#and drew a page of suffering with eyes filling up the empty space...

[sunnymainecoonx]

I don't think I ever published these so ig.....

There's a last one but err warning for gore and blood(mostly just ripping an arm off)

[hawkinspostbite]

STRIKE

Words: 8,116

MASTERLIST

A/N: I do not claim to, nor do I own Stranger Things; the concept, characters, plot, etc.

MONDAY

Joanna stood right outside her locker, Carol, Nancy, and Diana standing around her. “So, strangely enough, I had to leave Billy’s last night. It was honestly embarrassing.” She sighed. “It’s never happened before, but I hit my sex breaking point.”

“Steve is unbelievable.” Di groaned, receiving questionable looks from the others. “Oh, I mean unbelievable in the way that he’s ridiculous. Checking on me every five seconds. I’m fine, just do what you’re doing, Jesus Christ.”

“If only I had your problem, I feel like Billy completely forgets I exist. Absolutely no control, and not a care for me.” Jo sighed.

“If I get within three feet of Tommy, he can’t keep his hands off of me. I can’t stand it.” Carol whined, examining her fingernails.

“Well at least your boyfriend likes you, I couldn’t tell you the last time Jonathan and I slept together.” Nancy counteracted.

“Jesus, we’re quite the mess, aren’t we?” Carol laughed pathetically. A few moments of silence passed.

“What if we went on a sex strike?” Jo spoke. Carol, Nancy, and Di looked at her in shock. “What-“

“That’s honestly not a bad idea.” Nancy said.

“Are you serious? That’s crazy.” Carol shrilled.

“Quiet down!” Jo swatted at her hand. “It’s not that crazy. It’ll be fun to watch them squirm.”

“They won’t even realize anything’s different.” Carol replied.

“One week, maybe not even- One week to prove to them that us and our needs are just as important as their’s.” Jo was becoming desperate to prove to the girls that this was in fact, a great idea. “By Friday, Carol, if Tommy can go without jumping your bones; Di, if Steve stops worrying about you; and Nancy, if Jonathan can’t keep his hand off of you, I win, and I get bragging rights. If not, I will treat you all to a shopping spree at the mall, no limit. And you can all say you told me so.”

“What about you?” Nancy asked.

“What about me?”

“What if you can’t get Billy to tend to you?”

“Then I’ll just look like a fool and continue to suffer.” Jo shrugged. “What do you say?”

“I say we get other girls in on this.” Di spoke up. The others look questioningly at her. “We can’t be the only four girls in Hawkins with bedroom issues. We should spread the word.”

“Damn.” Carol mumbled.

“You’re a genius.” Jo leaned over and kissed Di on the cheek. “Starting now, the female students of Hawkins high school are on a sex strike!” The four girls cheered, drawing the attention of passerby in the hallway. “We have to spread the word. I’ll take art.”

“I can cover gym.” Carol said.

“I have a double-period of English.” Di said.

“I guess I’ll cover science.” Nancy spoke.

The first period bell rang, interrupting their small power-trip. “Meet at lunch?” Jo asked. The others nodded, each of them smirking to themselves. The four girls went their separate ways, going to spread the word of their great idea.

Carol had gym first period. Normally she would stand, grumbling to herself against the bleachers, but today she almost made Mr. Sweeney keel over in shock from her participation in volleyball and her friendliness towards other students.

Nancy had science second period, and luckily for her, they had a group lab that day. Small notes, written in code were passed from female to female in the class.

Di had a double-period of honors English third and fourth, so her friend’s new plan made for interesting conversation between the girls at break.

Jo had art right before lunch, which made it a little more difficult to spread word, due to it being such a quiet class. But most of the work had already been done for her, because within the small whispers of the classroom, she heard talk of her master plan to rule against men.

Jo walked into the cafeteria, where she found Carol sitting with Tommy and Billy at their usual lunch table. “Hey babe.” Billy reached out to her, like he did every day. Jo ignored him, standing at the head of the table and seeing Nancy and Di waiting patiently at an empty table in the corner of the room.

“Carol, did you forget about that project we’re doing?” Jo whipped her head to look at her friend. “The others are waiting.”

“Oh shit! Yeah the project, totally forgot.” She pried herself away from Tommy’s grip, grabbing her bag and standing up.

“Hey, we don’t have a project in any class.” Billy said, his face twisting in confusion.

“Well we do.” Jo shrugged. “Super top-secret. You’re not allowed to know… And we’re pressed for time, sorry, bye.” She dragged Carol by her sleeve away from the table.

“Close one.” Carol sighed, sitting down next to Di.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I would’ve had to track you down though.” Jo rolled her eyes and sat next to Nancy.

“So have you heard the word around town yet?” Di asked proudly.

“Yeah, not much to talk about in a double-period of English is there?” Carol sneered.

“Jesus, must you be such a bitch all the time?” Jo snapped.

“Seriously?” Nancy groaned.

“I think the word is sufficiently spread.”

“I heard some freshman whispering about it in the hallway before third.” Carol smiled. “It’s definitely sufficiently spread.”

“So what’s the next move?” Nancy asked.

“We should have a party.” Jo said.

“I can’t host, my parents literally never leave the house.” Nancy sighed.

“I can’t either, my mom’s still pissed about the hole in the deck from the fourth of July.” Carol frowned.

The girls looked at Di. “Not even in the realm of possibility.”

“Fine, I can host.” Jo groaned. “I’ll just tell my dad to go away for the weekend or something.”

“He would do that?” Carol asked. “Like if you said, “dad just go away for the weekend”, he would?”

“Um, yes?”

“What if we made flyers?” Di asked. “Like maybe wallet-sized or something, so it would be harder for the guys to come across.”

“I could draw one up pretty quickly.” Jo shrugged.

“If we can find a way to make copies somehow, we can each give them out, and make official.”

Jo looked down at her watch. “There’s enough time for me to make a rough copy of the poster if I go now.” She gathered her things, standing from the bench.

“I’ll come with.” Carol grabbed her things as well.

“We can meet at my place after school.” Nancy said. “Mike will probably have his friends there, I’m sure one of them can help us figure out how to make copies of the poster.”

“If Max is there-“

“She would give her life for you Jo.” Di chuckled, making Jo smile.

“Alright, we’ll meet in the parking lot after school, see you then.”

Across the lunchroom, Billy watched as Jo and Carol left the room in a hurry. He had watched as they spent ten minutes talking with Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington’s new girlfriend, who he didn’t quite know the name of yet. That, the fact that Jo had left so suddenly last night, and her distance from him all day rubbed him the wrong way. “What do you think of that?” He asked Tommy.

“Those two being weird?”

“Yeah.”

“Well they’re always weird.”

Billy rolled his eyes, unsatisfied with his friend’s response. Hopefully, for both their sakes, Jo would stop being so strange.

In the empty art room, Jo scrambled quickly to find two pieces of poster-board and a marker. “So what’s the game-plan here?” Carol asked, sliding her backpack onto the big wooden table.

“A very rough draft of a sexy, female-empowering poster.” She concentrated on the paper as she scribbled Girls STRIKE at the top of the page, looking over at Carol questioningly.

“Yes, keep going.” Carol smiled.

Next, some random words at the bottom of the page, just to fill in the space. “What do I put in the middle?”

“Lips? Lipstick? The sign for females, you know, the one with the circle-”

“How about this?” Jo quickly drew the silhouette of a girl. “She can wear a dress. Or maybe not?”

“Right now she can just be a stick-figure.”

“But you get the idea?”

“Yeah I get the idea, I think it’s hot.”

“Well then we have our poster.” Jo high-fived Carol and rolled the paper up as the bell rang. The girls made their way to Jo’s locker where they placed the poster into safety.

At the end of the day, Jo retrieved the poster from her locker, meeting the others in the parking lot by Nancy’s car. “Come on, we’ve gotta go before the guys get out here!” Di squealed.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jo and Carol climbed into the back of the car, leaving Di up front with Nancy and the middle for Mike.

“Hi boys.” Jo smiled at them as they climbed into the car.

“Just two of you today?” Nancy asked.

“Max, Dustin, and Will are coming over in a little bit. Max had to go home first and Steve’s gonna bring them over later. Hey.” Mike replied, suddenly noticing Jo’s appearance.

“We have a project.” Jo replied to Mike’s question he had yet to ask.

“Cool.”

Upon arrival at the Wheeler’s house, the four girls practically sprinted up to Nancy’s room, locking the door behind them. Jo pulled the poster out of her bag, laying it out on Nancy’s bed. “That’s…” Di began.

“Rough.” Nancy said.

“Yes, thank you.”

“But I think we get the picture.” Di smiled.

“So what exactly is the plan for the party? How are we supposed to keep guys from showing up?” Nancy asked.

“Or finding out?” Carol added.

“We aren’t.” Jo replied. “I mean, we’re supposed to try, but you know there’s no way to completely keep it from happening.”

“It’s like Hargrove has a built-in party-detector

“We need to try our best to make sure that other girls keep it as quiet as possible.” Di added.

“We should have a dress-code for the party.” Carole burst out.

“Like…?” Jo asked.

“Black and red.” Carole grinned. “Those are powerful colors.”

“Leather and lace optional?” Jo said, jokingly.

“That’s going on the poster!” Nancy agreed.

The girls continued to work out the details of the party, arrival time, alcohol, music, etcetera, and Jo noticed that Steve had dropped off the other kids. She left Nancy’s room, opening the door to the basement, she was met with immense noise. All six sets of eyes turned to look at her. “Max, can I talk to you upstairs quick?”

Max, confused, followed Jo up the stairs, back to Nancy’s room. Upon seeing the poster on the bed, she stopped dead in her tracks. “What is going on?”

“We need your help.” Nancy said.

“What are you guys doing? Organizing some weird sex strike or something?” Max laughed nervously.

“Actually, yes.” Jo said.

“You’re joking- That was a joke. Are you serious?” Jo nodded. “That’s disgusting, I did not need to know that.”

“Relax Maxine, sex is a part of life-“ Carol smiled.

“Jesus Christ, Carol! The last thing I need is Billy finding out that we gave Max a bootleg sex-ed class in Nancy’s bedroom, oh my god.” Jo snapped at her.

“So what exactly did you need help with?” Max walked up to the bed, further examining the poster.

“We need help making copies of this, to pass out to other girls.” Jo answered.

“We were thinking maybe wallet-sized, or a little bigger?” Di added.

“I know how to copy and print and everything, but we figured that the schools wouldn’t be too happy knowing that we were producing sex-strike posters to hand out on campus.” Nancy shrugged.

“Yeah, I can imagine…” Max sighed.

“But we know you have an in at the library-“ Jo began.

“I work there on weekends, yes.”

“Do you think we could get in this week to make copies?” Jo smiled. “Please Max, I’ll do anything. I’ll take Billy off your case for as long as I can, I’ll even take you and your friends out for pizza and ice cream next week. Literally anything, just please get us twenty minutes in the library copy room.”

Jo was practically on the floor, begging Max. She pursed her lips. “You and Nancy pick me up after school tomorrow. I’ll tell Marissa that I need the copy machine for a school project.”

“Thank you so much Max!” Jo jumped up from the floor, wrapping her arms around the younger girl.

“You owe me so much.”

“I’ve never broken a promise before.” Jo held her pinkie out, locking it with Max’s.

Max left Nancy’s room, still feeling slightly uncomfortable, and she rejoined her friends in the basement. “What did she want?” Will asked.

“Something stupid about my brother.” Max rolled her eyes, playing it off.

“I still don’t understand how they’re together.” Lucas said.

“What do you mean?” Max asked.

“Your brother is like the biggest asshole on planet Earth, and Jo is like-“

“The total opposite!” Dustin interrupted. “She’s into art, and she’s quiet, and she’s nice to us. I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Lucas agreed.

“Me either.” Mike said.

“I don’t get it just as much as you guys.” Max shrugged.

Upstairs, Jo had rolled the poster back up, in preparation to leave. “I’ve got to head out before it gets too dark.”

“Prince Bad-ass in his blue chariot isn’t going to come give you a lustrous ride all the way to Trestle road?” Carol snickered.

Jo patted at the poster in her hand. “Nope, it would ruin the plan.”

“He’s gonna be pretty pissed when he finds out you walked home by yourself.”

“So come with me?” Jo raised her eyebrows. “You can spend the night. We’ll stop at your house, you can pick up some clothes.”

Carol sighed. “I suppose I could.” She turned to gather her things. “Your dad home? He gonna let us drink?”

“It’s Wednesday for god’s sake.” Jo rolled her eyes. “Di, you wanna walk?”

“No, I’m gonna hang here until Steve comes for Dustin, but thanks anyway.”

“Be careful.” Nancy waved them goodbye.

“Play it cool, see you tomorrow!” Jo yelled back.

The two girls began their sunset-trek from Maple street to Pine, where they stopped at Carol’s house. Her mother was at the grocery store, and her father had yet to return from work, but her older brother was there. “Hey, we’re gonna need you to get us some supplies for a party Friday.” Carol said, writing a quick note to her parents about her whereabouts.

“Don’t I get an invite?” He asked.

Carol snickered. “Not with that thing hanging between your legs.”

“Sorry, girls only.” Jo shrugged. Carol and Jo retreated into her room briefly, for Carol to pack an overnight bag. Her phone began to ring. “I didn’t know you got your own line?”

“It’s the latest addition.” Carol set her bag down and walked over to the phone. “As you can imagine, only one person really calls it. And I’m sure that’s who this is now- Hello?”

Surely it was Tommy.

“Yeah I’m sleeping over at Jo’s.

I know we were at Nancy’s all night, for that project we told you about at lunch?

“Uh, well- What class is this project for?” She held the receiver to her shoulder, blocking sound from traveling to Tommy.

“Art?” Jo answered, questionably.

“It’s an art project Jo has. She needed us all together but she has to work with us separately. We ran out of time at Nancy’s so we’re going to her house.

Yeah, my mom’s gonna give us a ride.

Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Jesus Christ.” She hung up the phone, and then unplugged it. “I’ll save my folks some grief.”

Carol finished packing her bag as the sun set, and the girls finished their walk, two streets over to Trestle road, where Jo lived. “Hey dad, I’m home, and I brought Carol with me.”

Jo’s dad sat in their small living room, half-asleep as the television lulled in the background. “Hey girls, what are we up to tonight.”

“I have an art project that I need Carol’s help with if that’s okay. She’s gonna spend the night.”

“Fine by me, just make sure you two are up for school in the morning.”

“Thanks dad, love you.”

“There’s pizza in the fridge by the way, and anything else you want, just help yourselves.” Carole smiled at Jo’s dad’s kindness. “By the way, Billy called. He seemed worried, you might wanna call him back.”

Jo rolled her eyes.

Jo and Carol went down the steps, into the basement, which had been fortified as a bedroom for Jo. Quite frankly, it was the best hangout spot any of their friends had. It had a bed, 2 couches, a small television and radio, an attached bathroom, and a pool table, making it the ideal place for drinking, smoking, and sleeping, and now, secretive “art” projects.

Carol unrolled the two posters, laying the scribbled one next to the blank one. Jo picked up the phone connected to the wall, dialing Billy’s number and hoping that whatever god was listening, made him not pick up. Lucky for her, he didn’t, so she proceeded to leave a quick message on his answering machine. “Hey baby, it’s me. Don’t be mad… But Carol and I walked from Nancy’s home after school… C is sleeping over, we’re still working on that project. I’m guessing you’re pretty pissed at me, and you’re probably out drinking or something like that. Be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“That was disgustingly cute.” Carol snickered from the floor.

“Yeah, and he won’t suspect a thing. Plus tomorrow we’ll fight about the fact that I walked home, so he won’t even care about the mysterious project anymore.”

Jo gathered her markers and watercolors and sat down next to Carol. “So honestly, you can turn the T.V on, you don’t have to sit and watch me try to perfect this.”

“It’s fine, I like to watch artists work.” She settled herself more comfortably onto the floor, holding a pillow in her lap.

“I am by no means, an “artist”, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Go put a record on.” Jo hated to make Carol get up after she had gotten comfortable, but she couldn’t work in silence.

“I don’t know how you expect to work with this absolute masterpiece playing in the background, but to each their own…” Of all the records to pick, Carol had chosen Queen’s, “Jazz”.

“You’re totally right, why would you put this on?”

Carol threw herself onto the couch. “Because I don’t want to listen to anything depressing while we’re plotting a sex strike.”

“Right.” Jo nodded her head.

For quite awhile, Jo worked on the poster, while Carol watched over her, quietly humming to the music. Occasionally, they would burst out singing, and laugh, and then return to work.

After three hours, a short pizza break, and only one “maybe we should rethink this whole plan” dilemma, the sun had completely gone down outside, no light peered in from the singular tiny window across the room. The poster was complete. “That’s a keeper, for sure.” Carol admired the artwork laid out on the floor.

“I’m quite honestly shocked that I did it with such little preparation.” She turned around to look at her friend. “Do you think it’ll get the point across?”

“I mean everyone basically knows from word-of-mouth anyway, this is just a seal-the-deal type of thing. I think it should be fine.”

“Not too much information? I mean, it doesn’t say my house but nobody else lives on this street except for Mrs. Goldson.”

“Yeah, she’s deaf.”

“Exactly-“

“No, I think we’ll be fine. Stop worrying. This is gonna be awesome.” Carol climbed down from the couch, sitting face-to-face with her best friend. “We’re gonna get to watch them sweat. Can you imagine their faces when they realize what’s going on? It’ll be priceless.”

Jo raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t a little cruel?”

“The whole reason we’re doing this is because we need paid attention to! Who gives a shit what they want, it’s time for them to cater to us. We’re women, damn it! Without us, nobody would be here, so they’re gonna start being a little more grateful for our presence.” Carol grinned.

“In the end, we’re gonna win, regardless.”

TUESDAY

After Jo’s pep-talk, and a shot, for an extra boost of courage, the two girls went to bed. The next morning, Jo’s dad drove the two of them to school, the finished poster rolled as small as possible so as to not draw any suspicion. It was hard work, trying to avoid Billy and Tommy, and the rest of their friends on the basketball team, where they usually hung out in the parking lot in the morning. They had to crouch behind a group of freshmen girls to safely get inside the school.

“It should be safe in my locker.” Jo said, hushed. “He doesn’t know my combination- Thank god.” She shoved the poster inside, quickly closing the door and turning to face Carol.

“Ready to face the world?”

Down the hallway, Billy and Tommy came into view, the rest of their friends following behind like groupies.

“Act natural.” The two nodded to each other, making their way towards their boyfriends.

Neither of them suspected anything.

Throughout the day, they tried their best to carry on like normal. Nancy and Di briefly caught up with each of them at lunch, saying that Jonathan and Steve hadn’t expected anything. Speaking of lunch, it was the most difficult period, trying to not to perform excessive PDA on their boyfriends without them suspecting something was harder than they had originally thought. “Strike! You’re on strike!” They had to keep reminding themselves.

At the end of the day, they had to, once again sneak away from the boys. Steve was in the parking lot, waiting with Dustin for Di. Jonathan was with Nancy, standing between their cars. Will, Lucas, and Mike were inside Jonathan’s car. “Hey.” Jo said, walking up to them.

“We’re waiting for Max.” Nancy replied.

“She had to pick up her skateboard from the office.” Will spoke from inside the car.

Jo gave him a questioning look. “She was skating before homeroom and the secretary took it from her.” Lucas answered.

“What a bitch.” Jo rolled her eyes, seeing Max walk into view.

“Sorry, Ms. Leen took my board this morning-“ She grumbled, her board tucked under her arm.

“No worries.” Nancy said, turning to get into her car.

“What’d you tell Billy?” Jo asked, climbing into the passenger seat. They waved goodbye to the boys in the other car.

“Picking up extra hours at work.” Max replied, laying her board down on the floor. “You guys were taking me so you can work on your project.”

“Thank god.” Nancy sighed.

The girls drove to the library. The older girls followed Max inside, waiting for her to convince Marissa to let them use the copy machine. After quite a few minutes of coaxing, she allowed them thirty minutes, after that she’d have to charge them for ink.

Inside the copy room, Max set up the machine, making roughly sixty wallet-sized replicas of the poster Jo painted. Nancy and Jo began to cut them up as Max watched them run through the machine. “Do I want to know the story behind this scheme?”

Nancy and Jo looked at each other. “No.” They said in unison.

“It’s probably better if you didn’t.” Nancy said.

They somehow managed to copy, print, and cut up all the cards within their thirty minute time-slot. Thanking Marissa, they rushed back to Nancy’s car. Nancy took Jo home first, a rationing of cards enough for her and Carol in her grasp. “I’ll get some to Di tonight, they’ll probably come and pick up Will and Dustin.” Nancy said.

“Max, not a word to Billy, right?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Start trying to find a date that works for everyone to go out for food, okay? See you guys tomorrow.”

Billy had been suspicious of Jo since Monday, when she left him alone with Tommy at lunch. Jo was always sneaky and strange but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. He admired her for her quirks. But this time it wasn’t just one of her quirks, it was more like she was deliberately being weird. It bugged the shit out of him.

Monday and Tuesday he had been fucking up in practice, getting his ass reamed out at home by his dad, and practically slept through the first half of his school schedule. He spent half the night awake, wondering why Jo hadn’t come over at all, and barely let him touch her.

By the time practice ended on Tuesday, he had already reached his breaking point. “Has Carol been acting weird at all this week?” He asked Tommy, as they gathered in the locker room to shower.

“Not really, she’s just been spending a lot of time at Jo’s, why?”

Billy shook his head. “Well Jo has. She hasn’t come over at all. Normally she’s over every damn night.”

“Chicks are weird, man. They go through phases.” Tommy shrugged.

Billy didn’t buy it. Tommy was no help, but he knew who could be, and he was ready to push some buttons.

Billy arrived at Jo’s house, and let himself in. Her dad wasn’t home, so she was alone. Quietly, he passed through the living room and into the kitchen, seeing her standing over the stove, the draw-fan on full-blast, blocking out any background sound. “Ya know, you really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.”

“Jesus!” She jumped, turning around and clutching a wooden spoon to her chest.

“No, just me.” He smirked, stepping forward to grab her hips. But she twisted out of his grasp, turning back around to stir whatever was in the pot. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning forward. “What’re you making?”

“Trying to boil noodles for macaroni and cheese.” She mumbled, concentrated at the pot of still water on the stove. “Don’t think I have it hot enough.”

He looked up at the dials, reaching to turn the one for her burner all the way up. “Can’t cook noodles on a simmer.”

“I don’t love cooking. Can you tell?” She laughed as the flames grew underneath the pot. “Wanna do it for me?”

“If you insist…” He rolled his eyes jokingly. “Just as long as you get everything else ready. Think you can manage it?”

“I think I can.” Jo turned to grab a packet of powder off the counter. “It’s Kraft.”

Billy boiled the noodles, and drained them, and Jo mixed the cheese sauce together. The two ate their macaroni, and talked about their days at school. Eventually, they moved down to Jo’s room. They sat on the couch, enjoying the comfortable silence they provided each other. Until Billy had to ruin it.

“You been okay lately?” He whispered, running his hands through her hair.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Yes… Why?”

“Dunno… Just haven’t seen much of you this week. How’s that project of your’s going?”

He felt her tense up in his lap. “It’s fine. Almost done, gotta hand it in Friday afternoon.”

“Huh, really. How have the other’s been? Helpful?”

“Others? Oh, Nancy, C, and Diana? Yeah, very helpful, probably couldn’t do it without them.”

“When do I get to see this super top-secret, mysterious art project?” He smiled, trying not to make it seem like he suspected anything weird was going on.

“Well…” She sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be getting it back, it might be going to the art show at the end of the semester.”

Nice cover. He thought.

Billy was currently content with sitting in the quiet and enjoying each other’s company. It was the most physical contact they had had all week. Eventually though, he let his mind wander, and soon his hands, and then Jo found herself in a predicament.

God, it felt nice, having him kiss her, and touch her, but damnit she was supposed to be on a strike. She couldn’t let it go any further.

Billy’s hands traveled under Jo’s shirt. She pulled away from his kiss. “Mm, I’m kinda tired.”

He still didn’t move his hands. “C’mon, this is the most I’ve seen of you all week. Let’s just have some fun.”

He leaned forward, catching her lips in his again. She sighed, once again pulling away. “No- No. I don’t want to, c’mon not tonight.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists, removing his fingers from under her shirt.

Billy groaned, flopping his head against the back of the couch dramatically.

Jo couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit guilty.

She climbed off of his lap. “I’d say you can spend the night, but I don’t trust you won’t somehow talk me into sleeping with you, so I think I’m gonna have to ask you to go home.”

Billy’s jaw dropped. She had never asked him to leave before.

