#probably won’t work as a tattoo sleeve like I intended but I can always take it in for a consultation

[pallanophblargh]

Color! Composition still wonky, but this was done mainly to see how I liked the colors and such. I can reposition and resize birds/leaves/etc another time. And get a decent proper hexagon drawn up.

This has been an exercise in not letting perfection hold me back. I have to start getting back into art somehow, right?

[bakugoushotwife]

Poke

Piercer!Dabi x Fem!Reader AU

req: @allofthisistemporaryy

Summary: you've been searching for the perfect place to get you nipples pierced, but nothing is like the reviews said...

warnings: MINORS DNI, explicit smut, rough sex, choking, sadist!dabi, spanking, spitting, mentions of needles and descriptions of piercing practices.

You take a deep breath in and sigh it all out, standing outside the dingiest building you could possibly picture. It looked like it smelled. Could you really go through with this? You look back down at your phone just to make sure you were in the right place. Yup, address matches. You click over to the reviews tab, something you had already studied on your mission to find the perfect piercer. You peered at the words on the screen to see if anything had changed on your way over here. 

“I always ask for Toga! She’s the best!” One review read, rating the piercer a 5 out of 5. 

“The owner is a little intimidating, but Toga is always great and painless!” 

“Toga’s amazing every time! I won’t let anyone else near my body!” 

Another shaky sigh leaves your mouth, feeling somewhat reassured, you turn your phone off and march yourself up to the shoddy door of the establishment. The building was almost entirely brick, except for a wooden porch out front. It was very obviously an old house, probably too run down and dangerous to function as an actual home. It didn’t look very big, the door on the front hanging on the hinges with nothing more than hopes and dreams. There was a neon sign that only half worked hanging in the window, the wire from the ‘Tattoo and Piercing’ sign weaving through the blinds. You take another deep breath, and throw the door open with more force than you intended. A little bell jingles as you step in, gray and stained carpet muffling your footsteps as you drag your way to the service desk. The desk was tall and wooden, overtly so. You leaned up to see if there was anyone behind, as there were no other customers in the shop. 

You can hear the faint buzz of the tattoo gun running in one room, but that’s it. The room does have a smell, you discovered. It’s a mix of tobacco and weed, maybe even alcohol. You can’t tell if it’s the drinking kind or the sterilizing kind, but with the other scents factored in it was probably the former. There was a ‘ring for service bell’ sitting on the desk, and you wondered if you should use it. 

Just as you convince yourself to press it, you hear the buzzing stop and the sound of clothes shuffling and footsteps approaching the other side of the tall desk. A man peers out at you, smirking. 

“I thought I heard someone come in. What can I do for ya sweet cheeks?” He asks, taking you by surprise. You didn’t want to stare too long, but you determined almost immediately that this must be the intimidating owner that some of the reviews mentioned. 

He was tall, much taller than the huge desk that served at the barrier between you. He was lanky, what you could see of his arms covered in brands and tattoos, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He leaned against the doorway of the room he just came from, folding the arms you were staring at over his chest. The fabric of his white t-shirt was worn enough to where you could see the outlines of more tattoos and even the metal of nipple rings peeking through. His jacket was blue, like his eyes, but the most striking thing about him was his white hair. You were nervous, you knew it was going to be hard to walk into any piercing shop and ask to get your nipples pierced, but you had done all the research to ensure you landed with a female piercer. 

“I dunno sign language, lil lady. Hello?” He asked, a pierced eyebrow raised in your direction. He chuckled after, revealing white–and sharp– perfect teeth. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You say quickly, trying to come up with a good excuse for you to be so dumbstruck. “I was just expecting a woman, all the reviews..” You trail off, unsure of how to say what you were in for today. 

The man chuckled again, the sound reverberating through him. It made you smile awkwardly, debating if he was laughing at you or not. “I see! You’re wanting a piercin’ huh? Toga’s off today, but she’s my apprentice. I’m the owner, Dabi.” 

You nod once, contemplating your next move. “Oh, well..I suppose I’ll come back another day then…” You hum pleasantly, giving him a kind smile to make up for your lack of conversation and business. 

“Ah sweetheart,” Dabi pouted, unfolding his arms to lean forward across the desk, “I never get to do the fun pokes anymore, stuck doin’ tattoos all damn day. I don’t bite, hun…what’re you wantin’ done?” He asked curiously, a glimmer of something you can’t place flashes across his eyes. 

Dabi licks his lips as he waits on your reply, looking over your figure smoothly. You were a fine little thing, he decided a few minutes ago, and he didn’t want to let you slip out of his grasp without knowing he’d see you again. 

You hug yourself, biting the inside of your lip. His presence was indeed intimidating, you can verify, but there was something else making you nervous. He was gorgeous, the type of sexy everyone models their bad boy fantasies after. You knew you’d probably have a few of those later…

The idea of him near your chest gave you goosebumps, and before you could really argue with yourself, you blurted, “I want my nipples pierced.” 

This time Dabi doesn’t try to conceal the hungry look in his eye. That was it, the look you couldn’t quite place. “‘S that so, doll?” He asks, tapping a black painted finger on his cheek with a devious grin. “I’m great with nipples, you can ask around.” He winks, you feel your cheeks heat up and your pussy throb involuntarily. You nearly gulp. He pushes open the traffic door to beckon you back behind the desk, to follow him to his piercing room where he could have his way with you in private. 

Your mind blanks, a flush creeping over you. Why save the fantasies for later? Your body moves forward, and for once you were glad it was acting on its own accord. He lets the door swing behind you, leading you just around the corner to his workspace. 

Dabi smirks as he watches you take a seat in his chair. He closes the door behind you, popping the lock subtly. He wouldn’t want anyone to intrude on his private session, now would he?

He can tell you’re nervous, even though this is by no means your first piercing. He notices a few on your ears and the obvious nostril. He grins to himself, it’s just because of him. “Relax, lil thing. It’ll just hurt worse if you tense up.” He warns, his predatory gaze seemingly devouring your innocent one. 

He pulls a rolling stool between his legs, sliding to the edge of his tattoo chair effortlessly. He sat between your dangling legs, a permanent smirk etched into his features. “So princess, wanna take your shirt off for me?” He coos, resting his hands on either thigh. His fingers were long and slender, and even the touch to your leg set you on fire internally.. You could barely stand to think about how they would feel on your skin, or inside of you. How were you gonna make it through this? 

You nod, reaching for the hem of your t-shirt. Sitting up slightly, you pull it off in a swift motion, letting it fall to the floor. Your eyes focus on his, the intensity of his turquoise glare sending a chill down your spine. You feel the prickly air blow across your nipples, perking them up beautifully. His eyes fixated on them, making you shift your legs to relieve some of the pressure. You wanted him badly.

The good news is, he wants you just as bad. “No bra, I like your style…”He purred, not even bothering to hide the way he stares at your chest, thanking whatever deity blessed him with the opportunity to put his hands on them. “Stand up, I need to mark where the needle will go…” He said, scooting out slightly so you could get to your feet. He didn’t give you much room, still sitting on his stool. You practically had your breasts in his face, and you can feel the tips of your ears burn. 

“Perfect.” He sighs, and you bite your lip. “You’re in good hands baby. You trust me?” He asked, that lusty glint in his eye returning as he reached out for his piercer pen. 

You nod. You don’t know exactly what he’s referring to, but you knew no matter what he asked you to do, you’d do it with little to no protest. Your dignity was fleeting, any rational thoughts being snuffed out by the heat in your core and the building slick in your panties. 

“Say it. Out loud.” He requested simply, laying out the pre-packaged jewelry and needles on a tray next to him. 

“I trust you, Dabi.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. You catch your lip between your teeth as you admire him again. His side profile was so pretty, every feature pointed and sharp. 

“Good girl. I’m going to touch you now, to mark these pretty things up.” He says, turning back to face you. 

“Please.” You say, mentally chiding yourself. Jeez, why wouldn’t you say ‘go ahead’ or ‘okay’, now you sound desperate.

But Dabi enjoyed the way the word sounded on your tongue, and he knew he would drive you to the point of saying it over and over again. His fingers are icy when they land on the supple tissue of your left breast. He holds it just because he knows he can, letting your breasts hang as they would naturally so your piercing comes out perfect. He is still a professional, after all. He marks either side of your nipple before moving to the next side and repeating the action. 

He watched your areolas constrict even more, making him smile. He’s seen quite a few pairs of titties, but none made his pants feel as tight as they do now. “I’m sure you’ve done your research, pretty girl? Y’know no one can go near these jugs for at least six months, probably closer to a year.” He peers up at you from his stool, and his question makes you blush again, or maybe just the eye contact. 

“Y-yeah, not gonna be a problem. No one’s been near them for the past 6 months to a year already.” You chuckle to yourself, wishing you could keep your mouth shut once more. Why did you say that, just so he’d know you’re available?

“Noted.” Dabi simply replied, almost validating your compulsive need to overshare. It seemed as if he were genuinely wondering. “Sit at the edge of the chair for me, sweet thing.” He nodded towards the seat, putting on his gloves as you obeyed. 

Suddenly, your nerves were focused on the pain you were about to endure, mind racing and body tingling with adrenaline. He picks up a needle and slides his stool back between your legs, using his other hand to drag his tray closer to him. “Aw, don’t be scared, dollface. I’ll take good care of you. You can squeeze my leg when it hurts, deal?” He offered, his stare much softer at the moment. 

“Mhm.” You nod, trying to shove away all your worries. You had been through much worse, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of this sexy body shop owner. You place your hand on his thigh, his body bent over to have a good angle on your chest. 

“Take a deep breath.” He waits for you to follow his instruction before moving on, “Ready and–” He jabs the needle through your delicate skin, humming pleasantly at your reaction. You squeeze down on his leg with most of your strength, wincing barely.“Good girl,” He praises, dragging out the ‘o’ sound to show how impressed he was. “Here goes number two.” He warned, quickly lining up for the other side. 

“I know it’s brutal but you’ll thank me later. Deep breath.” He cues, waiting for your sharp intake of breath before pushing through your other nipple. “There you go, that’s it.” He cooed, patting the hand you left resting on his leg. He slides backward on his stool to get a better look. “Oh yeah babe, those look perfect on you.” He smirks, guiding you to stand. 

You cling to his hands shakily, the adrenaline still coursing through your body. He leads you to the mirror on the wall, letting you see your newly decorated chest. You beam, pleased with the results. The pain really wasn’t so bad when you’re daydreaming about the piercer. His hands rest on your hips, his touch so light you almost didn’t feel it until you saw his grip in the mirror. Your eyes flicker back up to his gaze staring at you through the reflection. He’s smirking, like he always is, watching your expression eagerly. His presence suddenly hits you again all at once. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, just inches away from yours. His breath is icy, fanning over your face and tickling your neck. 

Before you can think better of it, you press your ass back against him. Your eyes widen once you realize what you’ve done, but  his arm slides around your waist to hold you there before you can panic. “Hm, good to know it wasn’t just me.” He cooed into your ear, pressing his bulge against your backside. His other hand slides up your body, careful of your fresh piercings, until his fingers are grasping your jaw, the arm around your waist retreating slightly, his hand resting above your clothed crotch. “Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, his eyes dancing like the flickers of blue flames. 

You open your mouth to speak, but close it quickly once you realize you don’t know what to say. His fingers dig into your cheeks a little more, demanding a response. “Y-yes, I..I want to feel you..please!” You manage, cheeks growing hotter by the second. He rewards you by unbuttoning your pants, the zipper soon to follow. He lets go of your face in favor of yanking your pants down your legs, prompting you to step out of them and kick them aside. You hear him click his tongue. 

“No panties either? Are you sure you weren’t planning on this the whole time darlin’?” He chuckles, grabbing your hips again to turn you to face him. He admires your fully exposed body, drinking in the curves of your frame and the fullness of your ass. He might be devastated that he can't play with your tits, but he can destroy everything else. He didn’t miss the contemptuous glare you threw his way, making him chuckle deeply again. “Oh I’m sorry angel, this is a little unfair, huh?” He asked, pulling his jacket off, paper thin t-shirt soon to follow. 

You grin softly, reaching your hands out tentatively. He grasps your wrists and plants them firmly on his chest. “Don’t be afraid, pretty baby. You can’t hurt me.” He teased, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he slid his own sweatpants off, discarded elsewhere. His hands land in the dip of your waist, his touch is gentle for just a moment, until he’s using this grip on you to push you backwards until you’re sitting on the tattoo chair again, legs kept open by his figure standing between them. Dabi kneels to the floor, breathing directly over your throbbing heat. You moan involuntarily, just from the sight of the man looking up at you with the carnivorous look in his eyes.

He hums at this, the sounds he can get from you without even trying to stroke his ego and grow his cock in his boxers.He hooks his arms around your legs, pulling your pussy to his face without another passing second, causing you to gasp out in surprise, He lets his long tongue lap at your center, just tasting how worked up you already were. He drags your own fluids languidly up and down the entirety of you, his lips trapping your clit. When his tongue flicks at it, you gasp again, the cold metal unnoticed previously. You shouldn’t be surprised,  most everything else was pierced, which only left his…

The sound of his own satisfied grunts drag you away from picturing his length, not expecting him to enjoy himself so much. You feel one of his arms leave you, causing you to open your eyes and figure out why. You smile, your confidence building once you notice the man palming himself over his boxers, unable to resist touching himself while devouring your sweet pussy. “Taste good, honey?” You coo, a taunting lilt to your voice. 

The tone of your voice makes him fluster, determined to satisfy you so completely that there would be nothing for you to say, you wouldn’t be able to form words if you tried. He stands abruptly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing your neck with gentle pressure. “You talking shit up here, darlin’?” He arches his brow, analyzing your shocked expression. “Now c’mon baby, you didn’t think you could get away with that, now did you?” His slender fingers tighten around your throat slightly. The pressure makes your head buzz, every nerve on your body craving his everything. 

“Open your mouth.” He says, thumbing at your bottom lip with his free hand. You obey instantly, your body arching out toward him in a need to replace his missing touch. He smirks and spits, slightly off center, watching as your tongue darts out to claim whatever he missed. “Taste good, honey?” He mocks, his hand dipping to rub quick circles around your bundle, keeping you from responding. The only thing you can do is gasp and moan breathily.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I knew you were a little freak, acting so cute and innocent.” He coos, crashing his lips on yours. He was rough, but you craved that. His lips were soft, but that was about the end of his softness, the way his mouth moved against yours like you were the breath he needed to survive, the way his other hand clutched the back of your neck to keep you from escaping, how his occupied fingers moved fervently around your sweet spot. It was getting hard to handle, the pressure in your gut building to it’s toppling point as his slender fingers slipped into your eager hole, curling and hitting your insides with ease. You screamed, legs twitching as your first orgasm crashed over you, causing you to flush with embarrassment. He didn’t let you recover, grabbing you up and turning you to your stomach. You caught yourself quickly, turning your head to see over your shoulder, watching Dabi shed the last layer of his clothing. 

It was just as you thought, his solid and achingly long cock was studded with piercings, making you weak in the knees. He smirked, noticing your stare. “Oh baby, you have no idea… I can’t wait.” He chuckled, lining up to your entrance. He palms the swells of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can watch the way your pussy puckers around him, sucking him in eagerly. He gives it to you in one push, letting you experience his excruciating thickness, stretching your insides to accompany him. The piercings tickle your gummy spot, making your vision blur almost immediately. Dabi was so grateful for the mirror in front of you on the wall, able to drink up all your lovely expressions of pleasure. 

“That’s my girl. Look at you baby, takin’ it so good for me.” He growls, driving his body weight into his already powerful thrusts. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, your mind so utterly blank. You feel his body lay over yours, his hand grabbing your jaw like he liked to so often. “I said look at yourself.” He demanded, eyes taking in the way your tits clapped together with the force of him. You open your eyes, but admittedly the only thing you’re looking at is him, the sweat pooling on his brow, the way he gnawed on his lip, his hands gripping you so hard his knuckles are white and you know there will be bruises left to remind you of the way he looks in this moment. 

“Y-you’re.. s’pretty.” You whine, falling to your forearms as you begin to crumble again. He hums, propping his leg up on the chair to drive in at a deeper angle. 

“That’s all you, sunshine.” He coos, the sounds you make in return borderline animalistic. It gives him goosebumps, to hear how loud you can get in his honor. He knows he’s close, but he doesn’t want this to end. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, letting it come back down in a harsh slap to your ass. He smiles as the handprint he leaves behind glows bright red and you barely holler at the sensation.

Your screams go silent again, your body unable to move with him any longer. Your hips ache, his abuse of your insides causing everything to go black. You swear you see new colors as you cum once again, tightening around his shaft. 

“Oh fuck babygirl.” He groans, squelching and slapping noises filling the air. “You want my cum?” He asked, leaning his weight back over you. 

