#cogwheels snapping one against the other

[wrecked-cuticles]

so fucking weird to me that lucienne addresses dream as vosotros (plural you) in spanish??

assault to injury that it makes the most sense? but i watched it many times before in english and it just never occurred to me and now its just rubbing me so wrong.

[gerbymoo]

Fanon Bucciarati: A man with a tragic backstory where he lost his family, had no choice but to join an organization that caused him the same pain but makes the best out of it by providing guidance, kindness and support to his new found family. Is willing to put his life on the line for his own beliefs and his trusted companions while understanding not everything can be fixed in a black and white sense. Is empathetic towards those who have been played a bad card in life and wants to offer them a second chance after not getting one himself. Becomes a role model for those in his life and follows through with his belief system until his demise, but with a wise mind and acceptance of how things need to be played out.

Canon Bucciarati: A man who was intensely traumatized in his childhood, influenced heavily by his father’s values and evolves into a savior complex which starts off as a positive way to cope with his loss but eventually develops into a double edged sword when faced with his unnerving reality of working for an organization that thrives off the suffering of those who are the most vulnerable (just like him). Has an immense loss of identity and slowly succumbs to complacency after years of letting things play out as they are, knowing he can put his and his teammates lives at risk if he were to do anything out of the status quo of Passione. Refer back to the theme of sleeping slaves and his own inner turmoil of being ‘dead’ while just being a cogwheel in the bigger drug trafficking system and possibly creating the same scenarios to other innocent people just like the one he was forced into. Is snapped back into his old self by a fucking 15 year old with even bigger complex trauma issues, but willing to fight against the status quo and willing to make a change for the better for himself and for everyone else who has been a victim of this organization because of his otherworldly resolve and belief system (bro has two biological dads). No wonder Bucciarati immediately hopped on board with Giorno’s plan, the man was literally begging for someone to come and make him realize that there are others who share the same sentiments as he does.

Tumblr Bucciarati: Zipper daddy

[butterbeerblurbs]

tired but never of you (f.w.)

💌 : when you look tired and fred can sense it, he does what he does best. stealing you away from the crowd and self-care freddie activates.

📝 word count: 2,618 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸 a fluffy mess

💬: just... live with me thru this guys 🤡

after numerous hours of studying and days of all-nighters, you finally had room to breathe again. It was nearly a couple more days before christmas break and boy oh boy you were excited to get a long week full of rest ahead. (though, you doubt you’d be able to squeeze in a week, maybe a day or two. mindful that you’d be spending christmas with fred and his family back in the burrow)

as you decide what to wear for a night out, there’s a knock on your door. angelina announces she’ll go answer and you reply with a mindless thank you as you stare yourself in the mirror, debating between two outfits on hangers over your body. with a small pout, unsure of which to choose, you hear the door closing and you call out to-”angelina, could you help me choose?”

you remain looking at your reflection, and when it feels longer than the usual time angelina takes to rush to you, you’re greeted with-”would freddie be alright?” you flinch at the pair of arms that sneak around your waist and you gasp as fred pops his head over your shoulder, grinning at you through the mirror.

your elbow nudges him playfully, getting him to move but he refuses, only squeezing you tighter, “you cheeky prat,” you huff at him, only to literally have heart eyes sparkling at him as he smiles at you with such warmth it’s making your heart full.

“hey there, beautiful,” fred murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, earning himself a satisfied smile from you. he pecks your lips a couple more times until he’s satisfied, moving himself away to sit on your bed as he watches you get dressed. you turn around to face him, now making him decide since he probably shooed angelina out of her shared dorm with you (as fred weasley would).

“help me choose, freddie? which one looks better?”

the boy snorts, “neither. maybe consider your pajamas?”

your brows knit together, face scrunching in confusion, “love, we’re going to the three broomsticks,”

“yeah,” he nods, leaning back into your pillow as he stares at you, “but you should be going to bed,”

he watches as you take a couple of seconds to process his words, before you groan and roll your eyes at him. you decide to go with your first option - a black velvet turtleneck dress paired with a white wool duffle jacket, shoving the other into the closet. fred makes himself known as he pulls your shirt off your body, staring at you through the mirror.

“c’mon, love, you know i think you look gorgeous everyday, anytime - even now! but you look like you got hit by a train,”

you nod a couple of times, a little preoccupied with getting dressed, half-ignoring him, “yeah? do i?”

he nods firmly, arms crossed in front of his chest, “absolutely. like the train dragged you for a few rounds to reach hogwarts and decided to keep going, too,”

“you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, weasley?” you huff at him, blowing your fringe from your face as you grab ahold of your shedded clothes and shove them into the laundry basket. as you gather your hair to the side, fred smirks at your back exposed in front of him. but when you frown at him at the mirror at his lack of helpfulness, he decides to play later and helps to zip you up.

before you can reach for your jacket, he smoothen his palms on your waist, reeling you in as you make grabby hands at-”i want my jacket, freddie!”

“and i want you to stay in with me,” he tuts, spinning you around and locking you in front of him, not letting you budge even when you hit his chest playfully.

“y/n, you hadn’t had proper sleep the past few days. you promised you’d sleep as soon as christmas break rolls around,” he frowns, swaying you back and forth and he watches as the small movement is already driving you to sleep. yet, you keep your feet grounded, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him down so you can kiss him. he’s a little surprised, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it as he reciprocates the kiss, pressing his lips deeper against yours and relishes in the soft mewl he swallows from your lips.

before he can go any further, you push him back enough for you to have space to snatch your jacket, rushing out the door in a hurry; not bothering to check if fred is coming after you. but the rummaging from behind you, followed by loud thuds, already indicate fred is running.

“hey! at least change into your boots first! your feet are going to be ice before we even get there!”

//

“it’s not too late to back out now, y/n,” fred whispers into your ear as the whole lot of you make your way together. george and angelina were taking lead in the front, followed by katie, jordan and oliver in the middle and the pair of you were in the back. you squeeze fred’s hand in his pocket, hissing at him, “you can’t be serious! i got dressed for this!”

he presses a kiss to your temple, swinging your hand back and forth as much as he can despite being confined in his pocket, almost child-like it’s making you giggle, “and you look absolutely gorgeous! but you would also look much better if you had some sleep,”

“why do i feel like you don’t want me to have fun?” you pout at him, and he huffs, “hey, that’s not fair and you know it. you know how much fun we can have together,-”yep, no lie there. sometimes, you and fred alone caused more havoc than fred and his twin. that statement is a lot coming from most people-”-it’s just, you know, love. i’d want to have fun with you when i know you’re enjoying it too,”

“but it feels wrong to miss this,” you whisper this time, and fred leans down a little so you wouldn’t need to reach him with much effort, “we won’t see them in a bit and i promised i’d come. didn’t want to be a downer,”

“love,” he calls out, earning a huh as you look up to him. he sneaks in a kiss to your lips, grinning at how you blink at him profusely before you register what he had done the thing he’s done countless of times before, “you can never be a downer. have you seen yourself?”

your mouth opens to respond and you swear you see fred about to lean in to shut you up but-“oi! lovebirds! try to keep up, yeah?” george hollers as they’re a good distance away, seeing there’s already enough snow to cast between you and your friends. you yank your hand along with fred’s out of said boy’s jacket, pulling him to follow your lead, “coming!” you only laugh as you hear him yelp, trying to keep up at your sudden spurt of energy. 

//

the place was already packed with people but it wasn’t a surprise to any of you. of course it would be, nearing a time like christmas and all friends would be on their different ways (except a couple), but the vast majority would be. so it wasn’t a surprise a lot of friend groups would try to sneak in one last meet up like the ones you had with your friends (and boyfriend, and boyfriend’s brother).

drinks were poured and downed, a couple of bites here and there but a shared feeling of comfort and belonging. secrets being exchanged, chatters of what happens within the castle, out of the castle - the works. it’s a cogwheel of how the group functions - all in good fun, mutual excitement and trust that what is said here would stay here.

it’s been a little over an hour and a half since the group started getting loose and shaking off the nerves of the semester ending, buzzing for the holiday soon arriving. fred would enjoy it without a thought as well but seeing how the light alcohol is getting the best of you, lulling a bit here and there in the midst of loud chatter, leaning against him for support, he decides to call it a night. especially when there’s a lack of response coming from you.

it captures the group’s attention as they watch how your cheek is pressed to fred’s arm, though, seeming like you’re trying your hardest. fred has puppy eyes as he stares at your sleeping figure against him and he can’t help but allow his heart to swell at the sight.

“i’m always fascinated by this,” katie snorts, earning a nod of approval from oliver, “i’d say. truly, the only person who can tame the wild fred weasley,”

fred exhales deeply and as he wiggles his brows to your group of friends, they already know what’s to come. “well, we’ll be taking our leave now,”

“just make sure you don’t lock me out,” angelina chastises, remembering the night fred did that by “accident” and she had to snooze off in the common room. “you’re welcome to join me, if he does!” george calls out, earning a fake look of disgust from angelina before she decides to laugh it off.

the short yet loud interaction between george and angelina jolts you awake with a yes?, snapping out of your slumber almost instantly. your lips quickly zip shut as you notice how all eyes are now on you, and fred is like your shield, willing to bat away any takers to tease you. before they can, however, fred is reminded of the many reasons why he loves you. a joke, is something you can take, never making it an awkward situation on anyone. (unless necessary)

“good morning, your highness,” george coos, and you grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, “good day, sire!”

“had a good rest?” katie chuckles, reaching out to playfully mess with your hair. you managed a small yawn, covering your mouth with your hand, shaking your head, “could’ve been better. this place is too loud for a nap,”

the group erupts with a small round of laughter before fred pulls you up with him, preparing yourselves to exit. it’s not after a quick moment for you to say goodbye to everyone and wish them a good break (including george, who he reminds you he’ll be with you during the break because you’re going to stay at his house, as a matter of fact his room too with freddie that it makes you blush before laughing it off). once that is done, fred quickly snatches you away and the pair of you make your way back to the dorms.

fred keeps your hand warm together with his in the pocket of his jacket, idly humming the walk back. it’s peaceful, being in fred’s presence and the way he checks on you every now and then to make sure you’re still walking, doing his best in creating conversations with you so it actively keeps you up. your heart feels all sorts of things, mainly love as you stare at fred’s side profile.

when he catches you staring, he can’t help but tease.

“enjoying the view there? might want to look where you’re going, love,” he says quietly, yet, seeing there’s no affect on you as he effectively dodges anything that’s coming your way, guiding you to a safe path. when he sees your eyes aren’t shifting from him, he’s full on laughing, enjoying the attention he’s receiving.

“hello? is my girlfriend still awake? may i ask the reason why she’s staring at me and not saying a word?”

“she’s... enjoying the view,” fred swears he feels his heart almost leaping out of his chest when he glances to see her smiling so wide, her eyes dissolve to mini crescents. he stops walking and it grants her to do the same. he grabs onto her shoulders and gives her a light shake, “woman, you can’t be this adorable even when you’re sleepy. choose one,”

this was a coded question for: “are we going to have fun tonight? or sleep?” (though, you know fred already knows the answer as they line the under of your eyes, another yawn escaping softly).

“sleep, please,”

“yes, ma’am.”

//

you think in your past life, you must’ve saved an entire kingdom to be with fred. (no doubt, he’d say the same thing about you, if not double up and say two kingdoms but these are your thoughts and he can’t possibly argue with you in your mind). still, you think it’s very much true when fred patiently undresses you and redresses you in your sleeping clothes - a loose sweater and joggers, followed by a t-shirt underneath because it gets a bit more chilly as the night transcends.

now bundled up in the covers, in his arms, his warmth, scent and his voice is the perfect recipe to lull you to sleep.

before you do, though, you’re staring at him and that’s when fred says: “you’ve done so well, y/n. get some sleep, hm?”

“this is so unfair,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the way he adores and is amused at the same time. he decides not to show it as much, only squeezing you around him as he stares down at you, allowing you to let your train of thought escape your mouth as you fall into deep slumber. “you can’t be that handsome, that clever and love me that much... you’re...” there’s a small yawn that captures fred’s heart even more “...absolutely... bonkers...”

fred only snorts quietly, watching as your eyelids flutter shut and you’re dozing off pretty quick from all the all-nighters and lost sleep due to papers and assignments. not only were you trying to be on top of your grades, he recollects how you’ve helped him as well, which he was very grateful for. his eyes remain on you as you get the rest you truly deserve, his hand coming up to brush your hair from your face and he stares at you lovingly.

you were unfair, too, he thinks. you, the person who accepted him fully for who he is and encourages him to chase for his dreams, willing to be by his side regardless of what happened. you, who was insanely patient with him, yet, took no bull and gave him the honest pill he needed from time to time. you, who came into his life like the light he’d been searching for in the dark, only to get blinded once he was within reach. when he was in your heart, however, his days have been warm ever since.

as you snuggle up against him, arms gingerly wrapped by his torso and resting your face to his chest, fred smiles at the thought he’s able to return the gesture you’ve done to him. his eyes close after a while, hoping to see you in his dreams as well.

as he's halfway drifting into sleep, he hears a soft murmur of freddie... that makes him smile, certain his smile would still be there when he wakes.

[getdownkyh]

Extra Credit (m) | Young K

01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . 05 . 06 . 07

Repercussions.

The dinner date was uneventful, to say the least. At least up until the point where you received a text from Younghyun.

Text me when you’re done?

You would not have realised you were smiling as you typed in your reply, feigning denseness, asking him ‘What’s the matter?’ but right before you hit send, your date spoke, curious about what made your smile. You stared at them for a good few seconds, questioning yourself too, what did make you smile?

Erasing the whole thing, you typed in a new message.

Actually, you can just pick me up now. I’ll attach the location.

His reply came fast, as expected.

20 mins.

Stepping out of the restaurant, inhaling the night air, you entered his SUV. It didn’t hit you then, but it was your first time seeing him in comfy clothes, a total contrast to your dinner dress. Maybe it was because you were a bit tipsy from the wine, but the ride was silent, yet comfortable, with you resting your head by the window, looking at the blurry lights passing by, an R&B song playing in the car, him occasionally drumming his fingers on the steering wheels, stealing glances, smiling, beaming with pride at how good you looked, especially sitting next to him.

His free hand trailed confidently towards your thigh, fingers running through the exposed skin, inching higher and higher, sensing no objection from you. You smirked when you felt him feeling underneath the skirt, fingers tracing your clothed core. Placing your hand softly around his wrist, you halted his movement, pulling his hand out of your skirt and linking your fingers together instead.

You were both stepping into a new, unknown territory, but none of you bothered to evaluate the implications.

The cogwheels in your brain only started functioning again, your body on autopilot when the both of you are in the safety of his apartment, hands on each other’s body, your scents mixing, engulfing the both of you.

Your fingers were in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist as he worked on your neck, kissing and sucking more violently, for every time he inhaled, your scent was intoxicating, making him want more. Groaning, he carried you to his bed, dropping you onto the plush material, hovering over you, taking in the beautiful sight in front of him.

Hair splayed across his pillows.

Pupils slightly blown out.

Lips swollen, lipstick smeared to the side of your lips.

He ran his thumb across your bottom lip, your lipstick staining his calloused skin. You ran your tongue over the tip his thumb, eliciting a hum out of him, before he pushed the finger inside your mouth, you sucking on it on reflex, his words of praises following suit.

He ran his index over the newly formed bruises on your neck, “You look prettier when you’re littered with my kisses like this.”

Dipping down, he latched his lips onto you again, from your exposed collarbone, moving towards the skin of your chest, his hands tugging your dress down, your eyes shut as you arched your body involuntarily. His face was in the junction of your neck, buried as he pressed his lips to your skin, when he suddenly stopped, inhaling, “I found out about your grades by the way.”

Your eyes flew open, head still dizzy, trying to comprehend his words.

He hummed, dragging his lips across your skin, “Extra credits?” He laughed, breath tickling you, “I still can’t figure out why you actually did it. I mean what the hell, I don’t even know why we’re doing this now.”

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. If his room wasn’t so dark, he would probably make out the worry lines on your forehead, confusion etched on your face. You didn't know what to say when the truth was you also avoided this confrontation with yourself. It was easier to push the thoughts to the back of your head and indulge yourself in the pleasure at hand, like you had been doing all this time.

So you did what you always did, tugging him closer, pressing your lips together, tongue brushing across his lower lip, signaling him to just use his mouth for everything but talking.

Younghyun may be dominant, but somehow he found it easy to comply to you like this, especially when his body reacted to you faster than his conscious mind did. Limbs fluidly moving, tangled with each other, undressing, desperate to touch. As he tugged your dress all the way down, placing himself between your legs, his tongue quickly finding your slit, he realised if he couldn’t get the answer out of your mouth, your moans would suffice.

Two fingers were inside you, crooked and scissoring, stretching you as he sucked on your bundle of nerves, impatiently and effectively pushing you over the edge without much effort on his side. You panted as he left butterfly kisses, from your thighs, to your stomach, ribs, sucking lightly on the skin of your breast before hovering right over your face once again.

Rolling to your side, he sat up, tugging you to straddle him as he leaned back against the headboard. You placed yourself in his lap, fitting perfectly like your bodies were molded for each other. His erection pressed against your lower belly as you pushed your forehead against his, rolling your hips, your juice dripping down onto his thighs. 

Lips inches away from his you muttered, “This feels good right?”

He hummed, agreeing.

“Then let’s not question things.”

Between bated breaths you continued, “You know, sometimes there are things I don’t want to find the answer to. And we shouldn’t bother trying.”

Holding you by the waist, fingers tracing your skin, he sighed in disagreement and disappointment. 

You lifted your hips up, guiding his member in front of your slick hole. Lowering yourself slowly, you watched him through glassy eyes, his tongue poking his inner cheek, both of you fighting your own desire to get lost in pleasure, opting to maintain eye contact with each other.

It was a war of nerves. Between him pushing you to talk, and you coaxing him to not question you. A war that somehow manifested into seeing who will break and give in to the pleasure first.

Palms on his broad chest, you lifted and dropped your hips, pace excruciatingly slow for the both of you, prolonging the session, filling both your minds with only pleasure. Your nails scratched his chest, as your wetness betrayed you, making him slip into you easier, subsequently making it harder for you to maintain a slow pace.

Giving in, you gradually increased your pace. Bouncing steadily on top of him, occasionally leaning forward to kiss him. Both of you moaned in unison every time you clenched around him, yours an octave higher, almost harmonic. Your breasts bobbed with you, creating a straining feeling in your chest, his hands running through them now and then, thick fingers toying with the pert nipples. 

Your pace started faltering as you struggled, the muscles of your thighs cramping from the exertion, exhaustion taking over your system. Younghyun kissed your cheek, smiling, running his thumb over your chin, “I’ll take over.”

He bent forward, hand supporting the small of your back as he pushed you to lay flat against your back, ramming into you faster. Your nails dug crescents into his back, face pressed against his neck,  moaning senselessly. You pressed your lips to his body, moans muffled and hot against his skin, as he pushed into you impossibly deeper. He angled his hips upwards and thrusted sharply, causing your lips to disconnect from his skin, your head falling to the bed. Opening your eyes you saw him looking at you, his gaze dark, making your heartbeat erratic. 

He held you by your waist, stilling for a moment, forcing you to look at him, and you whined in desperation, clenching and unclenching your walls around his member, pleading him to move. He chuckled, “God, I love it when you do that,” before snapping his hips into you again, grunts heavy as he felt you becoming tighter and tighter around him. 

You both came at the same time, your second orgasm of the night temporarily blinding you, weakly holding onto him as he breathed heavily above you, eyes on your blissed out expression, your words getting to him in his hazy state of mind. 

He kissed your forehead, waiting for your breaths to become somewhat even, and then he was hovering on top of you again, arms next to your head.

“One more?”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you slung your arms around his neck, “I think I can do one more.” 

Repercussions could always be dealt with later.

[mysticalrunawayprincess]

All He Wanted

Posting chapter 4 here because someone requested it so, here you go!! xxxx

Chapter 4: Bull By The Horns

Cherry stared in disbelief at Jay's sullen form standing before her. Hands trembling on the door frame as she held the door open, chest heaving.

They both stood there staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity,  Cherry's look of incredulity matched by Jay's look of surly determination.  

"Can I come in?" Jay asked quietly.

                              ***********************************************

Jay pulled up outside the building, and sat for a while just thinking. He knew that seeing Cherry was going to be  hard, he just didn't know it was going to be this hard.

When she had left him standing there, watching her walk away from him and out of his life, she had done so without any real explanation.

"We can't do this..."

Jay had chalked it up to them living different lives in different  countries, but if he was honest; that still didn't quite answer the  question for him. Something in his gut told him there was more to it  than that, and if Cherry had just been any other girl he may not have  cared; he would have just moved on to the next.

But she wasn't just any other girl; she was the woman that made him happy, scared and excited all at once. The woman that made him feel like a kid on Christmas morning every time he woke up to her or saw her name come up on his phone.

He  needed to know why she had left him after things were going so good between them.

And as he got out of his car, walked into the building and took the elevator to the 20th floor, he promised himself he wouldn't leave without an answer.

                           ***********************************************

They'd been standing in her kitchen for 10 minutes now, not saying anything.

