone quiet too.

Fuck, did Larry hear us? Does he know what happened?

I'm quivering for an entirely different reason now, my flushed cheeks growing even warmer under the prospect of getting caught in the dirty act I stupidly agreed to. 

I... fuck. Did Sal and I really just do that? We must have. My fingers are soaked and so is my pussy. My heart is racing so quickly that I'm worried I'll flatline. My limbs are tense, slowly growing a bit sore as my orgasm continues to escape me. Not like I'll get that back tonight.

"Are you guys done arguing? Ash just told me you both haven't gone to bed yet and she left like ten minutes ago," Larry grumbles, adding a little giggle.

Oh, thank God. 

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes and leaning against the back of my chair again. I take a few breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. This situation could have turned out much differently, so I'm glad karma hasn't gotten me yet.

Surprisingly, I'm actually thankful that Sally wanted to be a dick in the middle of our erotic moment. It was like a heads-up for Larry's interruption.

I open my eyes, looking over at the discord call and... Sally's gone. He left.

An angry grin pulls at my lips as I chew on the inside of my cheek. That little bastard. 

________________

A/N:::::::::: holy fuck i'm so horrified to post this lmfao. I have never written actual smut in my life so using terms and situations i'm not used to is HARD (like sal's dick) but yeaaaa so i don't know if this is up to par? but hopefully i'll get more comfortable and slowly start to get better at it with time :3

fun fact: i had this smut scene written before i even wrote the first chapters of the story. this entire story is based on this one scene. i had to do some major editing to it since i actually developed a true plot since writing this, but i'm hoping it's improved (which i think it has) since i originally wrote it. 

anyway, i'm asking for feedback tonight! i know i need to improve my smut-writing skills so give me some tricks and tips please <3

as always, i love you all with my entire heart and i'm forever thankful for all the love and support! thank you all for reading <333

[cixthotshit]

A Cup of Rose Americano

Pairing: Bae Jinyoung x Original Female Character|Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Poor Girl/Rich Boy, Coffee Shop/Gangster AU (IDEK how I got here, just go with it)

Summary: There's more than meets the eye with every person, including Bae Jinyoung, the world's finest barista at Personal Barista Cafe

Word count: 4.7k

Rating/Warnings: Mature / Explicit Sexual Content: Porn With Some Plot, Kissing, Mirror Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie

Author’s Note: I wanted to write a fluffy Coffee Shop AU but NGL something else has been preoccupying my mind and the world building to this fic kind of went off the rails and transformed into a completely different story. Enjoy this smut, readers! I really want to explore this world a lot more but IDK if I can commit to anything beyond this RN. So please, please enjoy this! Sorry in advance for mistakes! I don't always catch everything when I proofread.

I always appreciate some feedback on my writings!

"Really, it'll be a...new coffee experience," Hyeon assured Sandy. She handed Sandy a green card. It felt like an expensive platinum credit card, the card made of metal, feeling heavy and cold in her hand. "All you have to do is fill out a survey after you get your free coffee. Once you make it inside, hand the card over to your barista."

"Aren't you supposed to find actual volunteers?" Sandy asked, looking at the shiny card. The only thing on the card was the name of the new test cafe, PB Cafe.

“Trust me,” Hyeon said with a grin. “You’ve never had coffee like this. This is free, too. You’re going to say no to free coffee? And I swear, this is really me saying it, their coffee is really good.”

“Fine, thanks for the free coffee.”

“Enjoy!” Hyeon turned her back to Sandy, most likely scanning for potential test subjects for her new marketing event. Being her best friend, Sandy was always her first test subject. She didn’t know if Hyeon’s bosses approved of her taking advantage of all the free stuff she was receiving.

Sandy walked over to a shop that was setup at the southwest corner of a 3 story building. The walls were white and the windows were covered by white curtains. “PB Cafe” was written in black on the front door, though there were no door handles. Standing in front of the door, Sandy noticed a black square pad beside the right side of the door. She pressed the green card to the black pad and jumped slightly as the glass door slid open. A short piano tune played, sounding old but familiar, reminding her of old Hollywood movies from the mid-20th Century.

Tentatively, she stepped in. Walking past the white curtains, she found herself inside a small room. At the back end of the room was a small bar with one wooden chair in front of it. It only took her 4 steps to reach the chair, so she pulled it out and sat down. The wall behind the bar slid down to the floor and a broad shouldered man walked out from what looked like a bright white light before the wall slid back up behind him.

Too shocked to react, Sandy set the green card down onto the smooth marble countertop. Her eyes couldn’t leave the face of her barista. He was very handsome and his small grin softened his masculine exterior. Wordlessly, he took the green card and placed it in the front left pocket of his black apron.

“Welcome to Personal Barista Cafe,” he said in a soft, sultry voice. “My name is Bae Jinyoung, your Personal Barista today. How shall I address you?”

“Uh, just call me Sandy, I don’t like formalities much.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sandy. If you don’t like formalities feel free to call me BaeJin or BaeBae.” She gave a soft chuckle and threw her hand over her mouth, feeling her cheeks warm up. Such a sultry man telling her to call him something as cute as BaeBae tickled her. “Is this your first drink with PB Cafe?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I don’t know anything about this cafe, except that you have good coffee.”

“A Personal Barista will make you a personalized drink,” he explained, pulling out a menu form. “Whatever you order, I will make it in front of you. If you want to know how I prepare your drink, please let me know and I will explain as I go. If you want small talk instead, I enjoy a small conversation as I prepare you a drink. If you want silence, for any reason, please don’t feel pressured to speak if you don’t want to.”

“Can I get an Americano?” she asked, after glancing at the long list of coffee drinks. The menu was simple and elegant, the writings were in cursive but the paper was black and the ink white. She liked the seemingly simple attention to detail. “How long have you been a barista, BaeJin?”

“Almost a year,” he replied. He poured fresh ground coffee into a metal contraption with a long neck. She pressed her lips together as her eyes were fixed on his skilled, large hands. He was using a device to compact the coffee grounds.

“Do you enjoy being a barista?”

“I do. It allows me to be creative. My regular job is stressful.”

He put the coffee grounds into the machine and pressed a few buttons. She watched him place a small white espresso mug under the spout of the machine. He grabbed a large white mug of coffee, and looked at her with a soft grin.

“This is your side hustle?” she asked. PB Cafe seemed like it paid well.

“Most people have more than one job these days,” he replied.

“That’s true,” she replied. “I have a day job and a night job.”

“What are your jobs?”

“I’m interning at a law firm, helping a paralegal out. I’m hoping to get my private investigator’s license soon.”

“You want to be a private investigator?” he asked.

“I want to be a lawyer,” she answered, “but having a private investigator’s license helps me pick up skills. Research is the true gift of being a good lawyer.”

“Research. You must be very smart and hard working.”

“You are sweet,” she said, resting an elbow onto the counter, leaning forward. “I wish my smarts and hard work were enough to give me success. I’m lacking in luck lately.” His eyes drifted away from the espresso machine and looked into her eyes. She felt her cheeks turn hot, realizing she had overshared. It’d been a sad thought, too. “I feel very lucky right now.”

“Sandy, I don’t mean to make assumptions about people but if I were to guess you are someone with expensive tastes,” he said. He pulled out two small brown glass bottles from a drawer. “But, you settle for less.”

“I..” she breathed out.

She should have been insulted, but her barista BaeJin was right. Sandy had always been envious of people who could afford designer things or had the means to go on extravagant vacations, but all of that had always been a dream. The closest she got was free shit from Hyeon. A drink from PB Cafe was likely three times that of a drink from Starbucks, and Sandy could only afford Starbucks for special occasions.

“Why are you saying this?”

“I want to make you a drink in which you will appreciate,” he replied, pulling out a single stemmed pink rose from under the counter, and handed it to her. She felt her cheeks flush with heat as she accepted it. “Refined, seemingly ostentatious, but simple and hopefully, delicious.”

He poured hot water from a glass kettle into the mug. She felt her cheeks turn hot again as he reached over and plucked a single petal from the rose she held. He tilted a single drop of liquid from one of the brown bottles onto the petal.

“Rose water,” he said to her as he locked eyes with her for a second. He placed the rose petal into the mug, letting it float in the hot water. He poured the espresso into the mug of water, and took a spoon to scoop out the wilted petal, tossing it away before handing the drink to her.

She gave it a sip, and shut her eyes, a smile on her lips. Using a flower as aromatic as a rose was difficult to pull off in cuisine. Oftentimes the rose aroma was too overpowering, reminding one’s nose of perfume instead of food. Baejin’s Rose Americano, though, was the perfect balance of a good cup of coffee elevated with some elegance, refined by the subtlest hint of a rose’s sweet scent. The warm breath she exhaled after a hot sip of Americano filled her senses with flowery comfort.

“This is the most...beautiful cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted,” she replied, setting the mug down when she was half finished. “It tastes...beautiful.”

He gave a small chuckle, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile any wider than she already was. He was incredibly cute, grinning in reaction to her compliment. How could a man exude the amount of sensuality like BaeJin yet be so cute that she wanted to squish him like a marshmallow?

“You like it?” he asked.

“I do,” she replied. “I didn’t know a cup of Americano could be improved. Thank you for this cup of coffee. You’re a gifted barista.”

“Thank you. I would love to make you another drink.”

“I’ll try to come back one day,” she said earnestly.

She sipped her drink and glanced at her phone. Thanking her talented, handsome (and cute) barista BaeJin one last time, Sandy finished her drink and sprinted out of the odd, surreal cafe. She had to get ready for work. Smelling the pink rose in her hand, Sandy smiled to herself. Who knew her barista would be the first man to give her a rose?

--

“Diamond! Malibu was accidentally double booked,” Danielle called out into the dressing room. “Can you give a lap dance in the Blue Champagne Room before going home?”

“Wait,” Sandy said, holding the gold hoop earring she’d just taken off her left earlobe, “I’m not going to chase Malibu for the flat fee. The last time I covered for her, not only did her John not tip me but I had to chase her for 4 days before she gave me the cash.”

“I have a hard time chasing her down, too,” Danielle said with a heavy sigh, handing her purple vape pen to Sandy to hold. She dug into her pink and purple Bedazzled fanny pack, and fished out a few bills. She handed a bag of clothing to Sandy. “Let me know if this John is handsy or out of line. He’s a new customer. You have five minutes, babe. Fix your makeup.”

Handing the vape pen back to her boss, Sandy put the cash into her purse before shutting and locking the drawer to her vanity. She put her earring back on and retouched her eye makeup and lipstick. Her locks of hair looked good as she combed her fingers through her hair, looking into the mirror before getting up to change.

Sandy hadn’t exactly planned on becoming a stripper, but during her freshman year in college, she took a class on feminist studies, specifically on sex work. What started out as a learning experience in respecting sex work, and educating herself on the legal struggles of sex workers’ rights, Sandy soon found herself stripping as a means of extra income. She herself was in need of money, and recognized her beauty was valued enough that she could make capital from it.

Having walked out on her dysfunctional family as soon as she turned 18, Sandy had been hustling on her own for years. She was still working towards a career in law, but in the meantime, she was balancing between her day job as an unpaid intern at a shitty law firm and her night job as a stripper at a club called Blue Paradise. Giving lap dances were only nice when she received good tips, but they didn’t happen often enough. All she wanted was a good tip.

Pulling out the outfit Danielle handed to her, she took off her clothes and put on her new outfit. She wore a neon pink G-string bikini bottom with her matching lace bra under a black pencil skirt and a white costume button up office dress shirt. She put on a loose blue tie around her neck, and put on a pair of thick black framed glasses, matching it with her black leather knee high boots. Apparently, this new customer had a librarian kink.

Walking down the hall, toward the other side of the back of the club, she entered the room with the blue door at the end of the hall. The Champagne Rooms, where customers received their private lap dances, were color coded. The Blue Room was where the clients with specific kinks went.

Opening the door, Sandy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and looked up to see her John seated on the black couch. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow over his body, making it hard for her to make out his face. She blinked, and closed her mouth, realizing that her customer was her barista from PB Cafe, BaeJin. It had been days since she had her cup of Rose Americano.

He was wearing a loosely worn grey sweater with black denim jeans. She didn’t think it was possible but he looked more handsome than she last remembered. Perhaps, with her body so close to his, knowing that he was there for devious reasons, her face flushed and her nipples hardened as heat rushed through her body from head to toe.

“BaeJin!” she said, forgetting her sexy librarian character.

“Don’t move,” he said, looking alarmed. She stood completely still, one hand on the door handle. “You’re a stripper, Sandy?”

“You...you remember me?” He nodded. “Stripping is helping me pay for my law degree.” She licked her lips and tilted her head, pushing her chest forward slightly. “I can give you what you want.”

“I can’t do this,” he replied, crossing his left leg over his right. His eyes left her, and diverted to the ground. Her ego was bruised. Not only did she need the money, but her vanity made her feel upset that he didn’t want a lap dance from her. “I should go.”

“I have to try to keep you here,” she said shyly, pressing her back against the door. “If I don’t, that means I’m not good at my job.”

“How long should we be in here for you to be considered good at your job?” he asked, his eyes returning to meet her gaze.

“You don’t want a lap dance? Am I not cute? My tits too small?”

He gave a chuckle, and looked away when his eyes moved to her chest as she talked.

“You’re very cute,” he replied, “but that’s the problem. As a barista, I don’t date customers. Since you didn’t actually pay for your drink, I thought it’d be OK to ask you out if I ever saw you again. But if I pay for this lap dance, I wouldn’t want to ask you out. It’s not fair for me to proposition you while you’re working.”

“You’ve been thinking hard about me?” Her cheeks felt hot and goosebumps formed on her arms. “Would you accept my invitation if I asked you out after this? I’m actually supposed to be off work by now, but this is my last job tonight. If I don’t give you a lap dance, we didn’t cross any lines, right?”

He nodded, and she gave a nervous chuckle.

“You said that being a barista was your side hustle,” she said, noticing the expensive watch and ring on his left hand. Sex workers had to know street codes to keep themselves safe, and watches and rings were how gang members communicated their loyalties and rankings. “What’s your main job? You said it’s stressful.”

His right hand wrapped around his platinum watch, the case of the watch encrusted with diamonds. The C9 Gang was a wealthy gang with origins in Tokyo, Japan, platinum was their calling card. BaeJin’s gold band emerald ring sat on his middle finger, indicating he was a made man of high rank. Sandy was impressed; BaeJin had acclimated to a high status in a gang at a young age.

“How long have you been working here, Sandy?” he asked in response.

“Diamond,” she answered, her grip remaining firm on the door. “My stage name is Diamond.”

“Sandy...Diamond,” he said with a grin. He stood, and she took a deep inhale of breath as he took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, his left arm wrapping around her waist as his hand gripped onto her wrist. Her hold on the door handle loosened. “You are the diamond in the rough in Blue Paradise. You still want to invite me out on a date?”

She took a gulp of breath, staring deeply into his dark brown eyes. He licked his lips and her eyes drifted to his mouth. Giving the most gentle nod of her head, she said, “Yes.”

“I drive a blue Ferrari F60 America,” he said as the tip of his nose touched hers.

“I don’t know anything about cars,” she replied, shutting her eyes. His breath was warm, making it hard for her to breathe. He chuckled and she felt his head rest onto her shoulder.

She opened her eyes when she felt a hand touch her chin.

“I drive a blue car,” he said, his eyes drifting down her face to her lips. His thumb ran across her bottom lip gently, sending heat deep into her groin. Her stomach ached at the touch. “It’ll be the most expensive looking car you’ll see when you walk outside.” He looked directly into her eyes again. “I’m a dangerous man, Sandy...Diamond. I have to ask you one more time, do you want to keep talking to me?”