You can only nod, clutching the chair for dear life. “Please! Oh, god, Dabi please!” You choke out, wishing for nothing more than to feel his relief pool in you. 

He smirks, knowing he would love the way you beg for him. It wasn’t another thrust before he was helplessly draining himself inside you, slowing down his sinful pumps until he was still. Both of you are breathing heavily, and his eyes are still locked on your body in the mirror. He massages at your sore hips, wincing slightly at the bruises already forming. “I can get ya some ice, doll.” He offers sheepishly, dick still sheathed inside. 

You giggle and shake your head. “No, no, I’m okay..it’ll remind me of you.” You hum, a smirk of your own on your face. Dabi had his way with you, as you wanted, but you knew he would be addicted to the feeling. 

He kissed the back of your neck and leaned into your ear. “Now tell me you wish you came back another day.”

[sanzu-sanzu-sanzu]

songs about toxic people 7*

Sanzu Haruchiyo X Reader

Summary: In which you are Bonten’s No. 2 and Sanzu is No. 3. Almost ten years of being stuck working together means you’re both bound to pick up on each other’s idiosyncrasies, yeah?

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*IMPORTANT NOTE: this is more like an interlude/bonus chapter actually centering more on misc bonten x reader Gen! interactions. it still ties in with the whole story, it’s just there’s less to zero sanzu in this one cus the focus will be more on the other bonten haha, so if you’re here exclusively for sanzu x reader, you may skip this if you like! 😬  

it’s just i got these headcanons that idk what to do with and also they are somewhat short 😭

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chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

chapter 7: We may not be a perfect family but we love each other (until we don’t) - koko

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Koko thinks of cats when he thinks of you; partly from the circumstances of your first meeting, partly ‘cause of the way you sort of simply glide in and out of rooms quietly with the stealth and fluidity of one.

(Although Sanzu had insisted he thought more of ghosts and wraiths, a comment which Koko only made light of even though he wasn’t wrong.)

She even kinda fights like a feline, he’d told Inupi one time all those years ago, as he thought of the way your lithe and minimal movements were always able to take bigger guys down along with the quiet ferocity to match.

Maybe she learns from all the cats back in the shrine, Inupi responded—a joke, essentially, in his own terms. Koko suppressed a smile: cat and dog, you and her, maybe that’s why you two get along so well went his own, sad attempt at humor, because you and your second-in-command were obviously very close and very unlike cats and dogs. The joke, however, sadly did not seem to land, and Inupi’s forehead only creased, his expression dumbfounded.

That’s not how it works.

Koko never forgets the day you were first introduced by Mikey. It’s at the back of Toman’s abandoned shrine, at the edge of the thick forest surrounding the area, that their new leader had said they’ll be meeting Black Dragon’s temporary captain. He never specified what anyone would be doing in the forest at this hour in the afternoon, and neither him nor Inupi had asked, but then there you were: in your bare feet and in your school uniform, attempting to move a big pot of plant from one spot of land to another, your expression almost annoyed. (At the pot, most likely, which did not seem to budge.)

Mikey called your attention still a few meters afar:

“Hey. Whatcha up to—”

in a tone that very clearly did not seem to intend to place whatever you were up to above this particular Toman business at the moment, so really, it would not have made any difference whether you answered or not. Which you didn’t, only glancing at your president once—not with the angry expression, at least—before continuing with your ordeal.

The pot nudged just a tiny bit.

Only when Mikey finally stopped right in front of you and you noticed Koko’s and Inupi’s figures behind him did you finally stand straight, looking at Mikey quizzically. “What’s up?” Quick nods to Inupi and him. “Hello.”

Mikey briefly introduced all of you and proceeded to explain that you were to be formally placed as the Black Dragon’s new captain today, to which your eyes slightly widened.

“Oh, I thought you said tomorrow.”

Mikey hesitated at first but then shrugged. “Hm, they came here already today so I thought might as well. Come on, it’ll be quick.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and then to his two quiet companions but then so agreed anyway, and as Mikey ushered you in front nobody else aside from Koko seemed to notice your lack of shoes. You’d only taken a few steps ahead when you tugged at the sleeve of Mikey’s coat, making him pause.

“I don’t have my Toman jacket,” which was obvious but was not what Koko was expecting for you to say, if he were to be honest.

Mikey looked at you blankly. “Well, where is it?”

“Well, something happened to it,” was your only vague response, but then you turned your head to where you just came from making all three boys follow suit. On a wooden bench slightly obscured by the plants were a family of cats consisting of a mother and her kittens, all sleeping peacefully in a cozy pile on top of your balled up Toman jacket.

“Oh. Okay.” Mikey only nodded like he completely understood. Without thinking about it twice, Sano Manjiro, Tokyo Manji gang’s No. 1—feared around the streets of Tokyo, bowed to no one and stepped over everyone—took off his billowing Toman coat and draped it over your shoulders. “Here, you can borrow mine,” he simply said. “I mean, you gotta look the part.”

Your mouth stretched into a grin.

Beside him, Inupi gave Koko a quick, wordless glance accompanied by that tiny, upward curve on the corner of his mouth that anyone else could’ve missed. Inupi rarely smiled at anything anymore those days—perhaps one of the reasons why this singular, initial meeting had stuck in his mind all these years. It’s one of those memories Koko always thought he could probably live without, occupying a quiet little corner in his mind which, frankly, a much more practical or life-changing memory could have occupied, if it were up to him. But then there you were with your cats and your air of schoolgirl abandon making Inupi smile, an information that he simply didn’t know what to do about.

“Alright, boss. But please, no speeches.”

This made Mikey laugh. “Can’t promise you that, I’m sorry.” It’s only after a few more steps that Mikey did finally notice your bare feet.

“Where the hell are your shoes?”

“Oh, they got wet,” you quietly said. “I was playing with the cats…” and three pairs of eyes stared at you like it wasn’t enough of an answer. “With a hose. Manjiro, I was watering the plants.”

And so you stood atop the shrine steps while addressing the men from Black Dragons, your feet bare and covered in scratches and the Toman president’s much bigger coat over your shoulders. Nobody questioned the absence of shoes—at least not out loud—not with your leader Manjiro right by your side, in his flip flops holding a half-eaten taiyaki in one hand.

The memory comes unannounced in snips and pieces some years later as another Bonten meeting ends. There’s various movements around the table by now, but then Koko catches your undivided staring as you sat across from him, your chin propped up against one hand. He ignores you for a short while as he fixes his things, until he finally decides to look up.

“Anything wrong?”

You suddenly purse your lips in a small smile amidst the gloomy and rigid air of mid-morning Monday meetings and for a moment, it’s as if Koko is thinking of another memory.

“I just realized you kinda look like my Mr. Kaku,” is all you say. The little remark makes not-your Kakucho look up from the document he’s reading without really turning his head, while Rindou who is seated beside you squints—in curiosity or amusement, Koko can’t tell. From his own right side, Takeomi is slowly angling his head as if meaning to take a better look at Koko behind his curtain of silver hair.

Mr. Kaku, of course, is your pet cat, the one with the smooth silver fur that you’d rescued from an abandoned site during an out-of-town business trip some months ago. You and your unimaginative pet naming sense landed on “Mr. Kaku,” in honor of your then-partner Kakucho who had volunteered to keep the cat inside his bag thru the doors of the hotel that didn’t allow pets. But he looks nothing like Kaku, Manjiro had quipped, earning a few grunts of approval from your ever-biased circle, but you couldn’t have been bothered so you stuck with the name.

Koko is quick to decipher that in your-speak, cat comparisons are more or less compliments and never a form of insult—not that in your mid-20s, you all haven’t already gotten above petty verbal affronts, after all. So he humors you, eyes now back to his things but with his attention still on the matter at hand. “What, is it the hair?”

“Yeah, it’s the hair,” Rindou says before you can answer, his head lolling lazily on one shoulder. “Can’t believe no one had noticed before.”

“And the eyes,” you simply nod. “They both got these nice, sharp eyes.”

Would you have named him Mr. Koko if you thought he resembled Kokonoi before? is the one lingering question that none of the men around you bother to ask.

It’s only a couple of weeks later, after another Bonten meeting, when Koko hands you a souvenir from his weekend business trip: a red cat collar with a customized pendant, a tiny enamel engraving of your Bonten tattoo. The pendant is black on one side and gold on the other, and the small gasp you let out makes every head in the room turn—the almost unfamiliar, genuine sound of delight thawing the usual morning’s stern atmosphere.

“There’s a shop right across the hotel where they make rush engravings like that.” Koko is saying casually like it’s no big deal, but he sees the expression on your face and he can’t help but grin. “Thought Mr. Kaku might like it.”

Your eyes perk up at the mention of ‘Mr. Kaku’ like Koko is the first person to ever acknowledge that Mr. Kaku doesn’t need to be named anything else apart from ‘Mr. Kaku.’ “Oh, it’s perfect, Koko. I’ll send you pictures once I make him wear it,” you say, your attention instantly back to your hands, choosing to ignore his ‘I think just one picture might be enough.’

From the other end of the room, Sanzu is making his way towards the door. “Congratulations,” he smirks as he passes by behind you, quirking one eyebrow up at Koko. “Now she won’t be shutting up about it all weekend,” because Sanzu will be spending the next three days with you over in another city to conduct business with another drug scion, of course.

Across the table, Kakucho only sighs before shaking his head. “I still wish you could’ve picked a better name for your cat,” he says—a valid complaint, Koko thinks bemusedly, now that your own Mr. Kaku looks more like a feline version of himself.

chapter 8 >

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this one goes out to my closest friends the ones who make me feel less alien

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[bosspigeon]

one for sorrow

Pairing: Gen, M!Detective/Mason Word Count:  3483 Summary: Juniper Fenn reflects on memories, nursery rhymes, loneliness, and wanting to be wanted.

Just a little (uh... kinda big, actually?) character study for my soft boy, Juni! It wound up a lot more emotional than I originally intended, but I like having this insight into his character.

CW for (implied) deadnaming, misgendering, coming out, and in the last portion a non-graphic post-sex scene with some allusions to said sex ahfdsjh.

                                     One for sorrow, two for joy.

He thought the needle would hurt more than it did. He closes his eyes and looks away, and the artist gives him the hairy eyeball when he clutches at Tina’s knee, like she’s afraid he’ll jump off the bench and bolt for the door. He wants to ask if that’s happened before, but he thinks he’s made enough of a fool of himself so far.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks, giving him an out. Somehow, that just strengthens his resolve.

He takes a slow breath and nods, closing his eyes.

He hears the buzzing, and when the machine first touches skin, he almost jumps, but he’s more worried about looking like more of a baby than he already does than he is startled, so he bites his lips and forces himself to holds still. And it does hurt, but not like he thought it would. He squints one eye open to watch the progress of the first line over his skin. He expects to be repulsed, like when he’s having bloodwork done, and he has to look away from the needle going into his arm. But this is different, somehow. Doesn’t make his stomach turn.

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you,” Tina teases, when the first wing has taken shape. He almost jumps again, but he manages to contain it to a twitch. He’s going to tip the artist as much as he’s able after this is done, just for dealing with someone as fidgety as him.

He chews at his lip. “It’s… I dunno. I wouldn’t say it feels good, but it’s kind of soothing, in a weird way?”

She leans over, watching, and the artist gives her a bit of a look, so she backs up again. “Have you told your mum?” she asks.

He snorts out a laugh and looks away, back at the stencil on his arm that will soon be filled in with black feathers and ringed with flowers. “Of course not. She’d probably kill me.”

“She doesn’t like tattoos?” Tina tilts her head, watching his face like she’s waiting for him to start whining about how it hurts. She’s always been the tougher of the two of them, and he’s got no illusions about that, so he’s sort of proud of himself for keeping his cool—as much as he’s got anyway.

He shrugs the arm that’s not under the machine, and wonders when he’ll get his next tattoo. He’s already got ideas for more, and knowing that it’s not so bad as he was worried it would be is exciting. Not to mention, it’s something that’s just for him. Not for anyone else. He’s… never really done anything like this before. “I don’t know what she likes, but I doubt she’d approve.”

She sucks her teeth and he squeezes her knee again when she gives him that soft, sad look she sometimes does when his mum comes up in conversation. “What’s it going to be?” she asks suddenly. Tina’s a good friend, changing the subject before he can get moody about it.

“A magpie,” he says softly, looking back down to watch the lone bird slowly taking shape on his skin.

                                       Three for a girl, four for a boy.

He asks what happened to all the pretty paintings around the house when he’s ten, because they disappear sometime after one of Mum’s visits, when she seemed more distant than usual. Maybe she hopes he won’t notice, but he misses them immediately. The house is too bare without them, it feels so lonely. It’s always been lonely, ever since Dad passed, but the bare walls make it even lonelier. Mum brushes it off, of course. He’s used to it at this point, so he doesn’t push her, but he’s also stubborn, so he goes looking. He’s even more determined when she tries to shut him up by replacing them all with clean, impersonal prints in neat little frames. He finds them in the attic, tucked away in a box, each one slipped carefully into a protective sleeve or folder and wrapped in tissue paper. He finds a dreamy matted watercolor of him as a baby, fat and freckly and smiling with no teeth, and he has to take a minute to sit down and cry as quietly as possible before he can start going through the rest. There’s a folder of scrawled pencil portraits, too. He finds one of Mum sitting on a pier, peeking back over her shoulder with her hair blowing in the wind. She’s smiling. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile.

There’s a self portrait that makes him laugh through his tears, because the reflective surface Dad seems to have used as his mirror is a Christmas ornament, so his face is distorted, one eye huge, his tongue out, drawing himself drawing. He keeps that one for sure, and a few of the other ones he thinks he can get away with. An oil pastel of a wooden swing dripping with honeysuckle, a colored pencil drawing of the library, a few studies of people and plants and animals, and another watercolor of the three magpies, sitting in a juniper tree.

There are three magpies painted on his bedroom wall, from back when it was his nursery. Dad painted them right after he was born, before they brought him home from the hospital. They’d waited until he arrived to know what his gender would be. Of course, he went and messed that up, like he did most things. Sometimes he wonders if Dad would be disappointed, or if he’d think it was funny.

They used to be above his crib, and then his bed when he outgrew that, but he moves his bed to the opposite side of his room when he’s fourteen, and covers them with a poster. He thinks for sure Mum’s going to give him an earful about it, but he’s surprised she hasn’t tried to cover them up herself. He supposes it’s not really an issue, since when she is home, it’s not like she spends any time in his bedroom.

And then he's sixteen, and he’s been practicing his watercolor for years at this point. Sometimes, he creeps into the attic when he’s got the house to himself, rifles through Dad’s paintings, studies his style for as long as he can. He’s been old enough not to need a proper nanny for years now, though someone comes to check up on him frequently and make sure he’s got food and necessities, but beyond that he’s got plenty of time alone. He sits in the attic until he's sore from the wooden floor, trying to think of how Dad’s hands might have looked while he worked, the speed and angle of his brush strokes. He doesn’t think he can find anything new at this point, as many times as he’s snuck up here to look at Dad’s work, but out of the blue, he finds what might have been a really nice landscape, if it weren’t marred by fat little handprints in bright yellow and green, as if he’d smeared his hands across the palette the second Da took his eyes off it, and slapped them down in the middle of the paper. He comes back to it a lot, when he spends time in the attic, because when he looks at it, he swears he can hear what he imagines Dad’s laugh sounded like, his voice calling him a little menace with all the fondness in the world. 

And then he’s eighteen, and he’s alone on his birthday. Mum calls, tells him she loves him and she would come and visit him later on, so they could do something together, but she couldn’t take the day off. She tells him how proud she is of her daughter being all grown up, and he winces, but keeps his mouth shut.

And then he maybe gets a little bit drunk, drags out his paints and brushes, rifles through the portfolio hidden carefully in the back of his closet, and finds the painting with the juniper tree and the three magpies

He takes another shot to steady his nerves, and paints in a fourth.

                                      Five for silver, six for gold.

He shouldn’t be surprised Mum doesn't come to his graduation, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. She’s busy, she’s always been busy, she’s been busy since he was a toddler.

He was stupid to believe anything he did would be important enough for her to bother with. To believe that he could matter to anyone enough.

Tina’s stepmum had more foresight than he did, inviting him along to her and Tina’s celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant out of town, and he has to take a minute to cry in the bathroom after they proudly present him with a messily wrapped gift and a card that practically explodes with glitter when he open it, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed because it has his name in it, and while he's trying very hard not to break down crying in public, Tina hugs him so tightly his spine creaks and tells him she couldn’t have wished for a better brother.