Jay fixing Cherry with an intense look and Cherry trying to avoid his gaze.

He had noticed earlier that her hair was different than the last time he saw her; curly braids now fell over her left shoulder, instead of her usual twist outs or pineapple buns.

He could smell her scent, even at this distance; vanilla with a hint of coconut.

"Natalie's going to be here soon." Cherry blurted out into the deafening silence.

Her panic had been at critical levels since she had opened her door.

What is he doing here? How did he know where I was staying?

Jay chuckled humourlessly. "No, she's not."

Still in his all black attire from earlier, no baseball cap though and the tattoos on his left arm now covered by the black hoodie he was wearing. His nose piercing twinkling in the ambient lighting as he spoke, light glinting off of his soft lips.

Cherry's head snapped back to him. "What do you mean?" She questioned, a panic of a different kind setting in.

Though Jay was literally standing in the doorway, and she against the opposite wall, in her panicked mind things seemed a whole lot closer.

Jay sighed and took a step toward Cherry, meeting her eye making her take an involuntary step back in return, her back now completely against the wall.

"Cherry, we need to talk."

He looked weary, like something was weighing him down. Jay's usually  twinkling deep brown eyes were now pensive, his face fixed into an intense  stare making Cherry squirm under his gaze, looking at the floor as her mind frantically scrambled for something to say.  

Though she was in an emotional turmoil; Cherry could not deny how good he looked, even with the pained annoyance that was painted on his face, his eyebrows arched in expectation as he waited for an answer.

"I..." Cherry started.

Jay was still in his all black attire from earlier, no baseball cap though and the tattoos on his left arm now covered by the black hoodie he was wearing. His nose piercing twinkled in the ambient lighting as he spoke, light glinting off of his soft lips.

He could hear the hesitation in her usually-confident tone, could  practically see the cogwheels in her mind turning as she scrambled for  an answer to both placate and get rid of him.

But he wouldn't be dismissed so easily.

"Jay... I'm sorry..." Cherry whispered weakly, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "I... I didn't mean to hurt you... I just... I didn't think we could -"

Jay cut her off with a kiss, catching them both off guard, his hands cupping her face as his lips met hers, his emotions taking hold of his actions for a brief moment. The passion and the longing being communicated loud and clear.

Cherry's brain immediately went blank, unable to process anything else except the feel of Jay's lips on hers.

It was a feeling she had been missing - craving - for far too long.

His soft lips.

His soft warm hands.

His smell.

The feel of his firm body against her.

All of it was melting her and her resolve to the core.

It had to stop.

                             ***********************************************

The very first time Cherry first saw Jay... she knew she was attracted to him.

She could tell by the way her stomach filled with with nervous butterflies, the kind of butterflies you get when going down a rollercoaster or opening a heartfelt gift.

He had a warm yet slightly goofy demeanour about him, quick to laugh and even quicker to smile.

Sat in one of those office chairs, idly spinning back and forth as he joked with one of his artists. No cap on his head, his jet black curtained hair gently falling into his eyes as he laughed, his nose piercing sparkling in the glow from the overhead spotlights.

A full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm in which he held a phone, and a compass tattoo behind the ear, stark contrasts to his easy-going and lighthearted character.

Though Cherry hadn't been too familiar with Jay, she had heard little things here and there. She was aware he had achieved a lot and had set a new tone for the Korean music scene.

But as he wasn't the objective of her visit, Cherry didn't plan on paying him any more mind than necessary.

Her whole reason for being in Korea was a 'working holiday' - that is, she got an email from a friend inviting her to come and visit and so, after making a list of all the STEM facilities in Korea and surrounding Asia, she accepted and booked her tickets.

Cherry was not there to get familiar with anyone.

But when she first met eyes with Jay, the familiarity was already evident on both ends. His voice was a melody her heart danced to and every time he spoke it skipped beats.

Though, they hid it well; brief yet polite hellos, a quick introduction followed by light impersonal group chatter, leaving no room for intimate conversation.

However, that didn't last long.

Raw attraction can never be fought, only deferred.

Something they would both come to learn and appreciate.

                            ***********************************************

Gathering every ounce of determination she could muster, Cherry pushed him away, shaking her head almost as if she were trying to shake the feelings out of her head. "No, Jay..." She whispered. "We can't... I can't..."

"Why?" His tone had hardened considerably now, the sharpness of his jaw accentuated by his teeth set on edge.

Feeling Cherry push him away had hurt Jay, badly. But though it hurt, he kept stoical; he didn't come here to let one half-assed push keep him away from what he came for.

He stepped back leaning against the opposite wall again, lifting his foot to rest back on the wall behind him and crossing his arms, fixing Cherry with a hard stare that made her wince.

She had never seen this Jay before; his gaze burning with a simmering anger as he stood regarding her like a tiger ready to pounce.

Cherry swallowed thickly, remembering Jay's plus one earlier as her face settled into one of flimsy defiance, her lower lip quivvering ever so slightly.

"Why do you care? You got over it pretty quickly," she laughed humourlessly, a feeble attempt at making light of the situation but still bowing her head quickly to hide the hurt.

Now it was Jay's turn to swallow.

"You left." He said harshly.

"I did." Said Cherry closing her eyes against the accusation, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jay had wanted to add, "Didn't I mean anything to you?"  but he didn't dare sacrifice anymore of his pride.

Cherry stood in silence as she watched Jay regarding her with such smouldering rage. His eyes, though in shadow from his hair falling into his face, shone with such ferocity they practically glowed.

Cherry took in a breath, shaky with uncertainty.

She didn't want to say something that could exacerbate things in any way.

"We were moving too fast," she offered lamely.

"Bullshit!" Jay spat, his body trembling with anger.

His voice, though spoken in a low tone, nonetheless dripped with venomous enmity that Cherry could feel all the way to the pit of her stomach.

Had they been moving too fast? Probably.

But it had been at a pace, and in a direction they both were mutually being pulled in.

So she was going to have to do a lot better than that.

                             ***********************************************

The first night he had met her, she had come to the office. Not on any official business, but as a friend of a friend of someone Jarv knew.

Cherry walked in, and it was as if the air left the room.

Her hair was worn in a twist out that she had piled on top of her head in a messy pineapple, with a white silk scarf as a headband. With her  melodious laugh and mellifluous tone, Jay immediately thought of the singing muses in Hercules.

Her warm smile, and easy-going nature belied the font of intelligence beneath. Her Korean wasn't good (but then this was her first time being here), and her personable countenance meant she had no shortage of volunteer teachers in the office.

After a slightly awkward hello, Jay had kind of just sat back and watched, observing her behaviours and mannerisms.

The way Cherry tilted her head when in conversation.

The way her face lit up as she turned her face to laugh.

Her grace.

Her quiet confidence, even in a room of strangers in a foreign land.

And then he had gotten to talk to her.

Really talk.

After coming back from the bathroom to find her seat taken, Cherry  took the only available seat next to Jay.

As the group conversation was already on music, through their seperately voiced opinions they fell into their own private conversation, getting into a lively debate on which year was the best for RnB and hip-hop, and paying hommage to the blues singers of the 30s, 40s and 50s.

They didn't get to talk for long, Cherry (and her friend) had only come by to meet Jarv for dinner, but as his session had run a little late, they sat and chatted with everyone while they waited.

Jay himself was supposed to be working. He had only meant to casually partake in the conversation so as not to be rude.

But after Cherry walked in, he found himself subconciously pushing his responsibilities to the side, at the promise of being in her prescence just a little bit longer.

And, all things withstanding; it was a decision he was still yet to regret.

                            ***********************************************

"Cherry, I let you in. I didn't force you, I didn't buy you; you wanted to be there just as much as I wanted you there." Said Jay, in the same hard tone, nostrils flaring. "You didn't tell me we were 'moving too fast' when I gave you the passcode to my home; the place where I live."

He paused here, letting that fact sink in; she literally had unfettered access to his private domain.

Not even any of the AOMG/H1gher guys besides Chase had been to Jay's home before, making Cherry's rapid admittance all the more siginificant and indictive of the deep relationship that had been blossoming between them.

"And I didn't tell you we were 'moving too fast', when I skipped out on performing at HipHop Playa so I could spend time with you in Thailand."

Cherry's head had been bowed as Jay spoke, each point he was making needling her in ways she didn't want to handle.

When Jay mentioned Thailand she involuntarily looked up, her cheeks damp with the tears she had been silently shedding as Jay continued on his emotional tirade.

Thailand had been a trip of a life time, and it had been completely spontaneous. Brought on by a combination of Cherry leaving to go back home, the hard work she had been putting in and Jay's desire to make a positive impact while also giving himself to time to be with her and only her before he had to say goodbye.

They both remembered that trip; her of the feeling when he told her to pack a bag, and he of the look on her face when she realised he had planned something special.

Jay should have been perfoming with some of the boys, promoting their latest single, but since he'd already perfomed it twice on national televison with them, and since it was 4 days before Cherry was leaving for home, he decided he needed to take that time to make sure she would come back to him.

Bringing up a trip she had never asked him for was a little unfair, but Jay wasn't trying to throw it in her face; he was  just showing her how inadequate her pitiful reasonings were.

"And now, you want to tell me we're moving too fast?" He finished in a dangerously low tone.

Cherry chewed her lip anxiously as she tearfully gazed up at him. She didn't know what to say, and it was written all over her face.

She was stuck.

After avoiding and practically ignoring her for the whole day, even going to lengths to skip out on a meeting that had been 6 weeks in the making, here Jay was; in her house demanding answers from her.

Though he hadn't touched, spoken to or about her in almost 6 months, Jay had daydreamed this moment over and over every single day since she had left.

What he would say to her, what she would say to him, how they would reconcile and how everything would again be right in his world.

But looking at her now, her cheeks streaked with silvery tears, nervous angst etched onto every feature of that same beautiful face that had haunted Jay's conscious and subconscious thoughts for a whole year, he now realised that this situation was not going to play out in the way he had hoped.

The thought sobered him and he sighed, stepping towards Cherry again, his pent up anger now spent.

Though the frustration still remained, he had softened considerably.

Reaching for her, he wrapped her in a warm hug; a protective blanket Cherry had been missing for longer than she cared to admit.

The last time he had held her like this, she had crushed his heart - and hers.

His arms enveloped around her as he gently rocked her side to side as her tears fell.

Jay was never a person who could be angry for long; he simply wasn't built like that. It took a lot to get him angry to begin with, and even then he would rather walk away, choosing instead to be calm rather than explode.

Him confronting Cherry in this way was so out of character for him, but at the same time it felt necessary. He hadn't been able to get over her no matter what or who he did.

And judging by the way Cherry clung to him, burying her face in his chest; the feeling was mutual.

As he listened to her heartfelt soft cries, he realised he didn't care about the Why anymore; all he cared about was this moment, the chance after so long to have her in his arms again, where she wasn't pushing him away or trying to put up a wall.

Where she leaned on him the same way she always did in the short time they had gotten close to each other; counting on him to protect her from whatever it was out there. Outside of them.

Jay looked down at her; at her long eyelashes wet with tears, her nose red and sniffling. He could feel her trembling against him, and the feeling he had about something being not right about the way she had left intensified.

Jay opened his mouth to speak soothing words which he thought might coax her into a level of comfortability that would allow him to get the answers he was loooking for. And present him with an opportunity to talk her off the existential ledge she seemed to be committing to clinging to.

Until a shrill sound split the still air with its cacaphony, causing them both to jump out of each other's arms and look towards the bedroom, where Cherry's phone continued to ring, and ring, and ring, and ring.

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.9)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4345 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Maribug was a bit of a depresso espresso, what with the impending Adrigami date and fifth wheeling her friends. That is, until our favourite dude cheered her up with pizza, turtle talk and some good ol’ Mario Kart. Of course, her kitty-cat’s banana puns might’ve helped a smidge. But will dustings of Adrigami continue to throw her off? And when Chilluka rocks up, will Jealadrien be far behind?

---

Chapter Nine

An hour after Adrien's slippery ascent to victory, they turned to Ultimate Mecha Strike III for some more hearty butt-whooping.

With one final zap of an energy beam, the words "KAGAMI WINS" flashed across the screen, and her crimson mecha-tank launched a clawed fist in the air.

"Aw maaan!" Nino dumped his controller on the coffee table. "How could I lose to a total noob?" He froze. "Uh – No offence! You did good, dudette – I mean Kagami!"

Alya clutched her stomach, her cheeks red from laughing. "Nice one, Kagami! You ��� You really got him good with that – ah – that triple kick hyperstorm combo!"

"Yeah, Kagami!" Adrien nudged her shoulder with his own. "Only your third game and already you're winning!"

Marinette gave a thumbs up. "You're a natural."

Kagami threaded a strand of hair behind her ear, the slightest of blushes grazing her cheeks. "Thank you, everyone. I couldn't have won without Marinette's expert teaching." She bowed her head, her mouth curving into a smile that simply looked like it belonged there.

That small fact made Marinette's own smile double in size.

"But, dudes, I'm sick of UMS."

Alya tapped down the brim of Nino's precious cap. "You're just sick of losing, babe."

Pouting, he straightened his hat. "That's not the point, Al." He bounced to his feet, eyes on Adrien. "Why don't we fire up Just Dance instead? Let's show 'em our swagger!"

Adrien's face practically glowed as he leapt from the sofa, Kagami's hands falling from his arm to her lap. "You're on, Nino!"

"Ha!" Nino flashed his signature finger guns. "On like Donkey Kong!"

With an overly dramatic scoff, Adrien placed a hand to his chest in a decidedly Chat Noir fashion. "Excuse me? Only I have the rights to that line… especially after my ape overthrew our princess." He sent Marinette an over the shoulder wink and naturally, a flush flamed across her face.

While Nino set up Just Dance, Adrien shrugged out of his blazer in one fluid movement and flicked it over the sofa with a ridiculous amount of flair. He rolled his neck, laced his fingers and stretched his arms out before him. Pair that with the fact his polished shoes, snug jeans, and long-sleeved dress shirt were all black and wow, he was but a tail away from his alter ego. The only thing missing was a poorly timed pun. The flush across her face deepened.

Adrien strutted up to the TV. Umber drapes framed the wide balcony doors to his left, swaying with the wind that weaved through the living room to fan his golden hair. With his eyes on the screen, he raised a thoughtful hand to his chin. His fingers were soaked in sunlight, its rays catching his ring at just the right angle to inspire a shine of silver. Buzzfeed had once dubbed this particular pose The Pondering Prince. It was easy to see why on a rainy day. And even easier when sunbeams spilled across his hair like a literal crown of sunshine.

Marinette wasn't staring.

Nope, not at all.

The choruses of classic pop songs cut through the air as Nino cycled through choreographies. She knew the moment a song stood out to Adrien, by the way The Pondering Prince transformed into The Keen Cutie.

An annoyingly catchy melody sprung through the speakers:

'Take me by the tongue and I'll know you. Uh! Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you—'

The boys exchanged an eager high five, while Marinette bit back a snort. Chat Noir choosing Moves Like Jagger?

"Only you would, Adrien. Silly ca—" Her mouth snapped shut, but his merry eyes were already on her. She went ramrod straight in her seat. "Ca – Can't be used to describe you row—I mean now – no, right now." She shook her head madly. "Or – uh – any time, really. Because you're so great. At moving. With your feet!"

Adrien stared at her. She could almost see the cogwheels turning in his eyes. Hopefully those cogwheels had nothing to do with her slip up and everything to do with interpreting her word vomit. Finally, he graced her with one of his classic, heart-warming smiles. "Thank you, Marinette!"

She threw two thumbs up. "Well done! I mean, welcome!"

To her right, she could just feel concerned eyes on her.

And to her left, Alya facepalmed.

Adrien's soft smile lingered on Marinette for a moment longer, before a "Ready, bro?" brought his attention back to the TV. She sucked in a breath.

That smile. That classic Adrien smile. It was a gentle, shy sort of smile. One that made you feel special. Chat Noir's smile, on the other hand, was silly, cheeky, at times flirty—and had prompted her to groan on several occasions. Totally different, right?

But they were the same person! As classmates, she could probably count the amount of coherent conversations she'd had with him on her hands. But as partners, they were closer than ever. She'd thought of him as one of her dearest friends long before learning his civilian identity. Now, an unpleasant question reared its awful head. Were his smiles wildly different? Or just her reactions to them?

Alya's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Daaang!" she called, flaunting a smirk. "You boys are pulling out all the stops today. Where've you been hiding those dance moves, Adrien?"

Marinette looked up at the boy in question and saw her friend, Adrien, dancing with the unbridled joy of her partner, Chat Noir.

And Alya's words must've emboldened him, for he broke away from the choreography with a suave spin on the spot. "Come on, Al. You don't actually think I spent home-school doing schoolwork, do you?" As Maroon 5 whistled on, he executed each move with a flawless flourish. To think, this was the same guy who high-fived street signs with his face.

Alya snickered. "Not bad, Blondie. Not bad at all!"

With an achingly familiar bow, he enacted the tipping of a fake top hat. A silent thank you. One with the pizzazz befitting of her partner.

His theatrics brought out a giggle. She'd seen her silly kitty cut a rug, as he liked to call it, more times than she cared to count. On quiet patrols. In the heat of battle. A few months ago, an amateur video of his dancing had even trended online (he'd reminded her for over a week). His timing was never impeccable, but as they'd grown closer, stifling a smile at his zest for interpretive movement had become increasingly tricky.

"Yes!" Nino wheezed, flinging his arm in time with the dancing avatar on the screen. "I'm catching up!" He was so out of breath. "Keep distracting him!"

"Oh Adrien," her bestie proclaimed, as he moonwalked like a professional zombie from Thriller. "Our dazzling King of Swag!" He held a hand to his ear, spurring her on. "Your flow knows no bounds. I must bow before such unrivalled finesse." True to her word, she bowed in her seat.

And boy, did he lap up the praise! He performed a ridiculously smooth body roll, and concluded it with a click of his fingers. His smile was nearly blinding.

That was all the motivation Marinette needed to pop in her own compliment. "In the not so distant future, bards shall sing of our swagtabulous leader's epic freestyling, and their song shall aptly be named Moves Like Swagdrien!"

Just when she'd thought he couldn't shine any brighter, a laugh burst from his lips. It was one she seldom heard without his mask and the fact she'd brought it out only swelled her sprinting heartbeat.

His next move involved a little hip swaying and a lot of arm swinging. Marinette had only played Fortnite a handful of times, but she had a sneaking suspicion she'd once witnessed it there.

"Keep going, ladies!" Nino implored. "I'm finally winning!"

"Yaaas!" Alya called. "Swagdrien The Suave!"

"Woo!" Marinette launched her fists in the air. "Swagdrien The Debonair!"

"Adrien," Kagami cut in, her puzzled tone stark against the laughter of her friends. "You aren't following the choreography?"

"Rules," he panted, "are made to be broken." As if to emphasise his point, he pulled a double arm wave.

Her brows scrunched. "But you're losing?"

Adrien, now mid-robot, incorporated a shrug into his dance. "This way's more fun"—he threw her a smile—"don't you think?"

His dancing didn't die down in the slightest, nor did the laughter that ensued in its wake.

---

Marinette, like most people, enjoyed bobbing along to Despacito at the best of times.

But this wasn't the best of times.

No, it was the worst. The absolute worst.

More good-natured trash-talking had led to Nino challenging Adrien to a dance-off. But not just any dance-off. No, a double couple dance off (read: everyone but her).

Furthermore, the universe was really testing her limits today—because Despacito's choreography was jam-packed with touching between partners. Sure, Kagami was rather stiff. She'd never played Just Dance before, but Adrien's skills more than made up for that. His hands nestled on her hips, their smiles broad and their bodies close as they moved to the beat.

She tried to smile. She tried to be happy for them. This was what they both wanted. Inserting herself between them – like matter between two magnets – would only be selfish. Even so, she couldn't deny the way her gut writhed at the sight of the happy almost-couple. And she couldn't help but notice Kagami's growing blush.

A distraction.

She needed a distraction.

As if some higher being had honed in on her thoughts, three knocks echoed throughout the apartment. Knuckles on wood had never sounded so wonderful!

Marinette jumped from the sofa. "I'll get it!"

Finally, she'd no longer be the fifth wheel to a quad bike. No, with Luka here, she'd instead be a part of some strange, six-wheeled hybrid. Much more appealing. She raced to the front door and swung it open.

Teal eyes smiled down at her, and their owner gave a little wave, black nail polish shining in the light of the stairwell.

"Luka!" She sprung a hug upon him and without hesitation, he returned it. The exchange only lasted two seconds – three tops – but by gosh, the rich scent of sandalwood delighted her senses long after. "So, how was your shift?"

"Oh, it couldn't end fast enough."

Truer words had never been spoken.

Marinette took his free hand in hers and guided him to the living room. The two couples were still dancing up a storm, guitar chords and Spanish lyrics echoing through the room. "Hey, I see you brought your guitar." She beamed up at him. "You'll have to play us something later. I'd really love to hear my song again!"

From the corner of her eye, Adrien stumbled mid-step.

"I saw that, Blondie!" cackled Alya, her hand in Nino's as they grooved from side to side. "You burning out?"

"Never!" He broke away from the choreography and Kagami quirked a brow as he puffed his chest out into a body roll, even more fluid than his first.