She chewed on the inside of her left cheek nervously, and furrowed her eyebrows. Given how close she was to getting the paid job as a paralegal at Johnston’s &Partners, Sandy was one step closer to her dreams of becoming a lawyer. Would it be ethical to date a gangster?

“Will you take me home or will we be going to your place?” she answered. Life was too short not to take risks.

--

Upon his request, she left work wearing her costume. BaeJin’s description of having the most expensive looking car was accurate. The navy blue car shone brighter than any other car, and the curves of the body created an elegant design to the car. He’d opened the passenger door for her. She realized her skirt barely covered her ass as the cold leather from the seat hit the back of her thighs.

He drove them up a curvy hill to get to his expensive mansion, placed behind a small forest. It sat atop of a mountainous hill, overlooking the bright lights of the city far below. BaeJin was a man of very high rank by the looks of his home. It was large and designed with multiple floor to ceiling windows. Sandy took a soft gulp of air as her mouth felt dry.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said when he led her into his home, the hallway lined with expensively framed paintings. The jade vase that held 3 white lilies beside the coat hanger looked like it was worth more than everything she owned, including the small amount of cash she had in her bank account.

BaeJin’s home aesthetic was minimalist, though each room had a piece of furniture that popped out, like the jade vase in the front entrance. In his bedroom, he had a rose gold encrusted full length mirror sitting at the foot of his bed. It was shameless, but did not surprise her. Their eyes locked as BaeJin sat down at the foot of the bed. Their fingers intertwined when she reached her left hand out to his outstretched right hand.

“I spent a week trying not to think about you,” he said, pulling her easily onto his lap. His free hand wrapped around her waist. “The closest thing to you was trying to get a stripper to dress up like a sexy librarian.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” she said, squeezing his hand. “You went to Blue Paradise wanting a fantasy. Instead, you left with your fantasy.”

His hand released hers and she felt his hand between her legs, sliding up against her slit. Shutting her eyes she gave a soft moan, surprised at his swift movement.

“You deserve the best in life,” he said into her ear before grazing his teeth gently against her neck. “Don’t ever settle for less.”

He kissed her, his lips warm and firm. His tongue parted her lips and she gave a soft hum. She pushed his tongue out of her mouth, appreciating the taste of floral green tea from him. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to her. He tasted better than the beautiful cup of Rose Americano.

With a clouded head, she helped him pull his sweater off as he aggressively pulled her top off of her, the cheap buttons popping loudly as they flew into the air. Her skirt failed to exist when he ripped the zipper and tore the fabric apart with his bare hands.

“Are you going to rip me apart?” she asked breathlessly when his fingers found their way under her bra, fondling her erect nipple. She gave a soft moan and he grinned as he pinched her sensitive bud.

“I’ll be as hard or soft as you want,” he assured her. The pad of his thumb grazed against her nipple. Her back shivered as a sharp heat rode up her back.

“I like a bit of both,” she said, her cheeks hot. It felt like a dream to have BaeJin telling her he would do as she wanted. “You ruined my skirt.”

“The cheap costume skirt?” he asked, his hand returning to rubbing her slit. “You don’t have to settle, remember?” She shut her eyes, her hand grabbing his arm as two of his fingers pressed against her clit. “I like you best without clothes anyway.” The heat intensified as his fingers moved down lower, moistening her panties with the slick heat coming out of her pussy. Her back shook again as his fingers moved up against her slit, and then back down. “Your voice is lovely.”

She moaned as she rested her head against his chest, his fingers continually creating more heat between her legs. One finger slipped under her panties, pulling the fabric away from her wet cunt. The back of his knuckle pressed against the engorged bud of her clit, and she mewled as he rubbed up and down against her.

“BaeBae,” she could only speak with a shaky breath, “BaeBae, I’m going to come.”

Her hips thrust haphazardly against his knuckle as a small flash of heat washed over her, goosebumps forming up the back of her neck. Her orgasm disappeared as soon as it came and she breathed through her mouth. Her pussy felt wet as her slick heat dripped out of her.

“I was just playing with you,” he said with an amused smile, his eyes locked onto the mess between her legs, including his wet fingers. He spread her juices onto her folds, and moved the pads of his index and middle fingers to draw small circles onto her clit. She mewled, shutting her eyes, as her hips rutted against the motions of his fingers. “But with you this wet, I can fuck you right now.”

“BaeBae,” she breathed out, opening her eyes.

Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at him. Wordlessly, she stood as their hands began removing each other’s clothes off. His expensive jewelry remained on as he pulled her back to his front, making her stand between his legs. His hand went between her legs and he massaged the inside of her thigh. She hummed a soft moan, enjoying the way his hand relaxed her muscles.

Both of his hands wrapped around her waist, and his lips kissed her neck. He requested she trust him, and one hand reached down to her right knee and had her stretch her leg out to rest over his. As his other hand went to her left knee, she understood what he was doing. He wanted a full view of her pussy so she sat on his lap with her legs hooked over his.

“Ready to put this to use?” he asked, his hands kneading her hips. His reflection from the mirror was staring at her. She saw the cheeks of her flushed face turn a bright red, and she tilted her head down to look away from the mirror. The blood coursing through her chest up to her head clouded her vision. “Look at us.”

His right hand cupped her face, and she felt his wrist press up against the front of her neck. The pulse from his wrist beat rapidly against the pulse on her neck, and she struggled to breathe as her eyes locked onto his from the reflection in the mirror. Hot blood rushed to her groin and her hips jerked forward, out of her control. His left arm wrapped around her waist had her firmly in his hold, so all she could do was wiggle in his lap. Feeling the muscles of his thighs flex under her made her buttocks tighten, her body anticipating his cock.

“If you let me take you raw,” he said softly against her ear, his eyes locked with hers through the reflection of the mirror, “that’ll make you mine.”

His hold on her face was gone as his hand grabbed his cock. He rubbed his hard cock against her slit. She bit her bottom lip as his heat caused more juices to pool out of her cunt. It made her nerves shake, itching her skin in unbearable heat. He blinked, and his eyebrows furrowed as she opened her mouth to breathe loudly.

“I’m yours,” she said clearly. He groaned as he pushed the tip of his cock into her entrance. “Give me everything, BaeJin.” Pleasure blinded her vision as she saw nothing but white and gold flecks of stars. She gave a loud gulp when she felt his hand grip onto her chin again, his wrist pressing against her throat. Her grip on his arms tightened as she held onto him for leverage. His cock pushed in deeper, and the walls of her pussy trembled as heat filled her body in overwhelming waves. “I’m yours.”

His lips were on her neck and when her vision cleared all her eyes could focus was on the way his cock was fucking her pussy. He started with shallow pushes, the rhythm steady as she bounced on his lap. She came and she gave a gentle mewl, blurting out his name as her walls squeezed his cock. A gentle chuckle escaped her lips as she saw him shut his eyes tight.

“You’re so easy to please,” he said as he pushed in deep. She gave a loud groan as he pulled out roughly before pushing in fast, going in balls deep. He started a steady, deep rhythm and she cried as she was filled with undiluted pleasure.

“You fuck so good,” she moaned, her hand reaching back to grab his hair. He sucked on her neck, leaving a red mark before he kissed her shoulder. “BaeJin, fuck me. I’m gonna - I’m - I’m gonna come.”

His grip around her waist tightened as he pushed faster into her, and they bent forward together as he came into her in deep pushes. Her fingers dug into his skin as she shut her eyes, taking in the sensation of his hot seed filling up her insides.

“Come,” he panted out heavily as she felt him withdraw from her. She whimpered as she felt his middle finger push into her come-filled cunt. His thumb rubbed up against her clit, making her nerves dance in hot waves. She cried out a soft orgasm as she came again. She breathed heavily as she rested against his body.

“We barely know each other,” she said after a while. She didn’t know how long they sat together, staring at their reflection before she finally spoke.

“We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other,” he said, running a hand up and down her thigh, sending heat up and down her back. “You are mine now.”

He pulled her off his lap, and they laid in bed together. A shiver went down her back as he kissed her shoulder. They were facing each other, her left leg locked between his muscular thighs.

Giving a laugh, she watched him grab her wrist. He kissed the inside of her wrist before kissing the inside of her elbow. She shut her eyes as she felt his lips on her shoulder. Every kiss sent a vibrating heat under her skin. His mouth sucked on her neck and she grabbed onto the back of his hair as his teeth grazed against her skin. The muscles in her stomach tightened. The world ceased to exist as BaeJin’s embrace consumed her.

[jamestrmtx]

Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]

[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]

Act Three | Age-old Conflict

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

"I knew I'd find you here!"

At the sound of that voice -- familiar and friendly -- you look up from your book and form a smile when you recognize the person behind it. 

"Are you busy right now?" Jack asks, sitting in the empty chair next to yours. "I'd like you to meet someone, if you're not too busy!"

You bookmark where you're at, glance up to face his eyes, and catch a glimpse of excitement behind them. Him looking so cheerful as he waits for your response makes it almost impossible not to be persuaded into agreeing right off the bat. Still, you give the offer some thought and take your school schedule into account, against letting your responsibilities pile up right from the beginning.

"Sure," you reply, setting the book aside. "I'm just doing some self-study, at the moment." You furrow your gaze and add, "Who am I meeting, by the way?" While having time was one thing, taking into consideration who you would befriend was another. You look around and frown when you see there's no one present nearby, not only from the risk of you being all alone at a school like this one, but at the curiosity over getting to meet another student -- and potential, eventual friend, hopefully.

Jack calls the person over as a response. 

The one mentioned doesn't take too long to appear, as he shows up by the door frame in less than it takes for you to organize the pile of books on the table; he even manages a sheepish wave when he catches you staring at him, yet he keeps quiet and still after that, in spite of neither of you knowing each other's names.

It's another wolf, though he's nowhere similar to Juno. The only remotely close aspect you can find between them is his height, but even then, it's not the same. If Jack had to crouch a bit to talk to you, the wolf would no doubt have to do that, too -- if not more than that. Jack introduces him as Legoshi, a name you'd often heard slip from Juno's mouth since the past week spent as her roommate. You reciprocate his wave from earlier and direct a quick smile at him, one he returns with a reserved, almost hesitant nature -- completely different from your expectations, given his species.

At the thought of him being the one Juno often rambled on about, you bite back a grin and introduce yourself in return. The image she'd painted you of the wolf is barely needed when you take notice of just how cautious and awkward he is in greeting you. It's like he's not so sure as to how to approach you, and each movement he makes is just as wary as the next. 

When you shake hands with him, you see his gaze wander over to the book and a pile of them left on the table.

His face lights up in recognition, and it doesn't take long before he asks, "Are you the homeschool student from last week?"

You chuckle, let go of his hand, and walk off back to the table to pick up the book, smile growing when you read the title again. "Is it that obvious?" You hold it up in your hands and bite back another laugh. "I'm, well... I'm trying to be less… ignorant -- now that I'm going to be studying at a place like this! Homeschool didn't really teach me stuff beyond math, science, and languages, so I need to make up for that as much as I can." 'Of Wolves and Sheep: A Fundamental Guide to Carnivores, Herbivores, and those in between', reads the book's cover; the sheer irony of your meeting deems you incapable of wiping away your smile. "But, this is probably basic knowledge to everyone here though, huh?"

His eyes glance over the book once more, while his gaze softens as he shakes his head, returning your playful nature. "Not really," he replies, sitting down across from you and Jack when you offer him to. "I'm still learning, too," he adds. "Maybe it looks like everyone here knows about that topic, but... If you know about what happened to one of the students, you'd think differently." A somber expression reaches his face as he huffs and passes a hand against the back of his neck; a more mournful look then glints in his visage -- almost a second after, yet it's shaken off when he continues with, "In the end, it feels more like everyone's just trying their best to understand each other despite everything going on."

You toy with the book in your possession and stay quiet as your mind debates whether or not it would be okay to ask more about the incident. So far, you'd only heard rumours about it, these hard to hold on to with how frail and inconsistent their sources and information were. When you see sadness return to the wolf's gaze, you fight against it. Whatever went on at the drama club with one of its students was clearly still affecting him to this day, so you try not to make him feel worse by adding any unneeded comments to the mix. Whether he knew the person didn't matter; asking anything else would kill the mood entirely.

"I thought you'd wait for me, Legoshi. How rude of you!"

Hearing another voice blend into the calm of the library, you glance back towards the door to see a peafowl standing by it, a smile on his face despite the accusation in his words. He has his arms firmly crossed, faking anger through an equally firm glare. "Were you that desperate to meet the new girl? You disappeared the second we left the drama club!" While part of your questions are fulfilled with the person's entrance, you still don't dare ask Legoshi about the incident. Rather, you keep quiet and greet the peafowl with a wave and a smile -- just like you'd done with the wolf next to you. "You all look so cute together! Should I take a picture?"

You tense up and observe those around you. Embarrassment falls on you when you notice just how popular you seem to be currently, being surrounded by two canines and an avian. Your first few days as a new student appear gone now, and -- to any outsider -- it would come off as if you're the center of attention, with all gazes on you. "It… It's fine!" you reply, words almost stuttered. On instinct, you hide behind your book and try to control the shake of your hands. As kind as the offer is, you're far too jittery to even consider the idea of having your picture taken -- and even less with other people.

Still, you're against being rude, so you add a 'thank you, though' after your words.

"A shy one, aren't you?" he comments, covering a giggle with his hand. "You must be (Y/N), right? Juno wouldn't stop talking about the new girl, and when I heard Legoshi was meeting you today, I just had to join!" He stands by the only empty chair left at your table and extends a hand out to you before sitting down. "My name's Dom. It's nice to meet you!"

Safe to say, his energy is infectious.

You take his hand, palm feeling just as warm as his voice and smile. "Nice to meet you, too." 

Then, you let go and move your gaze back to your book. The pile at the center of the table is the next thing to be the source of attention when Dom comments over it, mischief replacing his previous, friendly tone. He reaches out for the pile, drags it over to his side, and picks the odd one out -- one you'd tried to hide by slipping it in the very middle of the rest. "It seems our new girl already has her eyes on someone here, huh? And here I thought Juno was only teasing you about it!"

To be blunt, he's holding a romance book -- its cover risqué. The image features a forbidden love between a carnivore and a herbivore, and while the publishing year dates back to almost a century ago, it retains plenty of relevance today. At a time when tension between the two sides was still fresh and bleeding, books like these existed, though you didn't exactly want to be found out with it currently. "Is it this guy, perhaps?" Dom asks, pointing at Jack, who straightens his posture as fast as the accusation comes. A hint of red shows on his face, but he tries to hide it by looking elsewhere. "You sure act quick, (Y/N)! I'm impressed."

Not wanting for further assumptions to be made, you suspend yourself over the table, focus on your target, and try to reach out for the book. Too easy to be true, you almost fall over when Dom pulls back, hiding it behind him. "It- It's not like that, really!" you exclaim, words coming out about as flustered as your face likely is now. "I'm just curious about the book -- It reminds me of a fairytale I read when I was little!"

At that, Dom stops evading your attempts at grabbing the book back from him. Interest crosses his gaze and a moment of silence takes over the room, one you're not feeling too confident about. "Oh, really?" he asks, cooing. "Hopeless romantic? Or curious about what your parents never told you?"

You sit back down on your seat and look at your lap, face burning. "A... A bit of both, actually."

The peafowl laughs, a sound honest and bright. When you stare back at him, he's holding out the book, waiting for you to take it. "Lend it to me when you're finished, alright?" he says, winking. "I'm a bit curious myself."

