#master shake quotes strike again

[bestialflare]

every single mission they have in days feels like this

[sunnysideprincess]

My Tumblr sorted - - →

Art tag # deb does art

More recent tumblr fics #deb writes in between

Older drabbles #deb writes

Winteriron mini-comic series #winteriron subway shenanigans

Blorbo musings and fic ideas # deb thinks out loud

Header and title quotes from my ao3 fic Unfinished, Unending

My Ao3 sorted - - →

#dark

Hell, If It Glitters (ongoing, winteriron)

"Then again," Barnes whispers while pulling away, wiping a thumb over Tony's lips. A move that rips his entire being into two warring sides. "Everything's different when it belongs to you, right?"

Steve broke their bond in Siberia. Tony would be happy if that was it. But no, hell has plans for him and those plans go by the name of James Buchanan Barnes.

Time Bomb (oneshot, OG6 poly)

"You were gone long." He stands still, and forces his breath to remain a steady stream, even as she drags her fingers gently under the hem of his shirt. As she scraps her nails along his scar, pinches his skin a little too harshly.

"Yeah, the paperwork was tedious."

Natasha hums and sighs, her breath smelling strongly of wine and cigarettes. She kisses the nape of his neck, digs her fingers into his skin. Not enough to hurt, but enough to warn him.

"You're a better liar than this, Tony."

My Town Was A Wasteland (oneshot, stevetony)

Howard wants to raise the dead. Even if it's at the expense of his own son. It backfires spectacularly.

Grim Pickings (oneshot, winteriron)

The Winter Soldier goes on a Witch hunt.

Part 1 of Watch The World Burn (ongoing)

The Clock Strikes Out (oneshot, gen)

"Tick tock, Mister Stark."

"Time's running out."

"I need a name."

He blinks and shakes his head. Looks around, tries to see the outlines of his team through the dark spots dancing across his vision. A shock of red hair. A flash of a silver. A blink of blue and red. Something, someone is dragged to a corner by the hair and he thinks it could be Barton.

"A name, Mister Stark. Just one."

What An Expensive Fate (oneshot, winteriron, unrequited stucky)

"I can't hurt him, Stevie. You know that. But, I gotta hurt someone. Who better to dish it out on than you?"

Heavy In Your Arms (oneshot, stevetony)

"Steve, what are you doing?"

"Fixing this."

(Or where Steve changes the world and everybody has a role to play. )

#fluff

Symphony (oneshot, stuckony)

When soulmates destined to be together touch each other for the first time, the symphony is heard across the universe. As if he hasn't heard this story enough times. You'd be surprised just how many people are meant to be each other's forever. Not much when it comes down to the entirety of Earth's population. Yet still enough. Clichéd violins and opera is annoying as it is with the side serving of him hearing the music play while his lady love and the new assistant (who later turns out to be a SHIELD plant) accidentally brush their fingers together. Now there's Steve Rogers, in his all American glory and Tony just wants to beat the crap out of this alien army and go back home. And possibly, plug his ears to drown out the extensive noise.

It's the V-shaped stuckony soulmate AU crack fic

Winteriron Subway Shenanigans (comic)

Tony is lucky he has Bucky to protect him from the dilemma called "public transportation".

Cake Toppers And Fireball Piñata (oneshot, stuckony)

For a bunch of master assassins, spies, and superhumans, the Avengers are lousy at secret keeping. Forget world domination or holding lives hostage, their enemies should just get Earth's mightiest heroes to plan a birthday party and be done with it.

Tony's surprise(?) birthday bash.

Do For You (oneshot, winteriron)

Sex, bare tolerance, and mutually beneficial stress relief is what this was supposed to be.

Guns And Rainbows (ongoing, winteriron)

"Would you STOP shooting at people?" "What do you want me to do? Hug them instead?"

In which Bucky's a little too trigger happy, Tony just wants a quiet night with his secret boyfriend, the Avengers are mostly confused about who keeps leaving flowers in Hydra hideouts and Pepper's just sick of these two idiots.

Baby, It's Cold Outside (oneshot, winteriron)

It's Bucky's first Christmas with Morgan and Tony. He has one important question to ask.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (oneshot, polyvengers)

The media paints a picture. The Avengers know better.

My Favorite Things (oneshot, stuckony)

Five times Tony lost something on Christmas and the one time he gains something new.

O Come All Ye Faithful (oneshot, stony)

Christmas now is wrapped up with a satin bow of red and gold and rosy pink. All for Steve.

#stuckony

Symphony (oneshot)

When soulmates destined to be together touch each other for the first time, the symphony is heard across the universe. As if he hasn't heard this story enough times. You'd be surprised just how many people are meant to be each other's forever. Not much when it comes down to the entirety of Earth's population. Yet still enough. Clichéd violins and opera is annoying as it is with the side serving of him hearing the music play while his lady love and the new assistant (who later turns out to be a SHIELD plant) accidentally brush their fingers together. Now there's Steve Rogers, in his all American glory and Tony just wants to beat the crap out of this alien army and go back home. And possibly, plug his ears to drown out the extensive noise.

It's the V-shaped stuckony soulmate AU crack fic

Cake Toppers And Fireball Piñata (oneshot)

For a bunch of master assassins, spies, and superhumans, the Avengers are lousy at secret keeping. Forget world domination or holding lives hostage, their enemies should just get Earth's mightiest heroes to plan a birthday party and be done with it.

Tony's surprise(?) birthday bash.

New Old Fashioned Way (oneshot)

There are ways to win his heart. Most of them don't start with murder, but times are changing.

Half of Us (oneshot)

He stands near the window, holding a glass full of the dark drink he seems to have fixated on these days. The view is as always phenomenal. There are no stars in Manhattan. But Tony, ever the futurist, can envision a perfectly clear, dark sky littered with stars and giant alien ships inside a wormhole. The memory still rakes his bones, haunts his dreams and makes his teeth chatter on his best days. On his worst, it makes him weak in his knees and harder to breathe within the mirage of darkness and destruction.

My Favorite Things (oneshot)

Five times Tony lost something on Christmas and the one time he gains something new.

Jingle Bell Rock (oneshot)

Clint knits holiday sweaters. Steve and Bucky reap the benefits.

NLP's Mini Stories

Tangerine Dreams (stevetony, werewolf AU)

Anthony Edward Stark. He's a beautiful baby, with wide, curious eyes and rosy cheeks. Too bad Steve had to make it weird by imprinting on her Godson.

Bleeding Tooth (pre-slash, winteriron)

Someday, Sam Wilson tells him, he will love the possibilities. Someday, choices won't feel wrong. Someday, he won't feel like a ghost anymore.

Red Letters (hydra stucky, stuckony)

Tony never wanted to be Captain Hydra and the Winter Soldier's soulmate.

Old School (stony, fluff)

Tony doesn't understand why Clint ever thought retirement was boring.

The Forever Kind (stony, winteriron, evil soulmate)

Sometimes having two soulmates isn't worth it.

Confinement (gen, short)

In which Steve Rogers is immortal.

***For fics where Bucky Barnes is neither innocent, nor unwilling to do terrible things for what he wants #evil bucky is my jam

[mmeveronica]

Fuck I want to play a Stronk (Strength based Monk) in DnD soooo bad!

Like it is actually kinda funny how good they could be if you do some barbarian multiclassing. You can have the bulk and strength of a Barbarian blend beautifully with the rapid attacks and deftness of a Monk.

What the Barbarian does for the Monk;

Rage, especially a Bear Totem Barbarian's rage, is an excellent defensive and offensive tool for a monk. It grants some major resistances against enemies and buffs flurry of blows significantly*.

The constitution Unarmored Defense also really helps with not having to choose between hit points and AC.

Reckless Attack also helps with landing these powerful blows.

Danger sense helps out those dex saves, especially if you start as a Barbarian.

As for what the Monk does to the Barbarian;

Being able to hit more with martial arts and flurry of blows is a great boon to a Barbarian due to the aforementioned Rage damage bonuses stacking with each hit.

Mobility upgrades are great too, because you can drag grappled enemies with you when you move and Barbarians are great at grappling. This grapple combo helps you maneuver enemies around the battle field with precision, dragging enemies sneaking to the back lines into the main brawl or seperating out groups that get stronger together, such as wolves or kobolds.

Did I mention you can use flurry of blows even if all you did with your Attack action was grapple? Because you can, no need to chose between offense and control!

Stunning Strike also has it's utility against dexterous enemies because it makes them automatically fail at defending against grapples.

The Way of the Drunken Master's flurry of blows option is also quite useful for getting where you want to go without sacrificing damage and being even better than a disengage step of the wind.

Evasion pairs excellently with Danger Sense making most spells and AoE laughable.

Stillness of Mind also helps shake off one of the Barbarian's biggest weaknesses, charm and fear effects!

The only downside is the Monk's stunning strike, and deflect missle are a bit worse, you're sacrificing some of the Barbarian's raw bulk and power for this versatility, and if your group uses racial ability score increases your race options are more limited due to multiclassing minimums. However I think those are excellent trade-offs for the power and utility a stronk brings!

If I were to have the opportunity to play this to at least 10th level I would probably choose a Half-Orc and use the following level up scheme.

Barbarian, Monk twice, Barbarian, Monk three times, Barbarian, Monk twice again, after which Barbarian is just good. This let's you get some of that initial bulk quick without putting off Extra Attack and Ability Score Increases too long.

* yes unarmed strikes are melee weapon attacks and thus get the rage damage bonus. "Instead of using a weapon for a melee weapon attack, you can use an unarmed strike..." (Player's Handbook, pg. 195) this quote clearly states unarmed strikes are replacing the weapon part pf melee weapon attacks

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Choose Your Own Whump

Here it is! My first attempt at a choose your own adventure type of whump story. In this story, Villain is kept by the Heroes as a prop for the media-- but what will they do when a rare chance at contacting the outside world presents itself?

CW//Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, implied torture, panic attacks

There was something about a gilded cage that made it worse than any other type of imprisonment.

Sure, it was comfortable. You were well provided for, fed and watered incredibly generously. But that, in and of itself, was one of the worst parts.

Being imprisoned, locked away in a cell somewhere with a big heavy padlock over the door, it meant that someone thought you were dangerous enough to require that kind of security. In the most minuscule way, it was a display of respect.

But a gilded cage of comfort and warmth? It meant that your captor believed you to be domesticated. Docile. Too soft and serenely mannered to even bother chaining up.

Of course, that didn’t make the lock on the door any less real. It just made it that much more humiliating.

Villain groaned as the sound of knocking echoed through the room. They pulled their plush duvet closer to themself, sinking deeper into their unbelievably soft mattress.

“Lunch is ready. Get up. And make yourself look presentable, we have visitors.”

They were too tired to tell which of the Heroes was speaking, but it didn’t matter all too much. Their voices all blended together, after a time. All characterized by overwhelming politeness and platitudes, with a subtle undertone of annoyance.

If anything, the way they spoke was worse than if they had just yelled. They hated Villain, that was clear and that was expected. If only they would just say it out loud, instead of letting their tone speak for them.

Again, Villain grumbled, sitting up in bed and blinking blearily a moment. The bright red digital clock on the wall mechanically informed them that it was almost noon.

They just wanted to go back to sleep.

Of course, that wasn’t an option. They’d tried that. Tried hiding under the blankets and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. But it did, even as they hated it.

They pushed the blankets aside and got up, knowing full well that they would return to a bed made with military precision. Wandering over to their wardrobe, they couldn’t help but wish that they’d been informed earlier that they were expecting visitors. But, of course, when did anyone ever tell them anything.

Eventually, they selected a nice suit top in a dark maroon hue, along with matching pants. A presentable outfit, and hopefully fancy enough for whatever guests were being expected. It was almost certainly a news crew, or a government agent-- they came at least three times a week.

Clothes folded over their arm, they shook their head to clear their vision of sleep and made their way to the bathroom.

As always, the mirror was immaculate, stretching the whole length of one wall and going all the way up to the ceiling. Looking at it made them want to smash it to pieces, but they quelled their own anger quickly. It served no purpose.

They didn’t have to look at it. They could have just as easily closed their eyes, changed their clothes and ran out of the room. But they couldn’t. Though they had no clue as to why, some horrible force compelled them to raise their head, and stare directly into the eyes of their reflection.

Villain wanted to cry. Had this been a few months ago, they would have. But they’d long since mastered the art of choking back tears.

The person in the mirror-- they didn’t recognize them.

Sure, they had the same facial structure as Villain, the same eyes, and the same, well, everything. That was except for the layers of makeup covering them, clearing any imperfection and turning it into a glowing highlight. Not to mention their hair-- every two weeks or so, they’d have it professionally styled. What had once been a head of long, curled locks had been cut short and ironed straight. Apparently, that was the style that was currently “in.” Not that they’d had any choice in the matter.

To look presentable.

They washed the makeup from their face as best they could, knowing that whatever artist the visitors had brought with would do it again, in whatever way they liked it. Putting down the washcloth, they moved to unbutton the front of their nightgown...

But their hand drifted instead to their neck.

It was an instinctive motion, almost. A ritual. They unfolded the collar of their nightgown, pulling down the neckline, until the device was fully visible.

That was what the Heroes always called it. A “control device.” As if it was some kind of scientific advancement, some amazing invention.

It was nothing like that.

The device was a simple loop of metal, going around their neck, tight enough nearly to choke them. To remind them that it was always there. On the outside, the metal was smooth, marred not even by any kind of mechanism that would allow it to be removed. On the inside, however, they could feel the tiny studs, pressing against their flesh.

They didn’t think of it as their collar. They tried not to think of it as their collar. They tried not to think about it at all, in fact. But, every second, every breath they took, they could feel it. Even if it weighed less than a pound in actuality, to them, it felt to be made of the heaviest lead.

Weighing them down, ready to strike at any moment. Each and every one of the Heroes had one of the collar’s remotes. A simple press of a button, a simple click, and Villain would be writhing on the floor in agony. Every time one of the Heroes gave them a side-eyed look, they felt their stomach flip, waiting for the shock. For the horrible, horrible pain.

They tried to fit their finger between the device and their neck, though there was little avail. Still, even if it was only slight, they could feel on the tip of their finger their own charred skin.

Anxiety rose in their throat, twisting their stomach in knots. They shook their head. No. They had to get ready, and they were running out of time. The visitors were probably already waiting. In a practiced motion, they undid their nightgown and dressed in their far fancier outfit.

Even as they reached for the door handle, though, they could see their hand shaking.

It was just lunch. They’d been doing it every day for months. They could do it. They could do lunch.

It was just lunch.

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The dining table was a beast of wood and metal accents, stretching for the whole room, leaving only room for the dozen and a half chairs surrounding it.

Generally, the majority of these chairs would be empty. There were only so many Heroes, and generally their various sidekicks and assistants did not eat with them. Today, however, every last seat was filled.

They wore no identification, but Villain already knew who they were. A news crew. Journalists and cameramen and reporters. They hadn’t seen this particular crew before, but that didn’t mean much of anything. So many came through Headquarters that they all seemed to blend together.

As Villain emerged through the large, mahogany doors, every last one of the newspeople turned their heads. A few even appeared frightened. One among them gasped.

It was how they always reacted, the first time. They opened their mouth without speaking-- they had practiced their script so many times that it came to them as easily as breathing.

“Good afternoon, everyone. It’s nice to meet you.”

At the head of the table, Hero nodded in approval. Villain lowered their gaze and retreated to their seat, among the Heroes.

Even after so much time, it was hard to think of them as anything but hands, ready at any moment to press down on their remotes without so much as thinking.

That was the only good thing about having visitors. None of the Heroes would dare to use the collar when company was around. Each and every shirt that Villain owned was specifically chosen to hide the device-- no one else knew. A shared secret of dominance.

“Well, we’re so glad to have you here.” Hero smiled, looking out over the table. “Our food should be out in a moment. What all are you looking to be filming, today? Or photographing? I’m no expert on this type of thing, I must admit.”

It was a blatant lie. Hero knew everything there was to know about PR. They could wield the media better than they could wield their own powers.

“Well.” The person who seemed to be in charge of the news crew spoke up. “Did you receive the clothing shipment a few days ago?”

“We did, yes. I almost forgot, silly old Hero. Forgetful as ever.”

“No worries. We wanted to get some photos of you wearing them-- they were custom made, by an Italian designer. Supposedly the start of some kind of new line. They call it “Be Your Own Hero.” It’s a little cheesy, but that’s fashion for you.”

“I’m sure it is. Is that all, then?”

“Mostly, yes. Though...” They bit their lip. “In light of recent events, we were wondering if, perhaps to supplement another story, we would be able to interview Villain? If you’re okay with it, of course, Villain.”

“Of course.” Villain smiled. “That would be wonderful.”

Hero nodded their agreement, though their eyes betrayed their tentativeness.

“Just Villain? I don’t believe the rest of us are too busy today, we would have plenty of time to speak to you, as well.”

“I don’t want to be impolite, but I’m sure you understand that this matter concerns them specifically. Maybe we could incorporate some quotes from you?”

“Don’t worry, I understand completely. That should work out just fine.”

Villain couldn’t stop themself from nervously twirling the cuff of their shirt. Whatever this ‘event’ was, they had no clue, and they most certainly didn’t want to give an interview about it. They’d been trained to do interviews, but never alone, and most of the time they just gave a few cursory answers while the Heroes took the spotlight.

Still, they couldn’t refuse. If Hero said they were doing the interview, then they were doing it.

They were a prop. They knew that. At the very least, they could be a good one.

A tinny bell chimed as the door to the kitchen opened, and an array of staff brought out a series of plates. Villain feared that they wouldn’t have much of an appetite.

Their collar was choking them. They could hardly breathe.

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It was amazing just how quickly the news crew had turned the front hall into a full-blown studio. Lights and backdrops and all kinds of equipment that Villain didn’t recognize were set up in dazzlingly bright arrays, making any movement a tripping hazard on account of just how many cables snaked about the wood floor.

The makeup station had been set up against one wall, with five chairs and countless boxes of powders and creams. Villain gripped the arms of their chair, doing their very best not to flinch or sneeze as a stranger dabbed blush onto their cheeks. Even after so much time, it was one thing they could never quite get used to. A stranger touching their face, moving their head about. They hated it.

But they did not protest. They sat as best as they could, muttering desperate apologies any time they lost control and jerked their head away from the invading touch.

Next to them, they could hear as the Heroes, one by one, were finished as got up from their seats. Chatting with different news people, laughing at their stupid jokes. Metal wheels whirred as clothes racks were pushed about.

“There you go.” The makeup artist smiled, speaking in a disgustingly chipper tone. Villain fluttered their eyelids open, at least glad that it was over.

Still talking with the different photographers and the like, the Heroes began drifting away, towards where all the lights and cameras were set up. Villain could already feel themself growing anxious. Sure, they hated the Heroes as much as anything, but at least when they were nearby, they could ensure that Villain was acting right. Feed them their lines. Keep up the facade.

Unsure of just where to go, they waited in the makeup chair. They fought to keep their gaze away from the door, the massive swinging wooden panels that led right out onto the street. To freedom.

Their kept their eyes fixed firmly on their shoes.

They weren’t sure exactly how long they stayed like that. Staring. Listening. The cameras on the other side of the room had already begun to flash.

At some point, after at least 15 minutes of sitting and waiting, obedient and docile, someone came up to them. A simply-dressed reporter, sweater vest and all.

At the very least, they didn’t have that stupid smile on their face. The media smile. The smile of glowing PR.

“Hello.” They were nervous, it was clear. More than just a little nervous, for that matter. “Um- You’re Villain, right?”

They looked up.

“Yep, that’s me!”

It made them feel sick.

“O-Oh. Okay. Um, my name is Journalist. It’s nice to meet you...?”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Journalist!”

“Are you ready for the interview?”

“Sure am.”

“Okay. Uh- Oh, wait.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Your shirt is inside out, I think.”

Villain felt their heart jump to their throat. It was an honest, simple mistake. They hadn’t even noticed. Yet, if the Heroes were here, it was certain that there would be retribution. Would they find out? Were they listening, right now? Ready to shove Villain into some back room to push their stupid buttons? Footsteps- oh god, was that them? Oh god oh god oh god-

“Hey, uh, can you hear me?”

“Sorry. I think I spaced out a little, there.”

“It’s fine. It’s no big deal. There’s a bathroom over there, so we can just fix your shirt quick and get onto the interview.”

“Sounds good.” They shook their head, shaking themself back to wakefulness. Once they were sure that they could, they stood to their feet. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“Um... They told us not to leave you alone.”

“What?” It came out more like a whisper.

“Yeah. It’s okay, um, I won’t look or anything. It’s just a security thing, I think.”

“Oh. Okay.” Villain swallowed.

Their heartbeat firmly moved to their throat, now. They hoped the shaking in their legs could not be seen as they and Journalist moved to the small bathroom, right off the side of the hall.

Villain stood in the corner, with Journalist sitting on a chair that was sitting in the corner opposite.

It was just a simple fix. It was fine. Everything was fine, it was okay.

Hands trembling as though an earthquake raged below their feet, they reached for the hem of their shirt, pulling it up and the sleeves off their arms, slipping it off over their head and working to flip it.

It was only the feeling of being watched that led them to look up at the young journalist, sitting in the corner. Eyes fixed on them.

More specifically, on their neck.

“Um... What is that? Villain, are you okay?”

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon.

The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Tell the truth - How much should Villain tell Journalist?

B) Lie - How should Villain explain away the collar?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

[comfortwriting]

Ashtray Part 3 - D.M

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Please read parts 1 and 2 if you haven’t already

Draco Malfoy x Fem Reader 

Warnings: Mention of food and eating, swearing, smoking.

“You’re not one of us”

“I trusted you, my feelings for you were… pure”

“How could you do this to us? to Ron, to Harry, to me!”

“if you aren’t sure that you’ll stay with me, there’s no point in us being together”

Everything your once best friends and now ex-boyfriend said kept you awake, night after night, ringing in your ear like the worlds loudest bell. You felt as if everyone in the entire school hated you - you were no longer wanted in Gryffindor and you weren’t good enough to be in Slytherin, and everyone in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw decided amongst themselves where you belonged; in whichever house they loathed the most.

You couldn’t sit in the great hall to eat without the glares, whispers and insults, so you spent more time in the kitchens with the house elves, getting to know Winky and sympathising with her missing her master whilst Dobby encouraged you to apologise to Harry, trying his hardest not to speak badly about Draco so he wouldn’t have to iron his hands.

You could no longer spend time in the common room to read beside the fire unless it was empty, but even then there were reminders of your betrayal plastered on the notice board, covering Fred and George’s sample testing for their Skiving Snack boxes. Instead, you sat alone outside against the tree beside the lake, doing your homework and reading, anything to take your mind off things.

“Not surprised you’re all alone” Draco snapped at you whilst passing by with his cronies, he wretched at the sight of you smoking again “you’re as bad as I thought, back to your horrible habits, filthy ashtray.”

You exhaled the smoke, ignoring Draco whilst his friends laughed, you hated how he was back to hating your guts whilst you were still in love with him, but deep down, something inside of you knew he didn’t mean a single thing he said to you, hating was easier for him than being able to love.

Even though it hurt to hear him insult you, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling sadly, knowing that once he did everything in his power to stop you smoking and called you ‘Ashtray’ in a none insulting but more cheeky teasing way.

When bedtime rolled around, you would focus long and hard, finally being able to have the room of requirement to yourself, occasionally being woken up Dobby, begging you once again to “patch things up with Mr Potter”.

You were truly isolated, even in class, no one wanted to sit or partner up with you, often resulting in you either working by yourself or alongside your professors.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Dumbledore asked, staring at you through his half-moon spectacles.

“Oh please do make the right choice Miss Y/L/N, your O.W.Ls are coming up!” Professor McGonagall sighed, reaching into her tartan biscuit tin, handing you a Ginger Newt, her hand now shaking.

Tracing the outline of the Ginger Newt in your hand and staring at it, you pondered your thoughts and looked up at Professor McGonagall, then Dumbledore.

Like many other students - Hogwarts was your home, over the summer holidays you longed to be back at school, refusing to go home at the end of other terms and during Christmas break; but after everything that happened, between you, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco, Hogwarts no longer felt like home to you - you started to get sick of the place.

“I’ve decided that...” you took a deep breath and sighed “at the end of term I will be leaving Hogwarts and return to a Muggle school.”

Professor McGonagall shook her head in frustration, letting go the lid on her biscuit tin causing it to slam down, making a clang “that’s in three weeks time!” she panicked “how can you go to a Muggle school before your-”

“Minerva” Dumbledore called out softly, putting his hands out in front of him in defence “Miss Y/L/N has made her decision, if she changes her mind I don’t doubt she will tell us.”

3 weeks and you’ll never have to come back to Hogwarts again, it will be just a distant memory, a dream, a different reality that does not exist - you’ll have a second chance at the beginning of your adult life, living amongst Muggles and giving up magic altogether.

You instantly felt better about no longer having to be shunned by everyone, being accused of being a death eater, and you no longer had to worry about your complicated O.W.Ls or the ridiculous stacks of parchment for homework waiting on your desk that would determine your future.

Ron stared at you during your potions class, scowling at you whilst Snape gave you orders around the classroom to help him observe students, clean cauldrons, and get more ingredients from his secret stores instead of doing the same work like everyone else.

“Bloody git” Ron muttered “look at her, doesn’t have to do any work in any class she’s in”

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach, as your dorm mate she couldn’t deny that seeing your empty bed made her feel down and worry about you, even if she hated you at the moment for what happened.

“Well” Hermione replied, focusing on her work, trying to not look over at you “unlike us, she won’t be passing any O.W.Ls”

“Serves her right” Ron muttered again, adding his ingredients into the cauldron.

Harry stared at you, hatred running through his veins along with jealousy and sadness. Seeing you kiss Draco broke his heart, deep down inside, every morning when he woke up and every night before bed Harry swore to himself that he couldn’t ever forgive you.

At first, Harry didn’t want to believe that you had fallen for his enemy, the son of Voldemort's supporters who hated his guts and went out of their way to bully and torment Harry, Hermione, The Weasleys and anyone else beneath them. He tried to convince himself that you were bewitched or fell victim to a strong love potion, but when you refused to be open and tell the truth, hiding away from him - to Harry, your face no longer represented that of an angel, instead, it represented the mask of a death eater.

Part of him felt delighted you were being publicly shunned, but something small inside of his bellowed, telling him that this was all wrong and that what he wants isn’t going to happen because it isn’t meant to be.

Once class came to a close, everyone left but you, because you had no need to study until your Muggle Study books and mock papers arrived, you were forced to stay behind, cleaning and running more errands for your professors.

Draco and Pansy Parkinson were the last to leave, he strutted past your desk, his glare had enough force to strike you down “become a teacher's pet have you now, Ashtray? You’re becoming more insufferable than Hermione.” he spat, smirking as Pansy roared with laughter.

You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to play it cool, but deep down inside you wanted to pull Draco in the most meaningful embrace and kiss to prove to him of your love and trust.

You wanted to prove your trust and friendship to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but like Draco - they didn’t give you a chance, let alone the time of day if you were to pass by.

Snape finished marking his reports for his student's parents, handing the rolls of parchment to you to put into envelopes one by one, the last one he handed to you, you slowly placed into an emerald green envelope as Snape ordered “address this one to Mr and Mrs Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England.

Your heart pained again, even more, this time, the memories of you and Draco flicking through his family pictures at his Manor house filled your head, playing like a movie in your mind. You could feel your heart sink slowly into your tummy, hearing Draco’s laugh and replaying the best memories you two both shared, torturing yourself.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Draco said softly, handing you a slice of his green apple.

You blushed and shook your head, staring at the picnic blanket before finally meeting Draco’s gaze “I love you, Draco.”

Draco smiled and pursed his lips, licking them he replied “I love you too, Y/N.”

You paused for a moment, your quill hovering over the envelope, the past memories stabbing you like a hot poker, you swallowed hard and took a deep breath, finally repeating Snape’s instructions.

You knew much to the discomfort of the Malfoy’s, their manor was used as the base of operations for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Draco rarely mentioned it, but you knew that he wasn’t given a choice, that his father as always, forced his hands into fires he wanted nothing to do with.

Placing the emerald envelope in the stack for the Owls to collect, Snape dismissed you, you got out of your chair and walked over to the door.

“Do take care, Miss Y/L/N, as you study for your Muggle exams” Snape called out.

You turned around to look at him, slightly confused by his sudden words of kindness as he never treated you any different to any other student.

“Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.” He spoke again, you knew at that moment Snape was aware of you and Draco, and everything else that happened

You recognised the quote and smiled slightly “Shakespeare?” You replied, opening the dungeon door.

Snape flashed a rare smile and went back to focusing on the work on his desk, walking out of his class he waved his hand, closing the door behind you.

Ron, Hermione and Harry were waiting outside for you, they didn’t want to patch things up, yet they still felt entitled enough to ask you questions, as if you owed them explanations and answers.

“Helping him are you?” Ron snapped, making you jump out of your skin.

“It’s none of your business” you replied quietly, walking out of the dungeons, and down the halls.

Harry scoffed, feeling the anger boil inside of him “everything became our business when you betrayed us!" he raised his voice at you.

You began to walk faster, trying to throw them off your track as you made your way to Dumbledore's office, hoping they would clear off.

“You would know that I wasn’t betraying you if you gave me a chance to explain!” You hissed, your throat burning.

Stopping outside Dumbledore’s office, your owl swooped down and dropped your study materials in your arms, you clutched onto your books and study papers as your owl took flight, Hermione squinted at your books, reading the titles down the spines to herself quietly.

Before Harry or Ron could reply, or ask another question, Dumbledore came out by surprise, interrupting your argument “I see you have got everything you need” he spoke out, pointing to your books.

You nodded, ignoring your old friends who stood behind you “did my acceptance letter arrive yet?” you asked, staring at him.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded “it did indeed, your parents are most delighted and are waiting eagerly for your return - Harry, Ron, Hermione, please do excuse us” Dumbledore turned his back on them, telling you to follow him into his office.

Harry stared at Dumbledore, giving him a pleading look to tell him what's going on, but Dumbledore ignored him, taking you under his wing.

“For her return?” Ron asked, pacing around the common room, “where is she going?”

“and Dumbledore protecting her like that, Y/N has never been close to him nor has she ever needed a meeting with him” Harry replied, the two of them coming up with their own theories.

Hermione didn’t respond, she focused on stroking Crookshanks, sleeping on her knee, deep in thought about the Muggle books you were cradling, her face dropping when she realised “she’s leaving Hogwarts” Hermione blurted out “Y/N is leaving Hogwarts!”

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @sycathorn-slush @blackqueens01 @astramalfoy

[ellstersmash]

if you wanted the sun

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: T for Teen (language) Words: 1639 [Read on Ao3]

mason takes theo somewhere special, for @wayhavensummer days 5 (stargazing) + 6 (date night). extra kisses to @brightpinkpeppercorn​ for the inspiration ♥

“What the hell is this?” Theo climbs out of the passenger side. Hands shoved into her jacket pockets, she slams the door shut with one hip and stares up at the letters mounted above the building.

Mason walks up next to her. “A planetarium.”

“Wow,” she drawls. “Thanks, man. It's tough navigating the world without being able to read a fucking sign.”

He snorts and heads for the door. A wide white path, clean, lawn edged harsh and neat, leads to the entryway.

“I meant what are we doing here?”

That's not an answer he's prepared to give up, but even without it, she follows. Steps as familiar as her heartbeat right behind him, faster, then she catches up.

“They're closed,” she points out in a deadpan tone, leaning against the glass next to a list of white-etched business hours. “See? I have eyes.”

Mason glares at her wearily but she screws her face up to match, then sticks her tongue out to make him break.

And he does. He always does.

“C'mon, you little shit,” he says, and veers off the sidewalk, hugging the whitewashed walls to the back door. Metal, up a few shoddy-looking cement steps, all lit by one long loudly buzzing fluorescent bulb. A shake of the handle tells him enough: the hardware's sturdy but there's no deadbolt to break.

Grip firm, he yanks the door open.

Theo blinks, frowns, then climbs the steps. Her fingers smooth across the shredded wood around a small mangled hole where the latch strike busted free.

“Sometimes I forget you can do stuff like that,” she says, wearing an uncertain expression.

“Surprise.”

“You know, I probably could've picked that and saved the museum a buck.”

Mason shrugs and squeezes past her, swinging backward and hooking a finger in her belt loop as he passes. “In my defense, sometimes I forget you can do stuff like that.”

They wander down the hall past a few Staff Only and storage rooms and into the lobby, eyes peeled for cameras or even a cleaning crew. Despite the sheer size of it, there’s no sign of security. Probably reserved for the museum next door and all its grand exhibits and ancient artifacts, but there’s definitely some shit in here worth stealing.

Dotting the floor are embedded golden plaques with names and companies, ego-appeasers for generous donors, and at the center sits a large elegant model of the solar system. After a cursory search, Theo finds a basic-looking switch behind the membership counter that brings it to life, planets crawling their thrown race around the sun while a few moons whirl around their mother planets.

She hops onto the counter—first attempt a false start that makes her snicker, but the second takes—and thumps her sneakers against it. “Looks different than I remember it.”