Luka slipped a guitar case off of his shoulders and against the sofa. "Hey, everyone!" He was answered by an array of breathless greetings. "Oh, right." He chuckled. "They're just dancing."

Marinetted laughed—

Until she realised the wordplay wasn't intentional.

"Wow!" Luka chimed, settling on the sofa. "Nice moves, Adrien."

Green eyes remained on the screen. "Thanks."

Marinette swiped the pizza box from the table, four pieces saved within it. "As promised, Luka!" Handing over the box, she sat beside him. "If you're not a cold pizza kinda guy, I can always heat it up for you?"

With a slice of pizza in hand, his free arm reached behind her, resting across the back of the sofa. "It's okay, Marinette. I'm perfectly fine with cold pizza." His eyes were as gentle as his smile. "The thought's appreciated though. Thank you."

A flush crept up her face as he looked at her, but she didn't mind. Not at all.

---

'We are one tonight, and we're breathing in the same air—'

With an easy smile, Marinette tapped her toes in time to the lively tempo of Turn Up The Love. To no one's surprise, Alya and Nino were nailing every move thrown their way—and fast approaching new high scores.

"Wow," Luka spoke up beside her, and her eyes flitted toward him. "They're so in tune, don't you think?"

Marinette gave a merry nod, recalling a time she'd said similar words to a certain blond.

She leant against the coffee table, smiling at the sight of her dancing friends. "They're so in sync with each other."

"You're right," Adrien said, from the other end of a FaceTime call. "Someday I hope I'll find someone I can share everything with… like they do."

In the present, she pursed her lips. Had Adrien been thinking of Ladybug then? Her eyes drifted toward the boy in question, only to catch his eyes zipping away that very second.

"Too right, Luka!" Adrien leaped into their conversation—and winced when his voice shot up an octave. Clearing his throat, he directed a smile at the dancing duo. "When's the wedding, guys?"

Alya skipped around Nino, her arms swinging to the beat. "We don't know the date just yet."

"But don't worry," Nino puffed. "You'll definitely be my best dude!"

"They're only fourteen, Adrien." Kagami tilted her head, her dark hair shifting. "How young do you plan to get married?"

Beside her, Marinette felt him tense. "Oh – I – Ye-ah." His voice cracked. "Fourteen's way too young! The legal age is – uh – eighteen, right?"

"You plan to be married at eighteen?"

"Err – Well, I don't – I don't know?" He squeezed out a laugh. "I mean, maybe. For the right girl?"

"Does that mean you'd marry the wrong girl if you were older?"

"No, I just—"

"Your indecision is troubling, Adrien."

Those words seemed to resonate with him. He shrunk into the sofa like a silent apology.

Marinette's nails dug dents into her palms—but Kagami didn't deserve her ire. She wasn't exactly well-acquainted with social cues. Heck, she probably didn't even realise what she was doing.

Flexing her paling fingers, Marinette turned to Luka, a wordless plea to fix this. She didn't trust herself to.

And he didn't disappoint.

"Hey, Marinette?" Both fencers looked his way. "Has anyone else tried your macarons yet?"

Adrien clung to those words. "I saw the carton on the bench, but I didn't want to be the first one to crack into them!" With a sheepish chuckle, he dipped a hand behind his neck. "I figured we were saving them for later in the day?"

If he didn't get his passionfruit macaron today, Marinette would scream to high heaven. "No no, Adrien!" She waved her hands for emphasis. "Feel free to help yourself. No, actually—"

She launched to her feet.

He did the same.

"—I'll bring them over," they said in unison. Blinking at each other, they laughed at once. "Sorry," they said. "I – Uh. You go first! No, you—"

Marinette held up a hand. "I'll bring the napkins. You bring the macarons. Deal?"

"Deal!"

---

A minute later, Alya and Nino collapsed onto the sofa, their chests heaving after their dance. To his delight, Nino had come out on top, destroying his former high score along with Alya's. (Not at all suspiciously, Alya had matched him point-for-point until the last thirty seconds, when her dancing had deteriorated just enough to let him win.)

A cardboard carton, with a golden emblem adorning its lid, rattled in Marinette's palms. While Adrien shared napkins around, she plonked down beside Luka. "I hope all this dancing's worked up everyone's appetite!"

Alya accepted a napkin. "By the grin on Adrien's face, I'd say his answer is a resounding yes."

"Can't blame him, babe. Those moves were unreal."

"It must be the fencing."

"From what I saw, he was a one-man sonata."

"Or a unicorn."

"Girl, did you just call Adrien a unicorn?"

Marinette nodded, unabashed. She was trying to get over him, yes. That didn't mean he wasn't still one of a kind.

With all leftover napkins now on the coffee table, Adrien resumed his seat between Marinette and Kagami. "Full disclosure: I'd make a magnificent unicorn."

Laughter erupted.

And only as it died down did Marinette speak again. "In that case, I sure hope unicorns like macarons!" She flipped back the carton in her lap, revealing an assortment of brown and yellow treats. "We've got two flavours: Belgian chocolate and passionfruit. I would've made more, but I was a little short on time."

"I'll believe it," Alya teased.

She stuck out her tongue. "Just a heads up, everyone—"

From the corner of her eye, Kagami reached for Adrien's hand and threaded it with her own. His smile wavered. He went to pull back, but Kagami tightened her grip—without realising? Adrien's struggling stopped.

"Yike—"

Marinette glimpsed a stern look from Alya.

"I mean LIKE! Yeah. I was, like, extra clumsy this morning and – err – dropped the macarons on this side." She jabbed a finger toward the left of the carton. "So – Um. Sorry about that."

Hands reached from all sides, lightening the carton in her hands, and delighted hums soon floated through the living room.

"Girl, you've really outdone yourself this time!"

"Ditto, babe!"

"I agree." Kagami admired the yellow, half-eaten macaron between her fingers. Her other hand still gripped Adrien's. "This is really delicious."

Adrien's face inched near as he marvelled at the macarons. "You made these, Marinette?" She thought she felt herself nod. "They look delicious!" He took one from the tainted side. Passionfruit, of course. His first bite— "Wow." He gazed at the treat like it was the answer to world peace. "Marinette, this macaron. It's… It's perfect!"

She felt herself beam as he savoured a second bite. This beautiful moment was most definitely worth the many Sundays she'd spent baking a single macaron.

In or out of the suit. Chat Noir or Adrien. He was her friend. Maybe she'd never see those three kids or that hamster. Maybe she'd never have that dog or that beautiful house. At least, not with Adrien.

Because they were superheroes.

Because of apocalyptic cataclysms.

Because he said he loved Ladybug, but in the end, he chose Kagami.

But she could still make him happy.

Luka reached for a treat last. His side pressed into hers as he leaned closer and picked a chocolate macaron. Like this morning, he went for the street-sullied side. With his free arm splayed behind her, he settled back into the couch cushions and savoured the snack with his eyes shut. "This flavour's even better! You're so extraordinary, Marinette."

Cheeks aflame, Marinette brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Extraordinary.

Luka said she was extraordinary.

And it wasn't the first time. No, the first time he'd been under Hawk Moth's cruel influence. And she tried not to take a supervillain's words to heart.

But then he'd said it again, his hand warm on her arm and his eyes warmer still.

"You're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette. As clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You're the music that's been playing inside my head since the first day we met."

Was it time to tune along to his song?

Marinette swallowed, searching for a reply to the wonderful words of her friends. Instead, she caught the green gaze of another boy watching her fondly.

A lump lodged in her throat.

From the day she'd met him, her heart had been his.

But he didn't want his classmate.

From the day she'd met Luka, she'd been the song inside his head.

He made sure she knew where they stood.

He supported her every decision.

He made things simple.

The logical choice was clear.

Yet her heart throbbed at the thought.

No matter what, someone was bound to get hurt. Her friend. Her partner. Herself.

For over a year, she'd saved Paris with quick-thinking and convoluted strategies. She was the girl with a plan, the one people came to when times were tough. Yet here she was, unable to think up a single way to save her and her loved ones from heartbreak.

Why was she so useless?

Why couldn't she just keep everyone happy?

How could she possibly choose between them?

"Earth to Marinette?" Alya interrupted her thoughts. "Guys! I think we broke her with compliments!"

"No! Sorry, I just—" Marinette placed a hand to her chest and drew in a breath. "Thank you, everyone." She meant that wholeheartedly, and turned to Alya with a smile. "Wanna get back to dancing?"

"You know it!"

---

'Starships were meant to fly! Hands up and touch the sky!'

Of course, Alya had picked an old favourite of theirs: Starships by Nicki Minaj. A bop that never failed to bump up her mood. She knew the choreography well, but was still surprised by her soaring score. Her every move displayed a grace she'd never thought possible without a little latex magic, and over and over, the word "PERFECT" flashed gold on the screen. It was like the game was a one-word dictionary, but she sure wasn't complaining.

"Oh my gosh, M!" Alya puffed. "You are killing it!"

"Call me Swagrinette!"

Adrien laughed from his place on the sofa. "I don't think Swagrinette has quite the same ring to it." She threw a smile over her shoulder—just as Kagami eased her head onto his.

Marinette misstepped, but caught herself before the floor could. "Oops!" She wheezed out a laugh. "Spoke too soon, Al." Her arms circled through the air in sync with the dancing avatar.

Alya snorted. "You're still owning it!"

"She's right," Kagami added. "Your dancing's impressive, Marinette."

She glanced back at Kagami, another smile at the ready. It died on her lips at the sight she beheld. Adrien's eyes were on his hand, laced with Kagami's, and the look he wore was a resigned one. Knitted brows. A slight weight to his lips. He was unhappy—

Pain sliced through her ankle.

In a tangle of limbs, she tumbled to the floor.

Voices cried out her name.

Steps pounded.

She didn't know when, but her hand had clung to her ankle, and her face twisted as it throbbed beneath her fingertips.

"Are you okay?!"

Her eyes flew up—and what they beheld was excruciatingly familiar.

Two hands were extended before her: black nail polish painted the one on her right and an unmistakable ring adorned the one on her left. Her right hand remained around her ankle. Her other lifted off the floor. It drifted left, right, then paused dead centre.

With a composing breath, Marinette chose neither. Instead, she reached for a nearby ottoman, small and round and pastel pink, and chose to help herself off the floor. "I'm fine, guys," she said, reaching her feet.

Everyone stared, eyes rife with worry, while Starships thumped on in the background. Such upbeat music now seemed woefully out of place.

Alya propped a hand on her hip. "You sure, Marinette?"

Nino stepped to Adrien's side. "Yeah, that was one heck of a fall."

"I agree." Kagami's eyes were on Marinette's ankle. "It looked pretty serious."

Marinette fixed up a smile. "Really, I'm A-OK. See?" She shifted her weight to her right—

Another zap of pain.

Two sets of hands sprang to her shoulders, steadying her.

Marinette waved both boys away. "No no. I've got this." She hobbled over to the sofa, stifling a wince, while steps tapped behind her. "It's not as bad as it looks"—she wasn't sure if that was a lie—"but just in case, I think I'd better be a spectator for the rest of the day."

Luka seated himself to her immediate right. "First, we should really take care of your ankle." He looked to a concerned Alya, who'd seated herself on the arm of the sofa. "Do you have any ice packs?"

Adrien claimed the free spot to Marinette's left. "Plus something to act as a barrier between the ice pack and her skin." An instruction, not a suggestion. "Painkillers too. And some anti-inflammatory cream."

"On it!" Nino rushed to the freezer.

"We gotcha!" Alya's red hair whipped behind her as she dashed to the bathroom.

Marinette clung to the cushion beneath her. This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. But she could at least avoid dragging her friends down with her. "No need to fuss, guys." She kept her tone light. "It's really not that bad. And I don't wanna ruin the afternoon by—"

A comforting weight on her hand gave her pause. "Never." Adrien's eyes creased as he smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. "We're just looking out for you. You'd do the same for any of us."

Luka's hand found her shoulder. "You can tell us if you're not okay, Marinette."

"Yeah, I can call you a doctor," Adrien chipped in. "Or get my driver to take you. Just say the word, Marinette."

Kagami knelt on the floor ahead of her, a cushion in hand. "I believe elevating the injury above the heart reduces swelling. Here." She placed the cushion on the coffee table and with a substantial amount of care, eased Marinette's foot upon it.

A smile flooded her face. Her friends were truly the best.

---

With a metallic whir, daylight broke upon the silhouette of a lean man, and flocks of butterflies stirred, their pale wings catching the sun.

"Ahh… An aspiring artist with a penchant for Picasso. One whose dreams have been crushed by a hard-hearted critic." Each word floated from his tongue with a delighted lilt. "What perfect prey for my akuma."

He beckoned a nearby butterfly to his awaiting palm, carefully caging it between two gloved hands. Darkness materialized, clinging to the insect and soiling its snowy wings.

"Fly away, my pretty akuma, and evilize this wounded soul!"

[orthographewrites]

“Stay the night. Please.” (#soulmates)

This weekend was nothing short of surreal, a dreamlike heaven that was nearly too good to be true. When Pia had moved out of their hometown and stopped responding to both text messages and calls, Robin had thought it to be the end of their friendship – never fully grasping why and only able to pin down when things had gone south. She had been busy, came her excuse. Her job and lifestyle getting in the way of reaching out as she should, ashamed of her own behaviors and eventually assuming neither Robin or Marius wanted anything to do with her.

A laughable and hurtful thought all in the same turn, according to Robin, barely passing a month without questioning how such tight individuals had so quickly turned strangers. So, when Pia mustered up the courage to call him back and invite him, Marius and the kids over for a few days Robin had jumped on the opportunity and clung to it with his life faster than he had accepted his latest promotion at work. Pia was simply something else, in the long run. A friend, certainly, but perhaps one he had connected with in more ways than the platonic route. They had shared so many bruises, heartbreaks, major events and warm moments together – they had known each other from the inside and out, never to leave the other’s side even when they had to take on blame that didn’t belong to them. ( @alicemorganwrites )

For this occasion, Pia own husband Mike had taken off to his parents as to leave Pia some space with her old friends. Things had started off slow, some awkward questions back and forth to get them rolling that mostly focused around their children; but once Robin and Pia found their footing the weekend passed by in light speed as both had quickly found themselves comfortable in the presence of the other, talking as if they had met up just last week. Memories swept off their lips with heartfelt laughs, many in which Marius shook his head at and prompted them not to speak so loudly off around the kids – neither sparing a moment before they changed the topic over to Marius own, boring lifestyle that had never quite matched up with theirs.

So, it was only a matter of time before Sunday evening rolled in and forced reality back into their lives, as Marius decided to step back and make sure their children gained some proper sleep before their trip back home the next day; leaving Robin and Pia on their own for the first time since meeting up. They kept it calm and up to their usual pace until it became clear to them how fast time was ticking, counting down the hours before Robin had to join the rest back at the hotel. This left them their first half-hearted chuckle, followed by a thick silence of uncertainty that echoed: what now?

Pia twisted on her side of the couch, her fingers intertwined whilst the cogwheels inside her head were working full speed to further their conversation. Her lips parted, stopping Robin before he had a chance to speak on his own, and her voice stayed a hush. “Stay the night. Please?”

Robin looked up as he heard Pia’s plea, pursing his lips together in deep thought. Craving the right words. “I have to go back, I can’t stay.” It was as if the atmosphere around them had shifted, suddenly finding themselves back inside his teenage room where the two had shared one too many secrets before – except the most important. How often hadn’t he glanced over at Pia, wondering what it was like to kiss her? To wonder if he’d ruin anything between them if he had simply leaned in and tried? The stubborn feelings of dating people from right to left, but knowing that neither of them would ever be the one he most connected with had haunted him for far longer than he wanted to admit.

“You can make up a white lie, he will never know.” Pia’s response was near chocking for both, watching the horror in her eyes as she came to terms with her own suggestion. She cleared her throat and lowered her gaze.

Robin, however, was stung with shame as the idea passed him by with an urge to act. A white lie wouldn’t hurt no, to say he had forgotten the time and that it was for the better if he stayed the night at her place. Nothing had to happen, they could continue to talk and make the best of their time together and yet, deep down, Robin knew this wouldn’t be the case if he accepted the proposal. Was he stuck in an unhappy marriage? Was Pia? The honest answer was no. Robin was happy, stable and had everything one could ever wish for. He had never second-guessed his relationship with Marius, but he couldn’t deny he had sometimes dwelled on what his life would have been like if he had ventured another direction. If, somewhere, he had made a mistake with Pia. Of glancing her over constantly, assuming there was nothing there for them to grasp for.

To stay the night, in this case, wasn’t a friendly invite. It was the opportunity to find out and for the first time with Pia, he was certain to act on it if he said yes.  “I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Pia. It’s too late.” A thought tempting, that he wouldn’t deny – but with all time passed between them, who said it wasn’t old urges of guilt speaking rather than reason? Was he going to cheat on his long-term partner for a “maybe”? No. No, definitely not. “I should get going, it’s getting late.” Robin’s lip winced as he removed himself from the couch, every bone in his body aching against the urge to sit down again. To move closer to her. “We can meet up some other time, you could always come down and visit us if you’d like.” Then, like a snap of his fingers, his lips twisted back into a smile to hopefully wrap up their situation, not wanting to risk losing Pia from his grasp.

He was met with a nod of agreement, partly filled with relief nothing had come of this. She gave him the promise they’d talk soon and stay connected, enough to force them along. Yet, as Robin left her behind to get back to his secure life he couldn’t help but to once again wonder if he hadn’t made a mistake walking away. If, perchance, something higher above had given him a second opportunity to try things out. If, by being safe, he had blown his right to continue as intended. To be with the only person that made him feel whole and uplifted – not just satisfied with what he was offered. Robin was happy, indeed he had it all. Yet, a nagging what if was to follow him to bed that night and stalk him through the nights thereafter. He had it all, didn’t he?

[raisingcain-onceagain]

Terrifying Tolkien Week, day #4: the iron price

She is not of those they call the Maiar – that strange people whose forms shift with their minds, their moods, their masters. No, Thurin’gweth’il is of the bat-folk – a secret shadow, a flutter of wings in the darkness, the blood-red eyes of the Light One’s Lieutenant when his own are otherwise occupied.

She is an integral part of his machine of war. A simple gear, perhaps, but an important one all the same – a central cogwheel upon whose spokes of information all other pieces must turn. She must function, and function well, in order for others to do the same.

Or so she assumes. For the bright-sharp soul of machinery is strange to her, the terms of its tongue oily and cloying upon a mouth built for the sap of fruit and the tang of blood, and the Lieutenant, that bright-burning-beautiful creature that none of the night may look full open without courting true blindness, is as stingy with giving information as he is insatiable in demanding it.

But for the first, Thurin’gweth’il is not the one who dictates the language that all in the great fortress must speak. That is the Lieutenant’s prerogative, as the strongest of its denizens, the only one able to snap and break the rest into submission. And for the second, Thurin’gweth’il knows that she is fastest of the Lieutenant’s many fliers – that is why she of her mother’s many children, after all, was accepted as payment in return for the clan’s lives.

Thurin’gweth’il is fastest, and sees farthest, and understands best the types of movement that the Lieutenant would likely seek out himself, were he able to tear himself from the shell of his fortress and fling himself joyous upon the winds as do his fliers.

Well. That, and also her rebellions against him have been the fewest and least successful.

So of the Lieutenant’s few remaining fliers, it is Thurin’gweth’il’s bat-fell that remains most intact.

Of the fortress’s swift-decreasing corps of fliers – her flock-mates falling all about her, wings-fingers-skins torn from their bodies by the Lieutenant’s rage at their insurgences, their failures, their desertions and struggles to attempt the mad flight north and home to freedom – it is Thurin’gweth’il alone who can hug a nearly-whole bat-fell about her flightless form, can hide her face and protect her eyes when day dawns, grey and gloomy, above the fortress.

Her bat-fell is nearly even enough to block out the screams that echo about the roost almost every morn, as yet another flier finds that they do not retain enough fell to protect themselves against the scorching alien touch of the sun.

Only nearly enough, though. Only nearly.

~ ~ ~

And then, one night, nearly enough is no longer sufficient.

It should only have been a routine patrol. She had been assigned the long sweep north, toward the edge of the Blasted Plains, which span from the shadowed peaks beside the Lieutenant’s fortress and on toward the Iron Mountains at the farthest edge of the world.

(the less said about the Light One in residence there, the better)

(how peoples other than the bat-folk could call Him the Dark One, Thurin’gweth’il has never understood – so bright and cold He shines! How dangerous and powerful His light proclaims Him – He could never be of the darkness she has heard others claim of Him!)

But on the return sweep, Thurin’gweth’il finds her way back arrested. Her wings are fouled by some invisible thread, and she is pulled from the sky – to the hard earth she tumbles, and hears fragile bones shatter.

And when she is grounded, there are none to come to her aid – no mother-clan or flock-mates, no roost and no camp. Her struggles, her shrieks, are in vain – her captors, two Maia, can do as they will.

And they do.

The one in the form of a hound simply watches. The one in the form of a woman wields the knife.

Steels rips slits in her fell – slips beneath, slices through. The Maia is skinning her – as though Thurin’gweth’il were a beast.