When they drop him off at home, his eyes are still red and a bit wet, he’s full of good food and affection, and he’s smiling like an idiot in spite of the fact that he can’t stop sniffling. The heavy sterling silver magpie skull charm rests against his collarbone, the weight comforting in a way he can’t hope to put into words. He'll never forget Tina’s dewy, smiling eyes as she clasped it around his neck and told him proudly, “Now you’ve got two.'"

He falls into bed holding the charm, reluctant to take it off, but knowing he should put it somewhere safe before bed. He exhales a happy sigh, laughing a bit wetly to himself.

And then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his slacks, and his heart seizes in his chest.

He doesn’t have to check the ID to know who it is. Nobody ever calls him, and his eyes flicker anxiously to the pressed dress in its plastic garment bag still hanging untouched on the back of his closet door. He’d given Tina the expensive name-brand heels for her own graduation outfit, because even if he did want them, he couldn’t walk in the damn things anyway. Lucky for him, they wear the same size shoe.

He takes a moment to calm his breathing, but that means he has to fumble to answer the call before it ends, and he winces when he sees two more missed calls in his log. “Mum!” he blurts, his voice instinctively pitching higher. “Hi! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him easily. “I’m sorry again I couldn’t make it today. There was  a—”

“A big project, I know,” he finishes. It’s always a project, or a trip, or a meeting. The details are always scant, but Mum knows how to make it sound big and important and in need of her attention. He’s tried not to be bitter about it, but there’s always been a part of him that wishes, for once, she’d decide he was important enough to need her attention. “It’s okay, Mum.” It’s not, it never was, but it would be selfish of him to tell her that. She’s got enough to worry about.

“Well, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten, so I had a gift delivered. It should have arrived today.”

He bites back a sigh. He wonders if it would be easier if she had just forgotten. If it would hurt less than knowing she always made the decision not to see him. “Oh, I’ll go check!” he blurts, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. He rolls out of bed and heads for the door, poking out to check the mailbox. Of course, inside there is a slim, rectangular package, wrapped in tidy brown paper. The address and names are printed on stickers.

He takes it inside with the phone tucked against his shoulder, weighing the box in his hands. It’s light, and he wants to be excited about whatever it is, but he’s suddenly drained from the day, from crying and laughing and crying some more.

The dining room, somehow, has always felt more lonely than anywhere else in the house, and he’s never been able to figure out why, but he puts the package on the table and starts picking at the neat wrapping. Mum is quiet on the other end of the phone, waiting, and Juni wants to break the odd silence, but can’t even begin to think of what to say. He wishes he didn’t bite his nails, because it takes him way too long to break into the pristine paper, and inside is a long red jewelry box. When he lifts the lid, there is a delicate gold necklace resting on a soft velvet pad, understated and objectively lovely, if not really his style, but it’s the note that flutters out of the box that catches his attention. His eyes skim the note, expecting her usual platitudes that he sometimes wonders if she has someone else type for her.

I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.

His breath leaves him in a painful, strangled rush, his lungs squeezing tight in his chest. And before Mum can speak, he blurts "I can't take this," trailed by a ragged sob.

“Of course you can,” she says gently, kindly. “I know how you get about expensive gifts, but really, it’s no trouble—”

His head fills with screaming static when she calls him what she’s always called him, what she doesn’t know better than to call him, because he’s never told her. He’s never had the chance, it’s never been the right time, it felt wrong not to do it in person, but whenever he sees her in person he feels like he shouldn’t waste the time with her by bringing up something so…

“My name is Juniper!” It explodes out of him, louder than he’s ever been with her, and it stuns her into silence. “I’m not your daughter!” he cries desperately, “I’m your son. You can’t be proud of the woman I’ve become, because I’m not a woman!” He sounds insane, he knows he does, shrill and frantic, but his heart is hammering so hard he feels dizzy, the walls are yawning wide around him, the dining room feels huge and so empty and so bleak. He’s never felt more alone in this dark, quiet house he’s spent his entire life rattling around in than he does in this exact moment, and it’s suffocating. His phone drops from shaking fingers onto the floor, and he drops with it, curling into a ball and struggling to remember how to breathe, dizzily hoping he won’t need to go scrambling for his inhaler. His fingers clench so tightly around the heavy silver charm he’s almost worried he’s going to snap the simple leather cord, but he needs to ground himself or he feels like he’ll dissolve entirely.

He hears Mum calling the name that’s not his, and when he finally manages to fumble his phone with nerveless fingers, he winces seeing the screen is cracked. “I’m sorry,” he sobs weakly, his eyes burning with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He can’t even be sure what he’s apologizing for, but he knows he has to, especially when he slams the end call button and buries his face in his knees so he can cry alone in the dark.

                              Seven for a secret, never to be told.

Juni’s skin is starting to get clammy, but he’s too comfortable to move. Eventually, he’s going to have to, if for nothing else than to get up and get cleaned up, but for now, he’s happy, if a little chilly. He nuzzles into the soft curls dusted across Mason’s chest, and lets his eyelids fall to half-mast, just open enough to absently count the freckles hidden under the chest hair, inevitably lose count, and start counting again. Mason smells good, cooling sweat and sandalwood, and dozy as he is, it takes a moment for Juni to realize he doesn’t really smell like smoke at all anymore. His room doesn’t smell lke smoke, either, he realizes. His heart thuds hard behind his ribs.

He gets distracted when a shiver rolls over him, the chill suddenly overwhelming against his sticky skin, and he curls further into Mason’s chest in an attempt to leach some of his warmth.

Mason clicks his tongue, and Juni’s whole body stiffens, worry zinging into his gut to rattle around there like a bird in a too-small cage. Mason shifts underneath him, and he starts to roll away, to apologize, to get out of his hair, before a strong hand clasps the back of his neck.

“Hold still,” Mason grunts, sitting up and patting around for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it out from under them both, which almost sends the detective rolling off the bed against his will this time, but Mason's hand shifts down to spread across his lower back and hold him steady until he can get them both tucked underneath.

He flops back against the pillows again, one arm tucked under his head and the other loose at his side, and slowly, cautiously, Juni crawls his way under it. The hand lands  on his hip and squeezes, and Juni settles his head back on the vampire’s chest just in time to hear the pleased little rumble there. He flushes down to his chest and bites his lip, distracting himself by petting at Mason’s chest hair.

And then he pokes his flat, brown nipple and says, “Boop!” on some stupid impulse, and giggles like an idiot.

Mason scoffs and rolls his eyes, but shifts so that Juni’s thigh hitches up over his. “Keep that up, sweetheart, and we’ll be going into round two sooner rather than later.” Juni can feel the truth in that statement against his thigh, and he blushes so hotly he knows Mason can feel it at every point their bodies are touching. He might be approaching supernova levels of heat when Mason smugly adds, “Well, round two for me. Three for you.”

He hides his face in Mason’s chest with a long groan. “I’m going to explode,” he declares. “I’m going to collapse like a dying star.”

Mason laughs, sharp and startled and shockingly bright, and Juni’s head shoots up so he can see his face. His hair is a mess, but of course it still looks amazing, hanging around his face in loose, sweat-damp spirals. His vulpine grey eyes are crinkling at the corners, even his sharp nose wrinkling in a way that makes Juni’s heart almost stop. And his mouth, usually either pinned into a scowl, or twisted into a sly (and stupidly attractive) smirk,  is curled into a smile, breathtaking in its open softness.

God, I love you, Juni wants to cry, his heart pounding in counterpoint to the desperate, silent declaration he traps behind his teeth by digging them into his lower lip so hard he’s almost afraid he’s going to make himself bleed. And it doesn’t stop. I love you, I love you, I love you drums in his chest, hums through his blood, and when Mason catches him looking, he reaches out to push the tangled forelock of curls hanging in Juni’s eyes out of his face, cupping his cheek to pull him into a kiss. Juni shivers and braces his hand on Mason’s chest, feeling the vampire’s heart thumping there, steady and stable and achingly familiar. His own matches it beat for beat, and thankfully his mouth is too occupied for the pulsing plea of love me, love me, please love me to spill out. So he dives into it, clings to it, and when Mason breaks away to let him breathe, Juni buries his mouth against the arch of his throat instead, presses messy kisses to his collarbones, his chest, his shoulders, throttles the words before they can escape him and pushes them into touches instead. Touches can’t damn him the way words can.

There’s a soft, shameful part of him he ignores like he always has that whispers to him that maybe, just maybe, if he pours enough of himself into every kiss, every touch, that the words will finally be understood. That the weak little part of him he buries deeper and deeper every time it cries out will finally be seen, and answered, and cradled tenderly in someone’s strong, freckled hands.

But until then, it will sit there in his chest under lock and key and ache, like all his secrets do.

[morganas-pendragons]

Warmth | Echo

finding gifs of echo is so hard holy crap 

this is part ii to ice - which you’ll probably want to read first // tagging @kill-the-feels​ 

this also features my clone!commander OC named cain

***

The first thing he thinks of whenever Rex pulls him out of that stasis chamber is how warm it is. Echo can’t remember the last time he actually felt his heart beat or saw people - real breathing people - much less felt warmth. 

Then he starts looking for you. Rex sees it too. The wanting, the desperation for someone familiar. Someone who loves him.

  “Don’t worry, vode. I’m going to get you back to your cyar’ika.” 

Rex grabs his hand and Echo latches on because he, just like his other brothers, craves touch. The ice that’s spent the last two years building up in his chest starts to crack as the warmth bleeds through. 

The warmth of a brothers love. 

Echo knows without a doubt that Anakin Skywalker will get him off of Skako Minor. That Rex, his Captain and his ori’vod, will keep him away from the steel grasps of the Separatists who saw him as nothing more then a machine. 

He follows the other clones, the ones who call themselves The Bad Batch, through the ventilation system in the route that’s been mapped inside his head. It was the only logical means of escape. That unfortunately meant calling on the Keeradaks, which Rex later comes to tell him that they’d used the creatures upon arriving on Skako Minor and meeting the locals. 

Echo isn’t paying attention to the droids that can suddenly fly and are pursuing them as they make course for the village. His blaster fits into his flesh hand like it’s meant to be there, and the air is flowing by him and he’s surrounded by his brothers and for the first time Echo feels like he’s alive and on top of the world. 

That’s when he start laughing. Oh, how it felt to be alive. 

Now he just needs to get back to Anaxes. Back to you. 

Cyar’ika. 

*** 

Rex had the good graces to inform you before he left for Skako Minor with the Bad Batch that he was following a lead that would probably lead him to Echo. You hadn’t believed him at first because Fives had told you himself. He’d been the one to see it. He’d seen Echo die. 

The Clone Captain hadn’t expected you to believe him. He did, however, take your hand in his own and wish you the best. He made another promise to bring your cyare home to you. 

CC-1614 is the one who actually manages to convince you that Rex is telling the truth. He’s the one who gives you hope. 

Cain is well built as many of the other clone commanders are, a sole survivor of Reaper Squadron who had all died on Jabiim in a battle that had nearly claimed Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life. His general is a good friend of yours, one of the few Jedi who had the ability to Force Heal. You hadn’t exactly intended on breaking the Code whenever you fell for Echo. It had just happened. 

Cain and Kix, along with ARC Trooper Jesse, are three of your closest friends. You haven’t been on the front lines in months and Cain prefers to stick close to his General, who is elbow deep in blood and bacta and desperately trying to calm down the clones who are the most frantic and the most critical. 

    “You’re doing that thing again.” Cain gently nudges your hip with his own and crosses his arms over his chest. The Commander usually plays a stoic facade as he has a reputation of stern authority to maintain, but Opal Stone has impacted him deeply enough that he feels it necessary to be himself when he’s not on the front lines.  “The I’m going to look off longingly into the horizon and if I stare hard enough, Rex will bring my cyare home look. You look like a love-sick teenager.” 

His jibes fall on deaf ears. You’re not hearing it. 

  “Hey.” Two different colored eyes meet your own. “I’ve been a POW. I’ve been where your cyare has been. It won’t be easy for him to reintegrate back into the GAR but if you’re gonna be there for him like General Stone was for me, I think he’ll be okay. He’s strong.” His head dips to his chest. “Stronger then I was.” 

There’s alot surrounding Cain’s time as Dooku’s slave that Opal did not tell you. You don’t need to know the gritty details of his time as a prisoner of war because all you have to do is look at Cain to know what he went through. His arms are marked with sleeves of tattoos as a remembrance to his fallen brothers - Abel, Funsize, Viper, Killshot - and the Mark Of Cain sticks out like a brand against his temple. 

But for someone who’s seen so much death and so much cruelty, he seems oddly at peace. 

  “You’re a good man, Cain.” You murmur, beaming back at him as his face splits in that rare smile he almost never lets anyone see. “A good man also brings his favorite Jedi caf. I’m exhausted.” 

  “Sure thing.” He winks at you and kriff him - it’s enough to make you blush like a schoolgirl. “General.” 

You don’t have enough time to banter with Cain because then your comm starts going off. 

  “Hello?” 

  “General, this is Anakin Skywalker. We’re enroute back to Anaxes with Echo.” The world stops moving. There’s no dying soldiers or harsh realities or fear or feeling. There is only you and Anakin who has just delivered a truth you’d long denied yourself accepting. These men - these good, brave men - were not meant to come home from the front lines. They were there in service of a Republic that did not care about them and so you did, you'd allowed yourself to be submersed in love and light and laughter that The Order didn’t give you. 

Memories flash behind your eyes like the scenes of a holodrama. Echo is there, Echo is always there, but now instead of being too far out of reach for you to hold he is light and laughter and everything your life had been lacking since Fives had told you about the Citadel. 

Echo was coming home. 

Your breath catches in your chest and your throat knots and Force, you can’t breathe- “He will need treatment. Have Kix help you. I’d recommend a closed off room.” 

  “Right-Right away, Skywalker-” 

Your comm shuts off and hands are resting on your shoulders, slowly traveling down your arms until fingers are lacing with yours and someone starts speaking in a string of Mando’a that’s mostly incomprehensible to your ears. You don’t have to turn around to know it’s Kix. 

  “Kix-” 

Then you hear it. The unmistakable hitch of his breath and the cry building up in the back of his throat reminds you that Echo is so vastly loved by both you and his brothers. The same brothers who’d once thought him dead and are singing their rejoice in their mother tongue upon finding out that a brother long lost is coming home. 

You and Kix set to beginning the preparations for Echo’s treatment. Kix gives stern orders to the other medics that no one will be allowed inside of this room except the two of you, Rex, Jesse, Cain and Anakin. You want him to feel safe, to be safe, which means limiting the number of visitors. 

   ‘’GENERAL SKYWALKER HAS LANDED!” 

Cains voice resounds across the medbay and before Kix can stop you, you’re taking off through the base to where Anakin’s gunship has just landed. Wide eyes follow each member of the Bad Batch until Rex finally leaves the gunship, and cradled in his arms is presumably the man you love. 

He doesn’t look like Echo. Not until you see his eyes. 

And then you crumble. You really try not to, you do, and it’s a good thing Kix followed you because Jedi are supposed to be cool and composed. They’re supposed to have a control over their emotions. 

Too bad you never had control over yourself, over feeling like the way you felt for Echo, because if you did you’d never have had a chance for warmth. 

For love. 

*** 

Echo sees a familiar face, then two, and then his arms are reaching out on their own accord because that is his cyar’ika cradled in the arms of his brother Kix and he wants you- 

But then he’s injected with an anesthetic that knocks him out cold. 

You and Kix work diligently, along with Tech (who proves to be remarkably useful for all the cybernetics that Echo is now implanted with) to ascertain the extent of his injuries. He’s definitely dehydrated and malnourished, but it seems that the extent of what he’d endured at the Citadel had been dealt with by the Separatists. 

Except the memory loss. 

After injecting a fluid IV into his arm, you allow yourself to ease into the chair beside Echo’s bed and take his flesh hand into your own. There’s so much of him that’s metal now that it’s almost impossible to see the man beneath it, but if weren't for those eyes and that heart that pounds proudly beneath your hand, you wouldn’t even know it was him to begin with. 

  “He’s safe for now.” Kix handed you a ration pack and water before wiping his forehead with the back of his hands. “I think you can take it from here.” The clone medics bends down enough to brush a kiss against the crown of your head - an action he only does when the two of you are alone because he trusts you - and you thank him with a soft smile and a nod before he parts from the room. 

Your eyes travel up and down his body as you slowly drink the water and chew on the ration cube. 

  “Echo, cyare.” The words come before you can stop them. Your hand is still linked with his, thumb carefully rubbing back and forth in the same way he’d used to do when he’d held yours for the first time. It was a nervous habit. “I’m.. I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say.” You don’t. You’d been too preoccupied by the war to even mourn him. Fives had been your anchor, the one who reminded you of the good you’d had, and then he’d been ripped away from you too. “There’s so much I left unsaid before the Citadel.. and I didn’t-I didn’t think you’d ever survived that-I gave up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you, cyare.” 