Her voice is hushed, though there’s no need. Even so, it echoes around the room. Bounces off the sparkling floors and high ceilings and smooth painted walls. Follows a million paths into Mason's ears.

“Yeah?” he asks. “You come here often?”

She shakes her head, craning her neck to see all there is to see from her vantage point. “City's too far for school field trips. But I came once a few years ago. It's weird being here in the dark.”

“Want the lights on?”

“I don't know, do you want to spend the night in jail?” she shoots back, leaning forward on the heels of her palms. “Because that's how you spend the night in jail.”

Mason hums thoughtfully and approaches her perch. Theo doesn't shy back when he parts her knees to stand between them, knuckles planted on the desk beside her hands. A top-down view of long lashes as her gaze flickers to his lips.

Funny how that doesn’t get old.

“Think they'd let us bunk together?” he asks. “Because I'd be down for that.”

“Bet you would.”

It's late and she's tired, eyes all soft, blinking a little slower and staring a little long. Mason's reaching up for her before he can think about it, not that thinking about it would end any differently. Not these days. It's just more time spent not doing it, so why bother?

Fingers beneath her chin, his thumb sweeps across her lower lip—she follows it with her tongue as if trying to taste him there.

Kissing her is dangerous, but he does it anyway. Real quick, but he sinks back in like he knew he fucking would, all too ready to lose himself for just a minute in this one good thing. Her lips. Her tongue. Her hands climbing up his chest. Her eyes, blue-black, when she pulls away with a hard shake of her head that tells him she got lost, too.

“So, uh…” She clears her throat. “I'm assuming we didn't drive for three hours to break in here just to fool around on the front desk.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.” Mason grins and gives her room, throwing an arm around her shoulders once she's got her feet back on the floor. He tilts his head toward a set of double doors at the back of the lobby. “Wanna catch a show?”

The nod she gives him is almost gleeful.

Inside the theater is pitch black, doors sealed so well not even he can see. Theo digs in his pocket for his phone and the screen bathes both their faces in harsh blue light before she turns the flashlight on and the screen off.

It’s an impressive place. The domed ceiling takes up the whole upper half of the structure, stark white against the dark carpet and soundproofing and circular rows of seats. The projector in the center of the room, almost futuristic in appearance, has its own stand and accompanying instrument panel.

“That’s new,” Theo murmurs, flashlight sweeping back and forth across the panel as she inspects the various labels on each of the sliders and switches and screens.

“You know how to work this thing?”

She turns to him with an incredulous stare. “Do I—? What do I look like, some kind of A/V wizard? No, I don’t know how to work it. Do you?”

Mason looks over the panel. He flicks a switch mounted alone on the side, and the edges of the screen glow faintly as the projector whirs. 

“Lucky guess,” Theo mumbles. Reaching past him, she presses another button, and all at once Mason’s senses are slammed by light and sound and vibration. He staggers, clasping his hands over his ears.

Almost as quickly, it abates. 

“Shit!” Theo hisses through her teeth, hand soothing on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine. But let’s not do that again.”

“I think this one’s the master volume.”

She slides the knob all the way down, and they hope that means off but he braces for the worst. Thankfully, this time, it’s only the screen and without the rest, it’s not too much. Just a dizzying sky filled with pinpoints of light spinning silently above them.

“Woah,” Theo says with her eyes cast upward. 

“Well? What do you think?” Mason asks, just to hear it.

But the smile on her face is more than answer enough. She slides his phone back in his pocket and takes his hand instead. Brings his knuckles to her lips. Leads him to the rows of seats and they pick two and clamber over, Mason’s arm settling back around her shoulders. Easy.

The view abruptly changes to one of an astronaut on a spacewalk. As their tether drifts weightless around them, their feet hover above the faraway Earth, all that emptiness in between and nothing to show the scale of such an unfathomable distance.

“You know,” Theo muses, “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger. Well—” She gazes longingly at the scene. “Ok, longer than that.”

Mason does know. She’s mentioned it sort of in passing, before, though not as a story to be told. “What changed?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Nothing. Got talked out of it. Bobby was going to school for journalism and wanted us to have more classes together. Said my p— Uh. My writing was ‘too good to go undeveloped.’”

That last bit is accentuated with a snide voice and finger quotes but it still sounds off. In Mason’s experience, that shithead reporter doesn't know how to give a compliment without wanting something for it.

Theo bumps her elbow into his, a sweet half-smile cutting through his growing rage. “I see that look. And you're right, it was total bullshit. He just wanted someone to carry him to graduation.”

“It’s interesting how nothing I learn about that asshole makes me not want to punch him.”

“Yeah,” and she goes so quiet. “But guess which idiot fell for it?”

Not you, he wants to say. Just... another younger stupider you.

Yeah, that won't come out right. He squeezes her hand instead.

The idea of her out there, stuffed into that suit, all that nothing between her and here, makes Mason’s chest tighten in a way he’d rather not think about. But she would love it. And she’d be incredible, he knows, brave and smart and decisive and curious.

“You could go back.”

“Maybe. Probably won't, though. I've lost so much time. And momentum. And shit, I'm too tired to sign up for twelve more years of academia. Besides, if I was up there, I wouldn't—” She shifts next to him and drums her fingers on the armrest, little echoes in Mason's skull. “You know. Wouldn't be here. Doing this.”

Fuck, her heart is so fast. Flying through beats like they're disposable. As a solar flare arcs across the ceiling, she meets his eyes for a split second, skin painted with freckles like stars, and he gets it.

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

Tag List is open! Comment or DM to be added.

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12

Word Count: 1992

    The pile of clothes at the end of the bed seems impossible to sort as Amaris searches for her shirt. Her hands shake, and her mind yells at her. She said it would only be once, so why has she been in Tom's bed every day for the last week?

    "Here, your shirt," Tom says as he hands Amaris her ripped Metallica shirt. She didn't listen to the band much anymore; they were a little too heavy for her. She thanks him with a small smile and throws it on, finding her blue shorts quickly after. "You know, you don't have to leave so fast," Tom states, leaning against his bedpost. He hated seeing her leave so quickly after; it sent dread and sadness throughout his body. "We're still friends."

    Amaris can't help the heavy sigh that passes her lips. "Are we Tom? We haven't done friendly things since we started this mess. All we do is fuck," She bites, making her way out of his bedroom. It felt suffocating in there. Like all her evil deeds were ganging up to end her then and there. She didn't mean for the words to sound bitter, but it was true.

    Tom follows her out. "Then let's do something today. It's only noon. We have the whole day. Let's go bowling or something. Let's hang out, Mari. Let me show you we're still friends." Tom begs. He didn't want to lose her as a friend, which is why he hid these feelings for so long. It felt like his worst nightmare was happening before his eyes, and it had only been a week into the affair.

    He knew she was still with Armel, but he didn't care. He had her too, and he didn't mind sharing when she came to him to finish the job Armel couldn't. However, the jealously was nagging at him, and he had to continuously remind himself that this was what he wanted.

    "Fine. Armel and Juno are in classes, and I don't feel like dealing with Danny's drama." Tom smiles, stepping forward to kiss Amaris. She puts her hand up as a shield. "Strictly friends, Thomas." He sighs and chooses to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a friendly hug.

    "Deal. So bowling?" He asks. "Museum? I have no preference." Amaris thinks what the least romantic option would be.

    "Bowling," She states, pulling out of Tom's hug. It was public and loud, not a typically romantic place. She eyes him up and down, lingering on his shirtless torso a second longer than was platonic. "But I think you'll need to put a shirt on." She giggles as Tom flexes in typical bodybuilder poses.

    "What? Think you'd get too distracted by these guns?" He teases, flexing his biceps.

    "More like blinded by your pale skin," Amaris quips back. Tom fakes shock but can't hide the laugh bubbling in his belly. It felt good to joke around as friends again. Amaris could almost forget that she was slowly breaking Armel's heart. Almost.

    Tom holds the door to the bowling alley open for Amaris. The drive to the destination was full of jokes, singing, and everything they used to do when strictly friends. Amaris stays behind Tom, looking around for any fame hogs to steer clear of.

    Wherever Amaris went, she had to worry about someone using her to get famous or selling photos to the press. Of course, her being out with Tom wasn't anything new. The tabloids knew they were friends from a young age. But now that she's secretly sleeping with him, she continued to shift from foot to foot, heart pumping with exhilaration. She was out in public with her sideman, and no one knew but them.

    The pair sit in front of their lane, tying up their bowling shoes. "You still bowl with a ten, right?" Tom asks, standing up from his seat. Amaris confirms and goes to set their names in the tracker. She puts Tom under Tommy and hers under Mari. She wasn't the most creative when it came to nicknames.

    The first few rounds go by quickly, both adults focusing on dusting off their bowling skills. They used to bowl together a lot when Amaris was younger. This is the place he would take Amaris when she couldn't stand being a daughter of a millionaire much longer. Bowling was one of the few activities she had that made her feel like an average person again. At least for the duration of the game.

    "Take that, Maria," Tom jokes, finally getting a strike. He doesn't know where the nickname Maria came from, but it's only said during bowling. Amaris flips her friend off and gets set for her next bowl. When all pins are set up, she gets into her stance, focusing all her energy on trying to beat Tom.

    She pulls her arm back, about to let go when Tom's foot collides with her butt, throwing her off balance. The ball slowly rolls into the gutter. Amaris turns around to yell at Tom, stepping back when he's closer than expected. "That's a party foul," She whines.

    "Oh well," Tom says, walking back to his chair smugly. His roguish smile plastered on his perfect face as he takes a seat, leaving Amaris flustered.

    "You're an asshole, Hiddleston," She pouts, going back to the ball return. Tom chuckles and crosses one leg over the other. He felt proud of his actions. Amaris was a better bowler than he was, so he plays dirty when he can. It was also a mild excuse to touch her ass in public. It was the little wins for him.

    The joke was on Tom, though. After his little stunt, Amaris set out to obliterate the man and scored nothing but strikes and spares from then out. Tom steps up to the lines with an exaggerated pout. It was his last bowl, and he had to get a spare with split pins if he was going to try to make the embarrassing difference slightly less embarrassing.

    Amaris falls into a fit of giggles when Tom's ball ends in the gutter, hitting neither pin. Tom stalks over, not offended but feeling a swell of pride at the fact that he made her laugh this hard, all on his own. "Think something's funny, do you, Mari?" He asks hands on hips. The teasing was his favorite part of their dynamic, and he's thankful to all things good that it's back.

    "You bowl like an infant," Amaris continues to giggle, clutching her stomach. The last time she laughed this hard was when Juno slipped off their barstool after one glass too much and could only mumble an incoherent sentence about the 'stupid stool moving when I need it.' Amaris may have been tipsy as well. "I could bowl better from the womb," She continues.

    They both knew the joking and berating was good fun. It's just how Tom and Amaris were. They teased and fool around with each other until one cracks and gushes about loving the other. As friends, of course.

    Tom plops down in the seat beside her, crossing his arms. He could never be mad at her. Especially when she's laughing so hard she has to cover her mouth to muffle snorts. Those were Tom's favorite sounds. Sure, having Amaris scream his name was heavenly, but her snorts meant she felt safe and happy in her surroundings. He can't help but feel his smile widen at the fact that he's her safe spot.

    Amaris lays her head on his shoulder after her laughter dies down. "I'm pretty sure you find yourself funnier than you find me," Tom laughs, resting his arm across her shoulders. She nods, falling into another small fit of giggles.

    "'from the womb,'" She quotes herself. Amaris clears her throat as she sits straighter to look at Tom. "You know I love you, Tom," The words were so innocent, and she's said them to him before, so why did it feel different this time? Her cheeks burn, and her ears ring as if the words rang a bell right in her ear. "But please never take up professional bowling."

    "What do you mean? I could be the comparison person. 'And here we have average Joe to show you exactly how hard this dreaded spot, that's not really a sport, is,'" Tom jokes. Amaris giggles again, shaking her head to the man. "Keep laughing, and I'll throw you down the lane," Tom threatens lightly.

    "Don't threaten me with a good time, Tom," Amaris says, smiling widely at her best friend. It felt like all the guilt and troubles she's felt since Armel came to New York continue to fade into background noise when she's with Tom. He made everything feel brighter and lighter for her. Amaris felt like she could breathe for the first time when she's with him.

    "What? Sliding down the alley?" Tom asks, shifting to look at her better. She was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Amaris's blonde hair was sticking to her face caused by the sweat, her smile was brighter than a thousand suns, and her eyes were like nothing he's seen before. They held so much joy that Tom forgot what sorrow was. Amaris nods. "Why not?" Tom asks, standing up from his spot, offering a hand to Amaris.

    "What?" Amaris asks in shock. She didn't think Tom would want to do something so juvenile with her, especially in public where anyone could see them making fools of themselves. Tom pulls her out of her seat.

    "Life's not fun if you take yourself too serious, Mari," Tom says, backing towards the lane. "You said you wanted to do this, so let's do it. I'll even go first."

    "Are you peer pressuring me?" Amaris asks, crossing her arms. The smirk she wears gives away that she was going to go after Tom anyways.

    Tom nods, a mockingly serious expression on his face. "Absolutely. Is it working?" Tom asks, waiting for Amaris's cue to embarrass himself in front of everyone. Not that he genuinely cared. They'd be a page story for one print, and everyone would forget.

    "You know I crack under pressure," Amaris says. Tom takes that as a yes and turns towards the lane. He takes a running start and maneuvers to slide down the alley on his belly.

    The disappointment he felt when he doesn't slide far makes its way onto his features. His feet weren't past the black line of the lane. Amaris stands behind him, giggling up a storm.

    Tom shuffles over to her, shoulders slumped, and head hung low. "Good luck," He wishes, patting Amaris on the back. She starts running from where she's at and makes it only an inch further than Tom did.

    Amaris jogs over to him, already seeing the staff discussing what to do about them. "That was extremely disappointing, and I think we're about to get kicked out," She laughs, gesturing to the staff. Tom laughs and hurries to sit down, taking off his bowling shoes. Amaris follows suit.

    This was one of the best days she's had since being home. It felt freeing to be out with Tom and not worry about anyone else but him. Her cheeks were growing sore from all the joy showing itself on her face. But the smile was only the tip of the iceberg. Her heart was pumping, and she felt like she was vibrating and needed an outlet for all the emotion. It was almost too much for her small frame to handle.

    Tom felt similar. He enjoyed spending alone time with Amaris. He didn't have to worry about business or what he hadn't done. Amaris helped Tom focus on what he is doing. And what he is doing is having the time of his life sliding down alleyways with the woman he loved with all his heart. As a friend, of course.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​ @kingtwhiddleston​ @cynic-spirit​

[internalsealpanic]

Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries

Summary:  Sneaking out for a movie turns out to be a bad idea. 

A/n: So... this was supposed to com out on Halloween then I confessed about thirst then my priorities shifted. Well, since I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving this is just extended Halloween. It would be funny to do a Thanksgiving thing with the Batfam.  Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @lucy-roo for proof reading this crack. Thanks for @ereawrites for the encouragement. And thanks to @littleredwing89​ for the mood board. (I love you my dear enabler.) Also “[ ]” will indicate characters speaking in a different language. I sadly could not find grammar stuff for the language so you will have to bear with me.  This is still part of the Merc! Reader series. 

Warnings: Gore, a lot of blood, dumb bickering, Dick being a cute dork, and snake bleps.

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"Aliens don't exist," You huff around your thoroughly chewed straw, swirling the radioactive green smoothie Dick insisted that you try. You debate on whether to take out the bag of confectioners sugar you bought and pour it in. Dick makes a noise, indiscernible with his own straw in his mouth. You cast a glance at him only to see his neon blue smoothie spurting out of his nose. Your snort quietly, the noise hidden by the rustling of grocery bags against your bouncing leg but based on the way he’s pouting at you, Dick clearly sees your lack of sympathy and takes offense. You shrug at him. 

 Brushing the liquid away with the sleeve of his denim jacket, Dick levels you his best batglare. You give him an impassive half-asleep response of ‘hnnn’ which just gave him flashbacks about talking to Bruce. You’re entirely too focused on the fact that the blue of the smoothie is still alarmingly stark even against the blue of the denim.  “You’ve met Superman, right?”

 You roll your eyes at his piss poor attempt at intimidating you and pinch your straw between your thumb and index finger, trying to break apart the clumps of ice preventing you from getting more smoothie. “-Met is a strong word-” You drawled causing him to sneer.  “Just say he kicked your ass six ways to Sunday like a normal person.”

 “I fought him.”

 “You got your ass beat-” You glare at him sticking your green tongue out at him and in return he sticks his blue tongue out at you. It was true but he didn’t have to say it. This is always how your long-held arguments start. 

 “Besides, aren’t you and Slade metas?” He breaks in after a long moment, instantly cutting off the possibility of weeks of not talking to each other. You smile balefully at him. “Precisely.”

 “What? How does you being a weirdo disprove aliens?” 

 You make an affronted sound through your nose but launch into your explanation in your professorial voice. “The guy’s gotta be some kind of meta and he probably just came up with the Krypton thing afterwards. It sounds cooler, yanno?” 

 Dick looks up to the smog covered Gotham sky, leaning back against the solid brick pillar behind him. “Well, why can’t he be an alien?” He says dreamily tracing unseen constellations with his right hand. You briefly remember him mentioning stargazing with his parents when he was younger. There is something warm in the memory even if it wasn’t yours.  You look down at him, eyebrow ticking. “Ok genius, tell me why there would be aliens that look exactly like us?”

 “Why not?” He says grinning at you. The sterile lighting of the grocery store light filtering through smudgy windows highlighting his features. The shadows highlighting the shape of his cheekbones and the dimples forming at the edges of his cheeks.  When had Dick gone from cute to handsome? You shake your head, avoiding his smiling corscian blue eyes. 

 “Becaaauuuuuse, dipshit, that’s not how evolution works” You bite out. 

 “What about convergent evolution?” He offers casually and your tongue freezes. A light flickers in his eyes and his pretty mouth twitch up into a laugh when you fail to respond. “You forgot about that, didn’t you? HA”

 “I regret this conversation.”

 “HA”

 “Superman fanboy” you accuse, jabbing a finger into his chest. Dick giggles either from your weak deflection or the fact he’s ticklish, either way, your stomach does somersaults.  

 “Just say you’re wrong.” He says grinning, the divots formed by his dimples becoming more apparent.  You feel Yasiri’s tail flick across your collarbone, her body coiling up in response to your irritation. Your mouth curls too but the irritation doesn’t quite boil over as you expected it to, not when  Dick smiles at you like that. There’s a strange twisting in your stomach. You aren’t sure what it is but you’re pretty sure that you don’t like it. You blow out a breath, sound caught between a tired laugh and a long-suffering sigh, and pick your grocery bags before getting up. 

 Not even 5 seconds after you resolve to abandon him, Dick’s already by your side, falling into step with you bumping his shoulder against yours in a placating gesture. Yasiri slithers from the skin on the base of your neck to hiss at him. Dick smiles at her unfazed despite the clear and present danger. He pets her without much fuss from your usually ferocious snake. You make an amused noise at her compliance. 

 The walk is spent in easy companionable silence. The kind you two settle into when Dick knows you need to settle down. You were a sore loser when it comes to arguments but so was he, so you tend to let the other work through it. You grimace at your lightly scuffed shoes. They weren’t expensive or flashy or even one of a kind but they were comfortable, reliable, and most importantly they were from Mr. Wintergreen- Uncle Wintergreen, he insisted. The fact that he’d taken the time at all made your stomach flip-

 Your stomach dropped. Your throat and mouth felt dry. The scent of copper permeating the air as you stared at the red puddle beneath your white shoes, a severed finger poking at you. 

 "Y/n?" 

 You must have stopped abruptly. You turn to Dick mechanically and see his face crumple into worry. Before you can rush out words of dismissal, your ears tune in to the sounds of a haunting melody. Yasiri rattles around your neck once again leaving the safety of your collar bone. Your head swivels mechanically towards the old theatre. Dick looks at you curiously, concern flashing in his eyes when another scream erupts from the theater. You both stiffen, spines straightening. Eyes blown wide, your feet take you toward the theater. 

Dick falls into step with you.”You’re not seriously going, are you? You’ve- Didn’t we just watch a horror movie?”

 “You seem to be going the same way.” You point out, side-eyeing him sharply, the sour look on your face not betraying the anxiety cloying at your spine. In the corner of your eye, you can see Dick huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. 

 “I’m Robin.” 

 “And I kicked your ass just 2 days ago and served it on a silver platter while quoting the one and only Arnold Schwarzenegger,” You grin absolutely, unequivocally unapologetic. 

 “I was protecting civilians!” He protests, throwing up his hands theatrically. 

 “Iieerrelevant~”

 Dick opens his mouth to contest your point but there really was convincing you on that. His face screws up and being the gracious loser that he is, he sticks his still neon blue tongue out at you. You, being the graceful winner that you were, stick your radioactively neon green tongue at him in answer. 

 You continue to bicker about the merits of his heroism on the battlefield 'til you reach the front of the theater. You tuck your grocery bags behind debris by the entrance making sure to keep them well hidden. Dick wants to point out that they’ll probably be gone by the time you two are done but Yasiri was staring at him like she was about to strike at him for real this time. 

  It- It wasn’t hard to get into the building. Dick held out his hand to you as you climbed over another set of debris. You take it. You thank him clumsily. He bows to you a gremlin smile spreading across his face. You sneer but give him a sharp smile in return. 

 It’s dark. The absence of light is thick. It makes the sounds of your heartbeats uncomfortably loud. You swallow. You trace your finger along your skin, the hilt of your knife falls easily into your hand. You trace your finger on your other arm and hand the knife to Dick who shakes his head.  You shrug and let it melt back into your skin. 

 “You have a tracker on you, right?”

 “No-” You eye him, cutting him a look of disbelief. “I-”

 “Relax, I have one too.” You deadpan. 

 Dick sighs. “You’re dad’s paranoid too?”

 “So is yours” You snip, hackles drawn. 

“Bruce isn’t my dad.”

 “Slade isn’t mine either.”

 “Mentors?” Dick offers placatingly.

 “Polite way of saying bossy prick, I guess.” You roll your eyes but concede. 

 “I mean I don’t know about Wintergreen but Alfred taught me some manners.” Dick shrugs, folding his arms behind his head somehow relaxed despite the thick scent of blood in the air or maybe this was how Dick was when he was nervous. 

 The truth was Wintergreen had attempted to teach you manners but he’d run into quite a few problems. The first being that you were a terrible student. Sure, you caught on quickly when you could but anything you didn’t gravitate towards didn’t hold your limited attention long enough to make an actual impact on you. Now that in of itself was fixable with the right kind of bribery. The other problem was less so. Your mentor, if you could really call him that, was a rude bastard. Long story short, you’ve never seen the point, much to Wintergreen’s chagrin and Slade’s amusement. You were, however, a master of mouthing off. 

 “Shouldn’t we call back up?”

 You flick your eyes to him, uselessly, but based on the shifting of the body beside you he somehow got the message. “Go ahead, if you wanna explain to big daddy bats why you’re hanging out with me, sure.”

 Yeah. That wasn’t an option. There was, of course, a silent understanding that bats probably knew about your little hangouts but still. 

You pad the walls with your left hand while your right was gripping Dick’s sleeve, white-knuckled. You cringe every now and again feeling the walls slick with what you weren’t eager to investigate. You strain your ear to listen for odd sounds but mostly to see if Dick, as you suspect, is echolocating. 

 “How are you doing that?”

 “Doing what?”

 “Silently echolocating?”

 Dick snickers. “I am not. You do know B isn’t an actual bat, right?”

 “Oh yeah, I forgot he was just a furry.” You sneer. Dick snorts a sound caught between amusement and offense. He clearly respected Bruce. Not the same way you respected Slade, maybe, but you understood how larger than life the Batman was even if he was the biggest pain in your ass by far. 

 “Do you really have any room to make fun of my mentor when yours has ‘Stroke’ in his name?”

 “I have plenty of room, probably. Why not  echolocate to check just how much room I have?”

 “Listen here-”

 The opera music floods the silent hall, sharp and clear. You feel the air around you catch fire and your fraying nerves. You turn your head to Dick. Despite not being able to see him, you know his mouth flattens and his brow wrinkles the way they do when you two agree to do something incomprehensibly stupid. This time you do not argue or question or even complain. You simply go forward.

A scream, messy and jagged, tangles with the smooth crispness of the opera music. It makes your stomach turn almost as much as the idea of who or, more appropriately, whatever was behind it. You were familiar with the cruelties Gotham’s monsters were capable of. You have, after all, worked for quite a few. 

 But this? 

 This pure, uncut agony in that scream? That was just something you could not stomach. You feel Dick flinch at the sound, almost jumping out of his skin. You squeeze his arm once, then twice, then twice once more. You feel his hand on your wrist, reciprocating the gesture. You smile at him reassuringly not knowing whether it would make things better or whether he can actually see it. 

 Neither of you is particularly good at dealing with people’s pain. That might not be the right word for it. Neither of you coped well. You absorbed too much of it. You were, however, much better at hiding it. Not that you could fault Dick on that. You didn’t even attempt. For Dick, humanity was a part of the job. Compassion? Kindness? That was to be expected of a hero not derided. To uphold that in the face of Gotham’s worst, that took strength. 

 Strength, in your case, was directed elsewhere. Something bone-breaking, more visceral. You suppose that was the problem with keeping company with survivors. Perpetually dancing on the brink of death robbed you of something but you haven’t exactly known any other life besides this. 

 The end of the hall is light by bright lights, sterile white, the kind you only saw in clinics. Your head runs through the catalog of Gotham’s rogues, possibilities of which utter psychopath could possibly be doing this. 

 “We should call the cops.”

 Not really really paying attention, you nod. You should probably. You grip the handle of your knife, flexing your fingers nervously, as another scream cuts through the air. Dick’s body curls, recoiling at the sound. The sound, this close, was enough to make you twitch. 

 “Can’t we just text them?”

 “What do you think this is? Canada?”

 “Ok, fair but make sure to tell them you’re Dickle Grayson.” You tease, smiling way too easily considering the creepy atmosphere. 

 Dick crosses his arms over his chest.“And summon a media storm?”

 “It would get the police here faster.”  

 “I hate it when you’re right,” Dick wishes he could wipe the absolutely smug grin off your face. “We need to back up. You know, in case, he can hear us.”

 “I mean you are the one unarmed here.” You say, waving your arms at him. 

 “No, I’m not. I have my bird-a-rangs.” Dick preens, taking them out from some pocket hidden in his jacket. 

 “Bird-a-rangs.” You echo, raising a brow. 

 “Yup. Bird-a-rangs.”

 “You are officially- no, you are legally not allowed to name things.”

 Dick makes an offended squawking noise.“Oh, come on! Still not as bad as Sharknado.”

 “Take. That. Back. Heathen.”

 “Make me.”

 Both of you still. Yasiri unfurls from your collarbone, her tail rattling. You spin on your heel. Your knife swings out in a wide crescent of light.  Thick crimson splashes across your face. At the end of your knife was a person- no, it was a person in the past tense. It makes a small cry when you wiggle the blade planted in its throat a fraction. Otherwise, it ignores the fact that it is, in fact, bleeding out from its jugular. It’s thick, clumsy limbs reach for you. Your stomach rolls. The thing in front of you, the mangled approximation of what was once a person, is lurching towards you. You think you sneer in disgust but your face is far too numb to tell. 

 “Dick! Just call the cops!” You snarl, panic rising audibly as more bodies emerge from God knows where. You kick the one to your front off to the side, shredding its neck. It takes everything in you not to vomit. In the corner of your eye, you see Dick type as he kicks another one away.   You two back into each other as the bodies close around you, cutting off all the exits. You roll up your sleeve tracing a blood-soaked finger over the lines of your tattoo and producing another knife. Dick pulls out his bird-a-rangs. 

 Dick landed blows but they weren’t hard enough to maim or be fatal. Even if he was to hit them with the sharp bird-a-rangs, he would still aim non fatally. Slade would kill you if you fought so inefficiently or maybe he would just taunt you. Either way, you didn’t care much for Dick’s squeamishness right now as the bodies kept getting back up. As far as you can tell, you’re doing them a favor. 

 The first wave of bodies rushes towards you. Their limbs jutting towards you clumsily. You swing your blade, vicious and precise. You feel metal clash against flesh, against bone. Blood coats every available surface on you.  You hear Dick squawk and you don’t really need to turn around to check that he’s also covered in it too. The spray of blood makes the air thick with the scent of copper. The blood on your skin burns. 

 “Duck!”

 “Goose!” You shout, ducking and slashing down at a row of bodies and legs. You hear his bird-a-rangs slice through the air cleanly and land on one of the creature's shoulders. You let out a huff of air thinking of all the more permanent places it could have landed. He throws a few more hitting them in the face. 

 Dick launches over you, using you as a springboard. You grunt and he winks at you like a showman. His foot predictably lands an impressive blow on one of the creature's faces. You two regroup back to back immediately after he lands. 

 Your eyes widen a fraction when a hand from out of nowhere grabs at your face catching you off guard. Your breath catches when you feel a hand at your shoulder pushing you down. A fist makes contact with the creature’s swollen face and it takes a moment for your mind to realize that it’s Dick’s hand on your shoulder and Dick’s fist making contact with the creature. 

 “Thanks,” You mumble, straightening yourself out. “I had it.”

 “You’re welcome, Pookie.” You flush as Dick winks at you. “You know I literally have your back.” He teases. You groan bending back into a fighting stance.

 “When we get out of here alive, we are working on your sense of humor.” Dick chuckles at that, making your muscles ease. “Says the person who shouted ‘Goose!’.” 

 You land every blow with every intent to make it fatal. Dick is still sticking to his nonfatal method. Normally, it was pure joy to watch Dick as he fights. The sheer control he commands over his muscles was awe-inspiring. Despite his size, he’s able to land blows just as powerful as yours. He would truly be terrifying if he were to be anything but himself. 

 These bodies. They’re too alive, too much. The next wave comes at you more fervently with more bodies. Another wave of nausea hits you when hands grasp at your arms. Your stomach tries to twist out of your abdomen. You try to wrench yourself free. You pull and twist and thrash, only succeeding in getting yourself pulled in deeper. 

 “Dick!” You cry reflexively. The coarseness in your voice lets the fear spill all over your vowels. 

 Dick’s corscian eyes widen with a flash of panic. To Dick, you and death were two separate lines running on parallel tracks next to each other, never quite crossing and never belonging to the same headspace. Completely mutually exclusive as far as he knew.  But right at this moment, right as you’re about to be swallowed whole by the crowd of misshapen bodies, he watches those lines slowly intersect. Dick doesn’t know where his heart has leaped to. 

 “Y/n!”

The world resurfaces in a surge of bright white light. Some small part of you is really hoping that Dick is, for once, right about the alien thing. Quietly you draw in a calming breath. It’s shallow not wanting your chest to rise too much to give away your consciousness. 

 The opera music is blaring in your still ringing head which isn’t helped by the wannabe opera singer belting his lungs out. Thankfully, that means he’s distracted. You move your limbs checking. Everything seems to be intact AND you seem to be tied up to someone instead of something which was either good or bad depending on who it is. 

 “Mornin’ sleepy head” Dick mumbles quietly, sounding relieved. You click your teeth in irritation. 

 “Morning, Disco Stick. Any chance you magically woke up with a plan or were you just taking a beauty nap?”

 “I don’t need one and sort of.”

 “Well shit, we’re screwed then.” 

 “You’re being dramatic.”

 “I’m sorry which of us is running around doing somersaults when they’re assaulting criminals?”

 “In my defense, flipping makes my kicks land harder.” Which was true but you were feeling snippy. “It also gives them much more time to dodge or counter.”

 “Killjoy.” You roll your eyes, smiling. You know he’s being cute and pouting. Given this is really not the time considering there is a man butchering another man a few feet away from you while singing bad opera. You really did stumble into a horror movie. “Please tell me you called Batman or the police.”

 “Both.”

 “How?”

 “Some of us are good at multitasking.” Dick chirps proudly leaning against you. You scoff judging just how tightly the ropes are bound around you. 

 “Well, you are good at being insufferable while still breathing.”

 “Isn’t that part of my charm?”

 You snicker accidentally tugging at the binds around you. You hear Dick wince likely from what is a bruised rib or, heaven help you, a broken one. “Sorry.” You whisper low and small.

  Shit. What if he had a broken rib. Shit. Shit. 

 “I’m ok, Hon.” Dick laughs making sure to lay the Delaware accent thick. It makes your chest feel warm even though everything else in you was freezing from dread. You snort. “Fine, bleed out for all I care.”

 “Awwww don’t be like that.” You sigh. You hate how weak you are to his puppy dog eyes. You can’t even see it. You decide to change the subject instead. “So what are the odds that we’re escaping if we break out of their bonds now?”

 “Not high.”

 “Even if I get Yasiri to gently inject him with poison?”

 “Please tell me you didn’t bring poison to our hangout.”

 “I mean. Do twinkies count?”

 “No.”

 “Ok, fine. So we’re stalling then.”

 “Pretty much.”

 “I hate this.”

 “You were the one who started heading in.”