“What has gotten into you lately-“

“Nothing, nothing. My dad’s gonna be home, and we have school tomorrow…”

“That’s never stopped us before.” He grumbled, standing up and fixing his shirt.

“Doesn’t matter, no means no.” She chewed at her lip. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like it.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Billy rolled his eyes, staring at his girlfriend. “Am I at least permitted a kiss before I go?”

Jo smiled softly, leaning up on her tip-toes to kiss him. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

Billy was damn sure there was something suspicious going on now.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday was tough. Carol had skipped school, just to avoid Tommy. Nancy had skipped for a college visit, and Di joined her. So it was just Jo alone all day, with Billy and Tommy, and their idiot friends.

Billy was sure he had become wise to what was going on. Putting the pieces together: Tommy saying Carol was acting weird, Jo not wanting to have sex last night, the secret “art” project. The two of them had created a sex-pact, and the art project had something to do with it. (He hadn’t worked out all of the pieces yet.)

Billy was a born-instigator, so naturally, he made it his mission, to break the pact. And he took out all the stops.

He made sure to wear extra of the cologne she loved on him, only buttoned his shirt up halfway, smiled more often, and was extra sweet to her in the morning.

In their fourth-period gym class, he gave Mr. Sweeney to brilliant idea of having the guys play shirts versus skins during their basketball drills. He, of course volunteered his group for skins, trying his hardest to drive Jo wild. He winked and smiled at her from across the gym, watching repeatedly as her cheeks flushed red in the middle of a conversation with someone.

At lunch he made sure to keep at least one of his hands on her thigh at all times, complimenting her any chance he got. And when he waited for her at his car after school, he made sure he was smoking a cigarette, because although she detested the habit, she thought it was hot.

He greeted her with a kiss and watched as she got into the passenger seat; He followed, in the driver’s seat. He reached across her lap, into the glovebox, grabbing a piece of gum. “Gum?” He asked, slowly breaking the piece in half and sticking it in his mouth.

She practically drooled. “I know what you’re doing. It isn’t going to work.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about princess.” He grinned, starting the car. “Just asking my gorgeous girlfriend if she wants a piece of gum.”

Jo breathed in deeply. “Shut up.” She said through clenched teeth.

Wednesday afternoon was when Steve began to get suspicious. Di hadn’t wanted to do anything but drive around and listen to music since Sunday night. She made no extra effort to be affectionate, physically or verbally, and Steve was beginning to panic. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something wrong? Did he spend too much time with Dustin? Did she not like the music he played? A million questions ran through his mind all day, leading up until the very moment he picked her up from school.

He had told Dustin that morning he was going to have to get a ride with Jonathan, because he desperately needed to talk to Di. Dustin asked no questions, he knew exactly what Steve was going through, he had had his fair share of lady-problems too. Communicating with his girlfriend Suzie in Washington was more often difficult than simple.

When Di got into the car, she greeted him with a kiss, which was not out of the ordinary. They went through their regular routine of asking how each other’s days were, and chit-chatting about the college visit and work at the video store. A few moments of silence passed, and Steve couldn’t control himself anymore. “Are we okay?”

Di turned to look at him suddenly. “What?”

“Are we okay? Am I doing everything okay?”

“Steve-“

“You haven’t really talked to me that much the past few days, and all you’ve wanted to do is drive around, not that I mind, I love spending time with you, but we haven’t just done nothing, or just hung out in awhile and I feel like it’s something I did, or something I said. If it is, please tell me, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever say it again. Whatever it is, I didn’t mean it, it was stupid of me-“

“Steve. Relax.” Di tightened her grip on his hand, where it was placed on her thigh.

“Oh- Sorry. It’s just-“

And then that’s when Di began to panic. “Please take me home.”

Steve slammed on his brakes in the middle of the street, his eyes going wide. He ripped his hand from her thigh, placing it on the gear shift. Di was never confrontational, she wasn’t aggressive. There was nothing wrong with between her and Steve, and she couldn’t come up with a logical excuse for why she wanted to just drive around, so she told him to take her home.

She was already mentally slapping herself.

“I-uh, okay.”

The rest of the drive to Di’s house, Steve said not one word. Neither did Di. He dropped her off, watching longingly as she silently got out of his car, and walked to her house.

Steve spent the entire drive home trying not to cry.

Billy dropped Jo off at her house, watching as she begrudgingly gave him a kiss. “Call me if you need anything… Or anyone.” He winked, watching as she clenched her jaw.

On her front porch she stood, shaking her head and flipping him off as he drove down the street, music blasting at max volume, pleased with the shit he had pulled.

He had definitely cracked the code.

THURSDAY

Jo spent Wednesday night sufficiently frustrated. She was mad at herself, for coming up with such a stupid idea. Who even strikes things anymore? She was mad at Nancy, Diana, and Carol for agreeing to her stupid idea. And most importantly, she was mad at Billy for figuring out what was going on, and making it his life’s mission to tease the shit out of her.

She expressed her frustrations to Carol over the phone after she had been dropped off. “How could we be so dumb?” “Since when did he get so clever?” “What the fuck is wrong with us?” Were just a few of the things she had said to Carol.

Carol was practically glued to her side all day Thursday. “They can’t possibly mess with both of us. We just have to distract each other.” She had said. She was only partially right.

Billy seemed to have let Tommy in on the girls’s little secret, and the two of them were the pair from hell. All day, any opportunity they got, they were doing something to get under their skin. Tiny little movements, whispering in their ears, stupid shit. And of course they got a reaction, because Carol and Jo were nothing if not predictable.

The pair went to Carol’s after school. She left her phone unplugged still.

After practice, Billy ditched Max, telling her to skate home, and drove himself to Steve Harrington’s house. He hated that he even knew where he lived, but he had been at a party there last summer, and he hated to admit it, but Harrington threw a wicked party.

He had barely gotten out of the car when he saw Steve step out his front door, a bouquet of roses in his hand. “I love you. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry? What the hell am I sorry for?”

“Hey, Harrington!” Billy called, casually walking towards him.

Steve looked up, eyes wide in shock. He flung the flowers behind him, quickly stuffing both of his hands into his pockets. “Hargrove, hey man, what’s up.”

“Those for your girlfriend?” Billy pointed to the discarded bunch of flowers on the ground.

“Oh, these?” Steve turned around, picking them up. “Yeah, they’re for Diana.”

“She been acting weird lately?” Billy chewed at his lower lip. “Because Joanna has, and I know they’re doing a project together, so I was wondering-“

Steve interrupted him. “Joanna is always weird.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “That’s besides the point. Has Diana been acting weird? Jo has been out-of-the-ordinary weird, and I’m wondering if it’s that project they’re doing.”

“Di hasn’t mentioned a project to me…” Steve fiddled with the wrapping on the bouquet.

Billy raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. That’s weird. Jo said she had a project in art. Wheeler, Carol, and your girlfriend have been helping her out with it since Monday. Funny she didn’t mention it. You’ll have to ask her about it… Thanks anyway.”

Billy turned on his heel, walking back towards his car. “Actually, she has been acting a little strange.” Billy grinned, turning back to face Steve. “Every night she just wants to drive around and that’s it, she won’t do anything except hold my hand.”

Billy nodded, motioning to the flowers in Steve’s hand. “You go give her those flowers, I’ll handle the rest.” Billy twirled his keys between his fingers. “I’m gonna figure out why the girls have been acting up, don’t you worry pretty boy.”

Meanwhile, Steve had taken it upon himself to drive over to Diana’s house. She clearly didn’t want to talk to him, so he decided to leave the flowers at her doorstep. He managed to find an sticky note in his glove box, and on it he wrote I love you, I’m sorry. Just as he rehearsed, even though he still didn’t know why he was supposed to be sorry. He rang the doorbell and sprinted back to his car.

On his way home, and throughout the rest of the night he couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling his head. Why was she mad at him? What did he do? What did he say? Did she get the flowers? If she got them, did she like them? Did she see the note? He didn’t sign his name, would she know they were from him?

Steve didn’t sleep much that night.

Upon arriving at home, Billy found the house completely uninhabited. Max’s backpack had been thrown haphazardly inside the front door, almost making him trip over it. He kicked at it, causing it to slump sideways. Normally, he wouldn’t have thought twice about picking it up and taking it to her room, and then yelling at her when she got home about it “Max don’t leave your fucking backpack right inside the door, I almost died!” But a small piece of white paper sticking out of the front pocket caught his eye first.

He bent down, pulling it out of the bag, and when he read it, he almost threw up. It was a tiny, wallet-sized piece of card-stock, Girls STRIKE was painted across the top of it in red ink, but that wasn’t the most disturbing part. “Leather + Lace optional”, was what really got him. What the hell was Max doing with a card that said that on it? Where did she get it? Why did she keep it?

Holding the card between his fingers, he rushed into the kitchen, quickly dialing Tommy’s number on the phone. “Dude, you have got to see this shit. I’ll meet you in ten.” He said, hanging up and going back outside to his car.

He did make it across town to Loch Nora in record time, laying on his horn for Tommy to come outside. He had just planned to sit in the car and show Tommy the card. “Look at what I found in Maxine’s backpack.” Billy sighed, tossing the card into Tommy’s lap.

“Shit, what’s your thirteen-year-old sister doing with this?” Tommy examined it.

“My thoughts exactly.” Billy replied. “But then I remembered that she went to the library with Joanna and Nancy Wheeler on Tuesday after school. And who’s been acting weird this week, but Jo and Carol, and they’ve been working on that stupid art project with Wheeler.”

“So… You think this is the art project?”

“Could be.” Billy lit a cigarette. “I went over to Harrington’s after school. He said his girlfriend has been acting weird too lately.”

“She’s included in that project the girls are doing.”

“Precisely, amigo.”

“So what are we supposed to do about this?” Tommy waved the card in his hand.

“Looks like we’ve got a party to go to.”

Also, over on Isola Road, Nancy was secretly sleeping over at Jonathan’s. Joyce never actually had an issue with Nancy staying over, she trusted both of them, but understood how it might be awkward to asl your mom if your girlfriend can stay over, so she let them continue with their “secret” sleepovers. Nancy was hesitant to say yes Jonathan’s fifth-period offer, “Wanna stay the night?” He asked. Then she figured, maybe she should stay over, and make it a point to mention their issue. After all, her problem was very much different from the other girls’s.

But alas, they never got the chance. When she arrived, they got right to work on studying for an English exam, and then they decided to watch a movie. (A television was the latest and greatest edition to Jonathan’s bedroom) And by the time the movie was over, they were basically half-asleep, so what would be the point in mentioning sex now? Whether it was happening, or not.

They laid in bed, side-by-side, barely touching each other. “Jonathan?” Nancy said, the darkness of the room making her voice seem a lot louder than it actually was.

“Yeah Nance?”

“You know you can touch me, right? Like we can cuddle or whatever, you aren’t gonna break me.”

From beside her, Jonathan chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay…” Nancy turned on her side, facing away from him. She was about to fall asleep, feeling completely and utterly defeated, when she felt Jonathan’s arm wrap around her middle. She smiled, feeling slightly accomplished.

Nancy had a good night’s sleep that night.

FRIDAY

Friday was a relatively easy day. Tommy and Billy had decided to keep their distance from their girlfriends, not wanting to draw any extra attention to themselves, or make them wise to the fact that they knew everything that they were scheming.

After Billy had talked to Tommy, he had driven over to Steve’s, tossing the card at him just like he did Tommy. “Told ya I’d figure it out.” Steve was shell-shocked, eyes wide and nodding at everything Billy was saying. He grasped most of the information. “This is why your girl’s been acting weird… Party at Joanna’s on Friday… Better call Byers to let him know…”

Steve did call Jonathan, who had absolutely no clue anything was going on, he had had a big project at the Post throughout the week that had taken most of his focus away from school.

So the plan was set, Billy was going to pick everyone up, and they were crashing the fucking party.

Jo had told her dad to go away for the weekend. “It’s just a little party dad, a couple girls. No boys, I pinky-swear. Please…” She didn’t have to beg much, her dad would probably do anything she asked, almost short of murder if she said please.

Nancy and Di had made sure to have secure alibis with their parents, and bags already packed. Nancy drove them all to Jo’s house, where they finished setting up what Jo had done earlier.

She had cleaned the house the night before, trying to take her frustrations out by tidying up. Carol’s brother dropped off copious amounts of alcohol, and a gram of weed just for an extra treat (He had a soft-spot for Jo). Red lights were strung up around the entire house; the living room, kitchen, all over the basement. The entire kitchen table was covered in drinks, and Carol was on music-duty so it would be nonstop bangers all night.

Nothing could go wrong.

They all got dressed, none of them wore leather or lace, it was more of a joke, but they did wear black and/or red. “We look hot!” Di squealed.

Girls began to arrive as early as seven thirty, to which they were gladly welcomed. Within an hour, the party was in full-swing, music blasting, alcohol flowing; someone had brought glitter and it was everywhere, but nobody cared, because there was not a man in sight.

That was, until, Jo heard the roar of a scarily familiar car engine from outside the house.

She stopped, dead in her tracks, almost spitting out her drink. From across the room, her and Nancy locked eyes. Shit. No, no, it couldn’t be, the boys didn’t know about the party.

Jo walked through the crowd of girls to the front window, staring in shock as Billy stepped out of the Camaro. “Holy shit.” She mumbled.

She set her drink down on the windowsill, rushing to step onto the front porch. Nancy, noticing her panicked stare from across the room, grabbed Di and Carol and they followed her onto the porch. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jo said, trying not to sound as annoyed as she greeted her boyfriend.

“You’re found out sweetheart. We’ve come to crash the party.”

“But- How? How did you find out?”

Billy pulled the wallet-sized card out of his pocket. “Max kept a copy for herself after your little library rendezvous.”

“Well shit.” Jo face-palmed.

“Just give up, give in. You’ve lost.” The four girls stood, shocked at the presence of their boyfriends, who stood smugly in front of them. “C’mon, it was a good effort, but we figured you out. Throw in the towel.”

Not thinking her friends would give up so easily, Jo shook her head. But to her surprise, her friends had actually thrown in the towel. Billy walked forward, pulling her to him by her waist. She couldn’t put up a fight, she had been so strong all week, but she was finally ready to give in. “How I’ve missed you, princess.” Jo pouted as he peppered her face with kisses. “We’ve got some lost time to make up for, come on.”

Jo was a too drunk to form coherent thoughts, let alone form a coherent argument to figure out how or why or when Billy had figured out their plan. When she took Max and her friends out for food this week, she would have to investigate how Max managed to steal a copy of the poster.

From over Billy’s shoulder, she watched as the other girls desperately fell into the arms of their boyfriends. Shit, they had lost. They had lasted the entire week, but the hadn’t been able to keep it a secret.

Defeated, she let Billy drag her to the depths of her bedroom, locking the door, and finally surrendering to him.

MONDAY

On Monday, the girls met outside, next to Nancy’s car.

Nancy was glowing, the winter sun illuminating her face, her cheeks a bright rosy tint. Carol was grinning from ear to ear, clearly exponentially happy. Diana was staring blissfully into the distance. Jo was happy, albeit angry with how her plan failed, she had an extremely euphoric weekend.

“So, ladies, how was your weekend?”

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟓

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟎𝟗𝟎

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟓:

“Her eyes. . .” Your mother trembled as you reached out to her with your smaller hands. “They’re filthy.”

You felt the sharp sensation of pain hitting your cheek as you stumbled back onto the floor. You stared up at your mother with shocked eyes while she glared back at you. You propped yourself on your elbows while you felt the sting of her slap still resting on your cheek.

“M-Mom. . . ? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t call me mom!” She screamed, pulling on her hair as her body trembled with anger. You started to feel extremely scared in the moment, your mother was going through another breakdown.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” She wailed, hitting the walls of your home while you back yourself up against the opposite side, trying to keep your distance away from her. She screamed in rage before throwing some of the tablewares at you while you held your arms up, shielding yourself from the barrage of silverware that collided against the bruises on your skin. 

“Mother. . .” You began to tear up when she walked towards you, her hand outstretched and raised before giving you another slap against your face. Her (h/c) hair framing her face while it pooled over her shoulder, her lips caved downwards to a frown as she stared down at you with hatred. 

“Cover your eyes. I don’t want to see them.”

You tightly shut your eyes as you felt your mother roughly pulling on your hair, the forceful feeling making you terrified of the idea that your hair might even be ripped out of your scalp entirely. She began dragging you across the floor and shoving you into your room, the door slamming shut right behind you with a thud as her footsteps slowly disappeared.

You laid in the cold ground, breathing a sigh of relief as you began cracking your eyes open to stare at the large altar within the room. It was still decorated with various empty bowls and incense, albeit a bit messy and thrown together. The figure of God staring down at your pitiful, childish body with their hardened gaze.

“God. . . Please save me.” You reached out to the figure weakly before your arm fell down to the floor moments after, your energy weakening by the second. Your vision starts to blur as you try to keep your eyes open at God, begging them to free you from this prison. 

You gasped and sat up from your bed, your heart pounding as if someone was knocking on it vigorously. You covered your mouth as you felt your stomach beginning to clench itself, you were feeling extremely sick and you desperately wanted to throw up.

“It was just a dream. . .” You whispered, “it was all just a dream.”

You felt the cool drip of liquid fall from your eyes and onto your lap, your hand reaching out to stroke the cheek your mother touched. Beads of sweat were dripping down from your neck as you struggled to breathe. You choked up a sob as you tried to control your cries.

How many more years must you suffer this curse?

You brought your hand up close to your eyes, your nails only inches away from the skin as you stared into your palm.

You wished there was a way to end this torment.

Your arm began to shake as you tried to stabilize yourself. You tightly shut your eyes before reeling your hand back, lulling yourself back into bed while you continued crying. Your chest started to burn as you struggled for proper oxygen. You pulled the sheet over your head, engulfing your entire figure in darkness as you found yourself slowly drifting away in the sea of emptiness.

You mindlessly drew in your journal, drinking your second carton of milk while you sat on the rooftop with everyone else. Yuki eyed you carefully, noticing that you had taken off your bandages and there were dark circles under your eyes which you tried to conceal with a bit of makeup.

Did something happen to you last night? He continued to eat his meal as he sat near you, listening to the rest of the group talk to each other. Although you joined them this time for lunch, you seemed to be spacing out quite a lot more today.

He saw earlier that one of his fangirls had shoved you against the wall, but you left as quickly as he came to the scene. The moment you left, you had a really nasty glare and the other girls seemed to have fallen to the ground out of pure intimidation. 

You seemed to be more tired and angry today, perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep? That was something he assumed but as he leaned over slightly to peer at your notebook, he can see you were writing down your thoughts about dreams. It was rude to take a peek at your journal, but curiosity was getting to him.

Today in Home Economics you were also quite sluggish when it came to cleaning up. There were times where you accidentally dropped the bowl or almost cut your finger which earned you a light scolding from the teacher about your health. She had previously asked you if you needed to see the nurse to rest but you openly refused her offers. He leaned his cheek against his elbow as he observed you. Uotani turned her head towards Hanajima, whispering into her ear as Tohru conversed with Kyo, clearly too distracted to pay attention to what they were saying.

“The Prince is staring at her again. . .” She whispered, covering her mouth with her hand to conceal their comments. “What do you think he is thinking about?” 

“Indeed he is. I wonder what has happened, earlier (L/n)-san wasn’t doing very well in home economics.” Hanajima replied, spooning rice into her mouth as she started to chew, “she seems to be really distant today.”

Uotani hummed while simultaneously nodding in agreement. Yuki looked around him carefully before shuffling himself over to you quietly, trying not to gain the attention of other people. You noticed his sudden change of position and turned your head towards him, causing him to flinch awkwardly as he started to sweat. 

“Sohma-san, are you alright?” You asked.

He sweatdropped as he cleared his throat, “I was just wondering if you were feeling alright today. You looked very tired during class, you should have rested in the nurse’s room.” 

You shook your head, “I’m fine, it was just a small slip up.”

I wouldn’t say spilling a bowl over your classmate’s head is considered a slip up, he thought. He sighed before finishing his lunch and watching you continue to fill out your journal for the day. 

“Do you have work today after school?” He asked. 

“No, but they have a small celebration party, I just don’t think I feel like going.” You replied, doodling a small bird at the corner of the page. “I’m not really close to anyone there, and I don’t really consider work parties fun, most of them are adults drinking alcohol and I’m only a student.” 

“Hmm. . . I see.” Yuki vaguely remembered his earlier conversation with Tohru, saying that her family was going to take her back in and she will be moving out of their house soon. He wanted to sigh but restrained himself in front of you, he didn’t want to bring up any more problems in front of you right now. 

“Are you coming over for dinner over the weekend?” 

“Maybe, I have to pick up groceries and run some errands, are you fine with waiting for me?” You tilted your head up to look at him. 

He gave you a smile, “of course.” 

You quickly turned away from him with a small blush dusted across your cheeks, “t-then. . . I will. . . come over.” 

Hanajima whispered over to Uotani, “she is blushing, I wonder what they are talking about.” 

“Maybe something about love?”

“Possibly, she’s fidgeting quite a lot actually.” Uotani nodded in agreement. 

Tohru spoke up, scaring both the girls, “what are you guys talking about it?” 

Uotani quickly pulled her into a circle, careful to not disturb the time you had with Yuki as they huddled together. Kyo awkwardly sat by the side, not understanding the situation whatsoever. 

“Tohru, the two of them are talking, you see that?” Uotani mentioned. 

She peered over the blond girl’s shoulder and saw Yuki staring at your journal constantly as you continued writing, the two of you engaging in a conversation that was too quiet for her to hear from a distance. Tohru’s smile seemed to have widened as she turned back to Uotani.

“You’re right!”

“Of course it’s right in front of you!” Kyo angrily whispered, oddly paying attention to the circle despite not actually being fully part of it. He wouldn’t want to attract Yuki’s attention during this time, which seemed out of character for someone such as Kyo. 

“So, what do you guys think they are talking about?” Hanajima whispered, “I feel a wave coming from them, but I do not know how to describe it.” 

“Maybe they’re talking about. . . love!” Tohru swooned.

Kyo rolled his eyes before flopping onto the floor, his arms underneath his head to serve as pillows, “you think that rat would actually talk about love? He’s an absolute airhead.” 

“Hm. . . The prince does seem like the type to not be interested in love.” Uotani placed her finger on her chin as she focused on her thoughts. “Maybe they’re talking about food. . .” 

“That may be true, I am also thinking about food,” Hanajima added.

“You just had lunch!” Kyo replied. 

You and Yuki purposefully ignored their conversation, instead, focusing on your journal which was starting to pile up with various notes and doodles. There were various drawings of animals on each corner of the page, such as the rabbit or cow. When being questioned about the choice of animals, you replied about drawing the zodiac animals. 

Once you had flipped your journal onto a clean page, Yuki spoke up, “do you like to draw?” 

“H-Huh? Umm. . .” You mumbled, “as a kid, I would draw on the floor with my fingers to pass time. Eventually, I just learned to do it with a pencil too.” 

You started sketching out a drawing of an eagle, delicately drawing the feathers of the bird as it rested within a tree of blooming flowers. Yuki hummed as he watched you draw, you pressed your lips together as you offered your pencil towards him.

“Do you want to try?” 

“A-Ah. . . I’m not really good at it so I’m not sure.” He waved to dismiss your hand. “P-Plus I wouldn’t want to ruin something as precious as your journal.” 

“So? It’s okay not to be good at something, it’s better to try and have fun doing it.” You responded. 

Yuki swallowed his own words as he processed your line. Trying something despite not being good at it? It seemed like a death wish to him as he began to doubt his own skills. You might even laugh at him for being so terrible at drawing or mock him on the inside, either one was horrible for him. He definitely couldn’t live with the idea of you lau-

“Sohma-san, if you think I’m going to laugh at you I’m not.” You said, pulling out a second pencil to continue drawing the flowers on the tree, “not everyone can be good at something they never tried at. It takes a lot of experience to make something look good. . . Besides. . . .” 

“Most of the things you do are already good enough. . . ” You whispered, albeit too quiet for him to have even picked up your words. 

He smiled before taking up one of your pencils, “I guess you have a point.” 

You slid yourself closer to him so that the page would be in the middle, your voice guiding him on anything he felt unsure about drawing. Your shoulder bumped against his but you ignored the feeling, focusing your attention on drawing the details of the bird. He lifted up his pencil to begin drawing his part of the page while the others stared at the two of you silently. 

For the rest of the lunch, Yuki was drawing a small rat sitting next to the eagle on the blooming sakura tree. The animal leaned up against the bird in content. Although messy and inexperienced, you found this memory to be precious to keep within your journal. 