His eyes start fluttering. At first you think he’s waking up, but then you feel the way he grips you and then he starts moving, starts whining - Oh. 

Oh. 

His head tilts back and his speech is slurred, but you catch a few words before each strangled breath - “No, no, cyare-” and your overwhelming desire to hold him overtakes your rational judgement, the one that blares a warning in your mind to stay away, so you climb behind him and prop your knees on either side of the ARC trooper before wrapping your arms around his middle. 

The metal doesn’t bother you. 

  “Come back to me, cyare.” You whisper. Your fingers trail along the cybernetics on his chest and around his abdomen. The gesture is familiar. Comforting. Warm. “Come back to me.” 

Echo snaps awake and the ice that has enveloped his entire being since The Citadel shatters. It’s a foreign feeling learning what it means to be warm again but then he remembers he’s on Anaxes, he’s in the base with the other 501st, and he’d seen you before Kix had injected him with the anesthetic. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

His voice cracks as his flesh hand takes your own and bring it to quivering lips. You can feel the tears that fall on your skin when he says, “Cyar’ika.” 

  “Hello Echo.” You muse lightly. Laughter bubbles in the back of his throat as he leans back against your chest, turning just enough on his side that his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Your eyes meet his, and they’re full of tears but they’re his. “Cyare. I missed you.” 

  “Beloved.” He hums in reply. Echo may not remember what happened whenever he was in the ice, but he remembers you - your eyes and your heart and your soul - and so he remembers what it’s like to love and be loved in return. “Ni ru'akaanir par gar, ner kar'taylir darasuum.” 

Now, you’re no expert in the Mando’a tongue, but you catch the end of the sentence. My love. 

Your fingers trail over the nape of his neck and down his spine. He’s limp in your arms, head against your shoulder and breath ghosting over your neck. That’s the only way you know he’s even there. 

And oh. 

He’s warm. 

  “What does it mean?” 

He’s reminded of a similar conversation years ago, when he’d been with his vode in the mess and Fives had asked you to visit to ‘’boost his morale.’’ Maybe his brother knew before he did. Maybe his brother knew he loved you and wanted Echo to be happy. 

  “You asked me to fight for you.” He whispers. Your eyes burn with unshed tears as he lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, and you can tell he means it. Which means when he was imprisoned by the Separatists you had been the thing that had kept him alive. “You asked me to fight for you, and I did. I fought for my beloved.” 

He falls asleep again, wrapped up there in your arms, in warmth, and you allow yourself to weep again because oh.. oh stars- you love him. 

[vanaera]

Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)  

                 You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

               You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’.  Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

               Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

                The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

               As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.    

               You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work.  Your existence was enough of a proof.

               You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

               In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated.  You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

               You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

               It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

               “C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

               Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

               Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

               However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

               “Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite.  Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

               “Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

               “That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

               Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

               “It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

               “Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

               You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

               “Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

               “It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

               “Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

               A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist.  You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

               You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

               Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

               “Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

               “I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

               However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

               Motherfucking hell–

               “Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

               A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene.  However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

               “I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm.  The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

               What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

               “Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

               At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

               The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

               “YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

               The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat.  It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

               Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

               Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

               Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

               “Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest  for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

               Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

               “–your soulmate.”

               “–Park, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

               You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

               Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

               “Out of all people, why you?!”

               Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

               “I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

               Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

               Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

               “I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

               Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

               Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

               You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

               Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

               You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

                You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

               Frowning again, you storm off.

               Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.  

***

                Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

               Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

               You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

               “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

               You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

               “You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

               “Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

               “Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s.          Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

               Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

               For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

               You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word.  When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

               You  dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

               Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

               “That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

               “Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

               “Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

               “I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

               You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

               “Do you rave about it?”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

               “Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

               “Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

               “Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

               “So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered  the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

               “Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

               “It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

               Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

               “And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

               You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

               Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

               “Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

               “–so true–”

               “–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

                 Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

               “Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

               You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

               “Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

               “Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

               “At Petal Hill,” you mumble.  “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

               “Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

               “Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

               “Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

               You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

               “Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

               “Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’��sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

               “Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

               “Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”                

               “Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

               “Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

               “Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

               You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

               “Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me.  How did you easily connect the dots?”

               “I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

               “Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

               “What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

               At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “Huh?”

               You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

               “Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

               You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others.  Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

               “Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

               “Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

               “Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

               “Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

               “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

               “It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

               “Yeah, really?”

               “Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

               Jimin’s  mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

               “Well now you know,” you grin.

               “Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

               “Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

               Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

               “Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

               “‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

               You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

               Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

               “I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

               You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again.  At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

               “No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

               “Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

               “…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

               “Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

               “What do you like to receive?”

               You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

               “Pansies?”

               “Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

               “But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

               “Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

               Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

               You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

               “Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

               “Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

               “How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

               Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

               You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

               You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

               Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

               Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

               “Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

               “Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

               “No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

               “No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

               Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

                “Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

               “Jimin is here?!”

               “Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

               In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

               You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

               “Jimin! Jimin!”

               “Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

               “Hey, Jimin, look here!”

               “Jimin, please sign this!”              

               “Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

               “Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

               “Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

               “Jimin, I love you!”

               The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

               You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

               “What’s ha-happening?”

               Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

               You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

               Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

                The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

                It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

               The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

               “JIMIIIIIIN!”

               Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.            

               “Where’s Jimin?!”

               “There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

               “Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

               And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street.  You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

               When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

               “What are you staring at?”

               You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

               Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

               “What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

               “Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

               Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

               Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

               You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

               Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

               “Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

               “They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

               “But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

               Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

               You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

               “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

               You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

               “You know that’s impossible.”

               “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

               “I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

               “’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

               “What?”

               You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

               “Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

               “Oh please, no–”

               “My girl.”

               “Shut up!”

               “Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

               The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

               “Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

               “Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

               “It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

               “What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

               “Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

               “What is it?”

               “Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

               “What is it?”

               “Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

               Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

               When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

               “Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

               “Why is that?”

               “It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

               Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

               “A place? In here?”

               “Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

               After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

               “W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

               “We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

               The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

               You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

               Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

               Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

               In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.    

               You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

               Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

               Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

               “She…spent all her money for this?”

               “Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

               You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

               “Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

               You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

               “How do you know all of these?”

               “I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

               You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

               “So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

               “Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

               “Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

               “You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

               “Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

               “Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

               “A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

               “Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

               “Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

               “Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

               “I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

                “True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

               “What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

               “Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

               You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

               “Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

               You shook your head, giggling.

               “I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

               “At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

               “You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

               “Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

               “No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

               “Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

               Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

               You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

               Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

               You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

               Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

               Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

               “Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

               You don’t answer him but glance his way.

               Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

                “You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

               “Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

               “But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

               “True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

               You look at him, curious. “How come?”

               Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

               “Abnormal?”

               “Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

               Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

               You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

               “My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

               “How did they meet then?”

               “Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation.  My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

               Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

               “Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

               “So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

               You glance away. “…Yeah.”

               Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

               “Why?”

               “These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

               You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

               “Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

               A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

               Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core.  But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

               “H-how so?”

               “You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

               Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

               “No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you.  I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started  to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

               “Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

               You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

               You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability.  And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

               “Wait, whoa!”

               “Okay, why don’t we dance?”

               Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

               “Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

               “I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

               “Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

               Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

               You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

               And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

               “I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them.  And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

               You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

               Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

                When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

               You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

               You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

               “That’s…terrible.”

               You nod. “…Yeah.”

               “I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

               You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

               Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I love you.”

               Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

               You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

               You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

               Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

               “Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

               You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

               After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

               Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

               “Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

               “W-What?”

               “Please.”

               You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

               Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

               Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

               You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

               You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

               Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

               When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

               You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

               You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

               You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

               Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

               You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

               Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

               “Hey, Miss, my roses?”

               “O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

               “Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

               Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

               Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

                You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

               For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

               The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

               It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

               Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

              “W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

              “Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

              “Y/N–”

             “So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

            “No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

              “What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

              You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

              “Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

              “I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

             “Y/N, please–” 

             “Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

              “I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

                You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

                Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

               “No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–”  Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

               You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

              “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

             “What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

              “I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

              You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again.  “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

               Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

               “Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

               Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.  

               Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

               “Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

               After that, he’s gone.

***

                You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

               That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

               “Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

               The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.  

               The routine falls into place the following days.

               “Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

               “Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late.  We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

               “Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

               “Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

               “Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

               Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to.  There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

               For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

               “Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your  face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

               Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

               Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

                “W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

               Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

               Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

               Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”              

               What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

               “It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

               “The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

               “This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

               You’re the only one.

               “You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

               “B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

               “They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

               You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

               “That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

               “But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

               “Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

               Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

               When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

               “I love you, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

               Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

               You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

                As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

               “Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

                   “You ready, Y/N?”

                  You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

                   Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

                   Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

                  You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.i

[calpalirwin]

Camping Trip

Summary: Bri and Calum had been friends for ages. When they both find themselves on the same camping trip, they decide it’s time to take a chance.

A/N: So have y’all read @cxddlyash’s Camping With The Boys? You should! Because this is a spin-off of that just with a different couple. Thank you Britt for letting me make spin-offs of your works!

Content: General shenanigans. Implied smut.

Word Count: 3.2K

And away, and away we go!

~~~ The sun was warm on my face, and the sand squelched beneath my toes as the water provided a refreshing relief to my hot legs. It was day 2 of a week long camping trip for “family bonding” and I had spent the better part of the day down here at the beach because I was already sick of their shit. I had no cell service so calling for backup was out of the question. To make matters worse I had spent so much time staring at that boy’s face that my phone was dead. 

If I closed my eyes hard enough I could see his brown eyes. Brown eyes that were way prettier than my own brown eyes could ever hope to be. That dark blue hair that was too short to grasp but my fingers itched to try to grab hold anyway. Tattooed dark skin I wanted to to taste and touch every inch of. 

I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts. Calum Hood was the last thing I needed to be thinking about. We’d been friends for years. So long I couldn’t count. And I had a crush on him for just as long. Something in the way he always lit up a little more when we locked eyes made me think he felt the same way too. But we were at a stalemate. Both too worried about the implications of what it would change if we made a move. 

Honestly, it was a stupid fear. In all reality I think we both knew that nothing would actually change between us. It would be just like it always had been. I could just finally kiss that pretty boy I saw every time I closed my eyes. 

With a sigh, I trudged back up the beach, heading for the campsite. I had packed the thickest book I owned- the complete works of Sherlock Holmes- so I comforted myself with the idea of getting lost in the adventures of the detective. Fuck, I hated camping. 

~~~

If I wasn’t able to notice that black SUV in the dark- which I could- I would definitely notice the two blonde idiots and my pretty boy any day of the goddamn week, while blindfolded. What the hell were they doing here?! And why hadn’t they invited me?!

I stalked over, getting a little thrill over the way Calum’s eyes widened as he recognized my stomping. “Bri?!” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?!”

I held up a finger. While all I really wanted to do was kiss his stupid squishy cheeked face, I had bigger fish to fry. Because where Ashton Irwin’s car and camper was, it meant that my best friend, Y/N, was sure to be near. 

“Yo fuckers!” I yelled as I pounded my fist on the camper door. “Get the fuck out here so I can yell at you!”

My tongue clicked in my cheek and my flip-flops covered my feet in a layer of dirt as they tapped impatiently. “Holy shit!” my friend laughed from inside the camper. “Bitch! What are you doing here?!”

The camper door flew open and my best friend came crashing into my arms. I instinctively threw my arms around her and we laughed as we swayed back and forth. I felt eyes on us, and I knew the brown pair was the heaviest. I knew he was licking his lips, wishing that it was him I was hugging this tight. Little did he know I was thinking the same thing. “What am I doing here? What are you guys doing here?! And why didn’t you invite me?!” I asked, letting her go and putting my hands on my hips.

My best friend scoffed and pointed at Calum, Luke, and Mike. “Ask them! I was the only female they invited!” she exclaims and I whip my head to look at them.

Calum’s big brown eyes grew bigger as he raised his hands in surrender. “You told me you were camping with your family this weekend,” he defended, his voice dropping low and steady to keep me from flying off the handle.

“So?! I would’ve still come if you asked,” I sassed back, crossing my arms over my chest.

A giggle from my friend’s lips sounded in my ear as the boys stared at me with their mouths hanging open.

I walked off, muttering under my breath about grabbing my stuff because there was no way in hell I was staying with my family when Calum Hood was in the next campsite over. I didn’t even need to look over my shoulder to know he’s following after me.

~~~

“Might actually be better if you sleep here,” Calum said as he helped me pack up my tent.

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

His shoulders shrugged. “Ash and Y/N already claimed the bedroom. All that’s left is the futon and the bunks.”

I frowned. Had Y/N finally become a thing with Ashton and hadn’t told me? “So I’ll sleep on the futon. Luke and Mikey can take the bunks.”

“And where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” he asked, tattooed arms crossing over his chest.

“On the futon with me?”

“Really?”

I shrugged, ducking my head so he couldn’t see how red my face was. “Would that be so weird? We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Friends.”

I winced at the way he said ‘friend’ like I had broken his heart before he even gave me the chance to love it. I had never wanted to be just his friend. Didn’t he know that by now?

~~~

“So I think it’s safe to say that you two owe me fifty bucks,” Calum said, his brown eyes dancing in the firelight as he looked over at Ashton and Y/N.

Y/N scoffed and crossed her arms. “What the fuck are you talking about Cal?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Ashton and I haven’t touched each other.”

I snickered into my hand. Calum had informed me of the bet he had made with Ashton and Y/N. I was still a little upset she hadn’t told me already, but I knew she probably had her reasons.

“Bullshit,” Luke snorted and she turned her head so fast it gave me whiplash. “You two didn’t close the curtain to your bedroom earlier s we saw everything. We all know the two of you made out.”

I gasped as I smacked her arm, a little harder than I intended as she shrieked and rubbed where I hit her. “You two made out and didn’t tell me?! Am I not your best friend anymore?!” I pouted.

She let out a small groan as she shook her head. No doubt this was not the way she wanted to tell me about her shacking up with the hazel-eyed beauty. “Of course you and I are and I was going to tell you… after the trip.” Her voice mumbled the last part as her fingers fiddled with the sleeve of Ashton’s hoodie. “And at least I’m making moves with the guy I like.”

I narrowed my eyes, huffing in outrage as she giggled and leaned into Ashton. How dare she point out the obvious. Well, I wasn’t about to back down from a challenge. “I’ll show you moves,” I mumbled, my hands scraping against the bark of the wooden log I was seated on as I rushed over to Calum on his. I placed my hands on either of his cheeks- those soft squishy cheeks- and planted on right on those plump lips of his. I smirked into the kiss as I saw his eyes widen then flutter shut, the low whistles from the boys and the crackle of the campfire echoing in my mind as I straddle myself over his legs, wrapping my legs around his waist as we deepen the kiss. His tongue opened my mouth and I let out a ridiculous moan as his large hands roamed over my back, pulling me closer.