 “Why didn’t you stop me then?”

 The man at the surgical table turns to you with a whimsical flourish as the body on the table goes limp. No, not limp. Docile. You have just witnessed a person become a body, you think numbly. The way the fight so easily left its limbs made you shudder, feeling the fight in your own limbs fleeting out. This isn’t how you want to die, not by the hand of a madman. At least, not until you’ve put your own demons to rest. 

 “Look who’s awake,” He drawls, his voice slimy and all the vowels coming out at the wrong pitches. Dick shifts the two of you so that he’s angled slightly in front of you. He squares his shoulder trying to make his lean form look far bigger than it actually is. You smile at his attempt to be protective because deep down you both know you’re the more intimidating one and you’re the one who can take more punishment. Your power and training have those pleasant side effects. 

 You see him draw closer making you snarl. “Come any closer and I swear I will rip your throat out.” You are surprised at how even the threat came out but the distilled ferocity you had put into it didn’t quite show, likely blunted by the fear pooling in your stomach.  

 “Don’t worry I’ll make you perfect too. I promise.” He reaches past Dick, grabbing you by the back of your neck. The grip on you is bruising and callous. He forces you to bow your head and look down at the bloodstains on your clothes. The browning blots of red stain your white Wonder Woman shirt. You swallow.  You felt like a lamb being dragged to slaughter. Dick, likely without thinking, bites down on the man’s wrist.

 The man pulls away with a cry, cradling his bleeding wrist. “Are you ok?” Dick asks, spitting blood out, eyes shiny with concern. You gulp down air before nodding. Dick presses closer to you reassuring you. Shaken, you press back, careful not to press hard enough to hurt him. 

 Your floundering mind comes to one conclusion. You can’t let him touch Dick. You use your strength to shift your positions so that Dick is completely behind you.  Dick tries to move you back but you plant your heels preventing him from even inching. 

 The man grabs you by the collar of your shirt, pulling you off the ground. You hear Dick’s breath hitch. His heart rate kicks up and so does yours. Fury burning in the man’s eyes. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” He screams, shaking you. “NO. NO. NO. MY- I’M- NO! PERFECT. I NEED- I NEED TO BE PERFECT.” Somehow the spit flying in your face grosses you out more than the blood probably drying on your face. It’s only winning by a small margin though. 

 Bile is rising in your throat. Still, you grin, sneering and taunting. “Trust me you didn’t need help in the department,” You jeer. Dick squirms behind you. Urging you to stop. You don’t. “You think those pisspoor excuses for creatures you sicced on us were perfect. HA!” You can feel Dick shaking his head behind you.  You nudge him assuring him you’ve got a plan. You did. Sort of. It’s more of a goal really. Take his attention off of Dick. 

 “[Y/n, please no. Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing. But I can take it. Moon, please.]” Dick pleads, voice hoarse and desperate. ‘Shion’. Moon. The endearment glances of your ribs like a well placed kick to the chest. You don’t let your eyes flick to him. “[Which us is meta here?]” You whisper back in broken Romani. You cringe a little knowing just how badly you butchered the sentence.  Dick makes an affronted noise.  “Cham.” You whisper quietly, trying to shape your vowels and consonants correctly. Dick’s breath catches. Sun. Sure, the endearment seemed inadequate, too succinct, when compared to how much you care for him but as of right now it will have to do. 

 The man shakes you again dragging your attention away from Dick. Your smarmy grin cuts across your face as if you’re not pissing yourself from fear. A large hand grabs your face. Your entire body braces itself for your neck to be twisted but it does not come. He tilts your head back side to side. “You’re going to need a lot of work.”

 Your heart stops. Dick thrashes behind you. You want to elbow him. You want to scream at him to stop fucking moving but you’re entire body is numb. Your eyes flick to the man, no, the body on the table. It is breathing and writhing in agony. Your breaths pick up. You- you don’t- you can’t-

 You hear a crash and the fall of debris on a dozen bodies. 

 “B!” Dick shouts distantly. The grip on your collar disappears. A black clad fist hangs in front of you. Your eyes trace up the arm in front of you only to be met with the scowling face of the Batman. You swallow nervously while Dick lets out another enthusiastic ‘B’. Batman makes quick work of your ropes, all the while glaring at you for what you don’t know. Maybe somehow he knows this whole situation was your fault. 

 Once released, the first order of business, at least for Dick, is to throw his arms around Batman’s shoulders. Awkwardly, he reciprocates your friend’s affection. The hold he has on Dick cannot be mistaken as anything but protective. You find humor in the fact at how obvious their familial connection is yet they deny it. A teasing remark rises up your throat but is abruptly shoved back down by Batman’s unrelenting glare. Was he born glaring? 

 “What are you doing here?” Less of a question and more of a growled accusation. 

 “Careful, his rib might be broken.” You stumble out dumbly.  Dick glares at you but compared to Batman’s it looks more like a pout which is, again, hilarious. Batman loosens his grip on Dick and apparently, this is now the time Dick chooses to realize that his mentor (read: dad) is trying to turn you into ash with a scowl.     

 Dick peels away from him stepping in front of you. He widens his stance to shield you from the larger man. Dick feels an odd surge of protectiveness and he’s not about to let B attack you, especially not after what just happened. 

 They stare each other down. They seem to be having a silent argument. You want to cut in but you’re afraid you might actually turn into ash with the intensity of Batman’s gaze. 

 The loud blaring of sirens mingle with the still playing opera music in the background as a tidal wave of police officers and paramedics rush in.  

  -----

You pestered the medic to let you stay with Dick. 

 “So, what do you plan on doing?” Dick asks, leaning against you pointedly ignoring the paramedic's instruction to be careful. You let him lean into you. You know he needs all the comfort he can get.  You rest your head against his hair, placing a kiss on his scalp. Dick doesn’t comment afraid that you might withdraw if he teases you too much. 

 “Maybe grow out my hair,” You joke, pinching a lock of hair between your fingers. “Might as well considering how grounded I’ll be. Well, if uncle Wintergreen has anything to say about it.”

 Dick extricates himself from your shoulder and turns to you with a pensive look. Tilting his head, he looks at you appraisingly, wrinkling his brow. You can’t blame him. He’s never seen you with long hair mainly because you’ve never let it get too long. Too much of a hassle, too much of a health hazard. 

 Dick places his jacket over your head, draping it over you like a wedding veil. You chuckle at him, barely able to keep the smile off of your face. 

 “How do I look?” You joke twining your fingers around the cloth. You think you see Dick blush but it was probably just the cold. Dick coughs poorly disguising his laughter. He covers his mouth, depriving you of his dimples. “ Like you’re going to get married in a jean pants suit. I have dibs on walking you down the aisle.” 

 You tilt your head. Your smile tilts along with it.  “Nah uncle Wintergreen has dibs on that.”

 Dick huffs, his shoulders sag in disappointment. It’s the closest he was gonna get to being your groom, he thinks. 

 I want you waiting for me at the end of the aisle. The thought makes your heart twist. You swallow it along with the huge lump in your throat.  “You can be my last dance though.”

 You concede. Dick brightens a little at this but not by much. 

 “You sure Deathstroke wouldn’t mind?” 

 “This implies he’ll show up. He’s a busy man.” Dick laughs at that. Genuine and very Dick. This time you don’t fight the smile off of your face.  

 You smile at each other and laugh. A million unspoken sentences hang between the two of you. 

 This love of yours is reckless.

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a/n: Thanks for reading. Also yes I did have to include good dad Bruce and bastard mentor Slade. I only have one braincell and it is dumber than shit. 

tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical, @ereawrites​

[pwilzfan73]

In Praise of Patrick Wilson, Scream King

The classically trained actor has been acclaimed for his work onstage. But in ghost stories like “Insidious” and “The Conjuring,” he’s proven to be a master of horror.

Patrick Wilson in “The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It.” The actor brings both an intensity and a reassurance to the franchise. Credit...Warner Bros.

By Calum Marsh, The New York Times.

June 6, 2021

Ed Warren is sitting in a musty living room in North London, trying to establish contact with a demon. Behind him sits a little girl, said to be possessed. The demon won’t talk, she insists, unless he faces away and gives him some privacy. With his back to the girl, Ed gets down to business. “Now come on out and talk to us,” he says brightly.

Out comes the demon, cackling and taunting in a fiendish, guttural voice, like a cockney Tom Waits. He wants to rattle Ed, but as played by Patrick Wilson, Ed’s not easily rattled. Alongside his wife, Lorraine, he works as a paranormal investigator, and this is hardly his first tête-à-tête with a malignant spirit. “Your father called you Edward,” the demon snarls, trying to get under his skin. But Ed just rolls his eyes and shakes his head impatiently. “You’re not a psychiatrist, and I’m not here to talk about my father,” he says. “Let’s get down to business. What do you say?”

This scene in “The Conjuring 2” (2016), the sequel to the sumptuous, vigorously terrifying “The Conjuring,” encapsulates what these hit movies do so well. The director James Wan shoots the entire conversation in one long, unbroken take, zooming in so slowly that the movement of the camera is virtually undetectable. The demon, in the background, is a sinister blur. Instead, our attention fixes on Ed, staring ahead.

In “The Conjuring 2,” a scene with a demon in the background depends entirely on the range of emotion in Wilson’s face.Credit...Warner Bros.

Wan is demanding a lot of his lead here — the effect of the scene hinges entirely on Wilson, and without a cut, in extreme close-up, he has nowhere to hide. But he proves more than capable. The five-minute scene is an acting tour de force, and one you might not expect in the middle of a haunted house picture.

The range of emotions in Ed’s face is mesmerizing. Wilson, a classically trained actor with a background in stage dramas and Broadway musicals, is able to do so much with subtle changes in the cast of his eyes and his manner that you can tell from moment to moment exactly how he is feeling — apprehensive, irritated, disturbed, chagrined. For a split second, his composure waivers. Then he steels himself, blinks and gains it back. This is a frightening confrontation, to be sure. But it’s compelling mainly for the intensity that Wilson exudes.

Of course, Wilson, who plays Ed again in the new sequel, “The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It,” has been a known talent for more than 20 years. In the early 2000s, he earned Tony Award nominations for his starring roles in the musicals “The Full Monty” and “Oklahoma!,” and in 2003 he was nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe for “Angels in America,” the television adaptation of Tony Kushner’s play in which he played a gay Mormon attorney struggling with his sexuality during the AIDS crisis.

“Angels in America” is a more straightforward acting showcase, and Wilson’s performance, full of stifled passion and moral compromise, is sensitive and powerful. He shares scenes with Al Pacino and Meryl Streep, but his is the most affecting turn.

Like many celebrated stage actors before him, Wilson soon tried to parlay his growing prestige into movie stardom. The results have been mixed. Over the next few years, he appeared in a number of high-profile Hollywood movies, but many of them were poorly received, like the limp remake “The Alamo,” the over-the-top domestic thriller “Lakeview Terrace” and the big-screen version of “The A-Team.” When he starred as the reluctant superhero Nite Owl II in Zack Snyder’s ambitious adaptation of the graphic novel “Watchmen,” critics complained that he was miscast.

It was in 2010 that Wilson found an unexpected niche: the horror movie. That year, he starred in “Insidious,” an early experiment in the producer Jason Blum’s low-budget horror revolution and a creepy, atmospheric ghost story with a playful touch of David Lynch.

Wilson played Josh Lambert, who, for the first two acts, seems like the typical horror movie patriarch: stalwart, steadying and, as the haunting begins to escalate, staunchly disbelieving. He spends a lot of time reassuring his wife that she must be imagining the scary things she’s been seeing around the house and that ghosts aren’t real. Until it turns out that ghosts are real, and that in fact Josh has a history with them.

Patrick Wilson opposite Rose Byrne in “Insidious.” He does so much with a stock character.  Credit...FilmDistrict

In “Insidious: Chapter 2,” he’s an evil spirit pretending to be human to his family, which includes Barbara Hershey, left, Ty Simpkins and Byrne.Credit...Matt Kennedy/FilmDistrict

At the end of the second act, it’s revealed that Josh had an encounter with a demon as a child, but that his memories had been repressed. And Wilson, as he accepts this information, manages to subtly disclose a lifetime of trauma. With a faint shifting of the eyes and delicate tensing of the muscles, he conveys flashes of bone-deep dread lingering at the back of his subconscious. Suddenly, a familiar and somewhat flat character gains a new dimension, as Wilson transforms a stock type into someone dynamic and real.

Wilson reprises the part in “Insidious: Chapter 2,” with Josh’s body inhabited by a malevolent demon and Josh’s soul trapped in the spirit world. As the demon-Josh, Wilson has the difficult task of playing an evil spirit pretending to be human, convincing his loved ones that he’s the same old Josh as he secretly conspires to kill them. Occasionally, the mask of the happy husband slips, and Wilson reveals a glimpse of frenzied menace. It’s a terrifying performance reminiscent of Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”

Ed Warren is Josh Lambert’s opposite. Ed’s role in “The Conjuring” movies is a stabilizing presence.

He and Lorraine (played by the wonderful Vera Farmiga) are called on to investigate happenings that seem to defy scientific explanation, and their arrival on the scene, usually after ghosts and demons have done some preliminary haunting, is accompanied by a sense of reassurance that is rare in horror movies. Wilson gives the calming impression of unflappable expertise, an almost fatherly stolidity, not unlike what Tom Hanks brings to many roles. However frightened we may be, we’re heartened that Ed knows what he’s doing.

Patrick Wilson with Vera Farmiga in “The Conjuring.” Their chemistry helps ground the movie.Credit...Michael Tackett/Warner Bros.

Ed is a man of God, investigating the demonic possession on behalf of the church, and one of the most striking things about Wilson’s performance is the intensity of his religious conviction. When he thrusts a cross at a spirit to dispel its power or reads Scripture in Latin to save the day, he doesn’t seem to be simply holding props or quoting dialogue but to regard these objects and rituals with palpable awe. He makes you feel Ed’s faith, as well as his belief in evil and the supernatural. It makes the scary stuff scarier and feel more real.

Wilson and Farmiga’s screen chemistry has been widely praised, but it’s difficult to overstate just how potent they are together. Their warmth and tenderness are a crucial reprieve from the pulse-quickening horror around them, and the affection they show one another is appealing precisely because it contrasts so sharply with the rest of the action. They are so magnetic that their minor roles at the beginning of the “Conjuring” spinoff “Annabelle Comes Home” practically spoils the rest of the movie: Having had the pleasure of watching them at the start, you’re disappointed to see them leave.

Shortly after Ed’s confrontation with the demon in “The Conjuring 2,” he notices an acoustic guitar in the corner of the same room. The family of the possessed little girl hands it over to him, and he proceeds to imitate Elvis Presley and sing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” in its entirety. The scene does not advance the plot. It’s not a misdirect; it doesn’t culminate in some twist or revelation or jump scare. The openness and gentle humor Wilson embodies is worth a dozen heart-stopping scares: Indeed, that openness and humor are what makes the scares worth anything in the first place. “The Conjuring 2” is already 136 minutes — a more prudent editor might have advised cutting the extraneous scene. But this moment, so earnest in its sentiment, is the heart of the movie. Like Wilson’s performance, it’s perfect.

[kkeidawrites]

Lost Light

Whew, let me tell y'all writing this one shot was killing me...having to re-watch and relive the experience from this made me have a broken heart again like all those years ago. But, here we are.

Loki Laufeyson x black!reader

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is full of spoilers from the Avengers: Infinity War movie, I do not own any of the quotes or the gifs that are displayed on this fanfic, that all belongs to Disney, Marvel Studios which is a subsidiary of Walt Disney Studios and its proper companies and I would suggest you not read this if you have not seen the movie yet. This story is both fictional and all the characters that are mentioned are all my personal, made up ocs that I wanted to share. So, just you know, prepare yourselves. Thank you.

The stench.

The falling ash.

The haunting distress call, pleading for any help that was close by, didn't reach a willing ear.

Pieces of the ship, that once held all of the surviving members of Asgard, were scattered astray and skewed in space.

Asgardians young and old littered the remaining floating, functioning part of the ship, dead and being stabbed again by the ones who created the carnage to ensure they stayed dead.

Mawu watched helplessly as Thor laid on the bay of the ship, defeated and critically wounded, his breathing was becoming labored but the Moon Goddess couldn't do anything as she was restrained by the large behemoth that had its foot on her back.

They had fought valiantly and fearlessly, but in the end it didn't matter, Thanos had took them down without breaking a sweat. His lackeys went to work to kill the rest of the innocent Asgardians, claiming he was doing them a favor.

"Your people are nothing now...you have no world to occupy." he had said after he broke our spirits. He spoke to us like we were his captured kill from a glorious hunt.

"Your people are powerless, tired, it would be best to end your suffering."

"I know what it's like to lose," the titan turns his back to stare at Loki who shifted his gaze from his wife back to Thanos. The last thing he needed was the titan to know that he was a married man and Loki refused to allow anymore harm come to her.

He had done so in the past and he vowed to protect her since then. Mawu watched powerless as the feeling of the creature's foot pressed a bit more on her back, making Mawu grunt in pain.

"Feels so desperately that you are right, yet to fail none the less."

Thanos approaches Thor and picks him up by the neck dragging him over to Loki's stiff form.

"Turns the legs to jelly. I ask you to what end? Dread it, run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. Now it's here, should I say 'I am..'"

Thor makes a clipped comment and Loki quickly gazes at his brother fearfully then back to the menacing titan's glare.

"The Tesseract or your brother's head." His large fist began to squeeze the new king's head.

"I assume you have a preference?" Thanos asked smug.

"Oh, I do. Kill away." Loki's statement lifts the titan's chin smugly and Mawu's jaw drops in disbelief; the large brute then takes the power infinity stone and presses it against the side of Thor's head. Thor screams from the immense pain that was coming from the stone and Mawu squirmed under the beast's foot.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" Mawu yells as she struggled. More pressure was applied to her back and the Goddess gasps in pain going limp, and had no choice but to listen to the agonizing screams of the king of Asgard. Tears were running down her cheeks, as a sob left her lips.

After all they had been through, Loki would pull something like this. Mawu believed that her husband had changed for the better and here he was allowing this monster to kill his own brother. She struggled to turn her head and out of the corner of her eye she watched her husband. He was looking conflicted to what was happening. Thor let out another excruciating cry of pain and Loki balled his fists at his sides.

"Alright, stop!" Loki yells.

The power stone was removed from his brother's head and Thor panted helplessly at Thano's side. Loki sighs in relief.

"We don't have the Tesseract. It was destroyed on Asgard." Thor wheezes.

Low and behold, Loki materializes the Tesseract in his right hand, raised to Thano's eye and the titan gives a chilling grin.

"You..you really are the worst brother." Thor says and Loki comes closer to Thanos as if to hand over the sacred item to him.

"I assure you brother , the sun will shine on us again." Loki tells him and that makes Thanos chuckle.

"Your optimism is misplaced Asgardian."

"Well for one thing, I'm not Asgardian. And for another, we have a Hulk." Just as he said that, the green gamma fused hero came barreling through and punches Thanos giving Loki enough time to move Thor out of harm's way.

"Let him have his fun." Ebony Maw tells Black Dwarf who moved to help their master.

Mawu was shocked at the quick turn of events and the pressure on her back was lifted long enough for her to roll out from under Black Dwarf and use her cosmic beam emission to blast him away from her. Sending another beam at Corvus Glaive, Mawu floated over to Thanos to help Hulk.

This brought Proxima Midnight attention to Mawu's sudden escape and she steps in Mawu's way to halt her assault. Spins her three-pronged spear to ready her stance. Mawu readies herself and her hands and eyes begin to glow a bright blue color.

"You won't leave here alive." she taunts with a smirk.

"We will see, bitch." Mawu sends beams her way and Proxima dodges them, moving close to unleash swings from her spear. Mawu dodges them and blocks the ones that reached her face.

Hulk began with having the upperhand on Thanos but, the titan quickly unbalanced him and took his down within seconds, hauling his large body over his head then slamming it on the ground of the ship's bay. Hulk lays there defeated and not moving.

Thor comes up behind Thanos and hits him with a lead pipe that bounces off his armor and the titan turns around and pushes him away. Ebony Maw takes this time to use his psychokinesis and trap Thor's body with the iron from the ship.

Mawu manages to scratch Proxima's right cheek and the woman grunts in pain touching her cheek to feel the blue blood running down to her lip. She gives a battlecry and sweeps her spear under Mawu's feet but she was quicker to jump back and uses her right leg to come down and snaps the spear in half.

Proxima uses one end of her spear to throw at the Moon Goddess and Mawu dodges it.

Elbowing her in the face, Mawu is quick to get onto her hands and spin her straightened feet in a kick combo on her face. Proxima dodges the first spin but was hit by the second one, along with an uppercut Mawu sent once she returned to her feet.

.As she stumbles back from the attack, Mawu grabs Proxima by the neck and throws her down into the ground, raising her leg to bring it down on her head as a final blow when she was suddenly grabbed by the back of her neck and pulled away from her opponent. Black Dwarf had grabbed her threw her but, Mawu was stopped by an invisible force.

The Goddess squirmed from the invisible force holding her and turned her head to see Ebony Maw holding her against her will.

She cursed him in her native tongue as she was left floating at his side.

However, the thing Mawu saw was Heimdall as he prayed softly to his ancestors and her eyes widened at what he was doing.

"Forefathers, let the dark magic flow through me one last...time." his soft prayer was heard and the Bifrost was opened and immediately took Hulk away. Thanos approaches Heimdall and grabs Corvus Glaive's double-sided polearm as he looks down at the struggling man.

"That was a mistake." Thanos tells the watchman of the gods and stabs the polearm through his heart. Heimdall stares defiantly at Thanos until his last breath of life left his body and he fell limp against the piece of metal he was propped up against. Thor cries in anguish as he watched his friend die and glares hatefully at the titan.

"You going to die for that." Thor swears to Thanos then his lips are bound when Ebony Maw seals his lips with metal.

Ebony Maw then presents the Tesseract to Thanos, as he kneels before the titan and the purple brute removes his armor, and plucks the cube from his lackey's hand. He crushes it and inside his hand sits the space stone. He places the stone on his gauntlet and hums in pleasure of the new power flowing through him.

Mawu suddenly feels weak and lethargic, her head begins to pound severely. You see, when the space stone is disrupted, it effects those who helped create the universe, Mawu is beginning to lose her powers because, the space stone is what keeps the balance of all the nine realms in harmony. With a dark heart like Thanos, the space stone could easily kill the creator gods of the universe.

"There are two more stones on Earth," Thanos marvels at the stones on his gauntlet, he then turns his attention to his 'children'.

"Find them my children, and bring them to me on Titan." he orders and his 'children' kneel down in front of him in respect.

"Father we will not fail you." Proxima Midnight says. Mawu glares at the woman.

"Karachi ẹnu kẹtẹkẹtẹ bishi (Stupid kissing ass bitch)." Mawu cursed and Proxima gives her a menacing glare as if she understood what the Goddess said.

"If I might interject," Loki makes his appearance and slowly moves closer to Thanos.

"If you are going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have experience in that arena." he gives a dry chuckle.

"If you call failure experience.

"I consider experience, experience."

"Oh mighty Thanos," he grew closer now as he sneakily summoned a knife in his left hand.

"I, Loki, prince of Asgard...Odin's son, the rightful king of the Jotunheim, God of Mischief...do hereby pledge to you..." he gives his wife a look. Just one look to show that he loved her and Mawu's eyes widened. Mawu watched in horror as her husband approached the titan and began shaking her head.

"...my undying infidelity." Loki moves to strike Thanos through the throat but, the space stone possesses his arm to stop him. Loki pants in disbelief and Mawu struggles in her metal bindings, trying desperately to get out to help her husband.

"Loki! Get out of there! Loki!" she screams to her lover, whom even if he wanted to, could not move.

"Undying? You should use your words more carefully." Thanos scolds Loki and pushes back his arm, making the God of Mischief grunt in pain as he was quickly disarmed and Thanos gripped him by the throat. Mawu struggled harder as the titan raised her lover higher to get a better look at him. Loki's choking gargles alerted both her and Thor.

"Let him go you alainiye lori (son of a bitch)! Loki!" Mawu grunts as her metal prison squeezed around her body. She watched pitifully as her husband squirmed in Thano's squeezing grip and her tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't...Do not do this! Please don't do this!" she cries as the sound of Loki's bones began rattling.

As he struggled, Loki had the gal to look in Thanos in the eyes as he whimpered out one last statement. "You...will never be...a god." Loki then shifts his wavering gaze to his wife and gave her a painful smile then mouthing his love to her before the crack of his neck resounded in the tense atmosphere.

"Noooooooooooo!" Mawu yells.

Thor's muffled cry of anguish is a haunting one as Thanos brings his dead brother's body over to his bound form, dropping him at his feet.

"No resurrections this time." Thanos taunts. The titan then raises his gauntlet and activates the power stone, all around them what's left of the Statesmen began to explode and Thanos uses the space stone to open a portal and the Black Order leave the blowing up ship.

The metal around Thor disintegrated and he quickly crawled over to Loki's body. He looked over his brother's face and sobs left his lips as he hugged him to his chest.

"Loki..." he whimpers solmenly.

Mawu however, had another agenda, once she was released from the metal prison her eyes had coated over to a dark blue color and her hands glowed a illuminated white color. Her adrenaline was high as hell and so was her anger which gave her more of a boost as she flew up from the Statesmen and aimed her glowing hands at Thanos' ship.

"O gba ọkọ mi, ẹbi mi, lẹhinna o ro pe o kan le sá? Iwọ yoo ku loni, aderubaniyan(You take my husband, my family, and then you think you can just run away? You will die today, monster)! " Mawu beams up her hands and begins throwing concentrated cosmic energy balls at the ship.

Two of the engines on the ship went up in flames, and Mawu flew closer to punch a side of the ship but, her assault was cut short when a canon blasted her away. This gave the ship enough time to portal out of there.

Mawu regained her balance mid-flight and her brows furrowed in anger as she watched the ship disappear through the portal. Her tears returned and her adrenaline wore off, as the Statesmen blew up in a purple flash behind her. Mawu welcomed the force of the blast as her eyes returned to its original brown color.

She simply floated in outer space as the debris of both the ship and deceased Asgardians coasted past her. Mawu's eyes caught Loki's departed form and moved closer to him, grabbing his cold hand and pulling him to her chest. Mawu cried in his chest as she wrapped his arms around her body, wanting to once again feel his loving embrace.

The moon has a dark side and it has a bright side but, with how her emotions played out, the moon has been cased in a dark grey hue that stirs the gravity on the Earth.

Mawu didn't care about any of that right now...her husband was dead, her heart has been torn in two, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Mawu's eyes filmed over a grey color and she fell limply against her deceased husband's chest as her body shut down into a vegetative state.

The light was lost from the moon that day and the end of the universe was closer.

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I hope you all had a good cry like I did when I wrote this story. This had been sitting in my brain for weeks, yall. WEEKS. And I finally sat my ass down and wrote it. So, enjoy, like, comment and reblog. Also make sure to head over to my inbox for any requests. Peace y'all.

[a-pirate-my-hearties]

Yes, Captain (Darling Hook smutty one-shot)

Relationship: Adult Wendy Darling/Captain James Hook

Summary: Wendy Darling and Captain Hook are happily married. They lead a lavish, decadent, adventurous life, filled with all the wonders and riches Wendy has never thought she’ll ever experience. They also very enjoy their bedroom life spicy.

And Wendy enjoys to play this particular game with James very much.

Inspired by a certain quote from Marquis the Sade’s works.

Warnings: BDSM, whipping, bondage, swear words, anal fingering, anal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, vaginal sex, just if it's not clear - THIS IS NOT A TRIANGLE

I was not sure who feels comfortable added to the tag list so I haven’t tagged anyone in this - feel free to message me :) And enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Wendy was married and happy, and overwhelmingly so. With no one other than the infamous Captain James Hook. She didn’t care for the societal expectations, she stopped caring a long time ago. She’s discovered that only made it harder for her to pursue her own happiness. So she threw that away and instead accepted her wishes and desires.

Both emotional and sexual.

James accepted her and loved her for who she was. Wendy didn’t need to water herself down in any way. His fire matched hers. He loved her intelligence, fierceness, her wit. He craved her passion, her stubborness, her fire. He adored her vulnerability, her softness, her sweetness.

And Wendy reciprocated with all she had.

All his wounds and scars, be it physical or emotional, were safe with her. James trusted her with his life and loved her more that the life itself. After all, it was Wendy who saved him from the dark abyss of loneliness.

He tought her how to free herself from the bounds of others’ expectations. Being a pirate captain, James had a fare share of experience in taking what he wanted and never looking back; he tought her the freedom of choice, even if his own were ostensible in terms of Neverland’s existence. He tought her that her vulnerabilities are safe with him and she’s no less beautiful to him because of them; because Wendy accepted him whole, never ever felt repulsed by his deformity or his dark mind, what else could he do but embrace her in the same open, unashamed, loving way?

Their open trust and fire translated into their bedroom activities. Another thing that James tought Wendy were the pleasures of flesh that were somehow unconventional and not to everybody’s tastes. But to James’s delight, they were to Wendy’s. Oh how much they were.

~*~*~*~

Tonight they were about to play their little game and Wendy was shivering with excitement. James instructed her on how he wanted her to look when he came to her. Since their arrangement required bondage, Wendy needed to meet up with Luke first.

Luke was one of James’s and Wendy’s servants. Part of his work was unique in that sense that he would assist them in what was almost impossible for James to do with just one hand, since his hook was rather more useful for slicing than tying knots.

It was Wendy’s idea. At first James was jealous, but Wendy assured him with utmost care and love that it was all about being practical and nothing else. And she happened to pick just the perfect candidate.

Luke was a man probably in his early twenties. He had curly blonde hair, light green eyes and a charming smile. He and Wendy quickly became good friends and even James took a certain liking to the open, honest man. They soon both learned Luke wasn’t really interested in women, so James’s jealousy disappeared completely. They also realised he was quite experienced in what they both enjoyed, so not much lessons about tying ropes or respecting boundaries were needed.

Luke respected his master and mistress very much and soon he became more of a friend that a servant really. They could trust him with the most delicate matters and be sure they will be taken care of thoughtfully and attentively.

~*~*~*~

James passed Luke on his way to the main bedroom in the mansion, exchanging a knowing nod and look with his servant.

This was going to be delicious.

He opened the door, doing it deliberately slow.

There she was, his beautiful godess, her arms spread, tied to two of the posts of their bed, kneeling on the soft matress. She was wearing a thin, silk robe in pale pink over a lace cream corset, matching undergarments and stockings. She was also blindfolded, so she could only listen to him, pacing slowly towards her, making her breath quicken and her hearts race and he would only chuckle lowly at her reactions.

"Stunning.”, he murmured at her, already feeling a slight steering in her breeches at the sight in front of him.

Wendy’s breathing grew more and more shallow the closer he got. Finally he was there, his hand ever so gently brushing down her neck, between her shoulder blades, her lower back, before giving her buttock a firm squeeze.

She arched her back towards him with a moan, then gave a surprised, but delighted squeak.

James chuckled.

"Always so enthusiastic, always so ready to play”, he leaned close and whispered hotly in her ear, gently brushing away honey brown locks from her neck to plant the gentles of kisses there. Wendy moaned softly and exposed her neck more, and James slid her robe down slightly from her shoulder to gently bite at the crook of her neck and lick a stripe from her shoulder to her ear. He felt her shudder under his caresses and smiled against her soft skin.

"Patience, my pet. It’s a virtue. Don’t you think?”, he continued his ministrations on her other arm, before giving her left breast a light squeeze. She wasn’t wearing any bra and he was so hard already.

Wendy gasped, unable to form a proper thought, yet say anything.

James bit her on the neck gently, making her gasp again and move against her restraints. "I asked you a question, pet.”

She gave him a breathless "Yes."

"Yes, what?”, his tone was merciless, yet polite.

"Yes... Captain.”

He smiled. "Such a good, darling… girl.”

He stopped and turned away from Wendy. She whined at the lost of his touch. There was a moment of heavy silence, and Wendy’s anticipation and arousal were only growing with each passing minute. She wanted James to touch her again so badly. But she loved their game too much.

She was waiting.

A few minutes later he came to her and she felt him slide her robe down her body. Another moment and there was a slashing motion, a touch of cold on her side and Wendy felt her corset falling down on the floor. She was left only in her undergarments and stockings.

James looked at Wendy, his forget-me-nots eyes now darkened with desire. He fetched himself a bottle of red vintage, a glass, put it on the small table near the bed and pulled a chair so now he was facing Wendy’s exposed back. He also had a riding crop in his hand now.

~*~*~*~

Wendy was pracically shaking with desire already, gooseflesh on her skin from where James kissed, touched and bit her. Her knees were already getting a bit uncomfortable and her arms slightly strained, but she knew she needed to wait patiently just for a little bit longer.

She heard him opening a bottle and the pouring himself a glass of alcohol. He took a sip and Wendy figured out he must have sit close to her when she felt a flat, wide, leathery tip on her back. She smiled and arched under her restraints.