[cloudywriter]

vanilla pudding cups - 4

~~~

A/N: hey! sorry it has been a hot second i just got really busy with school but i’m still writing when i have the time i promise. also i did get more prompt requests and i’m working on them, if you have anymore feel free to send them my way! anyway, enjoy.

vanilla pudding cups masterlist, my masterlist, AO3

~~~

God, he’s stupid hot Feyre deemed one early Monday morning as she sat across from the boy in question, doodling aimlessly in her sketchbook. She was stretched across a poorly cushioned dark blue chair, her back against one armrest and her legs dangling off the other.

They were both lounging in the common area nestled in their hall between a few rooms for long term patients usually suffering from some form of cancer or other terminal disease. The rooms were almost always empty which Feyre knew was a positive thing but it did get lonely. She was so often isolated, only the occasional patient coming and going, not that they were usually in her age group anyway. 

But to have someone here who appears to be around her age with a similar diagnosis to her own and a boy, nonetheless, it was almost fate. Still, whenever Feyre embarked down that train of thought she would always stop herself, she should not be happy in the slightest that another human being is here to suffer as she is. At least while he was here though, she wanted to get to know him, she was deprived of relationships in her life. Her sisters were away at college now and Lucien was starting his freshman year at university as well. Feyre had been left behind, her diagnosis came late sophomore year and she had barely managed to graduate high school with her extensive hospital stays and endless treatments that left her feeling halfway to the grave. With her oncologists wanting her to take up residence in the hospital and her cancer yet to have much of a response to her treatments trying to attend college would’ve been a futile feat. 

Here he was sitting in the same less than comfortable blue chair right across from her yet Feyre couldn’t bring herself to speak up. She kept telling herself she just didn’t want to interrupt his reading but really she wasn’t sure what to even say especially when the first thing she’d said to him was are you dying too. Why she had blurted that out of all things was beyond her. 

Instead, she let silence continue to fill the space between them. Her pencil moved across the page in short, quick strokes the form of the boy in front of her taking shape in the corner of her paper. She outlined his sitting stance, his legs spread, his upper body leaning back into the chair, his elbows on the armrests, one arm raised a finger resting against his temple, and the other holding his book out in front of him. Feyre only messily sketched his silhouette before moving her pencil to another part of the page and zoning in on his face.

She drew his face as it was contorted in concentration, his dark brows slightly furrowed and his lips were set in a straight, serious line. Feyre thought he would look rather intimidating if it weren’t for his eyes, they weren’t hard like the rest of his face, they were still soft just quizzical, accessing and a brazen blue contrasting with his bronze complexion and midnight black locks. 

So she let herself sketch him, the artist in her appreciating the structure of his face and the color in his palette. She carried on with her quick depictions of him around her page at one point drawing only the hand that held his book, he did have nice hands she thought. 

When she was satisfied with her collection of doodles she stuck her pencil behind her ear, an old habit, and opened her mouth to finally speak. Of course, at that exact moment Alis breezed into the common area with a tray of pudding cups, jello cups, and packets of plastic utensils in her hands. 

“Do either of you want a little snack? Jello? Pudding?” Alis offered, holding up the tray. 

Rhysand looked up from his book towards Alis but the idea of a snack was what was on Feyre’s mind right now, not Rhysand anymore.

“Do you have vanilla pudding?” Feyre asked. Alis sighed. “No, someone is always eating them all up,” she informed Feyre, putting emphasis on the someone. “I can give you jello though or chocolate pudding.”

Feyre wrinkled her nose, not a fan of either option especially jello. Alis knew this and turned to Rhysand instead, lifting the tray in question.

But Rhysand turned his attention to Feyre, noting her reaction to the idea of eating jello. “You don’t like jello?” 

“No, horrible texture,” Feyre answered, taking the pencil from behind her ear and putting it back to her page, adding random shading to her sketches. 

“Well, I would love a green jello cup,” Rhysand declared. Alis plucked the jello from her tray and handed it over.

Feyre’s face must have morphed showing her obvious disgust because Rhysand looked back at her with a smile. 

“What?”

“It’s one thing to willingly choose to eat jello but it's a whole other thing to then proceed to pick the worse flavor to eat too,” Feyre pointed out.

“Says the girl who likes vanilla pudding over chocolate,” Rhys scoffed. 

“Do you have something against vanilla pudding?”

“Yeah, it tastes like plastic.”

Feyre shrugged, “maybe a little.”

Rhysand gave her a smile, it wasn’t a big smile but it was enough to get Feyre’s heart to do a double take. “So you admit to enjoying the taste of plastic?”

“As long as it has a hint of vanilla of course,” Feyre clarified. 

“Hm, plastic with a hint of vanilla, noted.”

Alis had shown herself out at some point in their small exchange leaving Rhys with his jello cup. 

“I didn’t get a spoon,” Rhys commented. 

Feyre raised an eyebrow, eyes still on her paper as she continued her shading. “Slurp it up, I won’t judge.”

“Do you promise?” Feyre met Rhysand’s eyes, amusement sparkling in them. 

“I promise,” Feyre held out her pinky. 

Rhys ripped the top off the cup and extended his pinky wrapping it around Feyre’s own, her hands dwarfed compared to his. “Alright,” he said coolly. 

Feyre felt the slightest of blushes rising in her cheeks. Rhysand leaned back in his chair and tipped his head back.

“God, that is too gross.” 

“It’s good though,” Rhysand responded. 

Feyre let loose a little smile and shook her head, focusing her attention back onto her drawings. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Rhys asked, extending the jello cup forward and jiggling it the green gelatin wiggling in turn. 

“I’m sure but thank you for the kind offer,” Feyre reiterated, her voice filled with sarcasm. 

At some point Feyre had retired to her room giving up on the prospect of having a real conversation with Rhysand for the day. It was only later that night there was a soft knock on her door, Feyre slid off her bed and opened the door a crack. The hall was empty. 

She was about to close her door again convinced her mind was playing tricks on her but she noticed the red top of a pudding cup down by her feet. Just outside her door a vanilla pudding cup had been left. 

She smiled and reached down, taking the cup from the floor. Alis must’ve left it she determined. 

~~~

taglist: @booksofthemoon @awkward-avocado-s @courtofjurdan @ahappyhistorianreader @stardelia

~~~

[ashintheairlikesnow]

chris walking in on antoni drawing trees and watching mesmerised. chris promising to keep it a secret, he just wants to watch and he’s very happy when he sees him draw a bird on one of the branches🥺

Anon, we have a problem. I tried to write your prompt but Antoni is not in the mood for happy so I hope you love angst!

Tagging @astrobly, @finder-of-rings, and @burtlederp who have asked to be tagged in all my writing

CW: Scarring discussion, referenced past burns, vaguely referenced noncon, vaguely referenced torture, referenced self-injury (just a fucky headspace)

He hides the sketchbooks. He buys them at a little art store he knows no one else he knows will go to, with the bit of money he gets as a stipend for his new identity as Jake’s official employee. He curls up in the corner of the room he has all to himself now, fills them from front to back, and then stacks them inside a box he hides under three other boxes in the very back of his closet.

As soon as he finishes one sketchbook, he buys a new blank one. Something in him stirs at the sight of empty pages that need to be filled, covered from corner to corner in words and pictures. He draws eyes, over and over and over again. Eyes like his own but different. He draws hands, clenched in fists or carefully relaxed, with some dark liquid dripping down.

He draws Chris, the wisps of his longer hair, the smile that lights his face. The drawings keep changing, though, the hair gets shorter and sort of curly like Antoni’s or the eyes start to tilt up just slightly at each end, feline almost. He tears those drawings out and throws them away.

He keeps drawing his own face, over and over and over again. He draws arms and covers them with burn scars and then throws those drawings away, too, when he starts to itch under his clothes, to itch and ache. 

The first books are strange - his hand had trembled so badly. He’d drawn Mr. Davies, mostly, and he’d had to stop, headaches came and went like thunderclaps that wrecked and ruined his mind for days on end, but the more he drew - the further he pushed himself - the more things he didn’t recall came back to him as muscle memory instead. 

The eyes that looked so cold and unforgiving became other eyes that were warmer. 

He must have been someone who drew, he must have, because too much came back too quickly for it to be otherwise. But... he never drew, with Mr. Davies - or he did but only in secret spaces, in tiny crumpled-up notepad papers that had Mr. Davies’s to-do lists he’d finished on the other side, carefully thrown out as soon as he’d finished the picture that had been locked in his thoughts. 

Mr. Davies never found them, he thinks - Antoni often wonders what would have happened if he had. Would he have been happy? Would that have been enough, if he could have kept Antoni as a painter or something instead? 

Antoni would have painted instead of begging, if he’d known it was an option. He could have drawn ‘please’ in a thousand ways that would be more effective than speaking the word had been.

Begging hadn’t been good enough, but maybe he had begged the wrong way.

That thought, though, made him think of the woman he had left behind to suffer, and twisted his stomach and heart in cold guilty knots, so he tried to push that away, as far and as deep as it could go.

Lately, he finds himself drawing trees.

Sticks with leaves that become branches that become trunks that root deep into the earth. Leaves that point at the ends or are gently rounded, the veins that show through the undersides like his own bluish-purple through pale skin at his wrists, except on the left side where one burn had been pushed so deeply that he can’t see the vein beneath the skin any longer there.

He draws leaves with burns, holes straight through them with charred black in a circle around it, the veins that disappear into the place where the fire ruined them. 

He left her to burn in his place.

The FedEx man had rung the doorbell and every other time Antoni had obeyed the order to wait until he left and then take the package inside, but this one time - the house was silent, Mr. Davies was out and the woman who suffered alongside him was sleeping in Mr. Davies’s bed, recovering from whatever had been done the night before. 

Antoni - his name wasn’t Antoni, yet, but still he likes to think that this was the moment Antoni was born - opened the door, looked the surprised man in the purple-and-black uniform in the face, and said, “Will you take me in your truck?”

The FedEx guy had breathed out, all at once, a sudden harsh exhale. 

Then he said yes.

Antoni walked away and left the woman there to be punished for his escape, and he draws her, too, sometimes. He draws her face, the sadness in her eyes, the waves in her hair. 

Then, when he has finished drawing her, he draws himself, and he lays marks on his neck and his cheeks that aren’t there in real life, he digs in with graphite the scars he deserves for what he did.

A scar here and the burn there, right on his face for everyone to see.

Jake would know, then, that Antoni is the kind to walk away and let others be hurt for his own need to run. Chris would know that Antoni cannot care for anyone, because he cares too much about himself. Natalie would understand that Antoni has used her as a stepping stone to build a life but he’s too selfish to help someone else when it matters-

He draws himself like Dorian Gray’s portrait, he lays in all his sins and the wrongs he has done. He writes them on his skin in the drawings, tiny little words, abandonment, selfishness.

Maybe in the drawings, he is begging for forgiveness in a different way.

But begging is still not enough.

[ve1vetyoongi]

all aboard! (the passion express) | knj

Pairing: namjoon x reader

Genre: smut, office worker!namjoon.

Word count: 10.8k

Summary: There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could. Kim Namjoon. The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker. Which is exactly why you never expected to find your self on your knees for him on the train home.

⇢ (or: in which Namjoon thinks you’re hot when you’re mad.)

Warnings: extremely public sex, dom namjoon, exhibitionism, oral (m recieving), thigh riding, kinda daddy kink, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), rough sex. also, namjoon in a shirt and tie (yum).

A/N: so. this happened. PURE FILTH. remind me not to scroll through “office worker namjoon” mood boards at 1am. p.s. train toilets r always gross so don’t do this (i warned u).

Playlist: visit my playlist page here and select “all aboard”.

⇢ Masterlist: x (links will be added once tumbr stops being a douche :/)

There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could.

Kim Namjoon.

The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker.

For the most part your job was perfect; a career in book publishing had always been your dream and spending hours with your nose deep in the pages of new manuscripts and having afternoon tea with authors on weekdays (fit with triangular sandwiches and miniature sponge cakes - paid for with the company card, of course) all in the name of “working” was exactly how you envisioned it - if not more.

That was until Namjoon joined the company six months ago. The day he turned up in the elevator in his stupid suit jacket, despite the dress code being business casual, was the beginning of a journey filled with bitterness, anger and a dread for working hours. And apparently the beginning of an undeniable, all consuming school girl crush which just made you hate him more.

You would be lying if you said you took notice of him immediately. I mean sure, you noticed the hoard of girls who traipsed behind his polished dress shoes, using excuses like coffee refills and desperate quests for paper clips to unashamedly flirt with him.

But you supposed you didn’t truly notice Namjoon until he made it utterly impossible for you to ignore him.

It all started when you began to notice your pens disappearing from the pot on your desk. First it was your red marker and then it was your pink highlighter and you were sure you were just misplacing things or suffering from short term memory loss until you noticed the pile up of stationary on Namjoon’s desk that you distinctlyremembered buying last week.

You decided to be civil, putting any earlier first impressions behind you to confront him politely, only to be met with a grumble about how they just “turned up there.”

Not even an apology, you mused, sending a seething glare his way while you rearranged your pens neatly where they belonged. What an asshole.

After that, every little thing he did seemed to grind your gears. The way he whistled along to the monotonous pop music that crackled out of the office radio, the off-pitch tune droning on and on until you excused yourself with a tight lipped smile before you lobbed a hole puncher at his head.Or the way he would empty the coffee pot without refilling it for the next person and how he always forgot to reset the timer on the microwave.

And then came the management meeting from Hell where what was supposed to be your turn to pitch a new project turned into Namjoon meeting each of your ideas with a bored eye roll and a condescending head shake. He even had the audacity to offer to go over the project out of hours, to “help you.” As if he suddenly had a life time of experience in publishing and you were nothing but an intern.

His pitch, however, went down a treat (much to your dismay).

From then on you found yourself bickering over the pettiest of disputes at every opportunity you could find - desperate to get under his skin, a thirst for satisfaction only quenched by well and truly pissing him off.

That’s when your vendetta against him began. You managed to convince yourself it wasn’t the way he looked through you at the office or the way he smirked at you knowingly when the shorts he wore in the summer made your mouth water or the way he was completely, utterly, positively uninterested in you in any way other than as the co worker he liked to taunt for fun.

And he made sure you knew it, too.

Like when he deliberately left the office blinds open knowing full well that you had a front row view as he so graciously walked Seo Yuna to her car in the lot after work hours - even glinting through the sun and giving a snide wave as though he knew you were watching him from your desk.

Was he trying to rub it in? Was he aware that everyone in the goddamn nine storey office block wished he would look their way? Nothing would surprise you. Just add narcissistic to the list of bad qualities he possessed.

If that was his intention you were ashamed to admit it worked; the pang of jealousy in your chest when he rested his elbows on the car to duck into Yuna’s open window taking you by surprise. And the red hot burn as your fingers pressed angry half moons into your palms to control the swoon that threatened to surface when his deep chuckles fluttered through the open window was enough to confirm one thing:

Yeah, you definitely had a crush on this guy.

And once again, you hated him - for having the ability to turn you into a puddle of lust and for making you want to giggle like a teenager and sit on the thighs that looked so good in those goddamn pants and for setting your pulse at a pace that was most definitely unhealthy and probably categorized you as critically at risk of a heart attack - just by looking at him.

Namjoon was either utterly oblivious or completely uncaring since he seemed intent on pushing you to your limits - and finally, in a climax of events, today was the day when he reached his clumsy-kinda-obnoxious-yet-annoyingly-attractive-while-doing-so peak and any grip you had on your dignity disappeared, setting the angry beast that had remained caged inside you free in the middle of the office.

When you returned from your lunch break your eyes narrowed in on the desk drawer left slightly ajar immediately - your desk was usually meticulously organised - you watched a documentary about decluttered spaces improving productivity (much to the amusement of Namjoon who brushed his own messy habits off as being a sign of “creativity”), so you knew it wasn’t your doing - raising the question of who exactly had the audacity to destroy the harmony of your work space.

The answer was obvious. Nobody else in the office was blatantly bold enough to steal from someone else’s drawer. Except one person in particular, perhaps…

Yes.Your suspicions were confirmed when you peered over your cubicle to glare at Namjoon’s. He was wearing a black shirt today and it stretched deliciously over his broad shoulders, tie resting loosely around the vein in his neck that rose to prominence when he clenched his teeth in concentration, pencil scribbling furiously in the margins of the thick manuscript resting on his crossed knee.

And right next to him, a hot pink stapler balanced haphazardly on a stack of disorganized papers. A hot pink stapler that was absolutely tucked neatly in your drawer before you left for lunch.

Namjoon remained engrossed in his work, unaware of the way your face had begun to heat up with rage. Or maybe the pinkish tinge was a result of the way he pushed his thick framed designer glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. God he always looked so good in those glasses. Every time he swapped out his contacts you wanted to walk right over there and -

“No,”  You told yourself sternly, biting your lip as you desperately tried to ignore the way your legs had turned to jelly in your shoes. “He’s the worst! You hate him!”

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…

The same mantra swirled in your head as you took a breath of courage and stalked in the direction of the stapler that rightfully belonged to you. It was about time you stopped taking Namjoon’s shit. It was about time you finally gave him a piece of your mind.

I hate him, I hate him, I…

You reached his desk all too quickly, placing your hands on your hips and staring down at him in a way that you hoped conveyed your vexation. He remained oblivious to your presence for a moment. That was, until, the sound of your exasperated sigh drew his attention, forehead creasing in confusion while he stared straight back at you with lips parted quizzically. Had you caught the Kim Namjoon off guard?

(God, if there was one thing you didn’t hate it was his face.)

You were the one to break the silence. “I told you not to steal my stuff, didn’t I?” His expression remained blank until you pointed a finger at the alarmingly bright office appliance. “I want my stapler back.”

Namjoon’s features shifted into an amused smirk, snickering when you began tapping the toe of your shoe with growing impatience. “I didn’t steal it.” He countered. “I borrowed it.”

“Namjoon, you and I both know you never asked permission,” you huffed, arms crossing your chest. “I think you just wanted to piss me off.”

Namjoon visibly scoffed. “Me? Piss you off?” His eye roll set your pulse racing with rage, only heightened by the sarcasm that laced his tone. “It’s not my fault you’re little Miss Uptight is it?” He shook his head, diverting his attention back to the stack of paper in front of him and just like that he dismissed you with a wave of his hand and a click of his tongue. “Just take it and go, I’m busy.”

“Don’t you dare ignore me, Kim Namjoon,” you spat, curled fist slamming down on top of his booth hard enough to make him jump in his seat, satisfaction spreading through your chest at the sight alone. “I’m not upright! You’re just an asshole who decided to make my job a misery! And for what? Because I’m not at your beck and call like Yuna?”

Oops. Maybe that was a bit too far…

“Yuna?!” Namjoon spluttered between surprised gasps of laughter. “What does she have to do with the fact that you’re a priss who never learned to share?”

You tried to ignore the embarrassing heat that had risen in your face, diverting your eyes from his. “If I’m such a priss why don’t you share her stuff instead?”

He raised his eyebrows at your pout. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No! Of course not, I’m just…” You trailed off. He leaned back into his seat, the same stupid smug smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. As much as you tried to ignore it, it made your stomach flip. Namjoon looked satisfied, as if your stunned silence and attempt to stutter an excuse was exactly what he wanted.

By this point the entire office was staring at the both of you, including Yuna who looked almost as embarrassed as you did as she pretended to be unaware of the entire situation by rummaging through the contents of her bag for the lip balm she “lost” this morning and conveniently “could not seem to find.”

“Look, Namjoon, just give it back okay?” You nodded towards the stapler, impatient to just be behind your desk booth away from the prying eyes of your coworkers and more importantly away from Namjoon’s accusing gaze.

He ran a hand through his side part, gelled strands effortlessly messy. “Fine.” He grabbed the stapler and held it out to you with an innocent smile. You narrowed your eyes and he simply nodded in encouragement. “Here, take it.”

“See was that so hard-” Before your fingers could take the appliance from his grasp, he ripped it away again. With a dark chuckle he kicked his feet up onto the desk, revealing his annoyingly cute doughnut socks that nearly broke your resolve if it weren’t for the vengeful way he stared at you atop the rim of his glasses.

“Say please, Y/N.”

The glint in his eye tipped you over the edge, the elastic of your patience finally snapping when you launched at him without a second thought about repercussions. “Say please?!” All that mattered right now was making Kim Namjoon pay for being the most inconvenient, bothersome and punchable man on the planet.

Before you could think, both your hands were on the stapler and pulling with all the force you could muster. Namjoon seemed shocked at your brave act of force before he responded with a tug of equal strength, determined not to let go. “If you had said please in the first place we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“So you’re uptight and ill mannered?” He got out between gritted teeth.

“I’m…not…uptight!”

You had begun a tug of war, both unconscious of the fact that twenty pairs of eyes were watching the childish events unfold curiously. Namjoon was red in the face as he tried to rip the stapler from your grasp and you had to lift a shoe onto the seat of his chair to keep your balance.

The move gave you a power advantage and with one last pull, the stapler was yours. Triumph plastered your face in the form of a self-satisfied smile - though not for long. Namjoon was breathing heavily through his nose, knuckles white with irritation. Before he could think better of it, he was sliding the wheels of his chair back, sending you flying into his desk and to both of your dismay, the mug of steaming coffee that sat on top of it.

“Watch out!” Too late.

The crash that followed was loud enough to elicit shocked gasps from those around you. The hushed whispers that filled the room before fell to an eerie silence as you tried to pull yourself to your feet with no luck, collapsing in a pile of splintered wood and printer paper.

“Uhh, Y/N? You’ve got a little coffee on your blouse.”

And that’s how you found yourself on the subway platform, waiting for a train to take you in the opposite direction of home but rather towards the nearest launderette.

You pulled the black blazer you donned tighter around your chest, not because of the evening chill which had set into the air by now but rather to hide the unmistakable brown coffee stain which seeped across the fabric of your blouse.

The launderette was closing in just under an hour and your train was nearly five minutes late already and you couldn’t help but grit your teeth in irritation when you recounted the days events over and over in your head.

This was all his fault. If Namjoon wasn’t such a shameless douche you would be home by now, heels off, feet kicked up while a re-run of The Vampire Diaries soothed the tension ache in your temples.

But no. You were waiting for a train to take you half way across town so you could wash this freaking blouse in time for the weekly company meeting tomorrow. It was an important one - you were going to finally present the pitch you had been working on for nearly four months - so everything had to be perfect.

This job meant everything to you, not that Namjoon would understand that - and you were determined not to let him ruin this for you.

“Damn Kim Namjoon.” you scowled at the ground, kicking an empty can across the scuffed platform floor.

“Either you know another Kim Namjoon or I arrived just in time?”

A familiar voice sounded behind you. Your mouth dropped slightly, icy shock snatching the colour from your face as you registered who it belonged to.

Sure enough, spinning on your heels revealed the one and only Kim Namjoon who you had grown to know and hate. Still in the black shirt which was now rolled up his forearms and loosened at the collar, he stood with his back against a pillar, smiling down at you bemusedly with his hands slung into his pockets like this was the most normal occurrence in the world.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“What?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are you haunting me now?”

He actually laughed at that. “Actually, this is my train home. Don’t usually see you here at this time so it seems like you are following me.”

“Following you?!” You couldn’t help the way your voice hitched incredulously, drawing the attention of passerby’s who side stepped around you nervously. “If it wasn’t for your little show today then I’d be on a train travelling as far away from you as possible right now.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I have to go clean this.” You ripped open the front of your blazer revealing the coffee soaked garment covering your chest.

Namjoon bit his cheek to hold back a chuckle. He knew it would just set you off even more. You were a few feet smaller than him and the way you stared up at him with fiery eyes, not quite intimidating despite your best efforts, almost had him clutching his sides.

“As far away from me as possible huh…”

“What?”

“That’s what you want?”

You turned up your nose, confused. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“It’s funny, really.” He let out an amused snort, not at you directly but rather to himself. The act annoyed you even more.

“What is?”

“Just that you never seem to be far away from me at all.” Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Oh Namjoon stop stealing my shit, oh Namjoon stop using all the printer ink-”

“I’m done with you now.” You turned your back to him, drowning out the tinny voice he used to mock you. He had a fair point…but only because his naturally irritating demeanour drew you into his fuck ups like a magnet.

“Because you think it’s always my fault right? God forbid you are the problem!”

You blinked. You?

“Like when, asshole?” You scoffed. “Name one time I gave you a reason to hate me?”

Namjoon reached into his backpack, pulling out a stack of papers that limply fluttered as a train breezily left the station. The edges were crumpled and the middle stained brown, ink nearly illegible. “You can clean your blouse but how about my manuscript?”

You thought back to earlier that day. It must be the one he was working on before the…accident. And to his credit, it looked like it was in pretty bad shape.

“If you weren’t so hard to ignore then maybe neither of us would be in this mess!”

You could feel the tension rising between you by the minute. If he wasn’t careful you would be responsible for another scuffle and this time you weren’t sure you could resist breaking his nose and a trip to the ER was not what you needed right now.