Y/N cleared her throat loudly, pulling me unwillingly out of this state of bliss. I sighed both in content and in longing as I pulled away. I unwrapped my legs and swung myself around so I was still on his lap but now facing the others. Y/N raised an eyebrow at us in a silent question. I shrugged in response, a grin spreading across my lips that only grew bigger when I caught Calum’s cheeks flushing. “Who won’t be able to keep their hands off each other now?” Y/N asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

My own cheeks flushed with a flash of heat as I slid off Calum’s lap to sit side by side with him as his hands scratched at the back of his head, the beanie pushing up on his head. Then, that hand was grabbing mine, intertwining his long fingers with mine. More heat rushed through me, this time throughout my entire body, and I knew it wasn’t because of my close proximity to the fire.”Shut up, Y/N,” he mumbled, giving my hand a squeeze.

~~~

I woke up to Calum’s arm flung across my chest, his lips parted ever so slightly as his shoulders moved with his steady breathing. I moved slowly to kiss him awake, watching as those doe eyes snapped open and the lazy smile spread across his face as his mind woke up. “Hey, he mumbled sleepily, kissing my nose.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I had in my whole life,” I said, in reference to falling asleep with him by my side.

“Me too.” His eyes crinkled as his smile got wider. “But I meant with Miss Moans A Lot,” he said with a nod of his head in the direction of the bedroom door that had shook the camper when it slammed shut on loud giggles.

I giggled. “I didn’t really notice,” I answered honestly. Last night I had lost myself in those chocolate eyes that looked deep into my soul, the dark blue hair that fell through my fingers because it was still too short for me to grip into, the way his calloused yet soft to the touch fingertips lit a fire inside of me as they traveled across my skin. I had been too focused on the boy above me to pay attention to what had been happening elsewhere. “We weren’t loud, were we?” I asked worriedly, with a glance towards the bunks where the blondes were still sleeping.

He shook his head. “Tore up my skin pretty good though,” he said with a wink.

I surveyed the damage of hickies from my mouth and red splotches from my fingers that decorated his tanned neck, shoulders, and torso. “Oops?” I giggled.

He laughed with me, then pushed himself up and reached for the shirt he discarded last night, slipping it on along with his beanie.

“Hey, Cal?” I whispered, keeping my voice low one out of courtesy to my friends still sleeping, and two out of fear.

“Hmm?” he hummed, leaning his back against the wall of the camper that acted as the headboard to the futon.

“Cal-” I started, but faltered. Fuck, how did I confess years worth of pining to one of my best friends? How did I explain that what we had shared last night went bone deep, not just a product of two horny young adults more or less alone in the wilderness?

He moved to lean forward. his eyes heavy on mine. “I know,” he whispered, before kissing me softly. “And this isn’t the end, I promise. Just the beginning, okay?”

My heart pounded loudly in my ears. “Cal, I-” I started again.

“Shh. No. I’m not gonna let you get the first kiss and the first ‘I love you’.”

“You’re not just saying it to say it?” I asked, biting my lip and averting my gaze.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, then his hand was guiding me to look back at him. “I loved you before last night. And I still love you now. I will love you until I die, Bri.”

“Me too,” I smiled, feeling a tear slide down my cheek and his calloused thumb catching it. Then, I got up to grab my phone that was now fully charged thanks to Ashton Irwin and his camper. “Can I take a picture of you?” I asked, suddenly shy despite having never once asked permission to take a picture of him before.

He chuckled and moved to the edge of the futon, legs dangling off the edge, pouting his lips a little and throwing up a rock sign that seemed more befitting of his best friend. I snapped the picture, smiling at how he looked, forever cementing the magic of the moment. “Lemme see,” he sat, patting the space next to him.

I handed him my phone as I took a seat next to him. “Good or nah?” I asked.

“You tell me,” he said, passing me back my phone.

I noticed how it was now my lockscreen. “Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” I giggled.

“Maybe… say cheese!” he said before his phone was out and he was snapping a series of photos of me as I covered my hand with my face and laughed, “Cal stop!”

“What? You look beautiful,” he said, showing me his phone.

“Oh, God!” I laughed more. “Cal, these are horrible. My hair looks like shit.”

“Fine, fine,” he relented, wrapping his arm around me to pull me close, holding out his other arm to get a decent angle. “Tell me when.”

I snatched the beanie off his head and threw it over my hair. “When,” I said, leaning to cover his cheek in kisses, his face turning so we ended up in a small make out as he snapped more pictures. “Much better,” I said, once we were done and we selected the best one to make his lockscreen.

“Aw fuck,” he said, before quickly editing the picture so it looked like I was just kissing him, “There. That’s perfect.”

“But now we don’t match,” I pointed out.

“Well here,” he said, taking my phone and we took another series of us kissing. He quickly made one of the pictures become mostly his face kissing me before making it my lockscreen. “Now we match.”

“I feel like you just wanted an excuse to kiss me,” I giggled.

“You’re the one who kissed me first,” he pointed out. “And do I need a reason to kiss my girlfriend?”

I shook my head, grinning. Him finally calling me his girlfriend sent shivers down my spine.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, kissing me again and again and again.

“Oh not you two, too!” I heard Luke groan, his blue eyes rolling as he slammed a pillow into his face and screamed.

“Would you shut up!” Mike complained, chucking his own pillow down in Luke’s bunk. “I didn’t get any sleep thanks to those guys last night and now I got your dumb ass screaming.”

I shared a look with Calum, our eyes wide, hoping that Mike was referring to Ashton and Y/N. “Who kept you up last night, Mikey?” I ventured bravely.

“Who do you think?” he hissed, pointing an accusing towards the bedroom door. I let out a sigh of relief. “This was supposed to be a dude’s trip, but Ash ain’t got no backbone…”

“Oh, he’s clearly got some sort of bone,” Calum laughed.

Luke screamed louder into his pillow and Mike’s feet shook the camper as he jumped down. Mike’s green eyes snapped to alert noticing how close and Calum and I were. “So are you two…?” he let the question hang in the air.

Calum and I shared a look before nodding.

Mike shook his head in disbelief. “That must’ve been some kiss,” he muttered with another shake of his head before plopping down with Calum and me on the futon. He sighed deeply. “What do I gotta do to get Steff to kiss me like that?” he wondered out loud.

“Coffee,” Luke declared suddenly, getting up and moving to the kitchen area. “Coffee, coffee, coffee.”

“Yes, coffee,” Calum agreed laughing. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Mike’s eyes went wide before he threw himself off the futon, hollering. “I didn’t need to know that! It was bad enough I know what Y/N sounds like when she moans!”

“Oh, hush,” I scolded, reaching over to push his shoulder. “It’s not like you heard us.”

“Thank God for that...” Mike replied with an eye roll.

“Wouldn’t mind hearing you moan, pretty girl,” Calum’s voice breathed in my ear and I shivered before smacking his arm with a shocked, “Stop that!”

“Yes, stop it, please,” Luke begged, pouring coffee into four cups for us all and passing them around. “Just stop.”

The bedroom door slid open and Y/N stepped out. “Morning guys,” she greeted brightly.

Luke grumbled into his coffee cup, the pause in the sexual adventures of his friends too short-lived for his liking. “You know these walls aren’t exactly soundproof, right?” he asked, his blue eyes the same sharpness of a stove flame as he sipped his coffee.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” she said, grabbing a water from the fridge before sitting next to me.

I snorted into my hand first because of where she was sitting, then at Ashton walking out of the bedroom, running his hands through his midnight-colored hair, a goofy grin on his face. “Ah, the man of the hour,” I announced. “The guy who can get my best friend to moan super loud.” I winced as she slapped me and her cheeks flushed.

Ashton chuckled as he pressed a coffee cup in my friend’s hands and a kiss on her head before sitting down on the floor with Mike. “My bad. Couldn’t resist,” he shrugged at me.

“Yeah, well let’s not do that for the rest of the trip, yeah?” Calum asked while Y/N nodded her head in agreement, her cheeks still bright red. “But I’m glad you two are finally together. We all are,” he said, his brown eyes shifting to me.

I smiled at him, getting that yes, he was talking about our friends, but about me and him as well.

~~~

@calpal_hoodie made a post: We’re classic together with @badasschic

Liked by @badasschic, @SmashIrwin, @faby/n, @lukeyloo, and @mikerowave_X

@SmashIrwin: WHOOHOO! Those are my friends!

@faby/n commented: WHAT?!

@lukeyloo replied to @faby/n: If ya took your lips off @SmashIrwin long enough…

@calpal_hoodie replied to @faby/n: Yeah, you still owe me $50. Pay up, I gotta take my woman on a date!

@badasschic replied to @faby/n: Bitch better have my man’s money! But double date yeah?

@faby/n replied to @badasschic: OH HELL YES!

@mikerowave_X commented: Hi, yes, how do I unsubscribe from my friends?

@badasschic made a post: Like Egyptian gold with @calpal_hoodie

Liked by @calpal_hoodie, @faby/n, @SmashIrwin, @lukeyloo, and @mikerowave_X

@faby/n commented: Ooo! Matching captions AND posts?! @SmashIrwin how come we can’t be this cute, huh?!

@badasschic replied to @faby/n: Ooo! Can anyone say “BUSTED!”?

@mikerowave_X replied to @badasschic: BUSTED!

@lukeyloo replied to @badasschic: BUSTED!

@calpal_hoodie replied to @badasschic: BUSTED! Also, notice how he’s suddenly not here anymore????

@SmashIrwin replied to @badasschic: Sorry, I was busy making it up to her in PERSON! BOOM SUCKAS! What now @calpal_hoodie?!

@calpal_hoodie replied to @SmashIrwin: 1.) you’re gross 2.) double date your treat cuz your girl still owes me fifty big ones SUCKA!

@SmashIrwin replied to @calpal_hoodie: Deal.

@badasschic replied to @SmashIrwin: @faby/n DATE NIGHT LET’S GO!