You allow yourself a few minutes for your face to cool down some more and huff out a long, deep breath when you're done. Truth be told, it nearly seems as if you've spent all the energy left in you by agreeing to meet new people, yet you don't exactly dislike the experience. Rather, you smile again when you recover and find your cheeks and chest hurt from how happy you are right now.

Nodding, you take the book and place it under your current read.

Your shoulders tense when you feel everyone's eyes on you, though you push through with an "alright".

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[jaskierswolf]

Darling, Buttercup

Prompt: Reminds me of you Relationships:  Jaskier/Aiden Rating: E Content Warnings: Smut, butt plugs, orgasm denial Summary: On Jaskier’s birthday Aiden buys him a new present, and they can hardly wait to try it out.

A prompt fill for @dapandapod​ and a bingo square for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

It was Jaskier’s birthday and he fully intended to make the best of his day. They didn’t have anything special planned, but if Aiden didn’t completely pamper him then what was even the point? They had been housemates for three years now, having met in the second year of university in the Amateur Dramatics Society. Jaskier had been studying music and Aiden was a chemistry nerd. The musician was secretly convinced that his friend had just wanted to learn how to make poisons. He just had this energy about him, a modern day assassin. Aiden assured Jaskier that he had never killed a man in his life, but Jaskier just wasn’t convinced. Still, he was a good friend, his best friend. 

They got on well, both incredibly flirty and carefree. Their drunken exploits were chaotic and Jaskier had a criminal record to prove it. His poor mother would be rolling in her grave. It was an easy decision to keep living together after university had ended. Rent was expensive and they were both broke. 

And if Jaskier had a tiny little crush on his friend then nobody needed to know. Aiden tended to go for men that were more muscular than Jaskier, taller, with arms the size of fucking tree trunks. Whilst Jaskier wasn’t slender, he was certainly no body builder. He was a happy medium, strong and yet lithe enough to still attract men that would both fuck him and let him fuck them. It was a terrible stereotype but people made assumptions, and well, he was also guilty of that on occasion. 

Luckily, Aiden was a very accommodating housemate. He didn’t complain about Jaskier’s stream of partners or the late night sex. Then again, on the occasion that Aiden had a friend round and Jaskier didn’t, Jaskier wasn’t shy about taking himself in hand and getting off to the sound of his friend fucking in the next room. He liked to imagine that Aiden did the same. 

They flirted all the time, but that didn’t really mean much. Jaskier was a natural flirt, it was practically his second language. He just couldn’t turn it off, and Aiden was so very pretty, long dark hair tied up in a messy bun revealing his undercut. His tanned skin was covered in freckles and the light brush of stubble on his cheeks was just so tantalizing. Jaskier wanted to touch. He wanted to feel the scratch against his calloused fingertips. God, he was so gone on the man, but they were friends and that was fine. 

Of course, their traditional birthday gifts didn’t help. Jaskier was responsible for about ninety percent of Aiden’s sex toy collection, and Jaskier’s drawer of silky and lacy underwear was filled with previous gifts from his roommate. Although, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure if Aiden realised how much he actually wore the soft silky panties. He’d tried them on as a joke one day, but they’d felt so good against his skin that he’d never really stopped. Wondering what new pair he’d receive this year, Jaskier went downstairs. He already had a bottle of champagne in hand and he was ready to face the day. 

Aiden was flipping pancakes when Jaskier entered the kitchen. There were two champagne flutes on the side, and the table was filled with bowls of berries, melted chocolate and whipped cream, all of Jaskier’s favourites. 

“Oh this looks divine, darling,” Jaskier cooed, smirking at his own personal chef for the day. “Almost romantic.”

Aiden winked. “Only the best for you, my little lark.”

“Thank you, kitten,” Jaskier purred with a coy smile. 

The innuendos got out of hand whilst they ate, but really… whipped cream? Jaskier was weak, he couldn’t resist, and he knew for a fact that Aiden had used whipped cream before in bed. That thought made Jaskier shiver, his cock swelling in his pants as he pictured Aiden licking the cream from his body. He knew, he just knew, that the bastard was good with his tongue. Jaskier had seen the way his roommate ate a banana. 

But they were just friends. 

There was no need to get hard at the bloody breakfast table. 

“Presents,” he choked out before he could get too lost in his thoughts. “It’s my birthday! I demand presents, what delightfully pretty panties have you got for me this year, dear heart?” 

Aiden flushed, worrying his lip as he scratched the back of his neck, his fingers brushing through the short hair of his undercut. It was a nervous habit and one that Jaskier thought was adorable. “I thought we’d have a change this year.”

No pet name, Aiden must have really been nervous.

“Well, go on,” Jaskier said with a wide grin, waving his hand in front of his face. “The anticipation is killing me, and I’m really not getting any younger over here.”

Aiden laughed, still nervous, but Jaskier was thrilled to have broken some of the tension. “It is your birthday, old man,” his roommate teased, but finally produced a square box wrapped up in a rainbow. 

Jaskier peered at it suspiciously “You haven’t glitter-bombed me have you, kitten? I know I’m gay, but I really really don’t want to clean that up.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Just open it, buttercup.”

With a giggle, Jaskier tore at the paper, sighing in relief when a ton of glitter didn’t fall out the box as he peeled back the tape. Inside was a rather sizable butt plug, making Jaskier’s cock twitch again. He felt his cheeks heat up and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Arousal flooded through him as he thought about working himself open, his fingers brushing against his prostate as he fucked himself, ready to take the pretty plug that Aiden had picked out for him. Even better yet, Aiden could prep him. That silky smooth voice cooing into his ear, filthy and low, watching as the plug filled Jaskier up. 

Fuck.

“I- hmm, I thank you. Aiden, kitten.”

Aiden frowned. “You don’t like it? It has buttercups on it, so… well, it reminded me of you.”

“Buttercups,” Jaskier repeated, his brain not able to form proper words. “Right, yes, my name. I like it, the plug I mean. Not my name. Although I do also like my name, I chose it. I’ve always liked buttercups and it’s just- ”

“Jaskier!”

“Buttercups....” he finished lamely. “Sorry, got carried away.”

“I can take it back?” Aiden asked. “I do actually have your traditional birthday gift if you’d prefer.”

“No!” Jaskier said too quickly. “No, yeah. I like it, love it actually.” And he really really did. The silicone was a pretty sky blue and covered in little yellow buttercups. The shape was pretty basic, but it was definitely a good size, bigger than the ones he already had in his collection. “I can’t wait to try it out,” he blurted before he could engage the filter on his brain. 

“Well, what are we waiting for, petal?” Aiden shot back.

The pair of them froze, staring at each other in shock, mouths dropped open and matching red faces. 

“Did you just…” Jaskier stammered. 

“I mean, only if you want?” his roommate asked, with a cock of his head.

Jaskier whined and practically launched across the table, knocking their breakfast to the floor.  Their lips crashed together, noses bumping, teeth clacking. It was terrible and they both pulled away to laugh, but it wasn’t awkward like Jaskier had expected. The natural chemistry that they had finally sparked to life as their lips met in a more skilled kiss. Jaskier was half on top of the table, trying to get closer to his housemate, whose hands were locked into his hair, keeping their lips melded together. Jaskier moaned into the kiss as he felt his heartbeat quicken, a warm rush of arousal flowing through his body. 

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting and red faced. Aiden nipped at Jaskier’s lips as they parted, a cocky smile on his face. “Drop your pants, and bend over the table.”

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, okay,” Jaskier stammered and slid onto the floor, pulling his shorts down in one smooth movement. 

“You- you wear them?” Aiden said, his eyes wide as he gazed at the soft pink silk that barely covered Jaskier’s cock.

 Licking his lips, Jaskier sent his friend a wink as he bent over the table just like Aiden had requested. “Of course I do.”

“Jesus Christ, Jask.” Aiden fled the kitchen, backing out so that he didn’t have to take his eyes off Jaskier until the last moment. When he returned he had a bottle of lube in hand, a hungry look in his eyes as his gaze roamed over Jaskier’s arse. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

“Less talk, more action.”

Aiden laughed, his fingers running under the band of the panties before he gave Jaskier’s arse a quick swat, not hard but enough to make Jaskier yelp as the unexpected hit startled him. He felt his heart racing as he heard the click of the lube bottle, every beat was pushing fire through his veins, and he struggled to stay still as his fingers clawed at the table. Jaskier shivered as Aiden slowly pulled down his panties, and there was the probe of a slicked finger at his hole. It had been so long since anyone else had touched him there, his last few partners being women that really had no interest in fucking him into the next century. So he’d been left with his own fingers and his toys.

It was a poor substitute for having a partner. 

One finger pushed inside easily and Jaskier whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he bit back a moan. It didn’t help that a litany of praises were falling from Aiden’s lips, cooing over how pretty Jaskier looked, how well he was taking that one finger, and when a second finger slid inside with the first, Jaskier keened. There was more resistance this time, and Jaskier fought to relax, but it just felt so fucking good. 

“Fuck, Jask, do you have any idea how pretty you look around my fingers?”

Jaskier snorted, pushing his arse back against Aiden’s hand. “Maybe you should take a photo for later.”

“Not a bad idea, buttercup,” his roommate purred, then Aiden hummed nonchalantly as his fingers brushed against Jaskier’s prostate, making him gasp in a broken moan. Sparks flew in front of Jaskier’s vision, his pleasure building unfairly quickly. “I wonder if you could cum like this, on just my fingers.”

He could. He knew he could but his cock was aching, leaking onto the kitchen table, and he was so very desperate to touch. “No, no.. please,” Jaskier whimpered. 

“No?” Another press against his prostate, another moan tearing from his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Kitten, please!” Jaskier’s voice cracked as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him. If he’d known Aiden was this talented with just his fingers then he would have pinned down his roommate years ago. Two fingers in and he was already teetering on the edge of a precipice, a fluttering in his core. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” Aiden said cooly, pulling his fingers out and leaving Jaskier feeling so helplessly empty. 

“Hey, no.. I didn’t- didn’t mean that,” Jaskier whined. 

“Finish prepping yourself. I need to wash this.” 

And with that Aiden left the room, leaving Jaskier alone and panting. “The fucking bastard,” he hissed, “fucking knows what he’s doing.”

“I can hear you!” 

“Good!” Jaskier yelled back, grabbing the bottle of lube. He slicked up three fingers and pushed them inside his hole, groaning at the stretch. He couldn’t get the same angle that Aiden had managed, but it filled the aching emptiness from before and each movement of his fingers had him gasping for breath. “Hurry up, kitten!”

A hand on his back settled his restlessness, and he felt the press of Aiden’s lips on his shoulder. “Patience, buttercup.” 

Jaskier’s fingers were swatted away and he felt the press of something larger, the pretty plug with buttercups decorating it, the toy that Aiden had picked out especially for him. 

“It reminded me of you.”

Jaskier whined, his orgasm so close now that Aiden’s hands were on him once more, stroking down his spine so lightly that it was almost ticklish. Every touch fueled the heat at Jaskier’s core. He moaned and tried to wiggle his butt back against the plug, but Aiden held him still. One hand threaded into Jaskier’s hair, tugging and pulling his head back.

“Good boy,” Aiden purred, and the toy finally pushed past his ring of muscle and slid into him, filling him up so nicely. 

Jaskier cried out, “Fuck, Aiden, kitten, feels so good.”

He was a babbling wreck as Aiden pulled the plug almost all the way out before thrusting it back in. Aiden slapped his arse once and then pulled Jaskier’s panties back up his legs. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

“I- I… what?” Jaskier stammered, looking down at his cock, hard and leaking against the pink silk. “Aiden?”

His roommate raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, running a hand through his hair. “You can touch yourself if you want to cum now…”

“Or?”

“Or you can come to my room after dinner tonight, your call, buttercup.”

Jaskier swore and pulled up his shorts. He was so fucked.

[og-danny-dorito]

wAIT and here’s some explanations

Hannibal :

- I mean it’s pretty obvious why he’s up there he’s a god at cooking

- just don’t ask where he gets his meats cause he gives you this really weird smile and side glance before giving a super cryptic answer

- but the salad was good so it’s cool

Ash Williams :

- this man was BORN to cook

- attachable hand parts means he can make an attachable knife extension for his hand and that makes chopping shit 50000% faster. not only that, he now has an excuse to wear his “kiss the cook” apron he found again recently

- the attachment possibilities are endless- spatulas, knifes, spoons, shut maybe even a PAN if you’re feelin REALLY fuckin wild-

Bubba Sawyer :

- his momma def taught him how to cook No I Don’t Take Constructive Criticism

- he’s the master at grilling tho since it’s more of his element, but unlike Hannibal if you ask where the meats came from he’ll just straight up point to the body part of the person and move on with his task of grilling his good ass BBQ

Candyman :

- I mean he cooks well cause he’s a refined gentleman whom likes anything artistic, so Of Course he taught himself how to cook

- doesn’t do it v often but still likes it a lot even tho for some reason, no matter the circumstance, he always manages to burn the bread in the toaster

- damned 21st century technology (his best element is a gas stove since it’s what he’s used to)

Thomas Hewitt :

- v v good at making like a few dishes hearty dishes in particular but can’t really do much else besides those???

- likes to mix it up sometimes with experimentation if he has the time or patience but most of the time he just leaves it to Momma

Stu Matcher :

- his parents are barely ever home because of work so like he usually ends up eating boxed macaroni or frozen pizzas if there aren’t any leftovers in the fridge or, his personal favorite, hot dogs

- he usually just invites billy over for takeout tho so they can spend time together and billy doesn’t have to be around his dad

Jason Vorhees :

- the guy may not have to eat but he misses his momma’s cooking okAY-

- he’ll bust out the cookbook with her own little annotations sometimes just to try and replicate it for nostalgias sake, and even though he can’t really get all the ingredients, he’s gotten really good at remaking some of his personal favorites

- it’s not really the same though, not how he remembers at least

Chromeskull :

- I mean he can kinda cook but like barely though since he has other people to do it for him since he’s ✨rich✨ and stuff

- he can follow box instructions and make grilled cheese with an iron tho if that counts

Billy Loomis :

- can’t cook to save his life but knows how to make boxed macaroni

- he would be a pretty good cook if he had the patience to go through the process of learning

- but his tolerance is so thin that he just says “fuck it” as soon as shit hits the fan and leaves to go to Stu’s house for takeout

Vincent Sinclair :

- surprisingly he actually doesn’t do most of the cooking since him and Bo just eat fast food or sometimes cooked stuff if one of them is feeling up to it

- but he knows how to make a few things and actually knows how to modify recipes to make them better based on deduction and shit like that

- kinda lost on what to do tho so it’s best just to give him a task if you need help

Asa Emory :

- two words: microwaveable lunches

- my G got this shit down to a T on when it’s the right time to take them out, how long it takes to cool down, what cool down applies to what food- he’s basically got everything memorized since he eats them so much

- they’re quick and don’t waste his time, so it’s good enough to him

Bo Sinclair :

- no. fuck no.