Namjoon’s face had darkened considerably too. You couldn’t help but find the way he tightened his jaw kind of hot. Stop, Y/N.

“Then let’s make this easier for the both of us.”

“Huh?”

He gestured between you. “When the train comes I will pretend you’re just a pretty girl on her way home and you can pretend I’m just another annoyingly tall guy and we’ll forget this day ever happened.”

“What’s the point of that? We still work together every day?”

He let out a sigh, exasperated by your persistence “Because then we can see who the real problem is? Who starts the next fight?”

"Fine!” The word came out a little more childishly than you had intended. What was his point here? To reinforce the fact that he hated your guts and couldn’t even stand to make small talk on the train for thirty minutes? “And then you’ll see that the whole problem is you.”

Wait….did he call you pretty?

Whatever. You could do this right? He was just trying to get into your head, trying to make you think that you were the issue here.

TRAIN NOW ENTERING PLATFORM. PLEASE MIND THE GAP.

The transport announcement alerted you of the trains arrival a few seconds before the clunky metal could be heard rattling into the station.

You averted his gaze, an uncomfortable atmosphere settling.

“Well, all aboard.” He said, arm outstretched, head nodding towards the open train door as if to say after you.

So now he has manners?

You gave a tight lipped smile in thanks, stepping onto the train. The carriage was completely full, no spare seats in sight, so you settled for holding on to the bar above your head, strategically making sure your back was to Namjoon. You were determined to show him that you couldn’t care less about his existence.

Staying true to his word, Namjoon joined a huddle of people at the opposite end of the carriage, staring sweetly into the distance as if he was utterly unaware of your identity.

You let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this was a good thing.

You attempted to busy yourself by staring out of the window; the trees and the sky whizzed into a turquoise blur like watercolour on canvas. Try as you might, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to the figure you wanted to desperately ignore when you noticed Namjoon’s reflection in the glass.

It was silly but you realised you had never looked at him properly before. In your head he was just a target of your rage, a face featuring often in your imagination’s gruesome revenge master plans. But, now felt like the first time you were really seeing him; the way he bobbed his head to the music that blasted a little too loudly through his headphones and how his dimple showed when he smiled politely at other passengers and how his arms cradled the sodden manuscript like it was fine china. Maybe you were too focused on yourself to see just how important this job was to Namjoon, too.

And although you had noticed his face before - it was hard not to - it was always during rushed glances over the top of your office booth, eyes quickly diverting and cheeks reddening when you were sure he caught you looking or when he would break yet another mug in the office kitchen and you would help him clean up the ceramic, ignoring the way his own cheeks turned pinkish.

But this time, through the safety of the glass which acted as a welcome barrier, you could study him more closely. The cute flush of his nose and the way his eyes were a little puffy from staying up too late reading. Maybe there was more to this guy than just an irritating coworker after all.

The train came to a halt and an entourage of fresh passengers pressed into the already tight carriage. A chorus of sorry’s buzzed in the air as more and more people elbowed their way into the confined space, pushing you down the train and squeezing the air out of your lungs until you were pressed into a corner, back uncomfortably flush to the torso of a taller body.

The familiar cologne told you all you needed to know and you shut your eyes tightly, sucking on your teeth as you cursed the universe for shredding whatever dignity you had managed to retain.

A glance over your shoulder revealed a preoccupied Namjoon, desperately apologising to someone behind him whose coffee he managed to spill with his inconveniently pointy elbow.

“I’m so sorry man! Oops..sorry again I…”

“So much for ignoring each other,” you snorted, denying the fact that it was you who bumped into him. You wouldn’t give in so easily.

He looked genuinely apologetic, swinging his arms wildly but only managing to make the situation worse by very nearly smacking an older lady square in the head. His height had its downsides, clearly.

“Sorry…” he began, ready to launch into another apologetic spiel. “Oh.” Except, he deadpanned when he finally looked down and saw none other than yourself staring straight back up at him.

His eyes narrowed smugly. “Well, well, well.”

You simply laughed, nodding towards the evidence of his clumsiness. “Are you on a secret coffee spilling mission today?”

You expected him to throw something back at you, to start another endless fight about who was at fault. Except Namjoon wasn’t listening. His eyes widened comically when he noticed how your lower back pressed into his torso, glancing left then right and sighing nervously when he realised there was no space to squeeze into. He was trapped between you and the wall with no where to go.

“I-it was an accident…” Namjoon seemed sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck anxiously. Why was he so flustered all of a sudden? You’d never seen him like this, so unlike the cocky bastard you’d come to know as Kim Namjoon.

Unless…bingo! You had won. He was the problem and this was proof enough of his clumsy, idiotic ways!

“You should learn to be more careful-”

You were cut short when the train suddenly jerked wildly, sending you flying forwards. Great, you thought, Y/N 0, Balance 2. Your feet fumbled beneath your own weight, eyes screwed shut, bracing for impact against the cold, metal floor of the train.

Before gravity could take hold of you, a large hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upright. The gesture allowed you to find your balance again, a sigh of relief tumbling from your chest as you gained your bearings.

“Woah there,” Namjoon’s lips were against your ear now, breath hot against your cheek. “What were you saying about being careful?”

“O-oh…” You willed yourself to open your eyes, to ignore the chills that crept up your spine when his nose brushed your hair just barely. You tried to pry yourself out of his hold. “It was an accident, I-”

“Look who came crawling right back. Knew it wouldn’t take long.” There was the cocky bastard again. The underlying implications of his words made you shiver, as if he wanted you to come back. Wanted to punish you for being wrong.

His body was warm - no it was hot, his palm burning the exposed skin of your waist where your blouse had ridden up in the scuffle. You could feel his heart pulse against your back and it took all your self control to stop your body from melting into his sturdy form, from delighting in his embrace. If he were to just move his hands down, down, down…

No! You were not about to imagine the guy you hated with a passion grabbing your ass on the goddamn train.

The train heaved again, Namjoon’s grip tightening even further and you silently thanked him for it as you felt your entire body turn to putty in his grasp. Your hand had found its way to his thigh, squeezing embarrassingly hard and sending your head spinning when you felt the firm muscles that tensed beneath your touch.

If you didn’t know any better you would say you were having the same effect on Namjoon. His lips had fallen dangerously close to your neck, almost as if he was debating pressing them to the flushed skin.

Don’t be ridiculous, you chastised yourself, you just need to get laid, clearly. He’s enjoying this because you’re letting him win.

No matter how much your pride meant to you, his effect was becoming too much.

Enough was enough. You needed to get out of his arms, out of this train and most of all you needed to get him out of your head. You wriggled a little, desperate to free yourself before you literally jumped his bones. Of course you had thought about this before, thought about how it would feel to be pressed up against Namjoon. Except usually there were less clothes separating you and you were at least on a bed…

STOP! YOU HATE HIM, YOU HATE HIM, YOU-

No matter how hard you squirmed, Namjoon’s arms only tightened, holding you to him as the train rattled down the tracks. Your ass was trapped against his thigh and you tried to ignore the pulse in your heat that had begun to alert you of just how good it would feel between your legs.

Just then you felt Namjoon stiffen as your ass glided over his crotch - and if you weren’t so focused on the way his breath ghosted across your neck when you did, you may have missed the way it hitched slightly, almost as if he was swallowing a groan.

“Y/N,” he whispered harshly, as if to issue a warning. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” You spoke a little to loudly, nearly averting the attention of fellow passengers when you tried to claw at the vice like grip that squeezed your middle tightly. “Let me go!”

“Hush.”

“No!” You moved your ass again and this time he let out a noise; a groan of either pain or annoyance, you couldn’t tell.

“Seriously! Hush.”

Suddenly, his fingers gripped your hips so roughly you were sure they would bruise. You enjoyed it a little too much, the action making you light headed. It felt far too intimate to be friendly, only confirmed when you felt it. Something firm against the small of your back.

Was he…hard?

“What the fuck Namjoon?” You whispered hurriedly, glancing around to see if anyone else was aware of the erection that was now all you could focus on, blatantly obvious as it pulsed against the top of your ass.

The train came to a sudden halt, doors swinging open to allow a hoard of people to scramble off. Cool air hit your hot face. Maybe you’d be able to breathe again if you weren’t left breathless by the way Namjoon’s heart beat rapidly against your shoulder blades, all too aware of the raging arousal that felt so hard you imagined it would be painful.

Before you could push away and scream at him about how inappropriate this situation was - even though, to your dismay, your thoughts were clouded with visions far from appropriate - Namjoon was spinning your body around, pinning you against the wall with an audible thud, slotting his body between your trembling legs.

Suddenly, all thoughts of proving him wrong once and for all were forgotten.

You hissed. “Seriously what the fuck Namjoon-”

“What you should be saying,” He muttered, pausing to let his tongue snake out to wet his parted lips. “Is thank you Namjoon.”

“What for?” You gasped, trying and failing once again to wriggle out of his grasp.

His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, glazed over with what you recognised as want. “Thank you for saving my ass when I nearly fell in front of the entire subway.” You swallowed thickly, desperately trying to close your legs to relieve the hot, wet ache that was beginning to throb between them but to no avail, Namjoon keeping them open with a large palm around your inner thigh. “And thank you for not fucking said ass right here against the train door.”

Your head fell back with a slight gasp, choking on a moan that was utterly inappropriate for such a public setting. The train began to move again and you glanced up and down the carriage warily, surprised to see only two young men remained; one engrossed in a comic, the other resting his eyes and thankfully both too occupied to notice the way Namjoon stared at you with a look of arousal so intimidating you had to break away from his stare.

“N-Namjoon we s-shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what baby?” Maybe it was the sudden use of a pet name or the gentle but firm way his thumb stroked your thigh, so close to the lace of your panties you were sure the slight touch alone nearly made you lose it. “Shouldn’t make you wet on the train?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Well I guess you should have thought of that before you got me hard, huh?” You let out a shaky breath, blouse falling down your shoulder slightly but before you could adjust it, Namjoon took the opportunity to place an open mouthed kiss to your collarbone and then to the side of your neck and then to the lobe of your ear. The way his teeth grazed your skin made you shiver, skin burning hot with want against the icy cold metal of the train. “Should’ve thought of that before you got me all worked up at the office today.”

“T-today?”

“Yeah, today.” He shook his head disapprovingly, tilting your chin with his forefinger as his eyes traveled down to your lips. “And every single other fucking day.”

Is that the reason why he was always so pissed?

“When you walk in in that goddamn white blouse and call me out. In front of everyone?��� Perhaps you weren’t so subtle after all… “I swear you do it on purpose. I swear you want to make me mad.”

“N-no, I…” Your voice trailed off.

“Is that why you make such a fuss baby?” He continued to interrogate. “This is why you’re a problem,” He hissed under his breath, pressing your palm around his twitching bulge. “Because you are always giving me problems.”

Your eyes widened, arousal guiding your body to palm him through his trousers against the will of resistance from your head.

“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to fuck you in front of the entire office? How many times I’ve wanted to put you in your fucking place? God you get me so angry sometimes,” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. Your breathing was ragged now, almost as broken as his. “How many times I’ve jerked off in the bathroom thinking about how hot you look when you’re mad?”

You’d be lying if Namjoon wasn’t the focus of your own fantasies after a couple of glasses of wine and a “pamper night”.

His lips curved up into a smirk as the words made sense in your head, stifling a dark chuckle when your eyes widened in realisation. "So that’s why you’re always riling me up?” You managed to breathe.

“I literally almost blew my load when you stormed out today.” He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. His lips were inches from yours and it was taking everything in you to resist leaning in and connecting them, focusing on the throb in your heat instead as a distraction. “You seriously don’t know anything, do you?”

The train came to a sudden stop, doors ripping open almost as fast as Namjoon jumped away from your body. His absence left a cold void where he had hovered over you and you shakily stood upright, glancing at the floor to avoid any funny looks from the passengers leaving the train. You watched as four pairs of shoes scuffled off, heart beating a little faster now you were completely alone.

A few moments passed in silence and you didn’t dare look at Namjoon. You were still trying to wrap your head around his admission. Namjoon’s asshole behaviour was a ploy to make you mad? On purpose? Because he wanted you?

The doors slammed shut, train moving again with a clunk and before you could register what was happening, Namjoon was on you again, dragging you towards the row of seats that were now completely empty. You had the entire carriage to yourselves and Namjoon was clearly intent on taking advantage of the fact.

You were straddling him in seconds, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he held your heat directly above his throbbing bulge. You gasped at the contact, feeling the way your panties clung to your sticky heat while you desperately tried to grind down onto his lap, eager for any form of relief.

Namjoon tutted at this, prompting you to raise your gaze from between your legs to take in the lazy smile that rested upon his face. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? To see you all needy above me?”

He was right, you were so needy it felt like you might combust if you didn’t get some friction on your throbbing clit right now, uncaring that you were in public. His throat sounded hoarse, evidence of his own struggle to resist you (if the tent in his pants wasn’t already evidence enough) and the broken sound of his voice alone was enough to have you clenching around nothing.

It was rare that someone managed to get you this riled up this quickly. It was as if the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point and the only logical response was to fuck it out. Hard. Still, if someone had told you an hour ago that you would be close to begging Namjoon of all people to touch you, you would have called them crazy.

Your forehead came down to rest against his shoulder in defeat. His grip was too strong, stopping you from getting what you wanted, and you let out a cry of frustration. “Please…”

“Please what, baby? Use your words.”

“Please…” Your voice was muffled by his black shirt which you tugged at eagerly. “Please fuck me.”

For the first time, Namjoon’s resolve broke and he let out a guttural moan at your words. He didn’t have time to respond before the train jerked again, sending you flying into his chest and to your delight, straight onto his crotch. “Ugh, fuck.” The whine that left your lips made Namjoon’s cock throb painfully against the front of his trousers, his own moan muffled by your hair.

Before you could twist your hips and gain any friction, Namjoon was hoisting you up again, higher this time so he could see the fucked out look on your face. He brushed a few stray hairs behind your ears, watching smugly as you ground against the air with another high pitched whine.

“Look at you. So fucked out and I’ve hardly even touched you.” His hands crept to the hem of your skirt, tugging the garment up so that it sat around your waist, exposing the curve of your ass and the black lacey underwear which nearly made him buck up into your heat. “Want my cock so bad baby?” His hand came down against your ass with an audible slap you were sure would leave a print and you had to bite your hand hard to stop from crying out too loudly. “Mmm, fuck, I wanted to make you wait,” he hummed. “Like I waited to be inside you but…if you want it how about you show daddy how much?”

He nodded for you to get on your knees. You mewled with delight, nearly drooling at the thought of his hot cock sliding in and out of your mouth. The thought of finally pleasuring him.

Your fingers eagerly began to fiddle with the fly of his trousers before one of his big palms stopped your ministrations all together. You looked up at him, confused and frustrated. “Not yet baby. Gotta open wide for daddy first.”

He pressed two fingers to your swollen lips and you sucked them into your hot mouth eagerly, wrapping your tongue around the digits and coating them in a layer of saliva like they were the sweetest popsicle you’d ever tasted. His fingers were salty with sweat but you didn’t care, taking them as far as you could while batting your eyelids at him in a silent beg for something else in your throat.

Namjoon melted into the headrest, completely fucked out as he watched you take his fingers through lidded eyes. He could hardly bare the way his digits disappeared in and out of your mouth, already aching to feel the sensation on his needy cock.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked, leaving a loud slap to your ass that flushed at the contact. “I nearly came in my pants.”

You pulled his hand away at the wrist leaving a trail of saliva down your chin. “You could come down my throat if you let me open your p-pants.”

Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut, pulling both your wrists behind your back roughly as the other pushed you down onto your knees until you were eye level with the bulge in his pants. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” he nearly stammered. “You’ll regret it.”

“I mean it.” You made quick work of his zipper, palming his hardness through the fabric of his boxers. “Please l-let me suck your cock.” You almost cringed at the words that came out of your mouth, washed in pure disbelief that you were actually on your knees in front of THE Kim Namjoon.

“Then suck.” Disbelief didn’t last for long since his command emptied your mind, losing the ability to think about anything else other than wrapping your lips around him immediately.

Namjoon placed both hands behind his head, resting against the train which vibrated beneath your knees, sending shocks of pleasure through your core when it made light contact.

Without further ado you reached into the open fabric of his pants, hand finally wrapping around something rock hard and blazing hot against your clammy palm, eliciting a hiss from Namjoon at he skin on skin contact. “Finally.” He groaned.

You were unaware of the whimper which left your own lips when Namjoon’s cock finally came into view, heavy against his stomach and raging with desperation to be touched. He was decently long but it was the thickness that made your eyes pop, mouth opening in anticipation and crotch grinding against the ground as you imagined how good it would feel when it finally stretched you out.

Without warning you were running your tongue along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the shaky breath Namjoon let slip when your hand fondled his balls firmly. You gave a few kitten licks to his swollen head, relishing the salty taste of precum that spread across your taste buds.

Your lips wrapped around the tip, sucking gently before sinking further down his length, letting the spit that had begun to fill your mouth cover his cock nicely so he slipped between your lips messily. Namjoon nearly went crazy when you hollowed your cheeks, hands tangling in your hair and making you groan out, desperate for him to take control. To use you.

“Mmmf, fuck yes,” he stammered, barely controlling his hips from bucking into your throat. “Just like that, there’s a good girl.” He pushed your head firmly down his shaft before tugging you off again, the head of his dick barely brushing against your reddened lips. You moaned in approval as he fucked your face, dizzy with the feeling of the ridges of his length on your tongue and his hands in your hair.

Just as you were taking him back into your mouth, the train rocked violently and you found yourself taking more of his cock than you anticipated, the head hitting your throat and making you gag obscenely around his length. Namjoon flew forward, unable to hold back the deep moan that rumbled from his chest when he felt your nose against his public bone. “Fuck baby girl, do that again.”

You obliged, taking him all the way until you gagged.

“So hot, fuck.”

You didn’t know if he was referring to your mouth or the way you dribbled down your own chin, tears pricking your eyes and leaking onto your flushed cheeks as you tried to breathe through your nose when he held you for a few seconds too long at the base of his dick. You pulled off with a pop, gasping for air.

“Sorry,” he panted apologetically. “Got a bit carried away.”

“It’s okay.” You gasped between breaths, wiping your chin with the back of one hand and pumping his slick length with the other, palm sliding lewdly against the sensitive head where your mouth had been. And you meant it - it was okay. You wanted this. Maybe you had just been denying it all along.

“Shit!” Before you could wrap your lips around him again, Namjoon was slapping your hand away, shoving himself back into his pants and pulling you up by your elbow.

“What?” You asked, surprised at his rejection of your mouth. “What is it?”

“Train’s stopping,” He hissed back. “People getting on.”

Sure enough, the doors swung open, allowing a hoard of people to board the train. You pulled your skirt around your ass hurriedly, hoping the disheveled state of your hair and swollen lips wouldn’t give away your arousal to the prying eyes of other passengers.

You kept your eyes on your shoes, waiting for the crowd to seat themselves around yourself and Namjoon before you dared meet his eyes again. He smirked, tugging his tie to hang loose around his neck and the action alone had you rubbing your legs together for relief, glancing around nervously to see if anybody caught your blatant show of arousal.

The train started up again and you reached for the bar above you hurriedly, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself by losing your footing for a fourth time that day.

Fortunately, Namjoon came to your rescue again, pulling you into his lap with a plop. Your heat grazed his thigh, sopping folds only separated by the thin layer of your sticky panties and you were sure you would draw blood which how hard you bit back the loud moan that almost left your lips.

“Can’t stay on your feet today, huh?” He clicked his tongue, breath hot against your ear as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your chest swelled when he rested his chin on your shoulder. The embrace felt nice.

“Guess I prefer being on my knees when you’re around.” Namjoon’s breath hitched, jaw tightening against your neck.

“Is that so?” Before you could respond he was slotting his leg between your thighs, tensing the muscles to create some friction against your pulsing clit. The action offered welcome relief, your folds begging to be touched in any way after what felt like hours of denial. “Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, grinding slowly onto the thighs you had dreamed about ever since Namjoon walked into the office months ago.

You moved your hips in slow circles, the coarse fabric of Namjoon’s trousers rubbing your heat in just the right way that had you breathing deeply as you tried to stop yourself from losing control and sitting on his cock then and there in front of everyone.

The fact that you were surrounded by people was exhilarating, the idea that someone could look over any second and see you creating a wet patch on Namjoon’s lap making you dizzy with lust.

Namjoon’s fingers grazed your arms gently, working you through the pleasure as he tensed his thigh again and again, pressure on your clit causing broken moans to catch in your throat. At this point you were completely gone, everything around you unimportant as you focused on chasing the feeling building in your lower stomach.

Suddenly, Namjoon grabbed your hips, stilling your ministrations despite the hushed whine of protest you directed at him as discreetly as you could. “Please.” You whispered, tears threatening to prick your eyes as you felt the feeling of your high getting further and further away with every second your core throbbed still against his legs. You were so desperate you would have done anything to reach it, tired and frustrated of being denied any pleasure.

“Hush baby girl,” Namjoon’s thumbs gently caressed your waist. “Take this off, such a good girl for me hmm?” He began tugging at the blazer that covered your shoulders, dragging it down your arms and throwing it over your lap instead.

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks when you looked down at the the coffee stain on your blouse, visible to everyone and anyone now Namjoon removed the thing covering it. “N-namjoon my blouse-”

“Shhh,” he hushed, tucking your hair behind your ear so you could hear his gravelly whispers clearly. “Let me make you feel good.”

“W-what…oh!” Your eyes bulged with surprise when you felt Namjoon’s fingers slip beneath the blazer that hid his wandering hands from prying eyes, toying with the top of your panties teasingly. “Namjoon! W-we can’t-”

His index finger slipped beneath the fabric, finding your clit immediately and rubbing hard, fast circles into the swollen nub. “So wet baby, so good.”

Arousal dripped from his voice and you let your head fall back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers worked you up into a squirming mess on top of him. If anyone sees they’ll just think you’re resting your eyes, you managed to convince yourself, all rational thoughts lost to the feeling of Namjoon sliding up and down your folds.

You let out a breathy oh when you felt his finger circle your entrance. “Joon,” you warned. If he filled you with even one finger you were sure you would cum on the spot in front of the whole train.

He smiled against your neck, at your neediness or the nickname you couldn’t tell before he was pushing two fingers into your heat to the knuckle. You were wet enough for them to slide straight in, cold metal of the pretty rings he always donned rubbing your walls deliciously and making you grind down onto his hand. His thumb found your clit and you dug your nails into his thighs, panting obviously now as you tried to hold on to what was left of your sanity.

“I-I can’t,” you gasped, noticing the sideways glances you were getting from the couple sat opposite you. They must have known what was going on. They must have known Namjoon was knuckle deep into your wetness as you clenched around him desperate for release, coil tightening more and more in your belly.

You were so wet that every thrust of his hand made a lewd squelch, an instant give away of Namjoon’s affect on you and you prayed the loud screech of the train’s wheels against the track was enough to hide it from the other passengers.

Namjoon was going faster now, leaving small kisses against the nape of your neck as he tried to hold it together. Until, finally, he couldn’t anymore. “I can’t n-need more.” You felt something in him snap at your keening, his hand leaving you clenching around nothing all of a sudden as he tugged your skirt back around your thighs.

“Wha-” You didn’t have time to finish before Namjoon was jerking you to your feet, shoving the forgotten manuscript from earlier into your hands as he pushed you towards the train bathroom. He kept his crotch pressed tightly against your ass, probably to hide his raging arousal from the people around you although his less than subtle way of maneuvering you both into the same bathroom stall gave it away instantly.

The door slammed behind you a little too loudly, making you wince. “Fuck Namjoon, now everyone knows.” You whined, allowing him to push you until the backs of your legs gave in, your ass falling aginst the sink. The bathroom was cramped, barely enough room for the two of you, so Namjoon went about making the best of the space by hovering over you with the same feverish want he had earlier except this time he couldn’t control the way his hands trembled as he eagerly ripped your coffee stained blouse open.

He let out a gasp when he finally got his hands under neath your bralette, thumbs sliding across your agonisingly hard buds in circles until you were squirming to feel his hands everywhere, anywhere. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” You couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face, something funny flipping in your stomach that was more than just arousal. Before you could worry if his heavy palms felt the way your heart beat a little faster at his words, his lips were skimming tantalisingly across the top of your breasts, finally unhooking your bra. Your head fell back in a choked gasp when his teeth grazed your nipples momentarily before he was swirling his tongue across them, soothing the sting that felt deliciously cold despite the hot and musky bathroom air.