Her shrieks become screams as the knife reaches wing. Her screams become shivers as her flightless form falls.  

She is not dead, when they are done with her – when the taller Maia stands, and slips her pale arms into Thurin’gweth’il’s fell. Indeed, her sight remains strong enough that she watches them leave her – blood-streaked, fell-adorned, they turn into the sunrise; the Maia-woman stretches out her arms, and Thurin’gweth’il’s wings carry her away south.

Toward the only roost Thurin’gweth’il has truly ever known.

The only lord she has ever served.

The only roost-mates she has ever had, and whose pain in the face of the sunlight she has only ever ignored.

But this day will dawn to find her the one unshielded, now, and she has neither the strength nor the means to hide herself.

And so, Thurin’gweth’il knows, she will burn.  

[theduplicitousdame]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge

(Prompt 1: Specter)

(Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence, Blood, Death)

Numerous paper balls littered the floor where Naharé sat. Ledgers, blueprints, available contracts, all sprawled over the dining table. She sat back and loosely folded her arms over her chest. “Swivin’ ‘ells...” She was eyeballs deep in not only engineer orders but also dock inventory for the Black Pearl Trading Company. “I always do this shite ta meself.” A near empty glass of whiskey lay next to the quill. “Oy! Yer not allowed.” And by not allowed the glass had a job of remaining full until the woman had had enough. 

The gears of her Magitek arm whined from the effort of reaching across the table. “Nnh. An’ I need ta maintenance this damned thing, too.” With the bottle now in hand the satisfactory sound of a cork popping rang through the air. “An’ they say a lil’ booze never helped nobody. Piss on ‘em.” The poor glass found itself filled to the brim. “Perfect.” The bottle returned, she picked up the quill once more. She sucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and pondered.

Her mind took to its normal routine of running itself into the ground and in many circles. “Vorsaile’s shipment ‘o fabrics a sennight from now. Me metal, cogwheels, springs... A fortnight!? Nay, shite needs ta be a sennight. I can’t wait that long.” A pinch of her nose was given accompanied by a rather frustrated, and drawn out, sigh. Naharé’s helper Mammet, Fidget, heard his creator’s latter statement. He immediately perked up, ran to a box containing said items, and quickly scurried over with a spring in hand. He poked the spring incessantly against her leg.

Fidget was so proud of himself that he excitedly danced from one foot to the other. Naharé’s brows knit themselves together, her nose wrinkling now. “Gods dammit,” she hissed. Looking down she snatched the spring from him. “Aye. I said spring. Good job.” While she loved her Mammet, she also hated him the same. Fidget ran back to the box and procured a cogwheel next. Once more he ran back to show off his prize. 

The little fellow lived up to his namesake, always rummaging and running around. “Ye. Can stop now. This ain’t play time.” Naharé growled. Both the spring and cogwheel were tossed onto the table. Fidget began to pick up on her ire, and feeling a little defeated, he ran back to the box and immediately fell in pom first. “Good,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. Her handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best but it made do. The quill furiously scribbled across both the ledgers and the blueprints, avoiding the inventory for now as her shipment was deemed first priority.

She paused every so often to knock back swigs of whiskey, even adding a third helping. The beverage burned through her chest and each time she hissed between clenched teeth. Ever since her pregnancy and the birth of her twins her alcohol tolerance had quickly diminished. Naharé loathed the fact. Long did she wish for the days of drinking bastards under the table. Soon her vice took to betraying her. Legible sentences turned into smeared ink. Once focused eyes blurred the environment.

“I shhould. Probb’ly. Go ta bed.” Naharé pushed away from the table. First mistake. Her feet didn’t like moving and as such she weaved through her journey to the bed. A few nonces later her hands and knees collided with the wood floor. Her stomach churned, and her nails pierced her palms while she wretched. Second mistake from drinking too much. Blood and vomit formed a nice puddle between her hands. She simply stared at the mess.

Glassy eyes slowly pulled themselves back to the bed. She held a thousand malm expression, almost as if she were looking through the bed. A wavering hum reverberated within her throat. No more walking. Naharé crawled the rest of the way and pulled herself up by the sheets. She lay in a sprawled position and that was how she stayed. Eventually her brain shut itself down to sleep.

Grateful were the times she never dreamed, but this time proved to be different. Jin’li, her deceased brother-in-law, smiled all too wide before her. “My dearest, would you kindly join me for this walk?” Around them the scenery shifted to that of the Goblet residential district. The Keeper, though diminutive, proved himself capable of worming into the minds of others. ‘Would you kindly’ happened to be one of the phrases he frequently used on Naharé. Her chin snapped side to side and she shuddered. 

“Ye weren’t wanted in life, ye swivin’ son ‘o a bitch,” she growled weakly. Her feet moved with a mind of their own. “Come now, no need to be so hateful to your family.” A faint chuckle escaped his lips. Naharé drew nearer until his out stretched fingers just barely brushed her cheek. “It does not become you,” Jin’li cooed. His fingers went to fully cup her cheek this time. In retaliation Naharé tried hard to whip her hand up and knock the gesture away. “STOP!” She managed to bellow out.

Jin’li’s eyes narrowed themselves. His free hand grabbed her by the wrist, his fingers squeezing in a vice-like grip sure enough to leave bruises on her flesh. The hand near her cheek moved lightning quick with his nails dug into her jaw. He forced her to look him in the eyes. “You may have killed me, my dearest, but I live here now. If I cannot be with you in life then I will have you as mine in your dreams.” He let free her jaw harsh enough to cut skin. “Now, let us continue.”

He threw Naharé’s wrist down next. Along the cobblestone paths they walked until they reached the center fountain. The wind held a crisp feel to it, except it burned against the open wounds. The sun’s rays shone down with the occasional fluffy cloud wondering by. “Sit,” Jin’li commanded. Naharé did as told. A cold sweat shivered through her body, blood seeped its way down her neck. “Tell me, how you have been?” His voice returned to that soothing coo. A saccharine smile plastered itself across his lips, dark eyes alight with glee.

The rim of Naharé’s eyes threatened with the beginning of tears though she refused to let them fall. “P-Plannin’. The wall. Gyr A-Abania,” she stammered out in short words. “Fightin’ in tha war. Trading s-supplies an’ such.” Jin’li clapped his hands. “Oh, yes! We get to travel somewhere new!” Naharé turned her gaze in jerking motions to the crazed man. “I left ye in M-Mor Dhona. In tha dirt.” He withdrew a pocket watch and tilted his head to side. He hummed while analyzing the time. “Approximately when do we leave, hm? I have to prepare.”

Naharé’s eyes widened at the watch. The ticking. It filled her ears, hollow, echoing. “Put it away. PUT IT AWAY!” She repeated the plea until it rambled into slurred sentences. She leaned forward to grab Jin’li by the shoulders and shake him. His face fell deadpan. “You always were so obstinate with me. I’m so kind to you, yet you insist on pushing me away.” He lurched forward and pushed himself against her until her head went underwater. “You will learn.” He held the ticking clock against her ear while his hand held her down by the throat.

She flailed. Try as she might she felt like she was moving in slow motion, too sluggish to free herself. Blood colored the water and her vision. Choking, she was choking. She screamed bubbles around her until she fell silent, unmoving. Naharé bolted upright in bed and began screaming again, a guttural sound until it scratched her throat. At the foot of her bed the shade of Jin’li stood and from his finger dangled the pocket watch. She reached for the knife on her night stand and promptly threw it at the wall. The blade passed through Jin’li before impaling itself deep within the wood.   

[thelillzmonster]

bad | 07 (m.)

↳   He was the cliché bad boy. He was the guy you couldn’t stand. He was the handsome, good-looking young man who made girls swoon for just a touch. He was a brat. You had never liked him one bit, but you had also stayed out of his business. Until one day, when you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader (ft. kim taehyung)

genre; smut, romance, fluff

words; 10 243

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | coming soon ↠

A/N: please beat my ass for taking over a fucking month with this. hopefully it was worth the wait tho ;). writing this killed me.

You caught yourself smiling while walking down the moderately crowded streets. The sun was shining and finally you could feel a hint of warmth through the air. Despite the stress that school was generously providing you, you felt somehow good about mostly everything in that moment.

Maybe it was the cheery and sunny weather.

Or maybe it was the fact that Taehyung was waiting for you in a café across the street.

It was mildly embarrassing that you felt excited about meeting him. You knew you shouldn’t have, but you still did.

It wasn’t a date; just two friends meeting up for coffee. Well, according to him. Besides, he didn’t do dates. And you knew better than to go on a date with him after what he did. But when he had asked to meet up, after class the previous day, you just didn’t find any reason to say no.

Because you still wanted to give him another chance, at least at being friends.

Responsibly checking for cars before you crossed the road, you could already see Taehyung through the large windows of the café. He was sat on the couch against the far-right wall, sporting his signature, messy fuckboy-hair and crimson jacket.

He hadn’t seen you yet, as his head was tilted downwards to his phone, probably buried in conversation with one of the thousands the boy knew. He had a lot of friends.

Upon opening the door to the café, a feeling of doubt surrounded you, as if it was mixed with the air in the room. You started second-guessing whether or not getting involved with Taehyung again was a good idea.

Probably not.

The next time he fucked you over, though, you swore you’d kick him in the balls. No more sleeping around for him.

You started walking in his direction with a languid pace, suddenly nervous for some reason, as if you were a young teenager going on her first date with her long-term crush. Except you were eighteen, and it wasn’t a date, and Taehyung wasn’t your crush. Not anymore.

To your dismay, his gaze flicked up away from his phone before you had even properly reached the table. Immediately his one-thousand-voltage smile appeared as he recognized you, dressed in the same clothes you had worn at school; just a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and jacket, scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders.

“Hello, (Y/N).” He greeted cheerfully, making you slightly more relaxed.

“Hi, Taehyung,” You managed, finally sitting down on the couch next to him. “Sorry for being late.” You said sheepishly, although you weren’t sorry at all. Truthfully, you had intentionally come later than you said - only by about ten minutes. You just figured you’d make him wait a little, just to prove that the meeting didn’t mean anything particularly special to you. Because it didn’t.

His grin grew minimally at your words.

“I’m sure you’re very sorry,” His voice was laced with amusement and apparent sarcasm, but you pretended not to notice, slightly taken aback by the fact that he could see right through you.

“So, coffee?” You quickly suggested, a sneaky attempt at changing the subject.

He visibly held back a chuckle before nodding and standing himself up.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” He asked.

“Uh, I’ll just have a caramel macchiato.”

“Got it.” He smiled, adding an unnecessary wink, before he was walking to the register.

In only a couple of minutes he was walking back in your direction with two mugs in his hands, triggering you to start pulling out some money for him from your wallet. But when he reached you and set the cups down, he noticed what you were doing and quickly started to protest.

“No, no, no. It’s my treat.”

You tilted your head back up to look at him with a surprised expression painted over your face.

“Uhm... Okay.” You simply gave in, already knowing that he wouldn’t accept your money either way.

With a smile, he comfortably sat back down next to you. But when he only looked at you expectantly without saying anything, you felt your nerves starting to tense again.

You smoothly took a sip of your caramel macchiato - which tasted pretty damn good -  before deciding to break the lingering silence.

“So, uhh.. Why’d you wanna meet up?” You asked, voice more timid than usual.

“Well..” He started, an expression of something close to embarrassment dawning over his features. “I, eh, heard that you met Yoongi.”

A cold chill ran through your body at the mention of that name, the owner of it which you had met only two days prior.

“Oh..” You mumbled. “Yeah..”

You shouldn’t have been surprised by Taehyung bringing it up, considering you had seen the name on his phone, but you still were.

“(Y/N), I’m really sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“W-what do you mean? For what?”

“Well, f-for him. Jungko-... I was told that Yoongi, uh, like, scared you. He’s like that, it’s dumb, I know.”

“Is he, like... your friend?” You questioned. It wasn’t completely unlikely, other than the fact that Yoongi was a complete creep.

“Nah, no, I wouldn’t call it that. He’s just... an acquaintance. Sort of.”

You scowled at the boy next to you.

“Who would want to be acquainted with someone like him?”

He chuckled.

“It’s not really that simple.” He explained. “Regardless, I’m sorry. Even if I didn’t do anything, I just wanna say sorry on his behalf. ‘Cause he won’t do it himself. Not sincerely anyway. I’ll tell him to keep his dirty paws off o’ you in the future.”

An involuntary snort left you.

“Thanks, I think.”

He grinned. And then he locked his gaze with yours, keeping a steady stare that eventually started burning your eyes, making your stomach stir.

Once he looked away with a hushed chuckle, he left you snapped out of it with a red blush covering your cheeks, showcasing the obvious embarrassment you felt.

“But-” He started suddenly, with a clearing of the throat. You only barely noticed how he scooted slightly closer to you. “-that’s not the entire reason why I wanted to meet up today.”

You finally looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was thinking... maybe I could help you study. At least help you finish that annoying essay due on Friday next week.”

You stared at him, unmoving, surprised by his suggestion.

“W-wait. Like, really?”

He gave a warm chuckle.

“Yes, really. I’m actually pretty good when it comes to essays. And I heard you needed a small boost in your English studies, so I’ll gladly help out.”

You noticed how he held back a laugh at your probably dumbfounded look and closed your apparently opened mouth. But then your stare grew suspicious.

“Wait; what’s the catch?”

He sighed in amusement.

“No catch.”

“What is it you want in return?”

Taehyung grinned.

“Nothing. Spending a bit of precious time with the current star of the school is just enough.”

You rolled your eyes, making him giggle, unzipping your sweater because of the suddenly hot feeling and sweaty armpits. As soon as you did so, Taehyung’s gaze was immediately drawn to a certain part of your neck that had been in hiding. But you didn’t notice until he actually reached his hand out to take a gentle hold of your chin and turn your head, getting a better look at the patch of skin.

Realizing what he was staring at, you quickly withdrew yourself, hiding the dark purple marks covering one side of your neck, under the scarf hanging around your shoulders.

‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’ You mentally cussed. You had somehow forgotten about the stains of mistake left on the precious surface of your neck, and now you were afraid Taehyung might get mad.

Timidly looking back up to meet Taehyung’s eyes again, you weren’t sure what to make of the expression on his face. It looked somewhat quizzical, in a way. He didn’t say anything, only stared back at you, looking like the cogwheels in his head were turning in full speed.

But then one of the brightest grins you had ever seen suddenly appeared on his face, before you could even explain yourself, and when he leaned in to place a sweet kiss on your cheek, you almost jumped out of your skin.

“I’m gonna go get some more napkins. Be right back.” He announced, grin just as genuinely glowing as ever, before he was standing up and walking away.

“Okay, I’ll just go by your house and pick it up then.” You said, feeling your heartbeat return to a regular speed, sighing in relief.

“Yeah, of course.” Taehyung assured from the other line. “I put your notebook on my desk, in my room upstairs. Jimin’s probably there to let you in.”

“Oh, okay, good. Thank you so much.”

You heard a hushed chuckle.

“No problem, (Y/N).”

“’Kay, bye.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart~”

And then you hung up.

Your stupid self had left your notebook at Taehyung’s place a couple days earlier when you had studied together. Because of your clumsiness, you now had to leave movie night at Minyoung’s to pick it up.

“What’d he say?” Minyoung asked from behind you, watching you put your shoes on.

“Jimin’s there. I’ll just go pick it up. I really need it till tomorrow. Sorry, Minyoung.”

“(Y/N), I already told you it’s fine. I’m just skeptical about this whole... Taehyung situation.”

“Situation? What situation?”

“You know what I mean, (Y/N). Isn’t it all kinda odd.”

You let a few seconds of silence pass before you answered.

“I thought so, too. But he hasn’t made a single move on me, other than a week ago at the café when he just kissed my cheek.”

Minyoung furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s so weird. Just don’t let him play you again.”

“Of course not. I’m just going over there to pick up my shit. And he’s not even there right now.”

She chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Be careful.”

You turned and opened the front door to Minyoung’s house, being met by the fresh, late night air. But before you could say your goodbyes, she spoke.

“Uhm... Did he say if Jungkook will be there?”

A nauseous-like feeling grew in your stomach at the mention of his name.

“No, he didn’t say. Besides, I really couldn’t care less.” You replied, before closing the door and starting your walk down the empty streets.

“Oh. (Y/N).” Jimin greeted once he had opened the door, a look of surprise on his face.

“Hi, Jimin.” You managed a small, embarrassed smile.

“Uh, Taehyung isn’t here tonight..”

“Oh, I know, I know. I’m just here to pick up a notebook I left here the other day. I guess he didn’t have time to text you and say I was coming over.”

“Ahh..” Jimin sounded, a look of realization dawning over his handsome features, along with a blinding smile. “That must be why he texted. I didn’t bother reading the texts, sorry.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I’ll be in and out.”

He chuckled.

“Don’t worry, no need to be in a rush. Stay as long as you’d like.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

You timidly stepped into the hallway you had grown familiar with, after studying with Taehyung a couple of times since the week prior when he had asked you about it. He really had been helpful, and there had been no spontaneous make out sessions, which was pleasantly surprising to you. But of course, the flirting was endless.

Swiftly bending down, you quickly slipped your shoes off of your feet and placed them on the doormat.

“He said it’s in his room, so I’m just gonna sneak upstairs.” You explained, turning to Jimin again.

He grinned in response.

“Go ahead.”

You didn’t waste any time to walk up the stairs, Jimin making his way to the kitchen. But only once you had made it up the staircase, staring at the empty hallway in front of you, did you realize that you had no clue which room was Taehyung’s. The two of you had always stayed in the living room while you were over. But you already felt embarrassed enough about the situation and decided it was too much of a bother to go back down and ask Jimin.

It couldn’t be that hard to figure out for yourself, could it?

Your gaze floated over the doors in the hallway. You were satisfied when you realized that you heard no other noise on the second level.

‘He must not be here, then. Thank God.’

Feet taking light steps towards the first door on your left, you peeked inside. Eyes immediately drawn to the black Givenchy backpack discarded on the surface of the bed, you decided it must have been Jimin’s room and drew yourself back.

Pivoting on your heal, you headed towards the first door on the right side of the hallway, which was practically wide open. Your eyes lit up when you quickly spotted a very particular and memorable red jacket hanging over the chair by the desk. Without hesitation, you strutted into the room, focus fixated on the desk only.

‘Great. Now, let’s just get that notebook and go home.’ You leaned over the wooden surface and enthusiastically searched for your notebook.

But it wasn’t there.

When you didn’t see it immediately, a feeling of worry crept up your spine. Not thinking twice, you started looking under the other books and papers scattered over the desk, turning everything upside down, just in case.

Your eyebrows furrowed when your book was nowhere in sight, since he had clearly said he left it on his desk.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?!”

Heart practically jumping out of your chest, you whipped around to face the source of the voice, a small yelp leaving you as you did. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, it didn’t take long for you to recognize the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jung-.. Y-your room?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes. My room.”

He was wearing a basic white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, a used towel in his hands, hair visibly still damp. He must have just taken a shower.

“Why the hell were you looking through my shit?”

Realizing your hands were leaned on the desk behind you, you quickly jerked away, hands held up on either side of you.

“Shit.” You muttered. “I-I thought this was Taehyung’s room.”

“W-why would you be looking through his shit?”

You sighed heavily, heart rate slowing back down.

“I wasn’t looking thro-.. I just came to get my notebook.” You explained.

Jungkook’s confused expression then changed to one of pure annoyance.

“Your notebook, huh? You forgot it here after one of your study sessions?”

At the boy’s sarcastic tone, your eyebrows furrowed questioningly.

“Uhm, yes, actually.”

“Uh huh.” He sounded, keeping his steady glare on you.

“Is there something wrong with that?” You asked, growing irritated.

He sighed.

“I just don’t get why you guys insist on calling them ‘study sessions’ when everyone knows you’re obviously fucking. It’s like you’re ashamed.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“F-fucking?! We’re not fucking.”

A scoff.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not.”

Your irritation grew again, at a higher speed this time.

“Yes, well, we’re not!”

Jungkook smirked.

“You sure they’re not a pair of panties you left here? Using a notebook as an excuse; pathetic.”

“Jungkook, you fucking moron, Tae and I are not fucking!”

“(Y/N)...” He started exasperatedly. “Stop being a dumb liar and just admit it already.”

“What? So you have proof?”

His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“No, and thank God for that. And I don’t need it, Taehyung has clearly implied what your ‘study sessions’ are really about, telling us how you stayed here late to ‘study’ with him.” He scoffed. “Why the hell do you think I haven’t been here any of the times you were. You thought that was a convenient coincidence?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe I thought you were just avoiding me ‘cause you hate me.”

He raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips.

“Good point.” He admitted, making you narrow your eyes. “But, no, actually I just didn’t want to hear you guys going at it. Fucking disgusting.”

A huff of air escaped your nose.

“Oh, so, you still think I’m disgusting.”

His expression changed at your words, a few seconds of silence ensuing.

“Well, anyway..” You continued when he didn’t. “We aren’t fucking, so lay off.”

Jungkook sighed again.

“Why so persistent? Everyone knew he’d get you in bed sooner or later anyway. You’re probably easy, too. I mean, shit,” he laughed, “you even enjoyed making out with me at that party.”