- there’s no way in hell hes walking in there- he’s not even all that terrible at cooking but he has this weird habit of setting things WAY to high on the guise that they’ll cook faster, but he gets sidetracked so easily that they burn and he gets pissed off halfway through

- the best course of action is to just avoid that shit show all together and let him eat his sandwich meat and shredded cheese at 3 am in peace

Brahms Hellshire :

- good fucking god- having this oversized man-child in the room while you’re preparing food is like having one of those annoying as dogs who are always at your feet when they smell food

- he’s all up under you for pieces and bits of what you’re cooking and Does Not Stop until you give him what he wants

- and good luck giving him tasks to do to keep him busy, the ass is just gonna drop it and leave if he gets bored or get sidetracked with something else pretty quickly since he doesn’t like labor

Billy :

- what the FUCK is a stove and why are you putting the meat on there

- wait,,, you’re supposed to eat that meat while it’s COOKED? :000 what the hell, can he have some too then? he’s so used to just eating everything by itself since like no one cooked for him as a kid that he just consumes all that’s in sight and moves on like a little rat

- you can give this man an entire piece of raw chicken and he will eat it in front of you like it’s normal cause he’s That Kinda Bitch

Michael Myers :

- y’all sayin this dude is good at chopping and stuff on the assumption that he would willingly cook or enter a kitchen for anything labor intensive in the first place

- like yeah you’re doing great with making that brisket but there’s no way in hell hes chopping those carrots for you

- and yes he’s still eating some, try and stop his 6’7” ass. go ahead, he’s waiting. that’s what he thought now move he’s hungry

Freddy Krueger :

- no, no no no. he’s going to burn the house down if you leave him to his own devices. and not unintentionally. he will burn down the house and the food will be burnt and charred and inedible

- leaving him to just watch over it will result in a worldwide catastrophe, it’s best to just keep him OUT of the kitchen no matter how much he begs you for pieces of what you’re making or steals parts of your ingredients

- the spray bottle will resolve that now resist and keep him OUT

[nexyra]

RWBY Analysis - Ozpin & Ruby, on the concept of leadership

In her song "Burned out", Dodie sings of her fans, how they look up to her and how uneasy that realization made her. For everyone is at the end of the day just as human as their neighbour; and having the hopes and expectations of others put upon you when you're just as lost as them can be a frightening thing. And this... made me think of Ruby & Ozpin.

On the subject of leadership, Ozpin tells Ruby the following : “Being a team leader isn't just a title you carry into battle, but a badge you wear constantly. If you are not always performing at your absolute best, then what reason do you give others to follow you?”

While I love this quote, I also have to analyze the drawbacks of this mentality and how they align with both Ozpin and Ruby. At the time, Ruby is a newly appointed leader and unsure of this reality. Ozpin's counsel give her the confidence needed to step up as a leader and take her duties more seriously, which in return appeases Weiss' and make their team all the more balanced. It is, in that context, good advice. A good leader should strive to lead by example and work hard to be worthy of the respect others give them, both in and outside of battle.

However there is one aspect that I find much more complex and that is... what does it mean to "always perform at your absolute best" and to have others follow you ? Note the use of follow, people letting you lead alone as opposed to "standing by your side" or a similar expression. It showcases in my opinion one of the biggest problem of Ozpin's leadership, but one that I feel has been inadvertently repeated by Ruby's.

- - - - - - - -

To cultivate hope and lies

When it comes to Ozpin's lies, I am of the firm belief that he had good intentions. Soo if you think he's the scorn of this earth, this might be a good time to tap out :D Now, this said I have a lot to say on the subject but I'll keep this short to stay on track (& make another unrelated post to develop my thoughts.)

In my opinion, at the core of his lies stand different beliefs. And on the subject of leadership, I think one stands out in particular and aligns with the advice he gave Ruby : the need to perform at your best to give others a reason to follow you.

Ozpin is the reincarnation of a centuries-old wizard and the headmaster of a school : what is one aspect almost every character agrees on upon meeting him ? "Oh, he's wise. He's knowledgeable. He has the answers. He has his shit together. He can tell us what to do."

Inherently, Ozpin's existence inspires respect and reassure. Just like to a child, a parent is all-knowing and unbreakable, Ozpin's status automatically give others the assumption that he knows what he's doing. And this, in my opinion, is one of the core problems of his leadership.

May it be with his inner circle, with RWBY, with ANYONE really; as soon as Ozpin reveals himself there are unspoken expectations that will chain him. He has the knowledge, he was here when it all began, he's the one calling the shots so he HAS to know exactly what to do. In that situation, breaking down and revealing to everyone how lost Ozpin is, how out of his depth... is unconceivable. And this is where Ozpin's conception of leadership becomes a problem as well. If you always perform "at your best" then you keep your doubts to yourself, you hide your sorrows and you put on a brave face. There are expectations in place that Ozpin wants (needs even) to meet. And thus the hopes of others and Ozpin's desire to fulfill them feed one another, as a perfect recipe for disaster. Because the more time Ozpin spends acting as if everything is under control, the more the expectations pile up... And coming clean about his humanity, the fact that he's just as powerless as the rest of them, becomes impossible.

And in that sense, breaking down the pedestal Ozpin had been put on was probably one of the best thing to do for his own mental health (though the method lacked a bit of compassion in my opinion xD)

The other part that somehow causes problem is how RELIANT on him his inner circle is. Despite their apparent friendship, Ozpin is the clear leader and as soon as he's out of comission, everything falls apart. Ironwood is the only one to call out Oz but in the end still wishes for the wizard to tell him what to do in period of stress. Qrow plays spy and takes order but doesn't seem really interested in stading at Ozpin's side as an equal. Glynda is stern but still defers to him etc...

All of them FOLLOW Ozpin but are just a few steps off from standing at his side. And this is something I see reflected in Ruby.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Following optimism up until it fails you

In Vol6, as secrets and lies are brought to the light, the loss of Hope that Ozpin feared so deeply happens. Is it worth it ? What are we even going to do with an immortal foe ? Maybe we should just go home. In that situation, Ruby is the simple soul who manages to keep her optimism, stand tall and say "No. We are taking the lamp to Atlas." And from then on her position as a leader and a bacon of light is reaffirmed. As Jaune put it in V4 "You gave us the courage to follow you."

Now is that, in itself, a problem ? Of course not. In fact I loved seeing Ruby come into herself and take the lead in Vol6. The problem in truth comes after, from the ramifications. From Vol6 onward, Ozpin has essentially been rid of his leader position and Ruby inherited it. And on a surface level sure, they are pretty different. Ruby is certainly closer to her partners : they're a family and they care about each other.

However, she is still clearly put at the lead. The others relied on Ruby's optimism and resilience to get to Atlas, and continue to do so. Setting foot in Ironwood's office, Blake tells Ruby "We'll follow your lead". They trust her, and whatever Ruby does... goes. They lie to Ironwood and Yang expresses some hesitations but eventually rally to Ruby's decision. And I emphasize this again : it is Ruby's decision. They did not pre-emptively discuss this as a group and then let Ruby be the spoke-person. Yang herself in Vol8 criticizes not their actions but Ruby's choices. Ruby calls the shots, Ruby is responsible for what happens, Ruby is their beacon of hope... Ruby is the new Ozpin.

Ruby has to be optimistic, and make the decisions and take risks because she's the leader. When Ruby leaves the room to break down, conversation & strategy stalls : the others don't take the lead. When things go south, it's Ruby's choices that led them here. Ever since Ruby has left Beacon, the only person who consistently encouraged Ruby to express the BAD, to share the negative has been Oscar. Even her silver eyes ask her to focus on only the happy memories to go off without a hitch ! The others comfort, they smile, they trust, they love even. But they don't want depressed Ruby finally grieving, they don't want honest "I don't know what to do" : they try to bring back confident and optimistic "we're gonna try" Ruby Rose. They want their earnest and happy but ultimately perfect leader that gives them reason to follow. In the end, even if they deeply care for her and have no shortage of warm coated reassurances for the teen, they still chain her down with their expectations. Ruby is NOT built for this. And I don't even say that in the "why is a kid calling the shots" sense, but "why is a kid put in a position where she's RESPONSIBLE for calling the shots ?"

Ruby is the youngest of the group apart from Oscar. The others should not rely on her this much to function. Blake telling Ruby that she looks up to her and that they'll follow her lead is admittedly sweet, but still builds up the pressure weighing her down. Blake calling out for Ruby's help when the teen has just been crashed to the ground by the Hound isn't even sweet anymore. They're all supposed to be equals. Blake is just as capable as Ruby. Calling out to your mind-controlled friend to bring them back from the edge is good. Calling out to your 17-old sister who's been beaten up because you need her to fight isn't.

They need to recognize that Ruby should not hold up the place alone. Because yes, they love her. But at the end of the day, Ruby is still the one bearing the weight of their decisions... Alone, even surrounded.

✦ ✦ BURNED OUT - DODIE ✦ ✦

He was certain; So was I There was comfort in her sighs

Dreams and ideas should not be the same thing You waited, smiling for this?

Oh, she'd want it, if she knew She could take it, I thought too Be careful, be cautious but you just wished harder You waited, smiling for this?

"But they love you!" Over and over, "they love you!" Thousands and thousands of eyes just like mine Aching to find who they are

"Oh, they love you!" Oh, you can feel how they love you ! Coated and warm but that's all they can do Words only get through if they're sharp

Oh, how fitting For one so fake Make me a fairy Whatever it takes

And just like a tale my dream was a scam You waited, smiling for this?

I am burnt out I smell of smoke It seeps through her cracks and so I start to choke Sentences sit in her mouth that are templated You waited, smiling for this?

Oh, maybe I'll talk about it... (maybe I'll talk about it) I can just talk about it... (I can just talk about it) I'll never talk about it... (I'll never talk about it) No, I cannot talk about it...

Don't build hope on something broken I am not cartoon. Cry for help, I am not joking I might just leave soon

[hermannsthumb]

If you're still taking requests!! Fake Dating situation where Newt and Hermann go to a public event together. they're used to being mistaken for a couple at the Shatterdome, so they expect to be mistaken for a couple at the event. But then they meet someone who definitely Does Not mistake them for a couple (because homophobia) and assumes they're just Very Good Friends. cue Newt and Hermann aggressively pretending to be a couple.

always and forever taking requests!!! this is such a fun one, THANK YOU

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

“We’ll have to go in eventually,” Newt says.

Next to him, Hermann silently fumes, apparently unable to decide whether to continue tugging at his stiff collar or grinding the bottom of his cane—over and over, in a sort of circle—against the sidewalk, leaving streaks of black rubber behind. “I hate these damn things,” he says under his breath, though it’s unclear whether he means his outfit or the event. Hermann’s dressed up tonight in a suit that’s hilariously oversized (even for him) and fraying in places, with a bowtie that he’s knotted crookedly. Newt wonders if the suit’s a hand-me-down from his brother. “Begging for funding, as if we haven’t anything better to do with our time. As if we’re not working for the better of all of them. It’s bloody degrading.” He works his jaw angrily. “And if that isn’t enough—everyone always makes—assumptions—about us.”

Oh, okay. The event. “Assumptions?” Newt says.

Hermann lets out a hiss of air between his teeth. “Assumptions,” he repeats, delicately. “About—ah—the certain nature of our relationship.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Oh.”

At the last one of these things they went to, someone (actually generous enough to open their checkbook for once) asked Hermann whether they should make it out to the PPDC or Dr. Gottlieb and his husband. At the one before that, a dinner event, the name placards at their table said Dr. Newton Geiszler-Gottlieb and Dr. Hermann Geiszler-Gottlieb. Before that, at a more casual affair at an up-scale bar, some tech hottie sent Newt a martini, before hurrying over and apologizing in person that (gesturing between Newt and Hermann) he didn’t realize Newt was with someone. Newt really wishes Hermann would just get it through his head already that introducing someone as your partner and dropping the important research part of it tends to hold drastically different connotations outside of, like, the group of people who know them on the Shatterdome base, because that would clear up probably sixty percent of the confusion. If not just so he can pick up a few numbers at these things for once. Still, though—for some reason it’s never really bothered him like it clearly bothers Hermann, but Newt supposes he’s not exactly a catch by any standards, so it makes sense. “I just don’t know where they get the impression—” Hermann begins, and Newt interrupts him.

“Yeah, well, you should take it as a compliment,” he says. “You could do a lot worse than me.” He opens the door for Hermann and ushers him in. “Seriously, we’ll be late if we don’t go in now, and that makes it, like, twice as awkward.”

As usual, they have to sit through some incredibly boring speech about how they’re sitting among some of the best scientific minds of the century right now, how they’re honored to play host to their colleagues at the PPDC, how the buffet will opening shortly for dinner, and then a different person gets up and makes another speech, and then another person with another, until finally the first person gets back up and promises that closing remarks will be in three hours, and how they should all enjoy themselves until then. Claps. Under his breath, Newt says to Hermann, “Doubt it.”

“Which side shall I take, then?” Hermann sighs. He’s probably the only one in the room not clapping. He told Newt a while ago that he doesn’t like to put on airs, and especially not in the service of flattering someone’s ego, and he’ll only clap for a speech if he feels it deserves it. He’s such a weirdo.

Newt surveys the room, considering. Luckily, people tend to flock together in similar little groups at these things. Birds of a feather shit. “Left. Everyone on the right is too young and hip-looking, so that’s out of your range.” He gets a cane to his shin, and grins even has he winces. “Kidding. Let’s just do it together, it’ll make it more bearable.”

Their first target is a forty-something marine biologist who’s very excited to meet Newt— “I followed your research on jellyfish for years!” she says. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight!” —and who is more than happy to promise donating a little to help fund the war effort. Their next is someone younger than both of them, whom Newt suspects is heir to his dad’s tech company or something, and who is easily guilted into promising even more than the biologist. “We’re having a lot better luck than usual,” Newt says, as they watch the kid hurry away to mingle with a group of other twenty-somethings. “Do we look more, like, respectable tonight or something?”

“It’s the open bar,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, probably,” Newt agrees.

“And anyway, we’re still terribly behind on our goal, so there’s no use getting too pleased over ourselves,” Hermann says. He sniffs. “If you still want that bloody—whatever it was—kaiju spleen, we need at least—”

“Okay, okay,” Newt says.

He nods at a small group standing by one of the buffet tables, holding half-eaten plates. People tend to be in better moods when they’ve eaten something. Hopefully more generous moods too. “Let’s try them,” he says.

Hermann is the one to initiate the conversation this time, launching at once into a variation of the little script he and Newt penned so long ago the night before their very first gala. “Good evening,” he says. They get a few polite smiles and nods of acknowledgement in return. “I’m Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, and this is my partner—” Newt tries not to groan. “—Dr. Newton Geiszler. We’re here representing the PPDC tonight. I don’t suppose we could have a moment of your time?”

The mood of the group changes immediately, but why Newt can’t figure out; it’s like they suddenly go hostile on them. Hostile, and tense. Newt is suddenly astutely aware of how each of the three dudes have a good few inches on both him and Hermann. “The PPDC?” the guy in front says. He's not smiling anymore. Maybe they all supported the jaeger program defunding or something. “Sure.”

“Er,” Hermann says. He clears his throat. “Newton—that is, my partner and I work for the kaiju research division at the PPDC’s Hong Kong base. As you may well be aware, the latest cuts to the PPDC’s budget have been quite dev—”

“So you and your friend,” the guy says, with a little more emphasis on the friend than Newt would like, “are going around asking for donations? To help buy pencils or something?”

“Well. Essentially,” Hermann says. He doesn’t seem to have picked up on what Newt did, though he grows visibly nervous anyway. Outright hostility isn't anywhere near as common as indifference at these sorts of things. “Though, pencils is—er—a vast understatement.” He casts a furtive, desperate glance at Newt—a help me if Newt ever saw one. “My partner—Dr. Geiszler—simply doesn’t have enough funding for the samples he needs to study—and donations would certainly help with our funding for other necessary supplies—"

“I sure we’d love to help you and your friend,” the same guy says, and there’s no missing the emphasis this time, “but we’re a little busy at the moment. Please come back and talk to us later, though.”

Hermann clamps his mouth shut. Newt narrows his eyes, and in a move bold enough to surprise even himself, snags Hermann’s arm and links his own with it. “Sure thing,” he says loudly. Hermann goes rigid and stiff under him. “Come on, babe, let’s get something to eat. I know how you get when you’re hungry.” Then, before he can stop himself, he brushes a single kiss at Hermann’s cheek, and tries not to laugh at the looks they get.