"So beautiful, so willing, and all only for me.”, she heard a smirk in his voice. Then suddenly he was close again and his fingers were teasing her sex. She let out a long moan of relief. "And already dripping wet for me, too.”, Wendy heard in his voice he was barely restraining himself, but she knew his self control. His fingers left her and she complained but then she felt the tip of the riding crop on her back and buttocks again.

"I’m going to whip you now, my darling. Remember that if at any time you want me to slow down or stop, you just have to say a word. What are your safe words?”

"Green for go, yellow for slowing down, red for stopping.”

"Very well, love. Let’s begin… Count each strike with me and thank me after each, do you

understand?”

"Yes, Captain.”

"Good girl.”

His first strike landed on her left buttock and was rather gentle. "One! Thank you, Captain.” The second was much harsher and elicited a gasp from her. "Two! Thank you, Captain.”

She felt him caress the irritated skin before striking again and leaving her almost breathless. "Three! Thank you, Captain!”

The fourth and fifth strike landed on her right buttock and were as gentle as the first but the sixth one almost made her scream „red!”. Almost. Tears swelled up in her eyes but she bore the hit well.

"S- six. Thank you, C-captain!”

"Are you alright, my darling? We can stop now.”

Wendy exhaled deeply. "I’m fine, love. Please continue. Green.” She felt him kiss and massage the irritated flesh tenderly before striking the other buttock twice in a row.

"Seven! Eight! Thank you, Captain!”

They went on until Wendy was almost breathless but she did well. Her legs were trembling when they were done.

"Th-thirty. Th-thank you, C-captain.”

"Oh my beautiful, darling girl. You are marvelous, do you know that?”, he whispered in her ear. His hand cupped one of her breasts, massaging the flesh, rolling her nipple gently. He licked the shell of her ear and she let out a long moan.

"When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings...”, he whispered, his voice hoarse with need, his hand sliding down her body, down her undergarments, "when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...”, he slid his fingers between her wet folds and bit her earlobe, eliciting a shameless moan from Wendy’s lips, "when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing...”, James slipped two of his fingers inside her and she rolled her hips violently, "mewling, buckling wanton whore” – the word was degrading, but he spoke it with such softness and love Wendy felt warmth in her heart – "enticing from within this feral lioness… growling and scracthing and biting… taking everything I dish out to her...” – his fingers were now on her clit, making lazy circles – "at that moment she is never more beautiful to me.”**

Wendy was in a daze. She could feel his fingers inside her, his need pressing urgently through his breeches at her buttocks, her knees were about to gave out and that’s when took his fingers out, slashed the ropes and took down the blindfold.

He caught her just in time.

"You’ve done beautifully, my darling girl.”, he kissed her forehead. "I must have you now.”

"Yes Captain.”, she heard herself say. "I want you...”

"Tell me what you want me to do, pet.”

"I want you to fuck me, Captain. I need you so badly.”

James smiled and Wendy felt even more wet. It was a hungry smile of a predator.

"Will you let me fuck your other hole today, pet?”

Wendy moaned. "Oh yes, please Captain. I want it.”

"Since you’re asking so nicely, pet… Undress me.”

~*~*~*~

James was barely able to control himself at this point. He dressed lightly, only in his red frilly shirt and black breaches and boots so it was easier for them to get out of the clothes right now. Wendy’s fingers were fumbling over his buttons, meanwhile he kicked off his boots and she practically tore his shirt off of him while he literally slashed her panties. He took her in his arms and layed her down, their lips crashing in a violent, passionate kiss. Wendy’s fingers tangled in his dark curls and tugged forcefully as he growled into her lips and pressed her even closer to him, his hook dug into the bed post not to hurt her.

"James, please...”, she whispered, her voice strained with desire and need.

He smirked at her and kissed her ravenously before reminding her, "you’re forgetting yourself, my pet.”

"I’m sorry, Captain”, her words came out a moan when he bit into the crook of her neck.

"I need to fuck you now, my darling pet. Just wait for me.”

He came back a moment later with a little bottle of oil. Wendy already layed with her legs spread for him, a hungry smile on her lips, her pupils blown wide, eyes shining.

James took out a bit of oil and put it on his fingers. Gently he massaged Wendy’s tight hole that clenched under his ministrations. Wendy’s let out a moan and closed her eyes.

"None of that, pet. I want you to look at me.”

Wendy opened her eyes, clouded with pleasure and looked at James. His blue gaze seemed to pierce her to the spot, entrace her everytime, hypnotize her.

She felt his finger slip inside.

"Oh fuck, yes. Yes, please, Captain. Please fuck me.”

He moved his finger slowly, teasingly, in and out and it was driving her crazy.

"More!”

"What’s the word, pet?”

"Please, Captain!”

He slipped a second finger inside and she almost sobbed but his pace was too slow for her, so she buckled her hips impatiently. He chuckled.

"I think that’s enough indeed”, he said and removed his fingers from her. She whined but just a minute later he was between her thighs, positioning himself at her tight hole, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

All composure finally lost, James intense gaze was focused on Wendy’s green eyes as he entered her slowly, and they both let out sounds of pleasure and relief. Wendy opened her legs wider and lifted them higher to allow him better access and put them around his back. His thrusts were slow, deep and sensual and his grunts and moans were music to Wendy’s ears.

Wendy’s ecstasy was apparent, as he felt her slip her hand down to pleasure herself by rubbing her clit and finger herself.

"Yes darling, touch yourself”, he breathed, picking up a faster pace, beggining to chase his own release. "Come for me, my love. Be a good girl and come for me.”

"Yes, Captain – ”, she moaned out between the sensations. James saw her like this before so many times and he knew and felt she was close. His thrusts were rough and fast now.

"Come for me!”, James’s voice was commanding, his thrusts merciless.

"Yes, Captain! Yes, oh yes, James, yes! Oh god!”, she came with a shameless cry, now clawing at his back, he hissed, surely she drew blood but he didn’t care as he came just moments later, spilling his seed deep inside her.

They were a breathless, panting mess now. James took a few steadying breaths before kissing Wendy’s forehead and rolling out of her. She was also spend, beads of sweat on her temples and breasts and the look of pure satisfaction of her face.

James thought she was absolutely exquisite.

"Thank you, James, my love.”, Wendy kissed him tenderly before laying her head on his chest.

He put his arms around her, careful not to cut her with his hook.

"You did so well, my darling girl. I love you.”

"I love you too.”

Soon they drifted off to sleep. After all, they had a busy night, didn’t they?

**A quote by Marquise de Sade.

[vanaera]

The Heart Holiday | Act 2 (1/2) | myg

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day is declared as an official holiday. However, private companies’ standards dictate it’s only for the people who are currently in a relationship. Unluckily for Y/N, she doesn’t have this year’s PRS’ (Proof of Relationship Status) “in a relationship” box ticked – the only ticket out she can have to enjoy one paid week of holiday leave away from her hellish job. And more unfortunately for Y/N, everyone around her is oh so conveniently currently committed in a relationship. Except for one person: Min Yoongi, Y/N’s biggest critic in every pitch meeting, the picky guy who always picks on her, and the most annoying jerk of the century. Desperate for that holiday leave, Y/N strikes Yoongi up with an offer: Fake date each other two weeks before February 14, just enough time for the Department of Relationship Management (DRM) to consider processing their PRSs. After Valentine’s Day, they will go back to their own ways and never speak about whatever that may happen during the plan. Good, plain, and simple. That is until, Yoongi uncharacteristically oh so enthusiastically agrees to Y/N’s offer, leaving her thinking that she may have bitten something too much more than she can chew.

Characters: Yoongi x Female Reader

AU/ Trope: Office AU (Creatives manager!myg x PA!reader), enemies to lovers, fake dating

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy (the triple t(h)reat)

Wordcount: 24k

Warnings: Just lots of cursing because of two characters who won’t stop fighting (PG-15 Rating)

A/N | I cut Act 2 into two parts because it has become enormously long. Expect the next part of Act 2 next week!

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               The irony did not escape Y/N that she’s wringing her hands non-stop since yesterday all because of a simple meeting. It’s not because Nancy Kim arranged it. She’s probably holding a champagne glass while yelling at room service in some posh hotel in Paris. No, Y/N is anxious not because of Nancy. Instead, it’s because of a meeting in a coffee shop with her supposed ticket-out from work: The Despicable Mean Yoongi.

               Y/N has handled every meeting she’s been invited to down to a T. Being Nancy’s PA for over two years and a half has done her good in learning how to manage the communication in a business setting among professionals who may more often than not, become unprofessional. Being Nancy’s PA means she has to be the boss’ human-filter for incoming human-bullshits. An investor wanted to pull out? Y/N can appease them with a quick but convincing rundown of Travel Loca’s steadying growth. The laptop suddenly hangs while Nancy is currently reporting to their business partners? Y/N knows some troubleshooting techniques to quickly get the gadget running again. The rich and flavorful coffee granules Nancy saves for important guests have run out right during a meeting with the said guests? Y/N has a speed of a 60-year old Asian grandma who can speed-walk through a 5 km marathon to make up for her legs’ lack of vertical length.  Y/N likes to believe she’s got the patience of a meditating monk, the wisdom of a quick-thinking electrician, and the perseverance and resilience of a cockroach. If universities had a bachelor in meetings program, Y/N would probably graduate summa cum laude, easily outshining her cum laude standing in BA Mass Communication.

               However, all of that goes down to drain the moment Y/N attended the same meeting as Min Yoongi for the very first time.

               It was a Thursday in March of 2019. Y/N’s not sure of the exact date. All she remembers is that it had to be a Thursday. That meeting was the wick that started the chain of her unfortunate Thursdays.

               Sure, Min Yoongi got on Y/N’s “off” side the moment she first met him in the new table set up beside hers. But even if Y/N thinks he’s one hell of an arrogant bastard, a 24/7 picky prick, and a condescending narcissist, Y/N still left a breathable room in her mind for Yoongi to disprove her assumptions.

               And Yoongi burned up that room into ash that Thursday meeting.

               “Since we’re done with the weekly reports of the Creatives and the Marketing, let’s go to the Writing Department,” Nancy leans back in her black swivel chair. She flips through the pages of the department’s report, sparing a glance once in a while to the department’s representative of the day, Lee Soojung.

               The rustle of the papers almost becomes the white noise in the tensely silent conference room. Nancy always had a stiff authoritarian aura that induces anyone to be constantly on their toes around her. Her intimidating effect on her employees doesn’t seem to wear off even if the latter had been in Travel Loca since day one. Soojung herself has been in the company one month after Travel Loca’s establishment. Yet, here she is, nervously biting on her lip as her feet shake under the table.

               Y/N’s glad Nancy’s chair isn’t set far back enough for her to see Soojung’s jittering legs, or else Nancy will go at the “confidence you should have in work in order to stay” sermon again. Y/N first heard that “speech” (it counts so because Nancy almost spoke for twenty-minutes straight) in her first two months in the company, during a meeting where Nancy spoke about Steven’s potential to have a higher position if he could be more confident. And just like Nancy’s words, Steven did indeed climb the hierarchy after being more confident in presenting his works. He’s now the head of the Creative’s Team and even someone Y/N can say Nancy has accountable respect for. Y/N learned a lot from that speech. But having Nancy repeat it again whenever she sees someone who’s insecure in talking about their work? It slowly loses its charm.

               Y/N loses her tight grip on her notebook. It’s understandable why everyone has their hackles raised high now. Nancy is currently judging one of their department’s progress and if something is not up to par, another excruciating hour of Nancy’s “speeches” is awaiting punishment. Except, Y/N knows Nancy. With her absorbed attention to the report, indicated by the longer time her eyes spend on the department’s drafts instead of Soojung, Y/N knows Nancy is satisfied with their work.

               Y/N leans back in her chair and releases a sigh. It’s been a while since she’s been in a meeting without Nancy scaring off an employee out of their wits. This momentary peace, however, is shattered when she feels a sharp poke on her shoulder.

               “Hey, what’s happening?”

               Y/N rolls her eyes. With an additional P.A., comes an additional table next to her station, an additional work tablet to coordinate with hers, and an additional seat in the conference room next to her. All of these would be okay to Y/N if the additional P.A. is not as much of a douche as Yoongi.

               Nevertheless, Y/N shifts in her seat to lean closer to Yoongi and whisper to his ear, “Nancy’s deliberating the Writing Department’s work.”

               Yoongi raises a brow, “Then why is Soojung shaking over there like a shivering dog kicked to the curb?”

              Y/N tries hard not to let her temper get the better of her. Yoongi’s only been in Travel Loca for one fucking week. How could he dare to describe his senior in such an insulting way? Y/N closes her eyes and says, “Because, Soojung is the representative of the department right now. And from what I’ve heard, most of the drafts were also written by her because most of her subordinates’ articles were too…raw for next month’s issue.

               Yoongi squints, “Soojung? As in Lee Soojung wrote most of them?”

               Y/N couldn’t understand why Yoongi is so perplexed as if he can’t believe what he just heard. Y/N cannot help but glare at him, “Yoongi, Soojung has been one of Travel Loca’s long-time writers. Of course, she’s already mastered the nitty-gritty of what Nancy wants for an issue. And look, Nancy is satisfied with her work. Otherwise, she would have already thrown their drafts across the table.”

               “Are you kidding me?” Yoongi whispers louder, “Have you read Soojung’s works? They all sound cardboard cut-outs of every travel magazine out there. Could be mistaken even as a feature in a newspaper instead of a magazine. Heck, they can’t even make me want to travel anywhere. They all sound like a scammer real estate agent except she’s telling me to unnecessarily spend a lot on plane tickets and hotel reservations and pretend to have a nice vacation when I know I most probably would not.”

               Y/N’s jaw drops, “Are you for real? You can’t just downgrade Soojung’s works! She wouldn’t stay this long here if Nancy didn’t find her works satisfactory. And look, even right now, Nancy is pretty much okay with it!”

               Yoongi tilts his head, “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. Everything is about Nancy now, huh?”

               “Of course! Nancy is the boss! She gets to decide what’s okay or not for publishing!” Y/N rolls her eyes and finally lets out a scoff, “Why do you have to judge something that’s out of your expertise anyway? You don’t write. And I bet even if you try your best to, you can’t produce something better than even half of Soojung’s articles.”

               Yoongi lets out a humorless chuckle, “I don’t write because I don’t want to write. What about you? You act all-mighty judgmental of what articles are satisfactory or not. You even rant to Mina about writing a story you’ve been thinking about countless of times—especially the story about that Write and Backpack Trip Club you speak about again and again. And yet, you don’t even write anything all.”

               What the ever-living fucking audacity of this astounding jerk of an asshole—!

               “Okay, I like these drafts. Not the best we’ve had but pretty above passable for next month’s issue,” Nancy places the folder back on the table, “But, we’re quite short on stories. The Daily Pen reviewed our issues as promising but lacking a few stories to make our monthly themes more, quote-unquote ‘solid.’ And so, I’m thinking of expanding our usual count of nine to twelve stories for the next three months. Try to check if The Daily Pen’s suggestion may help increase our reader count as well as positive feedback from our reviewers. So,” Nancy places her clasped hands on the table, “does any of you have a story to share? Or any ideas? We can still rush the Writing Department for two or three more articles.”

               The room goes immediately silent. No one shakes their legs. No one taps their nails on the onyx conference table. No one skims through their reports. Everyone suddenly makes the floor-to-ceiling windows the most interesting object to stare at.

               Until the silence gets broken by Nancy herself.

               “Oh, Yoongi, what’s your story?”

               Y/N whips her head to her side. Yoongi is looking at her funny. She mouths ‘what the fuck are you trying to do?’ but Yoongi just smirks. He meets Nancy’s gaze, “I don’t have a story but I know someone who has: Y/N.”

               Everyone’s attention on the windows was now shifted to Y/N. Soojung shifts in her seat, feet no longer jittering, eyes curiously pinned on Y/N. The rest of her co-workers’ eyes are just pleading for her to give what Nancy likes to finally end this meeting. Y/N has never felt this much attention focused on her until her cum laude awarding in her graduation. Sure, having some attention felt nice. There are times when people really enjoy the spotlight, some even needing it—the pleasure of feeling being wanted and treated precious. But Y/N doesn’t want attention laced with risk—the risk of embarrassment, of disappointment, especially from someone Y/N has looked up to as her “writing idol” for years. But then, this could be an opportunity for her skills to get recognized by Nancy so she can finally leave her P.A. station and transfer her boxes to the Writing Department.  Y/N wrings her hands together before quickly placing them behind her back.

               “U-um, I have a s-story about the nine places broke college students usually go to for a backpacking trip.”

              “And what are these places?”

               “Um,” Y/N gulps, “mountains and hiking trails—N-no, I mean, places like unseen from the popular media, but places that may be popular to the locals. Like man-made hiking parks installed near the cliffy side of a mountain. ‘Cliffy’ because it looks like a cliff, but it’s not actually a cliff. It’s just a mountainside that’s steep enough to look like a cliff. A-and cool hangout places with aesthetically-pleasing but cheap restaurants. The-the-there are also beaches that usually have few visitors that don’t charge hefty on their entrance fee. T-they’re very affordable and I think we can do like a top-nine-ranking thing to make a recommendation list of these, as I know a few college orgs that have already created great itineraries—”

               “My bad, Nancy, I’m gonna take back what I said.”

               What just—Y/N turns to her right, to look at the man that’s suddenly cut her off, but Yoongi’s eyes are trained to Nancy as he says, “I don’t think Y/N has a story yet. I’m sorry, I’ve been mistaken.”

               “Apology accepted,” Nancy dismissively waves a hand. She turns her swivel chair back towards the conference table, “I’m glad you immediately stopped your co-P.A. before we get to hear her…story.”

               Y/N doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. She just slumped back on her seat, ears fading out the rest of her surroundings into white noise. When everyone has finally stood from their seats, their respective departments’ reports clutched in their hands, Y/N’s still unmoving on her seat. She could only give a tight smile as each representatives-of-the-day passed and gave her apologetic smiles. Even when Soojung neared her seat to give some reassurance, Y/N remained stone-still and just waved her off with a quick “It’s okay.” The hazy white noise only dissipates when Nancy stands up and taps Y/N’s shoulder, saying, “We’ve still got work to do.”

               Y/N nods and gathers her minutes and notebook before quickly following her boss. When she turns around to reach the lights switch, there’s no one left in the conference room. Yoongi has long left the room.

               Why did Yoongi recommend Y/N in the first place when he’s just gonna take back his recommendation? Is he just fucking around with her? To prove that she cannot write her own article? What did Y/N ever do to him, but internally judge him in her mind, to be publicly humiliated like this? Especially in front of Nancy! Y/N gets the answers to these questions in the two months that followed with the goddamned prick of a man lazing around her station: Yoongi hates her for no reason and he’s doing everything he can to sabotage her career. He proves this conclusion again and again as he messes up Y/N’s schedules for Nancy, refuses to coordinate like an immature prepubescent boy, and criticizes her for every story proposal, story idea, word choice, heck even pronunciation, in every pitch meeting Y/N attends.

               None of Y/N’s assumptions can ever be truer than her description of Min Yoongi: one hell of an arrogant bastard, a 24/7 picky prick, and a condescending narcissist who thinks he’s the only person viable for greatness just because he magically manages to not pay the consequences of his misdeeds.

               And today, Y/N jots down “unprofessionally late” to her list of descriptions for the man as she glances at her watch and deduces 15 minutes have passed since their agreed meeting time. Will Yoongi stand her up even after agreeing to her offer? Y/N doesn’t know and she’s starting to not care anymore. From the start, she knew going with this idea will only end up worse than bad. It’s always gonna end up worse than bad when it comes to Yoongi. Y/N’s no longer gonna be surprised. She has numerous dating apps installed on her phone for back-up plans anyway—

               “Hey, sorry I’m late,” Y/N looks up from her notebook and sees Yoongi pulling a chair in front of her.

               She stops wringing her hands.

DAY 1 – January 26; Sunday

               Y/N sips on her milkshake as she encircles the date on the calendar of her notebook, “So today’s January 26. This will mark the first day of our two weeks so we can make it to February 9, Sunday, the last day of PRS applications in the DRM.”

               Yoongi nods as he sips on his iced Americano.

               “And then—”

               “Wait, what does PRS mean again?”

               Y/N’s hand stills, “You seriously don’t know what PRS means?”

               “Obviously not, since I’m asking about it,” Yoongi deadpans, “I wouldn’t ask something I already know, you know? It’s not like me to be illogical—”

               “Okay, fine,” Y/N closes her eyes and purses her lips, “I will explain it as long as you shut up for just a minute and let me talk.”

              Yoongi tilts his head and Y/N takes it as his cue of agreement. She sighs as she flips a page on her notebook and writes “The Heart Holiday” on the header. “Okay, so you already know that The Heart Holiday guarantees anyone who’s in a relationship a work-free, full-paid vacation leave during the week of Valentines. This year, it’s gonna be from February 9 to 14. Now, to get the viability for that vacation leave, the DRM—Department of Relationship Management—"

              “You don’t have to tell me what DRM means. I already know that.”

              Y/N eyes Yoongi and blinks at him. Slowly. “Didn’t I tell you to let me talk for a minute? You’re asking me what’s with PRS and I’m giving you an answer right now.”

              “Sorry,” Yoongi mutters, far from being apologetic with his growing smirk on his face.

               Y/N closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Anyway, the DRM issues PRS or ‘Proof of Relationship Status.’ The PRS indicates your civil status.  Single, married, divorced, separated and widowed—the basics. What’s only new is the addition of “in a relationship” status, made effective by the DRM in 2015, the same year the department was established.  It was initially for the DRM to track the people’s progress in their love lives to better monitor any improvement in the country’s birth rates. Now it’s used for applications for the Heart Holiday.”

               “Seems like the government is desperate for everyone to make babies,” Yoongi snorts over his straw.

               “With a global declining birth rate and continuous decline of immigrants, of course, the government is gonna be desperate. Economic analysts say it’s because countries are afraid of risking their also-declining birth rates. But I think It’s got to do more with the growing discrimination of immigrants. Numerous blockheads of government officials are still holding onto the archaic nonsensical ‘conspiracy theory’ as the reason behind their irrational hatred of immigrants. Anyway,” Y/N draws a bullet below ‘PRS,’ “Everyone’s default PRS will be ‘single’ until they reach 18 and apply for a PRS-change to ‘in a relationship.’  As long as you’re 18 and above, you are viable for ‘in a relationship’ PRS-change.”

               Yoongi slices through his sandwich, “Why 18? Do only 18-and-above-year-olds have the right to be in a relationship?”

               Y/N sputters, “You seriously don’t know? Do you ever read any updates on our new laws?”

               “I told you,” Yoongi mumbles over his sandwich, “I don’t know that’s why I’m asking you. And, first off, you’re the one who tied me up in this deal. It’s only logical to ask about what I’m getting myself into before I fully commit to anything.”

               “‘Fu-fully commit’?” Y/N gawks, “So you’re not yet serious about this? You told me two days ago you’re in on my plan!”

               “Yeah, I am in your plan. I am in at the beginning of your plan. Not at the middle or end of it.”

               Y/N slams her hands on the table, “Then why the hell did you even agree to my offer if you’re not even serious in taking it seriously?!”

               “I agreed so I get to decide if I can make my exit before things get un-exit-able or if I can push through with your plan. Which is what I’m doing now. Weighing the pros and cons,” Yoongi leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “Y/N, you need me in this plan. Not the other way around. So I get to have the upper hand here. And by the looks of it, this offer is starting to look exit-able.”

               Y/N tongues her cheek. She could feel red hot flames of rage tongue the confines of her throat. Min Yoongi cannot play her like this when she practically sacrificed her self-esteem and self-preservation when she proposed him this offer. He can’t just pull the “who needs who” card when he’s also going to benefit from this deal. Nevertheless, Y/N puts a lid on that rage before it can climb up and lap at her brain. She can’t let her temper get the better of her when she still needs Yoongi to fully commit to her plan. Think of this as delayed gratification, Y/N. It’s either suck up Yoongi’s bullshit and enjoy the holidays, or rejoice in calling him off but suffer Nancy’s workload during the holidays.

               Y/N sighs and continues on the diagram she was forming on her notebook while taking a bite from her pasta platter, “Going back, what was your question again?”

               “Why do only 18-year-olds and above get to have the ‘in a relationship’ PRS? What about 16-year-old high school couples? Are they not allowed to be in a relationship?”

               Y/N tries not to cringe at the nonsense of his question, “Minors are allowed to date—as long as it’s not a pedophilic relationship, of course. Just puppy love and all that. But they don’t get to have the PRS because they won’t even need it. PRS is only used for social security, healthcare benefits, and loan applications. Obviously, they’re not yet old enough to legally work to qualify for these applications. And also, education establishments are already ensured to have one week off during the Heart Holiday—including the school’s staff, whether or not they have ‘in a relationship’ ticked for that holiday.”

              “Hmm, then what happens in a PRS-change if you got married?”

              “The couple doesn’t have to go to DRM anymore for a PRS change. The DRM automatically changes it because the marriage certificate will go through them the same time it goes through the court. Whether a couple applied for ‘in a relationship’ before marrying each other, or if they didn’t, it doesn’t matter. DRM will automatically change their status from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘married’ or ‘single’ to ‘married.’ So when you have the PRS ‘married’ ticked, you’re automatically viable to avail the Heart Holiday, too, because you, by logic, are in a relationship if you’re already married.”

              Yoongi nods, “then what happens if you’re widowed, divorced, or separated?”

              “PRS-changes to ‘widowed’ and ‘divorced’ works the same way as ‘married.’ The DRM automatically changes them to these statuses when a death certificate is filed or divorce papers go through court. However, that means these status grant the people who have them no chance to avail the Heart Holiday anymore like single people. The DRM only recognizes people’s current—not recent— involvement in a relationship as the determining factor for the Heart Holiday’s benefits for ‘in a relationship’ PRS holders. With separated status, you need to go to DRM to apply the change of PRS from ‘married’ to ‘separated.’ Though this can be quite messy as DRM requires a lot of couples’ therapy for the couple before they can change the PRS. That’s why a lot of people suggest to just fake the annual interview of the DRM with your soon-to-be ex-partner for four years until you’re viable for the free divorce processing that comes only every four years in courts—or until you saved enough for an actual divorce.”

              “Why the hell does DRM fixate on separating couples and not on divorcing ones?” Yoongi frowns, “Are they blind? Both couples are breaking up their relationships. It’s the exact contrary to their goal of proliferating relationships.”

              “I know, right? It’s ridiculous,” Y/N shakes her head. “I’ve read a lot of critical essays against that separated and divorced PRS laws. And most of them say that DRM has no jurisdiction over divorce since money will be involved. That DRM wouldn’t attempt to hinder the cash flow to private law offices because of, you know, the government’s utter submission to large businesses and all that shit. Anyway, separated or widowed, you can apply for a PRS change to ‘in a relationship’ after six months. DRM states you need to heal first.”

              Y/N flips her notebook back onto the “Heart Holiday” page, “Now that I’ve educated you with the basics of PRS, let’s finally get down to what we will be doing.” Yoongi leans closer, setting his elbows on the wooden table. Y/N continues, “So, to change our ‘Single’ PRSs to ‘in a relationship,’ we need to have ten dates validated by DRM-approved establishments.”

              “Validated by what?”

              “DRM-approved establishments,” Y/N repeats, eyes turning into slits. “You don’t know date-site places have to go through the DRM? I get that you don’t know what PRS means. Just like how people use SIMs but don’t know they stand for ‘Subscriber Identity Module.’ I can also forgive you for the age technicalities of PRS since they were only updated last year. But for you not to know date sites—like this café—has to get approved by DRM first before it can stand as a business establishment? You’ve probably been single for a really looong time not to know this. Business requirements got changed the same time the DRM was established, Yoongi. Five years ago.”

              “I don’t know anything about this, okay? That’s why I’m asking you,” Yoongi also repeats. He sounds like a teacher reprimanding a student for asking a stupid question.

              Y/N smirks, “Oh, so it’s true then.”

              “What’s true?”

              The sight of utter confusion in Yoongi’s face makes Y/N smile to herself. She leans back in her chair, “Well…no one wants to date you.”

              “Excuse me,” Yoongi half-scoffs, half-sputters, “I’m single because I can’t find anyone worth losing some brain cells for.”

              “Ooh, says the man who I have seen eyeing Jeon Seoyeon beside my station for one whole year now but is too chicken to ask her out,” Y/N raises a brow. She tries not to make it look like she’s too enthralled to bring up this info. She wants to make Yoongi nervous she’s known about this Seoyeon thing for a while. However, she cannot help but let the smirk that’s been egging on her, grow on her face. Y/N doesn’t actually know anything about Seoyeon. She often forgets there’s also an employee stationed near her desk. It’s hard to recall a conversation she had with the business adviser that’s not work-related when there’s close to none. Y/N doesn’t even know if Soyeon has any associates she converses with other than her. Well to be fair, Nancy and work are enough to occupy Y/N’s focus for the day. She only knew something new about Soyeon when she hit up Mina last night for some counter-attack information on Yoongi. “A defense support should he piss me off,” as Y/N said.

              “Really?” Y/N’s eyes widen, “Yoongi actually has the heart to like someone in our office?”

              Mina nods, “I’m telling you right now. He’s into Seoyeon. From my cubicle, I’m sure I can see him definitely staring at Seoyeon. Break, lunch break, in-between working hours—it doesn’t matter. He just stands. And stares.”

              “How come you told me this only now?”

              “Because you don’t ask about Yoongi. You complain about him.” Y/N slaps her shoulder and Mina chuckles, “Fine, okay, I’ve only confirmed this last week when Jisoo sat with me and pointed out the same observation. You know I don’t just ask people about anybody should any drama arise about ‘Mina checking into everyone and scouring for some tea.’ I don’t want to be known ‘Mina the gossiper’ in the office. I’ve borne that title for 12 years in high school. I’m tired of that shit,” Mina waves off, “But you know?  After what Jisoo said, I know I had to ask. It’s not like only me and Jisoo have eyes. And that day proved it to me when everyone ‘round my cubicle said Yoongi’s indeed standing too long by your desk to look at someone beside your station—Seoyeon.” Mina grins, “you’ve finally got something on Yoongi, Y/N!”

              Hammurabi said “eye for an eye,” and so if someone pisses her off, Y/N should also piss them off. Yoongi’s been pissing her off for a while so it’s finally high-time Y/N also bare her canines.   Consulting Mina is definitely Y/N’s best decision so far ever since she thought about this shit-hole of a plan.

              “W-what?” Yoongi sputters, “I-I’m not into Seoyeon! I just find her…odd-looking for a civil lawyer. It’s weird to see Nancy have a business adviser. The Nancy Kim of all people? And Seoyeon, too! Especially with her rebellious vibe goin’ ‘round her multiple piercings and borderline appropriate-for-work punk outfits. She’s got her desk also awkwardly set up a foot from yours, making her look like a slave P.A. like you.”

              Y/N tries not to blow up at the red herring she just heard. She’s been arguing too long with Yoongi to know it’s his pathetic technique to change topics. Y/N’s not gonna skip on the chance card she used. “As if you don’t like her!”    

              Y/N scoffs, “I caught your eyes staring right beside my cubicle more than numerous times to put two and two together,” Y/N leans forward. She pins Yoongi with a stare, “Just admit you like her.”

              “I’m telling you I do not, okay?” Yoongi huffs, cheeks now growing pink under the lighting.

              “God, you obviously like her,” Y/N wheezes, “I finally confirmed something precious I can blackmail you with. Imagine everyone knowing ‘the great Min Yoongi’ is an immature prepubescent boy when it comes to girls he likes. Damn, do I have the fucking upper hand now, Min.”

              “You’ll only get to have that upper hand once you got your Valentine’s week canceled first,” Yoongi smirks, “Do I need to remind you I’m not yet fully in on your plan, sweetheart?”

              Y/N’s smile falls, “God, will you stop calling me that?”

              “No can do,” Yoongi patronizingly pouts at the syllable, “Not until you put down that douchey dictator-wannabe look on your face and just get down to the point before I could think of walking out right now.”

              “Okay, fine, Min,” Y/N sneers. She grabs her pen and writes on her notebook, this time, with much force that she’s sure Yoongi can hear from his place the squeaks of the ball-point pen on the paper, “SO AS I WAS SAYING, for your PRS to be changed to ‘in a relationship,’ DRM requires ten dates from their approved establishments. These establishments could be anything—a restaurant, an arcade, a cinema, a basketball game, a bar, an amusement park, etcetera. It’s indicated anyway in the establishment. You can see the pink and purple heart logo of the DRM in stickers on glass doors. Or in menus, like this,” Y/N pushes the café’s miniature menu-stand made of hardboard to Yoongi to show him the small print of the logo on its margin. “When a couple goes to that establishment for a date, they can ask for the shop to write them a document officializing their date. It’s called the date document. ‘This document confirms Park Junyoung and Lee Hwayoung have dated in our love-conducive establishment’ yaddah yaddah shit. Each approved establishment has a DRM seal. They press it on the document to validate their date. For example, look behind you.”

               Yoongi turns and looks at the young couple by the right end of the bar. The barista hands the two a pale pink envelope. The imprint of the heart-shaped logo of the DRM clearly engraved on the surface. The couple gives an appreciative smile to the barista before starting to head their way out.