You immediately felt hot, red color rising up your neck and over your cheeks; you weren’t sure whether embarrassment or raw fury was the reason.

“Oh, fuck you, Jeon, I did not.” You scoffed. “I was drunk.”

“Oh, please. You were barely even tipsy.” He smirked.

“The day I enjoy anything physical with you, Jeon, is the day pigs learn how to fly.” You shot back. “And also, I thought you were disgusted with that whole thing. So, why do you seem so proud about it now, huh?”

“I never said I was disgusted.”

Your aggressive look faltered in confusion at his words.

“But I’m not proud of that. You’re just, like, really pathetic.” He quickly continued.

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever you say, you dick. Now, Imma go get my notebook from Tae’s room and quickly get outta here. Who knows what bacteria is in this room after all those desperate girls you fucked in here.” You cringed exaggeratedly.

You started towards the door, but stopped when you realized Jungkook wasn’t moving. One of his eyebrows were raised, an unconvinced expression on his face.

“You’re trying to tell me you’ve never thought about it yourself? Being one of those girls.”

Your expression turned to one of bewilderment, the change in his attitude taking you off guard.

“Hell no!” You exclaimed. “You’re way too full of yourself for you own good, Jeon. I’d never wanna be one of those dumb hoes.”

He visibly held back a chuckle at your choice of words.

“Dumb hoes?”

Embarrassment threatened to grow in your stomach, but you disregarded it.

“Whatever, just move, please. I wanna leave.”

He smirked, not budging from his position in the doorway, calmly throwing the towel in his hands onto his dresser before crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Okay, I’ll ignore the whole ‘fucking Taehyung’ thing, and you’ll get to leave..” he explained, hope finally lighting up in the distance. “..If,” he continued, making your shoulders slump again, “you admit that you did enjoy making out with me that night.”

Your eyes widened.

“No way! I did not enjoy that shit. In your dreams, Jeon.”

“All you have to do is say it, (Y/N).”

“I won’t admit to something I didn’t do.”

“Then explain the moan.” He retorted, gaze darkening slightly.

You felt your heart rise to your throat.

“I-.. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was drunk.”

“Just admit it, (Y/N).”

“No, fuck you. What do you get out of it anyway?”

His smile faltered, face expressing annoyance once again.

“Just admit it. I already know you liked it, so just say it.”

“Oh, are you sad that you might be the only one who enjoyed it, huh?” You voiced in a mocking tone.

He scoffed.

“I definitely didn’t enjoy that amateur shit. I’ve had much better. Besides, who was the one who pulled away?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“You’ve had much better, huh? Y’know what? Fuck you, Jungkook. I’m leaving now.” You replied, walking forward to push him out of the way.

“No, (Y/N).” He said, quickly closing the door behind him, then taking a hold of each of your shoulders and turning around to push you against the wall next to the door, his hands landing flat on the hard surface, one on each side of your head.

Your eyes widened in shock at his action, heart definitely stopping for a second or two.

“W-wha-”

“Admit it, (Y/N).”

His maroon eyes stared right into yours, gaze unwavering and stern.

“What th-the fuck are you doing, Jungkook?! Let me go!” You raised your voice again, anger retaking its place in your gut.

“(Y/N)-”

“Why are you so fucking persistent with this stupid shit?!”

“(Y/N), (Y/N).” He said, finding your gaze again, as you were fidgeting around, trying to make him lose his encaging stance over you.

Realizing he wouldn’t budge, you gave in and looked at him, faces inches apart, furious gaze burning into his.

“Just... look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

Looking into his eyes, you somehow felt an unknown feeling hovering around you. But you weren’t going to give in.

“Jungkook, what-”

“No, (Y/N). Just look me in the eyes and say it. Then I’ll know, and you can leave. Just look at me and say you didn’t like it; not one bit, and I’ll believe you.”

At his words, you stopped moving around, once again locking your uncertain gaze with his steady one. The same unknown feeling reappeared, making you uncomfortable again. Only this time, the feeling hit you harder, being that his face was closer.

But then you realized where you were and what was happening. Anger and fury caught fire in your chest again, spreading through every vein and muscle in your body.

Instead of just saying what he wanted, you felt the urge to slap him. You did not owe him anything.

You were going to slap him again, for a second time.

Hand starting to twitch by your side, you were ready to lift it up and swing it onto his cheek, glare boring right into his. You were going to slap him and leave, and never ever speak to him again.

But once the palm of your hand finally made contact with his skin, it wasn’t in the same harsh way you had imagined. And it wasn’t just one hand; the other was moving in the exact same manner, both hands holding either of his soft cheeks between them. You had a gentle but firm grip on his face, seeing how his eyes slightly widened in puzzlement. But before he could react and you could gain control of your conscience again, your hands were pulling him down and landing his lips on yours.

Immediately you felt how Jungkook completely stiffened against you, only moments later pushing himself off of you and staring at you with saucers in the place of where his eyes were supposed to be, his hands still leaned against the wall behind you. You opened your own eyes, and once met by his flabbergasted expression, reality slowly started weighing you down again and making you wake up.

But before you could fully grasp your common sense once again and get out of the bizarre situation, he took it upon himself to lean back forward and reconnect his lips with yours, properly this time. The second he did, your rationality and prudence was floating away high above you in the sky, far from sight.

The movement of his kiss was soft and sweet at first, yet firm, contrasting his chapped lips. You instantaneously mirrored his actions, arms slowly snaking around his neck by their own will. And once he felt you press him further into you, he was quick to circle your waist with his own arms, your chests pressed steadily together.

But in only seconds, the kisses decreased in sweetness and increased in growing hunger, Jungkook sandwiching you between him and the wall, tongue quickly slipping in between your lips to meet yours.

As soon as your wet muscle met his, the same electric shock you recognized from that night at the party hit you again, only a million times harder. Because you knew that this wasn’t just for show; this was happening.

The two of you were feverishly making out against his wall in desperation, your heart rate significantly picking up speed, and the feeling of him against you made your stomach clench around itself, thighs pressing together firmly.

You could hear his breathing growing heavier along with your own, a warm tornado starting to churn deep in your stomach, heat building in between your legs. And from what was pressing lightly against your hip, you could tell he was feeling it, too.

"I... didn’t know... pigs... learned how to... fly..” He managed to say with an amused toned between kisses. You blushed in return, remembering your words from earlier.

“I-I.. don’t kno-... know what... you’re... talking ‘bout..” You replied, Jungkook barely giving you half a second to voice each word.

“Well... this is... physical... and wi-hmm... with me.... And you’re... clearly... enjoying it..”

You could feel him smirking against your lips but didn’t have time to defend yourself as he suddenly gripped the back of your left thigh with one hand, lifting it up to hook it around his hip; very similar to what he did the time at the party, only much more firm and certain. As soon as he pressed himself back into you, now against the warm spot between your legs, you let out the beginning of a whimper, barely believing how turned on you were already.

He sounded another smug chuckle, followed by a kiss.

“There’s no need to hold it back. Please, be as loud as you like.” He teased, grin sitting proud on his dazed features.

“Oh, shut up.” You groaned, only widening his smile further. “Put that annoying big mouth of yours to better use, would ya?” You retorted, a tickle bursting in your stomach at your own words.

He seemed slightly taken off guard by what you had said, letting out a shaky sigh and a quick “Oh, I will,” not wasting any more than a second or two to reconnect your lips once again.

Your fingers were tugging at his still mildly damp hair, his hands sneaking their way under the material of your shirt, growing bulge pressing into you in a way that made you have to hold back any sounds threatening to slip out. The palms of his hands coming in contact with your skin made your breath hitch, apparently not going unnoticed since you could feel him smirking against your lips again. As his hands grew greedier traveling upwards, your shirt followed along with them, and once his fingers were grazing the edge of your bra, he decided to pull the material over your head, discarding it on the floor.

He paused for a second while looking down at your almost completely exposed torso, jaw visibly slacking a bit.

His unwavering stare made you self-conscious, your brain starting to compare yourself to all the other girls you knew Jungkook had fucked before, but as if on cue, his voice cut the tense silence.

“Jesus, you’re- uhh..” He sighed absentmindedly, dragging a hand back through his hair, voice much huskier than before.

A heated blush immediately blossomed on your cheeks, his eyes finally breaking away from your chest, meeting your shy expression with a smirk.

“I think I can work with this.”

He then pulled his own shirt off, throwing it to the side, and your heart definitely skipped a beat; making you completely forget to beat him for his smug and ignorant comment.

You couldn’t help but stare at his fit and well-built, sun-kissed torso, obviously the result of working out regularly and dawning you with the fact that though a prick, he still had all the looks. You had to accept that fact with a pinch of salt and gulped down all the saliva watering in your mouth.

A breathy, baritone chuckle broke you out of your daze, your line of sight finding his again, the crimson color on your cheeks only deepening.

“Like what you see?” He offered, making you want to punch that sexy smirk right off his face. ‘Wait- Sexy?’

“Hmm,” You sounded, trying to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “I guess I can work with this.”

His eyes darkened a shade.

“Touché.”

He then placed his fingers under your chin, tilting it slightly upwards, eyes fixed on your neck.

“Are these from..”

“Yes, they are..” You sighed, remembering how the hickeys he had given you almost two weeks earlier were still visible, although not as dark anymore.

You saw him bite back a smile.

“You weren’t supposed to give me hickeys, ya know? Dick.”

He only chuckled in response.

“Can’t say I’m sorry.”

Your eyes narrowed at him.

“How ‘bout now, though?” He asked.

“Huh?”

He grinned.

“I’ll just take that as a ‘yes’.”

Then he was bending forward once again, not giving you a chance to protest, your leg still hooked around his hip. But this time his lips only left one kiss on yours, before starting to trail down along your jaw and towards your neck. You felt his tongue lap at your skin, his lips soon sucking down, teeth grazing you pleasurably. Fingers running through his hair, you started pushing your hips into his and bit your lip to conceal any whimpers that wanted to leave you.

He quickly responded to your movement, your teeth digging further into your bottom lip in turn. In only seconds, the two of you were practically grinding against each other, several new marks covering your neck.

Feeling satisfied with the patches of color on your skin, Jungkook started focusing more on the way he pressed into you. The slight change in his movement made a huge change in the effect, a light whimper finally escaping you, your hips automatically pushing forward for more. He grazed his mouth along your skin while traveling towards your ear, biting your earlobe lightly before speaking.

“Someone’s eager.” He whispered, voice dripping with smugness, his warm breath sending chills down your spine.

At his words, you decided a physical retort would fit better than a verbal one and grinded your heat in a particular motion along his clothed shaft, that had grown very stiff.

A low growl sounded by your ear, followed by a firm press of his hips, wiping the smirk right off of his face and placing it on yours.

“Yes, someone is.” You finally responded, coyly.

He gave a slightly dumbfounded chuckle.

“You’re playing with fire, (Y/N).”

“What does it matter if I’m good at it?”

He pulled his head back to meet your gaze, burning lust now evident in his eyes - although it might have just been the reflection of yours.

“You just never shut that cute little mouth of yours, do you?” He provoked, chest pressed tightly against yours.

You leaned your head in closer, the tips of your noses just barely touching.

“Then make me.” You challenged, not breaking the eye contact for even a second.

Instead of smashing his lips on yours like you had expected - and intended, for that matter - he gave an amused chuckle in turn.

“But that’s not what I want, (Y/N).” He started, hands sneaking their way behind your back. “I don’t want to make you quiet.” He unhooked the clasp of your bra, making your breath hitch. But his gaze didn’t leave yours, not once. “I want to make you loud; I want to make you scream.”

Burning heat shot the straight way down to your core at his words, your bra falling down along with it. He tilted his head down to get a view of your bare chest and shamelessly bit his lip at the sight, his large hands making their way there while traveling along your skin. You shivered when his fingertips reached the beginning of your mounds, your eyes locked on his features, arms lying slack around his neck. His hands slowly covered your breasts, kneading them softly at first to test the waters.

But when a shaky sigh of pleasure left your parted lips, brushing his face that was sitting barely an inch away from yours, he dove down, attaching his mouth to your collarbones and starting his second round of painting your skin red and purple. Your hands regained the capacity to move and started brushing through his soft hair again.

While leaving marks along your otherwise untouched skin, Jungkook traveled downwards, eventually reaching your breasts that were still being fondled by his hands. He finally started licking at your hardened nipple on your left breast, your leg now hooked further up on his waist due to him bending down. As he started sucking on the stiff bud, you couldn’t hold your sounds to yourself anymore, the slight sting you felt doing nothing but increasing the level of enjoyment bubbling in your stomach. You swore you could feel him smirk against your skin at your restricted whines and whimpers, but he still kept abusing your nipple, eventually moving to the other one.

His mouth still attached to and lapping at your breast, he started unbuttoning your jeans, pulling open the zipper and pulled them down your legs, automatically making you bring your leg down from around him. Your feet swiftly stepped out of the denim material of your trousers once they pooled around your ankles.

You looked down and a rosy blush covered your cheeks when you noticed the casual pair of gray boyshorts you had on. After all, you hadn’t expected to sleep with anyone that night; let alone your worst enemy. So, naturally, you weren’t dressed for the occasion.

Jungkook’s breathy chuckle sounded throughout the room as he also looked down to see your underwear, before straightening his legs to lock his eyes with yours, to which you only looked away in embarrassment.

“I should’ve known you aren’t the type to wear thongs on a daily.”

You didn’t know what to reply to him in return, so at the lack of your response, you felt his fingers place a gentle grip on your chin, turning your head to face him.

“What? Are you embarrassed?” He asked, voice on new levels of smug.

“Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll come off soon anyways.”

Your gut tightened at the meaning of his words, but you didn’t have much time to mull it over as the next thing you knew, Jungkook’s hands moved to place a strong grip right under your butt, suddenly lifting you up from the floor against him. A small yelp of surprise left you as your fingers instinctively grabbed onto the area between his neck and shoulders.

Your faces were less than an inch apart as you looked down at him, legs automatically locking around his waist. You stared wide-eyed into his orbs that were dark and eager, as he slowly started turning and walking towards his bed. He swiftly bent down once he reached the edge of the mattress, your butt gently being placed on the soft surface.

Once you were sat down properly, he leaned forward and placed his lips on yours, which was slightly unexpected on your part. The kiss felt sweeter than it should have, making butterflies tickle your stomach in a way that was unfamiliar. But you disregarded it as the kiss was soon over, Jungkook standing up straight, untying the knot holding the sweatpants on his hips up.

“Scoot back,” He practically demanded.

You wanted to talk back like you usually would have, but there was nothing usual about this, and you found yourself doubtlessly complying to his command immediately.

You lied there, propped up on your elbows, watching as he pulled the gray sweatpants off of his legs, leaving him in only his red boxers, before looking back up to you. But he stood still at the foot of the bed, eyeing you darkly.

“Actually I kinda like your gray underwear..” He started, mildly puzzling you. “They make it easy to see how wet and turned on I’ve gotten you.”

Your cheeks instantly started heating up at the statement, making you clench your thighs together firmly, paying more attention to the stickiness that had pooled in your poor boyshorts.

“Take them off.” He ordered, a devious smirk playing at his lips.

“Huh?” You questioned, heart stopping for a split second.

“You only have them left, (Y/N).” He stated, looking down to your panties. “Take them off.”

Your eyes widened, a thick gulp pushing its way down your throat. ‘Is he going to just stand there and watch me?’ The thought made your nerves tense as you uncertainly shifted in your position.

“Come on, (Y/N). It’s not a good idea to keep me waiting.”

You weren't exactly sure what to make of that statement, but decided you didn’t want to find out, hesitantly reaching down to start removing your comfortable underwear. When the hem of the soft material was past your hips, you quickly removed the cloth from your legs entirely, absentmindedly throwing the panties to the side, keeping your legs tightly pressed together.

Reluctantly looking up to meet Jungkook’s gaze again, you were met by a lopsided and amused smirk, making you feel even smaller than you already did.

You weren’t sure whether you actually expected praise from him or not, but you soon found out that you weren’t that lucky. At least not yet.

“Now spread your legs for me.”

Your eyes immediately widened at his sentence.

“Jungkook, I-” You tried with a timid voice, but were quickly cut off.

“(Y/N)..”

“Why are-”

“(Y/N)-”

“I don’t-”

He then bent forwards, hands landing on the mattress with a bounce, eyes steadily glaring into yours, effectively shutting you up.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me, (Y/N).”

He looked like a predator eyeing its helpless prey as he stared at you lustfully, looking ready to pounce any second. Shamefully, you weren’t sure whether it made you more intimidated or more turned on.

You didn’t dare ponder over whether or not to listen to him for much longer, taking a deep breath as you adjusted yourself on the soft sheets underneath you.

“I hate you.” You muttered, glaring at him with a pout on your face.

He only grinned in return, anticipating your next move.

You managed a gulp, looking to the side in embarrassment, not wanting to see his reaction once you complied to his orders. Slowly you started gliding your feet apart along the soft duvet, gradually spreading your legs open. It felt like time was running twice as slow, taking an eternity to finally spread your legs fully apart. You kept your gaze away from the boy in front of you, too embarrassed and unsure to actually look his way.

But when he stayed silent, you had to sneak a glance to see why he wasn’t saying anything, only to catch him staring down at your exposed womanhood, bottom lip between his teeth. If you were blushing before, you were actually turning into a tomato now.

You watched him snap out of whatever trans he was in, looking up to meet your gaze again. You noticed how much darker his eyes had gotten, appearing almost pitch-black.

“Hmm, I can smell you from over here.” He revealed smugly, a look of embarrassment dawning over you again.

And then he was crawling forward, making your eyes widen, which he only gave another smirk to in return. He stopped once he was hovering over your exposed heat, peering down at you with dark eyes. But he didn’t say anything, just lied down until his face was only inches away from your wetness.

You felt heat starting to pound between you legs, a sudden rush of neediness coming over you as you watched Jungkook lie over your hips, staring at you with sultry hunger and lust. He shifted his gaze downwards, visibly biting back what you assumed would have been a chuckle, before looking back up at you with dazed eyes.

“Look at you, you’re getting my sheets wet.” He said, making you wonder if it was his life’s mission to make you crumble in embarrassment. “That’s so sexy..” He sighed, gaze fixated on your exposed entrance again. You almost moaned at the way he looked along with his words, your walls clenching around nothing.

Without warning, you felt the tip of his finger at your slit, making you suck in a sharp breath through your nose, pursing your lips to swallow the sounds that were threatening to fall out of you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet..” Jungkook stated with a breathy but low voice.

His digit easily slid along your slick folds, due to the juices that kept dripping out of you. He experimentally moved his finger along your slit, teasing at your entrance, making you bite your lip harshly.

He looked up to your face, your expression seemingly amusing to him as he gave a devilish smirk. He kept his eyes locked with yours while dipping his head down, his tongue darting out to give a small kitten lick to your clit, fingertip still at your entrance, and the action made you practically squirm in need, your lips pursing in an even harder fashion. Jungkook grinned as your hips lifted up to feel more of his tongue and finger, him only tilting his head away in return.

“Jungkook, stop teasing me you- ngh... fucking prick.” You managed, voice needy and restricted, afraid that you’ll moan otherwise.

He audibly chuckled at your wrecked state, his amusement both irritating and somehow incredibly hot.

“But, you see, I kinda like it this way.” He provoked, tilting his head with plastic innocence.

“Jungkook..”

“What? What are you gonna do to change my mind?”

You thought over his words for a second, slowly realizing what he wanted you to say. But despite your current state, you were still too proud to give into him yet.

“Jungkook, just stop teasing me.” You tried again, slightly distracted by his finger still teasing your slit.

“What was that?” He persisted, moving his finger to graze over your swollen bud of nerves, making your hands fist the sheets under you.

You were a mess; and that was an understatement. You needed to be touched properly, you needed to have your building release. And frankly, you couldn’t stand his teasing much longer.

‘Pride? What is pride worth, anyway?’ You told yourself, figuring that you were past the point of caring either way.

“Please.” You finally gave in, looking away as you said the dreaded word.

“Please what?”

You felt like groaning, like punching him in the face, like choking him. But there was something from him that you wanted more at that point.

“Please... touch me.”

You glanced down at him again, eyelids half-opened, watching as Jungkook gave a heavy sigh at your words, looking like he was on the verge of breaking, himself.

“Mhm, is that what you want, (Y/N)?”

“Yes. Please.”

He managed an almost sinister smirk.

“Not as feisty anymore, are you?” He stated, obviously satisfied. “But, your wish is my command.”

And then he was diving down, instantly drawing a long lick up your slit with his tongue.

Your body practically collapsed onto the mattress, elbows giving in, your hand slapping itself over your mouth to force any sounds to stay hidden.

Jungkook kept placing long and almost intricate licks over your heat, savoring the taste coating his tongue. You had to hold your breath to make sure no sounds would slip out, your free hand still squeezing the sheets harshly.

He moved to cover your clit with his now wet lips, sucking mercilessly on the bud, making your muscles contract, back arching slightly off of the bed, your hand pressing against your mouth harder than it ever had before.

His hot breath brushed over your wet womanhood as he sighed, lifting his head to look up at you with a half amused, half frustrated expression. You panted desperately, barely whining at the loss of touch, looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“No, no, (Y/N). Hand off your mouth. I wanna hear how I make you feel.”