He waits until they’re out of eyesight (Newt having had to sort of drag Hermann along with him) to drop Hermann’s arm. Hermann hasn’t moved a muscle since Newt touched him, and even now, he just sort of blinks at Newt. “What on Earth—?”

“Dude,” Newt says. “That guy was a total jerk. He thought we were together, and—”

“He did not,” Hermann says. “He kept calling you my ‘friend’. It was a bloody nice break from what usually happens, I might add, and now you’ve gone and—”

“Hermann,” Newt says. He sighs. “You’re, like, totally missing my point. He thought we were together.”

“But he called you—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Newt says.

Hermann blinks a few more times. “Ah,” he says.

“No way in hell do we need his money,” Newt says. “Anyway, sorry about the—” He touches Hermann’s cheek, and then gestures to Hermann’s left arm, which is now just sort of hanging limply at Hermann’s side. “I just wanted to screw with him. I won’t do it again, though—”

“No!” Hermann says quickly. The tips of his ears go red, and he fumbles as he grabs Newt’s arm again. A sudden warmth situates itself like pressure over Newt’s chest, identical to the kind that’s creeping up his wrist where Hermann’s fingers just grazed his bare skin, and he’s struck with the sudden bizarre urge to duck his head and blush himself. Since when has Hermann had this kind of effect on him? “What I meant to say is—” Hermann licks his wide lips. “He might still see us. We ought to—to keep up the ruse.”

“To really screw with him?” Newt says.

“For what other reason?” Hermann says.

Newt forces himself to keep a smooth, neutral expression as Hermann unwinds his arm to lace their fingers together instead, with a lot more awkward fumbling. “Uh-huh,” he says. He remembers how soft and smooth Hermann’s cheek had felt, so unlike his own, which can never seem to hold a clean shave. How nice Hermann's hand feels in his now. He’s definitely going to have to unpack this later. “Yeah, that’s—good idea, Hermann. Let’s do that.”

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch. 

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night. 

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?” 

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-” 

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy. 

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded. 

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation. 

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her. 

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be. 

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success. 

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.” 

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences. 

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion. 

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

--

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright? 

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place 

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly. 

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

[yoondoze]

coin toss | jjk

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 25.4k

genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)

warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics

a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3

To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent. 

The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.

“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair. 

The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.

“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.

He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”

The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.

“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”

He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”

It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.

As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.

“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.

The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”

“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”

The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read. 

“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”

You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”

“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”

Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.

“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”

And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”

“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”

Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”

“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”

And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure. 

“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage. 

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”

The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement. 

Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”

With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.

“Oh, and dear?”

You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A threat not to be taken lightly.

“Of course.”

As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.

Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.

The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear. 

Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.

☆☆☆

To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.

For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.

While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.

Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”

Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.

Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.

“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.

“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”

The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.

“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”

Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.

Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.

“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.

Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”

The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.

“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.

“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”

She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.

“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.

“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”

Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?

You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.

The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention. 

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.

One tick is all you need to hear.

“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint. 

“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.

“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.

“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.

He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.

“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.

You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up. 

“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.

He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.

“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?

Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.

But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”

“Get down.”

He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-” “Get down, Jeongguk!”

The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.

He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet. 

You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.

Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.

A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”

The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” 

You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.

“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”

He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.

You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take. 

“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.

It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”

Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.

It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.

In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…

“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”

He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.

The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.

Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing. 

Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.

“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.

“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”

“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.

It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere. 

“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.

“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”

Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?

Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.

You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”

“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”

The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.

“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.

“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”

“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.

One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring. 

Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”

You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”

He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”

“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”

You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.

You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.

“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”

And it boils your blood.

“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”

☆☆☆

Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes. 

“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.

“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”

A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”

You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”

“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.

She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.

Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.

Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else. 

Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.

“So what went wrong today?”

Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?

You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite. 

“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”

“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”

You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”

“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”

“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”

“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.

Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”

And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”

An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.

The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”

You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.

“And what do you say?”

That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”

Bingo!

“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”

Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?

“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?”

You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.

“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”

“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening. 

“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”

“Well did you love him?”

She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.

Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.

“Yeah, I did.”

And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye. 

“Do you still love him?”

You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”

Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.

You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.

She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”

You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”

And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”

☆☆☆

The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.

There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.

Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”

“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”

“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-” Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.

Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.

“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”

Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.

Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”

“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.

He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”

Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.

“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”

Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.

“Anyway… what’s our next move?”

Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.

“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”

The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.

With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.

“So there’s really nothing we can do?”

No one needs to answer for you to know.

“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”

 In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.

It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.

Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.

The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.

“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.

It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”

Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.

“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”

He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”

“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It sure looks like that.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”

You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”

It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.

He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.

“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.

It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.

It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.

 Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child. 

“How do you know about her?” 

“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”

The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.

When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”

“I know that,” you admit.

It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.

“You have to be careful.”

“I know that.”

Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.

“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”

You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”

He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.

So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.

Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.

☆☆☆

“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”

Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space. 

You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.

You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Well, he does have to work with you.”

As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”

Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.

“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.

“What, like making it easier for the mission?”

“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”

You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.

You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”

She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”

Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.

“I guess you have a point.”

“You know I have a point.”

“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”

She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”

A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless. 

“I can do that.” 

☆☆☆

It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.

But hopefully, this call will have some good news.

“What’s up?”

“Good news.”

Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.

“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”

You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.

God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.

You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”

The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.

“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”

“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.

Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.

“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.

Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”

Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.

When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.

“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”

Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.

“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”

She pouts. “Okay.”

“Hey, you remember the safe word?”

Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”

You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.

“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.

“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”

He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.

“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”

Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”

“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.

You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!” 

“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”

“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”

“Well...”

You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”

It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.

“What?”

His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”

“Gguk.”

A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself.  The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”

He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”

You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”

Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.

You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”

He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”

“Okay. I will respect that.”

Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.

“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”

As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.

At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”

He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.

“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.

☆☆☆

“So this is it?”

You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.

Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.

He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?

The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.

You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.

He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.

They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.

“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.

When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.

On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.

It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.

You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth.  You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.

Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves. 

“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.

“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.

He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”

It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car. 

“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.

You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”

He looks at you incredulously. “And?”

For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.

“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.

“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”

You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”

“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.

You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”

The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.

“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”

You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”

He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”

“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”

“I never said I was a hero.”

“But you sure act like it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”

“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”

Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out. 

The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?

“No. I’m not.”

☆☆☆

You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t. 

Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.

It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search. 

The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.

Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks… 

Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.

“Sleep okay?” She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”

“Eh. Could have been better.”

While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”

“Can we make waffles then?”

You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.

“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.

Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.

You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.

But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle. 

The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.

You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.

Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.

“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself. 

“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”

He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.

When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”

Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.

Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.

The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.

It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.

When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself. 

Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.

“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.

Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.

A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.” 

It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.

You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.

“Go to bed, Gguk.”

He doesn’t make another sound that night.

☆☆☆

The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.

Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.

In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.

“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”

You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”

His tired face turns to you expectantly. 

You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”

He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.

“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”

You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”

The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”

He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed. He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”

A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.” 

“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.

You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”

Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.

Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”

The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.

As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.

It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.

It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.

They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.

And where had that gotten you?

Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring. 

Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.

“I know,” is all he can muster. 

A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.

“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”

“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”

Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter. 

“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”

A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”

He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.” “Do what?”

Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”

“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”

And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.

You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”

It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention. 

“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”

He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.

“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”

You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”

“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”

He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you. 

“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”

“That won’t work,” you scoff.

“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”

“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”

He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”

The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”

For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started. 

“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life. 

“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” 

He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.

“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”

By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint. 

“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”

Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise. 

☆☆☆

Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move. 

The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.

And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.

Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.

Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.

 Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.

His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.

You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.

Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…

Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.

You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.

☆☆☆

The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass. 

As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.

But of course when you try it, it’s locked.

“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”

Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.

“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”

As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.

Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.

A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.

The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.

You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time. 

A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.

In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.

“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.

“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”

You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.

You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”

He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.

He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”

You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.

“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips. 

The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.

You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.

“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”

You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”

“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You did it once, you can do it again.”

“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.

He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.

He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”

“...What?”

“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.

His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.

Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.

Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort. 

“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.” 

It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.

“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”

You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.

“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”

The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”

“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.

You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.

A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”

It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.

You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear. 

The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”

The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”

He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”

You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera - 

“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”

A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” “You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”

The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.

You call the number back.

“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.

“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”

You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.

“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.

On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.

Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.

☆☆☆

Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?

He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.

But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.

He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?

He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.

A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.

“Y/N? I think I just found something.”

He waits, and no response from you.

“...Y/N?”

☆☆☆

The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with. 

You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.

There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.

A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.

The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal - 

“...Boss?”

The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?

He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.

“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.” 

A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”

At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.

“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.

“Then where’s Penny?”

His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”

“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”

A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin. 

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallow thickly, and he continues.

“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”

He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he’d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”

His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”

“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”

You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.

“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”

“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.

The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”

An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.

“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”

The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.

He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”

His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor - 

“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”

☆☆☆

The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped. 

“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”

“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”

“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”

The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”

“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”

“Oh, please-”

A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.

The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”

His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.

When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.

Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.

“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”

“This is you and me. Not her.”

His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”

The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.

But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise. 

Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.

“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”

The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?

The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?

“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”

But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.

Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.

His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.

Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.

The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”

Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.

It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.

His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.

But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.

“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.

But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.

Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.

Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.

“Forgive me,” she croaks. 

An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.

Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.

Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.

The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.

“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”

 It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.

☆☆☆

The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped. 

It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.

Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know. 

In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.

You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.

Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.

The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.

He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.

He hums. “Me neither.”

The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.

It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”

He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”

You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”

Your head begins to shake at the thought.

“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”

Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”

Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”

He nods slowly.

“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”

Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”

Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you. 

He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.

It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.

Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.

One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.

[gobletofweasleys]

Scars

Summary: Soulmate AU where whatever injury your soulmate has appears on your skin as well. You have a lightning bolt shaped scar on your forehead.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 1,654

Requested by @fluffymadamina: Hello 😊 can i ask a Harry fic with soulmate Au? Like they share the same injuries so she have the same scar as him but not a lot of people know it? And if isn't much could she be an Hufflepuff

Main Masterlist

There was a reason your hair was cut into bangs. And there was a reason you refuse to let those bangs grow out. 

Your friends had told you numerous times that it would be nice to change your hairstyle. You'd had bangs since the moment you came to Hogwarts. Now it was your fifth year and they hadn't changed one bit.

"I think it would be nice to have a little change, don't you?" Your friend, Hannah Abbott, said that morning as you two got ready in your dormitory. You just hummed, thoughts on your timetable for the day and not even focused on what Hannah was saying. You waited for her to finish getting ready, watching her pin her yellow Prefect badge to her robes before gesturing at you. You both left for the Great Hall together. 

You would have had no problem in following Hannah's suggestion about letting your bangs grow out and pushing them off your forehead if the bangs weren't crucial in hiding something that might change the way everyone looked at you. They were crucial to hiding a scar shaped curiously like a lightning bolt, smack in the middle of your forehead, resembling an infamous scar that was present on the forehead of The Boy Who Lived.

You knew who Harry Potter was. You'd first read about him in Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. When you and your Muggle parents had found out that you were to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you had bought every single book you could about the Wizarding World, wanting to find out as much as you could about the people you belonged with. That's when you had read about Harry Potter, had realized with a shock that he was your soulmate. You had a famous soulmate. Unsure of how correct your assumption was despite the scar on your forehead, you had resorted to hiding it under a curtain of hair until you knew for sure. 

Of course, you knew as soon as you saw him.

His scar was identical to yours, hidden poorly under a fringe of black hair. Large, round glasses framed brilliant green eyes, robes lined with maroon. You had watched him get sorted into Gryffindor that very first day. And since then, it seemed like all you ever did was watch him. 

You watched him become the youngest Seeker in history, watched him win his first match of Quidditch. You watched him make great friends and quickly become popular throughout the first three years. You also watched terrible things unfold. You watched him get forced into the Triwizard Tournament, watched him nearly die in the first two tasks. Watched him appear in the Quidditch field in hysterics after the third task, clutching a dead body. 

You didn't know why you never told him. You guessed you were just afraid. 

Harry Potter had gone through more than most adult Wizards in the country, he had seen and suffered more than anyone you knew or had heard of. And he still had so much on his plate, considering how hard the Ministry was trying to cover up the fact that You-Know-Who was back. You didn't know how important it was to spring the whole soulmate thing on him right now. Truth be told, you hadn't found one suitable moment in the four years you'd been here. 

You had Herbology today, which was your favorite class to attend for one reason only: you had Herbology with the Gryffindors. Your heart raced just at the prospect of seeing Harry again. You hadn't seen him all summer, of course, and with how the previous summer had ended, you were anxious to see how he was. 

If only you weren't such a wimp. If only you could just go and tell him how important he was to you. No wonder you weren't in Gryffindor. You didn't have an ounce of bravery in you. 

Your heart nearly jumped into your throat at the sight of him, conversing with Ernie MacMillan just outside the greenhouse doors. Ernie seemed to be standing tall, a look of strange determination on his face. When you drew near enough, you realized he was reassuring Harry that he believed him. 

"Lots of us do." He was saying, eye catching movement in his peripheral vision and head turning to look at you. "Like Y/N, for example." He gestured to you, making Harry turn to look at who he was pointing at. 

Your cheeks burned so hot you thought you would freeze on the spot, yet your jelly like legs still managed to walk until you had stopped next to Ernie. You had never, not once in your four years at Hogwarts, talked to Harry before. You had accepted admiring him from afar. You doubted that he knew who you were. 

"Don't you, Y/N?" Ernie repeated, yet your tongue wouldn't move. You were staring at Harry wide-eyed, willing yourself to say something, anything, maybe even just nod your head, but his eyes were making you weak and his hair, eternally messed up but perfect in your eyes, make your breath halt in your chest. 

You regretted your silence though, when Harry's red headed friend, Ron Weasley, stepped forward, glared at you and then nudged Harry to move into the greenhouse. 

"Let's go Harry." He was saying. "It doesn't matter what they believe. C'mon."

You realized almost immediately that he had taken your silence the wrong way. The implication left you horror struck. Ernie turned to you with a bewildered look. 

"What was that all about?" He asked. "You're always going off about how you believe him in the common room. Why didn't you say anything?" 

Your heart was hammering. Fear sprung in your chest. Oh Merlin, what did Harry think of you now? 

"I-" You were interrupted by Professor Sprout, who ushered the rest of you inside and shut the door behind you. 

You couldn't concentrate for one minute in class, even though today's lesson was about Bowtruckles. You had read about the tiny little creatures, and had been looking forward to seeing them, but all you felt was the guilt and fear of not saying anything to Harry. You had been so starstruck at the very sight of him that you'd made him believe you thought he was a liar too. 

You couldn't bear it. 

Maybe that's why you followed him after Herbology ended and everyone made their way to the Great Hall for lunch hour. Your heart was hammering, but your resolution to straighten things out overtook your crazy feelings.

"Um, Harry!" You called. 

Him and his two friends turned around at the call, making your face burn hot all over again. Ron was still glaring at you. Hermione just looked curious. 

"May I have a word?" Your voice was trembling slightly. "In private?" You did your best to avoid Ron's heated gaze. 

Harry seemed taken aback but nodded nonetheless. He said something quietly to his friends, causing them to leave for the castle. He turned back to you expectantly. 

"Um," your mind was already starting to blank, but you look resolutely away from his face and plowed on. "I wanted to apologize about before. I didn't- I didn't want to be silent. Of course I believe you. I just-" 

"It's okay." He cut you off. There was a certain rigidity in his voice, as if he didn't believe you. "You don't have to backtrack on what you think. I don't blame you for not believing. It's not like everyone else does."