               Yoongi turns back to Y/N, “So the envelopes must also be sealed?”

               “Yes, to ensure the couple won’t fake their dates.”

               “Then how do you know the first lines of these date documents?” Yoongi cocks a brow.

               “Because unlike you, I stay tuned to the local news and make sure I’m updated to law revisions. I can’t count on how many fingers the media has exposed DRM’s protocol-holes. Unlike someone out there who doesn’t know anything…,” Y/N looks at Yoongi. The man crosses his arms and gives her a bored look. Y/N looks back at her food and takes a bite from her platter, “Moving forward, aside from sealed 10 documents, a couple must also submit 10 printed accounts of the people around them that have witnessed their relationship. Unfortunately for us, we’re not self-employed. So we have to do the long way.”

              “Why? What’s the advantage of unemployed people?”

              “Self-employed people,” Y/N corrects. “They only need 10 accounts from any of their friends or family that have witnessed their relationship. Meanwhile, the DRM has overridden private company protocols and declared it is legally okay to date a co-worker. To ensure no one will abuse the benefits given by DRM to those in a relationship, private sectors agreed upon a standard for PRS-changes from single. Us employed are required to submit nine accounts from our co-workers, friends, or family, and one account from our supervisor, manager, or boss These accounts will be turned to the company’s HR Department to be analyzed. Then, they will be sealed in a magenta envelope with the DRM seal.” Y/N taps her pen on her notebook, “This special one account though depends on the company tradition. In Travel Loca, it is always Nancy who gets to write that one account. Even if Steven is the head of Creatives, or Mona is the supervisor of the marketing—it doesn’t matter. Nancy is the one who gets to write that account.”

              “But since Nancy is gone, that privilege is given to the next in the hierarchy—Ms. Teddy Park, the general supervisor,” Y/N looks at Yoongi, “This is where most of our fake dating comes into play.  Ms. Teddy is one hell of a hopeless romanticist.  Mina told me she has been continuously bugging Jisoo to sneak an HR confidential file and spill her some juicy office romance. And since it’s Valentines’, we’re gonna give Teddy what she wants.   Although it doesn’t take much to convince Teddy, we still can’t be too sure. Though I can bet most of our acting efforts will go for our co-workers. We only need eight more. I’ve already got Mina to cover one for us.”

              Yoongi hums and Y/N continues, “Lastly, after getting all of that, we go to the DRM for the final interview. They will ask us questions to counter-check the documents. We just need to act lovey-dovey and answer their questions as if we’ve known each other so, so well. When we pull it off, our PRSs are changed. Then, we can enjoy our work-free, full-paid Valentine’s week into the sunset.”

               Yoongi hums, “How are you so sure with this plan? How do you know we won’t mess up things? This is still a crime. We’re faking a fucking benefit.”

              “Oh, don’t be such a prude. Everyone does it.”

              “Are you sure ‘everyone’?”

              “Fine,” Y/N grits out, “everyone who is smart enough to study an easy-to-get benefit to know its loopholes.”

              “And you’re sure you know all the loopholes in this Heart Holiday program?”

              “Of course! Mina and I studied this for a whole year.” Y/N fixes her seat and clasps her hands together, “From the easiest places to get officialized dates to the last job’s boss rule on written accounts to the interrogation hacks at the DRM—we’ve got them all ironed out. Moreover, the DRM is lenient in approving PRS changes on the very last date of the February applications. We’re going to easily pass through! You don’t have to worry ‘bout getting caught! Look at us, Mina and I have been slipping by seamlessly for four years. Plus, we have Nancy off our backs this time so the accounts approval, the hardest of ‘em all, would be miraculously much easier to pull.”

              Yoongi nods. And then, silence ensues. Yoongi just blankly looks at Y/N. She purses her mouth and waits with bated breath. Hopefully, she did succeed convincing him to fully commit to her plan, right? He wouldn’t be in deep thought like this if he hasn’t taken into serious consideration the seamlessness of her plan, right? He’s just probably taking his time how to agree to her without sounding so appreciative of her because he’s Min Yoongi and Y/N knows he’d rather cut his arm than give her the credit she deserves—

              “So…you’ve been faking this benefit for four years?” Yoongi snickers, “My, I should have recorded this conversation. I just had a clear, clean-cut confession from a scammer.”

              “S-scam? Scammer?!” Y/N abruptly stands and Yoongi tries to pull her to sit back but Y/N only slaps his hand away, “You just fucking gone silent for a while to-to-to say that?! Are you an overgrown, ridiculous James Dean wanna-be rebel without a cause other than stupidity—who only picks on some words to make sense of everything?! You’re just like a boomer she-gossiper who only hears their friend’s child’s name and ‘engineer,’ in one sentence and she already expects that child to have a house and car when they’re only one year into the job while that hag’s been gossiping for over 36 years now and yet she still doesn’t have her own talk show!”

              Yoongi holds his hands up, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, chill, tiger. You don’t have to get so worked up—”

              “Who will not get worked up after getting accused of scamming?! When I didn’t even commit it! Yet!”

              “And right now you’re saying you’re willing to scam just to get that Valentine’s week off. How can I not accuse you when you just told me all that. In broad daylight. With many people passing by our table every second of the minute?”

              “I didn’t say I’m willing to scam,” Y/N says, irritably, “I’m just laying out the possibility that I might do it.”

              “Still doesn’t change the fact you’re a scammer.”

              “Yet,” Y/N corrects. “I can’t be someone I’ve never become yet.”

              “But you’re gonna go for it eventually, so you’re going to become a scammer, nonetheless,” Yoongi presses. “Why not grab the title already? It’ll cut you some slack from all the labeling-progress.”

              “You know what, you make so many hasty generalizations about everything as if you’ve got everything figured on your palm just by looking at something for one second,” Y/N says, narrowing her eyes at the man.

              “Just like you,” Yoongi tosses back, “You already generalized me as a coward man who can’t express himself like a prepubescent boy just because you saw me staring at something for like what, five minutes? You’re a real hypocrite, Y/N.”

              “I’m not a hypocrite because what I said is true! You like Seoyeon and you’re too much of a pussy to ask her out. If you’re not, then why are you here sitting down with me, of all people, to plan about faking having a significant other just in time for Valentine’s week?”

              Yoongi shuts his mouth and Y/N smiles, pleased with herself. Asking Mina for the Jeon Seoyeon card is definitely an ace move.

              “See? I’m right,” Y/N theatrically presses a hand on her temple, “Can we just cut to the bullshit and go on with the plan without having another unnecessary stupid argument breaking the flow? I can’t be always right all the time we argue or else my ego is gonna grow really big like that James Dean wanna-be manager of the Creatives Team.”

              Yoongi raises a middle finger. Y/N only laughs.

              “So, first things first,” Y/N flips her notebook onto the next page and writes on the paper, “So we can successfully fake our relationship, let’s get to know each other—”

              “But I already know you.”

              “No, you don’t,” Y/N snaps.

              “Yes, I do—wait,” Yoongi stops, “are you writing everything down on paper?”

              “Yes,” Y/N glares at him, “I’ve written ‘asshole,’ and ‘whiny prepubescent boy’ on your top descriptors.”

              “Then that confirms I do already know you.”

              “What do you mean?” Y/N asks, a mean scowl forming on her face.

              “It means that I know you,” Yoongi leans back on his seat and places his hands behind his neck. “You’re that kind of person who seriously writes every bit of her life as if not having something written down will cost her her life. Especially when it comes to plans. A plan is called a ‘plan’ for a reason, you know? Same as how humans can’t see their futures for a reason. But you still go and write every single thing you’re doing or about to do down to the littlest detail and when none of them works out in the sequence that you like, you start acting like it’s somebody else’s fault the world’s gonna end. See?” Yoongi suddenly leans forward and ghosts his hand over Y/N’s cheek. Y/N holds her breath, freezing up.

              Yoongi murmurs, “You’ve already got wrinkles on your face. And you’re just 25. I feel so sorry that your whole world revolves around being a P.A., that you start to P.A.-schedule your own life.”

              Y/N glowers and slaps Yoongi’s hand away. The man only laughs.

              “I write everything down because unlike you, I know how to commit to something and not fuck everything up—especially when it involves other’s lives. Of course, you wouldn’t understand this because you haven’t tried to actually put in the effort to make someone’s life easier—”

              “Hey, I’m putting in effort,” Yoongi interjects. “I’m committing to your plan right now.”

              “W-what?”

“I’m telling you, I’m fully in on your plan,” Yoongi closes his eyes and sighs, “Full blow. Beginning to end. Start to finish.”

              “You-you do? Are you really really sure—”

              “Look, if you’re suspicious, it’s fine. I could just totally leave now as I have more people to see this afternoon. It’s a weekend you know—”

              “Okay, fine! I’m happy you said that. Ecstatic. Peachy fucking keen. Totally. Thank you to the great, admirable Min Yoongi who just fucking saved the entire world,” Y/N rolls her eyes as she crosses her arm.

              “I like hearing that. Can you say that again?”

              “Only if you stop being a drama queen, cutting me off to say the most nonsensical stuff for one second and just listen to me so we can finally get the ball rolling.”

              “’Kay,” Yoongi makes an ‘okay’ sign with his hand and zips his lips. He grabs his iced Americano and takes a sip.

              Y/N internally releases a sigh of relief. She reaches for her notebook again. “As I was saying. We have to get to know each other so we know where to build on our fake relationship that would be believable to everyone. And the first way to get to know someone is through asking questions. So for my first question,” Y/N looks at Yoongi, “Other than your utter assholery to me, do you have a dark side?”

              “D-d-dark side?!” Yoongi sputters on his drink. Y/N distastefully eyes the trails of his drink that had made it down his chin but she makes no move to give him the stack of tissues that’s an inch from her elbow. Yoongi squints his eyes at her as he stands and grabs the tissues himself and places it on his side of the table. If he’s the slightest bit offended with Y/N wrinkling her nose at him, he makes it sure she knows it by rolling his eyes as he sits back down. Yoongi wipes the residues on his chin, “Out of all the questions to ask, why that?”

              “Because you get to know someone the best by knowing the versions of their selves that doesn’t make it out in the light of the day.”

              “That’s the reason why they’re called ‘dark sides’, you know. They’re not meant to be brought up in the public We’re in the public, Y/N—”

              “What’s your dark side, Min Yoongi?”

              “Fine,” Yoongi relents, “I have a dark humor. A humor so dark that whenever serious shits happen to me, I always laugh them off. So when I die right in the next second, say in a car accident, I got to laugh one last time right before my life ends. It’s my way saying ‘fuck you’ to life.”

              “Wow. I didn’t expect to hear something so dark like that,” Y/N mutters, “I was expecting you enjoying cracking everybody else’s mugs just like how you did to mine—Mina’s gift to me. In High School—last week.”

              “God, you do not really get over stuff do you?”

              “No, especially if it’s something so precious to me and someone just unceremoniously took it all away from me.”

              “Your mug’s still functional.”

              “It already has a crack on its lip!” Y/N shouts angrily. People turn to look at their table and their stinging stares wills Y/N to mumble “sorry.” She whips her head to Yoongi, “I’m still not over my mug, just so you know.”

              “I don’t know why it’s suddenly about your mug. You asked for my dark side. I gave you one.” Yoongi shrugs. He places down his drink and leans forward in his seat, “Now, Y/N, what’s your dark side?”

              “M-me?”

              “Yes, who else am I talking to?” Yoongi sarcastically snaps.

              “Well, I, uh...uh, dip my steak in mayo,” Y/N holds her chin up.

              “You dip your steak into what?” Yoongi chortles, “That’s your dark side?”

              “Yes, not everything has to do with morbid things and death, you know? Things don’t have to be dark to be deep,” Y/N informs.

              “Yeah, and unconventionally dipping your steak into mayo is deep.”

              “People find it abominable that I dip almost everything into any kind of mayo. That’s why it’s a dark side. And it makes me deep because dipping my food into mayo makes me happy and I’m not agoing to change that to fit into anyone’s expectations. All I’m saying is that I’m a happy person because I know what I want—”

              “Hi ma’am, sir,” a waiter hesitantly holds up a hand and gives a tight smile, as if to apologize for cutting in the conversation, “I see you’ve already cleared your plates. Would you want some dessert?”

              Y/N turns to her side and sees perspiration dotting the hairline of the waiter. He must have been standing way too long by their table that he had to cut the conversation so he can finally go back to the service crew area. Y/N gives an apologetic smile as she nods and helps the waiter clear their table.

              “Would you want some dessert, ma’am?” the waiter asks.

               “Yes! I would have some uh…” Y/N holds her chin as her eyes scan over to the miniature menu-stand. She remembers she’s craving something sweet today, probably to flush out all the bitterness on her tongue that Yoongi had easily unwelcomingly induced. However, she doesn’t know what it is. “Uhm, how about the peach mango parfait? No, that sounds too sweet. The choco chip oatmeal cookie, then? Sorry, not that, I just realized I don’t want to eat something too grainy today. The blueberry cheesecake? Wait, I changed my mind. It’s too expensive. I think I’ll have the apple pie instead—oh wait, no, I know—”

               “Can you just give us two slices of blueberry cheesecake? Thank you.” Yoongi hands a card toward the waiter. The waiter bows and goes to the counter. Within just a minute he returns and places two slices of blueberry cheesecake on their table. He hands back Yoongi’s card and leaves.

               Yoongi drives a fork down the soft pastry as he looks at Y/N, “Wow, you do know what you want.”

               Y/N scowls as she cuts her cake, “Today’s an outlier. I’m just pressured to suddenly make a decision, you know.”

               “Fine, fine, whatever you say,” Yoongi waves off.

               Y/N sets down her fork, “At least I’m a happy person. Unlike you.”

               “I’m a happy person, too,” Yoongi glares at her, “You, what, just generalized because I like dark humor and joking about death, I’m already an unhappy person? Who’s the one making hasty generalizations now?”

               “Who else but an unhappy person would want joke about death?”

               “Look, just because I talked about death doesn’t mean I’m a sad person.  I’m just saying, that in case life goes the wrong way, I’m going to at least enjoy it. Meanwhile, you’ll be left feeling unhappy because you’re too busy being,”  Yoongi quotes in the air, “‘happy’ with your plans to figure out the uncertainties of life.”

               “What’s with the quotation marks?” Y/N glowers, “You do not know me that much to know what I’m feeling. You don’t also get to say what I am feeling. Only I can do. And right now, I’m telling you  I am happy. You know what, maybe you should quit your job in the Creatives and transfer to a Judge’s office. You’ll know what it’s like to finally have a job that matches your expertise—judging people. It’s not like you’re even great in your current job.”

               “You say that with so much contempt. I thought you said you’re happy. From what I know, happy people don’t do that,” Yoongi smiles.

               Y/N glares at Yoongi. She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. “Can we move on to the next question?”

               “Okay, fine, my turn. What’s your take on enemies becoming lovers at the end of every rom-com film?”

               “W-what?” Y/N’s eyes shot up, “Are you for real now?”

               “What?”

               “How dare you hit on me?” Y/N scoffs, “You think this is a fucking rom-com film and we’re the enemies who’ll become lovers?! Great. Your head cannot even be much fucking bigger than it already is now.”

               “Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi wheezes, “What the hell are you saying? I’m just asking you what’s your take on enemies becoming lovers because I heard you last time talking with Mina that you love romcoms. You-you just assumed that I am, what, hitting on you? Just because we hate each other and I brought up the enemies-to-lovers trope? Those two things are not even related! Goddamn, maybe it’s you who should check your ego.”

               Y/N grits out, “How can I not assume? You just suddenly brought up a fucking romantic topic and right now, we’re in a romantic context. We’re ‘dating.’ In this café. Or how it’s supposed to be like. How then can I not relate those two together? And to answer the question, I think that enemies to lovers trope is complete bull-crap.”

               “How did you say so?”

               “You can’t just suddenly grow romantic interest in someone who hates your guts! Sure people say ‘love’ has four letters but so do ‘hate,’ that’s why the popular crap tag ‘you tend to love the person you hate’ is born. But ‘L’ is not ‘H’ and ‘O’ is not ‘A’ and the same goes for ‘V’ and ‘T.’ They’re both words that stand at the opposite spectrum.”

               “But they both end in ‘E.’”

               “So?” Y/N tilts her head, “they still don’t mean the same. ‘Live’ and ‘die’ both end in ‘E’ but they mean the opposite of each other. Just like ‘love’ and ‘hate.’

               “I’m just saying that ‘love’ and ‘hate’ must have, at least, some form of connection through the letter ‘E.’ Not a connection based on their literal orthographic appearance. Just like ‘live’ and ‘die’ share some similarities. They both had to do with life and people experiencing taking a breath—their first one and their last one.”

               “So, what then is this connection ‘love’ and ‘hate’ have with each other?”

               “They both had something to do with a person constantly drawn to a characteristic of another person. I find it both endearing and aggravating.”

               “Are you hearing yourself right now?” Y/N snorts, “‘Drawn to a characteristic’? Constantly? How can you be constantly drawn to something that you hate? That doesn’t make sense. When you hate something, you want to cut off any association you have with that thing or else you’ll be upset 24/7. That’s what healthy people do.”

               “But the fact that you recognize that something you want to cut away means there is some unique element that sticks out enough—if not everyday—whenever you see it. It sticks out because what you usually hate reflects something you also hate in yourself. Let’s say you love the loyalty of your friends to you. You’re drawn to that loyalty because it reflects your own value for loyalty, which, then, makes you love these people. And to be clear, when I say ‘love’ it doesn’t only mean romantically. It can also be the one found in friendships and family or even in things you do.”

               “You don’t have to clarify what ‘love’ is to me. I know what it is,” Y/N spits. “What do you take me for? Someone who skipped the Personal Development class of 10th grade? I fucking aced that class. First off, how can you be drawn to a characteristic you hate when all you ever want is for it to disappear? You can’t be drawn to something you wish to be gone! And, hate cannot exist in any form of love. Sure, you can get upset, frustrated, or angry at your mother, friend, or significant other. But you can’t hate them if you really love them.  When you hate something, you stay away from it. You avoid it. You hurt it. You want to see it suffer. And you don’t do any of these things to something you love. ‘Love’ not ‘loved.’ Because if you’re already in the past tense of that L-verb, then you can hate them all you want.”

               “You’re not getting my point,” Yoongi groans, “I’m saying there’s a connection.”

               “Well, I don’t get it.” Y/N crosses her arms.

               “Fine, let me make you an example. What do you hate?”

               “You.”

               “Wow, what a great start we have,” Yoongi chuckles. “Okay, so you hate me. What’s my characteristic that you hate most?”

               “Your humongous ego you can’t even fit in your head. You thinking you can get away with anything. You simplifying everything as if they’re so easy when it’s not. You thinking you’re always right. You being so highly regarded in the office when clearly, you don’t deserve it because your climb in the hierarchy was just out of pure luck. In short, you’re overrated. You—”

               “Okay, we have enough material to work on, thank you very much. So, from what I could see, you hate me because I have a better life than you.”

               “What the—you really do have a big fucking ego! So big that it also blinds your eyes from seeing the reality. You’re delusional, Yoongi!”

               “Okay, that’s a fallacy. A two actually. Ad hominem and hasty generalizations. Which had me thinking you’ve always been pulling these two in every bit of your argument, whenever you can—”

               “Just like you!”

               “Well, I’m not like you! I’m not someone whose life revolves around her boss so much that I’d let her treat me like a dog and have me running from the world’s end to end just to satisfy her fucking brat of a daughter. And yet at the end of the day, that dog still can’t understand maybe it’s her master and her not standing up for herself that’s the fucking problem. She barks up on the wrong tree and blames everyone else for her misery instead of fucking working on herself!”

               “So, I’m supposed to be that dog?”

               “Yes!”

               “So, I’m a dog now. I’m a fucking dog. I’m that fucking dog you just—you know what, you’ve already ridiculed me and my work again and again in the office. You didn’t have to do it here, where every single stranger just heard what I apparently am in my work,” Y/N stands up and gathers her notebooks and sling bag. “If you’re just going to ridicule everything about me and what I say during the duration of these ‘dates,’ then I will just have to find someone else who’s going to take me seriously. Goodbye, Yoongi,” Y/N gives one last flippant look at the man and then she walks off.

DAY 2 – January 27; Monday

              Mina drops her hands to her side. For the first time, she cannot bring herself to stand up and switch on her metal portable radio. It’s break right now. Kim Seokjin’s voice should already be filling the room of the Accounting Department. But all Mina hears is a pin-drop of silence followed by a heavy sigh.

              That is until a loud scream breaks from her throat.

              “Yoongi called you a what?!”

              Y/N stands up and immediately presses a hand over her friend’s mouth, “Shh! You don’t have to be so loud. I don’t want everyone to hear us—”

              Mina slaps away her friend’s hand, “How can you tell me to be silent?! Right now, when Yoongi just called you a dog!”

              “Geez, you don’t have to repeat it—”

              “And the worst thing is, you just walked out on him!”

              “What?”

              Mina huffs, “Y/N, you cannot just let a man call you a dog and get away with it. You should have screamed back that he’s a shrew’s dick! Not only is he a literal dick, he also has the smallest dick!”

              “Wait, why is this now about Yoongi’s dick?”

              “Y/N,” Mina claps her hands on her friend’s shoulders, “this is about Yoongi’s dick. He thinks he’s so big but he’s just a pesky, miniature pest. His dick represents his ego. So if you said he has a dick of a shrew, you’re metaphorically blowing off his ego. And to the public, his dick.”

              Y/N wriggles herself from Mina’s hold and puffs, “Mina, will you stop going on and on about Yoongi’s dick? I don’t wanna hear about it and for God’s sake, you’ve already got Mark’s—”

              “How can I not?! He just called you a dog! Not even a bitch!” Y/N winces but Mina continues, “Like, okay, literally he’s pertaining to a bitch because you’re a girl and he called you a dog. And that would have been more okay because calling a girl a ‘bitch’ can be a petty insult everyone knows means about how annoying a girl can be. But, a dog?! Y/N, he’s reducing you to an animal! A dog, Y/N, a dog! An animal!”

              “Will you stop saying Y/N and dog in one sentence?!” Y/N snaps, “I’m the one who should be furious! I’m the one who got called a dog!”

              Mina shuts up. She immediately pulls her hands back to her sides, “Sorry. It’s hard not to violently react when my bestfriend is getting humiliated like that. Publicly even.”

              Y/N sighs, “Yeah, I know. It’s just…repeating it again and again makes me want to tear up.”

              Mina holds Y/N’s hand, “I’m sorry.”

              “I’m sorry, too,” Y/N says, “I didn’t mean to blow up. It’s just—Min Yoongi has insulted me in more ways than one but not like this. God, I’ve never been this humiliated before in my life.”

              Mina sighs and closes her eyes, “I knew this would happen. I told you to not push through with this plan but you didn’t listen. God, I wish I didn’t bring up that Yoongi is single. Of course, I should have known the moment I said that option, your mind wouldn’t stop mulling over it. If I hadn’t brought that up, then maybe you wouldn’t have even gone into that goddamn cafe.”

              “Hey, Mina,” Y/N tilts her friend’s chin to face her, “this is not your fault. This is Yoongi’s fault. And yeah, I should have listened to you. But we’re here now. We can’t undo what’s already happened. At least, this is a learning experience for me not to go with my gut when I already knew from the get-go it will turn out badly.”

              Mina nods, “You’re right...But what about the Heart Holiday? Who will you go with now?”

              Y/N releases a frustrated sigh, “I honestly don’t know. I’ll probably have to resort to desperate measures again. If things come to worst, I will stand in front of shops and hold out flyers just like the convenience sampling I did in college.  I’ll settle for the first decent person I can find. Just anyone at this point, I’m fine. As long as it’s not Min Yoongi.”

              “Yeah, as long as it’s not Min Yoongi.”

                Except that is easier said than done.

              “Uhh, what are you doing?”

               Y/N looks up from her crouched position under the table of her desk, frozen in surprise. Except for her index which manages to sneak three more swipe right’s.

               Yoongi stands on his tip-toes, peering over the cubicle to get a better glimpse of the crouched woman. When he sees a profile picture of a foreign man on the phone, his eyes shoot up and meet Y/N’s.

               “Is that Tinder?”

               After insulting and humiliating her publicly, this is the first thing Yoongi says? He doesn’t have the nerve to even apologize? Y/N rolls her eyes as she slowly crawls back onto her seat, “Well, thank you for confirming your eyes work, dumbass.”

               “Nevermind,” Yoongi waves off,  “Come into the Creatives’ Office. Right now,” He turns his back to her and heads the opposite hallway. He glances back at her one more time. “Right now,” he repeats with a glare, before disappearing through the glass door.

               Y/N grumbles, picking up her notebook and pen. She just had her beloved station all to herself for five minutes only and now she’s going back to her own circle of hell, her temporary cubicle in the Creatives’ office. Unlike her previous encounters with Yoongi, Y/N didn’t expect that a temporary cubicle will not spike up her blood pressure to skyscraper-heights. Instead, that cubicle roasts her ass slowly as if she’s some rotisserie chicken.

              Y/N’s cubicle is set against the periwinkle-painted wall, directly in front of Yoongi’s desk. All would be normal like it usually is if the Creatives’ cubicles are actually cubicles. Their cubicles have their front boards built so low that they could be mistaken for standard office tables. Mina said they were like that since the Creatives’ monitors are so large that they would be impractical for standard-sized cubicles. And a gossip among the Accounting three years ago said Nancy has to cut some funds for the Creatives’ interior designing since their high-quality model of computers and cutting-edge apps are enough to compensate for it. Still, it’s not enough for Y/N to forgive this horrible choice of furniture when she has to sit in it and endure every millisecond of her work time seeing Yoongi’s stupid face.

              Y/N feels a prick on her ass when she sees Yoongi’s half-lidded eyes as he clicks through his templates, looking like work never stresses him out. There’s gas-stove-like heat on her eyelids as she sees Yoongi teach his subordinates their drafted designs with a proud smirk on his face as if he’s the only one capable of coming up with those designs that are already magazine-standardized. Y/N feels her eyes have been doused with searing oil whenever Yoongi meets her eyes and gets the audacity to give her a challenging stare. And when Yoongi fucking decides to wink at her, Y/N could feel her eyes completely and so painfully burst on-fire. All these four occurrences happen on a day-to-day basis, especially on days when Y/N came from her station, frazzled and haggard because of Nancy’s orders. Because of this threat-posing danger to her sanity, Y/N’s only reprieve is her old station. But it’s still not enough. Not when she only gets five minutes to sit on it before she gets thrust back into her circle of hell. Like, right now.

              Yoongi is staring at her. His lips are tightly sealed, his hand firm as it cups his jaw. His brows are scrunched and Y/N could have mistaken he’s angry had she not known Yoongi long enough to know it’s just his face being a daily bitch like he is. Y/N tilts her head but she gets nothing. Yoongi’s eyes remain unmoving on her figure. She blows out a sigh. What is up with him now? Why can’t he wipe that stupid look on his face? Y/N sets her elbow on her desk and cups her jaw too, mirroring the man. She glares at him. Still nothing. She raises a middle finger. Yoongi breaks from his stance and chuckles, shaking his head.

              What the fuck—

              Yoongi stands up from his cubicle. “Myungsoo, Dana, Yoona, and” he looks straight at her, “Y/N. Come to the meeting room ASAP. I have something to discuss.”

              Y/N makes a face as she drags her limbs away from her desk.

              “So, I gathered everyone here because of a new concept Steven and I thought over,” Yoongi opens a red portfolio. He slides it to the center of the table for everyone to see.

              It was a set of templates, all in the scheme of reds and pinks. Just like how Nancy pointed out in the Creative’s To-do improvements in the meeting two weeks ago. There are two to three columns designed in one page. The indentions and the justified alignment follow the traditional layout. What steers away from the formula is the awkward staggering cuts on the ending sentences, seemingly like downward staircases facing opposite each other. It creates circular bubble-like spaces lying in between the columns. And in these spaces stand human icons, one person per bubble, busily typing on their laptops or looking at their cellphones.

              “Steven and I decided it will be a good time to use this layout since this month is the time for DRM’s star program, The Heart Holiday, which addresses the country’s concerns about the decreasing birth-rate. Looks like there are no more babies because people don’t want to get into relationships these days,” Yoongi says, pointing to the solo human icons on the template. Y/N glances to her right and sees Myungsoo and Dana stifling a chuckle. Yoongi’s joke is not even funny, why are they laughing?

              “Anyway, Steven and I guessed it’s only appropriate to use the concept: no one wants to be intimate anymore, so everyone distances themselves from each other.” Yoongi flips the next page of the portfolio.

              The next article layouts have only two columns. It still has the staggered-staircases-forming-bubbles in the format. However, the reduction of the columns has brought these bubbles nearer to each other. Unlike the one-person-per-bubble format, there are now two to three people in the bubbles interacting with each other.

              “But even if it seems no one wants to be with anyone anymore,” Yoongi continues, “There is still hope for people to connect with each other. That’s why Steven and I thought it will be a good opportunity to combine this message in our magazine with the Heart Holiday-inspired theme. The memes about DRM’s PRS are also trending right now in every social media so this could make our magazine more relatable for people. Ms. Nancy has sent us the approved feature articles for inspiration. We can tell this February issue is themed around having fun whether you’re going to DRM-approved date sites with your significant other, or you’re going solo around these sites, treating yourself and all that. Hence, we thought this kind of layout will be the best one to visually execute this message,” Yoongi finishes. He looks at the people in the meeting room, “What do you think?”

              Myungsoo nods, “Yeah, I think that’s a great concept. Very timely.”

              “And the design, too,” Yoona adds, “This may catch our readers’ attention from the get-go because these bubbles are not the usual stuff we see in issues—print or online.”

              “Thanks for your inputs—Y/N, are you writing this down?”

              Y/N could suddenly feel everyone’s eyes on her. Yoongi really does love putting her on unneeded spotlights, no? She raises her head from her notebook and grumbles, “Of course.”

              “Good, then,” Yoongi turns back to his staff, “We haven’t sent these templates to Ms. Nancy yet. I’m just informing you beforehand should you have better suggestions. You know how Ms. Nancy hates installment submissions of our designs. As of now, we only have conceptualized templates for the feature articles. We still need to cover the templates for the profiles and the top ten pages. And most importantly, the cover page. I want you three to do some research and provide me interesting concepts for our subject and shoots. We have to submit a cohesive collection before Ms. Nancy’s return. So, would it be okay for you if you can send it to me by the end of the week?”

              All three give Yoongi an affirmative nod.

              “Okay, then,” Yoongi leans in his seat, “I would like you to formally meet Ms. Y/N L/N.”

              “But we already got introduced to her. A week ago, in fact,” Myungsoo warily glances at his right. Y/N tries not to shrink from the intimidating gaze he’s giving her. Wasn’t Myungsoo just afraid of her five days ago?

              “Yeah, I know,” Yoongi says, “but I think everyone has not fully understood her purpose here as I still see anxiousness in everyone’s faces whenever she goes around the office. Steven did not do much of a good job explaining it either since he’s been busy with the skeletal framework of our designs. And now, Nancy had just recently busied him with the interface of our site.  That’s why I’m here as second in command.” Yoongi stands up and nears Y/N. Y/N attempts to step back, away from his approaching figure. Yoongi prevents her from doing so by encircling an arm around her and firmly pats a hand on her right shoulder.

              The three Creatives staff sport bunched up brows.

              Unheeding from the confusion on their faces, Yoongi says, “Ms. Y/N L/N here, is Ms. Nancy’s eyes in the Creatives. Since Ms. Nancy is overseas and our last report in our meeting was not satisfactory for her, she sent in her P.A. to check on our progress and directly report to her. To counter-check our own reports to her and whatnot. Y/N’s not here to rat out anyone who’s sneaking a break or two when it’s not even break time,” Dana stiffens at that. Yoongi chuckles, “Don’t worry Dana, everyone already knows and Y/N hasn’t written a thing about you, right Y/N?” He looks at the woman under his arm and smiles.

              Y/N’s got her forehead scrunched together but she nods nevertheless, “Y-yes, I don’t report stuff ‘bout like that. Just the progress and drafts for the templates and designs and o-other suggestions. Yeah.” She unconsciously releases a shaky breath as she glances up at Yoongi who’s still smiling weirdly at her. Why does she feel like she’s being held hostage by the insufferable man?

               “Right,” Yoongi says, looking back at the three. “So, I would really appreciate it if you guys could walk-through Ms. Y/N around your research and concept-making, especially about the matters that concern the cover page.” Myungsoo opens his mouth to retort but Yoongi beats him, “Uh-uh, no objections. This is an order from your superior. A superior who cares about you all to protect you from getting blasted off this company by our dear Ms. Nancy,” Yoongi smiles.

               This must have quelled the three’s resistance, seeing their downcast faces. Yoongi grins, “I’m glad to know that you all agree with me, then. As it also would have been weird if otherwise. Especially when our sweet, adorable, cute Y/Nie has come here to help us.” Yoongi cups Y/N’s face and smiles, “Right, Y/Nie?”

               The confusion is back on the staff’s faces. This time, tenfold.