You slowly removed your hand, your only intent to reply.

“But.. Jimin is downstairs. He could hear us.”

“Let him. He’s gotten used to it.” Jungkook shrugged, his infamous smug smirk reappearing.

“But I- ahh..” You were cut off by him suddenly sucking down on your clit again, making a loud moan finally leave your mouth, as you hadn’t been prepared.

A sound that was a mixture of a chuckle and a breathy moan left the boy in front of you, his head once again tilting up to meet your embarrassed face.

“Jungkook!” You exclaimed, slamming your hand down on the mattress in a scolding manner.

“Nuh-uh, if that’s what you sound like, don’t you dare cover that mouth again.”

A small tickle burst in your stomach at his words, but you didn’t have time to think the feeling over, as Jungkook once again dove down to lap at your dripping heat.

You tried to hold back sounds without having to use your hands for awhile, but as his tongue started teasing at your entrance, you completely lost all care you had ever had.

Sounds started falling melodically out of your mouth, Jungkook burying his mouth in your core, his chin completely covered in your succulence, nose grazing over your clit.

You could feel him groaning against you, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure and you could already feel a boiling heat tightening in the pit of your stomach.

But the man lapping so beautifully at your lower lips decided that you weren’t getting enough, and without warning added a finger to the mixture, easily sliding it in through your entrance, making a slightly louder moan of yours sound through the room.

“Hmm, that’s it..” Jungkook pretty much moaned out, before his tongue darted out to lick at your clit.

His finger started pumping in and out of you, the back of your head pressing into the bed in pleasure. You had completely stopped caring about how loud you were, even about if Jimin could hear you or not. You were too desperate for your sweet release, feeling it inch closer with every thrust of Jungkook’s finger.

Eventually, after letting you writhe in pleasure for awhile, he started curling his finger against your walls, effectively finding that special bundle of nerves and making your voice catch in your throat.

“Ngh... Jungkook..” You moaned shamelessly, said boy groaning in response, his lips once again surrounding your clit to suck at it.

Your hands darted down to pull at his hair, hips grinding against his mouth and finger, reveling in the way his fingernail grazed your g-spot, making you moan louder each time.

In only a few more moments, you already felt the tightening knot ready to burst, your moans growing louder and breath growing heavier, fingers feverishly pulling at Jungkook’s dark hair, face contorting in raw pleasure.

“J-Jungkook.... I’m- ahh... I’m gonna..”

“Let go, (Y/N). Come all over my tongue. Let me feel you come around my finger.”

His words only pushed you further towards the edge, making you ready to explode at any moment. In only seconds, the way his finger kept finding your g-spot, his mouth expertly working on your clit, the way his voice vibrated against you, the way he looked while mercilessly eating you out like there was no tomorrow, it all finally became too much, all of your muscles tensing as the most incredible climax you could imagine washed over you.

“Jungkook!”

Your walls clenched tightly around his finger, short but loud moans falling out of your agape mouth in a harmonic rhythm, making him groan over you. White pleasure exploded behind your eyes, toes curling and thighs contracting in pure ecstasy. You felt like you were flying, like your body was sent into euphoria.

He kept pumping his finger in and out of you, riding out your high as best he could, keeping you a writhing mess before him as long as possible.

Eventually, your body started to relax, lungs panting for air, a sheen of sweat covering your naked body, hands lying slack in Jungkook’s hair.

Once you started jerking away from the touch of his tongue as he was determinedly licking up all of your release, he slowly lifted his head up again, your neck barely being able to crane itself to watch him.

He had a hungry expression on his face, your juices dripping down his chin and almost making you moan at the sight.

“Hmm, that was so hot..” He commented, looking at you with a devilish gaze, your stomach still rising and falling, breath fighting to regain its normal pace.

He started crawling up along your body, keeping his gaze steady with yours, until he was hovering over your fucked out face.

“Did you like that, (Y/N)? Did I make you feel good?”

Deciding that Jungkook was definitely into dirty talk, you figured it was his turn to feel that pleasure, your hand managing to sneak down to his clothed bulge that had grown unbelievably stiff.

“Yes, you did.” you panted. “Want me to make you feel good, too?”

Your hand lightly started caressing him through the material of his boxers, immediately making his muscles jerk while he let out a breathy moan, which was probably the sexiest sound you had ever heard.

But to your surprise, Jungkook reached one hand down to quickly pull your fingers away, letting out a slightly dumbfounded chuckle.

“No, no, (Y/N). There’s no need for that. If you start blowing me now, I’m gonna come right away.” He admitted, a dazed smile peering down at you.

You weren’t sure whether to feel proud or fascinated with the fact that he had gotten that hard without you having touched him even once, but you were distracted from the thought when you felt need building down in your heat again.

Being that you had no shame or pride left to give, you seductively slid your hand up along his naked stomach and chest, caressing your thigh along his leg.

“Well, then, what are you waiting for? Fuck me, Jungkook.”

A grin resembling amusement and amazement at the same time, quickly grew on his face, contrasting his darkening eyes.

“Oh, is that what you want me to do? You want me to fuck that tight and cute little pussy of yours? You want my hard cock inside you?”

You almost released a moan at his words, hips once again writhing in the search for stimulation for your heat.

“Yes.” You managed, smugness dawning over his features at your expression.

“Hmm, what’s the magic word, (Y/N)?” He murmured, lowering his head down to bite and lick at your earlobe.

“Please, Jungkook. Please, fuck me.”

He growled right into your ear at your submissiveness, clothed member lowering down to grind once against your wet folds. You moaned out loud at the action, making the boy above you repeat the movement, before he was pushing himself up to meet your gaze again.

“Is that what you want? Me to fuck you until you come all over me again?”

“Yes. Yes, please, Jungkook. Fuck me.”

“Ohh, that’s so fucking hot.” Jungkook breathed out, sitting himself up straight between your legs to finally remove his boxers that had gotten wet from grinding into your dripping heat, another spot formed from his precum. “You’ve been such a good girl, (Y/N). So, I’ll give you what you want, since you asked so nicely for me.”

Then he was hovering back over you, boxers disregarded somewhere in the room. His arm reached over to his bedside table, swiftly pulling out a condom. He gave you a quick kiss on the lips before sitting up and rolling the rubber onto his shaft, which you finally got a proper glimpse of for the first time. Realizing how big he was, you almost got nervous as to how he would fit, and if it might hurt. But either way, you wanted nothing more than for him to be inside you as quickly as possible, staring down at his delicious-looking length, making your walls clench around air in anticipation.

As soon as he was done putting the condom on, he was hovering over you again, locking his lustful gaze with yours.

“Are you ready, (Y/N).”

“Yes.”

At your affirmation, he didn’t waste anymore time, being that he was also too hungry to keep teasing and waiting. He needed to be inside you as much as you needed him to be.

You felt the tip of his member starting to slide along your lower lips, Jungkook using one hand to guide it, watching your face as you shifted underneath him in need and desire.

Once his head was coated in your succulence, he decided the both of you were ready. Carefully, he started pressing into your entrance, making you moan loudly, your walls immediately clenching in desperation.

“Ahh, (Y/N). You’re gonna have to relax and open up for me.”

You whined in response, doing your best to make your walls stop contracting in need for touch.

He smiled down at your needy state, feeling you loosen up for him.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

You almost started tightening again at his praising words, but kept yourself open, feeling how the tip of his shaft slowly started sliding into you, making your breath hitch followed by a short whine.

He moved carefully, the hand that was guiding his shaft placing itself next your head to prop himself up with better balance.

You could see how his arms were tense, as he was probably keeping himself from thrusting into you right away.

Once he was halfway inside of you, he let out a low growl.

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight.”

You sighed at the way he stretched your walls deliciously, involuntarily making you clench down around him quickly.

He gave an immediate reaction, hips jerking mildly, the veins in his neck on full show from him trying so hard not to give into his own neediness.

“Jesus, (Y/N), don’t do that.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

He chuckled at your apology.

“Don’t apologize. Just relax.”

You had to take deep breaths to open up properly again, Jungkook gently starting to slide further into you, your teeth automatically going to bite your bottom lip harshly.

And then you finally felt him slide all the way inside you, making you moan out as Jungkook groaned above you, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, hips tense due to him wanting to wait for you to adjust.

“O-okay.. You can move..” You sighed, feeling stretched out enough and too needy to wait anymore, your own hips moving slightly to encourage him.

“Ngh-.. Okay.. Shit..” He let out a deep groan as soon as he started moving, sliding himself halfway out of you before thrusting carefully back in again. Your hands went to claw at his back at the sensation, trying to move your hips to make him speed up, nothing but pleasure dawning over you at the feeling of him between your walls.

He caught onto your intention, slowly but surely picking up the pace, breath growing heavier against your skin as he did.

Sounds quickly started falling from your open mouth, your nails scratching at his back as he growled into your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good, (Y/N).”

Seeing as his neck was right next to your face, you tilted over and started licking and sucking at his skin, feeling his thrusts becoming gradually harder as you bravely left marks of your own, liking the way he reacted.

He rolled his hips into yours pleasurably, reveling in the way your hot walls encouraged him, your moans adding to the enthusiasm in his thrusts.

“Ahh, Jungkook..” You moaned into his soft skin, loving the way he smelled, his rock-hard length pumping in and out of you at a faster pace.

“Ngh, shit... You’re so tight around me..”

He then lifted his face out of the the crook of your neck to meet your half-opened eyes, watching your face contort in pleasure beneath him. You watched him as he lowered your hands from his back, suddenly intertwining his fingers with yours, holding them down against the mattress on either side of your head. Eyes widening at the almost affectionate action, Jungkook adjusted his position between your legs.

He then started moving again, staring into your eyes with a dark and unwavering gaze as he did, the slightly different position giving a different angle on how he moved inside you, making your back arch off of the bed.

“Ohh, fuck-... Jungkook, that feels so good..” You moaned out, eyebrows furrowed in building bliss.

“Mhm, you like tha- uhh.. like that, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, please. Move faster, mmh...” You practically begged, writhing underneath his fit frame.

Without hesitation, he increased his pace, focusing on the way his hips grinded into you, soon finding your g-spot once again. You gave an immediate reaction, jerking in pleasure, your high building faster this time due to having already come once.

Jungkook then leaned down to place his forehead against yours, staring steadily into your dilated pupils, that were peering back up at him in a fucked out state.

“Huh, you like the way my cock feels inside of you?” He growled down at you, keeping a rhythm with his thrusts.

“Y-yes.. I like it so much..” You admitted, walls instinctively clenching around him again.

He let out a breathy moan at the feeling, pace quickening even further.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight for me... Ahh, (Y/N)..”

The way his hips snapped into yours eventually made that familiar knot start churning in your stomach, enjoyment only heightening with every second that passed.

Jungkook could tell your high was building by the way you were contracting around him, the sensation also pushing him closer to the edge already, his heavy breaths and growls accompanying your sweet moans with the rhythm of his thrusts, the only other thing heard in the room being the wetness as he pumped himself into you.

He released one of your hands from his, guiding his fingers down between your writhing bodies, finding your swollen, pink clit with ease. The moment his digit touched the sensitive bundle of nerves, you felt like you were going to lose your mind. Your climax was coming unbelievably close, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure pleasure.

“You like that, (Y/N)? You like the way I make you feel?”

“Ahh, oh yes, Jungkook! Nghh, I’m getting close, uhh...”

“Let it go for me, come- ahh, fuck... C-come for me, baby.”

‘Baby?’

You weren’t sure whether it was the way his shaft trusted so beautifully into your g-spot, or the way he looked so pleasured above you, or the way that pet name sounded so amazing rolling off of his tongue for you, but the next thing you knew, you were reaching your second climax.

Your eyes closed in ecstasy as your body jerked against Jungkook, walls squeezing him tightly while coating him in your succulence. The sounds uncontrollably coming out of your mouth were sure to be heard all through the house, bliss making you see nothing but hot white in front of you.

Jungkook growled above you, thrusts losing rhythm as he started falling over the edge with you, trying to help you ride out your high.

“Fuck, you feel so good when you clench like tha- aaah... Shit!” And then he was following you into euphoria, his breathy moans mixing with yours through the otherwise quiet room, hot seed shooting into the material of the condom.

He kept snapping himself into you, milking his member as much as he could, breathing heavily while keeping the both of you high for as long as possible.

And then it was like a staircase, bringing you down from the closest you had ever gotten to heaven.

Eventually, you grew oversensitive, uncomfortably jerking away from his finger that was still on your clit, and once he had also come back from his ecstasy, he collapsed down onto you, panting into the sticky skin on your neck. Your chest was rising and falling desperately just like his, the both of you steadily breathing yourselves back into what you called reality.

Regaining the strength to move, Jungkook lifted himself to look at your face, placing his lips on yours, one hand still entwined with yours.

As he kissed you, it suddenly hit you how oddly intimate it felt. The way you were holding hands, the way his forehead had been leaned on yours, the way he was kissing you. But you pushed the thought away, too tired to focus on anything other than the way his soft lips moved against yours.

Once he released his lips from your own, your breaths finally returning to a somewhat normal pace, he slowly climbed off of you to throw the condom away.

The few short seconds you had by yourself while he walked to his trashcan, was enough time for fatigue to hit you hard.

As you felt the bed shift under Jungkook’s weight, you realized your eyes were already closed, and you didn’t have enough power to open them again.

Then you were zoning out completely, falling deep into dreamland, no more words exchanged.

[APR 12 - 2017 9:00 PM]

[clonerightsagenda]

Most of this popped into my head way earlier this year, but I thought I’d polish it up for this update.

So here’s a double eulogy, I guess, for a character I finally came to love when I had to kill her.

“Dreambubbles can be disorienting at first,” Tavros says to a gathered crowd of ghosts. Stating the obvious is a major part of his orientation speech for new recruits.

You lean against the hull of his flagship just out of view, arms crossed. This latest batch was a team effort, same as the one before. You’re not allowed to go out on solo rescue missions yet, only to serve as bait. Apparently you’re “unreliable”, like you weren’t FLARP champion of your hiveblock with all the achievements to your name.  All the important ones, anyway.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times, first as its victim and now as an observer. You want to jump onto the deck and shove him out of the way so you can set the record straight. “Listen up, losers. We’re not important. We’re not here for a reason, except that we messed up or someone stuck a sword through our backs. We’re dead weight, dead. Get used to it and get moving, unless you want to be dust too.”

That wouldn’t “send the right message”, though, so instead you scowl while Tavros drones on. One day. One day you’ll do it, once you’ve figured out where to go next and are ready to bail. A fitting farewell to this juvenile playacting, to remind them what real go-getters look like.

“There aren’t any obvious boundaries between one place and the next, which you might have noticed,” Tavros goes on. The Boy Skylark can win some achievements for self-evidency, anyway. “And the bubbles themselves tend to, merge together or drift apart. That’s normal. You should just expect that, um, the only thing to expect here is everything changing all the time.” You roll your eyes. Eloquent. “Even you!” he adds. “You’re not bound, to be whoever you were before you came here. Whatever that might be. Even if there are things you feel bad about, or wish you could change. If you take enough steps here, the place you’re in could change into a field, or a mountain, or a lake. There’s no reason, that if you take enough steps, you can’t change into something else too.”

Feel good wiggler crap. You’ve always hated these speeches.

#

“Why are you working with this freakshow?” Eridan asks.

Tavros assigned you to deal with him while he adjusts. You guess your not-leader figures Eridan will respond to a higher blood better, and he has the sense not to ask Feferi to grubsit. So when someone has to deliver marching orders to your newest recruit and you’re not off roaming the fringes of the Furthest Ring, that’s your job.

“I wanted revenge,” you say, tossing the map with Tavros’s latest coordinates in his direction. He doesn’t catch it. Another Eridan helped plan the fleet placements, putting that military history obsession to work, but you’re not going to tell him if he doesn’t ask. “This was a way to get it.”

“Not charging directly at the big bad and getting your ass kicked?” He scoffs, polishing a smudge only he can see off his rifle. “You have changed.”

“I’m biding my time.” You say it loftily, to suggest plans are already in motion. After all, this was supposed be a temporary arrangement, a way to regain your strength and sense of purpose. Then you’d find a new, bigger plan, a way to take English down once and for all.

It’s been sweeps. You haven’t come up with one yet.

Instead you’ve settled into whatever this existence is, a team member whose role is not being part of the team, bait for a destroyer of worlds. It’s not all bad. Gets the adrenaline pumping, for sure, which is vital in a place that lulls you into quiescence. Even though the Furthest Ring isn’t a natural home for Light players, you’ve gotten good at it. If there’s anything you’ve got a knack for, it’s adapting to places that want to kill you.

You learn how to let memories bubble up from inside you and warp your surroundings into shelter and places to hide. You learn how to leap from bubble to bubble when they’re not quite touching, bracing yourself for the chill of the Furthest Ring and the song of the horrorterrors scraping like frozen blades across your mind. You learn the fickleness of luck (winning a coin toss doesn’t matter if your sister stabs you in the back) and wrap fortune around only the outcomes you’ve thought through. It’s like one of those too-clever storybook genies, twisting your wishes, taking you at your word and leaving you scrambling to set things right. Luck must be handled with care.

English has a lot of luck to steal, at least. Everything works out in his favor in the end – that’s more than luck; it’s certainty. You can’t do much with a probability of 100%, but you can slow him down and leach off bits around the edges, making him a hair too slow and yourself just fast enough. You can dart around the margins of his story, for now.

There are moments where it’s tempting to make your successful outcome exclude you, when oblivion calls with its seductively easy way out. This place drains you. Fighting is hard. But sitting still and remembering is nearly as bad. Everyone’s haunted by their memories. Some are just lucky enough that they can’t see the ghosts.

#

The first time you try the savior gig, it doesn’t go well.

Tavros finally lets you off your leash, mostly because English is gunning for two different locations at once. The whole Time hero thing is a real pain in the ass sometimes. You navigate to a shadowy place made up of forests and deep gorges. Finding dreamers is difficult in the gloom, but eventually you draw together a crowd by tugging their attention your way, another Light trick you’ve learned.

“Hey everyone,” you say. “I’m going to be your rescuer today.”

An Aradiabot sneers. “You? You think you’re helping us?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” you demand. “Is it illegal on some notice plastered up somewhere I didn’t read?”

“It’d be unprecedented.”

Leave it to her robo-clones to hold a grudge, just because of a little bit of murder. “I’m all you’ve got, I’m afraid. Any takers?”

No one else says anything, but they don’t start moving either. What’s their problem? Can’t they see that this is important?

You coax and bully and cajole (but you don’t use mind control, not with the memory of glowing eyes and grasping hands still fresh) but they’re slow to move and there’s no time. “Fine,” you snap. “Tavros can come get you here. I’m supposed to be the bait anyway. I’ll lead English away. But if you can possibly bear it, it might be a good idea to head in the opposite direction.”

You hear later that about half of them made it out, the other half hit by a strafe of reality-shattering power before English turned to chase you through a land of flashing colors and fireflies. “We rescued ten,” Tavros says. “That’s good.”

“Good?” you repeat. You either win or you lose; there’s no half and half draw. You lost, and you lost because of you. Why didn’t they listen? You recall the disgusted curl of Aradia’s metal lips and are reminded of that brief time in Tavros’s mind, the uncomfortable sensation of looking at yourself from the outside in. No one ever seems to like what they see.

Obviously they’re not looking right. Who knows you better than yourself?

#

Other Alternian dreamers’ gazes on you feel different after that. The Beforans don’t know you, but you don’t want to run into any Araneas or Meenahs (and definitely not Kurloz) so you keep to yourself. That’s your purpose, after all. Keep English away from anyone important. Keep him focused on you.

There aren’t many humans in the bubbles. Their Time hero was careful (afraid) and kept as linear as he could. Your session was too long, too many ways to get things wrong or the wrong sort of right. Aradia needed an army to keep the Black King in check, and she got one. The many ways your species could fuck it up is splattered in bloody colors all across the Furthest Ring.

You do run into him a few times. He’s almost always living in a memory that doesn’t include you, or he knows Alternians only as messages over Pesterchum. If you step into his hive, his eyes slide right past you.

Once, though, you open a door in a land of dark landmasses and cogwheels rising out of lava that reminds you of Karkat’s, walk right into a human bedroom, and nearly jump out of your skin when he says, “Hey.”

“You know who I am?” you ask.

“I know what you are,” he says. “Don’t think we ever talked.”

“No,” you say. “Not out there or in here. None of your selves want to remember.”

“Can’t blame them.” He rubs his eyes, and you see a sliver of white from behind the shades he insists on wearing as they slide up the bridge of his nose. “My friends. Did they get out ok?”

You haven’t heard from anyone living in sweeps. Is the game over? Would you still be here if it was? “I haven’t seen many of them around,” you say. “I think they might have a chance at winning.”

“That’s good.”

You study him – the human Terezi adopted, who you’d taken quick glances at just to see why she’d waste her time on him. You still don’t get it. Except that he does a bad job of hiding himself, and she loves it when people put themselves out there for her while pretending it’s a challenge. Among the humans, his guardian seemed the best at preparing him like Alternia tried to do, but it didn’t work very well. The cracks are obvious.

Did she think yours were obvious too?