"N-no!" You yelped, looking at him. "That's not it at all! I believe you, I do-" 

"Don't worry about it." He waved a hand in dismissal, taking a few steps backward. "I'll uh, I'll see you around."

But tears were filling your eyes, and you lunged forward, grabbing his arm before he could leave. His head snapped back to look at you, mouth opening and frown forming, but whatever sharp words he was going to say died out when you pushed your bangs back with your free hand. 

His eyes widened, face paling at the sight of the scar on your forehead. Exactly identical to his own. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what it meant and why you had it, but by the time his eyes met yours again, they held a new light. You gingerly let go of his arm, letting your hair fall back in place. 

"I was caught off guard." You mumbled. "I didn't know- this was the first time we were meeting. And- and you made me... nervous."

Your face was so hot and your body so numb you could barely feel a thing. Harry still hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. You stared down at your feet. 

"You never told me." He finally whispered. 

You nodded, feeling slightly ashamed. "There was…. it never felt like the right time."

You looked up to see him still looking at you, but his gaze was softer, his posture not as rigid. 

"Would you like to go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me?" He blurted out, looking surprised by himself. 

You stared at him in shock, heart beating so erratically you wondered how it hadn't stopped yet. 

"I'd love that." You shakily answered, feeling that sweet, giddy feeling spread in your chest.

Harry nodded, a ghost of a smile twitching at his lips before gesturing jerkily at you. 

"We should- uh, lunch."

You could see the pink dusting his cheeks, making a smile break over your own face as you fell in step with him, walking back to the Great Hall. 

................

Permanent Tags:

@fluffymadamina /  @sophiaxtorres​ / @jedi-in-hogwarts / @allknowingnerd / @accio-rogers / @gruffle1 / @chuumimi /

[aziraphales-library]

Hey!!! I’m kinda new, and I’d like to know if you can recommend me some good GO fics? My only request it’s that they should mostly be Teen Up or Gen s fics... and maybe some good AUs (I’m in love with those)

Okay, here we go!! I went a little all out on this post because it’s more about personal preference, but I still stand by it :D

An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually by TheLadyZephyr - 7.5k - Rated T

Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. Aziraphale eyed the distance between them. Five steps. Five steps, and six thousand years, and a battlefield spanning an eternity.

The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love.

I simply adore this fic. It’s one of those fics that follows them through the ages and its just done so well. I don’t even know what else to say, just that you should go read it, and the fanart is also gorgeous!

Something So Magic by apliddell - 3.9k - Rated G

Crowley gets stuck in his serpent form, and Aziraphale tries his best to help.

This fic is simple, yet adorable, and I cannot get enough of it. 

How Much To Give, How Much To Take by thechemicalgirl - 3k - Rated G

“It’s like…’ he paused, trying to calm down. ‘It’s like after I came back from Heaven and we switched our bodies back, something has happened. I can’t use my power anymore, not even to start the Bentley.”

Crowley loses his demonic abilities and Aziraphale tries to help him cope with it, but things get much more complicated than that.

Angsty, but also soft, and just a great execution of a favourite premise.

In Peace I Will Both Lie Down and Sleep by fizzybiscuits - 5.6k - Rated G

Aziraphale starts having nightmares. For some reason, he doesn’t talk to Crowley about this right away.

Title is from Psalms 4:8. “In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

This fic just has everything. It’s a stellar example of an established relationship fic and is cavity-inducingly fluffy.

Be All My Sins Remembered by CloversDreams - 43.4k - Rated T

“The trial,” Beelzebub continued loudly, “will consist of seven tests.”

“Seven…” Aziraphale muttered under his breath. He had a bad feeling about this and it showed. He twiddled his thumbs nervously as he waited for more details.

Crowley scrunched his face and shook his head. “Oh you don’t mean–”

“Correct. The Sins have been charged with the task,” Beelzebub interjected.

“Crap.” Crowley groaned. He slapped his hands onto his face and dragged them downward slowly. This was just what they didn’t need.

Gabriel nodded. He had a rather unpleasant grin on his face as he said, “Don’t know much about them, myself, but they can be a pretty gnarly group of high-class demons from what I’ve heard. On par with the archangels back home. Wouldn’t want to… what’s that delightful human phrase? Oh, right. Wouldn’t want to cock this up.”

Listen, in my opinion, this fic is massively underrated. I unintentionally binged it all in one go because it was so gripping. The angst in some chapters had me practically screaming, and the whole idea is a brilliant take on the seven deadly sins. The pining is magnificent, and I live for the Husbands drama. 

Let Sleeping Snakes Lie by Blue_Sparkle - 2.6k - Rated G

Aziraphale confesses his love for Crowley when he can contain it no longer. Oh, not to the demon himself of course. To a sleeping snake.

Another fic featuring Snake!Crowley, this one is magnificently soft, and I adore the scene in Stardust it’s inspired by. Just can’t stop coming back to read, 10/10 recommend!

Serpent of Eden, Original Tempter by noodlefrog - 33.4k - Rated T

During Crowley’s trial, the agents of Hell present evidence that the demon has been fraternizing with the enemy. Careful to protect Crowley’s pride (and his own concealed feelings), Aziraphale turns on the saunter and leans into his friend’s reputation as a tempter to spin their relationship into something that looks more demonic than lunch dates and feeding the ducks.

This fic combines Pining, Misunderstandings, and a fantastic ‘what if?’ for the execution scenes, and I am here for it. The Original Characters are written fantastically well, and I loved the bonus chapter!

What They Say About Assumptions by DragonGirl - 7.9k - Rated T

While it’s true that God bestowed upon the angels the divine power to sense love of all kinds, that does not mean they were given the ability to sense exactly who or what that love is directed at. A minor design flaw that hasn’t been much of an issue. Until now.

Or:

Aziraphale has known that Crowley loved someone since the beginning. He’s also spent most of that time believing that someone was a demon.

Aziraphale’s obliviousness in this fic was so ridiculous it felt plausible. It was hilarious but also heartwarming, and has one of my fave love confessions. It was angsty as hell in the best way, and I just implore that you read it!

Futile Devices by ticketybye - 3.2k - Rated G

Crowley pretends to sleep. Aziraphale talks.

Just adorable. Cavity inducing fluff and love confessions are my favourite things and god does this deliver on that.

Foolish Principality by seashadows and WikdSushi - 6.6k - Rated M

Upon moving into a South Downs cottage, Crowley gets left alone while Aziraphale rushes to help the new proprietors of his bookshop. Thanks to a miracle gone wrong, Crowley discovers Aziraphale's greatest material secret, and a few things neither of them could ever fully face.

Is rated M but in my opinion there’s nothing too bad in here, though you should judge for yourself. The poetry is beautiful, horrifying masterpieces, and it is honestly fantastically funny and sweet.

——

Y’all know by now that I adore anything by Arinia, but this fic is one of my faves:

Just This Once by Arinia - 2.7k - Rated T

An idea came, slowly at first, before filling up his heart, setting every nerve alight. It might be another decade, another century even, before he saw Crowley again. No one had come to rescue him from Above. No one had chastised Crowley for wasting a miracle from Below. Perhaps, just this once…

The streets of Paris are soaked with blood, and Aziraphale realizes just how much he owes Crowley for saving his life.

It’s freaking adorable, the kissing is fantastic, and I have a secret love of the French Revolution that made me love the fic all the more. Read it, I beg you.

——

As for AUs, I don’t read loads, but I do have some faves!

Neighborly Affection by Thestarlitrose - 4.6k - Rated T - Human AU

Anthony J Crowley was four years old the first time he met the tiny Ezra A Fell; he wasn’t impressed.

He was forty-six when he found him again in a bookshop in Soho.

The Childhood Friends, Flower Shop, Christmas, Friends to Lovers fic nobody asked for in the middle of October.

This fic is a complete tangle of tropes, and it’s also incredibly sweet. Perfect for the fast approaching holiday season!

a book elegantly bound by AwkwardPotatoChild - 6.5k - Rated G - Library AU

Two idiots. One book series.

or alternatively, Aziraphale and Crowley are united over their common love of books and the scheming of one Miss Anathema Device

This fic manages to be both very funny and incredibly endearing at the same time. The book names were hilarious, and I adored Anathema’s matchmaking.

A Jaunt Or Two by sonicsora - 3.1k - Rated T - Human AU

They meet by happenstance twice over, only to end up quite woven into one anothers lives. It’s all quite accidental, but sticks.

Crowley realizes a bit belated he’s quite attached to this man who freely uses the word jaunt and wears cream-colored suits.

This fic is just adorable. It’s sweet, fluffy, and exactly my kind of thing. Also Gabriel’s a dick in the comedic way, which is fun to see.

Restoration by arealshitwizard (gaiusgallus) - 2.6k - Rated G - Human AU

Ok I had this idea in my head and it wouldn’t go away so here is Aziraphale as a painting restorer and Crowley as a flash stock broker… There’s just one chapter sorry for my sins

This is a really unique fic (I know I keep saying that, but it’s true!), and featured such fun interpretations of their characters!

——-

I’m aware that 90% of this list is very specific to my preferences, and that it got a little out of hand, but I hope y’all enjoy the recs anyway! XD

Does the blog have any favourites they’d like to share?

~ Mod B

[rimalupin]

Drunk!Arthur x MC: “I Like You”

(A/N: Okay I love ~soft and adorable~ Arthur, and this scenario of him drunk-confessing his love for someone has been playing through my head for a while now, so I decided to just go ahead and write it lol. Enjoy a cute love-drunk ((and literally drunk)) Arthur~.)

(Warnings: Mentions of alcohol & tobacco, but other than that, this story is frikin FLUFFY man, LOL.)

-----

Past Midnight, le Comte's mansion

I yawned as I finished reading the last sentence of the page. Arthur had asked me to read through a manuscript of his newest Sherlock Holmes story. Since I had the day off, I decided to head to the library and read away.

~~~

To be honest, I was surprised that he asked me of all people to proofread his story. Sebastian would've been more qualified for this, especially since he knew more about Holmes's stories - as well as the author behind them - compared to me. When I asked Arthur about why he chose me to read the manuscript, he simply shrugged and stated, "I thought you'd enjoy the story since Holmes is so popular in your time."

"Well, he is. But I really don't know much about the books themselves." I bowed my head a little, slightly embarrassed to be admitting this in front of the author himself. "I have yet to read them."

"Well then, now's a good time to start." He plopped the manuscript into my hands and winked. "Get to it, my dear assistant."

Even though I didn't think I was the most qualified for this job, I was happy to help him out. Ever since I came to the mansion, Arthur has always been there for me. Granted, our first few interactions weren't the best (try getting cornered by a flirty, potentially blood-thirsty vampire inside a mysterious mansion during your first night in nineteenth-century France), but after a few days of getting to know each other (a suggestion made by le Comte and Sebastian which I was hesitant to take at first), I realized that he wasn't a bad guy. In fact, he was really fun to be around: he was always ready with a game or a conversation topic to keep the mood entertaining. And minus the frequent flirting, he's really grown on me. I guess something just clicked for the two of us. So of course I'd want to help my newest vampire bestie with his project.

Along with that, I know how hard he works on his stories. Recently, there have been more late nights of him scribbling on sheets of paper under a dim lamplight. Whenever I'd seen the light on in his room during those late hours, I'd bring him some coffee and fudge before bidding him a good night. 

~~~

After finishing the story, I decided to stop by Arthur's room to drop off the manuscript. I'm about to knock on the door when I hear someone from inside the room. "Theoooooo I wanna see herrrrr."

"In this state you're in? Absolutely not," Theo replies, a stern edge to his voice.

"Theo it'll be fiiiiine. C'mon!"

I wonder if they’re alright. Curious, I knock and call after them. “Arthur? Theo? Can I come in?”

“Let yourself in, Hondje. And help me take care of this idiot.”

“Now, Theo, it’s not nice to call people names," Arthur says in a sing-song voice. "Be nicer to the little bird before you scare her away~.”

I hear Theo let out an annoyed grunt - I can almost feel his irritation radiating through the door. “_____ GET IN HERE NOW.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” I open the door to find Arthur hugging a very grumpy Theo on the bed. I stifle a giggle. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes, and for once, I’m thanking you for doing so.” Theo pries Arthur off of him and stands up to walk towards me. “Look, I could use some help with taking care of him.” He nods his head towards Arthur, who stands and staggers towards Theo. 

"Oh, c'mon now, Theo," he responds as he attempts to place a hand on Theo’s shoulder, only to miss and swing at the air. "You don't have to be my mummy: I can take care of myself, you hear." His words slur, and he sways back and forth, his body threatening to give in to gravity and fall to the floor.

I drop the manuscript and rush to Arthur's side. "Arthur, be careful!" I place my hands on his shoulder and back, and Theo follows my lead to help gently guide him back to the bed. 

As if finally realizing I was in the room, Arthur blinks up at me with surprise. "_____..?" His breath and clothes smell of alcohol and tobacco - I can tell that he and Theo were at the bar earlier. It was a usual occasion for them to go out for evening drinking sessions, but they never came back as drunk as Arthur was now.

"How much did you drink?" I ask.

Arthur gazes at me, dazed. "Mmm, can't remember..."

"Liar," Theo scoffs. "He knows damn well what his limit is, and yet he's dumb enough to do this."

I watch Arthur lay his arm over his head, covering his eyes. "He doesn't look too good... I'll go get him some water." I stand up, but then stop in my tracks when I feel Arthur gently tug on my sleeve. "_____, wait..." 

"Arthur, I'll be right back." 

"Noooo, stay here." I raise an eyebrow at Arthur, who is now looking up at me with big, pleading eyes. "Pleaaaase?"

Theo rolls his eyes. "He hasn't been shutting up about wanting to see you all day." 

My eyebrows raise in surprise. "What..?" 

"I'll get the water. Call me if you need anything else." I'm about to ask him what he meant, but the door had already shut.

I sigh and turn to face Arthur. "Do you need anything else right now?" I ask him. 

He gives me a little smirk. "You beside me." 

I roll my eyes at him, but I realize that he's serious about his request when he scoots a little to make more room for me. I sigh and sit back down on Arthur's bed. "Better?" 

"Getting there." Before I could protest, he moves closer to me and lays his head on my lap. 

"Arthur, what..?" I begin. 

"_____...." He looks up at me with a sad smile. 

I furrow my brow. "What's on your mind?"

"You." 

Was he really drunk-flirting with me right now? "Arthur, be serious." 

"I am." His eyes meet mine, and he’s looking at me for what feels like forever.

Feeling self-conscious, I start to look away when a hand gently touches my cheek. "MC..." He guides me back to look at him: his gaze is earnest, and his blue eyes pierce into my soul as he says, "I like you."

I blink in disbelief. I don’t know how to respond. All that comes out is a confused "What..?" 

He repeats himself: "I like you." There's a beat of silence before he quietly adds, "But not as a friend..." I shake my head. Surely, he isn't thinking straight: it's the alcohol talking. But he wouldn't have said that if there wasn't a little truth to it, right..? 

Despite his inebriated state, he reads my thoughts clearly. "_____, please don't doubt my feelings for you: I really do like you." He tilts his head as he examines me. "But I wonder how you feel about me." 

I raise an eyebrow. "That's a funny thing to hear from someone who guesses nearly everything correctly." 

"See, that's the thing," he says as he lays his head onto his pillow. He gently pulls me down to lay beside him and I oblige, wanting to hear him out. "I could simply deduce your feelings for me and eventually conclude that you like me. But you know, it’s surprisingly difficult to gather evidence for that, even though we spend so much time together..." He plays with a lock of my hair as he continues. “I wouldn’t want to scare you off by drawing the wrong conclusion, so I want to be sure…”

He trails off, and he’s quiet for a while, still twirling my hair with his fingers. "You want to be sure of what..?" I ask.