               “O….kay, I think I already get the memo,” Dana reaches for the door handle.

               “Y-yeah, me too,” Myungsoo seconds.

               “Thank you for the…briefing, Mr. Min. Have a good day,” Yoona bids as she pulls open the door and leaves. Soon enough, it’s just Y/N and Yoongi left inside the Creatives’ meeting room.

               Y/N tears herself immediately from Yoongi’s hold. She looks at him, furious, “What the fuck was that, Min?!”

               Yoongi places his hands in his pockets, “Me pretending I’m interested in you. My share of the deal. You know? Your plan.”

               “You think the deal is still up?! It’s long broken after your shit in the café yesterday!”

               “I’m not the only one who’s at fault,” Yoongi counters, “You called me overrated and an egotistic bastard.”

               “Well, you called me a dog!” Y/N throws her hands in the air. “A dog, Yoongi, a dog! What’s more humiliating than that?!”

               “I admit that’s a wrong move on my part. It’s uncalled for and I’m sorry,” Yoongi sighs. Y/N immediately feels her limbs loosen up. Did…Did Min Yoongi just apologize to her? The prideful, uncaring, asshole Min Yoongi just said ‘sorry’?—

              “But that still doesn’t justify why you’re on Tinder earlier,” Yoongi crosses his arms, “You’re still in the office and break well past over. It’s not even night time!”

              “What the—Why, am I allowed to use Tinder only at night?” Y/N gives him an incredulous look.

               “That’s not what I meant,” Yoongi says dryly, “I’m talking about you having to go to Tinder, seducing a partner with your sexual fantasies and what-not. In case you’re too shallow to know, you usually do those kinds of things at night.”

              Y/N glares at him, “So, you’re saying I have to go to Tinder to unleash my inner hoe and seduce potential partners? And it must be at night? Excuse you Min, I am highly capable of seducing anyone even off-screen!”

               “Uhh, no?” Yoongi says, tilting his head.

               Y/N’s forehead furrows, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

               “No. As in it’s impossible for you to seduce anyone, Y/N.”

               Y/N sticks her nose up, “How did you say so?”

               “Because you’re a stuck-up girl with a stick in her ass,” Yoongi informs, “No one finds that sexy.”

               “And what do people find sexy?” Y/N scoffs, “Conceited, demeaning bastards like you?”

               Yoongi drags a hand over his face, “This is going nowhere again. I don’t have time for this.”

               “And whose fault is it?” Y/N points at him, “You. You started it!”

               “No, you did,” Yoongi pins her with a glare “Who the hell swipes right on every random stranger on Tinder without care?! Much more in a professional setting?”

               “From what I know, you didn’t care about any professionalism at work, Min,” Y/N spits, taking a step towards the man, “You slept during working hours, Yoongi. Don’t you forget how you served me cold to Nancy when you missed Rosa’s call about her son’s first son’s birthday party!” Y/N seethes, “And why do you even care about whoever I swipe on Tinder?! It’s none of your business!”

               “Of course it is my business! I’m the one who you’re supposed to be dating. Not some other Tinder dude!”

               Silence. Not one muscle moves. Not even a breath comes out from between their lips. The air in the room goes colder. There seem to be imaginary frozen needles that have surrounded Y/N’s body after Yoongi’s outburst as she could feel the frigid cold starting to nip on her neck. Yoongi doesn’t seem any better as he stands still in front of her, eyes wide, mouth agape after his outburst. The excruciating tension stretches on as another second passes in this pin-drop silence.

               “W-what?” Y/N chokes out, the sound scratching from her throat, “Y-you think you’re supposed to be dating me? After everything that happened in the cafe, you think my offer is still up? You think, what, after you just called me a dog, I’d let you back in on my plan? And have you benefit from it?” Y/N scoffs.

               “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I already apologized!”

               Y/N snorts, “You think it’s that easy to let go for you to demand forgiveness for what you did? I didn’t know you’re also that entitled, Min! And for the record, I don’t need to date you. I can easily find anyone to be my boyfriend for the Valentines!”

                “Then tell me why you’re still swiping right on Tinder until now,” Yoongi counters. “Didn’t you think I would catch you in the meeting still furiously swiping right behind your notebook?” Y/N’s jaw goes slack as she looks away from him. Yoongi smirks. “From all those accounts you swiped right, there probably would have been one that matched with you, right? If you can so ‘easily find anyone to be your boyfriend’?” He takes one step forward to the woman. Y/N gulps, taking one step backward. “Tell me there’s someone else other than me who’s willing to do all these acting shits just to get you that paid vacation leave,” Yoongi takes another step forward, cornering Y/N in the blinds-covered glass wall, “If you can name someone else, I’d gladly let you swipe everyone and anyone to your heart’s content.”

               “Fine,” Y/N admits, “No one has matched with me. Yet,” she adds, daggers in her eyes. She wouldn’t succumb to him just because he’s in a more domineering position than her, hovering above her. “Of course, you’re the only one who’s willing to act out this dating shit with me because you’re gonna benefit from it, too. You out of all people going to deny that one week of paid vacation leave? That would be a miracle.”

               “Touche,” Yoongi chuckles.

               “That’s why, it’s also time for you to step back or else I’m filing a sexual harassment case against you.”

               “Okay, okay, geesh,” Yoongi holds up his hands as he backs away, chuckling. Y/N gives him an unamused look as she dusts off her blazer. God, how many days did the Creatives left their windows to gather dust? And Yoongi had to corner her there of all places—

               Y/N crosses her arms, eyes narrowed, “So, after all your…theatrics, what are you really implying, Min?”

               “I’m implying, let’s give it a go again,” Yoongi replies. Y/N cringes at him. Yoongi immediately defends himself, “Yeah, I know, it sounds like hell. You’re not the only one who’s going to suffer.”

              “As if. You suffering just like I do? I’m the one who’s gonna suffer more! Just by looking at you, I could feel my eyes burning as if I poured a gallon of muriatic acid on them.”

              Yoongi sighs, “I’m being serious here.”

              “So do I,” Y/N tilts her chin up.

              Yoongi gives her a stop-bullshitting-me look.

              Y/N sighs, “Fine, I will.”

              “So, as I was saying,” Yoongi continues, “Our act only has to go for two weeks. 13 days, exactly, since we’ve already wasted yesterday. All we have to do is compromise and not try to fray each other’s nerves too much. Just for two weeks. Then at least we can make this farce as less stressful as it can be for the sake of our mental health.”

               “Okay. How would we start then?”

               “Let’s go have a date later. After work.”

              “So this is your idea of a date?”

              “Stop complaining. I’m already the one paying.”

              Y/N grumbles an unintelligible disagreement over a stick-full of crispy fried chicken intestines. Yoongi glares at her as he takes another stick from the hot pot. He stuffs his cheek with more chicken intestines. He chomps on his food, obviously savoring the taste of the greasy street food. It would have been pleasing to the eyes if the sounds he is making are not akin to a horse wallowing chunks of grass.  It also doesn’t help that his sounds are only heightened by the loud, mindless chatter of passerby’s. Families arguing what food stall to go to next. Friends betting which game they can win. Children and babies crying for the jackpot humongous teddy bears of the obviously rigged stalls. And couples giving each other mushy looks while guzzling on street foods sold by stalls like the one they’re in. It’s a cacophony of all banal sounds from day-to-day life, amplified to the notch.

              Y/N glances up. The sky is dark but not much can be seen from the thick, dirty smog of the city. What only breaks the neverending stretch of pollution are the overhead lights. They are small oriental lamps tied up on wire cables, hanging across the streetlamp posts. Their pink, orange, and yellow hues substitute for the washed down constellations above the night sky. At least this is pretty.

              “Why? What’s your idea of a date?”

              Y/N snaps back to the man beside her. She’s brought back to the almost-deafening chitter-chatter background. “W-well, it’s definitely not like this!” She waves her stick around her, “It’s not this noisy, thi-this messy. We’re not even supposed to be eating this!”

              Yoongi raises a brow, “But it looks like you like eating chicken intestines. You had six sticks.”

              Y/N’s eyes widen. She buries her face in her scarf, “I have no choice. I’m hungry.”

              “Well, are you still hungry now?”

              “No,” Y/N munches on the last piece of her chicken intestines. She dunks the empty stick in her cup sitting on the bar of the stall.

              “That’s more than good then—Hey, are you done?” Yoongi turns to her. Y/N nods. She gives Yoongi some bills but he slaps her hand away and pays the stall vendor for their meals. “See? I fed you,” Yoongi snorts, “Why are you even complaining?”

              “A date is not just about feeding someone! O-or paying for someone before asking them if it’s okay to have their meals paid for them.”

              “But I told you I’m going to pay! You know, because of yesterday? Because apparently, my apology earlier is not enough for your demanding ass.”

              Y/N angrily stuffs her purse back into her satchel, “It’s still doesn’t justify why this ‘date’ is like this! This is not supposed to be this way!”

              “Aside from your elitist, romantic-sap delusions,” Yoongi looks at her, “what is a date supposed to be?”

              “I’m not an elitist or a romantic-sap!” Y/N exclaims, “And they’re not delusions! Anyone with at least one functioning brain cell could tell a date is supposed to have some ounce of privacy. Some inch of calm in the mood. At least through the music or the aesthetic of the place—not like a marketplace of a street event like this! And the food! They’re supposed to be at least served in plates! Did you not get an example when I asked you to meet me yesterday in a café?”

              “But the thing is, I’m not just anyone, sweetheart.”

              “Will you just stop—” Y/N falters when she feels a tug on her coat.

              “Hey, they have those fried flour-coated quail eggs! You want some?”

              Y/N doesn’t utter a word. Her perked eyes are enough for her to quickly follow the man to the brown food stall.

              Yoongi smirks, “What were you saying again? Did the eggs taste less delicious now they’re in cups?”

              Y/N dips one more egg in the sweet orange sauce before giving him a pointed look, “Shut up. This is an exception. I’m weak for this food since high school.”

              “Aren’t you weak for the intestines, too?” Yoongi snickers, “You ate eight sticks.”

               Y/N jabs at his side. Yoongi’s laugh breaks as he soothes over the spot. Y/N  triumphantly smiles, “I told you to shut up.”

               Yoongi frowns at her as he takes another egg from his cup.

               Y/N sighs as she places down her cup on the bar. She turns to Yoongi,               “Spill it.”

              “What?”

              “Why are you being so nice tonight? What are you plotting?”

               “This-This?” Yoongi sputters, “I am already being nice by being like this?”

               “Well, you’re the worst on a daily basis. Tonight, you’re ten percent less of worse.”

               Yoongi tilts his head, “How did you say so?”

               “Well,” Y/N shoves her hands in her pockets, “when I say some shit about you, you fight back. Like earlier. I blow up on you. You blow up on me. Now, you’re going for passive-aggressive. I can’t tell if you’re about to sneak up on me like the bitch you are or are you just weirdly sucking up to me.” Yoongi snorts. The sound makes Y/N’s ears heat up in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “Why are you laughing, Min? It’s not a joke.”

               “It is a joke,” Yoongi breathes out in-between laughs, “You think I’m sucking up to you? Not in a million years, bitch! And what am I to sneak up on you for? As of now, you’re in the Creatives and I am somehow your superior. I don’t have to sneak up on you for anything.”

               Y/N huffs, “Then, what are you doing right now?”

               “It’s called compromise,” Yoongi informs, a proud smile growing on his face, “Human decency in another context. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? If we can try, we can make this deal as less stressful as it can be.”

               “Yeah, I know,” Y/N deadpans.

               “And right now, this loud background is my insurance for tonight should we end up screaming at each other. No one is gonna hear everything and doubt us being a couple. So we can finally get that damned DRM date document.”

               “Why ‘finally’?” Y/N breaks from her reverie, brows raised in confusion, “Didn’t we have a date yesterday?”

               “Yeah we did have one,” Yoongi leans his elbow on the bar and turns to her, “But with you walking out and making such a grand exit, there’s no one in hell the manager is gonna hand me a document that’s supposed to verify two people had a great time in a date site.”

               Y/N hides her face beneath her scarf. She mumbles, “It shouldn’t have happened if you didn’t call me a dog.”

               “Yeah, I know,” Yoongi pops an egg into his mouth, finishing his cup, “but you called me names, too.” Y/N opens her mouth to retort but stops when Yoongi presses an index over her lips, “But they are just your go-to petty insults. And the end, calling you a dog is still an uncalled for low-blow. So now, I’m making us even by paying for your meals.”

               “Okay,” Y/N places her finished cup on the bar, “How would we get a document for today, then? Temporary stalls like this are not DRM-approved.”

               Yoongi smiles, “We just have to find some date-site-looking shop, then.”

               Y/N nods and she falls into silence next to Yoongi. Crowds continue to buzz past them, some people even bumping into their shoulders without an apology. And yet, not a word is still exchanged. The muted space between them is awkward and almost tensioned. From the back of her mind, Y/N could tell Yoongi wants to tell her something. His constant quick glances give him away. However, her expectations are always destroyed when he brings his eyes back on the street, staring straight ahead, away from hers. Y/N decides having an annoying chatterbox Yoongi is better than this silent Yoongi. This silent one seems like he’s secretly plotting her murder. Y/N shakes her head. Compromise, Y/N, compromise.

               “Hey, would you want to go in there?”

               Y/N whips her head, “W-what?”

               Yoongi points to his left, “Do you want to go to that shop? They’re selling some cute stuff.”

               Y/N follows Yoongi’s index. The shop standing on their left looks like Hello Kitty has puked all over it with pink sparkly unidentified stuff for years. Its name, “Adorable Paradise” is in glowing neon pink. It’s flashed by a huge LED  board fastened to the roof of the shop. The shop’s pink walls contrast the monotone grey and dirty white of the shops crammed beside it. Even from the outside, Y/N could already tell the majority, if not all, of their products are also barfed over by Hello Kitty. Pink teddy bears, pink phone cases, pink pillows, pink mini dresses—the list goes on. It’s a novelties store. But right now in Y/N’s eyes, it’s one big puddle of Hello Kitty’s barf. A paradise for all cheesy, cheap, cute finds that won’t even last long for a month.”

               “T-there?” Y/N turns to  Yoongi, a scoff forming on her lips. “You’re asking me if I want to go there? Well, I do not! I’m already 25, Yoongi. I’m no longer 15!”

               Yoongi gives her an incredulous look, “Why? Are fifteen-year-olds only allowed to that place?” He raises his hand and points to a couple going out of the shop, “See? Does that adult couple look like fifteen-year-olds to you?”

               “But, look at its name! ‘Adorable Paradise.’ Who the hell will not think this shop is for cringey teenagers?!”

               “Well, the DRM thinks not because it’s officially listed in one of their approved date sites.”

               Y/N’s eyes grow into large snow globes. She turns up her nose at him as she crosses her arms, “As if I could believe you. Just yesterday, you don’t know anything about DRM or the PRS.”

               “But now I know,” Yoongi argues, “I researched it.”

               “You? Research?” Y/N snorts, “That combination sounds awfully unbelievable.”

               “Hey, I do research,” Yoongi narrows his eyes at her, “I have to do it especially on things I know my sanity will be at stake. Like, right now,” Yoongi suddenly pulls Y/N’s wrist and runs toward the glass door of the shop, almost dragging Y/N’s body behind.

               “I.Told.You. Let. Go. Of. Me!” Y/N slaps Yoongi’s hand per syllable. Yoongi finally lets go when they enter the shop. Y/N caresses the non-existent marks on her wrist. She glowers at him, “You don’t have to drag me like that if you’re that dying to go in here, you know? You could have just told me you’re a hopeless romantic overgrown teenage boy.”

               Yoongi seems to have gone deaf over her words. He aimlessly wanders through the aisles of the shop, whistling a soft tune to himself. Y/N is ready to stomp her way all over to him and drag him out like how he did with her if Yoongi didn’t holler from the CD stand, “Hey! This song reminds me of you!”

               Y/N walks toward him. She peers at the CD case he’s holding. “UGLY – 2NE1.”

               Y/N glares at him. Yoongi laughs. She pushes him away as she goes to the other end of the stand, scanning through the CD cases. “Hah! This one’s for you!”

               Yoongi looks at the case, “Here’s a Quarter (Call Someone Who Cares) – Travis Tritt.” Yoongi smirks at her, “So, it’s gonna be like this, huh?” He rushes to the opposite end of the CD stand. “This one’s for you!” Yoongi flashes her the CD case, “I hate everything about you – Three Days Grace”

               Y/N angrily bites on her lip. She dives into her side of the stand, “Then you’re this—“Die in a Fire – The Living Tombstone”

               “You’re Pitiful – Weird Al”

               “Suck a Cheetah’s Dick – Wesley Willis”

               “You Need to Calm Down – Taylor Swift”

               “That’s What You Get – Paramore”

               “You’re not Old School. You’re Just Old – Swallowing Shit”

               “LOSER – Big Bang”

              “Grow Up – Paramore”

              “Fuck You – Lilly Allen”

              “F.U.R.B. (Fuck You Right Back) – Frankee”

               With no more songs to insult each other, Yoongi and Y/N continues on to the greeting cards.

               Yoongi turns to Y/N and points at his left, “You’re like this Mother’s day card. Its fake PNG background resonates you being such a scam.”

               Y/N points at her right, “Well, you’re like this Birthday card that somehow looks like a prayer card. You think so highly of yourself when you’re just some low-quality being.”

               “Hah!” Yoongi snorts, “Then you’re like this plain ass Thank You Card. Its abuse of Comic Sans is like your abuse of overused insults. Upgrade your insulting game, mate.”

               “Overused, huh? Then you’re this ‘Cousin, you deserve the best,’ card. Awfully useless to anyone.”

               “Hey! Cousins deserve a Hallmark card!”

               “Who the hell writes to their cousin?! It’s no longer the 1800’s!”

               “Well, obviously not you. You don’t have a heart to even appreciate your cousin.”

               “I do appreciate my cousin!” Y/N looks away, frowning, “But not through cards.”

               “Then how do you appreciate them?”

               “A birthday message on Facebook?”

               “That’s not enough! What, you just speak to them once a year?”

               “Yeah! Because not everyone has good relationship ties with their family, dumb-o.”

               Yoongi stops, “What? You’re not okay with your family?”

               “Are you deaf? Did you not hear what I said?” Y/N looks at him with a cold stare, “And why are you suddenly concerned?”

               “Well, it’s family? And families are supposed to be the people who should know you best, and thus understand you the best..?,” Yoongi finishes, eyes unsure. He looks like he’s trying to convince himself with his answer rather than Y/N.

               “Well, not my family,” Y/N turns away and heads for the other aisle, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Next topic.”

               “Okay,” Yoongi nods, following behind.

               The Adorable Paradise is a self-contradiction. There is nothing heavenly in the shop but its all-shades-of-pink LSD-inducing color scheme. The shop is a hodgepodge of all things imaginable. One stand has CDs and records, from mainstream pop to underground heavy metal, un-arranged in the racks. The other stand has greeting cards for all sorts of events. It is Y/N’s first time to find a card congratulating a person for surviving a day without killing their boss. Shelves line up the spaces above the stands, housing indoor plants of different species and vinyl records from the 70s to contemporaries. The bookstands lined in the center of the shop contain items from school supplies to cosmetic products. Accessories from head to toe are displayed in mannequins placed in all of the corners of the shop. The only thing passable for “adorable” is the shop’s collection of plushies, all resembling none of well-known cartoons or franchises. Although calling it so would be a stretch because there are outlandish ones like the magenta sunflower with a pentagram on its disk florets Y/N saw in the leftmost shelf.  It was as if the shop owner didn’t know what business it wants to have so they just threw everything sellable they know inside. It is almost impossible to know how the shop managed to house all these various products in such a small space. Especially, when there are corners that have products like—

               “Yoongi, look, they have the leaf village’s forehead protector!”

               “The leaf village what?”

               Y/N turns around, tying the headband around her head, “The Naruto headband!”

               Yoongi shrugs.

               Y/N’s eyes blow wide, “What do you mean ‘so what’? This is Naruto.”

               “Well, I haven’t watched it, so I don’t know what to feel.”

               “You haven’t watched Naruto?!”

               “Too many episodes.”

               “This is Naruto!”

               “Yes! I know it’s Naruto!” Yoongi exasperates, “You don’t have to repeat it again!”

               “Fine,” Y/N crosses her arms. “Then what did you watch growing up?” Yoongi looks up, deep in thought. Y/N smirks, “If you have nothing, then I can really say you’re asshole-ry can now be explained by the fact that you apparently have no childhood.”

               “Hey! I had my childhood! I remember it now. It’s Slam Dunk!”

               “The basketball anime?”

               “Yep.”

               “Does it involve ten episodes worth of flashback before they finally make a move?”

               “No. That’s just the trend now after Kuroko no Basket.”

               “Wait,” Y/N points at him, “Do you watch every single sports anime?”

               “No…Just when it’s about basketball.”

               “Oh my god,” Y/N dramatically covers her mouth in faux shock, “you’re such a stereotypical representative of the male species.”

               Yoongi gives her a half-unamused, half-confused look, “What do you mean with that?”

               “Nothing. Just you guys typically liking basketball 24/7 and making life everything about it.”

               “I do not make life everything about basketball,” Yoongi deadpans, “Have you ever heard me do that?”

               “…No. Okay, sorry, I got sidetracked again because of my annoyance with you,” Y/N faces the bookstand where she got her headband, “Anyway, since you mentioned you like Slam Dunk, I may have seen a Shohoku 10 jersey here—”

               “OH MY GOD, WHERE???” Yoongi runs next to her.

               Y/N turns around, quirking her brows, “I thought you don’t make your life about basketball? Why are you reacting like that?”

               “Hey, if you watched Slam Dunk, you’d know,” Yoongi informs. He takes a conscious step back and awkwardly adjusts the folded cuffs of his navy button-down.

               “Well, I haven’t watched it, so I don’t know.”

               “You haven’t watched Slam Dunk? How do you even know about the Shohoku 10 jersey?!”

               “I know that 10 jersey is important because Mina’s boyfriend gushes about it, too,” Y/N bites her lip then admits, “And also because the one wearing the next number, 11, is a very attractive man.”

               “You mean Kaede Rukawa?” Yoongi blows a frustrated sigh, “Oh my god, you have an awful taste. That character’s annoying as fuck.”

               “Hey—”

               Yoongi holds up a finger, “You don’t get to justify yourself. You said you haven’t watched Slam Dunk. Which by the way, how did you even know Rukawa is good-looking?”

               Y/N slaps Yoongi’s hand away, “Hah! You admit he’s also good-looking!”

               Yoongi narrows his eyes at her, “That’s not the point. Answer the question.”

               “Fine. I saw a drawing of him in a product ad for a Shohoku jersey Mina has added to her cart.”

               Yoongi’s jaw drops, “Then, you just decided then and there you like him?”

               “I didn’t say I like him! I said he’s attractive!”

               “But he’s such a jerk to Sakuragi! How is that attractive?!”

               “You know, this is going nowhere again,” Y/N mutters and heads for the cashier.

               Yoongi follows close behind, “Just so you know, you’ll immediately get disillusioned when you watch the anime.”

               “If you’d succeed in convincing me to do so,” Y/N taunts.

               “I’ll watch Naruto in exchange,” Yoongi places the jersey on the counter, next to the Naruto headband.

               Y/N looks at him, brows shot up her forehead, “Are you sure? That’s like 500 plus episodes of investment.”

               Yoongi smirks, “I’m sure. Then in exchange, you have to watch Slam Dunk.” He places out his hand, “Deal?”

               Y/N goes silent. After another second of thought, she clasps her hand around Yoongi’s and shakes it, “Deal.”

               “That would be $50,” the cashier awkwardly smiles.

               Y/N quickly opens her wallet, fishing for some bills—

               “Thank you for giving the exact amount, sir.”

               Y/N looks at Yoongi, “You already paid? But I’ve got my forehead protector in it. I need to pay.”

               “I told you,” Yoongi smiles, “I’m paying for today.”

               Y/N goes silent. This smile on the man’s face is weird. It’s not the taunting one he flashes at her whenever she’s in meetings, as if to remind her he’s waiting for her next mistake. Nor is it the insulting tilt of his lips he sends her whenever he catches sight of her frazzled form by Nancy’s door after accomplishing all her boss’ pile of tasks. This smile has an oddly, unnervingly nonexistent subtext. It has none of his usual malice, nor his hint of capriciousness. Just a plain smile Yoongi most definitely never sends her way and—

               “You two are so sweet!”

               Y/N breaks from her trance and looks at the cashier, “W-what?”

               The cashier takes a step from her desk, self-conscious now of her abrupt statement. She looks like she’s just turned about nineteen. Probably her first job that’s why she’s a nervous wreck in front of a customer. “I-I said you two a-are so sweet,” she stutters, “I-I’ve never seen a couple before with such che-chemistry with each other.”

               What? Chemistry? Y/N scoffs. Her and Yoongi? It’s more likely disastrous energy.  “We-re not—”

               “Oh yeah, people usually comment that about us,” Yoongi pulls Y/N to his side, an arm looped around her frame. He sends her a sickening, too-cheesy lovey-dovey eyes, “Right, my cutie peachy pie, Y/N?”

               Y/N gives him an incredulous look. Yoongi doesn’t pay her mind. He turns back to the cashier, “We probably oozed too much of the honeymoon phase, no? My girlfriend and I just started dating, you see. So I guess, all the sweet stuff are natural to come at the start.”

               “I don’t think the sweetness will only come at the start for you two, sir,” the cashier grins, “For one, you two look like you’ve been with each other for so long.”

               “Yeah,” Yoongi answers, chuckling, “So long that the establishment of DRM has caught up with us and almost pushed us to be together.”

               Y/N’s jaw drops. Yoongi did not just say that—

               “That’s why, we’re still kinda unofficial now. We haven’t changed our PRSs yet.”

               “Oh,” the cashier nods slowly.

               “So,” Yoongi leans closer to the counter, “Would you help me and my cutie peachy pie be as official as we can be by writing us a date document to officialize our date?”

               “O-of course, sir! No problem!” The cashier beams, “May I get your names please?”

              “L/N Y/N and Min Yoongi.”

              “Okay, I’ll be back soon” the cashier bows before she disappears into their staff’s backroom.

               Y/N immediately pulls Yoongi’s cuff sleeve, pulling him to lean toward her, “What the fuck, Min? Cutie peachy pie?!”

               “What the fuck, to you, too, peachy pie,” Yoongi returns in harsh whispers, a frown marring his face, “What were you thinking denying to the cashier we’re not a couple? You almost gave us away!”

               “It’s you who almost gave us away! You outright hinted we’re doing all these stuff just to get the holiday benefit! Were you not listening to me yesterday? You don’t have to go through all drama theatrics just to get the date document! You can just ask for it plain and simple! They’ll automatically get it—”

               “Sorry, I took so long,” The cashier enters the counter. Y/N and Yoongi immediately let go of each other. The cashier smiles at the couple, “Here’s your date document, Mr. Min and Ms. L/N. I wish you two the best of luck!”

               “Y-yeah, thank you,” Y/N awkwardly smiles as she receives the sealed pale pink envelope.

               When they make it outside the shop, Y/N finally bursts. “What the hell did you just do in there?”

               “Uhh, pretending to be your lover? Like you should, too? Because you’re the one who offered me this deal to acquire the Heart Holiday paid week? I don’t know, you decide,” Yoongi gives her a once over.

               Y/N closes her eyes and sighs, “Okay, I’m sorry I almost put us up to fail by denying we’re a couple. But, you can’t blame me. I’m still adjusting to having you as my fake boyfriend when you’re my worst enemy for years. It’s an illogical upgrade and I still need time to prepare myself.”

               “Well, you shouldn’t have agreed to have our date today when you’re not yet done being such a difficult person,” Yoongi spits. Y/N’s almost taken aback by the complete 180 change from the smiling Yoongi who’s telling her he’s willing to suffer 500 plus episodes in exchange for her watching Slam Dunk for him. But then, that must have just been him acting like the professional scam that he is. Reality must sink in. Right in front of her is the true Min Yoongi. The insufferable man who doesn’t think twice about criticizing her, even in a large public place.

               Aggravation starts to light up in Y/N’s throat. She turns to Yoongi, voice dripping with venom and disdain, “Well, forgive me for not being able to stomach dating you. Especially someone like you who’s awfully disgusting as your choices of pet names.”

               Yoongi looks at her in silence. He looks down at the paper bags in his hands. He unceremoniously hands her the smaller one. “If you cannot stomach me dating you, you shouldn’t have asked for my help in the first place.” Yoongi gives her one last unreadable look. He shakes his head and walks away, disappearing into the moving crowd.

              Y/N looks away, feet stuck on the pavement. The awful taste of shame is blocking her esophagus.

 DAY 3 – January 28; Tuesday      

               Yoongi is avoiding her, Y/N’s sure of it. When she sat in her desk in the Creatives, the man didn’t let his eyes sweep over her. He didn’t even address her blatant staring just like he usually does. When Y/N makes her round in their office, Yoongi coincidentally decides it’s the right time to take a bathroom break, obviously avoiding having Y/N pass him by in his cubicle. This is weird. Yoongi is not one to avoid Y/N. It is Y/N who avoids him. Yoongi is the pesky, picky jerk of a fly who won’t stop bugging her. It’s not supposed to be her who’s standing awkwardly whenever he’s near, trying to get the man’s attention.

              The morning was stressfully spent with her trying to play cat and mouse with Yoongi. Fortunately for Y/N, no one in the Creatives has noticed this aberrant change in her attitude. She’s sure she’s gonna succumb to the depths of the earth from embarrassment. Y/N’s relieved everyone already knows she hates Yoongi and vice versa to even attempt to speak to her about it. That is until the clock hits eleven and a no-filter co-worker with the name of Dana Lee comes to her.

               “Hey, what’s up with you and Yoongi?”

               Y/N looks up from her desk. Dana is leaning above her, concern and curiosity etched into her face. From the little time Y/N has spent in the Creatives, it was easy to tell Dana is one of the most extroverted people she has ever met in her life. Unafraid to sound too prying or gossipy, Dana just speaks what’s on her mind. Be it about Myungsoo being too patronizing on her or Steven being so closed-off as a leader, Dana freely talks about anything. What’s only weird though is she also manages to not step on any line. This is something Y/N is simultaneously frustrated by and envious of. No one gets to say anything that they want and play so safe all at the same time. Though right now, Y/N is mulling over if she got Dana wrong as what she’s asking from her is a little bit too unnerving for someone she has never exchanged a word with before.

               “What?”

               The petite blonde woman comfortably plops onto a chair next to her desk. Y/N didn’t notice she even dragged a chair with her. Dana leans an elbow on her desk, “Just yesterday, he was awfully close to you. Now, it looks like he can’t even bear to look at you.”

               “What are you talking about?” Y/N awkwardly chuckles, “We’re not close. We both can’t bear to look at each other.”

               “Then what did happen yesterday?” Dana’s eyes were piercing right into hers.

              “Umm, maybe he’s got…a fever? Fever always does things to people, you know?” Y/N nervously chuckles

               Dana hums, leaning back on her chair, “I don’t think calling someone adorable and sweet has something to do with fever. ”

               “It’s Min Yoongi, Dana,” Y/N flips through the pages of her notebook, “If he doesn’t have a fever, then he’s just plain weird. He always says ridiculous things.”

               “Not always. I don’t even remember hearing him giving compliments ever since he got in here.”

               Y/N whips her head towards her.

               Dana chuckles, “You two do have something weird going on, huh?” Y/N opens her mouth to retort but Dana cuts her chance by handing her a long manila folder. “Anyway, I’m here to give you these. Here are the templates I’ve researched that could work for this month’s profile pages.”

               “Why…are you giving me these?”

               “I just want to,” Dana shrugs, “Since you ‘re part of the Creatives now, I figured why not let you help me pick out what templates to use as inspiration for our own magazine. Since you work closely with Nancy, you should probably know some things she wants to see in our issues.”

              “But—”

              “And inside it is also a mini-guide about the jargons we use to help you better understand Steven’s reports before you report them yourself to Nancy.”

              “You…you did this for me?”

              “Honestly? No. This folder is a peace offering to you so you won’t report me taking too many breaks to Nancy,” Dana informs, smiling. She picks up the booklet, “And this mini-guide? Yoongi made it. He asked me to give it to you yesterday but I forgot.”

              “Oh.”

              “Yeah, that’s why I find it weird he’s treating you like air now when yesterday he’s adamant about telling us to treat you with utmost respect as a co-worker.” Dana claps a hand over her mouth, “Oh my god, does it sound rude? I’m sorry, I kinda gave us away that we’re really wary of you. Okay, I really gave us a way no, but at least you know now…right?”

              “It’s okay, Dana,” Y/N smiles, waving a dismissive hand.

              “Are you really though?”

              “Yes, I’m okay,” Y/N smiles wider, “Thank you for the folder again.”

              “…Okies. See ya later.”

               “I am NOT okay.”