“Well, I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” you say, and turn to go. You get your mind right before you twist the knob of the door you just came through, and it opens this time onto the Land of Little Cubes and Tea.

“Nice trick,” he says.

“You can join up, if you want,” you say over your shoulder. “We’re collecting.”

“Nah.” He retreats to his desk, opening a copy of Pesterchum where every contact is stuck on idle. “I did my part. Leave me to play my shitty video games in peace until the Incredible Hulk ushers me past the great beyond.”

#

You send a message to Aradia, since she’s the one who ministers to lost souls brooding forever in their personal memory-holes. She’s good at it, too. “How did you turn into such an expert therapist?” you ask her once, while taking a breather atop a floating lily pad. The last narrow escape involved crawling through clinging vines, and the grasping tendrils ruined your braids. You disentangle your uneven attempt at fixing them and start over. “I don’t remember that being in your skillset.”

“I wasn’t an expert, not at first.” She waves her latest convert away and then plucks at one of your clumsy plaits. “Here, let me.” You flinch – when was the last time someone touched you? – and she clicks her tongue. “You’ve got a knot here. I’ll have to tug. Think you’re tough enough?”

“Sure,” you say, and try to relax like this is normal, like the last person who did this sweeps ago didn’t go up in smoke.

“That’s not the first Latula I’ve talked to,” she says as she works. “Or even the tenth. They have different memories, but a lot of the pain underneath is the same. Eventually you learn the right things to say, even if it’s by trial and error. It’s not hard to sound wise then.”

You remember her kneeling down as you lay sprawled on white sands and wishing your second life was over. “You don’t have that practice with me.”

“No. But it wasn’t hard to guess that you’d want to do something, after what had happened. Beyond that, you’re right. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, or your regrets. But I’m not sure you do either. Besides…” She ties off one braid and moves to the next, easing apart the strands and smoothing them out. “A lot of the dreamers are here because of me. It’s not my fault, entirely, but I still made them. Shouldn’t I make sure they’re happy, as much as they can be?”

Causality tangles you up sometimes, like the twisted corpses of your lusus’s victims dangling like sad party favors from her webs. How much can you say is yours, in a multiverse where so much is foretold? You contacted the humans because of their Jack. Their Jack was able to enter your session because of you. Which comes first? Whose fault is it? Does it matter?

“Do you think I did bad things?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says.

You’re stung by her tone more than anything else, how her fingers don’t even hesitate at their work. “But I didn’t mean to. And there were extenuating circumstances for basically everything. I could list them off. Extenuation after extenuation, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You didn’t ask me if I thought you had reasons for what you did,” she says, exchanging a smile with a far-off Porrim. “You asked me if you did it.”

There’s not much you can say to that. There usually isn’t.

#

Sometimes you spend some time with the others, before your Light hero aura draws English in too close and you have to leave again. Ghosts come and go, but the group from your timeline has become tight-knit, and sometimes they loosen the weave enough to let you in.

“Vriska!” Nepeta calls. “It’s been sweeps.”

Nepeta has taken to the bubbles well, rubbing shoulders effortlessly with her hordes of alternates, swapping stories and giggling like it’s not uncanny at all. Wherever she is, Feferi is never far behind. You spot her now a little ways back, signing with a Meulin. She picked up Beforan Sign Language fast, saying it would’ve been helpful for working underwater. All of you know the simpler words and use them to communicate in close quarters when danger is too present for speech. You learned “help” first, fist on palm, thumb up, variations in meaning based on the motion of your hands. I help you. You help me. We help each other.

You can’t follow what they’re saying now, but you do catch the sign they’ve created for Lord English: “E” hands held cupping the eyes like the hollow eye sockets of a skull. At least that’s what it’s supposed to look like. It makes you think of people covering their faces in fear, but that’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to point out. Bad for morale. Like telling people that you’ve been all over the Furthest Ring, and there’s a lot less of it than there used to be.

“Have you heard about our plan?” Nepeta asks, as Feferi jogs over to join her.

“Plan?”

“We’re not supposed to spill the details yet, remember?” Feferi nudges her with her elbow and grins, showing off rows of shark teeth. The sight reminds you of Meenah’s sharp smile, and you swallow. “We have to make sure it works first. Then we’ll tell everyone.”

“A few more practice rounds would be a good idea. Do you think you can talk Sollux into helping out again?”

“He’ll be grumpy about it, but I’ll try.” Feferi waves at you and sprints off again. She’s animated for a dreamer, but then most people who stay close to Tavros are. Dreamers you have to harangue to even make them look your way perk up at the sight of him, soaking up his assurances that they matter, that they can still grow and change and do things, like Kanaya soaked up sunlight. Is this what the Summoner or Karkat’s ancestor were like, all those sweeps ago? No wonder the Empress wanted both of them dead.

Nepeta’s as cheerful as she always was, but her time here has given her an inner stability you lack. She settles beside you. “I like your bracelets.”

You twist the smooth bands around your wrist. Some of Meenah’s fashion sense stayed; you weren’t copying it all just so she’d like you more. Maybe Alternians as a rule thought fashion was stupid, but Alternians weren’t right about everything. “Thanks. I like your vest.” It must be new, but the cloth is already as ragged as the rest of her clothes. Even when she’s not prowling through jungles, her hands are busy plucking at loose threads or picking at gaps in the weave.

She taps what looks like one of many scales studding the fabric. “I got it from another me. She liked my coat, so we traded. It’s fun to change occasionally.”

You tug at your hair – in a ponytail today – and wonder if she means to tease. “You don’t think it’s weird, meeting other versions of yourself?”

“Why would it be? It’s nice, seeing all the different things I’ve done, like living a million lifetimes with a million possibilities. Of course, not all of them are as lively as us. But they can teach us things.” She nods over at Feferi. “Learning about her other self on Beforus helped her see the problems in her ideas of reform. Although knowing us lowbloods alone might’ve done the trick! Sometimes you need another perspective to navigate, like our maps where you need a bunch of coordinates to know where to go.”

You and Tavros haven’t spoken again about your brief time in each other’s minds. Sollux and Eridan pretend it never happened. Feferi and Nepeta are the only two who emerged without unease, although Feferi does joke that it helps to have four hands again. What would it be like, to not mind someone seeing you that closely? “Are you two matesprits?” you ask.

She blushes olive and punches you on the shoulder. “Don’t be nosy!”

“Fiiiiiiiine. I thought you liked that kind of gossip.”

“It’s different when it’s about you.” The blush hasn’t left her cheeks.

“I won’t pry then. But if you need me to find you some chalk in a memory to update your shipping wall, let me know. I find lots of great loot out there.” You turn out your empty pockets for her inspection. “I’ll have to bring back presents next time. We can have a late perigree’s eve party. Or early. I can’t keep track, but we’ve probably missed a hundred or so.”

“I’d like a celebration. Even if it’s a ‘we survived this long’ party.” Nepeta digs her nails under the edge of another scale on her vest. “Sometimes I forget you’re from our timeline,” she says frankly. “You’re a lot nicer now.”

You stuff your pockets back in your pants, unsure of how to respond. “Thanks?”

“Sorry if that was rude.” She sneaks a look over at you from underneath her bangs. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“There’s not much of a standard of comparison. There aren’t any other mes out there.”

“Even if you can’t see them walking around, you can meet the versions of yourself that you used to be.” She taps her chest. “They’re all still right here.”

“I’m not looking for enlightenment in your rumblespheres,” you say, and she snorts so loud you start laughing too.

#

Sollux approaches you not long after. You’re not sure if he’s half dead again now that Eridan’s back. He doesn’t like to be asked. His lisp is still gone, replaced by the hollow tones you remember from Aradia’s post-death days. “I still don’t trust you,” he says.

“Hello to you too.”

He ignores you. “AA thinks it’s not her place to judge, and Nepeta and Feferi always look for the best in people. But me? I remember what you made me do. You liked it.”

He’s right. Oh, Scratch helped talk you into things, but the sick twists on top? Those were yours. Making Tavros fly off a cliff like Pupa Pan, sending Sollux to kill Aradia for you – you prided yourself on getting people where it hurt them most. It showed you were clever, someone not to be messed with. You’d meant to leave an impression. Looks like you succeeded.

“I’ve kept you safe here,” you say.

“And I want to know why. You never do anything if there isn’t something in it for you.”

You hug your knees. “Eridan asked the same thing.” Maybe that’ll put him off.

“I hate the bastard, but he’s got a point.”

“I want English to suffer,” you say, because it’s the truth. And to your surprise, the next bit is too. “And I want to be better than him.”

He scowls. “At least he’s impersonal about killing us.”

Did he come out here to insult you? Look at yourself from another perspective, Nepeta said, so you try. It’s tricky, but so is shuffling through a life and death’s worth of memories and dragging them out into the world. Mental acrobatics keep you safe these days. What memories would he have of you?

Vriska Serket, Mindfang wannabe and power gamer extraordinaire, always ready to leave her team without their strongest player in the middle of a melee if it meant netting more xp or the choicest treasure. One time you deliberately stepped on an alarmed panel to summon an emerald basilisk for its drops, even though no one else near you had the levels to deal with it. You’d only laughed when it plowed through them and nearly reduced Tavros’ gel viscosity to zero. Even on Alternia, land of a bunch of rowdy wigglers with no self-control, you’d built a reputation as someone who left broken people and broken things in her wake. Now you’re all trapped in a shrinking space with a killer who’s got your scent. You may be the expendable one, the distraction, but you have the power to kill them all just by sitting still. No wonder he’s worried.

“I’m not planning anything,” you say. “No scheme that’ll blow up in my face, no duplicitous double crosses. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you, just like that?”

“Tavros trusts me.”

He snorts. “He’s an optimist. But I’ll believe him more than anything you tell me.”

You look up at the cracking void, at all the damage English has left behind that the rest of you could never fix, not in a million sweeps. “That’s probably for the best.”

#

Time doesn’t pass the same way here. You’re old, so old, but you can’t age, and so you never grow out of ancient hurts or childish arguments. Those things keep most of the dead chained down reliving their petty problems until English blasts them to smithereens. That works in the gods’ favor. Maybe the dead are happier that way too; you don’t know.

You try to avoid Terezis. You’ve never seen the one from your timeline. She’d be older now; you don’t know by how much. You haven’t seen another you out here either. God Tiering so early, most of them probably faded in doomed timelines. The ones who died would have been easy prey for English’s rampage. You don’t want to talk to these fellow sisterless members of Team Scourge. You’re not looking for each other.

One does talk to you, though, when you’re shepherding people into a cave that turns into paneled meteor hallways that turn into a beach where Tavros’ ship is waiting. She’s lingering behind, and English nearly catches you. The first memory that springs to mind as a hiding place is your old clubhouse deep in the Alternian forest. You both squeeze inside the structure of fallen branches and propped up boards, and she runs her fingers over a curling Mindfang drawing. Sheesh, you were embarrassing. Can she see it? You don’t know if death has restored her eyesight. Her eyes are white now, just like yours.

“Sorry for the crummy accommodations,” you say. “I don’t want to lead him after the others, so we’ll lie low for a while and then jump somewhere else.”

“It’s fine,” she says, hunkering down on a locked treasure chest. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Brings back memories, huh?” You look up, where light filters through the cracking roof. The two of you share this part of your past, at least.

“Lots.”

“What happened to you?” you ask, cautiously. With the way timelines work, you’re not sure whether the Terezi who would’ve died if you’d gone after Jack exists as a dreamer or only as a possibility. One day you’re afraid you’ll run into one who’s here because of you.

She sighs, digging her fingers into the seams between the planks of the treasure chest. “Most of us died fighting the Black King. Feferi’s lusus getting prototyped was a big mistake. Aradia reversed, of course, but… a psychic blast isn’t Heroic or Just, and you must’ve come back before she doomed the timeline, so you didn’t show up here.”

“I’ve never met another me,” you say. “Probably for the best. We’d get into fights. Too many strong personalities; you know how it is. I’m always right, obviously, but what happens if I disagree?”

She snickers at that, like you’d hoped. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard her laugh. No one else has one like it. “I was worried about her. We’d never completely patched things over after FLARP, and she was always so reckless. We were supposed to be in charge of a whole world once we won. I didn’t know if you could handle that. I’m glad I met you, even if you’re not her. It’s nice to know you turned out alright.”

“That’s me,” you say. “Turned out great.” And then, to change the subject, you add, “We kind of won. But something happened, right at the end, so we never got to rule over the humans we made. You’re right, though. We would have messed it up.”

“So you won. How did you die?” she asks.

“I made a mistake,” you tell her. “That’s all.”

You could have kissed this one, maybe, a replay of the one time you’d bumped noses and clicked teeth in the real version of this clubhouse and then never spoken of it again. But you don’t. You want the Terezi who knows everything, the truly colossal magnitude of your mistakes, to look at you now and say she’s glad you turned out alright.

#

“They call me the Salvager?” Tavros asks.

You’re sitting on the edge of the flagship after a successful retrieval. You still ask before dropping by, even after all these sweeps. At first it was annoying. Did he want you to wear a collar with a bell? Now, after seeing the doubt in others’ eyes when you come to their aid, you understand a little better. Continuing to ask permission is a peace offering. He’s never said no.

“That’s right, boss.” It’s a joke, but you don’t load the term with irony like you used to. “Someone picking up the garbage.” You wave away his affronted expression. “Metaphorical garbage. Providing succor to lost souls, if you like that better.”

“So it’s a good thing, then.”

“Usually. Some people think you’re in league with English, since you show up with him right ahead of you or right behind. I straighten them out.”

“And they listen to you?”

You shrug. “I’m getting well known too.”

“Do they call you anything?”

“Not as far as I know. They say you must be lucky, and that’s all thanks to me, so maybe that should be my title. Fortun8.” You count. “Nope, only seven letters. We can’t go breaking long established patterns, not at our age.”

“Do you think you’re lucky?”

You flick a splinter of dream-wood off into the sand. “Luck is a tricky thing. It’s not always what you think it is. Maybe it’s unlucky to die, but… I don’t know what I’d be like if I hadn’t. I don’t know if I ever would’ve stopped running into trouble and getting people hurt. So maybe things worked out ok.”

He nods. “They did for me. I’m not saying what you did to me wasn’t bad, because it was, but. It could’ve ended worse.”

“Yeah,” you say, “it could’ve.”

#

The next time you serve as anything more than bait, you arrive in a bubble that mixes the spires of Prospit with the craggy cliffs you recognize from home. Most of the trolls you see are Beforan, a crew you mostly avoid to dodge the drama. And you thought your teammates were obnoxious. An Aranea looks your way, but you don’t meet her eyes. The last thing you need is her “learning” from you again. John has come and gone, bearing news of his session’s near-disaster. You know what your brief stint at role-modeling cost.

“Listen up, everyone,” you call. “This is important.”

“I remember you,” Karkat’s ancestor says. Great, are you in for one of his speeches? “You wanted us to listen before. You stole our minds.”

The army feels like a lifetime ago. That version of you died with Meenah and Aranea. So many versions of you have died. But he doesn’t know that. There’s a crowd of spirits looking at you with a mix of confusion and suspicion. There’s a killer Lord of Time on his way, and there are a few minutes for you to make this count. What will make them trust you? What will make you trust yourself?

You take a breath and look at yourself from the outside in.

Who is Vriska Serket? Your past is checkered like the Battlefield with versions of yourself created for survival or approval, emulation or redemption. What you neglected to ask Nepeta was how to tell which one was really you. You can imagine her laughing and pointing to herself again, saying “This one, silly. And all the others. I’m me.”

Maybe there’s something that’s truly you, a core to your soul that persists between timelines. Maybe you’re something you make, piece by piece and day by day. Maybe you’re made by other people, what they see and what they think. You can’t control that. All you can control is what you do.

So you don’t say it wasn’t your fault, or it’s all in the past, or it could’ve been a whole lot worse. You say, “I’m sorry.” You say, “This time, I’m here to help.”

And this time, they listen.

#

On your own again, you watch paradox space crack and shatter around you. The death of multiverses puts on a display to put anyone else’s light show to shame. English is like you, the ultimate power gamer, smashing his way to a high score, uncaring of everyone crushed along the way. You can only ever stay a step ahead of him, only barely keep the damage under control. Maybe you think that’s enough, repurposing your luck, making a billion wishes to undo the damage the first ones caused. One day you’ll have to stop running, turn around, and look him in the eye. But beating him won’t redeem you. Another you learns this, dueling Jack not in a blaze of glory but with corpses at your feet and hatred in your heart. A possibility, a lesson you never got to learn.

That’s your whole existence, teetering on the brink of revelation, balanced on a knife’s edge between hero and villain, afraid to drop off because you don’t know where you’ll land. Skaia tells you that narrow space in-between is how you stay alive, after all. Who would you be if you’d ever stopped running? Would you be you?

Behind you, Lord English tears his way through space, smashing reality into splinters and shards. The bubble you’re in breaks off at your feet to make a cliff opening out into nothingness. Far below you, you can see another bubble, pearly-white and almost as small.

One day you’ll turn around and face him. One day your past will catch up with your present, and both of them will be over. But not today.

“Catch me if you can,” you say, and jump.

[caughtinthecog]

//Mun: This is a little story from a while ago starring Cogs. It takes place before the blog, but just thought it would be neat to have on the blog.\

Shifting the lollipop in her mouth using her tongue, she screwed on the last panel on her creation. The screwdriver went back into it's place on her tool belt as she activated it. There was a whirr and a low hum as it opened it's eyes and stretched, opening it's mouth in a soundless yawn. Snapping her fingers and pointing her creation at the training dummy set up in her makeshift workshop, a crude drawing of the most recurring obstacle in her line of work taped onto it. Cogwheel rose to her feet as she watched the mechanical panther tear it apart.

And then proceeded to gather up the remains and lie down in it. She couldn't help the huge smile or the giggle that escaped her.

"You are the perfect combination of horrifying and adorable, aren't you? Yes, yes you are." She nodded to herself as she moved her goggles up to her forehead. "I suppose I'll set you for guard duty..."

She started humming as she got out the modified phone she had set up for shifting duties among her robots, making sure her newest creation was put on guard duty as she left the workshop to another part of her hideout, unbuckling her tool belt and getting out of her hoodie. Placing them on the kitchen table and then dumping her headphones and goggles on the table as well. Ignoring the robotic owl on top of the fridge she grabbed the envelope to count how much money she still had to move with.

She really needed to go out fill the fridge. What had been there when she moved in had run out last day.

"You know, Howard, I'm pretty sure we'll have to move soon anyway. This hideout is nice and all, but it might not be secure and secret enough, you know? Well, I'm gonna grab my outfit to go out get some food. Guard our home well. Patience will help, but she is in there, so you'll have to guard the rest. You know cats."

As she reached the last few words she had reached the hallway. Putting on a white jacket with hoodie, gloves, and a knitted cap, she took a bit by the mirror to take out her hair and hide her jewelry in her pocket, messing with her hair to make sure it hid enough of her face, before grabbing pair of fake glasses and a scarf as well.

It was easier to pass off as just a face in the crowd during the colder months of the year. It was no disguise, sure, but she wasn't planning to stick around long enough to let people think about where they might have seen her face before.

Well, she was sure everything was going to turn out fine.

The store wasn't that far away.

"See you soon, Howard!" She called to her owl, leaving the house for the streets of Gotham.

In retrospect, maybe she had been too optimistic?

No, that was a silly thought. You couldn't be too optimistic. She had turned out fine, after all!

She should have turned right around to shop the following day once she had noticed it was already evening. But no, she had been too busy thinking about hamburgers.

And look where that got her.

She stared passively at the mugger, trying to figure out if he knew who she was… But given he was all shaky and only armed with a knife, she assumed he was new to it.

She didn’t even carry an actual wallet.

She didn’t want to summon Howard or Patience, and the bugs she had built were not overly useful in this situation… Well, she just had to rely on that he had heard of her.

"I would like to," she beamed back at him, a loud whirr leaving her arm and the glow intensified, shining out from underneath her clothes, "but I'm in a bit of a hurry."

He froze up for a moment, but that was all she needed. She might not be a good fighter, but what she lacked in skill she had in brute strength and speed. Not enough against the bats that plagued her career, not enough against some of her fellow Rogues, but enough to deal with a mugger. She could have just run past him, but she really felt like...

She grabbed his knife arm with her metal arm, and squeezed, hearing the satisfying sound of bone being crushed.

His scream was silent, something she was grateful for - it wasn't the best impulse when she was trying to lay low. Oh well.

She walked past him as he fell to his knees, cradling his wrist and dropping his knife. Her arms summoning program was canceled, so the light died down. She always had to forget that shortcuts through alleyways weren't something she should take. But it did cut the travel time by a lot, and it usually worked out without her needing to crush the muggers heads from behind, so she wasn’t complaining, not really.

At least her current home was not as far away from the store as it had been the last time. At the brisk walk she was taking, it didn't take her long to reach it.

And while she probably should have written a list, the actual shopping was helped by the fact she had run out of everything. The cookies and a few other additions to the shopping cart was added impulsively, but mostly it was cheap favorites she picked out. Technically she could just leave with everything and not care to pay, but her dad would lecture her when he found out. Food picked out, she moved towards hygiene products humming on a song she had heard in Arkham. Television or by guard, she was not sure...