“That you feel the same way I do..." He moves closer until his forehead gently presses against mine. He wraps an arm around me and gazes at me earnestly. "But I don’t want to know based on my assumptions or deductions. Your feelings are yours alone, so I want to hear the answer come from your lips. That's how I'll know..." he trails off, and his eyes start to close. 

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. I watch him and listen to his even breathing, which soon turns into light snores as he dreams with a peaceful look on his face. 

I don't want to wake him: he needs the rest. With that, I'm pretty much trapped in his arms for the rest of the night. Sighing, I carefully move to pull the sheets over us, snugly tucking us both in. 

He won’t hear me since he’s asleep, but I whisper to him anyway: "I'll give you my answer in the morning." I gently brush a stray hair away from his forehead, and my fingertips briefly linger on his temple before pulling away. "Goodnight, Arthur," I say as I drift off to sleep, pushing away my worries of what will happen in the morning by focusing on the warmth of his body, the way he held me in his arms, and the sound of his breathing.

[adapembroke]

Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

For many years, I hated the Hierophant.

Whenever it came up in a reading, I sighed, dutifully tried to understand why it was bothering me, and shoved it back in the box as soon as possible. Most of the time I gained nothing from these interactions, even though I knew the Hierophant wasn’t silent. I just didn’t believe the Hierophant could possibly have anything useful to say to me.

The Hierophant is the archetype of traditional, usually religious, authorities. Nuns and priests and popes, temples and tabernacles, synods, dojos, and twelve steps groups . The original name of this card was The Pope, appropriate for a deck designed in Christian Europe,

I am not a person who works easily with the Hierophant. The anti-authoritarian stereotypes of Aquarius moons resonate strongly for me. I don’t do anything unless I know why I’m doing it and agree with the premise behind the action. Settings under the influence of the Hierophant are ritualistic. Their ability to function relies on everyone moving in lock-step. If you have questions, you follow the ritual and ask questions later. If you disagree with the answers to your questions, you leave.

Michelle Tea says in Modern Tarot:

“Conforming rightly has a bad reputation in contemporary culture; it’s used to keep bright spirits down, we think, and to preserve a dying status quo. Likewise, the concept of ‘tradition’ has been hijacked by people seeking to codify their dangerous opposition to a changing world.”

Conformity isn’t my happy place. I was convinced that for the happiness of everyone concerned, it would be best if I remained an outsider in the sphere of the Hierophant, but I was not a happy outsider. Not all of my experiences of the Hierophant were bitter. Without the Hierophant, something was missing in my life.

Beauty and Power of Ritual

There were a few years during college and just after when I had a wonderful relationship with the Hierophant. For most of that time, I belonged to a Christian church that was deeply ritualistic. When you walked into the sanctuary, you had to bow to the altar before taking your seat. You had to bow whenever someone said “Jesus,” and you had to make occult gestures with your hands during the reading of the Gospel. 

I grew up in a church that was much less formal, and this new way of doing worship was strange to me, like walking into a dance I didn’t know the steps to. I stumbled through the ritual like a newborn calf, but despite my clumsy gestures, I felt transported. It wasn’t just influence of the thick cloud of frankincense. (Though, frankincense is a mind-altering substance.) I wasn’t any kind of magician then, but I could feel that what they were doing had magical power, power I now recognize as the power of the Hierophant. 

The Hierophant’s power comes from tradition, the way that the repetition of meaningful words and gestures builds meaning over time. On the first day I walked into that church, they had been doing the same rituals in that space in the same way for hundred and fifty years. It felt like the rituals and incense had infused the walls. The rituals themselves had been altered little in fifteen hundred years. When the priest said the magic words of the Eucharist, I felt a sense of belonging, as if all of the congregations over time and space that had heard those words together were there with us, lending their power to the working. All of that accumulated power was palpable. I left the service each Sunday feeling like my batteries had been recharged.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to see through the glamor and start asking questions, and when the answers I got to my questions didn’t satisfy me, I discovered that the Hierophant’s hold on that place was too rigid to hold me, and I left.

A few years after I left Christianity, I started studying the Tarot. The Hierophant felt like a tease, a reminder of something beautiful that I was incapable of participating in. It was easier to focus on the Hierophant’s bad side.

Leader of the Mindless Herd

Like all archetypes, the Hierophant has a shadow: Mobs of people coming together to chant slogans of hate, authoritarian leaders whipping people into a frenzy to support a controlling agenda, suicide cults filled with mindless automatons.

The same coordinated practice that builds power over time and that left me feeling empowered can be used just as easily to create power for evil.

Neuroscientists are just beginning to uncover the overwhelming power of habit. The human brain has to do an extraordinary amount of work in order to carry out simple functions. It is constantly trying to offload work as much as possible. It does this by using rituals, habits, and assumptions like a computer that relies on automated processes to do its job.

Group rituals, the natural habitat of the Hierophant, are simply habits that have been adopted by a people who have been trained to act as one. A person who has attended a liturgical Christian church for decades can perform the gestures of the Mass without thinking.

Once habits are set, they are extremely difficult to break. I built the habit of crossing myself every time I heard a siren, and it took me years of constant reminder not to do it to break myself of the habit after I left Christianity.

It is annoying to have to break a habit that no longer suits you, but habit itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Using hateful words can be a habit, but so is brushing your teeth. Habit becomes a problem when it helps you hurt yourself or others without thinking.

Hitler famously used the power of ritual in his rallies and parades to call the power of a nation to the service of hate. He created systems, habits, and gestures that made killing so easy for the bureaucrats in his service, the trials of his henchmen raised the question of whether they could have been accused of thinking about what they were doing at all.

The Hierophant, like habit, doesn’t take a side. Its power is present whenever groups of people use the magic of ritual to raise power. The Hierophant is there when people march for justice and when they rally for hate. The Hierophant is there when a community dances for joy and when they mourn at a funeral. The Hierophant uses the power of habit and group pressure to create addictions and break them.

Guardian of Initiation

The Tarot Pope became the Hierophant under the influence of Waite and Crowley who revised the Tarot in the 20th century. Historically, the Hierophant was the high priest of the Eleusinian Mysteries, a highly secretive cult in ancient Greece that celebrated the mystery of death and rebirth. In order to get in on the secrets of the Eleusinian mysteries, you needed to be initiated, and initiates were so good at keeping the secrets of the order very little is known about it today.

The Hierophant’s new emphasis on initiation was well in line with the archetype’s natural love of structure and conformity. Rachel Pollack says in 78 Degrees of Wisdom that when you work in an initiatory tradition, you are “entering a doctrine, with a set of beliefs which [you] must learn and accept before [you] can gain entrance.”

Initiatory traditions get a bad rap for their secretiveness. They must have something to hide, critics say, if they can’t share everything. But initiatory traditions at their best do not require initiates to assent to the doctrines of the order without knowing them. Instead, initiates are required to go through a discernment period where they think about the principles of the order and whether or not they can conform to them. Once they accept the doctrines of the order, then they are allowed access to the secret rituals and powers that would allow the initiate to use this knowledge.

This process of learning, processing, acceptance, and initiation helps to ensure that initiates do not adopt powerful new habits blindly. The Hierophant is at its most dangerous when masses of people assent to principles without thinking. The draw of belonging is powerful, and the need to require thoughtfulness and consent is one of the reasons for levels of initiation in traditions such as Wicca, the Masons, and Druid orders. At each stage, the initiate learns a little more, and the order and the initiate need to both give their consent before the initiate is allowed to go to the next level.

It was the initiatory side of the Hierophant that finally lead me to make peace with the archetype. I realized that you don’t need to be a mindless automaton to work with the archetype. I had been born into Christianity. I was initiated into the religion under the threat of hellfire before I was old enough to understand its beliefs and doctrines. But I am an adult now with strong beliefs and principles. When I meet the Hierophant in the robes of the initiator, I do it with love and trust and my eyes wide open.

Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

In the context of a Tarot reading, the Hierophant is present in the rituals you build into your practice. If you always shuffle your cards and lay them out a certain way, you are participating in the Hierophant. The Hierophant helps you to discover the habits and gestures and techniques that make your readings better, and the Hierophant uses the power of habit to help you do those things consistently.

The Hierophant also influences your Tarot practice when you study within the context of magical orders or sit at the feet of mentors who work within a tradition, even if it is a tradition they’ve created themselves.

Because traditions gain power from unconscious habits of thought, it is important to become conscious of the beliefs and traditions that influence your readings.

It is healthy, too, to periodically set aside some time to consider your lineage. Where did your ideas about the meanings of the cards come from? Who are your Tarot teachers? Who were their teachers? How much do you know about the traditions they belong to? How much do you know about your own traditions? What assumptions about how the world works inform your practice? What do you believe about fate and free-will? The afterlife and past lives? Good, evil, and the nature of suffering?

Lastly, if you read for others, it is important to be open with your clients about your traditions and beliefs, as well. Whenever we read for others, we may be acting as initiators, even if we don’t realize it. Your clients have the right to consent before being initiated into your mysteries, just as you have that right when you present yourself to the Hierophant.

[quicksilversquared]

Cookies and Croissants: Chapter 2 (of 3)

As a superhero, saving the world is standard fare. It’s practically expected. But saving one’s civilian friend from her best friend’s off-target assumptions?

Somehow, that’s almost harder.

links in the reblog

Alya had not dropped it.

Oh, sure, she had stopped openly teasing Chat Noir about his girlfriend during the battles where Rena Rouge (and later, Vixen) was called on, and she wasn't bugging him about Marinette during their camera-moving patrols, but there were little side comments (though not enough to attract Ladybug's attention, unfortunately) and, as Adrien, he overheard Alya pestering Marinette with increasingly less veiled comments. Lila hadn't helped things at all when she overheard a few of the comments and then told Alya afterwards about how she had seen Marinette with someone who looked like he was maybe her boyfriend a couple of days prior. Sure, Lila had been largely discredited a week later, after Ladybug had completely shot down Vixen's proposed rescue of Lila during an akuma attack by calling the Italian girl a liar and a thief and not worth their time (the look on Vixen's face as that sunk in had been hilarious), but Alya still seemed to think that maybe Lila hadn't lied about that one sighting. After all, all of her other lies were about famous people, just to boost her reputation, and why would Lila bother to make something up about Marinette?

It was frustrating, and even more so that Chat Noir couldn't do anything about it. Ladybug had told him that giving any sort of reaction to Alya-slash-Rena-slash-Vixen was probably just going to end up egging her on. That meant that he was limited to snorts and eye-rolls when Vixen started up with her comments. Despite Ladybug's insistence on that strategy, it didn't seem to be getting through to her at all. Maybe it would have been more effective back at the very start, when Alya had just gotten the idea, but it was too late to go back and change things now.

Still, he wanted to make things right and get it through Alya's head that Chat Noir wasn't dating Marinette, because Marinette's family had been nothing but fantastic to him and repaying that with almost endless nagging from Alya didn't seem very kind.

And then one evening, Chat Noir made an accidental discovery during an impulse visit to Marinette's balcony that made it even more important that he deal with Alya's continued belief that Chat Noir was dating Marinette. Like, now.

Because Ladybug was Marinette and if he wanted to date her- properly date her, with both of them in their civilian forms- without giving away his identity to Alya, too, then he needed to knock that belief right out of Alya's mind.

The only question was how.

"She's just so set that she's right about Chat Noir and I dating now, even if we've given her no ammo recently," Marinette groaned as the two of them sprawled out in the ever-growing pile of blankets in her room. They had decided to forgo their regular patrol- the cameras weren't due to be moved yet anyway- to hang out and talk about the surprise reveal so that they wouldn't give anything away during school the next day by acting off. Adrien could tell that it had been a good idea, because if he had thought that he had been surprised when he dropped by Marinette's room for a surprise visit before patrol and saw her transforming into Ladybug, Marinette had been even more knocked off balance by his impulsive reveal. They had only just managed to pull themselves back together and fall into their normal routine after the silence had gotten to be too much for both of them and they had burst out into giggles. "I mean, it's possible that all we would have to do to convince her that she's wrong would just be to start dating and she would realize that she was being ridiculous and just jumped to conclusions- I know Nino's been telling her that pretty regularly, so it's not like the idea hasn't been floated- but there's always that chance that she- well, that she'll make the correct assumption. And maybe Hawkmoth is gone now, but- well, I just don't want to start spreading my identity everywhere. Just in case anything pops up in the future."

"So what should we do?" Adrien asked, the question as much for Marinette as it was for their two kwamis. The had decided to both stay detransformed while they were hanging out just to get used to it, and while it was a little awkward to have Tikki and Plagg so actively listening and chiming in on their conversation, he couldn't deny that their wisdom and experience might be helpful. "Because I don't want to have to wait years to date you, just because of Alya and her overactive imagination. That's too long."

"Well, there's always dating in secret," Marinette offered up, shifting her spot in the blankets so that she was half-resting against his side. "But then if we get caught, it'll look even more suspicious, like you revealed your identity to me and we were just trying to hide that. There wouldn't be any coming back from that."

Adrien groaned some more.

Plagg snorted. "I still think that the best way to prove that Chat Noir isn't dating Marinette is to have him date someone else. Ladybug and Chat Noir can date, Alya will drop it, and then you can wait a bit before Adrien and Marinette start dating, just to hide the coincidence."

"But what's stopping Alya from assuming that Marinette is Ladybug, then?" Adrien challenged him. "Because if she could make the jump from me hesitating over the word friend to assuming that we were secretly dating, then the jump from Marinette is Chat Noir's girlfriend but Ladybug is Chat Noir's girlfriend to Ladybug is Marinette isn't very far."

"Why did you hesitate, by the way?" Marinette asked, gently bumping his arm with her fist. "We're friends!"

Adrien caught Marinette's hand and gave her knuckles a kiss, just because he could. "Because I was worried that it wasn't a good idea to admit that I was friends with a civilian as my superhero self. Because I wondered if Chat Noir and Marinette were close enough to be considered friends or if us being friends as civilians was influencing my definition. Because I overthought it. Choose your favorite."

"Mmm."

They fell silent, both of them doing their best to brainstorm. Adrien closed his eyes, basking in the warm patch of blanket that he had just wriggled into.

Maybe he wasn't actually a cat, but there was no denying that the warmth of the nearby radiator combined with the soft blankets was heaven. There was a reason that he kept on ever-so-stealthily expanding Marinette's blanket collection, and- well, this was it.

(Adrien idly wondered if there was a good way for him to more sneakily keep adding pillows and blankets to Marinette's collection so that she wouldn't tell him to stop. Maybe he could suggest making a fleece knot blanket together, and of course it would make more sense for her to keep it in her room since they spent all of their time there anyway. But that was just one blanket, and really Adrien would love a nice, thick pile, perfect for burrowing in and wrapping himself in and draping himself over, so he would have to come up with more ideas.

But that- well, that was a secondary problem, just a little one, and not nearly as pressing as the one that he was meant to be thinking about, so maybe he would think about that later.)

"I suppose you would have the same problem if Marinette dated Adrien," Tikki mused aloud after a couple minutes, making Adrien startle. Apparently he had been drifting off with the blankets and the sun and the company. "And of course, if Ladybug and Chat Noir were ever caught acting too close, Alya could figure out both of you. Hmm." She considered that. "What if you fake a break-up? Then you could just wait a little while before dating publically."

Both Adrien and Marinette instantly made a face at the suggestion. Tikki bristled.

"What?"