You felt his lips begin the journey down, not quite reaching your belly button with his surprisingly gentle ministrations before your hands were tangling in the collar of his shirt and pulling him up to meet your eyes again. Your nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric and you fiddled with the buttons, desperate to feel his sweaty skin against yours. Your hot breath mingled. “Namjoon,” You managed to pant. “Let me see you too.”

His touch still lingered on your chest when he brushed your roaming hands away to replace them with his own, buttons quickly flying open allowing more skin to come into view beneath the dim lights. You couldn’t help but let your hands snake across his toned chest, sighing in delight when he lets you shake the shirt from where it still sat around his shoulders. You were pleasantly surprised to find his tummy soft, a perfect contrast to his muscular upper body.

He raised your gaze with a finger beneath your chin, pausing for a moment to run a questioning glance from your lips to your eyes and back to your lips. “Can I?”

You almost choked on your own spit, practically salivating to feel his lips against your own. “Kiss me?” You murmured. “Please.”

Namjoon took no time to oblige, finally crashing your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue. A wave of relief emptied your mind of anything other than the feeling of Namjoon’s body finally melting against your own and you realise you’ve been waiting for this - no needed this -  for longer than you originally thought. Namjoon smiled into the kiss and you felt your heart swell a little, his nose brushing your own gently in contrast to the way his hands greedily grabbed your ass. His lips were slightly chapped as they roughly caressed your own and you sighed contentedly into the kiss, tangling one hand in his hair, the other slipping down to the buckle of his belt.

His tongue finally gained permission, slipping into your mouth as you made work with the button of his trousers. You could barely focus, Namjoon’s lips all you could feel. Trousers now at his ankles, you fumbled to slip your hand beneath the waistband of his grey boxer briefs, eyes widening at the groan which rumbled from Namjoon’s chest into your mouth when your small hand finally wrapped around his pulsing length skin-on-skin.

You almost whimper at how hot and heavy he is in your palm, even harder than before if that was possible, the wetness smeared around his head evidence of just how worked up he was. His mouth stilled against yours, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to resist bucking into your hand. The knowledge that it was you that made him this hard, you that had him breathless against your lips sent another rush to your own heat.

Then he’s kissing you again, softly this time as his hand comes to rest on top of your own. “Wait, wait.” He murmurs between crashes of your lips. “I want to feel you before I come.”

You reluctantly retract your hand, agreeing that you wanted- needed - to feel him and quickly because quite honestly you were close already. Just his lips were enough, just wondering how they would feel around your clit and how good his tongue would be as it licked a stripe up your pulsing folds was almost enough to throw you into sensory overload.

“Can I take these off?” His thumbs hooked beneath the band of your panties. He looked at you with a genuine concern and you thought it was sweet. Namjoon was in control but he asked with a sincerity that said your comfort was important to him and it made something feel right about this, something safe. You gave his nose a kiss in affirmation, nodding gently. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Namjoon placed small, affectionate pecks to the corners of your mouth as he rolled the garment down your legs, letting you kick them all the way off as he rubbed gentle circles into your thighs. His eyes were still black with lust but they seemed gentle as he sucked in a breath, taking you in fully for the first time. It was almost easy to forget that this was the same guy who made you suck his cock on a public train fifteen minutes ago.

He connected your lips again in a soft, slow kiss, hand cupping your face as his thumb ran across your bottom lip. “You know, I envisioned it to be more romantic than…this.” He gestured to the dingy bathroom you’d almost forgotten existed, too busy getting lost in Namjoon. “Sorry…” He bit his lip, eyes averting your own bashfully.

Your heart swelled with more than just arousal.

“Namjoon?” He looked up at you again through his lashes. “There will be plenty of time for that. For romance.” A small smile crept onto your face.

“Yeah?” Namjoon’s grin gave away his elation at your statement.

“Yeah,” Your voice was but a breath. “For now though I just need you inside me.”

Namjoon’s arms scooped you up, slamming you against the wall for the second time that day and knocking away your breath as he wrapped your leg around his waist. “That I can do.” He hummed against your neck mischievously.

By now your heat was dripping, wetness making its way down your inner thighs as you braced yourself for the fullness of Namjoon’s cock. He felt girthy in your hand and your hole clenched at the thought of it stretching you open.

The small room was stuffy, barely enough shared air to breathe but that made it all the more intimate. Hands woven into his hair, you felt the way his chest rose and fell against your own as he took his length into his hand, guiding the blunt head to your entrance. He seemed pained as he squeezed the base of his cock, hesitating. “Are you…?”

“We’re good. On the pill.” You got out between laboured breaths of anticipation. “Wait!” You pushed his chest, his face coming into view, laced with worry as he searched your face for any sign of indecision. “What about Yuna?”

His eyes practically bulged before he let out a small chuckle at your concern. “Yuna?”

“Yeah…won’t she be mad?”

“Why would she be?”

“Aren’t you two like…you know?”

Namjoon spluttered. “No! Don’t you think her girlfriendwould be kinda mad if we were?”

Oh. Oh.

“I-”

“Y/N, she was just a way to you know…make you jealous. Truthfully, I was pissed, you wouldn’t even look my way and -”

You cut him off with a peck to his lips. “Okay. It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. Now for god’s sake, just fuck me please.”

“With pleasure.”

The head of his cock was back again and you circled your hips, desperate to feel more of it inside of you. Namjoon pressed in slowly, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he finally bottomed out, low moans escaping his lips at the feeling of your tight, velvety walls finally rubbing deliciously against his shaft.

The head of his cock instantly brushed against your sweet spot, sending shivers of pleasure through your heat as you scratched his back wildly. “Please…please ugh! Move!”

Namjoon wasted no time, dragging out nearly all the way before slamming back in to the hilt with a lewd slap. Your folds were so wet each thrust made an embarrassingly loud squelch you were sure could be heard from outside but the way his cock was thick enough to stretch you out just the way you liked it and long enough to hit deeper than his fingers had earlier rendered you uncaring and speechless.

The pleasure was almost unbearable and you could feel your muscles clenching around him, drawing out a strangled moan against your neck. The action was enough to make him lose all control as he lifted your leg, pressing you into the wall with all his weight and slamming into you at a new angle that gave him access to your clit every time he bottomed out, making you scream with pleasure into the palm of his hand.

“Shit, Y/N,” He hissed, watching through lidded eyes as you lost it beneath him. “You’re going to make me cum if you keep making noises like that. Fuck!” Namjoon was getting sloppy now, barely able to keep his pace as he desperately tried to cling on to the edge while each of your whines made his cock feel like it may explode any second.

“Mmm, cum for me,” you moan, completely lost to the feeling of his hot cock sliding lewdly in and out of you. “Wanna feel you fill me up.”

“Holy fuck,” he stuttered, nearly falling out of you as the pleasure overwhelmed him. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this, being inside you, god.”

So he gets loose lipped when he’s close, huh? Cute.

“Want you to cum with me, fuck.”

His dirty admissions were enough to send you flying over the edge with a cry, his fingers coming between your legs to rub agonising circles into your clit as you rode out your high. Your vision went black, legs trembling and if it weren’t for Namjoon’s strong grip on your thighs you were sure you would nothing but a puddle by now.

“Fuck you got so tight, that’s it. Come for me baby.” A few sloppy strokes later and he was coating your walls with a low groan, connecting your lips in a breathless kiss as you whimper at the feeling of being filled and the overstimulation.

Namjoon presses his sweat slicked forehead against your own as you let your breath mingle, coming down from your highs. As your vision slowly returned, the train jerked, nearly sending you both flying if Namjoon wasn’t there to save you once again.

“Woah there.” He said quietly with a smile. He connected your lips for the nth time and you decided that although it was new you actually - no definitely - liked it. “Be careful.”

You were about to say something playful back before a transport announcement crackled over head.

TRAIN TERMINATING AT NEXT STOP.

You broke away from the kiss with a groan. “Shit shit shit! I’ve missed my stop!”

Breaking away from his grasp you hurriedly try to button up your coffee stained blouse, glancing around to locate your underwear which was out of sight.

“Looking for these?” A piece of fabric hit your chest. Your panties.

His calm demeanour was enough to replace the post orgasmic glow with a familiar feeling of rage towards him.

“Yes I was looking for those - and this is all your fault! If you didn’t take them off in the first place I wouldn’t be in this mess and this stupid fucking blouse would be clean and-”

Namjoon cut you off by pulling you against his chest, peppering your face in playful kisses as you tried to squirm out of his grasp. You gave up eventually, enjoying the warmth of his bare chest and nearly giggling with surprise when he placed a peck to both your cheeks.

“You…are…so…fucking…cute…when…you’re…mad.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss and you hit him away playfully.

His sudden change in behaviour took you by surprise. You had never seen this side of him before. A side that wasn’t a complete and utter dick (or in more recent discoveries, a possessive, rough love maker).

“I recall you saying I was hot when I was mad.”

“Yeah, but you’re also really fucking cute.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him with a pout. “See cute.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, earning a chuckle as he began to buckle his own trousers. “You know, the next stop is mine so you could always just come back to my place?”

“Huh?”

A blush crept onto his face as he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that…unless you wanted to- no! What I meant was, you could come to my place and I could wash your blouse for you.”

You finished tidying up your skirt, watching with amusement as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t have enough spare cash for a taxi.”

“I’ll drive you home!” He said quickly. “You know, if you want me to…”

“Okay.” You said with a small smile. “Besides, I think I kind of owe you.” You nod towards the pityful remains of Namjoon’s manuscript which lay sodden in the sink, discarded at some point during your excitement earlier.

“Then this makes us even.”

“Deal.”

“Now, let’s hope the train is empty and if it’s not, get ready to run!”

[allofthismatters]

Here’s some domestic, early-morning Avalance I wrote while not wanting to get out of bed myself. :)

Ao3

All Sara remembers from the night before was falling asleep too early and waking up to pitch dark, rain whipping against the window, her heart pounding and hands trembling. She never did well waking up in bad weather; it felt too much like waking up on a slab of shipwrecked metal in a rushing ocean.

She remembers gathering Ava close and holding tight, her half-asleep words of comfort helping Sara’s lungs to work again. It’s so different than years past, when nothing could break through the panicked horror of her nightmares until her body had exhausted itself back into unconsciousness.

The next time she wakes up, the sky is a deep grey, muted by clouds and drizzle, hinting at daylight that’s still a while away. Her arms are empty now and she’s alone, but it’s so early and she’s still so tired that she can’t find the energy to worry.

She’s not sure when waking up unexpectedly alone stopped being accompanied by a wave of nausea and ringing in her ears. Only that now, when she does, she listens for Ava in the kitchen or the shower and doesn’t start to catalog all the reasons she may have finally given up on her and left in the night.

She moves herself to the middle of the bed and melts back into the warm linens Ava left behind, focusing on the soft rustling downstairs. The sound of Ava making coffee is so familiar now that Sara can almost see it.

She hears the bag opening, hot water pouring over grounds, one mug set down gently so that it doesn’t make too much noise, the other mug making a loud clatter followed by Ava softly swearing at it. The scrape of the glass milk jug sliding off a shelf, the clink of a spoon stirring against ceramic and the muffled slap of the refrigerator door closing.

It’s one of Sara’s favorite things Ava does. She’s not sure why—maybe just because in all the insanity of her life, she’s not used to someone who knows her and loves her well enough to take care of her like this. The smaller the thing, the more she treasures it.

She’d never quite figured out how to make really good coffee herself. It always came out too strong or too weak, and most of her adult life had been filled with much bigger problems to solve.

But Ava’s coffee is perfect—she adds the perfect amount of cream, stirs in a hint of cinnamon and always takes a sip of Sara’s before she hands it to her.

More than once, Sara had caught herself absently thinking that she wanted Ava to be the one making every cup of coffee she would ever drink. The first time, she’d panicked. Nearly gotten sick at how unguarded she’d become. It had been such a warm, fleeting series of thoughts, showing up before she could stop herself…the two of them settling into their 40s someday, Sara making breakfast while Ava scoops grounds out of a bag, moving around each other easily from years of habit…a couple of years from now in a cabin somewhere on vacation, buying herself a few more minutes before she gets up so she can lay in bed and watch Ava fiddle with unfamiliar kitchen appliances in just her underwear…on any inevitable day in their future where they wake up angry at each other, Ava still setting down a mug in front of Sara abruptly and walking away until they’re ready to talk things out.

Since when did she start thinking that far into the future? Since when did she even consider she had that much of a future to look forward to?

Since Ava, apparently. It scares her, but the more she’s let herself think of it, the more she wants it. All of it. The good, the chaos, the warm safety of a life together, and any ugly, horrible days that come with it.

Her wandering mind comes back to the present as she hears Ava’s bare feet climbing the stairs and stepping onto carpet. She sets down two cups and nudges Sara back to her side of the bed with her knee.

Sara lets herself rest in the moment. Nowhere to be, nothing to do besides watch as she reaches for her book and starts reading. It’s barely light out, the world is quiet, and Ava is so, so beautiful. Her hair is still damp and unbrushed from their hasty shower the night before, but still manages to fall in a way that makes Sara want to tangle her hands in it and kiss her senseless. She watches Ava’s lips twitch into a hint of a smile as her eyes scan the pages.

Mona had harassed Ava into reading Harry Potter and she’s grudgingly enjoying it. The copy she’s holding was Sara’s when she was young, the cover worn and margins covered in doodled words and shapes that Sara can see from where she lays. She always absently drew in her books as a kid, never able to focus otherwise. Laurel hated it, which only made Sara do it more.

She blinks against unexpected hot tears that burn the backs of her eyes. When she and Laurel were younger and occasionally let themselves giggle and daydream about their futures, it always assumed a husband for each of them. As she got older and found herself slipping away with a girl here or there at a high school party to share a bit of drunken intimacy, she told herself it was just for fun, just something everyone experiments with when they’re that age.

She prioritized the longing she felt toward boys over what she felt toward girls, because what else was she supposed to do? She’d heard the charitable but distant way her family talked about the children of the occasional acquaintance—

Oh, the Sampsons down the street said their girl is going through one of those bisexual phases… god bless them for taking it so well.

The Johnsons’ daughter cut her hair short and brought home her little girlfriend for Thanksgiving…but hey, people should be able to do what they want, right? None of my business, I guess.

She tried not to let it bother her but suffered bouts of desperate sadness at the thought of falling in love by chance with someone her family might not know how to embrace.

All of that seems so far away now, laying there with Ava, living—to some extent—the most well adjusted life her family could have ever imagined for their wild daughter.

She tries to burn the sight of Ava holding her old book into her mind and send it back through time and space to her younger self.

Don’t worry, kid, she’s more than you could imagine, and they would have ended up liking her better than they like you.

The thought makes her smile and she moves closer, pulling Ava’s robe away and kissing the side of her thigh. She grimaces at a sizable bruise that must have come from their mission the prior day—it had been fairly uneventful but left the team tired, overheated and irritable.

“Hi.”

“Morning,” Ava responds, reaching to move Sara’s hair off her face and smiling down at her.

“If Ray still wants us all to go hiking today after yesterday, I’m going to put him in the jump ship and leave him in the Stone Age.”

Ava breathes out a laugh and slides down until their faces are close together.

“I support that.” She kisses the tip of Sara’s nose and then rubs her own against it.

Sara feels her whole face break into a smile and presses her lips to Ava’s a few times, and then a few times more just because she can, before she tucks herself against Ava’s chest. The drizzle outside picks up to a steady rain again, and they nestle in closer to each other, an unspoken agreement that they aren't going anywhere today.

Sara takes her time breathing in and then back out. It took her so long to learn how to breathe again, but here she is, somewhere close to healthy, and right in the middle of happy. Happier than she ever thought she would manage. In a minute she’ll sit up and drink her coffee and maybe even get up to make breakfast, but first, she turns her mind back to an earlier version of herself one more time and thinks, with Ava’s warm breath against her hair and a lump of emotion in her throat…

You have nothing to worry about.

[stainandscribble]

Beyond Words (I)

A Not So Beautiful Goodbye

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen)  x Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU, angst, quartet? 

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper. 

PART 1  PART 2  PART 3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: since Jongdae’s Barista AU has been doing so well, I decided to switch the roles, so that Jongdae is now the poet. Also, April and a Flower is art in its purest form. So excited for Dear My Dear

Word Count: 4169

Jongdae walked out of his publisher’s office, his brand new book clutched by his side. His knuckles turning white with the force of his grip on the hardback copy - the very first printed one.

His fingers felt the rough green material cover, focusing on its imperfections. The book felt heavier than it was; rougher. He could feel the effort with which he bled ink into paper, and he could hear the clicking of the computer keys like a ghost of an echo in his ears. This was the heaviest book he had written. Not because physical weight, nor the number of pages that had ended up in the final print. No, it was a different type of weight. The weight of a heavy heart; crushing his chest, beating despite the damage. It was the weight of emotional baggage he had spilled- the printing ink might as well have been made out of his tears

I spilled all my love for you

As ink on paper

How could I forget

To fill you up first.

Yes, this anthology was born of pain, and regret; and somewhat bitterly, he thought it was best one he had ever written. It was heavy, and so damn hard to write he had spent many a sleepless night staring at the lined paper of his notepad, locked away in his office. Alone. 

It had been a long time since Jongdae had been this hollow, a cavern carved out of his chest, the inflamed tissue now a home for despair rather than a heart. 

He had only himself to blame. Jongdae did not shy away from admitting his wrongs. The least he could do was admit them and leave behind any self-pity festering in his broken heart like an infection. 

Instead he did what he knew how to do best; he spilled all his sorrows and apologies as ink onto paper. 

Ironically, that ability, this dysfunctional coping mechanism, was the very reason he was in the predicament in the first place.

Your love for me was like an inkwell; never drying

And I, 

I was like a pen,

Which drew from you forever.

I did not notice,

How you dried up in silence,

Blinded by the illusion of your infinity.

Sometimes the best things in your life; the best people, leave. Sometimes you leave them. It is all a vicious cycle of life. A part of life he had recently became intimate with. Nothing lasts forever. All is finite. All good things must come to an end. 

Still Jongdae’s biggest regret of all, was the fact you didn’t have to be finite. 

If only he had paid more attention to you, instead of drowning in ink and pretty words, he could have continued on. With you by his side.

He had left the building of his publishing company, glancing up at the sky. The heavens were heavy this morning, overcast with clouds so dark and looming day had taken on the look of night. There was no rain yet, but Jongdae was sure that at some point the clouds would be unable to hold their weight, and the rain would come in a violent storm. Like any other summer.

The inkwell is empty and when the pen immerses

It comes back dry,

Leaving the words I wanted to write,

To remain a whim.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the sky still ominous, but Jongdae knew that the calmness, and the stillness were bad omens. The calm before the storm. The only question that bugged him was when the sky would open, pouring its tears onto the ground from the sky in a hail of bullets. 

He wondered how loud the heavens would roar as it happened. Would it feel as if the windows were shaking? Would he be able to feel it in his bones, despite tucking himself away in his apartment? 

Would it shake him the same way you leaving him did?

He doubted that- nature didn’t have the same kind of power. A storm was not a woman; although it was eerily similar in its magnitude.

He flicked through the anthology, finally taking the time to appreciate the work and effort put into its creation. The cream coloured pages stared at him with hundreds of ink eyes.  Their looks were accusing, and among the black letters, he saw you. Your eyes, clear and sparkling in the way they looked at you, your smile bright. He reminisced the adoration with which he looked at you those the last few years, eyes wide and sparkling at everything you did. The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a cat-like smile at the happy memories.

Finally, after the present settled over him again, pulling him out of the happy daydream, his smile fell, and the light feeling in his chest, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the memory of your soft lips against his left him too. It left him cold and aching despite being hidden away safely within his home, His heart nestled safely in in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs.

Light brown eyes moved to look out the window, the world outside brightened by flashes of lightning. On the table before him, the vase of red tulips was wilting, the petals falling gracelessly against the windowsill, no longer their vibrant red, but rather a burgundy colour fading into brown.

Like flowers on the windowsill,

I forgot that unlike the ones growing wild in meadows,

The rain shall not come water you,

And that dew shall not condense on you like the pearls, 

Which I never gave you.

You sat in your old room, surveying its blank walls. When you moved out, your parents took down all the posters, and drawings you stuck on the pastel green paint. It was the decision you made at thirteen, and the decision you cursed all your Uni years. A decision you had accepted over time. Now you found the colour soothing and familiar, and in a world where you were always moving, you were glad for the little comfort it brought you. It was still your room. 

Now, with the turn of events, you moved back, and you were ready to reclaim your space; the tubes and frames at your feet were the beginning. 

One photo was staring at you, of you, a little younger, smiling along with the man beside you. You were in a meadow filled with wild flowers you had frequented with you mother when you were little. You remembered the raspberry bushes you used to pick fruit from, and you remember making flower crowns from the chamomile growing there. 

You had taken that man there. Showed him all your favourite things; the meadow, the raspberry bushes, the sketchbook filled with gouache paintings. He showed you the ink splattered notebooks and the small coffee shop at the end of the street. 

But the sunny days were over. The storm raged outside, thunder clashing in the darkness. And the raspberry bushes were gone too, and concrete blocks had taken their place. 

And the man no longer showed you the world with ink stained fingers either.

But he had not showed you anything for a long time now, even before you left your shared apartment. So you left him. It had felt like he had left you a long time before you did. 

Your mother’s voice broke you from your musings, and you left your room surprised to see her standing in the corridor with a brown package. She handed it to you wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. The look she gave you was piercing, and there was a certain amount of concern floating behind her soft eyes. You tightened the grip on the flimsy paper that wrapped around the object, and you could already feel that it was book.

For a moment you didn’t understand why it came; you certainly didn’t order one, but the look in your mothers eyes was enough to tell you who it was from.

“So he did finish.” You murmured, hands tearing at the paper in desperation, giving way to the soft green of the cover.

 Flowers in April

The golden lettering was delicate and beautiful, and you wondered why he mailed it to you. You were no longer together. You walked out months ago. You were moving on.

Opening the book, your attention was caught by the handwritten note on the front page, the black pen standing in stark contrast against the off-white paper.

 “To my muse.

I thought it would only be fair to give this to you, after all you had suffered because of it. You should at least know why you were suffering.

I’m sorry for all my shortcomings.

-      Jongdae”

 Your eyes followed the trail of the pen, his handwriting familiar from the little notes he used to leave for you, and the shopping lists that were stuck to your fridge.

The ache of your heart was familiar too, familiar from all the nights he ignored you, and every time you sat at the dinner table alone with only the tv to keep you company. The heart in your chest ached for your loneliness, but it also ached for the home that was long gone, the home you did not wish to return to and the man who occupied it now. This time, he was the one eating dinner at the empty table, sleeping in bed alone and you had no pity for him left.

But you are not a flower, 

You were a woman.

You are a woman.

And I, 

was not a pen,

But a man.

Jongdae listened to the thunder raging outside, shaking his windows, turning his day into night with anger. 

That was one of the ways You and the storm were different. You did not shout, you were not like the storm, shaking the windows in their frames and destroying things in the wake of your rage. You had left quietly, given back the keys to your shared home, and before he could protest, make an excuse for his absence, you had left without a word, leaving no trace behind but the cracks in his heart. 

7 months ago

You came back from work, ready to order takeaway and watch films with your boyfriend. The weariness in your bones weighed you down as you made your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to climb under a blanket in the living room, wrapped in Jongdae’s arms. 

The door opened, and you caught the sight of him at the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, calling someone. 

“Jongdae, do you want pizza?” You asked, looking up at the leaflet you had stuck on the fridge. You turned to face him, weariness leaving your bones at the hope of spending the evening in peace. The lightness does not last long, and he crushes it in his hands, unknowingly, without a thought.

“I’m busy.” The words leave you heavy. You know them too well now it seems. Jongdae had been like this for a while, more preoccupied with phone calls and writing than sparing you a moment. Just like you, he seems tired, but for a different reason. One you do not know, and one is not willing to share. 

“What about watching a film later?” You try again, hoping. Being foolish. Deep down you know the answer already, feel the rejection before it comes. Your heart has been breaking recently. The cracks started growing deeper, and you don’t know how to mend them.

“I don’t know.” He tells you, his soft voice cold and indifferent, eyes not looking at you when he speaks, and with another crack, you realise he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived.

PRESENT 

You had walked out of your office, your hands now empty as you left your portfolio and necessary documents with the client. You had finalised the designs this week and everything was ready for editing. 

You were given the task of illustrating a reprint of a popular book series recently, and you had been very proud of your work. So far it was one of the biggest projects you have done. It seemed you were riding the lucky wave. Your boss had given you a slight raise as you moved to a better position at the company. This project had been a success, and the company was contracted for another project, and the clients had requested you. 

It was time to celebrate. 

You had invited your friends out for a few drinks later that night. 