She gave a nod in greeting to the other person shopping late as she passed him. Staying quiet for this long bothered her, but she was not sure if anyone would recognise her voice, and she wanted to play it safe.

Didn't she recognize that man from somewhere...?

Pausing to glance over her shoulder at him, it took her a few seconds before she realized from where. Wasn't he a cop?

Best wrap it up quickly, if he recognized her... She didn't have the robots or time to deal with the GCPD. Deciding to pick up anything else she might need at an earlier time the following morning, she took off to pay without seeing the man pick up his phone. She did, however, manage to hear what was said. The overall silence of the store working in her favor.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. All I hear is nagging and the calling of my stomach. I deserve these donuts, Jim." There was a pause, she stopped moving. Just for a moment. "I hear you, commish, and shift's back on once I get what I deserve." Commish? What did that... Oh. Oh no.

Well, she needed to be gone yesterday. Mumbling quietly to herself, she emptied her basket as quickly as she could, fishing out the money needed from her envelope as the man manning the cash register scanned what she had picked out.

At least there were another employee packing for her, it wouldn’t take as much time as she had worried about.

“Keep the change!” She beamed at the cashier as she handed him the bills, before helping the other employee out with the rest of her food.

Only pausing a moment to press another bill in his hand, she took of through the exit, catching a glance of the cop as she excited.

“Does he have a gun?”

She didn’t care that the words left her mouth, she ran across the street to the closest alley, and through it. She didn’t care for being shot, if he had one. And there were the possibility of more cops coming…

Now, how was she supposed to cover her trail?

Her eyes traveled downwards. Right, the sewers were an option. She didn’t like the smell, and there were always the possibility of Croc being there - where did she stand with him? She liked the big guy, but those she liked didn’t always like her, too chatty and impulsive or something like that…

Well, best take the risk.

She was pressed to the wall of the sewers, glancing up towards the road above. She had heard sirens a while ago, but was it safe to crawl out yet? Were they looking for her? And it weren’t just the cops that was the problem… Batman wouldn’t arrest her for shopping late, right?

She had paid!

...well, maybe he’d arrest her for breaking out of Arkham.

“Oh, who am I kidding...”

She hosed up the bags of food on her left arm before she climbed the ladder and slowly pushed up the lid. Glancing around, making sure the coast was clear, before pulling herself out of the sewers.

Carefully putting the lid back, Cogwheel gave a withering look at the mugger from the earlier evening. Still in the same alley? She shrugged and started walking home.

She was going to have to take another store the next time.

[falkberg]

The Bluejacket V - Tidal Wave

Tales Beyond the Veil XII

Those who did not see the world for what it is, likely love to tell tall tales about relentless soldiers, valiant defenders and enemies that are the embodiment of evil. It is easy to talk about these things, as long as they are far away and bound in the thick leather covers of a book. In ink on paper, true evil exists and unconditional bravery defeats it. But that is not reality. On the stern of our ship, watching the Invincible sink and crash against the cliff sides our Port Stanley's shore, we were reduced to our most basic instincts, animals in the face of extinction. And in that moment, we glimpsed the true core of human nature, that is not self-preservation or arrogance, as many well-fed pessimists like to believe. But at the core, there was compassion, the profound need, and instinct to empathize with another human being. We were just as afraid and helpless as those on the ship that sunk before us. And fore valuable seconds, we could not bring ourselves to cut them loose.

These seconds cost at least ten sailors their lives, who were killed in an instant. With a noise like thundering echo, a cable snapped and lashed onto the deck as all the pulling force of both ships was suddenly released. It cut through their bodies like a knife, beating them down and back.

Further sounds of tearing threats scared the standing crews away. In droves, the sailors retreated from the aftermost deck. The smell of blood and death in the air provoked a sudden change in heart and discouraged by the snapping cable, nobody dared approach the winches. All but the quartermaster were thrown back, but he and his closest group of selected sailors remained, steadfast in his shadow against the raging seas. Not only did the Invicinble wrench the ropes, it also dragged us down and dangerously slow. Already one could easily see the waves seep over the deck's planks and the winches. Soon, it would reach our hatches and bulkheads, that would break under even more pressure. Time was running low. Voices from the other side, barely heard over the storm, sounded like orders or warnings. I fell to the floor instinctively, only to feel a gust of wind just behind my back. I did not realize how close I had been, until I heard the sudden slump of the quartermaster's body by my side. Struck by the cable light lightning, the man fell over, his shoulder, head, and face ripped apart. Blood mixed with the seas and stuck to my hands, my uniform and each and every breath I took. I held onto a rope that my fingers had found and slowly made my way closer to the rest of the crew. More cables snapped and an entire winch broke away, simply pulled out of its socket on the deck. It fell into the water with a sudden splash. My mind was racing, thinking about how to escape this travesty and the death, the death of comrades and friends. Then fire devoured the world.

I now know that the marching thing from the sea, the riving flood had been moving forward all the while and finally reached the bow of our ship. Limbs, towering high and crushing anything in their way, had come close with a giant's steps. When finally one hit our deck, it penetrated right through an armored turret and into the magazine. Somewhere underneath, pressure, heat, and concussions of the ship set off the powder pouches. The explosion ripped half the ship, the crew and the stepping tower apart. With the combined force of our arsenal, the fireball illuminated the sky and pushed us forward. Violently, all air left my body, my lungs collapsing under the sudden shock wave that flattened the sea all around for a split-second. Several layers of armor, walls and reinforced superstructure protected my body, and still, I felt a pop in my ears and how blood began running down the side of my head. But the most violent result of the explosion was the sudden push backward. Half of the Inflexible's hull was moved back towards the shore and crashed into Invincible with unprecedented force. Both hulls were crushed and deformed beyond recognition and all who had been aboard the Invincible's bow die either squashed or washed away by the sea. If the flagship had had any chance of survival before, her fate was now finally sealed, when the two hulls rammed into each other wand the entrails of both vessels were exposed. Had the Invincible's magazine not been already flooded and probably sunk to the floor, I can only imagine the explosion our crash would have caused. Instead, both vessels simply gave off a collective scream, formed of torn metal and all those souls aboard, suddenly extinguished by the explosion.

All of that was meaningless to me, for I had seen what the firestorm had illuminated in the split second of its ignition. For just one blink of an eye, the light had pierced through the fog and unveiled the mechanical monstrosity that had come from the sea, a myriad of clockworks and cogwheels, pistons and boilers, interconnected more thoroughly than the blood vessels in my own chest.

A pendulum swung above the world, its lowest point piercing the clouds. With each swing, the air was moved into a storm. With each step of the machines, the ground trembled and the ocean churned. With each turn of these wheels in the sky, the clockwork of the universe ticked one second closer to Armageddon. Nothing short of the end of worlds could be brought about by machines such as those that I saw, a soaring, marching city of engines and machinery, coronated with flowing banners and golden pikes on all mechanical limbs and peaks of forged metal.

From there on I ran, surrounded by destruction and rising water. I pulled on the uniforms of fallen comrades, dragged those standing with me and subconsciously took the post that the quartermaster last had held. I forced the initiative and gestured to those who could not hear just as myself. But even deaf from the blast, I screamed, yelling for anybody out there to join our flight, our retreat to the land, away from fire, flames and the burning tar-like mass that had been set ablaze by the ammunition's explosion. Everywhere I encountered dead bodies, tried to take those with me that had lost all life. But some sailors managed to follow, and even faster than me and dragged others with them. Many were injured, others miraculously unharmed, but none seemed to notice anything about themselves or their body. Their sole focus was to get away and get as much distance as possible between themselves and the marching machinery. We ran onto the stern of the ship, where all tethers had been shredded like paper. The deck itself crumbled where it had impacted with the Invincible's superstructure and from there, we jumped down onto the sinking flagship's deck. When I first felt the cold water in my boots, I knew that we had to get away faster. The Invincible was covered in black sleech and debris, both of which made it hard to move along. Even worse was the rising incline of the deck, as the ship slowly turned onto its side. Finally, we had to climb sideways to not be thrown off into the sea. Shortly after that, I found myself running on the ship's wall, jumping over portholes and ruptures in the hull, accompanied by a group of twenty sailors in tattered uniforms that looked nothing like the pride of the fleet that had left this very port mere hours ago. This surreal picture was burned into my mind so deeply, that it returned whenever I closed my eyes. It was a testament to our world being turned upside down, painted in the harsh contrast of black sea and red burning fires. Against the flames, the outline of my comrades seemed heroic and told nothing of their despair hidden beneath smoke and ash.

Underneath our feet, the erstwhile mighty warship sagged away, deeper into the mud that had been washed ashore by the never-ending waves. The black mass of seafloor already covered the land, conquering the land of the living in the name of sunken deities that had not been spoken of in millennia. I can tell you earnestly that I am not a superstitious man, but when the men all around began saying names of things they had old yarns about in the face of this marching apocalyptic machine, I could hardly disagree. Voices of drunk fishermen and comrades in arms that had told me about god's clockwork and the machinations of mad machine builders of ancient times reemerged from my memory. Mumbling and vague descriptions of a second Atlantis that had been spread throughout the Pacific isles came back into my mind. Walking through a stinking layer of slippery material, halfway living and halfway dead, I wished I had ever listened to these drunks and insane for long enough to hear the sweet or bitter end. Littered on the floor were creatures of the deep, some of them oddly familiar characters of some such yarns I had heard, others alien and unlike anything knew to mankind. The creatures, bloated and vile, had not been simply washed ashore. Their numbers were legion and stormed the landmass of the Falkland Isles with intent to conquer the lands of all living things. The churning sea was teeming with ungodly life that climbed over the sinking wrecks that had once been our battlecruisers. Passing us on their way towards land, the beasts flailed tails like whips, hacked at flesh with bloody talons and sunk their teeth into anything in their way. After only a few minutes of their flow, the crew was struggling to fight them off with knives and bayonets, hooks and bare hands. Pinched and bitten by the violent brood of the deep, we eventually reached the broken stern of Invincible, halfway buried in the sea. Even though the sea pushed us further with every wave, the ship's hull had already been entangled with boulders and the cliffs, only budging to the largest of waves. Shipmates of both vessels formed a loose half circle to fend off the encroaching horrors from below, while the rest gathered around the wounded and bleeding. From there, we watched how the front half of the Inflexible burned out completely, mauled by the marching extremities of machinery that slowly moved onward.  The vessel kept on burning, even after the machinery had fully trapped it in a forest of metal rods and moving gears. The latter half of its armored hull first moved upward, defiantly rising from the sea a final time. Metallic limbs crashed down onto the hull, shedding armor plating away. For just a moment, it seemed as if the massive vessel's structure would deflect the crippling blow, but after just a split second, the walls gave way and burning coals spilled out from boilers ripped open. A geyser of steam and water rose where the fire fell and quickly obscured the view. The last I saw of the once mighty Inflexible, was the burning stern sinking, covered in the legions of black creatures storming toward land.   n. With strained arms and dwindling strength, some of our crew held onto the dying, whose flesh had been torn down to the born. Compassion was helpless. Blood drained into the black water and only made them bait for more creatures to follow the metallic taste. Milky eyes stared back at those who aimed their last sharp knife against the sea. With our backs against the cliff, we awaited the certain end.

Until, that was, a sharp whistle cut through the smoke surrounding us. From the waves emerged a vessel of unfamiliar design. The small hull was elongated and sharp like a blade, its bow cutting through the waves and sleech with ease. Raw metal, polished steel and sturdily reinforced bars on deck gave the vessel the distinctive look of an experimental craft. The hull, painted in the distinctive stripes of naval camouflage, bore the insignia of the German Imperial Navy. And it approached our wreck so quickly, that all men braced themselves for imminent impact at once. Again, the whistle howled against the wind, as the armored boat rapidly turned to come alongside, scraping the battered hull of Inflexible with a distasteful noise. On any other occasion, the would have been an affront. Now, the vessel was greeted like the lord and savior himself, with men leaping forward to barely touch the freshly painted hull and get a hold of the narrow deck. Mustering what inspiration I had left from the Quartermaster's example, I raised my voice and called them back. If it was bravery, a sudden change of fate or merely the sound of a human voice, the effect was all the same. The sailors froze and regained somewhat of a military posture. With their training has taken over, they stood back and allowed for a quick view of the incoming vessel up close. On the narrow deck, I saw several contraptions that I assumed were metal cages for mines or depth charges of the sort. Perhaps this was to be a torpedo boat or only a quick courier. It didn't matter much now. Hastily, the German crews had stripped the vessel of all equipment not vitally necessary to fit more of the fleeing crew. The vessel was manned by at least two dozen men, holding on to every bit of hull they could, carefully balancing out the waves. They were armed with paddles and hooks, but propelled was the strange boat apparently by a roaring,  naked main engine in the back, the only place where a bit of space had been left. A look at the flickering air taught me why. Hectic yells and shouts in two languages were exchanged between the British and German sailors. Neither understood the other side, but nevertheless, the situation was clear. The stranded would hold onto the boat and try to get on board at all costs. On the other side it was clear, that the boat would not hold them and even if they were to succeed, they were facing certain doom. With hand gestures and directing shouts, the sailors finally conveyed what they could to help us. The boat would not be able to carry anymore, but perhaps it's miracle engine would suffice to pull something on a tether. Our experience between the two mighty battlecruisers had made us reluctant towards that idea, but childish superstition had no place. Quickly, the crewmen scurried to ready whatever floating debris they could find.

There was no shortage of wooden planks, mast poles and life buoys so close to the wreckage. Even boats, still tied to the broken decks under water, had emerged from the depth from time to time. Many of them laid keel up in the water, others had been smashed against the cliff side, but faced with nothing else, the last sailors of the Inflexible demonstrated their resourcefulness and bravery. The truly difficult task was not finding potential floats for the German boat to pull, it was getting to them that proved to be the greatest challenge. The waves, the surging water, and cold salt were difficult enough, but more than ever were we besieged by creatures of the deep that awaited every opportunity to kill. Alone, not many of their warped and twisted specimen would have been any real danger. I saw glowing bits and pieces of little more than gelatin that convulsed between the waves. Small squid, as big as my hand, with giant eyes, transparent fish with long teeth as long as my thumb – they bit, they scratched, they stung with what they had, but after enduring this hell so long, their efforts peeled of the crew with no effect. Only a few, dangerous predators had found their way to us, but those took their victims quickly and were apparently content with a tribute to their deadly hunger, before leaving once again. A morbid thought occurred to me. Of course, they were not eager to get to us. By now, there was more than enough dead meat in the sea. My eyes met with those of a German officer in uniform, who stood at the bow of his curious tiny vessel and oversaw our efforts. His eyes nervously sought out the wreckage of Inflexible, where the machinery was inching forward at a wrenching pace. Perhaps its massive claws were eating away the island itself. Maybe it had slowed down to climb the ocean floor. Whatever it was, it did not stop the horror entirely. Our time ran out with every second and with every breath, the man was considering leaving us behind. But duty forced him to stay, duty and humanity, what was left of it in these times.

When finally a small group of boats and makeshift rafts had been assembled, precious minutes had gone by. The latter section of the Inflexible was gone, the hull of the Invincible trembled under oncoming footsteps of the metallic giants. The invasion of sea creatures had intensified so much that the sailors could not even come close to the water. Before the ocean could take more of us to a vermin-grave, ropes were fixed between the German boat and our floats. With a loud and biting whistle, the machinery aboard came to life and a hot burst of smoke was spewed into the air. A hefty jolt occurred, and suddenly, we were off the Invincible and onto the sea.

The engine of this experimental boat was chugging at an incredible pace and higher pitched than I had been accustomed to by British machinery. Carefully lifting my head in the fragile wooden longboat we were in, I could make out the steam engine that was tended to by two engineers with big, leather gloves and protective goggles. The two machinists were working tirelessly in a small and cramped compartment at the boat's stern, surrounded by sailors of the German cruiser squadron and many hands were helping to keep the machine afloat as best they could. Some had even managed to salvage a flag of sorts from the sinking vessel and now rose it above their head in utter defiance of this state of the world. And yet, despite their undoubted resilience, the efforts of the surviving sailors were inevitably bound to fail in the face of the encroaching, marching forces. Racing the waves was a futile endeavor and still, they pressed on. It was wondrous to me already that the survivors of the German Squadron had come so far in their flight and their bleak faces revealed that their ship had shared its faith with our Invincible. Now, there was no place to turn for our flight, with their boat being pressed between marching horrors of the ocean floor and the rugged cliffside of what had once been the Falkland Isles.

Covering on the creaking planks of invincible's salvaged longboat among my comrades in arms, tasting salt and iron on my lips, I reflected upon the impending end. The world had been shattered and what had transpired over hours before left me speechless even in my mind. I awaited panic or perhaps consolation, a great clarity during the last minutes of life, as I had imagined it before. But confronted with what I could only describe as the end of the world, my mind did not yield facing inevitable defeat. It, I, hung on to the last threads of life, however unpleasant, horrid and incomprehensible it had become. Every one second of it I would give up, not a single moment of this calamity. The prospect of existence ending and giving in to my death had become utterly unthinkable. In this view of our lives, I was not alone. And when the fog finally came, laying its tendrils around our necks and when the mouth of hellish machinery opened ready to swallow us whole, the last survivors on our few boats were not a group of frightened children, but much more akin primeval barbarians, clinging senselessly to every last bit of driftwood and life vest, weapon or paddle, whatever promised life to us the most. In one, collective scream we entered the maw of eldritch clockwork and peaked into the abyss of absolute in-existence.

Not until salty water washed over my face and I looked up to see a scythe cut through breaking waves with the vigor of gods did it dawn on me, that the forces that had shaken the earth itself to its core, took not the slightest sliver of interested in a few dozen survivors of meager humanity. The German boat danced on roiling waves like a cork, rising and falling, but not being broken by tides that were merely side effects of events of an entirely different dimension. We were swished aside like flies and as such, evaded the sudden fatal blow almost with ease, as none of the forces around us were truly chasing the tiny bit of metal and flesh that had once been the pride of two self-proclaimed mighty navies. The machine was around us. Crawling with creatures from the deep, black sleech and ghostly lights, the screeching machinery had surrounded us wholly. To every side, we could see wonders and horrors, things that should not have been and did not adhere to what humanity understood the world. Lightning dancing in transparent cylinders illuminated scenes that could have driven a man mad if his gaze lingered on them for too long. But we lived. In the midst all of this, we, humanity, rulers of the world and the seas, were met with nothing but deafening, uncaring indifference.

…

When my boat was detached from the tethers of the rest, I at first took no notice, distracted by a sudden panic caused when a kugelblitz fell from the sky, where humongous coils were charged with unimaginable energy. White orbs descended all around and vaporized water where they came in contact with the ocean. The white steam produced in shrieking geysers was imbued with the strange liveliness of the white fog we had observed before the surge had come. The solution to the mysterious nature of the white tendrils was little consolation to those who could not escape the spheres of blinding light burning through the walls of their wooden boats like paper. Some jumped into the water, only to be burnt by the sheer power surging throughout the waves. Others who held their ground were set ablaze from a meters distance, their hair smoldering all the while. The only salvation was a jump to another boat, trying to not let panic overtake. I fled, my instinctive self-preservation dictating swift action when I saw the lights drawing closer.

The most horrifying thing about these lights was their beauty, their hypnotizing shine that haunts my every thought to this day. It was too late to go back once I realized, that the broken raft I had landed on was drifting aimlessly further and further apart from the steamer. I could barely hold onto the drifting wood, much less move without risking to fall into the dangerous water. What followed was blackness, intersected with blasts of white light from above, when a discharge filled the sky with thunder and the crackling of static electricity made my hairs stand up straight, prickling on my skin. I did not bother to open my eyes and see what I would not understand. I do not know for how long I lost my consciousness after that. In fact, for the longest time, I was not reassured that I have truly awakened on the shores of this island, where the black sleech did not reach quite yet. But I did stand up from the wreckage that had been washed ashore, where once the long march had met the palace hill. And I walked that path to the governor's door.

…

The suspicious Bluejacket stood still for a moment, words still stuck on his lips after he had ended his story. He opened his mouth silently a few times, before finally regaining his voice. “I knew”, he remarked “that it was only a question of time until the black sleech would come. The mist, the fog, the marching outside. I have heard it before. I cannot tell you more than this: If it had any interest in destroying me, it would have done so already. Either this is eternal torment or a farce in which mankind plays little role.”

His final words were not written down by the chronicler, who swiftly rolled up his pages and handed them to the sailor, who sat defeated at the wall, his head hanging down. The crested head of the creature tilted slowly forwards, as it moved its body in eerie elegance. Bystanders watched, no longer captured by the story the man had brought forward, as if he was no longer one among them. The sergeant in blue alone came forward, released from the spell that enthralled all those whose story had not yet been written and kept for posterity. After having seen the new world, little fear was left in the man that had now the satisfaction of knowing the truth in what his mind had doubted all along. He understood what the bluejacket had seen, for he had seen it in much a similar way. Together they rose and stood before the chronicler, who slowly turned around, now flanked by the two humans that had given their stories and something else to the new power that would reign the world. The remaining guests were taken aback at first, but it was not long until a third one came forward, compelled to share what had been haunting them for so long.