"I just don't think it would work," Adrien started slowly, glancing over at Marinette. "Like, Alya is currently under the assumption that Chat Noir and Marinette are dating, right? And the assumption that she knows about it, and Chat Noir knows she knows. I feel like she would be expecting us to stage a break-up so that I could date Marinette as my civilian self without Alya finding out my secret identity. And maybe the timing is weird, because we haven't defeated Hawkmoth yet, but we are close to finding out who he is and she might think that we're trying to get the slip on her."

"Exactly," Marinette agreed. "That is exactly the kind of convoluted reasoning that she would jump at. And- I don't know, that just feels like letting her win a bit, you know? It would be rewarding her tendency to jump to conclusions, and then she'd maybe be more likely to keep on doing it because she was 'right' this time."

Adrien nodded. Maybe it was a little petty, but he didn't want to vindicate Alya's scoop, not after she had spent weeks and weeks bugging Marinette for details about a relationship that didn't exist. How Marinette had put up with that, he really didn't know. "That, too."

"Ugh, you're being so difficult," Tikki complained, but Adrien could tell that she could see their point. "Fine. Uh, maybe if we…" She trailed off, frowning, apparently just out of ideas as the rest of them were.

That was a bit concerning. If the centuries-old kwamis couldn't think of a solution, what chance did the rest of them have?

"What we really need," Marinette said slowly, "is solid, indisputable proof that we aren't Ladybug and Chat Noir."

Adrien snorted. "Which is hard, since we are. Except- oh!" He shot upright at once, positive that he had caught on to Marinette's idea. "The Fox! We just need to use that Miraculous and make an illusion of all four of us- our superhero selves and our civilian selves- together, where Alya can see it!" That was a great plan, really. They might have to tweak the illusion a bit so that Alya wouldn't notice how similar they looked- and wasn't it a good thing that Marinette had started changing up how she wore her hair from day to day?- but it would be the proof that they would need to make any of their other ideas work without backfiring.

And all they would need would be a simple illusion. One shot, one illusion with the four of them near the bakery, and they would be home free. By next week, he could be sitting in a cafe with Marinette on a date, sharing a plate of pasta Lady and the Tramp-style.

"It wouldn't be quite that simple," Marinette warned him, pushing herself up from the blankets as well and pulling Adrien out of his daydream of kisses over a basket of garlic bread- or maybe just regular bread, since garlic bread probably wasn't a great idea for a first date. "Alya knows about the Fox and its powers, since she's used it so many times before. If we're too obvious about it and about going out of our way to make sure that she notices, then she might get more suspicious instead of less."

Adrien frowned at that, puzzled, but decided not to question it. Marinette knew Alya better than he did, so if she thought that a simple Mirage of Adrien and Marinette next to Ladybug and Chat Noir would make Alya suspicious, then he wouldn't argue.

After all, Marinette- as Ladybug- had figured out that his comments as Chat Noir would make Alya suspect that he was dating her before Rena Rouge had even said anything. Clearly she knew how her best friend's brain worked.

Next to him, Plagg groaned. "Oh, no, not the convoluted plans again! Spare me!"

Marinette ignored him. "The main problem, as I see it, is that we don't have many excuses for Ladybug and Chat Noir to visit Adrien and Marinette publicly, in a scenario that wouldn't look staged. The most believable scenario would be a rescue during an akuma attack, but I don't know if it would actually be a good idea to try to create an illusion then. We'd be rushing, the chances of Alya seeing it wouldn't be great, and the chances of something going wrong and disrupting the illusion- well, that might be too high to risk it."

"It would make us look even more suspicious," Adrien agreed. He half-frowned, half-pouted as he considered the problem. Maybe he was usually pretty good at being patient, but now that he knew who his Lady was and that she like-liked him, he wasn't particularly interested in sitting around on his hands and not doing anything about it. But he wasn't coming up with any solutions that didn't have major potential for backfiring identities-wise, and he knew how important her secret identity was to Marinette. He wasn't going to press for anything that might endanger that. "Ugh. This is a disaster."

"There, there, kitty." He could hear the muffled laughter in Marinette's voice as she patted his head. "We'll figure something out, even if it takes a few weeks."

Adrien could only groan, throwing his head back. "Ugh. That's going to feel like forever."

  Three days, later, Adrien was suddenly facing a much more pressing issue, one that shoved all of his other thoughts about how unfair their current situation was to the side. The net of cameras had finally managed to capture the source of all of the corrupted butterflies…..and they were indisputably coming from the Agreste Mansion.

  In the end, it was Dragoness who took Hawkmoth and Mayura down, in very typical Dragoness fashion.

"Oh, this is dumb," she had groaned after all of the superheroes had gathered to brainstorm how to attack Mr. Agreste and Mayura. Idea after idea had been shot down, because they wanted to be safe about the entire attack instead of rushing in and risking injury, and clearly the deliberations were wearing on Dragoness' patience. "We hesitate, and Mr. Agreste has more of a chance to do damage or find out about the police effort and the fact that we know who he is now. We can do one small ambush attack and be done, and then go back to our normal lives."

And with that, she had hopped off of the roof, dashed for the Agreste Mansion before anyone could stop her, turned into pure lightning, blasted through the window, and knocked both Mr. Agreste and Nathalie unconscious with a well-aimed jolt to the head before they even realized that she was there. The fight between superheroes and supervillains ended not with an epic battle, but with the rather anticlimactic thud of two unconscious bodies hitting the floor in a pristine home office while static crackled through the air.

The rest of their group stared.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Ladybug said dryly after several moments had passed and she had regained her composure, swinging through the window that Dragoness had shattered. "Nice work. Vixen, Leonardo- I want you to call the police to come pick these two up and then go out front to let them in. The rest of us can get the Miraculous and start documenting and gathering up anything else Miraculous-related."

Vixen opened her mouth- to protest, Ladybug was pretty positive, because of course she would want to poke around all of the Miraculous stuff but that wasn't going to happen if Ladybug could help it- but Leonardo elbowed her and pulled her out of the room before she could say anything.

"I'd also like someone watching Mr. Agreste and Ms. Sancoeur even after we take their Miraculous," Ladybug added. "Make sure that they're still breathing and don't wake up suddenly."

Cobra nodded. "I can do that. I've taken first aid before, I know what to look for."

"Good. Thank you." Ladybug let out a long breath, then looked around the room. Chat Noir was clearly doing all he could to not look at his fallen father and Nathalie, but everyone else seemed to be relatively unrattled. "Chiron, can you hack into the computers? If there's any information in there about motives, that would be great to know. Dragoness-"

"I have retrieved the Miraculous." Dragoness held out her hand to Ladybug, the Butterfly and the Peacock glittering from her palm. "They were not trying particularly hard to hide them, oddly enough. I would have expected more effort."

"Well, they weren't expecting people to find out about them," Ladybug pointed out with a little laugh. She took the Miraculous, tucking them away in her yo-yo, then glanced around again. Chiron had grabbed Mr. Agreste and was using the limp fashion designer's hand to get past the lock screen. Cobra looked less than certain about the manhandling of the unconscious ex-supervillain, but he wasn't objecting yet, either. "So there's no point in tucking the Miraculous away behind layers and layers of fabric. And they're camouflaged anyway, so..."

Dragoness looked less than convinced. Still, she turned away, working her way around the room, looking behind paintings and photos for hidden safes. Chat Noir had already opened the safe behind the portrait of his mom, cracking the door in half with his baton. Ladybug dithered for a moment, not entirely sure where she should start. Before she could go for the drawers of the desks- a fairly logical place to hide things, really- Chiron looked up from the computer.

"Ladybug? Chat Noir? I- I think you should see this."

  Hawkmoth was defeated. Paris was safe. Adrien's father and Nathalie were safely in jail, recovering from the healthy jolt of electricity to the head that they had gotten. All of the temporary Miraculous were back with Ladybug- after all, it wouldn't be a good idea to have too much magic jewelry floating around, even if they had good teammates- and Mrs. Agreste had been found, thanks to the information that Chiron had found on Mr. Agreste's computer, and Voyage'd off to Tibet for soul purification and healing with the restored temple of Guardians.

And, well, it turned out that having one's father exposed as a supervillain did have one very convenient upside.

After all, now it wasn't unbelievable that the superheroes might drop in and check up on Adrien every so often to make sure that he was coping with his father's arrest and to give him any updates on Mrs. Agreste's condition. And since the superheroes were very likely to be busy and need to be on their way quickly, it would make the most sense for Adrien to meet up with them in the mansion's courtyard.

And of course, for that to actually happen…well, it required a little bit of Miraculous magic, and a bit of planning.

Or a lot of planning, since Marinette was involved and wanted to make sure that all of their bases were covered and that nothing would go wrong. Adding to the difficulty, of course, was the fact that Alya had used the Fox Miraculous before and would be more likely than most people to pick up on anything that wasn't quite right. They had gone over the plan dozens of times, reviewing and fine-tuning it before the superheroes' first "visit".

And yet Marinette was still really nervous about something going wrong, considering that she was going over the plan again. Adrien would remind her that he already knew it by heart- after all, he had been present and active in the whole planning process- but if going over the plan again out loud was going to help Marinette be less nervous, Adrien wasn't going to stop her.

"I'll start the illusions a bit away, in an obvious area," Marinette was saying, pacing back and forth across the room as all of the kwamis watched her. "Then they'll swing by your window so that you know to come out to the front and pretend to chat. They'll stick around long enough for people to get in a picture or two, then leave. And remember-"

"-don't touch the illusions," Adrien finished for her, figuring that it was a good way to show her that he was listening and hadn't just checked out. "I know. I'll be careful."

"I'd make you an illusion, too, just so that there could be a little more interaction between you, but if the Gorilla comes out at all…" Marinette sighed, finally flopping onto the couch. "Hopefully he doesn't, or at least doesn't try to come over and listen in. I can do conversation, of course, but I'd have to actually think of things to say. And voices- I can do mine, obviously, but yours?"

"Chat Noir could always have a nasty cold that made him lose his voice," Adrien pointed out. He reached for Marinette's hand as she slid on the Fox Miraculous. "You've got this, Bugaboo. You've done illusion improv before and did amazing. I trust you. And I'll help, too, if he comes out. I can prompt the conversation with questions. You don't have to overthink this."

Marinette let out a long breath, her shoulders finally slumping as she relaxed. "Right."

Adrien pulled her into a hug. "You've got this."

"Right." Marinette took another deep breath, then called on Tikki and Trixx. With a flash of light, she transformed, and then she wasted no time at all in leaping out of the window, headed across the rooftops to find a place to hunker down so that she could watch her illusions without getting spotted herself. Adrien settled back down on the couch, keeping one eye on his window and the other on his phone, open to the superhero tag. He wanted to be able to let Foxybug know when her illusions were spotted, so that they could stop lingering and instead head straight for the mansion. After all, they wanted to balance getting attention with being believable, and favoring one over the other could easily be enough to raise some suspicion.

Despite the fact that the akuma threat was gone- or perhaps because of it, since sightings of the superheroes had gotten fewer and further between- it wasn't long before people started noticing the superheroes and posting about it online. A few were even posting pictures, and Adrien grinned when he saw one that had Ladybug and Chat Noir with their heads together, clearly deep in discussion about something serious. Foxybug wasn't having them go anywhere in a hurry, but- well, considering that the superheroes would have probably felt a bit awkward around Adrien if he hadn't been part of their team in the first place, their hesitation before talking to him was understandable. Two teenagers who hadn't been trained in giving news to family members of- well, family members of people who weren't in the best shape- would be a bit apprehensive.

Adrien's grin got wider. Marinette was so clever. He would have had the illusions wandering back and forth to get attention- the most obvious route to take, at least in his mind- and that would have been far more suspicious. Her ability to plan out believable scenarios, even when they weren't the most obvious- and often right on the spot, too-

Well, she was just incredible. That much was obvious- and had always been obvious.

Adrien couldn't wait until their plan had worked and he could safely date Marinette.

A tap at his window startled Adrien out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see the superhero illusion. He waved at it, then got up and headed for the courtyard in front of the mansion, squinting a little against the sun.

Unsurprisingly, the superhero illusions had beat him there and were waiting at the top of the steps. Perhaps a little more surprisingly, Adrien could already see a couple people not-so-discreetly peering through the gate, their phones out.

If this had been a real update meeting about how his mom was doing, Adrien would be pretty ticked at the invasion of his privacy, even though no one would actually be able to overhear their talking from the gate. As it was…

Well, he was still a bit irritated by it. After all, real or not, people were clearly prioritizing their interest in gossip over his right to privacy. But it was what he and Marinette wanted to happen, to keep their identities safe, so he wouldn't complain.

(Too much, at least.)

An awkward moment passed as illusions and civilian stared at each other, suddenly feeling too awkward to act. Since Adrien got the information on his mom at the same time as Ladybug did, there was no need to actually discuss her now, but that meant that they had to decide on a topic of conversation unless they just wanted to mime a conversation and hope that there were no binocular-eyed lip-readers in the group lingering at the gate.

"Er- thank you for coming, Ladybug and Chat Noir," Adrien finally said, breaking the silence even as he struggled to come up with a topic to discuss. Even with his background in modeling and dabbling in acting, he didn't think that he could pull off a several-minute "conversation" with the superheroes about nothing and make it look believable. "So, uh, how is my mom doing?"

…well, it wouldn't hurt to just reiterate the little information that he had already heard, he supposed. They could manage that, surely, even if both of them had suddenly gone tongue-tied.

So much for not overthinking things. Really, it was a miracle that they had done so well with akuma fights when they managed to get wrapped up in their own heads

Ladybug blinked, then sighed. "Oh. So we're actually talking, then."

Adrien tried not to laugh at that. "I figured that it would probably be more convincing than just standing around staring at each other, yes."

"Right- I mean, obviously, yes, mouths should be moving, but now I have to think of dialogue."

Adrien was starting to struggle to keep a straight face. If he laughed, that would be crazy suspicious. "We could just talk about the weather. How's the air above Paris, Chat Noir?"

There was a pause, and then Chat Noir scrunched up his nose at Adrien and said, in what was possibly the worst imitation of his voice that Adrien had ever heard in his life, "Paw-sitively purrfect."

Adrien practically choked in his effort not to laugh at that.

"Anyway, there's not much to report," Ladybug said a little louder than necessary, probably to cover up any suspicious noises from his muffled laughter. "The Guardians have reported your mom's safe arrival, and tests on her condition are expected to begin shortly. They just want to ensure that she will be stable during tests."

Adrien rearranged his face into something more suitable for the occasion. "What, you didn't like the weather talk? Pity."

"There's only so much I can think to talk about that's weather-related!" Ladybug protested. "Anyway, my timer is beeping, I'll have to wrap this up. We'll check in with you in a few days."

Adrien nodded, stepping back to give the illusions plenty of space to take off without crashing into him before turning to watch them go. He glanced at the gate- there were still people there, and a few withdrew hastily when they saw him looking at them as though he might not notice them there, while others clearly weren't at all ashamed at getting caught- and then turned and headed inside.

"First meeting was a success, I think," Marinette said as soon as Adrien stepped into his room, making him startle. For some reason, he hadn't guessed that she would be able to circle back and rejoin him so quickly, but he really should have. She was speedy, after all, and she would have been reaching the end of her Fox transformation. "Not everyone who was peeking in had their phones out for pictures, but most did. I wouldn't be surprised if at least one photo hits the internet."

"A necessary annoyance," Adrien agreed, flopping down on the couch next to her and resting his head against her shoulder. Now that that was over, he could properly relax. "And Alya follows the superhero tags religiously, so if it gets posted, she'll see it."

"Exactly." Marinette glanced over at him, grinning. Clearly she was feeling just as relieved that the first part of their plan was over with. "So. What do you want to do now?"