The bar had a chic vibe to it. Everything was made of sleek wood and toned down colours, coupled with the dim lighting and pretty chandeliers, it was a perfect place for you to unwind and gloat your success. You didn’t get to do it every day. 

You were sipping on you third cocktail, your three friends laughing at some work gossip. It had been a pleasant night so far. That is, until you caught the eyes of Jongdae’s publisher. The woman had averted her eyes when she saw you looking, but you could still make out the displeased look on her face, and the sour curl of her red lips. 

The black dress she was wearing was fancy. Fancier than what you wore, but it did not bother you. not until your eyes found the one person you hoped not to see that night. 

It was not that you hated him. It was not that you loathed him. It was that you resented him. For how he had treated you; spent the last months of your relationship ignoring you. As if you didn’t live right there with him. As if you didn’t share his bed. As if you were not irrevocably in love with him. 

Your heart broke all over again, seeing him here, with the beautiful woman opposite him, when he had said he was too busy to come here with you. 

His eyes caught yours. Their soft brown drawing you in with their warmth. He was still familiar, he still looked too much like home to you. And in your slightly intoxicated state, you saw the regret and remorse bubbling behind the kaleidoscope of browns in his irises. Or maybe you just wished to see it. 

You didn’t want to find out. 

“He’s here.” You turned to your friends, and the moment they realised who you were talking about, they had made their way to the bar.

“Can we get a tequila?” Your friend asked, bringing over a whole bottle of the alcohol, along with four shot glasses.

“What’s that for?” You asked, surveying the glass wearily.

“For the fun of it.” She told you, the cheeky smile that formed on her lips matched the flame in her eyes.

“You are beautiful. Never forget that.” She told you as you took your first shot.

Only when I had lost you, I realised 

That you, like an inkwell

Needed to be filled.

And like a flower,

Needed to be watered;

With words of love,

Looks of awe,

With warmth.

6 months ago

“I’m eating with the editors.” Jongdae told you as he fixed his tie in the hallway mirror, barely sparing you a glance into the kitchen. You had spent the last hour making his favourite, hoping against hope he would stay for dinner. Turned out you were trying in vain.

“I thought we could eat together.” You told him, your voice small, barely above a whisper as the hope fuelled elation left your body.

“Not today.” Jongdae said, his voice softer, sounding resigned as his shoulders hunched a little. He had been feeling tired lately, bored. For now, he wanted to leave. Get out of the familiar four walls, breathe in some fresh air.

Dinner with the editors was a good reason to leave. Besides, he was in the process of writing his third anthology, and it was an important meeting he had to attend. Jongdae needed everything to go smoothly.

His hands fell to his sides when he stopped fixing his tie, and you barely heard the quiet goodbye that left his lips. Or maybe you just imagined he said it. Lately, you couldn’t figure out which it was.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let any spill. Outside, Jongdae had put his head in his hands breathing deeply, before getting in the car and driving away.

You felt him climb into bed late in the night, but he never moved closer. He used to brush your hair back and kiss your forehead before falling asleep, but now he stayed far away, and you had been colder in your bed with him than you would feel with a stranger. 

And your heart broke.

PRESENT

Jongdae found your form in between the tables, eyes glued to the side of your face, feeling more like a spectre than a man. His heart roared in his chest, beating against his ribs the way an animal beat at the bars of their cage. The way it had not done in months. For a moment, the moment that lasted a split second when your eyes met, he felt more alive than the last few months. 

His anthology had been a success, and he had come in to celebrate that. Still, the biggest celebration, better than wine and better than gin, was the sight of you. 

His publisher had seen it, the way his eyes fell on you, again and again. Jongdae, for the life of him, could not understand the way her lips curled when she caught your eyes. He was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way to pay attention to her. 

Everything about you called to him, reminding him of his love for you. Reviving the passion you had shared, setting his whole body aflame. The sight of you flowed over him like water, cold and refreshing. He was awake. For the first time in forever he felt lucid. 

“Well done Jongdae. Your anthology had just become a bestseller.” His publisher told him, reaching over the table to hold his hand. He brought it back instantly as if it burned. 

Over the course of the last months he had figured out what he done wrong. He had admitted his shortcomings. And he had promised himself to be better, for you. He was not going to ruin it tonight. 

Sitting among your friends, you were glowing. Dressed in your best dress, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled from your chest. It was a warming sight, like watching flowers unravelling in the spring. And his heart wretched when he realised, he wasn’t the reason for your joy any longer.

Now, you, like a wildflower,

Are experiencing spring again,

After a harsh winter.

You are spreading your petals,

And green leaves.

And I, like a fool,

Stare at the empty windowsill,

Not seeing you.

I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.

He watched you stand up and make your way to the exit, and without a moment of hesitation, he was out of his chair too, making a bee line to you, heart pounding at the idea of you. 

He caught you by the elbow as you turned away from the bar.

“Jongdae.” You warned him, voice low as you stared right into his eyes. Jongdae’s eyes were soft when he looked at you, and you could make out their glassy sheen of tears in the darkness.

“I know what I did wrong.” He told you, sincerity lacing his voice, thick with remorse and deeper than usual. You could feel the desperation rolling off of him like waves.

He was wearing a nice suit today. A deep grey with a bluish tinge, and a white button up underneath. His fringe was parted, exposing his forehead and the straight brows that furrowed as he looked into your eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was; forgiveness or hate, he didn’t find it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“That is how I find out?” You spat. He knew you were talking about the anthology. 

“You didn’t call.” You accuse him, poking a finger against his chest, and he lets you.

“I wrote it.” He tells you, silently begging for you to understand. But you won’t. Not this time. You had told him already; tell me what happened, tell me why you didn’t talk to me. 

Instead, he wrote an anthology, spilling all of it on paper. Just like he always did. Just like you suspected he always would. And you had grown tired of that. He spilled all his emotions onto paper, dressed hem up in pretty words and rhymes. Devoted his time into doing so. By doing that he left you alone, and as he spilled all the love he had for you somewhere else, you were left to give him your love. Over the last months of yoir relationship, all the little acts of love had ceased to exist. There was no notes left on the fridge, there was no flowers on the vase on the table.

“You did.” You tell him, disappointment rolling off your tongue, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The whole world now knew you broke his heart. The whole world knew you left him without a word. But did the world know how he had left you, months before you left him? How you had sat at dinner alone and slept alone. Did they know that? Did Jongdae tell them that? Did he write about his faults? 

You didn’t know, and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

“Y/N.” He starts, but there is nothing that comes out of his mouth, and you shake your head. Desperately wanting him to understand. Because despite everything, you still love him, but you cannot live like this, like a stranger that shares his bed at night.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.” You tell him when he stays silent, not knowing what to say. You find it amusing. A poet lost for words.

“I didn’t pay attention.” He confesses, looking defeated.

“I locked myself away and tried to run from you.” He tells you, walking closer, his wide eyes looking straight into your own.

“I was too proud to say something was wrong. Too proud to admit that I was doing something wrong.” He admitted, hands balled into fists. For a moment he averts his gaze, looking everywhere but you, before bringing it back to you, eyes red with unshed tears, shoulders shaking with frustration.

“I wasn’t sincere. I should have told you then, that I love you, instead of keeping it to myself. I thought you knew, but no one can read minds.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you know he is apologising for his actions. All but the writing. You could see the ink stains on his fingers even now. You had accepted him writing, locking himself up for a week and coming out a dying man. You have accepted that. But you have not accepted the way he treated you then, and you were not going to accept ever again.

“I’m not ready to accept your apology.” You tell him, voice even, and you seem calm as he looks at you with the hopeful spark fading from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just,” You begin, searching for the right words, “Why didn’t you tell me then?” You finally ask, referring to the poems in the anthology. Love poems- all directed at you, written from the very beginning of your relationship.

“I didn’t know how.” He admits, wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair.

“You should have done this earlier.” You tell him, hugging him back, feeling like you have come back home for the first time in months.

“I know.” He whispers, caressing your hair, bringing you closer by the shoulders, until he envelops you.

“I know.” He mumbles again, and you listen to his heart beating out of his chest.

You move away, letting him go, before giving him one last look.

“I’m glad you know. Goodbye Jongdae.” You tell him, your voice soft, without any hint of malice. You seem content. You feel content. This was you leaving on your own terms. You loved him. of course you loved him. Sometimes though, you think, love is not enough. It does not keep you warm at night, or less lonely. Sometimes love is not given equally as it should. So you leave, walk away without turning back, knowing now where it was that he had spilled all his love- into words. You thought, that maybe, just maybe- Jongdae loved his words more than he loved you.

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he was left in the dark night outside the bar, alone.

I’ve lost my privilege to love you

I can only apologize to you,

For being winter,

When I should have been endless spring;

How you were, 

My infinite happiness.

- The Beautiful goodbye I could not give you.

[hellevator-mp3]

of chaos and calamities || Part 1

Pairing(s): Johnten (mainly), Norenmin, Luwoo, Yuwin (more to be added!)

Genre: Fluff (mostly)

Word Count: 1,900+

Warnings: None

Author Note: y’all...i told myself that i wouldn’t start a new series til i’m done with my other one...but then this happened so enjoy dfghkl also this series will switch couples for every chapter, and each couple will have a prequel one shot thing soon!

johnny and ten are polar opposites - where ten is small and lithe, johnny is tall and stocky.  where ten is quick wits and a sharp tongue, johnny is a slow mouth and gentle thoughts.  but the one thing that they share is a tender (although sometimes teasing) love

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over the years, johnny’s friend group had gone from three boys to six, doubling one year, and adding another six the next, to add up to the tightly knit group of eighteen in his senior year of college. he wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but it did, and he couldn’t be more grateful. that is, on days other than today.

among the eighteen of them, there was never a shortage of bets, pranks, and overall jokes that would either die out or become treasured inside jokes to tease one another with. although over half of the group was missing, having stayed home to study or go on dates with their significant others, the lunch hour found eight members of the group crowded around a table in the canteen, raucous laughter filling the space between them. in order to fit all of them at a table made for six, johnny found himself next to a trio of boyfriends - jaemin sitting half on jeno’s lap, and half on renjun’s lap, with their hands settled on his thighs and his arms around their necks. across from the four of them was a similar scene, yuta and sicheng taking up two spots, and jungwoo perched in yukhei's lap to take up the third.

a silence came over the group as johnny looked down at his phone, replying to a text from his boyfriend of three years, as well as some from their missing friends. lucas took the silence as an opportunity to propose an idea. “how about we make a bet?” those six words drew the attention of six of his friends, jungwoo being the only one that didn’t turn to him - but everyone knew he was listening intently, as he often did whenever lucas spoke. when he had everyone’s eyes on him, he continued with, “what if johnny calls ten and puts him on speaker, and tells him to behave, and if ten says something dirty, then johnny has to buy us lunch?”. the prospect of free lunch drew cheers from most of the group, aside from johnny himself. he knew how the rest of them ate, and knew he would regret it if the bet went awry. he knew that either way, whether he said yes or no, that he would regret it.

if he said no, he knew that he would have to endure months of teasing for being a coward. if he said yes, he knew that ten would say something dirty, and that was the end of it - unless he caught him on an off day, when he didn’t feel like twisting the situation into something else. in his head, he went over the pros and cons, weighing which one was worth saving - his wallet or his pride…

which is how he found himself dialing ten’s number a moment later. he knew that he was getting paid in a week, and could easily replenish what money he spent. as the phone rang, he tapped the speaker icon so the dial tone could be heard by the rest of the group, who all leaned towards him to listen to the conversation. “ten, you’re on speaker, please behave” was all that he rushed out before ten could speak, once he picked up the phone. the table went silent for a moment, and it seemed like the world stood still as they waited patiently for a reply.

“or what, you’re gonna spank me?” came ten’s response, sarcasm and a hidden implication thick in his tone. lucas burst out laughing, then followed the others when they cheered. over the noise, johnny barely caught ten’s questions, before he retreated from the table to explain.

it wasn't until a good three or four hours passed that johnny found himself trudging home through nearly a foot of snow and ice, having rejected the offers from the others to give him a ride home. he knew that if he went with the trio, one of them would drive and complain the whole ride home because he couldn't be with his boyfriends. if he rode with yukhei and jungwoo, he would have to listen to their mind-numbingly domestic discussion about what to pick up for dinner, listen to jungwoo coo to 'his xuxi’ and purr little phrases in chinese - although johnny would be unable to discern whether it was cantonese or mandarin. yuta and sicheng would be the same, although johnny knew they would shift into talking in japanese and chinese, respectively. that was one of the things that he had never understood - he knew that yuta and sicheng had been dating long before he met them, but neither of them were fluent in the other's language, yet they managed to have important conversations that they couldn't have in korean - that is, until he met ten (or chittaphon, as only someone with authority was allowed to call him) and they began to understand each other on the same level. even when ten would call out thai phrases that johnny had never learned, he still knew the meaning somewhere in him. it was only then that he understood the bond that yuta and sicheng had, understanding each other beyond the barriers of language.

johnny wished that thinking of ten could warm him, but found that his blood would rather run cold because of the blatant betrayal. as he climbed up the steps to their second floor apartment, he formulated a plan to get back at ten, if only for his drained wallet. although he knew ten would hear him unlocking and opening the front door, he still called out to announce his presence. a muffled reply told him that ten was in the living room, and johnny could hear the faint crackle of their fireplace, and could feel its heat as he stepped into the room. to his surprise - although he wasn't quite sure what to expect - he found ten curled up in a thick blanket, parked right in front of the fireplace with his phone in his hands as he looked up at johnny, who lowered himself next to ten and pulled him close. ten threw part of the blanket over johnny, and nearly climbed in his lap to help warm him, phone tossed to the side and forgotten about.

it didn't take long for johnny's hands to wander, lifting up tens shirt to slip his hands in, watching the smaller boy shiver as his hands ghosted up his back. his eyes grew hooded as johnny dipped down to nip, lick and suck at his neck, leaving a pretty collection of marks that ten would have to find some way to cover up the next day - but neither of them found a reason to care, as the air around them grew thicker and the tension heightened as johnny grew bolder, eventually laying ten down on his back, supporting himself on his elbows as he gazed down at the younger. and then, as ten was lifting himself up to kiss johnny - the taller was getting to his feet, fixing his shirt and walking away, leaving his beloved boyfriend to suffer on the floor, whining after him to 'come back and finish what he started’.

johnny figured that that was torture enough, as he ambled into the kitchen almost giddily to start preparing dinner, knowing that any minute now, ten would come up behind him and mold himself against johnny, arms wrapping around his waist and face buried in his back.

and boy, was johnny right, he thought as ten wandered into the room behind him. the younger was bare, save for the oversized sweater that swamped his frame (obviously johnny's) and a pair of shorts that barely covered his bottom, having abandoned the blanket in the living room. true to ten nature, he was soon tucked behind johnny, shuffling behind him when they had to go to the fridge or the sink, listening to the taller chastise him about his attire. ten whined in response, voice muffled against johnny's back, although he didn't have to see his face to know that johnny was smiling that one smile that was reserved only for him. johnny cooked like that, chopping up vegetables and cooking meat with his boyfriend behind him, who occasionally peeked out to check on the progress or offer suggestions on what to do differently, sometimes even to steal bites when he thought johnny wasn't looking.

while they didn't have anything officially planned, it felt as though it was as they ate dinner and threw themselves on the couch together, but little did johnny know that this was going according to plan for ten. the teasing from earlier was forgotten as ten took his rightful place in johnny's lap and they talked about their days, including the bet that ended with johnny's empty wallet and the aforementioned teasing. ten couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up through his chest, before he suddenly gasped, jumped up, and ran out of the room, calling something back about a finished piece in his sketchbook that he wanted to show off. johnny wasn't even startled, pulling out his phone to scroll through social media as he waited for ten to return.

a couple minutes later, ten was handing the sketchbook over and resettling himself in johnny's lap, and allowing the other to look through the book. johnny flipped through the first few pages, but found that the back half of the book was stiff and he couldn't open it. eying ten suspiciously, and with ten encouraging him on with a flap of his hands and a smile, johnny flipped to the last page he could and was mildly shocked at what he saw.

the last pages had been glued together, and a hole cut out in the middle so ten could put a ring there - and put a ring there he did. the silver band glinted in the light, and when he picked it up, he saw the black band that ran through the middle of it. when it finally sunk in, ten took the ring from his hands and slipped off the couch to kneel in front of him, only managing to get half of the sentence out before johnny was pulling him in and mumbling a 'yes’ against his lips.

it wasn’t long before they were standing side by side in the bathroom, washing their faces and brushing their teeth, matching rings glinting in the light as they got ready for bed. in the time it took for johnny to change into pajamas, ten was already curled up in the bed and nearly asleep, before he sat up with a jerk. johnny only stared at him for a second, before ten got to his feet and said that they needed to take a selfie together to send to the group chat, to let them know the news. johnny laughed, before the two made their way back to the bed and ten slipped in between his outstretched legs to press his back against the other’s chest, and pulling out his phone to take a few photos. only after sending them to johnny, did he send them to the group chat with a message underneath reading ‘guess what!!’. the them in the pictures had their hands up, both showing off their rings with bright smiles on their faces. knowing that the others would soon be blowing up their phones with congratulations and ‘finally’s, they silenced both of their devices and laid down, ten wrapped up in johnny’s warm embrace.

and the rest of the night? it was history.

[kondo-hijikata]

Remember me, please if you are still accepting these.

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata, Background Heisuke/ChizuruRating: TSummary: He’s a rasetsu. That means he’s no longer human. …Right? [AO3] Part 1 of 3.

.*Antidote*.

The brush left sweeping trails of onyx in its wake as Hijikata’s hand danced over the succession of countless pages. Beautiful penmanship wasn’t a requirement for a poet, but it was becoming…even if his current work bore no vestige of artistic flow.

…Even if he hadn’t composed a single verse in weeks.

Or had it been months?

Petitions were his life now. Calligraphic petitions. Names and places, dates and times, dry facts and hard truths–each penned in style, with grace and polish and beauty. And the reports, too, comprised of elegant characters embroidered across golden paper…

All of this attention to detail, only to be sent to officials with no appreciation for such aesthetic–or guarantee that these documents would even be looked at, let alone perused.

There was purpose in the obsession with embellishment and the extra work it made, however, and that purpose, it was…

The kanji blurred when Hijikata’s focus shifted suddenly on that thought. The brush slowed and then lifted so not to blot, and he remained still, staring down at the apparatus he held between his deft fingers.

He blinked and his mouth parted. A dry huff forced out from between his lips.

Purpose? What purpose? There used to be, when his words flowered across pages bound in leather–when he wrote of morning snow in the winter and birdsong in the spring, when there was someone around who cared to treasure what he produced regardless if it was good or not.

But now, it was only names and places, dates and times, dry facts and hard truths…petitions and reports, inscribed and shipped off to disappear in a Bakufu void.

The futility of it all hadn’t even entered Hijikata’s mind until this point, until a conversation from earlier fractured the delicate floor of glass he’d trodden upon. And now the only thing he could hear was the inescapable echo of Sannan’s nonchalant voice, thrumming over and over in his memory.

“Toudo-kun also clings to his humanity, with the insistence to live by daylight.” The statement wafted calm and collected from the open shoji, as if it were a comment about trivialities of the weather instead of the tragedy of one man’s life–or all of their lives, for that matter. “I can understand where the desire comes from, but how futile it truly is…for we are no longer human.”

It’d been too long by now, doing this particular dance, and Hijikata recognized the point Sannan intended despite its vague deliverance.

“It’s not our business how he copes.” He hadn’t turned from his desk when he answered, and kept his tone curt and dismissive: a return in kind to the shot covertly fired in his direction.

A wedge had driven its way deep between himself and Sannan with Kondo’s absence, each harboring a different vision of the Shinsengumi’s future, and the tension that smoldered behind forced pleasantries only further strained the relationship.

Still, Sannan’s rank of Soucho–of General Secretary–hadn’t been given without due merit. And when no reply had been offered after the passing of several moments, Hijikata lifted his chin and slowly peered toward the doorway.

What he’d found there was a peculiar directness in Sannan’s gaze, a glint in the slight narrow of his eyes. “Perhaps not. Nonetheless, you are aware he is doing it entirely for her.” And though his words were specifically referring to Heisuke’s affection for Chizuru, Hijikata once again felt the weight of their more personal implications.

Sannan’s shoulders rose with a cant of his head. “The real pity is found in what he doesn’t realize.”

Fighting to avoid clenching his teeth, Hijikata’s digits instead curled inward on his hakama. “And that is?”

“That the end will not justify the means. When all is said and done, the effort will only bring her pain. She will suffer just as much, if not more.” Fingertips pressed to the frame of his glasses when Sannan turned, but before he resumed his stroll down the porch, he added in an almost indifferent tone, “…All because he cannot accept the reality of what he no longer is.”

The steps which carried him off had been so light that he could have been a ghost. And in a way it felt as though Sannan’s presence had been, for Hijikata stared long after at an empty space, haunted by his parting words.

No longer human.

They still plagued him now, as he gazed at the fine bristles coated in black and how they clashed with the paleness of his flesh. No longer…

His brow furrowed. Hijikata placed the brush down on the tray with a pointed tap and brought his palm before his face. Squinting, he studied the lines, the rough patches of skin, the callouses on his fingertips from years of brandishing a sword.

No longer…human. Was that true? With drinking the ochimizu, had he forfeited entirely what it meant to be of this world? Had the transformation forever removed his capacity to mesh with others unlike him, stolen his right to appreciate what he’d loved so fondly before the change in his blood?

Clear lines morphed into obscure blotches as Hijikata maintained a vacant stare. His heart still beat and his lungs still drew breath. His fingers ached from paper cuts (even if temporarily) and his stomach growled when he ignored it for too long. He felt the misery of loneliness with Kondo recovering elsewhere from his gunshot wound, felt the crushing weight of responsibility to keep the Shinsengumi afloat among all this Edo noise.

But at the same time, Hijikata also experienced the urges–the sensation of control slipping from his grasp, the imploring and nagging and suffering cries within him to just give in and answer a brute call, to quench a relentless thirst.

He swallowed the pain of these attacks he could never predict…tried to ignore the fact that each augmented in severity when compared with the last, tried to brush off the knowledge they would just keep growing worse and more erratic.

At last, Hijikata’s hand lowered. Both palms braced against his thighs as he slowly stood.

For now, he could still pass.

His socked feet traversed the tatami without a sound.

For now, he could keep on as he had been…

He stepped over the threshold and onto the porch, walked to the edge of the wooden planks and gazed up to a sky of shimmering diamonds. The moon was crescent on this winter night, but its light barely permeated the obstructing thickness of a passing cloud. Hijikata’s gaze softened.

For now, he was keeping it all together. But how long would it be until he could no longer will away the drives without intervention? How long until he could no longer recognize himself, until he became as mindless as the men Niimi had chained to the wall so many years ago? How long until this repressed nature exposed itself, until it could no longer be subdued?

The offending cloud drifted on, leaving in its wake the moon’s full luminosity–a bright, conspicuous sickle carved into darkness. Similar to the stars, and yet different. Blending in with the nightscape and yet actually an eyesore, depending on the point of view.

Hijikata’s lashes fell.

Sannan had been right about one thing, at least; it was inevitable that Chizuru would end up hurt. And if that were true, then how long would it be until Hijikata caused Kondo the same kind of pain?

His eyes opened.

…What was he thinking?

He already had, from the very moment the poison in that tiny vial made contact with his lips.

If he no longer wrote poetry, could he still call himself a poet? If he was no longer human, could he still call himself a man? And if his adoration for Kondo was as deep as he thought it was and he still did this to him, could he really say that he…?

A cold breeze intercepted that thought and carried it off in the same way it caught Hijikata’s long hair. It was enough already, all of this. The shiver wracked his exhausted frame but his feet remained cemented where they were, as if time might stop if he simply ceased to move.

But his heart continued to beat.

And his blood still carried with it the curse.

And now, Hijikata was sure that somewhere, Kondo was staring up at this same sky–that his commander’s thoughts were undoubtedly, undeservedly filled with nothing else but him.

His vision blurred again, but for a different reason this time.

~

There were reverberations from the past that night, loud and precise, within Hijikata’s quarters.

“I had thought I made myself clear. The ochimizu is not a tool for self-preservation, but a means to step beyond the limitations.”

Despite only serving one, two futons had been laid out. …Because there had always been two. And perhaps, it was sentimental to continue that habit, but…

“But Sannan-san!” Heisuke’s open hands had been thrust toward him in desperation. “If I can’t move around during the day, then how can I–“

Hijikata lay on his side, his eyes half-lidded and fixated toward the shoji with a blank stare. He’d draped a heavy blanket over himself, and beneath that, a black haori.

“The simple answer is that you do not. The simple solution is that you let go.”

He dipped his chin, brought the haori to his nose, and inhaled.