I smiled all the notifications on my phone. Fuck, I loved camping.

~~~

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[stahlop]

I Get Knocked Down (but I get up again) (1/1)

I've rated this M for some overall dark themes. There is no smut whatsoever.

This was inspired by an interview I heard Sophia Bush do about how her parents met.

Thanks to the @cspupstravaganza​ event! I had a lot of fun working on this.

And thanks to @profdanglaisstuff​ for being my beta and to @thisonesatellite​ for being my cheerleader behind the scenes.

Rated: M (for mature themes, no smut)

Or read on Ao3.

Summary: Emma thinks her new neighbor is hot. Like really hot. Now if she could just get her Great Dane to stop knocking him down every time she sees him.

It started with a dog.

A dog that didn’t start out as her dog. Emma Swan is much more a cat person. But when her friend Lily needs a dog sitter for her Great Dane, Maleficent, while she goes to a meeting with an agent in LA, Emma can’t refuse. LA is only an hour away from their little seaside town of Storybrooke. It won’t be a big deal. 

Until Lily doesn’t come home. The agent wants her now. She’s going to get her big break. She’s going to have to live in an apartment the agency puts her up in, and there are absolutely no dogs allowed. Especially Great Danes. 

So now she is stuck with Maleficent (Mal for short), who, despite being named for a Disney villain, is the sweetest dog ever. Emma considers giving her to a shelter for about one second, but Mal’s sweet doggy face just doesn’t let her. The fact that she is the size of a pony is the issue, considering Emma lives in a small bungalow with an equally small backyard. Luckily she owns it and doesn’t have to worry about pet restrictions. And after doing some research, Emma discovers that Great Danes actually do quite well in small houses and don’t need much exercise. Which is good since Emma prefers the gym to running. 

Emma’s had Mal for a month when he moves in behind her. Now, the bungalow does have a fence, but considering Mal’s size, she easily looks over it when on her hind legs. Which could be quite scary for people walking in the alley. Or for people living behind her. The second he moves in Mal becomes moody. Every time he’s in his yard she starts barking and whining non-stop. Not to mention the absolutely girly shriek he gives the first time he sees Mal’s head peek over the fence. 

“Bloody hell!” he yells after the shriek subsides. Emma, giggles at the sound he makes, and rushes over to the fence. It is short enough that it comes up to her shoulders so she can see her new backyard neighbor across the alleyway. “What the hell is that?”

“Sorry!” Emma says as she sees her new neighbor flat on his back in his yard (he has a much lower fence so she can see into his yard perfectly). It’s as if Mal’s barks had enough force to knock him down. And then her jaw drops. 

Emma isn’t sure what she expected from her new neighbor, but it wasn’t this gorgeous guy, picking himself up off the ground, before her. His black jeans hugging his ass and his gray Henley hugging his muscular arms just right. Emma notices that he wears several rings on his right hand and a chain with several charms around his neck. But his face. Oh god! That face. Emma is in no way, shape, or form a poet, but she’s pretty sure inspiration would come from the beauty that is his face, and the wonderfully disheveled hair and scruff all around his chin and upper lip. Emma starts to feel tingly in her lower extremities. She hasn’t felt this turned on since...well it’s been awhile.

The new neighbor sees her peeking over the fence and makes his way over. He smiles the moment he sees Emma’s head over the fence instead of Mal’s. 

“Sorry about that,” Emma says as he makes his way across the alley and toward her fence. She notices the heavy eyebrows and the guyliner as he crosses over. God he is hot! “Mal likes to freak out the neighbors,” she says giving a shy smile.

Hot neighbor raises an eyebrow making the tingly sensation even worse. Get a grip, Emma! she thinks to herself. Just because he makes her all hot and bothered doesn’t mean he is interested in her.

“Mal?” he asks hesitantly. Emma thinks she detects a British accent.

“My dog, that scared you,” Emma says, biting her lip to suppress another giggle about to emerge when she thinks about his reaction to her dog.

“That was a dog?” he asks incredulously. Yep, definitely British. “Oh, thank god! I thought it was some kind of demon come to take me to hell.” Emma almost bursts out laughing. 

“Nope,” Emma shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her, “just a very large Great Dane.” He reaches the fence and slowly peers over it to see Mal, now sunbathing in the backyard. “Sorry for such a scary introduction to the neighborhood. Mal’s still getting used to it here. I’ve just recently acquired her. My name’s Emma, by the way. Emma Swan.” She lifts her right hand over the fence to shake his and hopefully also get an introduction.

“Mal?” he asks instead of giving his name or shaking her hand.

“Short for Maleficent. I think it was the ears that earned her the name from her former owner.  She kind of looks like she has horns.” Emma explains, remembering how bad she felt for the dog when Lily saddled her with the name. Especially since she is not evil in the least.

“Ah, I see,” hot neighbor responds. He studies Mal for a few moments before finally continuing with, “Killian Jones.” He lifts his right hand to shake for his introduction, which is a little awkward since it is the same hand Emma held out. The sleeve of his shirt lifts up and she can just make out a large heart tattoo with a woman’s name in it. Emma drops his hand awkwardly. Of course hot neigh -- Killian -- has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

“Well, Swan, I must be getting back. Lots to unpack. I’ll see you around,” he says with a grin. 

“Of course,” Emma says, a little flustered. She really likes the way he’s calling her Swan. “Um, if you’re interested in a beer sometime, let me know. I can show you some great bars around here.” She grins, and then hoping she isn’t sending the wrong message, “ You being new and all.” 

He looks up, surprised, but then his face breaks into a gorgeous smile.

“I’d like that, love. I’ll let you know when I have a free moment.” And with that he crosses the alley back into his own yard.

________________________________________________________________

It’s a few days before Emma sees Killian Jones again. She knows when he is out in his yard because of Mal’s incessant barking. Her bark sounds different whenever it’s Killian. More high pitched and whiney. Not the deep bark she associates with Mal when she barks at the mailman or the garbage collectors. She says hi over the fence and he says hi back, but otherwise, they haven’t had much interaction. And it isn’t like Emma is waiting around for Killian to get back to her about getting a beer. She’s been staking out some high end hotels and restaurants for a glimpse of her client’s wife getting it on with someone other than her client, without getting kicked out of said establishments for hiding out and taking pictures. One of the dilemmas of being a private investigator. 

Emma hasn’t taken Mal out for a proper walk in weeks because of this job, so she feels it is about time. She puts on some workout gear, pulls her hair back into a messy ponytail, grabs Mal’s leash and sets out for a walk.

It is glorious to be outside in the cool California afternoon. Emma takes in deep breaths of the salty, ocean air (she only lives a few blocks away from the shore). She misses just being able to walk around and take in the gorgeous scenery of the town she lives in.

She sets a relaxing pace with Mal. Emma is thankful that Mal is not the type of dog to be curious and run after every little thing that catches her attention. Emma would probably end up with a dislocated shoulder otherwise. And, because of Mal’s size, Emma is usually free of men who try to hit on women with dogs. That is, except for Walsh.

Walsh used to be the owner of a posh furniture shop in LA proper, but  decided to open up a beach shop on the boardwalk for ‘kitschy beach chairs’. LA is apparently too modern to buy antique furniture. No matter what time of day it is, he always seems to be at the shop, and he always tries to talk to her and ask her out, despite her repeatedly turning him down, and that Mal starts growling whenever they get anywhere near the vicinity of his shop. He gives her the creeps.

Emma attempts to come up with an excuse for Walsh about why she can’t talk to him today when she feels a sharp tug on Mal’s leash. It’s pretty much all the warning she gets when Mal starts running full speed and barking at some intended target. 

“Mal! Stop!” Emma screams at the 100 pound dog. Luckily, previous years working in the bail bonds business helps her keep her balance while running and not dragged down the boardwalk by Mal.  She tries to pull on the leash, but Mal’s will is much stronger. Emma has no idea where Mal is heading but she has to drop the leash or risk injury to herself.

But before she can let go, Mal finds her target, rears back on her hind legs, and pins it to the ground.

Pins him to the ground.

Oh dear lord.

“Oh my god! Mal get off! Killian! Are you okay?”

Killian is sprawled out on the boardwalk with Mal’s front paws on his chest. Mal is alternatively giving off her higher pitched whine-bark and licking Killian’s face. He looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and Emma is sure Mal’s body weight isn’t helping matters in the breathing department.

She pulls with all her might and finally manages to get her large dog off of Killian. Emma ties Mal to a nearby bike rack that is built into the ground. Mal seems happy with the outcome. She barks a few more times at Killian before flopping unceremoniously onto the wooden walkway.

“Shit! Are you okay? Do you need a hand getting up?” Emma asks holding out both her hands. By this point, Killian’s managed to start breathing normally again although he still seems a bit dazed. “Here, let me just…” She reaches down to grab his hands, but realizes that his left arm does not, in fact, have a hand at the end of it.

“Always need a hand, love,” Killian jokes. He tries to laugh about it, but ends up wheezing, his lungs still not getting all the required oxygen. Emma walks him over to a nearby bench. 

“I am so sorry,” Emma says sitting him down and dusting him off. “She’s never gone after anyone like that before, at least, not since I’ve had her. Lily always said she was always real well behaved.” Killian quirks an eyebrow at that. God, he has such beautiful blue eyes. She just wants to drown in them.

“I think my life just passed before my eyes, Swan,” Killian says, but she can tell he says it in jest.

“Again, I am so sorry.” Emma says. She briefly looks past Killian to check on Mal, who is still lying contently on the boardwalk.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian says looking at her earnestly. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you came to own such a creature. From what I’ve glimpsed, you seem more like someone who would own a feline, maybe a small dog, definitely not that monstrosity.” He grins at that so she knows he isn’t insulting Mal or herself.

“Oh.” She smiles. “Well, I kind of, inherited her? I was pet sitting her for my former best friend, Lily, who I mentioned earlier, when she skipped town and left everything behind, including her dog. And, well, I kind of know what it’s like to be left behind. So now she’s mine!” Emma says in mock enthusiasm and she realizes how much of herself she has revealed in that statement.

“Yeah,” He is staring straight into her eyes now, practically into her soul. “I get that, the left behind part.” He reaches for a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail and pushes it back behind her ear. Despite the nice weather, Emma shivers. The tingle in her nether regions is also definitely back.

He has a girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Her mind keeps yelling at her.  Emma suddenly feels very naked in her fitted yoga pants and tank top.

“Um,” Emma stands up suddenly. “I should probably take Mal home before she decides to attack anymore unsuspecting boardwalk patrons.” She gets up quickly and is about to head toward Mal when Killian gently grabs her wrist.

“Would you like to grab that beer tonight?” He flashes a smile that she is pretty sure would make her melt right on the spot despite the cool temperature.

“I…” HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!!! She gives her best smile, preparing to let him down easy, but instead what comes out of her mouth is, “Sure, I’d love to.”

________________________________________________________________

Skinny jeans, white sweater, brown knee-high boots.

Emma checks her image in the mirror. She curled her hair just a touch, and put on just a little bit of makeup. Just what she wears on a normal basis. She is not dressing for Killian, nope, not at all. 

Killian is coming over to pick her up and they are going to walk over to a local bar that Emma frequents. Just two neighbors getting to know each other. Yep, that is all it --

Emma’s thoughts are interrupted by Mal’s barking. The bark she now recognizes as the one she uses for Killian. And then she hears Mal running and then a whump. And then-

“Bloody hell!”

Shit!

She told Killian the door would be open and to just come in.

Emma rushes out of her bedroom to see Killian pinned against the door by Mal. Her tail is wagging and she is licking the crap out of Killian’s face.

“Mal!” Emma shouts. Mal looks over at her, gives a huff of annoyance before licking Killian one last time, and heads off to another part of the bungalow.

“I am so sorry. I have no idea why she keeps attacking you,” Emma says. She leads him over to the couch. “Are you hurt? Did she hurt you? Let me get you a washcloth to get all that slobber off your face.” She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a warm, damp kitchen towel.

“No worries, Swan. I actually think she rather fancies me,” he says, a warm smile coming over his face as he rubs the towel over it. “But she may have knocked some of the handsome out of me,” he cheekily says.

“I don’t think even she’s that powerful.” Emma jokes grabbing the towel and laying it on the kitchen counter to put in the laundry basket later.

“Ah, so you think I’m handsome.” Killian smirks at her when she walks back over to the couch. Emma immediately starts to blush. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire. 

“Well, I can see why Mal fancies you. She probably confused your scruff as dog fur or something.” That is so lame. Really Emma?  He laughs at her joke anyway, staring into her green eyes. Suddenly, there’s an awkwardness permeating the air. Killian’s hand goes to scratch a spot behind his ear, a nervous tick if Emma’s ever seen one. Emma’s about to just haul off and kiss him when she notices the tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. That stops her cold in her tracks.

“Um, maybe we should just forget going out tonight, and you should just go back home,” she says regretfully. Killian looks bewildered at the break in the tension. He shakes his head as if seeing Emma for the first time and his eyes question hers.

“Did I do…” Killian’s expression is one of confusion, but his features are schooled very quickly. Emma isn’t even sure if she actually saw the confused look or if she’s just imagining it. She doesn’t know him well enough to know his expressions yet. But she’s almost positive that he does not want to leave.

Killian gets up slowly. He takes his time, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in his pants and pulling his sleeve down. He doesn’t even glance at the tattoo when he shakes his arm to get the right sleeve down, but he does look defeated when pulling the sleeve over his wrist where his arm ends. He looks resigned as he heads toward the door.

The second Killian’s hand clicks the door handle, Mal comes running out, ready to attack Killian again. He anticipates it this time though, and moves quickly to the side so that Mal smacks herself right into the door with a loud thud and ends up sprawled out over the floor.

“Mal!” Emma groans. She swears she’s said Mal’s name more in the past few days since Killian moved in than she has the entire time she’s had her. Mal looks confused when she picks herself up and Emma can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She whines as she walks over to Emma and puts her head in her lap.

“Aww, did someone hurt herself?” Emma says in a baby voice while petting Mal’s head. Mal just looks at her and huffs.

Killian looks at the insane situation that has just occurred in front of him and realizes something. “Swan, I don’t think Mal wants me to leave,” he says, slowly walking over to Mal and petting her backside. Mal’s tail starts going full force.

Emma stares at Mal with a questioning expression. Mal stares back at Emma with her patented ‘it wasn’t me’ look before she lets out a whine, licks Killian’s hand one more time, and then runs off toward the back of the house. What the hell?

“Do you still want me to go?” Killian asks, a hint of longing shining in his eyes. Emma shakes her head. He turns to Emma to ask another question but she cuts him off before he can even get a word out.

“Tell me about your tattoo,” she says states plainly. Killian sinks into the couch, his face going pale.

“That’s not usually something I talk about without a few drinks in me, love.” 

Emma holds up her hand to keep him from continuing. She gets up and walks over to the fridge and comes back with some local IPA that she bought from some Artisanal Beer festival she had gone to recently. She pops the tops and hands one to Killian before she settles herself back onto the couch. He takes a swig, puts the beer bottle on the end table, and uses his stump to push his sleeve back.

It is an intricately drawn tattoo and absolutely stunning. A blood red heart takes up Killian’s entire wrist. The name Milah is written in beautiful script in the middle. A blade pierces the top of the heart. Killian reaches back for his beer before he begins to speak.

“Her name was Milah,” he begins. Emma does not miss the fact that he uses the word ‘was’. ”and she was an amazing woman. She was my brother’s neighbor. I met her  when I had some leave from the Royal Navy. I thought I’d surprise Liam, but he was with his girlfriend, now wife. Milah took pity on me and showed me where the spare key was. I guess she recognized me from my pictures in Liam’s house. She was older than me. I was 25, she was 32, same age I am now,” he gives a small chuckle at that, as if he just realizes what that means. He takes another swig before continuing. 

“Milah was like a ray of sunshine. I was beginning to get disillusioned with the Navy. Liam had been in it as well and had always talked about it as if it were the best job ever. He’d gone into the private sector when he met Elsa. I had been debating it, which is why I was wanting to see Liam. Milah was in a bad marriage. She’d married too young to someone she didn’t really know well. He was controlling. Wouldn’t let her work. Isolated her from family and friends. Typical abuser.” Emma nods understanding. She’s dealt with many abusers in her past and line of work. “She was an artist. Beautiful watercolors. I have some hanging in my place.” Killian stops to take a breath. Emma places her hand on his. She wants to let him know that he is safe.

“She had a child. She wouldn’t leave even if she could, because she refused to let her son grow up with only his father. She wanted to shield him. He was only six when we got involved. Eventually, her husband found out. He threw her out of the house, told her not to come back for the boy if family wasn’t important to her. She had no job, no means of support, no place to live, and no money to hire a lawyer. We came up with a plan, a stupid plan, to take her son, get married, and go to the base. Her husband wouldn’t have been able to follow us there.” He is taking more sips of his beer, almost after every sentence. Emma squeezes his hand. Killian looks into her eyes and sees there is no judgement there. She has had her own dragons to slay.

“We planned it for the middle of the night. Bae wouldn’t be home during the day because of school, and we’d discovered that her husband had told the school that she was not permitted to pick Bae up. He had hired a full-time ‘nanny’ to watch him while he was at work.” He shakes his head. Emma isn’t sure if it’s from the memory or the absolute absurdity of it all. “We snuck in around midnight. Bae always kept his window open. He was scared when we woke him, but he hated his father. He was perfectly willing to come with us. Milah and I tried to be quiet, but her husband heard us. I’m not sure if he knew what was going on or if he truly thought we were burgling the place, either way, he came in with a knife.” Killian closes his eyes, the memories overwhelming him.

‘I’m still not clear on why he had a knife instead of a gun, maybe he was afraid that a stray bullet would kill or hurt Bae. What I do know is that he immediately went after Milah. I managed to block the first strike, but he cut straight into my wrist. Cut several tendons and broke several bones with the force of it. A centimeter over and I would have bled out according to the surgeon. I was lucky I only lost the hand.” He rubs his hand over the stump. “After I was out of commission, he went for Milah again. Stabbed her in the heart. She didn’t stand a chance. The ‘nanny’ must have heard all the commotion and had called the police. They shot him dead.” Tears were pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes. Emma brings his hand back to hers and kisses it. Killian smiles at her, letting her know he’s okay.

“I tried to get custody of Bae, knew it was what Milah would have wanted, but since we never got married I had no legal claim. He ended up with a distant relative. I couldn’t stay there after that. Because of the injury I was medically discharged from the Navy. I couldn’t stay at Liam’s, not when her ghost was haunting me next door. I ambled around for a few years, got the tattoo as a reminder, then got a call from an old Navy buddy of mine to stop wallowing and start living again. Said he had a bungalow for rent in California.” He pauses and gauges Emma’s face for any sign that she is not ready for what he’s about to say next. Killian takes a deep breath before his confession. “And I never thought I’d find someone again. Didn’t want to find someone again. I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, that is, until I met you. So here I am.” He finishes up by chugging the rest of his beer.  Emma looks at him without an ounce of pity in her face. Yes, his story is sad and tugs at her heartstrings, but without it, he would not be the man sitting in front of her. The man she still really wants to know. 

Killian looks up at her, not sure what to expect. She doesn’t say anything, just grabs his empty beer bottle, along with hers, and brings them into the kitchen. She grabs two whiskey glasses and pours an amber liquid into them. She comes back to the couch and hands one to him.

“Rum.” Emma explains. “I figure we both might need something stronger than beer.” Killian laughs at that. Tragic backstories usually didn’t make it into the romcom kind of story they’d been going down. 

“I was raised in the foster system.” She begins. She rarely tells anyone her humble beginnings, especially not men she barely knows, but his honesty touches her and she knows that he knows she has had demons in the past as well. She knows he sees it in her eyes. Knows that he’s been able to read her like an open book ever since the talk on the boardwalk. Killian nods his head signaling that it’s okay for her to continue.  “Never knew my parents. Never want to know my parents. They left me on the side of the road. I mean, what kind of people do that? Leave you on the side of the fucking road in just a baby blanket? I could have been run over!” She’s angry now. Killian wants to take her hand and console her, but he knows she needs to work through it on her own. She sips her drink and takes a breath. “I used to think that because my baby blanket was homemade and had my name on it that my parents must have cared. That the abandonment was some sort of accident. But then I noticed in the group homes how we would get personalized items donated to us. The one thing I thought had belonged to me may not have. I may have just been randomly wrapped in a blanket with someone else’s name.” Killian’s hand inches toward Emma’s. He doesn’t hold it like she had with him, but instead, rubs his thumb in small patterns on the back of her hand. It comforts her immensely.