               Mina turns her swivel chair to face her bestfriend. The soft melodies of her radio fill the Accounting Department. Everyone else has left their seats for lunch. Mina sets her jaw on her palm, “Why, did Yoongi do something again? I already told you not to involve him anymore in your plan but you’re still stubborn. Don’t tell me I didn’t see you yesterday getting off work with him and you coming home late yesterday. I may have just set out a midnight snack for you and resigned early to bed, but I have eyes, Y/N. I just didn’t say anything yesterday because it’s late and it’s too early in the morning earlier to bring up, but I know.”

               Y/N pushes her fork around the leftovers of her packed lunch in her container, “Yoongi was really pushy yesterday about making it up to me about the dog-thing in the café so I had no choice. He even told me to quit this Tinder gaming because I’m gonna run out of time if I were to wait for someone else to act with me. And although he paid for everything even if I insisted to share the bill, Yoongi still had us eat street foods and enter some weird-ass ka-doodle shop. Who the hell takes someone into those things for a date?! And okay, he was a bit decent yesterday to not blow up things out of proportion just like he always does. But! He still sent me this cringe-worthy smile that I have to see as something positive because it doesn’t look like his ‘I-will-end-you’ smiles he usually flashes at me and this certainly bothers me. And now,” Y/N blows out an irritated sigh, “I found out he even made me this guide about the Creatives’ jargon and terminologies I’ve been desperate for a week.”

               “So, what really happened? You won’t be this conflicted if it’s just about a non-malicious smile and a guide.”

               “First and foremost, I am NOT conflicted,” Y/N puts down her fork, “In my defense, Yoongi’s still a dumb bitch because he almost uttered in front of the cashier that we are only going in their shop for the date document like ‘hello, this girl and I are just tryna fake it ‘til we make it the heart holiday benefit.’ He even shamelessly got the stroke of ego to even call me ‘cutie peachy pie’ in front of the cashier and I am so not having any of that—”

               “The point, Y/N?”

               “Fine,” Y/N slumps down in her chair, “The night ended with me telling Yoongi I can’t stomach dating him because he’s disgusting as his choice of pet names.”

               Mina winces, “Oof, that kinda hurts.”

               “How does it hurt?” Y/N throws up her hands, “Does he expect me to just accept the disgusting idea of me dating him when I’ve practically dreamt of strangling him in his sleep for so many nights? Not earlier that day he was just dissing me with song titles!”

               “Y/N,” Mina rubs her temples, “Even if he dissed you with those song titles, they are still shallow. But calling someone disgusting to date? That hurts bad. It’s bad as his dog-thing. It hurts to be seen as someone so disgusting to be treated as a romantic partner, even if it’s all for show, you know? It’s like telling a person no one would ever want to be with them.”

               Y/N looks away.

              Mina sighs, “How is he doing now?”

               “Well,” Y/N picks on the seams of her cardigan, “I don’t really know. All I know he’s not his usual self because he won’t look at me. Our desks literally face each other and it seems like letting  himself even accidentally glance to me will give him some sort of virus.”

               “Then you did hurt him.”

               “Minaaa,” Y/N whines.

              “As much as I despise him for what he’s done to you in the past, this time you’re in the wrong, Y/N, and I’m not gonna tolerate it. He tried to make it up with you.”

              “Mina, you’re supposed to take my side and make me feel better!”

              “Well, you won’t feel any better until you apologize. You’re feeling like this because your guilt is eating on your nerves. You’re not helping yourself if you’re just gonna deny everything, Y/N.”

              Y/N wishes she hasn’t talked this out with Mina. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be awkwardly lingering around the Creatives’ room, waiting for Yoongi to finish his briefing with their artists. It’s already seven in the evening. By this time, Y/N could be probably running a hot bath in her home while scrolling around her Facebook to nonchalantly react to her friend’s achievements. It’s always how her night goes. Not like this—creeping like a stalker again for a man she hates. The glass door busts open. Y/N scrambles for a corner to hide. But it’s too late.

              “Oh, Y/N, what are you still doing here?” some guy asks. Y/N thinks his name is Jeff. ‘Jeff’ pushes up the slipping portfolios back in his elbow.

              “I think she forgot something,” Yoona suggests.

              “Uhh, n-no—”

              “Who is she?” a nineteen-year-old-looking boy asks. His buttondown fits his narrow shoulders awkwardly. He’s probably a new hire.

              “She’s Y/N L/N, Seojoon. Nancy’s P.A.,” Seojoon’s eyes grow three times larger than their usual size. Yoona continues, “Would you mind going back to check if Ms. L/N left something in the meeting room? We were there yesterday.”

              “You don’t have to—”

              “Of course no, Ms. Park!” Seojoon bows, grinning at Y/N.

              Yoona clasps a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “You do not need to feel shy, Y/N. We are co-workers here.”

              “I am not—"

              “Ms. Park,” Seojoon hollers, “I don’t see anything here!”

              “Oh,” Yoona looks at Y/N, “then you’re probably waiting for Mr. Min.”

              “Mr. Min?” ‘Jeff’ sputters, almost letting go of his portfolios.

              “Yeah, Jeff, Mr. Min,” Yoona pats the man’s back, “Now go ahead and place the portfolios in my car. I’ll be the one to handle the box.”

              “N-no, Yoongi and I are not—”

              “Yes, Ms. Park.” Jeff bows. “Mr. Min..” He slowly nods at Y/N, “In the denial phase are we, huh?”

              Before Y/N could open her mouth and deny such repulsive remark, Yoona pops her head back into the office, “Seojoon! Come outside, Y/N didn’t leave anything.”

              Seojoon quickly steps out. Yoona gives Y/N a curt smile, “I don’t really fancy romantic relationships at work, but anyway, good luck with Mr. Min.”

              “We,” Y/N nervously chuckles, “We’re not—”

              “You don’t have to deny anymore Ms. L/N, we totally understand! I’m rooting for you and Mr. Min!” Seojoon grins. The two quickly leave and it’s just Y/N again in the quiet hallway.

              What just…happened? How do these people act like they long knew about her when she hasn’t even talked with them before?

              The door swings open again and Y/N jumps.

              “What are you doing here?”

              Y/N turns around. Yoongi is standing at the doorway, brows furrowed, hands on his black satchel. He looks like he doesn’t want to see her right now.

              Y/N’s eye twitches, “Obviously, I’m here to work. You know, past the eight to five work hours, to work on unfinished works I don’t really have.”

              Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Are you seriously being sarcastic right now?”

              “How could I not be when you’re acting like the biggest bitch alive?”

              Yoongi rubs a tired hand over his eyes, “Did you just wait here to start a fight? Because if you are, I’m already tired and I want to go home.” Yoongi steps aside and walks past her.

              What is wrong with him? Did he just walk out on her? When he’s the one who got all dramatic yesterday, acting like the victim when he also picked on her? Y/N holds up her chin. Fine, if he wants to act this way then so be it.

              But what about Nancy? The Heart Holliday?

              Y/N stops. She releases a long sigh. Why does she always end up fighting with him?

              Y/N runs out of the office, pushing the glass doors of Travel Loca wide open. At the end of the main hallway, she sees Yoongi entering the lift. Y/N leaves all thoughts and just sprints. She manages to stick a hand in the infinitesimal space before the metal doors completely close on her. The elevator dings and the doors start to open wide. Yoongi looks at her, eyes wide.

              “Look,” Y/N breathes out, entering the lift, “I know I’ve been an ass yesterday, but you can’t just pin everything on me like you always do. If you hadn’t dissed me with those CD titles, called me cutie peachy pie, and dumbly almost gave us out, I wouldn’t have—”

              “What are you really here for, Y/N?”

              The metal doors close again. Y/N closes her eyes, “Fuck, I’m sorry okay?! I didn’t mean to say those mean words to you. I was just frustrated and mad when you called me a difficult person and I guess I just blew up, okay?” Y/N looks at him, “I’m sorry.”

              “If you’re sorry, why are you still denying that we’re dating in front of my subordinates just now?”

              “You heard that?”

              “Of course,” Yoongi adjusts his bag on his shoulder, “Jeff has the loudest mouth in here and Seojoon is coming in close for that spot. It’s not hard for the two of them to announce what’s happening here to the next city.”

              Y/N self-consciously rubs her arm, “I’m not used to people crowding me like that and asking about that stuff, okay? I’m still adjusting to this…situation we have. I’m sorry, okay? I promise I won’t give us away again. I’m serious this time.”

              “Okay,” Yoongi quips.

              Y/N looks up at him, “Wait, you’re just going to let it go like that?”

              “Of course no,” Yoongi answers, smiling.

              The growing smile on Y/N’s face falls flat, “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

              “I want you to make it up to me.”

               Y/N’s jaw drops, “What?!”

               “When I did you wrong, I made it up to you. Now, it’s your turn,” Yoongi grins. Y/N crosses her arms. Yoongi’s smile grows, “Take it or I leave this deal.”

               Y/N bites her cheeks. She closes her eyes and sighs, “Fine.”

               “Good. Glad to know we’re on the same page,” Yoongi says, pressing the ‘P1’ button on the elevator just before the lift passes it.

               Y/N gawks at him, “When did you have a car?”

               “It’s not mine. Steven let me borrow his for today.” The doors open. Yoongi walks toward the gun-metal gray Ford on the far right and presses the remote open. He opens the driver’s side and looks at Y/N. “Why are you still standing there? Do you want me to open the door for you, sweetheart?”

               “Fuck you.”

               “I will open it if you want me to,” Yoongi chuckles, starting for the passenger side.

               “Shut up!” Y/N dashes to the passenger’s side, blocking Yoongi from pulling the door for her. Yoongi cackles.

               The ride was silent for a few minutes. Save for Yoongi who kept on bugging Y/N with the same question the moment they pulled out of Rockfort Building.

              “So,” Yoongi asks, “where are we really going?”

                Y/N has been muttering directions for a few minutes now, unrelenting to tell Yoongi the exact address. She figured to keep it a secret lest Yoongi make a scene once he knew where they’re going. But with Yoongi pestering her now like a five-year-old toddler, Y/N thinks she might have made the wrong decision. Y/N closes her eyes, “Shut up and just follow my directions.”

               “I won’t if you won’t tell me where you plan to take us. For all I know, you’ve contacted some hoodlums to ambush me in a dark alley.”

                Y/N turns to her side, letting her back face him.

                 Yoongi pokes her shoulder, “Y/NNNN—”     

               “Fine! Turn left at the 2nd stoplight and then a right at the 3rd stoplight. There’s a Burger King joint there. Satisfied?” Y/N glares at him.

               “You’re taking me to fast-food?” Yoongi dramatically places a hand over his chest, “I thought you said dates are supposed to be intimate and of high-quality.”

               “Well, when it comes to you, it’s a different case. Now, shut up.”

               The street was dark. Save for the brightly lit Burger King establishment. The white and yellow lighting inside the restaurant seems to bleed outside. They color the washed-out paint of the closed shops beside it. Some manage to spread onto the wet and cold pavement. The raven night sky further emphasizes the restaurant’s colors with no other lit building to compete with. There were street lamps, but their lights were not bright enough to register distinctly into one’s eyes. They all just looked like burnt-out stars.

               They seem to remind Y/N of the man next to her when they pulled up to the order reception area of the drive-thru.

               “Here’s your order, sir,” The crew staff hands Yoongi a huge paper bag, “Would you like to add anything more?”

               “Oh, yeah, um, do you have a document for like dates and—”

              “Oh no, don’t mind him,” Y/N clamps a hand over Yoongi’s mouth, “We don’t have anything else to add for now. But if we do, we’re gonna go inside to get them later. Thank you,” she smiles at the confused staff.

              When the windows roll up, Yoongi tears Y/N’s hand off his face. “What the fuck was that for?”

              Y/N scowls, “You’re being stupid for almost giving us away! Again!”

              “But I already followed what you said! You told me to just ask for the document plain and simple!”

              Y/N places a hand over her forehead, “That only works when you’ve already spent some time in a date-site enough to be considered as a date. How can Burger King know we’re having a date when we just pulled up and ordered at the drive-thru? If that is so, then they would have been distributing date documents so easily to every single car that passes by.”

              “How will we let them know, then?” Yoongi asks.

              “We park in their parking lot and stay there to eat. Where they can see us spending time with each other. Then we go inside and ask for the document.”

              “Then why did you even insist we go to a drive-thru if we’re gonna go out and enter the restaurant later anyway?” Yoongi throws up his hands, “We could have just dined-in and eat out like usual.”

              “Because I don’t want anyone to see us or else we’ll lose another opportunity to get a goddamn date document.”

              “How can you say we’ll lose another opportunity?”

              “Because I know we’re going to argue,” Y/N looks at Yoongi. His eyes are piercing hers and his brows are scrunched up. Y/N points at to him, “Look, your face is telling me you’re already about to start some shit up.” She reaches across the console and pokes his forehead with her index and middle finger to spread apart the man’s brows, “There, you look less like a dumb asshole now.”

              Yoongi slaps her hand away. Y/N snorts. Yoongi shoves the paper bag into her hand, “Just shut up and eat.”

              Ten minutes later and fingers coated with salt from the fries, Yoongi breaks the silence, “What were you looking at just before we got in the drive-thru? You seem very lost in it.”

              Y/N spares him a glance before going for another fry, “Obviously not you.”

              “I’m being serious.”

              “Okay, fine. The sky,” Y/N slumps deeper into her seat.

              “Wow,” Yoongi chuckles, “I never thought you were one of those aesthetic-obsessed girls of Pinterest.”

              “Where are you going with this? If you’re gonna insult me again, just so you know, I paid for tonight’s meal. Therefore, I’ve already made it up with you. And so, I am in no obligation to–”

              “I’m trying to initiate small talk,” Yoongi turns to her, smirking, “Now look who’s the one starting some shit up?”

              Y/N narrows her eyes at him.

              Yoongi snickers, “Can’t you just answer my question? I’m just trying to have a conversation without us screaming each other’s heads off. It’s getting pretty tiring.”

              Y/N looks down on the empty food wrapper on her lap. She closes her eyes and sighs, “Okay,  but don’t laugh at me. I’m really…into light set against skies. Street lamps, overhead lights in cables, lit up buildings—anything that is illuminated, as long as there are skies in the background. I like skies in general because looking at it feels like viewing a painting in a real classy museum for free. I like free stuff. But, I like skies more if the light that comes with it makes their whole picture entirely different from what it’s really supposed to be.”

              “Like what?”

              “Say for example,” Y/N leans nearer to Yoongi to point at the restaurant, “Burger King is the only brightly lit establishment here. And its bright use of primary colors on the building creates a greater contrast against the blackness of the sky. If you think about it more, Burger King kinda looks like an evil radioactive plant set in a post-apocalyptic world,” Y/N gives Yoongi a pointed look as she raises her hands, “Life’s been boring lately. I’m just trying to see things differently to entertain myself.”

              Yoongi looks at her, mouth agape.

              Y/N points at him, “I told you, don’t laugh. You asked for it. That’s my answer.”

              “I’m not trying to laugh,” Yoongi chuckles, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m into light fixtures.”

              “Light fixtures?”

              “Yeah.  Lamps, light bulbs, lighted chandeliers—anything that’s supposed to light up for interior designing. It’s not as special as your affinity for your light-in-the-skies. I just like light fixtures because, well, they’re pretty and practical. And I like interior designing. I could spend a lot of hours just walking around the home department in malls,” Yoongi turns toward her, “What else do you like?”

              Y/N’s eyes turn into slits, “Are we playing twenty questions right now?”

              “No. But if you want, we can.”

              “Fine. Okay…I like Naruto.”

              Yoongi gives Y/N a blank stare, “You already told me that yesterday.”

              “Yeah,” Y/N nods, “but I think you don’t get me yesterday. What I mean by ‘like’ is that I’m totally obsessed with that anime. And manga. All throughout elementary and high school, there’s not a day where I blabbered about Naruto. I can’t believe an anime can be so, so good. The plot is so well-done and the characters’ motivations and desires are fleshed out so good that they almost resemble real people. The story world is so concrete that I truly wished it existed so I can just go there whenever I want,” Y/N sighs, “Not to say Uchiha Sasuke is goddamn handsome.”

              “Now, I see.”

              “What?”

              Yoongi chortles, “You have a type.”

              Y/N frowns, “What do you mean with that?”

              Yoongi grins, “You like black-haired guys with poker faces and horrible personalities.”

              Y/N releases an offended scoff, “Ho-horrible? Sasuke is not horrible! He just had circumstances he cannot escape!”

              “Well, Kaede Rukawa is horrible.”

              “Are you seriously still fixated on my attraction to that guy?”

              “How can I not?” Yoongi exasperates, “He’s such a pretentious bitch to his teammates and he calls Sakuragi a ‘moron.’ Multiple times!”

              “Well, that’s the purpose of a character that acts antagonistically, you know?” Y/N informs, “They’re supposed to challenge the protagonist to further elevate conflict. And from what I know, he and Sakuragi eventually resorted to a friendly rivalry.”

              “Yeah, they did, but still, it doesn’t excuse his terrible attitude—Wait, how did you know about that? You said yesterday you’ve never watched Slam Dunk before.”

              Y/N flushes, “Well, I-I have hands, you know? And a brain. A little research about their high-five is not that much of a hassle.”

              “Wait, you researched that part with their high-five? Through what, fandom.com?” Y/N guiltily side-glances the side mirror. Yoongi tongues his cheek, “Wow. Just wow. Congratulations, you spoiled your own experience.”

              Y/N turns to him with a scowl on her face, “At least I tried to know a thing about Slam Dunk! What about you? Did you already start watching Naruto just like what you oh-so confidently declared yesterday?”

              Yoongi looks down, “…No.”

              “Hah!” Y/N points a finger at him, a triumphant smile on her face, “See? You’re just a big-talker Min Yoongi! You say a lot of shit but you can’t even do one of them!”

              “Hey! I said I will watch Naruto just yesterday! Did you expect me to start watching it as soon as possible? In case you don’t know, I’ve got lots of work to do thanks to Nancy. You talk as if you’re so great when you haven’t even watched Slam Dunk yourself!”

              “I’ll watch it, okay?! Happy, now?”

              “Very,” Yoongi gibes at her, “You better watch it because I’ve got to suffer through 500 plus episodes.”

              “Fine.”

              “Fine.”

              Silence settles over the car again. A minute or two passes with just the sound of food wrappers’ wrinkling and folding serving as the white noise along with the whir of the air con. Yoongi  leans forward and presses the on button of the car stereo. Post Malone and Swae Lee’s Sunflower fills the car.

               The song is in the second verse when Y/N decides to break the silence between them, “Do you…like this song?”

               “Yeah,” Yoongi smiles, “The heavy beats ironically compliment the soft melody so well. I find it…very unusual and oddly comforting.” Yoongi looks at her, “Do you, too?”

               “Yeah,” Y/N picks up the last fry in their paper container, “I’m not really into pop songs, especially popular ones. They tend to be all about shallow declarations of love or overused odes to sex and horniness because everyone knows sex sells. But this one is gonna be an exception. It just feels so…real.”

               “How so?”

               “Well, it’s all thanks to the sunflower metaphor. Sunflowers are very pretty and they last very long. But they’re also stressful to grow because they drain the other plants from receiving nutrients. That’s why they’re flowers that symbolize true love. The love that is sweet, but also draining. And the fact that you said the heavy beats compliment the soft melody is an audial language to further layer on the metaphor of the song.”

               Yoongi looks at her with a curious glint in his eyes, “How did you know these stuff?”

               “We-well, I learned some things about the flower language in a book about star-crossed soulmates I read a year ago. Do-don’t laugh. It’s a good book, okay.”

               “I’m not even laughing,” Yoongi chuckles.

               Y/N  gives him a pointed stare, “Well, you’re doing it now.”

               “Okay, okay,” Yoongi wheezes, “I’m not laughing.”

               “Sure.”

               “I’m serious,” Yoongi insists, now calm. “I just chuckled because I didn’t imagine you’re into that stuff.”

               “What stuff?”

               Yoongi smiles, “Cute stuff.”

               “Cu-cute?” Y/N gawks, “They’re not cute! That’s so downgrading—you know, just because this stuff talks about love, it doesn’t mean they value any less than other abstractions and values out there.”

               “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about it being adorable.”

               “Adorable?”

               “You,” Yoongi purses his lips, “It’s adorable that you actually like this stuff. Stuff far from what you do at work. I thought your head is just filled with unpublished stories and worship chants for Nancy.”

               Y/N narrows her eyes at him. Yoongi guffaws. Sunflower ends and some pop song which Y/N doesn’t know starts to play. Y/N crosses her arms, “Let’s do the 20 Questions instead. Having a serious conversation with you is draining.”

               “Okay,” Yoongi chuckles, “How will we do it then?”

              “10 questions each.  Answerable by ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or whatever,” Y/N turns to Yoongi, “I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?”

               “Blue.”

               Y/N clicks her tongue, “Very typical.”

               “What about you?” Yoongi asks.

               “Yellow. What’s your favorite food?”

              “Lamb skewers. Especially the ones sold in the small diner near to my high school. What’s your favorite food?”

               Y/N whips her gaze away from him, “…Fried chicken intestines.”

               “Whoa,” Yoongi turns to her, eyes wide in amusement, “So I got you your favorite food right off the bat yesterday? I didn’t know it will be this easy. This is amazing.”

               Y/N pointedly looks at him, “Shut up. How many crushes did you ever have?”

               “W-what?”

               “Just answer it,” Y/N grits her teeth.

               “Fine,” Yoongi relents, “One.”

               “O-one?” Y/N sputters, “Oh my God. You’re a lovesick puppy.”

              Yoongi furrows his forehead, “What are you talking about?”

              Y/N covers her mouth in disbelief, “I can’t believe Jeon Seoyeon is your first crush at what age, 29? Oh my God, Yoongi.”

               “What?” Yoongi chokes out, “I-I’m not into her!”

               “Say that when you’re not blushing like hell then I’ll believe you,” Y/N smirks, “Next question.”

               “No, I do not have a crush on her!” Yoongi insists, “Where did you even get such ridiculous speculation?!”

               Y/N grins, “I’ll count that as a question. I got it from Mina”

               “What?!”

               “My turn to ask now, Min,” Y/N asserts, “What’s your first job?”

               “Video editor in an advertising firm. Small company,” Yoongi looks at her, “How many crushes did you have and what’s your first job?”

               “I’ll count that as two questions,” Y/N smiles. “Crushes? Three. One of them upgraded from that. First job? Well, I was a secretary in a news company. J&M.”

               “J&M?” Yoongi gapes, “That’s like, the top one news company in the country. I didn’t know you worked for them.”

              “Well, it’s horrible,” Y/N grimaces, “I hated every single minute I spent in there. Didn’t even know why I stayed there for two years. The days just,” Y/N sighs, waving a hand, “seems to pass like a blur.”

               “Two years? And the next two you spent in Travel Loca?” Yoongi hums, “What did you do when you were 21?”

               Y/N turns to him, fully facing him now, “I’m just going to tell you this for the sake of ending this ‘date’ as soon as possible. You don’t get to speak about this in the office, okay?.” Yoongi nods. Y/N closes her eyes, “Okay, I spent two years after graduation home studying and doing part-time. Even if I had Latin honors, the companies I wanted to apply in won’t accept me because apparently, I’m too young. I graduated from college when I was 19. Skipped two years in high school. My grades were enough to get me accelerated,” Y/N looks down at her hands, “It’s one of my achievements I’m really proud of. But…it ended up producing more cons than pros in the long run.”

               “Don’t say that,” Y/N looks up at Yoongi. Yoongi smiles, “That’s still an achievement worthy of being proud of, you know? Everyone wants to get out of high school as soon as they can. But not everyone gets to really do it.”

               Y/N gapes at him. Why is Min Yoongi suddenly giving her encouragement like this? Her, out of all people? From what she remembers, Yoongi is her biggest critic in the office. Whenever an opportunity opens for her making a mistake, Yoongi catches it and will definitely not pass up a chance to throw her criticisms or petty insults.  And now, he’s spouting comforting words?! Min Yoongi is anything but comforting!— Y/N looks away. It’s getting late. It’s just the long night taking a toll on them. She fixes their leftovers in their paper bag, “What are your most embarrassing moments? Do you have a pet? Favorite movie? Favorite song?”

               “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Yoongi holds a hand up, “Four questions in one go?”

               “Yes, four,” Y/N glances at him, then proceeds back to tidying up, “It’s getting late. We have to end the game soon.”

               “But you already know I have a pet, that’s cheating—”

               “It’s not cheating. We still get to ask 20 questions,” Y/N deadpans. “ You only have four questions left. I have two. Now, answer my questions, Min, because I want to go home.”

               Yoongi sighs, “Fine. I have a pet. A dog named Holly. Everyone knows—including you because there’s nothing else I post in my social media but him. Favorite movie is Minority Report. I like the twist in the end and it’s notion against predetermined futures even if the whole system in the story world is about determining crimes supposed to happen in the future. Favorite song has to be, uhh….anything made by Lorde. Love the calm in her rough and edged beats and the unadulterated honesty in her tracks. I have a lot of favorite songs but the first one that came to my mind when I want to play something again and again was her songs so that’s that. And, most embarrassing moment?” Yoongi eyes Y/N but she only continues to keep her gaze on her lap. He sighs, “Well, it has to be when I have to repeat years while studying. Two years in fact.”

              At this, Y/N glances at him. Yoongi pulls a straight smile, “I have to repeat one year in elementary because we moved houses in the middle of the school year because of a job offer. That’s alright though. Dad got a better job out of it and we lived more comfortably. But what hurt was when I have to repeat my fourth year. My thesis paper was okay. But…I flunked the defense big time. I can’t talk for shit back then. I mean, until now, I’m still having a hard time because I don’t really like hanging out with a lot of people. But past me was a real mess. Had a breakdown just right when it’s my turn with the panel. And you know how big of a deal thesis writing is to graduate Junior High. Because of that, my appeals were of course rejected by the board. So, I have to repeat that year again until I pass the thesis writing. It’s embarrassing that I get to see my batchmates graduate to senior high while I’m still stuck in junior high. In the very last year, of all years. It’s even more embarrassing to my family.”

               Y/N bites her lip. She leans nearer to Yoongi, “But, they still treated you..okay, right?”

               “I’ll count that as a question,” Yoongi sing-songs, winking at Y/N.

               Y/N frowns, “I’m being serious.”

               “Okay, okay,” Yoongi chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. “But it still means you only got one question left.”

               “It’s okay. I wanted to end my turn as soon as possible. Answer my question, Yoongi.”

               “Okay,” Yoongi smiles, “Well, my parents never told it in my face, but I know they still see it as a disappointing waste of one year. It’s a different case with my relatives though but it doesn’t matter much. What only matters is my family. We’re fine now. My parents look like they don’t mind anymore of what happened during high school.”

               “That’s good then,” a small smile forms on Y/N’s face.

               “Yeah,” Yoongi says, smiling wider.

              The two fall into silence as the music in the car changes. Abba’s Take a Chance on Me starts to play. When it reaches the chorus, Yoongi decides to break the awkwardness that has suddenly settled in the air, “What’s your last question, Y/N?”

              “O-oh,” Y/N  fiddles with her cardigan, “uh, well…Oh! I already told you my definition of a date, but you never told me yours. How would you like a date to be?”

              “It’s a secret,” Yoongi grins.

              “What?!” Y/N exclaims, “A secret?! Why would that be a secret?! Do you know we’re supposed to have more dates to seal the holiday vacation for sure? It would help a lot if we know how we each want our dates to go so we can deal with each other a lot less stressful than it already is!”

              “My answer is still ‘secret,’” Yoongi smiles smugly, crossing his arms. “Also, you already spent all your questions. It’s my turn from now on.”

              “Fine,” Y/N bites back, frown deepening when she hears Yoongi chuckle.

              “How many times have you dyed your hair?”

              “One,” Y/N gives him a challenging stare.

              “How many times have you traveled locally?”

               “Three.”

               “What’s your lucky number?”

               “Fourteen.”

               “What’s your number?”

               “01048648564—wait, no!”

               “Okay, thank you!” Yoongi pulls up his phone.

               “Wait, Yoongi!” Y/N tries to snatch his phone from his grip. Yoongi turns away, successfully clicking ‘add contact’ with a wide grin on his face.

               Yoongi tucks the phone back into his pants’ pocket. He peers over the car’s dashboard and gasps dramatically, “Oh, well look at that, it’s already getting late. My, my, 10:32 P.M.” He looks at Y/N, grinning widely, “We better get the date document so we can get going now, huh?”

               Y/N scowls at him. Yoongi snickers as he gets out of the car. It only takes five minutes before he goes back onto the parking lot, waving a pale pink envelope in the air.

               Yoongi pulls away from the parking lot, “So shall I now drive you home?”

               Y/N frowns as she looks away from him, focusing on the dark streets outside.

               “What’s your address, hmm?” Yoongi prods, a beaming smile still on his face.

              A beat passes. Y/N closes her eyes and sighs. “Drop me at the Village Estates. 27th Street, East Drive.”

               “Okay,” Yoongi chirps and keys in the address in the car’s navigator.

               The ride is silent with only the car music serving as the white noise. Y/N has lost track of the tracks that played in the speakers. She doesn’t tear her eyes away from the window for the entirety of the ride until Yoongi pulls in front of her apartment complex.

               “We’re here.”

               Y/N pushes the door open and wordlessly gets out of the car. She doesn’t wait on the pavement to see Yoongi off nor does she turns around to look at the man one last time. She just walks off. But before she gets inside the main entrance, she hears Yoongi holler behind her, “Tonight was fun, yeah, Y/N?”

               Y/N, still with her back turned to him, raises a hand to dismissively wave goodbye.

               “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then,” Yoongi laughs. Soon after, the street was silent again.

              Y/N arrives in a quiet flat. There are no re-runs of a show playing on the TV. There is also no clamor of the utensils in their kitchen. Only the light on their narrow entrance hall was left lit open. There’s also a bowl of porridge covered on the table. When Y/N rounds on Mina’s room, she finds her bestfriend peacefully snoring deep in her duvet. Y/N smiles. After cleaning up and running a quick bath, Y/N reaches an arm to turn off her bedside lamp only to realize this silence of the night is not for long. Because the moment Y/N lays her head on her pillow, her phone rings with a loud ‘ding!’

               Unknown Number: Just wanna let you know I got home safe. I had fun tonight. You’re already forgiven for yesterday, sweetheart 😉.

               Y/N groans and throws her phone onto the other side of the bed.

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Taglist | @fangirls94​ @ditttiii​ @chogiyeol-utopia​​

Disclaimer: The dark side banter in Day 1 was based on Rob Reiner’s (1989) When Harry Met Sally’s car scene! I just loved the characters’ chemistry so much! That being said, all scenes and references from the movie used in this story are the property of its respective owners.  The rest belongs to the author. This work is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Sorry this chapter came a little later than my original schedule. A lot has changed in the plot points of THH while I was outlining it. Hence, the supposed two-shot is now a series with five chapters! I didn’t expect my first series will be like this. It’s totally unexpected from my initial plans! Anyway, the Act 2 is supposed to comprise the whole 2nd act of the story. But as I was writing it, I noticed I’m already bordering the 35k wordcount (and I’m not yet near the end of the 2nd act asdfghjkl). So I decided to cut it into 2 parts so I may not overwhelm you with a gigantic word-vomit of a text post. I guess the cut was also a good device because the 2nd part of Act 2 is on a different tone from the 1st part.  Thank you for reading this 24k monstrosity and feel free to say what you think about this chapter! If you want to get added in the taglist, just hit me up in the PMs or Asks! I’ll be waiting there ~( > v < )~

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed.

[volganic]

If that is what you wish (1/?)

[AO3] || [discord]

my friendship with volink is over, kohga/sooga is my new comfort ship now jk i’ll always love volink

now i have to actually write more of them uhhhhhhhhhH

Sooga was born to serve; it was all he knew in his blood, a long bloodline that once served the royal family who feared their technology; now he served his clan as their general, their leader, second-in-command to the Top Banana himself.

Whatever Master Kohga wanted, he always got it in the end.

As absurd as some of his requests might have been, Kohga’s wishes were fulfilled in a timely manner. Sooga made sure of it — without question or objection. With any order that came, Sooga would only answer, “If that is what you wish.” Kohga was easy to please as long as his needs were met, and Sooga kept his master as a priority over himself. He was there at Kohga’s beck and call, coming to his master’s aid at precisely the right time—

“Sooga, you’re late!” Kohga thrashed in his corner against the wall of rock. His plans had fallen through the last of its cracks. “I nearly got peeled like a banana!”

The assassin ignored the tantrum from him, kneeling before Kohga to carefully cradle him before hauling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Kohga’s thrashing ceased almost immediately, his body going limp over his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time Sooga had held the clan’s leader like this.

Sooga craned his neck to stare at the Gerudo Chief and her entourage. “Forget these cowards.” And cowards they were, the four of them against one. Gerudo, two Hylians, a Sheikah — despicable. His free hand reached into the pouch in the backside of his belt — after shooing away Kohga’s wandering fingers. “It’s time to retreat.” He spared no second smashing the bomb into the Gerudo sands, shrouding them in a thick cloud of smoke to make their escape. Urbosa’s curses were drowned out by the sound of Master Kohga’s giddy laughter.

Once they were safe away from any prying eyes in an abandoned outpost beyond the Molduga’s dwellings, Master Kohga finally wiggled his way out of Sooga’s grip, both of his feet sinking into the desert sands.