“I can’t!” Heisuke had anguished, his distress growing. “The whole reason why I took it was–”

The fabric still smelled like him, like Kat-chan.

“Toudo-kun. It is not…a tool…for self…preservation. It is not taken to spare someone else’s pain.”

Kazama’s sword had pointed in Hijikata’s direction and in that same moment when his heart had stopped, all he’d been capable of thinking about was Kondo. …Never meeting his eyes again or feeling the warmth of his embrace, never having the chance to say goodbye or establish closure… Hurting him, abandoning him, because Hijikata hadn’t been strong enough to see it all through.

“Then…” An exasperated laugh. “Then, you’re saying I should have just let myself die. Because now Chizuru…” Heisuke’s voice deteriorated. “Now Chizuru, she…”

…Because Hijikata had been on the cusp of defeat by the hands of a demon. An actual demon–something he, after all that time, simply hadn’t been able to say he was.And so the cap had fallen to the dirt and the bottle had met his lips.

“Perhaps.”

Hijikata closed his eyes and buried his face into Kondo’s scent.

Perhaps, indeed.

~

// End of part 1. Sorry for the break but this got WAYYY too long.

Part 2 >>

[dauntlessneil]

The Gray Areas of Love

The Gray Areas of Love 

Neil Gonzales and Catherine Buhain 

FOREWORD

 Why is this piece of literature called “The Gray Areas of Love”? this piece of literature contains poems, short stories, narration, quotations and a lot more, where words is a medium, a channel to encrypt honest feelings on these pages. Follow the persona as they explore the gray areas of love, the areas of love wherein there is no dashing color, an area where they might feel loss, lust, depression, sadness and all the other negative energy stored up, but remember that gray is still a color, waiting to be filled up, to be mixed with different colors that will remove that ominous atmosphere.

PART 1: DESOLATION

 ONE

 For so long I was never really sure about my feelings, these feelings wrapped around my fragile heart. I was always confused, my mind spinning, my heart revolving, my fingers fiddling with my thoughts. This person makes me vulnerable, words don’t come out straight when I’m with him, my thoughts covered in fog, I can’t think straight. Why? Why is he the source of my pain? Why does he make me feel weak? Why do I feel this way? These questions are left unanswered, a test that I didn’t study for. I’m stuck in this desolation, for how long I ask? Another question, unanswered.

  STRANGER’S WRITING

 His letters are in cursive

Mine is in print

He traces my lines

I trace his words

Ink on my finger

My lips on a stranger

  LOST

 Don’t let me fall in deeper

I don’t want to get lost in you

  TIME

 I drift into the unknown

For so long, I have been alone

Floating in my dreams

As long as it seems

Time runs endlessly

For it has no end

  ISOLATION

 These cold sheets on my skin

Rapturing me with these soft silks

This frigid isolated room

Has held me captive for days

  HOPING YOU WOULD KNOW

 I’m not forcing you to love me back, I’m just waiting for you to appreciate me. I know you can’t give me the kind of love that I want, I understand that, but playing with my heart is a thing that I don’t understand. Are you aware of how much you’re affecting me? You’re making things miserable for me. I’m tired.

  DRIFTING AWAY

 As I start to drift into a deep sleep, you're the last thing I get to think about. What are you doing? Are you already asleep? Who are you dreaming of? Or are you awake just like me, sleepless nights, crying, craving for your touch. Or am I just delusional? Maybe you're asleep, smiling, dreaming of her. But does she want you? Will you forever drift to a deep slumber if you know you are happy in your dreams? Or will you wake up to reality, the reality where she is not yours and you are not mine.

  WALL

 I keep on trying to break this wall, the wall that's separating us. My heart turns to fragments as I see you building the wall up high rather than helping me break it down.

  LETTER

 Hey, it has been a long time since we’ve talked. I always stop these words from coming out of my mouth. You infiltrate my thoughts when I see you, I am distracted by you, pushing me away from these topics in class. I look for a grip, to hold on, to not float away into some place that I don’t know. Will you look for me if I’m lost? Or will you lead me to a trap? Know that I’m always here to listen. I miss you so, so much, take care.

UNKNOWN

 I stare at the unknown

Thinking that it is a place

What is beyond that area that

I have not yet discovered

  YOU

 The sunrise bringing anew

But I’m still here, missing you

Songs we used to dance to

Songs we used to sing to

Songs we used to beat our hearts to

these rhythms, melody and blues

They remind me of the things I should outgrew

Maybe I missed all of the cues

Telling me to forget our milieus

But I just can't forget the love you drew

That made my heart filled with tattoos

Tattoos that I wish I could undo

Now they just remind me how you broke my heart in two

They remind me of all the things we failed to do

Words we failed to live up to

And how we failed to get through

Oh how I wish, I knew.

Maybe, I have to stop thinking what we had was true,

And start erasing the view,

Cause I’m starting to go blue,

Whenever I’m thinking of you

 -       CLB

 OPEN

 My eyes are finally open

No more words left unspoken

No more hoping

I’m just left broken

 And now that I can finally see

No more reminiscing about old memories

Cause I know where I stand in your reality

You have set me free

Although it felt like I was drowning in the sea,

It soon became a clarity

That there was never a you and me

 I’m done thinking

I’m done trying

I’m done crying

I’m done waiting

 -       CLB

 VIEW

 I am here, behind the room

Looking from afar, I need a zoom

I see you talking with her

Who am I to judge her

You may like her for her smile

So beautiful you might run a mile

  PART 2: DESIRES

 TWO

 Every one of us has their own desires, their own cravings for someone. I feel so sinful when I include you in my polluted thoughts, lusting for you, but being sensual can be love right? Not all sexual related stuff, fall under sin and abuse. Let these words touch your skin, as I would like to but all these can only happen in my imagination and on these pages.

  CRAVINGS

 I’m craving for something sweet

Craving for your soft sweet lips

Ice cream drops on my chest

Glide your tongue on my pathway

Hint of cream on my lips

Seal it with a kiss

  TERRITORY

 I have countless of desires for you, I have that tendency to put you in my cage of imagination, kissing you, touching you. Making love to you has never felt so good. Your lips meet’s mine, I bite your soft bottom lip and I know that you like it. I feel your fingers travelling down to my legs, plant your flag, because you have just made me your territory.

  DREAM

 The silence lingers in the hallway, my footsteps produced sounds that encircled the area. I bite my lip and hear my breaths. I am alone, walking down this hallway, heading to the comfort room for I have been excused. I feel my eyes getting heavy, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I enter the comfort room and the silence managed to enter with me. I enter the nearest cubicle and shut the door. Seconds pass by and I fiddle with the lock, trying to open it. I pushed the door and I see you entering, you catch my eyes, I am stuck in that position, unable to move. I see you approach then without my realizations, you have already pinned me on the wall, I grab for your hand as your lips touches mine, we exchange those breaths we emit. I taste that sweet watermelon flavor on your lips. Only our muffled moans are heard in the isolated area, echoing on the walls, bouncing back to us. You remove your hand and start holding my face, then travelling down to my neck, my chest, my abdomen then behind me you pull me closer. I jolt awake, pinballs of sweat trickling down my cheek. It was just a dream.

  BOOK

 I am a newly bought book

Touch these pages that you took

Read these words out loud

As you listen to the sound

The sound of my moans

When we are alone

 PART 3: LOSS

 THREE

 Loss invades our thoughts, for a part of us has been removed. Taken away, never returned back. Loss sinks into our hearts and mind, our every actions affected. Pain scourging inside our chest, a heavy feeling weighing us down. Questions popping out everywhere, no idea how to move on and remove the feelings we have. Why is there a lost and found section? People who find things that is not theirs, they place it on the lost and found section, waiting to be claimed by the real owner. We might have lost someone but we will learn how to find ourselves amidst all these suffering.

  EMPTY MIND

 That liquid guilt on my lips

Thinking that if I sip

I will start to forget

All these memories dancing in quartet

Trying to wash away

My hopes and my love that day

Hoping I can rewind

To that day that I had an empty mind

  EVERY DAY

 As my eyes open, waking up from my heavy sleep. You’re the first thing on my mind, thinking what should I do if I see you, will I talk? Will I hold? Or will I let you go? The thought of you, liking someone else pollutes my mind as I continue to overthink. Every day, pain is what scorches me when I see you. Spaced out all day, lessons from class unlearned, stressed out all night, crying, drinking doesn’t solve a thing. I hope you know what happens to me every day, for I will never stop loving you in all the days that I have.

 SEPARATION

 Jolting awake at night

Losing all my sight

Tears covering my eyes

Nights filled with cries

With no you by my side

Are you trying to hide?

I am filled with desperation

From this agonizing separation

[darknesstodawnuniverse]

Whumptober Day 8 - Scar

So yesterday was SO busy and SO exhausting that by the time I got my tiny humans to bed, I was beat. So this got put off until today. Then, of course, today was busy and exhausting and this got pushed later and later, but here we are.

You can find this on ff.net and Ao3 for your reading convenience as well.

Read the rest of my Whumptober 2017 prompt fills here.

When Aramis woke, squinting even from the meager light sneaking in behind their makeshift curtain, Porthos knew it was going to be a bad day. He watched Aramis slowly roll up to sitting, swinging his legs tiredly over the side of his bed. He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Porthos watched his fingers restlessly begin to rub the old scar long since hidden behind the hair above his right ear.

“Aramis?” he called, in a voice pitched low and soft. “You alright?”

Instead of answering, Aramis’ head sunk further into his hands, his right palm now pressing solidly against the scar.

“How bad is it?” Porthos asked knowingly, sure to keep his voice in a whisper. Aramis opened his mouth to answer but Porthos cut him off. “The truth.”

Aramis squinted up at him with a weak version of a scowl.

“You know me too well, mon frére,” (my brother,) Aramis replied with a pinched grin.

“How bad?” Porthos asked again.

Aramis opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped this time by the door to their shared quarters banging open. The influx of the bright morning light made them both wince, but Aramis also turned his head away, pressing his hand over his eyes with a low groan.

Porthos frowned and watched Aramis’ shoulders roll forward. He was off his bed and halfway across the room with the chamber pot – thankfully just emptied – before d’Artagnan had even stepped into the room.

Porthos went to a knee next to Aramis and shoved the pot under his face just in time to catch whatever Aramis heaved up. He rested his free hand across Aramis’ nape and then looked over his shoulder at d’Artagnan.

“What’s wrong with him?” the young Musketeer asked with wide, worried eyes.

Aramis twitched under Porthos’ hand and heaved again.

“Keep your voice down,” Porthos hissed softly. “Where’s Athos?”

“He’s down in the yard,” d’Artagnan whispered back. “He sent me to rouse you two.”

“Go and fetch him,” Porthos instructed. “And close the door behind you.”

D’Artagnan nodded hastily, eyes wide with worry, and retreated. He pulled the door closed quickly, but silently, behind him. That handled, Porthos returned his attention to Aramis. His shoulders were still rolling with heaves, but nothing was coming up anymore.

“Get it under control, ‘Mis,” Porthos whispered, massaging Aramis’ shoulders carefully.

It took a moment, but Aramis stopped heaving. Porthos set aside the chamber pot and nudged Aramis to lay back down. He sighed in frustration when the marksman resisted.

“Lay back down. You need to try and sleep through it.”

“Just…give me a moment…” Aramis muttered around carefully controlled breaths. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aramis, you can’t even open your eyes,” Porthos pointed out wearily.

Aramis huffed in frustration, but didn’t try to prove Porthos wrong as he usually would when such a challenging statement was issued. He continued to sit on the edge of his bed for several moments, hunched forward with elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands – right palm pressed to the scar. His eyes were clenched closed and his jaw was set in a hard line.

“Lay down,” Porthos instructed again, more firmly this time.

Aramis hesitated.

“It’s only me here,” Porthos reminded.

The marksman’s shoulders drooped and gave in. He blindly allowed Porthos to guide him back into his bed and rolled to face the wall, draping an arm over his head.

Porthos had just flicked the blanket back over him when the door slowly eased open, but only far enough for Athos to squeeze through. Then it was shut tightly once more.

“How bad?” Athos asked in a whisper as he moved to the single window, snagging a spare blanket out of the trunk beneath it – stored there for days like today – and proceeded to secure it over the window, casting the room into darkness.

“Seems bad,” Porthos replied, concern coloring his tone. “Couldn’t even make it out of bed.”

“I sent d’Artagnan  for cool water and rags and stopped in to inform Treville. He removed us from the duty roster for the day,” Athos informed him quietly. “I’ll go ask Serge to start preparing some of that soup he likes. Try to get him to sleep,” Athos instructed before slipping silently out of the room.

Porthos returned to Aramis’ bed and sat on the edge.

“Think you can sleep?” he asked softly.

Aramis slowly uncurled the arm from his head and peered up at Porthos through the darkness. He didn’t say anything, but they’d known each other long enough that sometimes words weren’t needed.

“Okay, you got it,” Porthos promised. Then he turned and stretched out beside Aramis on the bed. Aramis was curled impossibly small into the wall, face hidden under an arm again. Porthos hooked his own arm behind his head and settled in to stare at the ceiling for however long he was needed.

D’Artagnan followed Athos into the room, carefully balancing his bowl of water in his hands. The room was fully dark and once they closed the door, d’Artagnan could barely see enough to move around. Athos didn’t seem phased at all. He moved freely and easily throughout the room, retrieving a single candle and setting it on a small shelf in the corner of the room furthest from Aramis’ bed. Once that was lit, it provided a soft, meager glow to navigate by and d’Artagnan dutifully brought the water and rags towards Porthos and Aramis.

Porthos was stretched out on his back next to Aramis, who was on his side, curled away from the room and into the wall. The big man pointed to the floor and d’Artagnan deposited his burden there. Then he retreated to the other corner where Athos had settled on the foot of Porthos’ bed with a book.

D’Artagnan hovered awkwardly for a moment before Athos tilted his head toward the space on the bed next to him. Relieved, d’Artagnan clambered up to sit on the thin mattress.

For a moment they sat in silence, Athos reading and d’Artagnan watching Porthos and Aramis.

“Why is Porthos in his bed?” d’Artagnan finally asked, careful to keep his voice soft.

Athos looked up from his book, eyes settling for a moment on the other two Musketeers before he looked back down at his book.

“Aramis sleeps better with a warm body at his back.”

D’Artagnan nodded.

“Because of Savoy,” he realized.

Athos nodded once.

“What’s wrong with him?” d’Artagnan asked.

“He suffered a grievous head injury in Savoy,” Athos explained without looking up from the pages he was perusing. “He sometimes suffers crippling headaches because of it.”

D’Artagnan nodded again.

“He showed me the scar once.”

Athos looked up from the book again when they heard Porthos murmur something too softly for them to make out. Aramis shifted a bit before settling his weight back against Porthos’ arm instead of curled into the wall.

D’Artagnan didn’t know why Athos looked so relieved by this change.

The older man must have sensed his confusion because he looked over at him.

“What did he tell you about Savoy?” Athos asked.

“Only that they were attacked in the night and Marsac saved his life before deserting.”

Athos nodded.

“That’s his preferred version.”

D’Artagnan frowned in confusion.

“What that version of the story fails to disclose is that he was out there, alone, for five days with twenty dead Musketeers before they found him.”

“They?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Porthos, Treville, and two others that had gone to retrieve the bodies.”

D’Artagnan shook his head in bewilderment.

“Why did nobody find him sooner?”

Athos sighed.

“The report said no survivors. It was assumed that he was…” Athos trailed off and shook his head. “Imagine their surprise to find him alive,” he finished in a low, contemplative murmur. Then he drew in a breath and settled his gaze on the two men across the room. “As surely as Savoy left that scar on his body, it left a bigger one on his soul.”

D’Artagnan watched Aramis shift again. Then Porthos leaned off the bed to wet one of the rags d’Artagnan had brought. He reached over to settle it across Aramis’ forehead and then stretched back out on the bed, letting Aramis’ back settle against his arm again.

“You wouldn’t know it day to day,” Athos surprised him by going on. But when d’Artagnan looked at him, Athos was staring across the room, gaze fixed on his brothers. “He hides it well. He needed us a lot in the beginning, but now he mostly handles the bad days well enough on his own. Sometimes, though, on the really bad ones he still needs us.”

“Like today?”

Athos inclined his head.

“In a way. Today is a little different. The headaches make everything worse. They lower his defenses in more than one way and can make real rest hard to find. If we weren’t here to bully him into letting us look after him, he’d try to go on about his day and just make it worse.”

“So, you do this every time? The water and rags, the darkness, the waiting?”

Athos nodded.

“Many years ago, Porthos and I promised him – and swore to each other – that we would never leave him alone with these ghosts, no matter the form they took…” Athos trailed off, a frown turning down his mouth. D’Artagnan wondered if he was thinking of Marsac. A moment later, Athos answered the unspoken question. “We failed him in that once, but never again.”

[kyuubikaiju-blog]

Slow Burn

(Just a little quick angst thing I wrote to vent the pent up feelings in my life right now. It’s based on @adreamoverlife ‘s fanfic ‘Abandoned By God’ and it was the perfect outlet. I hope you don’t mind!)

Accompanying Song: Control by Halsey

He had felt it since the day he was renounced. It leeched from him like a disease, stealing his very essence and leaving him less and less the being he once was. The very moment denied was the moment a corroded spot of black reappeared on his soul. And from then on it had only grown.

The book was heavy in his hands, bound leather cool, delicate page pinched between his fingers and ready to turn when he so desired. A sight that wouldn’t have been abnormal by any means, if the reader himself didn’t appear to be completely blind, and perhaps even a touch sickly. And yet he sat there all the same, reclined in an old-looking burgundy leather couch, head and focus on the little black book in his lap.

He flipped the page.

Host knew he was by no means a saint. In all of this, he was guilty of just as many crimes as the two oldest among them, if not more. He may have had a narrower focus with many less casualties, but there was no arguments that his methods had more than made up for the lack of body count. His cruelty then had been paramount, and, in truth, he did not regret a thing. At least, not anymore so than any of the others did their own crimes anyway.

Perhaps that was why Mark had seen fit to end their existence. It wasn’t out of spite or cruelty, but safety. Safety for the masses, safety for his friends, safety for himself.

Safety for Amy.

“Daniel turned a corner, heart beating against his throat, blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the quick harsh pants that escaped his lips. His mind had turned animal in his desperation; prey seeking shelter from the predator that lurked hungrily in the dark…”

Hosts fingers began to shake. He felt a stirring in his soul that he quickly tried to quell with a hard swallow. It was growing more and more difficult to press down, with less and less reprieve each time he was successful. But after a moment of fight that seemed like an eternity, it sank back low within him to wait in the shadows, coiled like a snake waiting to strike,

It had just been three little words and suddenly they were all scrambling to stay alive. A cooperative effort to deprive them of where they drew their power. All it had taken was just one video acting a a cruel joke. And those three little words from the board room still haunted his mind.

‘We are done.’

“He slammed the door behind him, the echo cascading down the halls and filling the room he now resided in like a crash of thunder. And then, just like that, all was quiet. There were no growls of anger, no claws clacking against the wood, no eyes to watch hatefully from the other side. Nothing. For all Daniel knew, it could be gone…

“But the man knew better than to believe the Author would let him escape that easily.”

A laugh burbled free from the being’s lips and Host paused, slapping a hand to his own traitorous mouth.

Dark, naturally, had been the one who reacted the harshest. Mark had cut off not only all their power, but denied Dark access to potential victims. And it left the demon cracked and seething.

It had been quick work to employ Google_Blue to try and hack into Mark’s channel to post their own videos, for they all knew there would be no hope posting them anywhere else, but there was no such luck. Google’s glitching had returned with a vengeance and the furthest the poor bot could get was into Mark’s email, something the human had anticipated and booted Dark from the system almost immediately.

Though Host hadn’t seen him since his shell broke open entirely that day, his presence could still be felt and was consistently strongest on the top floor where he had enclosed himself. His aura still trickled through the halls unchecked, like smoke, inflicting anger and suffering on any unfortunate enough to encounter it. 

Wilford, ever the hopeless optimist, was the ‘action over reaction’ kind of thinker and immediately turned to his rejected TV pitch. It wasn’t hard to get Bim and Dr. Iplier sold into it, with a little sweetening of the pot of desperation for Silver. Oliver had also been happy to jump in and try to finagle the equipment into hacking the airwaves for broadcast dominance, but to Wilford’s own surprise and Bim’s immediate horror, their realized their waning control over their powers made it impossible to bend reality to the grand extent expected.

Bim retired to his room without another word while Wilford, palms shaking, started a shouting match with Silver that ended in the hero getting shot six times. Dr. Iplier made quick work of the the wounds and made to round on the pink menace, but found him disappeared without a trace.

Host had foreseen his turn coming and had tried his hardest to find a way to let them down gently. There was simply no way he could change anything on that grand of a scale, especially now when everyone was wasting away so painfully slowly. It burned him inside to be able to feel himself die all over again.

“Daniel didn’t know what made him do it. There wasn’t a particular sound or sensation of presence, but the man knew, as he slowly turned to the darkest corner of the room, that he was no longer alone. He peered into the darkness, and though he could see nothing, hear nothing, he suddenly found himself lunging for the door. But, to his crestfallen horror, the hand clicked stiffly in his hands. Locked.

“He screamed.”

Host didn’t realize he had blacked out until he came to, registering a different environment than where he last remembered. Cold grey tile, the smooth white porcelain of a sink, the pure and sheer reflectiveness of a mirror; the heavy and horribly familiar weight pulling on his arm.

The warm, iron laced tang of blood. It made his stomach lurch in a dangerously nostalgic way. 

Then came a cough. Seeing without seeing, Host could tell that someone was huddled in the corner, their sniffles and quiet moans of suffering telling more of a tale than Host’s words ever could. His fingers drew tighter around the old Louisville slugger, fingers creaking against the red tape as dread filled him to his core.

He turned to the mirror, twin hollow spaces void of light staring back at him in the gloom, his infinite mark of desperation and shame. He could feel the cloth that used to cover them wrapped around his wrist, tied tightly with hurried urgency. It was warm, wet, soaked through to his skin with the same substance that now flowed freely down his face.

That soft crying was becoming a nuisance, and in the egos tears, he felt that black spot begin to grow once more, cracks running through his fragile psyche until he could feel fire burning through until he could take no more. With a viscous snarl, he raised the bat and swung.

The bloodied ego in the corner screamed as the glass shattered into a million brilliant pieces, and within them he could see more than just his reflection staring back in those shards as they fell.

He panted, feeling more than seeing the way the glass glittered in the blood the pooling around his feet. As he calmed, he tilted his head back until he stared at the ceiling, watching with half lidded empty sockets as the light above him flickered and buzzed. A smile, soft and sad pulled at his lips as he began to speak with a gentle droll that betrayed the swirling hurricane of emotion within.

“And it was then, in that moment, that Daniel realized that nothing had been chasing him after all. The horror, the presence, had been within him all along.”

[theinvulnerabletide]

the maiden of ravens

So I couldn’t stop thinking about the Raven Queen and the former god of death and Ioun apparently being the one who hid away the Ritual of Ascension, so I wrote this. :D

Summary:  Once, long ago, in the Age of Arcanum, a ritual was done to absorb and replace a god. A ritual that was then buried in the depths of time and oblivion. A ritual that only two remember.

Rating: General Words: 1215

Read on AO3

Branwen held the tome in trembling hands. It was an ancient tome. The pages were yellowed and crinkled when she leaved through them sending off that thick scent of old parchment. The spidery hand that limped across the page was rapidly fading at the edges. She found the right spell about two thirds of the way through the thick grimoire, and she traced the edge of the page, her heart beating in triplet, then speeding ever faster as she read exactly what exactly this spell would do: stop it forever.

She didn’t want that, not really. The idea of being trapped in her own rotting for, her spirit trapped behind glass, was completely disgusting. But the idea of letting him touch her…

A pale hand reaching out of the shadows, cupping her chin corpse-cold against her skin a low chuckle she could feel in the ridges of her bones. A voice like a death rattle. You are the most beautiful mortal I have ever seen, and I have seen all of them. And you, like them, belong to me.

She shuddered. It was unacceptable. This ritual… this ritual would be the only way to escape his grasp. Her sleep was no escape. Death would be to fall straight into his hands.

But lichdom was a way out. For however long she could hold herself together.

Her finger trailed down the spell. It seemed straightforward enough. She’d need a hell of a power source and quite a few interesting components, but—

Dear girl, she heard ringing in her mind from nowhere. She started, moving a half-step forward, head swivelling as she tried to take in the whole of the library at once. It wasn’t his voice, it didn’t ring like a death knell or make dread collect at the bottom of her spine. This one was pages rustling and her favorite teacher giving a lecture and a warm cup of tea. But still she couldn't find the source.