“I almost died, Sooga!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically before clutching the sides of his face and shaking his head. “Gods, the amount of stress they put me under nearly burst my bubble, I can’t believe they made me use the secret technique! My perfect, perfect plan failed, and if you had showed up even a second later—“

“I apologize, Master.” Sooga’s voice was cool through the heat of Kohga’s anxieties, but even if his master was in the clear, safe from any obvious dangers, there was a pang of guilt that still struck through him. The idea of losing Master Kohga by his own mistakes was not an option. Sooga bowed his head. “I will make sure it does not happen again.”

The desert breeze filled the seconds that passed between them. The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in: there was an uprising beginning to brew, and the Yiga definitely weren’t up to par like they had imagined.

Kohga let out a long exhale. “I know you won’t, big guy.” He turned his head to study the long, deep crack in the mask that hid Sooga’s true face. Kohga knew that underneath, the assassin’s words held truth; his loyalty was unmatched by any other member of the clan. Sooga was wrapped around his finger. “I know you won’t.

“Even if it did,” he started, bringing a hand up to comically rub at his chin in deep thought, “I think you’re more than over-qualified to take my place. Problem is, you’d gotta take my name. ‘Master Sooga’,” he enunciated with air quotes, “doesn’t have quite a nice ring like ‘Master Kohga’.”

Sooga’s posture stiffened at the idea. It thrilled him to know that Kohga recognized his strength and leadership skills — the consequences, on the other hand…

“... I could never, Master Kohga.”

“Lighten up, will ya?” Kohga barked a laugh as he gave his second-in-command a playful shove to his shoulder. “I ain’t ready to retire yet! With you by my side, I know you won’t let that come to pass, hmm?”

The assassin’s head bowed even lower despite Kohga’s praise. His hands balled into tight fists at his side. No, he could never allow his master to fend for himself alone, putting his life at risk again — he would make sure of it.

“If I may, Master Kohga?”

Kohga nodded and waved his hand nonchalantly. “You may.”

Sooga stood back to his full height and kept his eyes fixed on Kohga. “To guarantee that you are spared from an unforeseen demise where I am not present, I suggest that from this point forward, I shall take your place in orchestrating our efforts to bring Hyrule to its knees. Or, at the very least, you are not alone.”

His master carefully considered his words. Kohga hummed lowly in thought, back to rubbing his chin as he always did. “Not a bad idea, I’d say…” He trailed off to stare off in the distance. He paused too long for Sooga’s liking. “It’s a deal I can’t say no to, but that’s not my choice to make.”

“Understood, Master Kohga. Wherein the circumstances may allow it, I implore you to consider the offer.”

“Good talk.” Kohga clapped his hand on Sooga’s shoulder. “Now get us outta here! The sun’s making me sweat, and we’ve got an audience to entertain.”

“If that is what you wish.”

——

“So, you turned and fled, is that it?”

Astor was seated at the opposite end of the table from where Kohga sat and Sooga stood. Though the curtains were pulled, sealing out the setting Gerudo sun, and the candlelight cast dark shadows over his face, Sooga could see that this so-called “prophet” was not pleased. Kohga didn’t seem to care too much; he sat sideways in his seat, idly humming a tune that didn’t sound like an actual song.

Sooga wondered if Kohga was able to take matters seriously.

“Hm-hmm, hm-hmmm….” Kohga shrugged. “Well, if they hadn’t interrupted me—“

“It seems that, as low as my expectations of you were, I was overly optimistic.”

Both pairs of Yiga eyes fixed onto Astor as he stood from his place. Kohga jumped to attention, insulted that the prophet would see him as anything less than competent; Sooga’s hands were already wrapped around both hilts of his blades, ready to strike if need be.

“Well, no matter.” Their pale guest paid them no mind as he moved around to the middle of the table with the likes of a glowing ancient core in his hands, stopping at the front of the altar where their destiny lay among the piles of bananas.

With the imminent threat gone, Kohga relaxed instantly and threw himself back into his chair, folding his arms behind his head and crossing his legs, humming his little tune. Sooga, on the other hand, was slower to let his guard down, but complied with a wave of his superior’s hand. His glare remained on Astor’s back.

Sooga despised him.

Astor held the core outward as an offering to the guardian that hid among the fruit, idly flashing a strange orange light through its purple smog. “My harbinger,” he cooed, “show me the future!”

The guardian screeched in only a language that Astor seemed to understand, unfazed by the thick clouds of dark magic that spiraled in the room. The Yiga stood mesmerized by it, Kohga left completely awestruck. The core lifted from Astor’s hands to glow its eerie purple energy, bursting forth into a cloud of space, shrouding the three of them in stars and constellations that the Yiga weren’t familiar with.

“Ah, yes…” Through a tear in the clouds, a glimpse of Hyrule Castle falling into darkness could be seen — the Calamity and their destiny achieved. “The future as it will and must be. I will not allow anyone to alter its course.” The clouds slowly dissipated into the air, the ancient core slowly winding down and back into Astor’s hands. The guardian grew silent and still, leaving only the orange glow from its singular eye as a signal that it was still listening. “No one at all, not even you two.

“Now then… there are matters from this point forward that I need to discuss with you, Kohga.” He turned his head to address his underlings. His eyes briefly met with Sooga’s. “Alone.”

Quick to detect foul play, the assassin took a step forward to put himself between Kohga and Astor. “Absolutely not. Whatever you can discuss with Master Kohga, you can discuss with me. I stand by him wholeheartedly.”

Astor’s lips twitched into a snarl. He wasn’t used to being told “no”. “I admire your dedication and nobility, truly, but your time to play your part will come. As I said, these are matters not concerning you.” His eyes narrowed. “I will not repeat myself. Leave.”

Sooga didn’t have much time to even move so much as a muscle before Kohga’s elbow met his midsection.

“Sooga!” He snapped loudly, surprising the both of them. “Leave us alone. We’ll be alright for a little bit, won’t we? No need to worry your pretty little head.” Kohga motioned for him to lean down, pulling him closer by the chin to whisper into his ear. “I’ll fill you in on the details when it’s all said and done.”

The taller Yiga held his doubts, but complied with a curt nod. “If that is what you wish.”

Sooga stood and eyed Astor guardedly, watching his thin lips curl into a smug smile as they traded places, the prophet now skulking to Kohga’s side. Sooga had barely stepped out of the room before his master called out, “Don’t forget to shut the doors behind you!”

He turned to seal the doors behind him, seeing that Kohga had waved him off and leaned ever closer to Astor. Just above a whisper, Kohga asked, “Ain’t he a dandy?”

Astor grimaced. “Indeed.”

The doors shut behind him.

[atelier-dayz]

⭐star⭐

The Patching Up Scene! 8D

After they hand off an excited Skywalker to the pilots in the cockpit, Jango isn’t completely sure why he follows Kenobi, though part of it is curiosity and another part practicality. Kenobi shoots him a questioning look when they reach his quarters. 

“Do you need help with some of those wounds?” he offers. There’s one he can see, wrapping around Kenobi’s right side to his back. Jetii powers or not, he doubts Kenobi can treat it properly on his own. 

“Oh…” Kenobi hesitates for a moment, but ultimately nods. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

Okay, I honestly did not plan for this scene to happen! It just naturally happened, the next logical thing. Obvs Jango likes Obi, but also after a battle, you patch up your fighters. Nothing to question about it. *nods*

Between the two of them, they gather up the ship’s medkit, a small basin for the antiseptic wash, and a few scraps of clean cloth, before returning to the jetiise’s room. 

The moment Kenobi unties his belt and starts unwrapping his tabard and tunics, sand begins skittering to the floor. Jango eyes the growing pile, thankful it isn’t his problem to clean up. 

“Shouldn’t have laid down in the sand. You’ll be getting rid of it for days,” he says, and Kenobi shoots him a weak glare.

“I was tired,” Kenobi grumbles. “Besides, sand gets everywhere anyways.”

Kenobi strips down to his smalls with all the modesty -- or rather, lack thereof -- of a warrior who has been in front of too many medics. The myriad of scars of different ages on his body is certainly evidence of that. Jango is still baffled, because he’s fairly sure jetiise were less...careless with their padawans than that, but he saves those questions for later.

Obi’s childhood, man...and the scars you see are only the ones on the outside.

The wounds from the darjetii, now fully visible, makes Jango want to hiss in sympathy. Kenobi has two shallow burns on his left arm and one on his right forearm to join the old jetii’kad scars. But the Zabrak had cut deep into Kenobi’s right upper arm. Jango couldn’t quite see bone, but Kenobi is kriffing lucky to not have any nerve damage - at least, not that he could tell. Other than the wound that wraps around Kenobi’s side that he’d noted earlier, the last is a slash across the side of his left thigh, not as deep as the ugly one on his arm but deep enough. 

I imagine some of the old lightsaber sabers came from too many tussles with Bruck.

You’ve got some pretty important nerves and arteries in your upper arm ie the radial nerve LOL The outer side of your thigh, not as much, hence the instructions for epipen injections to be given against the side of your thigh. 8D /random trivia

He’s honestly impressed that Kenobi could walk or move his arms so freely, much less continue fighting the way he had.

“Well, at least you’re not bleeding,” is all Jango can say. 

Hurraaay instant cauterization (oof the burned tissue though)

Kenobi grimaces and sits himself down on the bunk they’d set the supplies on. 

“Painkillers?” Jango asks, opening the medkit. 

Kenobi shakes his head. “I’m alright for now. Perhaps before I sleep,” Kenobi says. “The Force helps me dull the pain.” 

Jango huffs. More jetii sorcery, though that explains a lot. 

He finds the antiseptic wash and pours it into the basin over the cloth they’d collected. They clean their hands, and Kenobi starts wiping clean his left arm, careful over the burns. 

I almost glossed over this stuff, but it pained me to not mention CLEAN HANDS. Clean hands during wound care, folks. I restrained myself from having them dig out gloves or something LOL

“I’ve got your side,” Jango warns Kenobi, before pressing a dampened cloth to his right side. He starts cleaning the wound from Kenobi’s front before moving to his back. 

Jango should have expected it, but somehow he hadn’t. Up close, he sees barely-there Lichtenberg scars that he’s seen before on others, from electro-jabbers held too long against skin. He also sees whip scars across Kenobi’s upper back, faded enough for Jango to tell he had gotten them far too young. 

The slave guards on Bandomeer, to quote, “beat them savagely with an electro-jabber.” I imagine prolonged contact with an electro-jabber would lead to injury and scarring like you’d see in a lighting strike but smaller/more localized. (Note: Some caution if you  google what it looks like!)

“How old were you?” he can’t help himself from asking, but managing at least to keep the words less sharp than he had wanted.

“What?” Kenobi starts to twist to look at him but thinks better of it. 

Jango brushes a hand along one of the whip scars instead of explaining, and Kenobi stiffens for a moment, before relaxing. He moves on to cleaning his leg wound, and Jango thinks he might not answer, which is fair. Jango resumes cleaning the side wound. 

“I was just shy of thirteen," Kenobi suddenly says. "Deepsea mining on Bandomeer."

Jango curses under his breath and has to keep himself from inadvertently pressing too hard on Kenobi’s wound.

Thirteen, as a mining slave. A deepsea mining slave. 

Every slave knows that deepsea mining is the one of the worst positions to be in. The life expectancy is five to ten years maximum. Kriffing hell, some slavers use deepsea mining as a threat to make their slaves behave.

This I unfortunately based on what I learned about slavery on sugar cane plantations in the (American) South. Being sent South, to a sugar cane plantation, was a threat (Northern) slave owners would use to make their slaves behave. Life expectancy decreased dramatically if you were working on a sugar cane plantation. (If you’re in New Orleans for tourist purposes, many people recommend Oak Alley Plantation. But that’s because it’s very pretty. It glosses over its history of slavery though, and its tour focuses on the owners. Please go visit Whitney Plantation too. They do not gloss over the history and all the awful things that happened there. The tour guides are phenomenal, and you learn a lot from them.)

"It was only for a week, but it was long enough to...understand," Kenobi murmurs.

Long enough for him to have scars to this day. To say nothing about however it must have kriffed him up at thirteen. 

"One day would have been too long," Jango growls. "Where was your jetii master in all this?" 

He gestures roughly at Kenobi’s right arm, and Kenobi holds out his arm for Jango. Jango begins carefully cleaning around the deep wound. 

“He wasn’t my master then,” Kenobi says. “To make a long and rather complicated story short, I had been sent away to AgriCrops on Bandomeer as a--failed initiate, and got myself involved in Master Qui-gon’s mission on Bandomeer. I discovered Offworld Mining tampering with AgriCorps and was captured...I woke up as a slave on one of their deepsea mining platforms.”

Even that sparse a recounting is too much to unpack. But foremost on his mind, the jetiise had sent Kenobi away to be a farmer? With everything Kenobi has said and especially considering the duel Jango had just witnessed...had they been blind? If there is such a thing as a good jetii, Kenobi is likely it. 

👀👀👀 @ Jango

“How’d you get out?” Jango asks.

“Master Qui-gon found me. He disabled my collar, and we escaped the guards. We managed to disable the other slaves’ collars once we were on the mainland as well. They revolted and freed themselves,” Kenobi says with a small quirk of his lips.

Jango grunts in approval. “Good on them.” He drops his cloth into the basin. “Let’s get patches on your burns and your side. Your arm definitely needs stitches. It’s up to you on the leg.”

Kenobi looks at his leg wound thoughtfully. “Are there any of those deep incision BactaBonds?” he asks. “If not, then stitches will do.”

Mentioned it on AO3, but I based BactaBond off of Dermabond. it’s Dermabond but more magical because bacta.

Jango pulls out all the bacta patches they’ll need for Kenobi’s burns and side wound before digging around the kit. Sure enough, he finds a tube of BactaBond and the roll of mesh tape that came with it. 

“You’re in luck.”

He hands the BactaBond and the mesh tape to Kenobi. Kenobi nods in thanks and begins fixing up his leg wound. Jango starts placing patches over the wound wrapping around his side. 

Okay, so I want to note that when you have burnt up tissue, you’re supposed to remove the dead tissue when cleaning up burns because that dead tissue isn’t gonna do you much, but I didn’t want to get more detailed than I already was, and I decided to just...handwave it as part of the magical bacta healing effect LOL

They work in silence. Jango knows from experience the BactaBond and mesh tape can be an absolute kriffing pain to apply properly, so he tries not to disturb Kenobi as he finishes patching up his side. 

He waits for Kenobi to finish with the mesh tape before handing him some dressing to cover the whole thing. They quickly cover up the burns on Kenobi’s arms with bacta patches before finally addressing the deep cut on his right arm. 

“Are you sure you don’t want pain killers?” Jango asks, assessing the wound. It really is a nasty injury. With the BactaBond, he could probably get away with one layer of stitches instead of two or three.

“I will be alright,” Kenobi says again and hands Jango the BactaBond. 

Jango grunts. “Suit yourself.” 

He applies the BactaBond into the wound before pressing the wound edges firmly together. Kenobi doesn’t even flinch, sitting there quietly with his eyes closed while Jango picks up the suture needle and begins stitching close the wound. 

I would like to draw this scene one day. Or someone can draw it for me. LOL 

After some consideration, Jango says, “I was sold to a spice transport.” He keeps his focus on closing the wound as tidily as he can, but he can feel Kenobi’s gaze on his face. “I was there for two years.”

"...How did you end up escaping?" he asked.

"Pirates attacked the ship. I freed myself in the confusion and ended up making a deal with the pirates.”

“Quite a few pirates would take the spice and the slaves…” Kenobi remarks.

“I had the upper hand on them. Besides, ‘Hondo Ohnaka would never deal with slavery’,” he quotes, “or so he claims.”

"Ah," Kenobi says in the tone of everyone who has ever met Hondo Ohnaka. Jango pauses in his suturing to look at Kenobi.

"You’ve met." 

Kenobi sighs, sounding as exasperated as anyone who has dealt with Ohnaka. “It was a very...trying mission.” He smiles wryly. 

HONDO OHNAKA IS A DELIGHT. Also I love the idea that the pirates who attacked that spice transport and gave Jango the opportunity to escape were Hondo’s crew. Idea thanks to blue_sunshine’s Desert Storm.

Also the ways in which Jango and Obi can connect with their experiences. Just aaaaaaah *flailing Kermit*

“I am not surprised.” Jango finishes up the sutures and assesses his handiwork. It’ll do. “Patch or plain dressing on top?” he asks. He thinks plain dressing would do just fine, but the patch might not hurt considering the extent of the wound.

Kenobi gestures to the patch, so Jango applies the patch. 

“Done. Listen to Jinn and get some rest. I was tired just watching that fight,” Jango says.

Kenobi gives him a half-hearted glare, but doesn’t make a word in protest as Jango stands and starts collecting all their first aid detritus. Despite his protests, Jango suspects Kenobi’s ready to pass out. 

An hour long high speed lightsaber duel in the sand. Can’t believe Obi wasn’t asleep on his feet. LOL

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 13: Corrin’s Boat Dreams

The arena is open now, which means I can force units to fight to feed my gambling addiction. The game choses a random unit and random enemy for you and you get resources if they win. It’s very lacking, especially when compared to arenas in other Fire Emblem games.

At the end of the last entry we got a new unit: Kagero. So, time to do the thing I do in these entries and talk about her.

Kagero

Kagero is Ryoma’s other retainer, also a ninja, who has stats that make her a glass canon. Her personal skill makes her better at fighting other units who wield shurikens. She hasn’t really shown much personality yet, so I can’t talk about that, but I can definitely talk about her design. I love the scarf and the hair that covers her face. On the other hand, tiddies. This royal guard has massive boobs and deep cleavage, because Intelligent Systems knows their audience. To be fair, attractive female characters aren’t necessarily bad, and the game at the very least does have female characters who aren’t super fanservicey. I actually don’t mind Kagero as much as say, Tharja or Camilla, because she seems to have a personality beyond sexy. Probably. Been a while since I played this game.

Support: Corrin/Takumi

C: Corrin tries striking up a chat with Takumi, but he is hostile towards her, because of the whole backstory thing. See entry six for clarification. Anyway, Corrin suggests Takumi teaches her archery as an excuse for the two of them to spend time with one another.

B: Takumi is a stern teacher, but Corrin slowly improves. Corrin accidentally hurts herself and Takumi cancels the training session, quietly admitting to himself that he pushed Corrin too hard.

A: Takumi apologizes to Corrin and admits that she’s talented and fiercely devoted to Hoshido.

S: Corrin improves greatly at archery, thanks to Takumi’s training. Then we get the obligatory not really incest handwave and the two of them get married. Yay. This one actually has Corrin ask who her father is, if it isn’t Garon or Summeragi, and Takumi says that Mikoto didn’t write it down, which feels like a shitty thing for her to do.

Review: This is a weird conversation, considering the fact that Takumi learning to trust Corrin also happens in the main plot. Still, Takumi softening up a bit when Corrin gets hurt is a nice character moment. As for the S-Rank, you all know how I feel about the bullshit deus ex machina to excuse incest this game does.

Support: Oboro/Takumi

C: Oboro and Takumi talk about fashion, which reminds Oboro about her murdered parents. He asks if she wishes to return to fashion and she brushes it off, saying that she is more than happy serving him.

B: Oboro begins making a ceremonial outfit for Takumi and contemplates that her parents would be proud of her for being the seamstress for a prince.

A: Takumi sets Oboro up with a job helping other people with fashion in her spare time. She thanks him for the extra work.

S: Oboro attempts to quit both her fashion job and retainer job, because she is in love with Takumi. He says that he already knows, which makes sense, because that thirst was palpable. Takumi proposes to her and explains that he gave her extra work so she can start her own business after the war, which is nice but is also something he should have probably discussed with her in advance.

Review: This is a very laid back conversation that portrays Oboro much kinder than the game often does. I actually think Takumi comes off as a bit controlling, which is why retainers dating their masters is a bad idea, but overall it isn’t an awful support line.

Support: Corrin/Silas

C: Corrin asks Silas about why she doesn’t remember being friends with him and he brushes it off, because apparently everyone completely forgets about their childhood friend who was so devoted to them he became a knight for the slim chance he might see them again. Silas mentions that he and Corrin made a list of all the places she wanted to travel to and the two of them agree to go on a trip together.

B: Silas recreates the list from their childhood, which is filled with non-specific things like “a festival” and “a street food stall”. It’s actually a little cute. Corrin broods over why she can’t remember Silas and he tells her to ask her retinue, which is a word I had never seen before.

A: Corrin, after asking her retinue, reveals that she cried for days after they took Silas away. The two of them discuss how good friends they are.

S: Silas tells Corrin that she’s hot now and he loves her because she’s hot. He admits that Corrin’s out of his league, but they get married anyway because Corrin will have sex with anything with a pulse.

Review: So Silas is telling the truth? Really? He was so suspicious! This would have been much better if Silas was lying about his past and never knew Corrin. It at least would have had a resolution, as opposed to the half-hearted shrug that is this conversation. It set up a mystery and then just pretended it didn’t exist, which is infuriating.

Support: Hinata/Subaki

C: Hinata finds Subaki staring at his own reflection in love, because Subaki is literally a narcissist. As in, he’s doing the same shit Narcissus did that was so cartoonishly arrogant that the word narcissist is named after him. Also Subaki makes fun of Hinata for being a slob and agrees to teach him how to be more classy.

B: Subaki teaches Hinata basic cleanliness tips, like bathing, and combing your hair, and ironing your clothes. Hinata says that Subaki’s being ridiculous, and it’s framed as him being a slob, but I kinda think he’s right? The two of them are soldiers fighting behind enemy lines, they can afford to have wrinkled clothes.

A: Subaki recommends taking minor steps towards cleanliness.

Review: This is a mediocre, but ultimately harmless, fluff conversation that makes Subaki look like an asshole.

Birthright Chapter 11: To The Sea

The gang sails to Nohr. Takumi brings up the fact that Iago is probably a spy, but Corrin says she trusts him because, and I quote, he stood with us through one battle without stabbing anyone in the back. Such high standards our hero has.

Corrin says that she likes the sea and wants to buy a boat. The game better end with us getting that boat. Suddenly, the weather gets bad and the boat shakes. The ghost dude who killed Mikoto flies out of the water and attacks Azura. A battle begins against the ghost dude and an army of ghost pegasi riders. Weirdly, the ghost swordmaster dude isn’t actually an enemy in this map.

Early on in the battle, a new character named Reina shows up. She flies over to Corrin and explains that she was sent by Yukimura to help.She also brags about killing a shitload of enemies.

Reina

Reina, according to her unit text, is one of Mikoto’s retainers. She’s our first pre-promoted unit, an upgraded Sky Knight called a Kinshi Knight that can wield bows. I love the idea of flying anti-air units, but from what I remember they have bad growths. Design wise, I like that she has scars and looks a bit older than most of the female units. It establishes that she’s an experienced warrior. The halo thing is a bit weird though. Personality wise, she seems insanely violent, to the point of having a mini version of Lifetaker as her personal skill. But like, in a comedic way. Unfortunately, Reina only has supports with Corrin, which means she’s a bit of a throwaway character.

This was our obligatory Fire Emblem boat chapter. Stationed around the boat are Dragon Veins that create wind to keep the fliers at bay, but honestly I didn’t need them. I played this map defensively, bating the fliers with Rinkah or Silas then sniping them with Setsuna, Takumi, and our new flying death machine. Side note, what even is this ship? It’s covered and filled with market stalls, which I’ve never seen before.

After the battle, ghost dude, who we never actually fought and thus is still here, attacks Takumi. Zola sacrifices himself to protect Takumi and the ghost just kinda disappears. Sakura heals Zola’s wounds and Takumi apologizes for doubting him.

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 23, 2021

 MASTER | Ch. 1 | CHAPTER 2 | Ch. 3

Daiki spoke up after the two newcomers introduced themselves. “(Y/n) and Rumi are third years too,” He interrupted himself with a small burp, causing Rumi to look at him in pure horror and you to bite back a chuckle of your own.

“Oh, nice.” Bokuto nodded along with Kuroo. “Are you both in a club then?”

What. You blinked once very slowly.

“Dude, they both pl-”

“Ah ah ah.” You immediately held up a hand in Daiki’s face to keep him from speaking any further. “Yes. We are in a club. But that’s not what is important.”

Rumi shook her head with a dark chuckle and quickly downed her drink. She mumbled something about finding more games to play before turning to walk back into the house you originally came from. (“This is fucking boring” was an exact quote.) The boy with bedhead hair, who you came to know as Kuroo, followed after her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You shook your head as you watched after them, turning back and intending to strike up a new conversation with your schoolmates but all you were met with were their retreating backs. Daiki’s hands were moving dangerously low on Mako’s waist as they blended into the sea of people. 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” You turned to face the stranger standing before you, looking up and really noticing his golden eyes for the second time since he introduced himself.

You bit into your bottom lip and dragged your thumb across the skin as you leaned your weight onto your right leg as you gave him a once over. He was tall, much taller than you were, and lean. Not lean in the not-done-growing, can’t-control-your-limbs type of way; but lean in the sense that it was clear he was an athlete. His shoulders were broad and full under the athletic t-shirt he wore. His legs were long and you could tell there was thick muscle on them, even under the pair of baggy black joggers he had on. 

But beyond the fact that he was built like an absolute racehorse, the most eye-catching parts of him weren’t even below his shoulders. 

His smile had enough electricity to power a small town for at least a year, and that was a fact. His eyes, a shade of gold you’d never seen before - and were sure you’d never see again - looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that was worthy of holding his gaze. Then his hair - a wild cluster of bi-colored, thick locks that stuck up straight in all directions - screaming for your hands to reach up and run your fingers through them just to get an idea of if they were as soft as they appeared to be.

“Could be worse,” You finally responded after your thorough examination of his entire physique. It was pretty blatant that you had been checking him out, you might as well have asked him to wipe the drool from your mouth.

In any normal situation, the act of a girl so obviously checking him out wouldn’t send Bokuto into any kind of fit. In fact, he didn’t typically even notice those kinds of things happening. But with this girl who he just met before him, he couldn’t help the feeling of his heart clutching almost painfully in his chest. He cleared his throat, shaking his head just enough to clear away the haze he had found himself in and braced his hand against the wall of breezeblocks you both stood near. Bokuto was not trying to be subtle as he beamed down at you, opting to take a step closer. 

“(Y/n)...” He said your name in a tone you were sure you’d never get sick of hearing. “I feel like I’ve heard of you somewhere before.”

“I get that a lot,” You smirked, squinting your eyes up at him as you kept your answer vague. He easily could’ve heard your name in a number of different places, but you weren’t going to confirm or deny anything - it was too fun to toy with him instead.

“So you go to school with Daiki?” He asked, resting one hand in the waistband of his pants, making his t-shirt ride up just slightly. His other hand rested on the wall right by where you were leaning your weight against, making his body angle towards you and close the distance just a little bit more. 

It only took you a brief moment to realize that he was moving intentionally closer to you in what he probably thought was a smooth move. You made an exaggerated grimace on your face, acting as if the thought of the mentioned boy made you sick. “Unfortunately, I do. Been with the kid since primary school.”

“Tough luck.”

“You’re telling me.” You nodded with a laugh, looking out to the throng of people at the party who seemed to only be getting further and further away from sobriety. “Do you need a drink or something? You can have mine, I’m done for the night.”

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” Bokuto asked, raising your cup and taking a long swig of the drink. You were impressed he didn’t even flinch as the beer in the cup was stale, flat, and cheap. 

“You should be so lucky,” You shook your head and jokingly poked a finger into his chest, a solid excuse to confirm that yes those muscles were as thick as they looked. “But no, I’ve got somewhere to be after this.”

“More studying?”

“Ouch okay,” You laughed. “It’s like that then?”

“Oh yeah, it’s like that.”

Your conversation stilled at that point. You definitely felt like a mutual interest was there between you and Bokuto, a pull towards one another, but the awkwardness of having no idea who each other even were overwhelmed you and left you in silence. You wanted to talk to him more, something about him just made you want to be around him. 

“Mako said you all were visiting for camp this week. You must play then?” Smooth, really smooth.

“Huh?” He started, shaking his head like he’d been in a dream before looking down at his shirt where you were pointing. “Ah, yeah! You know volleyball? Do you manage with Mako? Are you new this year?”

“I do not, but I’m familiar with the sport.” You responded vaguely to his onslaught of questions, not trying to let onto anything one way or the other. “Fukurodani...You guys went to nationals last year, yeah?”

“We did!” He said, eyes somehow lighting up even more than they had before. “One of my good buddies Akaashi is our setter, he’s so awesome, and I’m-”

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already bragging?” The smooth voice of Bokuto’s friend returning dragged your attention away momentarily.

“Did Rumi turn you down?” You smirked with a raised eyebrow, knowing exactly how the conversation probably went.

“Brutally.” Kuroo chuckled.

Bokuto straightened up, looking like a scolded puppy. “She asked about the camp and I was just saying-”

“I’m sure it was brought up so organically,” Kuroo rolled his eyes, slinging an arm over Bokuto’s shoulders and leaning down closer to talk to you. “Did he also casually bring up the fact he’s a top five ace in the country?”

You looked up to Bokuto with knowing eyes, “I’m well aware of who he is.”

“Well, I mean-” Bokuto began to talk, stumbling over his words a little bit but never losing that air of pride he held. After a moment he stopped, realizing what you had said. “You what?”

“I don’t live under a rock,” You laughed at him, shifting positions to rest your chin in your hand like you were deep in thought. “It’s a real crime they didn’t put you in the top three, in my opinion, although I guess after Interhigh and how Ojiro-kun performed you can’t deny he deserved to be moved up.”

Bokuto and Kuroo stared at you for a moment. You were waiting for the points to click, for each of them to realize why exactly you knew so much about volleyball beyond just being friends with Daiki. When it didn’t seem like the connection was going to happen, you let out a soft laugh.

“But top five is really impressive!” You said, unconsciously reaching out to grab Bokuto’s arm and ever so slightly squeezing the muscles under your hand flexed and tensed, but when you saw the look in his eyes you could tell he was anything but uncomfortable. “Definitely the highest ranking player I personally know… At least for guys.” You added the last bit of your statement with a shrug, like an afterthought.

Bokuto practically preened with satisfaction at that point. 

You’d normally be turned off by someone so completely oblivious to the things you were saying, but the boy in front of you held an endearing aspect about him. It could also be because of the look of pride he had when you complimented him, like the words you were saying specifically were what he had been searching for the entire time.

You felt a rhythmic buzzing in the pocket of your bag as Bokuto and Kuroo started to pick up another conversation. Studying the screen of your phone for a moment before answering, you turned away slightly from the two boys. Bokuto’s hand grazed your arm as you stepped away, the feeling of his eyes lingering on you from behind was something you also noticed. 

“Hi Eiji,” You greeted into the device. “...Seriously? Ah shit, no... no. Tell her no, I’m leaving now.”

You appreciated that they quieted their conversation as you were on the phone, but the thumping of the party music really made no difference. The call was short and you looked up to each of them as you ended it with a heavy sigh.

You turned back to the two guys, a calm but mildly frazzled look on your face. “If you see Rumi, can you tell her I left?”

“Yeah, of course” Kuroo waved a hand in front of his face, brushing off your request like it was nothing. 

You gave his arm a gentle squeeze in thanks, then turning to Bokuto. “It was really good to meet you.”

You started to attempt making your way through the thick mass of bodies crowding around the house when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist lightly and pull you back.

“We barely got to talk,” Golden eyes stared down at you, showing a little bit of sadness mixed with an odd amount of excitement. “Can I get your number or something?”

“Ah, ha.” You laughed, reaching up and patting his cheek with a wink of your eye. “We’ll probably see each other again sooner than you think.”

At that you turned, having spotted Rumi distantly in the crowd and making your way to her. You couldn’t help but laugh with her as the two of you made your way around the house to leave the party, Bokuto swore he could hear Rumi say something along the lines of “He seriously had no idea?” and you simply shrugged and let out a big belly laugh as you waved a hand back at him over the crowd.

Not a moment later, Daiki returned looking to where both Kuroo and Bokuto’s eyes were watching your retreating forms. “I’m actually shocked she came out tonight,” He let out a chuckle and shook his head, “But I guess I would want to celebrate as much as I could, too.”

Bokuto slowly turned away, eyes not leaving your figure until you were well out of sight. “Whaddya mean?” He mumbled, mind still clouded with thoughts of this strange girl he met.

“Seriously?” Daiki asked, face scrunching up in disbelief as he took a drink from the cup he was holding. “You didn’t recognize either of them?”

Bokuto simply shook his head while Kuroo seemed to finally come to the realization. “No shit,” He mumbled, looking back in the direction you and Rumi disappeared to.

“What?” Bokuto asked, desperate to get some clarity.

“(Y/n) and Rumi both start on the girl’s team at Shinzen,” Daiki said slowly, both to humor Bokuto and because of the alcohol he was continuing to consume. “They, like… just won Interhigh. (y/n) is top rank-”

Daiki’s voice was lost in the shuffle of Bokuto’s mind. He felt like an idiot. He watched that game, how did he not recognize you?