You really don’t have to go to all that trouble, though I do, of course, applaud your studiousness.

“Who?” She looked around the library, spooked. There was no one there. No one that she could see. Just her and the bookshelves and the lone globe of light she’d conjured to read by. “Who’s there?”

You all call me many things, came the warm response. The Eternal Archivist, the Keeper of the Divine Books, the Celestial Scribe… the Mistress of Knowledge. They all seem a little high and mighty, but you humans do love your epithets.

Branwen felt her heart all but stop. Her fingers tightened on the old, leather cover of the book. “Ioun.”

The very same. And you are Nerull’s obsession. I can see why. You are quite pleasing, aesthetically. And quite the accomplished mage, as I have seen. First in your class, clever inventor of spells. A mage with the power to shake mountains and still learning, for all that.

Branwen scowled. “Don’t say it like that, I didn’t ask him to... to… obsess over me. I wanted him to leave me alone but…” she bit off her sentence, when she heard how petulant she sounded. “How are you even speaking to me right now? He can’t speak to me while I’m awake, and I thought you had to be in prayer, or dreaming, or at least in a temple—”

Where do you think you are, child? Branwen looked around again, over the endless rows of bookshelves and the neatly arranged reading tables between them, the cavernous space empty and dark due to the hour. Each library is my temple. Each book, my altar.

Fear not, girl. I did not come to chastise you for casting your eyes above your station, or to punish you for using your feminine wiles to ensnare the heart of a god. I simply wanted to ask a question of you.

Branwen swallowed, chasing the dryness from her throat. “What question.”

What do you want?

“What do I… what do I want?” She gave an incredulous laugh. And though she couldn’t see the goddess, she felt her patience, felt that willingness to wait for as long as it would take her to answer. “I want him to leave me alone. I want just to go back to being able to sleep without him waiting for me in my dreams, I want to be able to walk by a cemetery without wanting to cry. I want to no longer fear what might be waiting for me after death.”

It all poured out of her in a rush, and she took in a deep breath, looked around the silent library.

Then, There are many of us who disapprove of Nerull’s… proclivities. He takes our children, our wondrous, blessed children whom we created to enjoy the world we made, instilled with free will and a desire to learn and grow and explore, and he scoffs at their lives well lived, and places them capriciously, taking delight in the torment of those who do not deserve it. His realm is a dark, disgusting place, filled with screams and the beat of fiendwings.

The Dawnfather will not be convinced to move against him, not with the shifting he feels in the Abyss. Most will not move without his approval. But I will not wait for one war to finish before fighting another. Not when one can be tied up so neatly.

“What does this have to do with me?”

You my dear, Branwen ferch Carys, you with your brilliant mind and your arcane power blazing like a star inside of you, you drew the eye of a God. You live in times unbounded, unrestrained. Magical. The words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. With a little help, I think you can topple the throne of death. But you will have to move swiftly.

Branwen froze. “You think I can…” her voice dropped to the barest of whispers. “Kill a god?”

It will mean more than that, Branwen ferch Carys. That power will have to go somewhere, and the domain of Death cannot go uncontrolled. That would start an entirely different war, one that would have terrifying consequences. If the wrong hands got ahold of that power, they could unmake all that we have wrought.

Her eyes widened as understanding clicked in her head. “You want me to—you think I could?—” Disbelief quickly turned into the elation of possibility quickly became the fear of responsibility. To take the mantle of a God. To become Death. To ease the suffering of millions of souls, billions, save those not even born from Nerull’s cruelty. To make death a thing not to be feared, but a rest well earned. “Me?”

Do you think you’re up for it?

She weighed the choice. Remain as she was, and resort to the abomination of undeath or fall into Nerull’s hands as naught but his toy. Or do something never before attempted. The thought was an exciting one. But if she failed… hells, if they failed…

Somewhere, outside the library window, Branwen heard the cawing of ravens, the rustle of wind through feathers. Somewhere, outside the library, the sun was rising.

Branwen nodded, heart pulsing in her throat. “Where do we begin?”

And Branwen felt the goddess smile.

[honeycomber-blog]

The room is full of you!- As I came in/ And closed the door behind me, all at once/ A something in the air, intangible,/ Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-/ Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed/ Each other room's dear personality./ The heavy scent of damp, funereal flowers,-/ The very essence, hush-distilled, of Death-/ Has strangled that habitual breath of home/ Whose expiration leaves all houses dead;/ And wheresoever I look is hideous change./ Save here. Here 'twas as if a weed-choked gate/ Had opened at my touch, and I had stepped/ Into some long-forgot, enchanted, strange,/ Sweet garden of a thousand years ago/ And sudden thought, 'I have been here before!'/ You are not here. I know that you are gone,/ And will not ever enter here again./ And yet it seems to me, if I should speak,/ Your silent step must wake across the hall;/ If I should turn my head, that your sweet eyes/ Would kiss me from the door.- So short a time/ To teach my life its transposition to/ This difficult and unaccustomed key!-/ The room is as you left it; your last touch-/ A thoughtless pressure, knowing not itself/ As saintly- hallows now each simple thing;/ Hallows and glorifies, and glows between/ The dust's get fingers like a shielded light./ There is your book, just as you laid it down,/ Face to the table,- I cannot believe/ That you are gone!- Just then it seemed to me/ You must be here. I almost laughed to think/ How like reality the dream had been;/ Yet knew before I laughed, and so was still./ That book, outspread, just as you laid it down!/ Perhaps you thought, 'I wonder what comes next,/ And whether this or this will be the end';/ So rose, and left it, thinking to return./ Perhaps that chair, when you arose and passed/ Out of the room, rocked silently a while/ Ere it again was still. When you were gone/ Forever from the room, perhaps that hair,/ Stirred by your movement, rocked a little while,/ Silently, to and fro.../ And here are the last words your fingers wrote,/ Scrawled in broad characters across a page/ In this brown book I gave you. Here your hand,/ Guiding your rapid pen, moved up and down./ Here with a looping knot you crossed a 't,'/ And here another like it, just beyond/ These two eccentric 'e's.' You were so small,/ And wrote so brave a hand!/ How strange it seems/ That of all words these are the words you chose!/ And yet a simple choice; you did not know/ You would not write again. If you had known-/ But then, it does not matter,- and indeed/ If you had known there was so little time/ You would have dropped your pen and come to me/ And this page would be empty, and some phrase/ Other than this would hold my wonder now. Yet, since you could not know, and it befell/ That these are the last words your fingers wrote,/ There is a dignity some might not see/ In this, 'I picked the first sweet-pea to-day.'/ To-day! Was there an opening bud beside it/ You left until to-morrow?- O my love,/ The things that withered,- and you came not back!/ That day you filled this circle of my arms/ That now is empty. (O my empty life!)/ That day- that day you picked the first sweet-/ pea,-/ And brought it in to show me! I recall/ With terrible distinctness how the smell/ Of your cool gardens drifted in with you./ I know, you held it up for me to see/ And flushed because I looked not at the flower,/ But at your face; and when behind my look/ You saw such unmistakable intent/ You laughed and brushed your flower against my/ lips./ (You were the fairest thing God ever made,/ I think.) And then your hands above my heart/ Drew down its stem into a fastening,/ And while your head was bent I kissed your hair./ I wonder if you knew. (Beloved hands!/ Somehow I cannot seem to see them still./ Somehow I cannot seem to see the dust/ In your bright hair.) What is the need of Heaven/ When earth can be so sweet?- If only God/ Had let us love,- and show the world the way!/ Strange canceling must ink th' eternal books/ When love-crossed-out will bring the answer right!/ That first sweet-pea! I wonder where it is./ It seems to me I laid it down somewhere,/ And yet,- I am not sure. I am not sure,/ Even, if it was white or pink; for then/ 'Twas much like any other flower to me,/ Save that it was the first. I did not know,/ Then, that it was the last. If I had known-/ But then, it does not matter. Strange how few,/ After all's said and done, the things that are/ Of moment./ Few indeed! When I can make/ Of ten small words a rope to hang the world!/ 'I had you and I have you now no more.'/ There, there it dangles,- where's the little truth/ That can for long keep footing under that/ When its slack syllables tighten to a thought?/ Here, let me write it down! I wish to see/ Just how a thing like that will look on paper!/ 'I had you and I have you now no more.'/ O little words, how can you run so straight/ Across the page, beneath the weight you bear?/ How can you fall apart, whom such a theme/ Has bound together, and hereafter aid/ In trivial expression, that have been/ So hideously dignified? Would God/ That tearing you apart would tear the thread/ I strung you on! Would God- O God, my mind/ Stretches asunder on this merciless rack/ Of imagery! O, let me sleep a while!/ Would I could sleep, and wake to find me back/ In that sweet summer afternoon with you./ Summer? 'Tis summer still by the calendar!/ How easily could God, if He so willed,/ Set back the world a little turn or two!/ Correct its griefs, and brings its joys again!/ We were so wholly one I had not thought/ That we could die apart. I had not thought/ That I could move,- and you be stiff and still!/ That I could speak,- and you perforce be dumb!/ I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof/ In some firm fabric, woven in and out;/ Your golden filaments in fair design/ Across my duller fibre. And to-day/ The shining strip is rent; the exquisite/ Fine pattern is destroyed; part of your heart/ Aches in my breast; part of my heart lies chilled/ In the damp earth with you. I have been torn/ In two, and suffer the rest of me. What is my life to me? And what am I/ To life,- a ship whose star has guttered out?/ A Fear that in the deep night starts awake/ Perpetually, to find its senses strained/ Against the taut strings of the quivering air,/ Awaiting the return of some dread chord?/ Dark, Dark, is all I find for metaphor;/ All else were contrast,- save that contrast's wall/ Is down, and all opposed things flow together/ Into a vast monotony, where night/ And day, and frost and thaw, and death and life,/ Are synonyms. What now- what now to me/ Are all the jabbering birds and foolish flowers/ That clutter up the world? You were my song!/ Now, let discord scream! You were my flower!/ Now let the world grow weeds! For I shall not/ Plant things above your grave- (the common balm/ Of the conventional woe for its own wound!)/ Amid sensations rendered negative/ By your elimination stands to-day,/ Certain, unmixed, the element of grief;/ I sorrow; and I shall not mock my truth/ With travesties of suffering, nor seek/ To effigy its incorporeal bulk/ In little wry-faced images of woe./ I cannot call you back; and I desire/ No utterance of my immaterial voice./ I cannot even turn my face this way/ Or that, and say 'My face is turned to you';/ I know not where you are, I do not know/ If heaven hold you or if earth transmute,/ Body and should, you into earth again;/ But this I know:- not for one second's space/ Shall I insult my sight with visionings/ Such as the credulous crowd so eager-eyed/ Beholds, self-conjured in the empty air./ Let the world wail! Let drip its easy tears!/ My sorrow shall be dumb!/ -What do I say?/ God! God!- God pity me! Am I gone mad/ That I should spit upon a rosary?/ Am I become so shrunken? Would to God/ I too might feel the frenzied faith whose touch/ Makes temporal the most enduring grief;/ Though it must walk awhile, as is its wont,/ With wild lamenting! Would I too might weep/ Where weeps the world and hangs its piteous/ wreaths/ For its new dead! Not Truth, but Faith, it is/ That keeps the world alive. If all at once/ Faith were to slacken,- that unconscious faith/ Which must, I know, yet be the corner-stone/ Of all believing,-birds now flying fearless/ Across would drop in terror to the earth;/ Fishes would drown; and the all-governing reins/ Would tangle in the frantic hands of God/ And the worlds gallop headlong to destruction!/ O God, I see it now, and my sick brain/ Staggers and swoons! How often over me/ Flashes this breathlessness of sudden sight/ In which I see the universe unrolled/ Before me like a scroll and read thereon/ Chaos and Doom, where helpless planets whirl/ Dizzily round and round and round and round,/ Like tops across a table, gathering speed/ With every spin, to waver on the edge/ One instant-looking over- and the next/ To suffer and lurch forward out of sight-/ Ah, I am worn out- I am wearied out-/ It is too much- I am but flesh and blood,/ And I must sleep. Thought you were dead again,/ I am but flesh and blood, and I must sleep.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Interim

[kewltie]

Donghae can recall several events in his life that he wishes he could scrub from his memory. Some past are better off not revisiting.

There was that one time when he was eighteen, thinking he was alone in the house that day he’d invited some guests over only to be later get caught in bed with his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s girlfriend by his grandmother no less. Moreover, how could he ever forget that in his first year of college, he’d landed in jail for breaking and entering his own apartment because his roommate decided to be an ass so he locked Donghae out that night. Then of course, his entire blackhole of a dating history that could be regulated to the b-rated horror flick for the terrible horrifying experience that it brought to everyone involved—from the accountant turned the Bloody Butcher of Songpa-gu, the conman in bespoke suit who steal millions out of people’s lifesaving, and to the humble florist by day and by night North-Korea’s sympathizer and spy.

These men that had walked in to his life like a dream and then ran out of it like a horrid nightmare that wouldn’t go away, they were a marred on his record that he wish fervently to erased.

Once is unlucky; twice is a coincidence; three, ok maybe he should have stop there; but fourth, fifth, sixth and beyond is a goddamn pattern. Whether he was just attracted to the worst of the worst or there is just something about his character that drew them toward him, he doesn’t quite know but both options doesn’t speak much about his future prospect in looking for a marriageable partner.

Donghae doesn’t exactly have a good track record in making the wisest decision when he’s sober let alone when he’s desperate and horribly cornered by his mother, who has no qualm about abusing her authority as his mother to get him to comply. Maybe that’s why he ended up hiring an escort to pretend to be his boyfriend so he can go home with his dignity in tack.

Even with all these miseries that seem to plague his life and he can say for without a doubt while they’re really bad but no, this might top them all.

Surrounded by various relatives he haven’t seen in a while—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and everything in between—circling their table like sharks scenting blood in the water and Donghae is the goddamn injured seal in this scenario, he has a sense of impending doom as the family reunion blasts full throttle. And it’s only the first day of a seven day event.

This specifically, Donghae thinks bitterly, is why for the last three years something always managed to come up just in time for him to avoid every family gathering hosted by his grandparents that draw every relative from all corners of the world back home for the summer. He even had to leave the country one time and orchestrated a hospital stay that had his mother in a panic and threatening to visit Verbier to make sure he wasn’t on his deathbed and clinging to life.

All these effort just so he didn’t have to step a foot near his extended family can be, admittedly, a little dramatic but a necessary evil to counteract having to deal with them in close proximity.  He can only handle his extended family in small doses, with multiple exits in sight and escape routes already mapped out and preferably through phone lines and pixelated screens.

But there is only so much he could do before his family was onto his game. His mom had gave him an ultimatum early this year that if he didn’t come to Family Week this summer don’t bother coming back at all and his brother had even arranged his wedding during Family Week so Donghae couldn’t plan another escape unless he want to have “terrible brother” stamped all over his tombstone and hope to even be an uncle in the near future.

With that kind of pressure, Donghae caved and now he’s watching his own demise unfolding as his mom flip through another page of his childhood photos to show Hyukjae either as an effort to scare him away from Donghae or his mother is getting her revenge on him for refusing to come home by letting him relieve his terror filled childhood.  He doesn’t know which but both are nefarious and it’s probably why his mother manage to brow beaten his fierce father into marriage into the first place

The 21st century with all it limitless potential and technological advancement offer more than one way to humiliate him, he finds as his mother happily pull up another album of his embarrassing childhood photo saved on her phone to show Hyukjae. He thought by going far from his childhood home that would save him from going through this horror.

Trying to dodge impending childhood humiliation is one thing but even that doesn’t distract him from the true deal breaker.  

Every time Donghae spot one of his relatives near their table they would stop, stare, and then do a double take, eyes going wide with shock and nearly tripping over their own two feet, when they finally catch sight of Hyukjae next to him, prim and proper and looking like he had just walked out of the cover of GQ magazine, conserving with Donghae’s mother as Donghae’s father look on with a bleak expression his face.

It must be a puzzling to them for Donghae not to be only back but also with someone. Not that Donghae could blame them because he had left this town with a barely scrapped up pride and memories of an angry teen and disappointing licking at his heels.

They clearly have not forgotten the tantrum Donghae had thrown when he was seventeen that landed him and half of his cousins in the town’s jail, because there wasn’t even a juvenile detention center in a town that small. Their parents had paid them a visit in jail but between feeding them and keeping their stay like some strange overnight sleepover and yelling at them through cell bars, they demanded to know who started the fight. Despite the cut knuckles, split lips, and bruises that littered their body, Donghae and his cousins were tight lipped.

Seventeen was a strange and precarious age for him, just shy of adulthood but still fully entrenched in the teen years, trying to navigate the mind field of hormones and confusing feelings while seeking to carve himself outside of his family’s expectation.

He wasn’t doing a good job of it. Constantly on a hair trigger, Donghae was an exploding time bomb waiting to happen.

All that burning fire kept bottled up in paper string knit control, it was bound to implode.

Donghae had moved through that year under the intense scrutiny of his family and the entire town, waiting and watching for him to have his meltdown, and all it took was a sly remark from one of his cousins to launch Donghae across the room and on top of him.

His parents knew who started the fight just by looking at the guilty look on his face. They didn’t yell, his mom had stay silent as she held his hand through the bars and his father, always untouchable and unmovable in many ways, had a haggard look on his face and had solemnly asked, “Where did we go wrong, Donghae?”

That was worse than if they had gone off on him instead.

It was the kind of parental disappointment that eventually drove Donghae to escape to Seoul as soon as he came of age but even then, he was doom from the start because for all his parents badgering and hammering him to do better, to be better and they love him wholeheartedly and Donghae loves them back with equal fervor.

Before he had left for Seoul the winter of his nineteen year, his mother had said her good bye with a waning smile on her face and left a few departed words that he carried like the heaviest chain: “Trying to keep you here would be like emptying the ocean with a spoon—a futile and useless effort. You are meant for something bigger and better than this town. Go and be you, Donghae.”

So despite all his efforts to claw his way out of this wretched town that tried to suffocate him and stamp down on his otherness, because small town like this has never been kind to those that are mark different, he came back to it eventually because this is where everything and everyone he loves live.

Walking away from that was nearly impossible, but coming home was equally or even more so daunting.

Donghae likes to think he had outgrew his wilder and more violate younger days but right now here in this private space, surrounded by people who had seen him at his most ugly and shameful moments, he’s sinking under their scrutiny.  

He hates it. Even though pleasing his parents was the only reason he had bring back Hyukjae  with him and suffer through his parent’s interrogation and their skepticism, if another one of his relatives pop up and leer at them, Donghae will have to consider disowning himself to save them from this farce.

Donghae carefully holds his tongue, watching his mother excitedly chattering away about a past memory of him and desperately trying to ignore the rest of the world. But even that kind of uneasy peace doesn’t last as his mother and father’s got called away by one of his aunts and leaving the two of them to the mercy of his other relatives to jump on them at anyime elike a scene right out of the African safari. Now without his mother’s protective bubbles shielding them and his father’s deep glower to scaring the rest of the party away, they’re defenseless and Donghae’s itch to get out of this place once more run deep.

“So that fish costume you wore in the fifth grade,” Hyukjae starts, eyes crinkling with amusement.  

“Don’t even,” Donghae snaps, arms crossed. The tense line of his shoulders dropping slightly under the face of Hyukjae’s charm.

“I think it’s cute,” he says, lips twitching with barely held laughter.

“Like that mean anything to me now,” Donghae grumbles, wishing real hard he could visit his younger self and convinced him it was a very bad idea to listen to his mother now and in the future. “I don’t ever want to—”

“I see you haven’t made your escape yet,” he hears abruptly and turns to see Hyeri walking up to them with mischievous glint in her eyes. The devil could take a lesson from her surely, he thinks with a sense of dread.

“Not without trying,” Donghae mumbles. His mom had confiscated his cell phone the moment they’d arrived at his grandparents’ stately home as if he was ten again and couldn’t stay still for ten seconds so she have to him leash him.

She pulls out a chair and sits down next to him, inviting herself onto their table much to Donghae’s growing annoyance.  

“Wow, you’re actually here for once! I mean after your last dating fiasco,” she pauses dramatically and Donghae waits, feeling a wave of irritation wash over him when he’s in the vicinity of his prying and gossip mongering relatives, “well fiascos really. I thought you would rather drag some stranger home and pretend he’s your boyfriend then go another around with actual fact dating because you know,” she gestures emphatically, “it’s you after all—a walking dating hazard.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Donghae replies, his stomach churning uneasily. Her statement hit closer to home than Donghae would have like—which just means she knows him really, really well or that Donghae is a total train wreck that he’s getting predicable at this point.

“Cousin Hein said he’s very handsome, well manner, and charming enough that your father hasn’t eviscerate him yet. So I’m interest to see how managed a catch like that! But with your history it would be embarrassing if he turn out to be another one of those.” She wiggles one of her brow. “I just hope he isn’t like secretly a serial killer or something worst you know? We don’t want another repeat of Kiwoo,” she says, and then her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Or is he?”

“Why don’t you just ask that to his face, I mean it’s not like he’s right here, next to me at all or something,” Donghae says dryly, as though Hyukjae hasn’t been avidly listening in to their conversation the entire time.

Hyeri shifts her attention pass him and over to Hyukjae, giving him a cheery wave as though she had not been ignoring his presence since her arrival at their table and because she is his cousin in more way than one, Hyeri, nonplussed, says, “Hey there! I’m Hyeri, Donghae’ s favorite cousin—”

“That’s a vicious lie and you know it,” Donghae snorts. Everyone and their mother know his favorite is Jackson. Though that hadn’t stop Hyeri’s attempt at upsurping Jackson’s position since they were eight and he had to break a tie between them over a game of beach soccer and had chosen Jackson over her.

“And I’m so, so delighted to have you here with us,” she continues gushing, voice as enticing as a venus flytrap before its mouth close on its prey—the shameless hussy.

Hyukjae waves back because he, too, has no shame. “Nice to meet you,” he says with a grin.

“So are you?” Hyeri demands, scooting closer and zeroing in on her prey. “Someone who is secretly hiding some kind of murderous intent and just waiting to unleash on unsuspecting victim?”

Because Donghae is only starting to find out that Hyukjae just might fit a little too well into his neurotic family. “Well,” Hyukjae starts, leaning closer in as though he was confessing a secret to Hyeri. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find a viable candidate.” He draws back with a playful wink.

Hyeri, who works in the town morgue and read true crime novels before bed, practically lights up, seemingly charmed by the prospect of a potential victim in Hyukjae’s future. “Ohmygod, he’s a delight, hyung! I like him already, even if he might rip out your tooth and use it as a trophy in the future.”

“Stop talking, please, stop talking,” Donghae insists. His face into his palm and deeply and passionately wish for death right now.

Just as he thinks his day can’t get any worst another horror terror decides to drop in too. “Hyung, hyung!”  Taehyung appears between them, trying to squeeze in. Hyeri clears out of her seat to make room for Taehyung who slides in to his new seat with unrepentant glee. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Neither can I,” Donghae says wryly, cursing his entire existent right now. One after another, watching his cousins coming out of the woodwork to disturb him is not how he want his day to play out.

Taehyung stares at him expectantly. “So is it true?” he asks, eyes wide and practically vibrating out of his skin in excited curiosity. “I heard from my mother who heard from Auntie Minjae, who had a conversation with your mother at Uncle Sunwo’s grocery store two days ago that you brought home a male supermodel and that he’s running away from some kind of sex scandal and is currently in hiding with you? Auntie Minjae said you might have kidnapped him in the process too.”

Donghae’s left eye twitches. “Can nobody keep their mouth shut in this family,” he grumbles.

“A male supermodel, huh,” Hyeri says, lips twitching. Her laughter threatening to spill over.

“It was either that or an alien in disguised as Uncle Sujin suggested and even I thought that was a stretch,” Taehyung says, wrinkling his nose. “We were sure that you would rather chew out your own arm before you bring anyone else back again after your last boyfriend got arrested for attempted murder and Grandmother was yelling at you for living in sin.”

Donghae groans as Hyeri cackles beside him, severely wishing his entire family would stop being so involved in his love life more than he does.

“Well you can ask him yourself since he’s here,” he points out snidely because let it not be said that he’s not the only one in his family that has a narrow scope in view.

Taehyung’s eyes go wide as he peer over Donghse to get a good look at Hyukjae. “Hi!” Taehyung says, eyes bright with undisguised excitement. “You’re actually real and clearly not an alien!”

Hyukjae look down at his hands, turning it over and making a show as though he’s checking himself over. “No, unfortunately not it seems,” he answers, deciding to humor Taehyung and ignoring Donghae’s horrified squeak next to him. “But please do tell me more this sex scandal that I’m apparently in.”  

Donghae takes in grim satisfaction that Hyeri laughs so hard that she fall over her chair.