‘When I was 16 I ran away from what was probably the best foster home I’d been in. The mom had wanted to adopt me, but because she was single and fostered several children, the state wouldn’t allow it. That was the last straw for me. I left, went up to Portland, and met Neal. I thought he was just about the greatest thing ever. He was older, 23 I think, he never actually said. But he was old enough to buy beer legally. He was also wanted for stealing a large amount of watches, like $100,000 worth of watches.” Emma grips Killian’s hand for support before she continues the next part of the story, her rum long gone.

“It was my idea, so I thought it was my fault. I volunteered to go get the watches from a locker at the bus depot. If they were looking for Neal, a young girl wouldn’t show up on their radar. I got them and, God, I was so proud of myself. Neal was going to sell them, get the money, and then we were going to go over to Canada and lay low. I had just turned 17. Neal gave me one of the watches as a belated birthday present. Told me to meet him over by some deserted fairgrounds where we would sleep sometimes.” Emma takes a breath. She sees that Killian knows exactly where this story is heading.

“It was a set-up. An anonymous tip had the cops all over me. I had one of the stolen watches around my wrist. They had video from the bus depot of me taking the watches from the locker. I thought it had to be a mistake. I couldn’t have been set up by the first person to ever love me. Happy birthday to me, right?  I wouldn’t give Neal up. I still trusted him. Trusted that he would make things right somehow. I ended up in juvie for 11 months. And I was so fucking naive. Every visitor’s weekend I was convinced he’d come and see me somehow. Or he’d send a letter apologizing for what he’d done. But he never did. But you know who did? Sarah, my foster mom. The one I’d run away from in the first place. And she would send me letters letting me know I always had a place to stay when I was out. I was lucky to still be a minor when I got out. Sarah got custody of me, finally, and she helped me straighten out my life. I even changed my last name to match hers when I turned 18 since she’d always wanted me with her. So, at least one of my names is truly mine.” Emma stops to laugh as a memory pops into her head.

“Her favorite song was that Chumbawumba song. You remember that one? ‘I get knocked down, then I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.’” Killian nods. “She used to sing it all the time. That kind of became my mantra.  And while it’s always been a figurative mantra for me, it seems like it could be a literal mantra for you with the way Mal’s been knocking you down.” Emma smiles. Killian still holds her hand and it comforts her, it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest like it should for two people who barely know each other. The cathartic release of their demons have bound them together in ways Emma didn’t know existed outside of movies.

Mal has snuck back in at some point. She lies next to the side of the couch, her head peeking out from around the corner. She notices Emma eyeing her and she edges out a little, asking permission with her face to come out all the way.

“Come on, Mal.” Emma says. Mal knows not to over do it. She would love to jump on top of them on the couch, but instead, satisfies herself by lying at Emma and Killian’s feet instead.

“So, apparently my dog likes you.” Emma says to Killian as she brings Mal’s face to her own and kisses her nose.

“Well, I like you too, Mal,” he says as he scratches behind her ears. He scoots forwards a bit and is right in Emma’s space. His blue eyes look right into hers when he adds, “And I like your owner as well.” The tingle turns into a full on swarm of butterflies in Emma’s stomach. She surges forward and attacks his lips. She desperately holds his shoulders bringing him closer to her. His lips glide along hers. He tugs on her lower lip as she moves her fingers to his hair and runs them through it. Killian wraps his blunted arm around her and brings the other to her chin. He pulls away slightly asking permission with his eyes to do a little more than kissing. Emma scoffs.

“Trying to be a gentleman?” She asks sarcastically.

“Swan, I’m always a gentleman.” Killian goes to kiss her again when a loud noise shatters the moment. Both Killian and Emma look down to see Mal yawning below them. 

“Are we boring you, Mal? All that hard work to get me to stay and now you don’t want to watch the fruits of your labor?” Killian asks petting her head. Mal whines and puts her head under her paws.

He goes home promising to take her out properly the next night.

They don’t go out the next night. 

They don’t leave her house for the next week.

Their engagement photos feature Mal pinning Killian to the ground as Emma helps him up.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615

[thatfanficstuff]

The Light in my Darkness - 2

Pairing: none yet

Warnings: language but if that bothers you should quit reading this now. 

A/N: I meant to have this up way earlier but ya know. Enjoy my lovelies. This is so much fun to write. 

***

“I don’t understand why you won’t give me this one thing.”

Sharon’s voice had taken on a nasal quality that grated on Clint Barton’s nerves. Of course, the entire argument was an annoyance he shouldn’t be bothered with. They had an agreement for a reason. He clenched his teeth and worked the muscle in his jaw. He was choosing his words carefully, not wanting the conversation to devolve any further. “I’m going to assume you didn’t mean to imply that I don’t provide you with everything you need.”

Her full bottom lip curled out in a pout and she batted her eyelashes at him. “You know I didn’t mean that, baby. You take such good care of me.”

He arched a brow but didn’t bother to respond. The monthly credit card bill was more than sufficient to show that she was more than taken care of. He crossed the room to look out the window, putting her at his back. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was time to end this. Sharon could be difficult at times but did it outweigh the time and effort he would have to put into finding a new companion? He sighed. God, I sound like a miserable bastard, he thought. Though he tried not to think about it too hard as he was far from happy with his current situation.

Small hands ran over the back of his jacket and across his shoulders.  He resisted the urge to shrug off her touch. 

“Look, we’ve been seeing each other for awhile now. My father thinks it time the two of you met. That’s all.” She’d curbed her tone to sound more reasonable and less whiney, but it was all a game. Everything that came from her mouth was calculated to get what she wanted. It should probably have bothered him more than it did, but he knew what she was when they started this.

He turned to face her. “The only reason he wants to meet me now is you’ve led on that we’re more than what we are. You could have told your parents that this was a casual relationship.”

Her lips pursed and she huffed as she turned away from him to grab her drink off the table. “They aren’t likely to believe that when I’m living with you.”

“We do not live together. You’ve never even seen my house and I’m barely ever here. I hate this apartment.”

Her brow furrowed as if this was news to her, though he’d mentioned it before. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s cold. Impersonal.” Everything in the apartment was chrome and shades of gray. Nothing about it remotely said home to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you’d approve. The designer I hired was one of the best.”

“I did say something, but I’m not the one living here, Sharon. If this makes you happy, so be it.” He raked a hand through his hair.

Her scowl slid into a sly smile. “See, I knew you cared about my happiness.” She sauntered back over to him and slipped her free hand into the front of his jacket. “You want everyone to think you’re so cool and unmovable, but you’re such a good boyfriend, Clint.”

Panic crawled up his spine when she called him her boyfriend. That wouldn’t do at all. He grasped her upper arms and moved her back away from him. “That’s not what this is and you know it. Quite frankly, I’m getting tired of having to remind you.”

“Why are you like this?” Tears welled in her eyes.

Clint didn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. The tears were about as real as the rest of her. “I’m the same as I was the day you met me.”

She slammed her glass down before crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s precisely the problem. By now I thought you would have come around to the idea of us. We’re perfect together. Why can’t you see that?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t love you? It’s too late for that.”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He pulled out his phone and began to send a series of texts. Without looking at her, he spoke. “We’re done here, Sharon. Tonight signals the end of our agreement. This is over.”

“You’re breaking up with me because I told you that I love you?” Her voice was low, little more than a whisper.  

He bit back the harsher words he wanted to say. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. He wouldn’t let her get to him. “You don’t love me and don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You love my money. Not that I expect you to know the difference.”

Her glare might have made a lesser man pause, but Clint barely acknowledged it. “You can’t do this to me. I’ll tell everyone the truth. I’ll let them know the kind of man you are.”

His brows lifted and his mouth twitched at the threat. He licked his lips. “You signed a contract that forbids you from doing precisely that. Do it and you’ll hear from my attorneys. Besides, do you really want to tell everyone that you agreed to be in a relationship with me in exchange for money? I don’t think it’s me people will be judging.”

She stomped her foot and growled in frustration. His eyes followed her as she paced angrily across the floor. Suddenly, she snapped back toward him. “I’ll tell them you hit me.”

Anger flared through him then, hot and hungry. His shoulders rolled back and his spine went rigid. “You want to repeat that?”

Sharon ran her gaze over him and whatever she saw must have been enough to make her rethink her words. She shook her head. “I deserve more than this. I deserve better.”

“You deserve nothing. I have paid your every expense for the past eight months in exchange for you decorating my arm in public and a few nights in a lukewarm bed. I was clear from the beginning that was all this was. All it would ever be. I am not responsible for your delusions.”

“But it’s not a delusion. You really care for me. I can tell.”

He felt a twinge of sympathy for her until she continued.

“Please don’t cut me off. I need you.”

“As you’ve just made abundantly clear, you need my money. Not me. Frankly, you aren’t worth the headache anymore. I’ll give you three days to vacate the apartment. You may take personal belongings only. Everything else is to remain.” It was harsher than he intended to be, but apparently it was needed in this situation.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she gaped at him. “You can’t just expect me to leave. This is my apartment.”

“No, it’s my apartment. You really should read your contract, sweetheart.” And with those words, he turned and left. He slammed the door on her cursing his name and took the stairs two at a time down to the garage.

As his driver opened the door to the car for him, Clint smiled. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. Yes, Sharon was a weight he should have done away with some time ago.

“Is Miss Carter not joining us?” Scott asked and Clint didn’t miss the way the corner of the man’s mouth kicked up. His driver had never cared for Sharon and the feeling was mutual.

“Miss Carter will not be joining us again ever,” Clint answered as he slid onto the back seat. He could have sworn he heard Scott mutter ‘thank fuck’ before he shut the door. Clint chuckled and finished sending the emails he needed to make sure the flow of money in Sharon’s direction stopped.

His relief was only dampened by the fact he would have to find a new companion or he’d be right back to dodging money hungry women in no time. One soul-crushing relationship in a lifetime was enough. He had no desire to ever repeat the experience.

***

Once he arrived home, he dismissed Scott and entered through the kitchen door at the side of the house. He jerked to a stop when his eyes fell on Wanda sitting at the table with a pint of ice cream in front of her. Though she was scowling at the food in front of her, she wasn’t crying. Clint could handle anything as long as she didn’t start crying. Despite her obvious upset, he found himself smiling. He was always happy to see his girl. The house had been far too quiet since she moved into her own place closer to school.

He unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it before tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. After that, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to reveal several of his tattoos. There. Now, he felt more like himself. He eyed Wanda but she still hadn’t acknowledged him beyond lifting her spoon in a wave. Moving to the fridge, he grabbed a couple of beers and went to join her at the table. He offered her one but she made a face.

“Beer and ice cream? Yuck.”

He grinned and cracked his open. After taking a long swallow, he sat the bottle on the table. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m just a little bummed.” She rested her chin in her hand with a sigh.

“If it’s not a big deal, why did you drive all the way over here to eat my ice cream?”

She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Since when do you like pistachio?”

He shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “Talk to me. Who do I need to kill?”

That got him a laugh and his heart lightened considerably.

She shook her head. “It’s Y/N.”

Clint’s chest tightened a little at the mention of your name. You’d been a fixture in their lives since high school. He’d gotten used to having you around. Sometime in the last couple of years, he’d realized his feelings for you had shifted. Once he had, he’d done his best to stomp them into the ground and when that failed to work entirely, he started to avoid you. “Did you two have a fight?”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “Of course not. We’re just not getting the apartment together anymore.”

He leaned back in his chair with a frown. The two of you had been planning on being roommates forever but it wasn’t practical with you in business school. Your change in majors had come with a transfer to Wanda’s college so now was the perfect time. “Well, why not?” Clint prompted when she didn’t continue on her own.

“Her father refuses to pay for anything unless she goes back to business school. He’s kicking her out of her apartment and cutting her off completely. She planned on financial aid covering her expenses but they won’t give her any money since her dad makes too much,” she told him quickly without taking a breath.

“Fucking Rumlow,” Clint muttered. He hated that man and still didn’t understand how someone like Y/N could have the same genes. “She doesn’t have to pay for her portion of the apartment, Wanda. You know I don’t care about that.”

She pointed at him with her spoon. “I know that and I told her as much, but she won’t do it. She can’t afford her classes much less her half of an apartment. They offered her all the hours she wanted at the diner but she won’t do that either. She’ll think it’s taking advantage of their kindness. You know how she is. I think she’s going to get another job. I’m never going to see her.”

Clint sipped at his beer as he mulled over the situation. If it was up to him, he would just pay for your tuition and your half of the apartment, but Wanda was right. You wouldn’t take it. You were one of the best people he knew and you certainly didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe he should call Rumlow and have a few words with him. He doubted that would have any affect on the situation, but he couldn’t think of what else to do.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. A glance at the screen showed a text from Natasha wanting to verify he and his plus one would be attending a charity gala on Friday evening. He started to type back a reply but froze, his thumb hovering over the phone. He’d just had a fantastic, horrible idea. He slipped his phone back into his pocket without responding.

You needed money, which he could provide. And he needed someone with a flexible schedule to attend events with him. Go to the occasional dinner. Someone to make him appear unavailable. You were always ready and anxious to help where needed. If he explained this right, maybe both of you could end up with what you needed. And if it meant he spent more time with you, he wouldn’t complain. He could manage to keep his hands to himself while you enjoyed each other’s company. He’d been practicing for years now.

He cleared his throat, catching Wanda’s attention. He met her eye and smiled. “Have Y/N come by the office and see me tomorrow. I might be able to help her out.”

[rainbows-fanfics]

My New Reason (Chapter 12)

Chapter 1 |   Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Summary:  Louis is falling for someone he really shouldn’t be, and the same is happening to Clementine.  Lousentine/Clouis

Clementine's P.O.V. "I'll be back, okay? I promise I won't fuck around, so we won't take too long." Those would be horrible last words. For some reason, sending Louis off to scavenge outside of the safe zone was harder than I anticipated. I had frequent suspicions that something would go wrong whenever he left. But this morning, when I was wishing him luck and giving him my usual words of advice, something tightened in my chest. I could feel the recurring goosebumps on my neck; the ones that came before a storm. I recalled him catching this, recognizing my hesitancy while holding my hand. He gave me a firm squeeze and said those very words to me, with a look so soft that he reminded me of a small kitten. I had to swallow down my worries, the anxiety of what could happen, and let go of his hand. He kissed my forehead. It was a long, meaningful one - the silent message, to me, that he'd be careful. Then, he left. The last thing I saw was his figure disappearing into the woods. And the last thing I remember is feeling a heavy weight on my shoulders, accompanied by a cold swelling that encapsulated my heart. I was dealing with these thoughts, these suspicions - the growing concern that my boyfriend would not come back. That he would be bitten, injured, or abandoned. Like the people I've known in the past. I tried to get my mind off of it by practicing my archery and checking on the walls, but even that couldn't distract me from my fear. I was sitting beside A.J., watching him and Tennessee draw. I figured spending some time with my boy would ease my mind; get me to stop overthinking about my boyfriend's trip. It worked a little bit, but every time I saw A.J. smile, it reminded me of Louis. I tapped my knuckles on the wood, watching attentively as he worked on a drawing. This was another one of me and him, except now he was working on another figure in the picture. I was trying to see who it was, but his hand was blocking my view. I tapped my foot underneath the table in hopes that it would calm me down. Tenn noticed my fidgeting and laid down his pencil. "Hey, um, if you're worried them - th-they'll come back." "How do you know?" I asked. "Because they're smart. They always come back." "They're taking awhile. That's what worries me."

"Maybe it means the traps are full, and we'll be eating dinner tonight." He grabbed his pencil with a shrug. My eyes passed by his sketchbook. He was drawing a group of rabbits. Probably what he was hoping to see when they came back. I felt a tap on my arm and turned to the side, where I found A.J. holding his piece of paper up. I didn't hesitate to take it and look at what he had drawn. "This is great, kiddo." I looked at the trees and the tire swing. "You're getting better." "Yeah, but did you see who I added?" He pointed to the right to show the new addition. "It's Louis!" As my golden eyes traveled over the stick-like figure, I could see the similarities. Mostly by the hair and the trench coat. I couldn't fight the smile growing on my lips as I looked at the three of us. A.J. was holding my hand along with Louis. We were all smiling, and above us was the word (written the best he could manage): Family. My whole body tingled just reading it. "Wow, that's...that's really good. But why did you draw Louis?" "Well, he says we're 'Team Fun', but I like to think we're family. Like you said. So, I drew him with us." Tenn glanced over and showed his approval. "I think it looks great, A.J." "Not as good as yours." "Do you want to learn how to draw rabbits? I can show you." "Yeah, cool!" I noticed the two were started to do their own thing and decided to take my leave, bringing A.J.'s drawing with me. I made my way into the dorms and entered our room. I placed his drawing among the collection we made on the wall. This one I made sure was centered among them all. I took a step back once it was hung and looked at it in pride. I'll have to make sure Louis sees this when he gets back... Louis. The perturbed feeling came back to me as I thought of him. My thoughts went wild again, now wondering if he would even get to see what A.J. created. If he'd ever know that A.J. considered him family. Before my mind got depressive, I removed myself from the rooms and felt a mixture of fear and doubt swell in my body. I tried to conceal it the best I could while I passed by the others, but the moment I was alone, I clutched the sides of my head. "Get it together, Clementine." I muttered angrily to myself. "Nothing's going to happen. Just...calm down." I collapsed on the ground in defeat. I noticed I was sitting nearby a tree and grabbed my knife, angrily cutting into the bark before I could register my actions. I wasn't paying attention while I cut into the tree, but when I removed the blade, I realized I made something unintentionally. A heart. I looked back at my knife. Had I really made that unconsciously? In the midst of fear? Slowly, I went forward to carve into the lines some more. By this point it was legible on the tree. I decided to complete it, cutting my initial and Louis' inside the heart. When that was done, I stopped to look at my work. It was sloppy, but I was proud of it, nonetheless. "Wow. I should be an artist." Somehow, drawing that heart calmed me. And it was what probably beckoned me to make more. I went around finding trees around the school so I could carve hearts on them, with the initials and everything. I found that I was getting better drawing them by the time I finished. When I ran out of trees, I went to the tables outside and carved them on there, too. I don't know why I did all of this. It was somehow relaxing to keep my hands working. My mind just blanked when I made them, and I really needed that at a time like this. My impulsiveness was ahead of me because by this point I had drawn about 15 hearts. I stopped myself from dulling my blade altogether and returned it to its rightful spot. When I came around the corner of one building, I was stopped by someone nearly running into me. I realized right away that it was Louis. I didn't hesitate to wrap my arms around him, squeezing tighter than I intended. I knew I was smiling, but I was oblivious to the tears running down my cheeks. "Fuck, you're back!" I didn't realize how excited I sound. It was almost like I haven't seen him for months. I felt his hand come around my back, where he leaned down to lay a kiss on my forehead again. The relief washed over me as he laughed. The sound made my heart skip a beat. "You sound disappointed," He teased. "I'm anything but." I squeezed him one more time before letting go. "What the hell took you guys so long?" "There's this rabbit family Aasim has been checking on. They're all grown-up now. Or, at least they were. We've got a full meal tonight." "Did anything happen? Any raiders? Psychos? Is everyone alright?" "We're all back in one piece." He tsked. "It was actually kind of boring. A few walkers came, but that was it. I didn't fuck around, as promised." I sighed. Thank God. "Well, thank you for being careful. I...was starting to get worried, actually." "Clementine? Worried about ME?" He felt my forehead. "Did you get sick while I was gone?" I swatted his hand away. "Come on, don't make me not miss you." "Why would you? I'm back." He grinned. "I was looking for you, actually. A.J. came to me, but you weren't there. I was a little worried." "I'm fine. Just decided to take a walk." I lied. "Well, let's take a walk back. So you can see our catch. Shit, you should see the size of the mom! Looks like she could feed two people." He turned to leave, but I grabbed his sleeve before he could. He turned back to me and I struggled finding the right words. Instead, I removed my hand to sit down on the grass and rest my back against the wall. I patted the spot beside me. "Let's spend some time together first." I insisted. "You were gone for hours, you know." I fluttered my eyelashes. He shook his head. "I can't say no to a face like that." He sat down next to me and rested Chairles on his side. I didn't realize he was holding it this whole time until now. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, moving my hand so it was on his chest. I missed him. I had no idea why, either. Maybe it was because I thought he wasn't going to come back at all. "So, anything interesting happen while I was gone?" He asked. "A.J. drew something for you. It's back in the room." "Shit, that's awesome! What is it?" "You're going to have to see for yourself." I heard him mutter a 'damn' and tried not to giggle. I held his hand with mine and used the other to feel around him. I eventually came to the wooden handle of Chairles, and swiped it without even thinking. I felt Louis stir, but he made no movement of protest. I turned to get a better look at the weapon, wondering if I should really go through with what I was thinking. Yeah. I totally should. I examined each side of Chairles as I twirled it around in my hand. After finding a spot to my satisfaction, I unsheathed my knife and cut into its surface. I heard Louis gasp and gag from beside me, but didn't stop. I could even see his hands hovering around me as I continued with my work. "Hey, excuse me, I'm technically as Chairles' father, and as such I am NOT permitting my child a tattoo! Not until he's 18!" "Well, that's just too bad, I guess." I had to suck in the laughter as I handed him back his weapon and my knife. "Go ahead and finish it." "Finish wha- Oh." He saw what I had carved on the side. It was a heart with my initial carved inside it, the spot next to it purposely left blank so he could fill in his own. I watched observantly as his eyes glossed over it before they darted over to mine. He hesitated by fidgeting with the handle of the knife, gripping Chairles tighter in his hand. Carefully, Louis took the edge of the blade and cut his initial into the wood. After that was done, he handed me back my knife and I returned it to its rightful place. I caught him inspecting his handiwork and took a hold of it myself. Our initials looked no different than the ones that were on the piano, or the ones I had carved on the trees and the tables, but this one held just as much significance to me. "Our potato looks great." I stated proudly. He sighed. "You're never going to let that die, are you?" "Nope." He shook his head and glanced back at the chair leg. He fingered the indents with his thumb and smiled softly. I wanted to tease him about getting splinters, but I found my own hand on top of the initials before I could. Then my fingers crossed over his, and we entwined them without even thinking. Our hands rested over the heart. His head lowered on top of mine where he rested his chin on top of my hat. I could hear him murmuring from above me. "I saw what you did, with the trees." He brought up. "That was...really cool." "You did?" "Well, yeah. I saw you carve our initials everywhere. That's actually how I found you - I was following the hearts." I flushed. I didn't know what I was expecting - I was practically marking them for the whole school to see. Everyone else has probably seen them by this point. I could just imagine Ruby swearing, Mitch writing over them, or Aasim rolling his eyes and writing about it in his diary. They all probably thought Louis made them, which made it even more hilarious. "Yeah. I got a little carried away." I admitted. "I kind of missed you while you were gone, so that was how I kept myself busy." "You know, I was worried about you. You were acting off when I left. But now I know you just missed me." He grinned cheekily. I huffed."-As much as I hate to admit it...you're right." "Naturally." "But I was worried about you getting hurt, or bitten, or dying. Or, anything, I really." I looked away from him. "I had that feeling again, and I thought it was going to be right. But it wasn't." "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I tripped on a rock and ran into a tree." "No, it doesn't." I moved so I was in front of him, resting my head on the side of his neck. "But I'm glad you're okay." We remained like that for awhile, my arms wrapped around him and my head in the crook of his shoulder. I laid a trail of kisses on his neck that led to his jaw. It felt nice to be touching him again, hearing his voice. Even if he was saying stupid stuff. "Should I start kissing you before I leave?" He teased. "So you're not worrying that I'm going to die a horrible death when I'm not here?" I blushed. "Don't ruin this moment, okay?" "Gotcha'." "...It would be nice, though..." He moved my head from his shoulder and tipped it so my eyes met with his. We went closer to each other without even thinking, and our lips locked naturally. Kissing him happened so often now that it was like a new instinct of mine. As my lips brushed against his, I let out a moan in relief - relief that I could be kissing him again, alive, and in one piece. His hand came to my neck and pulled me closer so our bodies were touching. I was still melting from that kiss, holding the sides of his shoulders with a smile. The stress and fear was gone. Now I was happy again. While I could be, at least. He tugged gently at my pigtails, sending pleasant goosebumps down my body. "Oh, and that drawing A.J. made..." I brought up. "It's of the three of us. He said he drew his family." "Wait, I'm in there?" He asked. "Yeah. He drew us holding his hands." I grabbed his for good measure. "We all look pretty happy." "...Shit..." He sounded surprised. "I- he really....Clem?" "Yeah?" "I love you. And--And A.J." He used both of his arms to hold me closer. "So much..." I lowered my eyes, brushing his dreads to the side so I could kiss his forehead. "We love you, too."

[stayextrafrosty]

Of Saints and Sin: Chapter 2

Fall Out Boy mob boss AU

Warnings: lots of violence, cursing, and general angst

Read On AO3

Patrick paced about his office. He had to figure out how to address the threat made by the Snakes. He certainly wasn’t going to give it over to them. That would be too much territory. The little club was one of the farthest west they controlled. Ending just before Douglas Park and extending south until Englewood.

Patrick ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should move on their territory. Englewood was known to have gang related violence problems. Perhaps if he moved his guys in, they could get it under control. Of course, he had no idea what they planned to do if he didn’t give up V’s club.

There was a knock at the door. He sighed and moved to open it. Joe stood on the other side. Patrick looked around for the other guys but didn’t see them. He stepped to the side to let Joe pass. It was strange for him to come alone.

“What’s up? Something happen?” Joe shrugged and wandered to sit behind the desk.

“Seemed like you had something to talk about with all that pacing you were doing. Try not to carve a rut into the floor.” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Ya know, if you don’t have anything useful to say…” Patrick trailed off. Joe shifted some papers around on the desk.

“I just came to see what you were thinking about. You have a tendency to not tell anyone anything.” Patrick shrugged his suit jacket off and tossed it on a nearby chair. “Need some advice?” Joe sighed when he didn’t respond.

“What happened to Smyth was not your fault. He made that choice to protect you, just like Andy, Pete, and I would.” Patrick clenched his fists. There was that stupid ‘not your fault’ thing again.

“I really wish everyone would stop saying that,” he mumbled.

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself!” Joe stood suddenly. “Get your shit together, Trick. You’re the boss. These things happen sometimes. But you gotta figure out how to work things through. You can’t just bail.” Joe stood across from him, arms crossed. Patrick was surprised. He hadn’t had the gift of being lectured by Joe recently.

“There’s a group out there that wants your head. If you don’t make a stand for your territory then what’s the fucking point? Threaten them back, Trick! Get a hold of Englewood! I’m sure you even figured out that much.” Joe may as well have been shaking his shoulders.

“Yea, I got it. But it’s not like we can just march in there and start shooting. We don’t even know what they plan to do if I don’t give up the territory.”

“Let’s assume murder? That’s generally the type of path they take.” A short pause. “Let me and the other two go in there. We know a bar in Englewood that’s close to the boarder. We get that under our control, the people won’t have to deal with those damn Snakes anymore.”

“You say it like that and it doesn’t sound much better.” Joe rolled his eyes.

“Your choice, boss. But at least with you running things, they’ll have a chance to rebuild.” Patrick thought for a moment. They were his friends and he didn’t want them hurt, too. But they had received the name ‘trio from hell’ for a reason. Patrick sighed, then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll inform our groups near that area in case of retaliation.” Patrick caught the almost giddy smile he tried to hide. The three of them were scary enough to make a chill run down Patrick’s spine. Joe made his way toward the door.

“Hey,” Patrick called. “If any of you don’t come back, I will raise you from the dead and kill you myself.” Joe chuckled.

“Understood.” He gave a half salute and left. Patrick glanced out the window. He prayed that he wasn’t wrong about this move.

-

The three boys sat in their car on the border of Englewood. The neon sign was visible but just barely. It flickered constantly, letting them know of the poor funding this bar was getting. The Snakes weren’t taking care of their property. That left this place wide open for invasion.

“You guys ready,” Pete said, loading his gun.

“Always,” Joe replied. Pete looked over to Andy who just nodded as he played with the knife in his hand. He carried but didn’t use it that often. Andy was like a last resort type of guy. Silent and watching. The best back up the other two could ever ask for.

The sun set over the horizon, painting the sky a deep blue and purple. Pete stepped out of the car, sticking his gun in the holster hidden by his jacket. They looked around and couldn’t see any threats.

The three of them sauntered into the bar, fake laughing about some fake joke. No one paid them much mind, at least from what they could tell. They took their spots at the bar. Only Joe and Pete ordered. Andy was never into the drinking.

“What can I git ya’ll?” The woman behind the bar looked tired. She seemed to be hoping for a simple evening. Pete’s heart ached. He remembered living on the wrong side. It could be awful.

“I’ll just take whatever beer is the special,” Pete said smiling at the woman.

“I second that,” Joe added. She nodded and looked over to Andy.

“What about you, Sweets?”

“Water. If you don’t mind.” She hurried away to grab the glasses. Pool balls cracked from the other side of the room. Joe glanced over his shoulder. He noticed a tattoo poking out from the collar of the guy shooting. He looked over the small group of guys. One of them didn’t wear a jacket so he could see the tattoo clearly.

An open-mouthed viper with blood gracing its teeth is hard to miss.

Joe cursed under his breath. They were going to make this difficult. He nudged Pete and Andy. He opened his mouth but the woman returned with their drinks. Pete handed the woman a twenty. She looked down at it with surprise.

“Keep the change,” he lowered his voice, “do me a favor and hide out in the back for a bit.” The woman looked confused for a second. Pete rolled up his sleeves, flashing the small volcano tattoo on his wrist. She glanced behind them. She clearly knew this was an invasion. She leaned in close.

“You intend to kick them out? You boys best understand you’re cleaning up the blood.” She stood and headed through the door to the kitchen. The three of them shared a look and stood. They made their way over to the pool table.

“Hey, we got next,” Pete called. Six pairs of eyes trained on them. One of them shifted. Pete’s eyes zeroed in on the seventh person. A young girl sat stiff, next to who he could only assume was the designated leader. She was clearly uncomfortable. She couldn’t be older than sixteen. Patrick’s rule stuck out in his mind. She didn’t need to be part of this.

“And why should we let you use our pool table?” A cigarette hung out of the speaker’s mouth. Joe shrugged.

“I don’t know, cause we asked nicely?” The group of guys laughed sarcastically. Clearly, they weren’t impressed with his sarcasm.

“You kids gotta be new round here. Allow me to explain the rules.” The assumed leader stood and the three of them had to look up. He was easily over six feet. The girl he was sitting with looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. She knew how these things ended.

“First of all, we are the Snakes. You don’t order us around. Second, if you’re breathing, it’s because we allow it. But right now, ur in real serious danger of losin’ that gift.” The other people had moved far away from the group. Some even left. That was probably for the best.

“All this for a pool table? You guys need to chill or something,” Pete trailed off. The guy grabbed his shirt.

“The fuck you tryna start, pipsqueak?” Pete sighed.

“I’d recommend you put me down. We just wanted to use the pool table. This is our territory now.” Joe pulled out his gun in a matter of seconds and had it locked on the leader. The bar fell silent.

“Quite frankly, you’re all pretty dense. Can’t even tell when you’re fucked,” Joe mentioned. They were pushing it. As far as they knew, these guys didn’t have guns but knives were a completely different story.

“You little shits are from that north side gang ain’t ya? Didn’t ya get the message? You’re just asking for people to die,” one of them said.

“That’s why we’re here. North Englewood is ours now. And you’re leaving both this area and the one you threatened to steal. Why don’t you send that news to your boss? We’ve got reserves all over.”

“Fat chance of that you prick!” The leader shoved Pete back and reached into his pocket, whipping out a knife. Pete knew it. No way would they be unarmed.

Joe adjusted his aim slightly and fired. The bullet lodged itself in the leader’s arm and he yelped in pain. Blood seeped from the wound. The three of them put some distance between them and the other gang. If they could maintain it, they would win.

Knives appeared in the Snakes hands. Some were bigger than others. Andy glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t jumped from behind.

“Stop it! Let’s just go! Please!” The three guys all looked over to the girl in the back. Tears rolled down her face. She grabbed the hand of the leader.

“Shut up. There’s no backing down now. You want to be a weak little thing then go. Run away.” The guys shared a look before Joe spoke.

“I’d listen to the girl. At least she’s smart.” Pete nodded along.

“Yea, and we’d rather not get her involved in this.”

“Threatening my girl now? You’re all gunna die.” The group jumped at them but they were clumsy. Only one looked like he actually knew how to wield a knife. Most swung blindly and the three Overcasts jumped out of the way easily.

Pete grabbed his gun out of the holster. He aimed at the leg of the guy closest to him. Avoid killing people if he could. That’s what Patrick always said. Pete admired the guy but sometimes he wondered if he really understood what this was.

The guy winced but was still stumbling toward them. Pete fired a second shot to the other leg and he finally went down. The blood didn’t bother him anymore, having seen so much of it.

The guy laying on the ground had his eyes screwed shut in pain. When another lunged he simply kicked the guy on the ground, causing him to cry out. Some brotherhood they were. The other guy was able to graze Pete along his arm. The cut wasn’t deep but it stung. Pete moved to fire but his shooting arm was no longer steady. He fired but missed the guy entirely.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“Down,” Andy called. Pete curled up and Andy fired a couple shots through the guys shoulders. He stumbled forward and Pete tripped him. He hit his head against a table and laid still on the ground. Pete wondered briefly if he was dead but shuffled over to Andy once he realized he didn’t care.

“Thanks for having my back dude.” Andy nodded and reloaded his gun. There was no time for appreciation right now.

Joe held his own against two other guys. They tried to circle him but he was too fast. They would jump one at a time and made it painfully easy for him to avoid their attacks. He fired a shot into the hip of one guy, sending him down

Before he had time to register, the other guy had a knife to his neck. It pressed against him firmly, pricking the skin.

“Whatcha gunna do now boy? Don’t exactly got many options. It’s either die or die.” The guy cackled, pressing the knife against him harder. Joe tried dropping his weight, but he still held on. Pete and Andy watched with caution. They knew Joe could get out of this.

“If I only have one option then why am I still alive? Seems like false advertisement to me. If you’re gunna threaten someone, at least follow through.” Joe considered that it might be a bad time to be a smart ass, but he had a feeling this guy was bluffing. The blade pricked his skin, sending a drop of blood sliding down his neck. Joe tried not to flinch.

“I ain’t ever met a kid so eager to die.” He couldn’t disarm the guy. Not with his weapon pressed against his throat.

“Some people would consider death a sweet gift. I am no exception,” Joe said, keeping up his joking manner. He just needed to get the knife even an inch away. This could backfire horribly and he knew it. But the more time passed, the harder it would be for this guy to go through with the threat.

The guy faltered slightly, showing concern for another human. It was only a moment but it was all Joe needed. He moved away from the knife and shoved him back. He brought his knee up between his legs as hard as he could. The guy stumbled and then crumbled to the ground. Joe lifted his gun and pointed it at the guy’s head, ready to pull if the need were to arise.

“Stop it! This is senseless! Why are you trying to kill each other?” This girl was back, tears stained her face. But the fear was replaced with anger. She stood in between Joe and the guy on the ground. Pete watched the girl. She wasn’t as much of a victim as he thought. She did choose to be here.

“Killing is never our favorite thing to do. We avoid it if we can. That doesn’t mean we won’t protect ourselves… Or others.” Pete spoke slowly, trying to determine if she was baiting them.

“Why do you want so much territory? This whole thing is stupid. Just leave each other alone!” The leader had pulled himself together and he stiffly stepped next to her. He draped an arm around her, smearing blood on her clothes.

“I told you, babe, it’s for our safety. Honor.” She smacked his arm away, turning her wrath towards him.

“What is honorable about killing people? I’ve never been in more danger than when I’m with you. I can’t take it! I want no part of this!” She spun towards the Overcasts. “Move.” She moved toward them, as they stood between her and the door.

The leader grabbed her before she could get too far. He pulled out his knife and held it against her neck. The blood dripped down and fear took over her face.

“You think you can just leave me you bitch? You know too much. You’re a liability now. So, you gotta die babe. Such a waist of a good body.” The guys jumped, no longer concerned with their safety. They needed to get her away from him.

Pete aimed a punch where the leader was hit earlier. Joe pointed his gun at his head, and Andy reached for the girl. The leader flinched when Pete hit him but never loosened his grip on the girl. He tisked.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not my fault your little boss don’t know how to deal with loose ends.”

“Let her go. She doesn’t deserve to be covered in blood. She’s far too young for this shit. And you’re disgusting for bringing her into this.” He cackled.

“This bitch ain’t as innocent as she looks. How old are you babe? Twenty or something?” She struggled in his grip but it was difficult for her to move with a knife against her throat. The guys shared a look. Would Patrick really want them to spare this waste of space?

-

Patrick tapped his fingers on his desk. This was taking too long. He should have heard from them by now. Pete told him not to call but what was he supposed to do? What if they were in some sort of trouble and he was just sitting around waiting for information? That wasn’t how he wanted to do things.

He grabbed his phone and clicked to Pete’s contact. His finger hovered over the call button. Joe promised him that they would take care of it. He shouldn’t have let them go alone. They were his best friends. He basically sent them to die. Not that he didn’t trust them to do their job but what kind of man would he be if he just left them there.

“Don’t even think about it, kid.” Smyth hobbled in on crutches. “The last thing those guys need is you storming in there while they do their job.”

“They should be back by now.” Patrick tentatively set his phone back on the table.

“Just trust them. They said they would call so give ‘em a chance.” He moved a chair to help Smyth sit down.

“I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt on my behalf.” He laughed and shook his head.

“Look kid, if you didn’t want that then you signed up for the wrong position.” Patrick glared at him. Was it so wrong that he didn’t think people should be dying for him? The phone rang out through the room. Patrick jumped a bit but rushed over anyway. The number wasn’t one he recognized. He answered and slowly lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” There was a heavy sigh and a chuckle from the other end of the phone.

“You certainly don’t sound like a forty-year-old. Somethin’ tells me you was hiding back in that little bar.” Patrick gripped the phone.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” He tried to keep his voice steady. Something was not right.

“Well I ain’t gunna rat on the people that get me my information. I offered you a deal in that little strip club. I want your answer before I blow up all your little friends. The right answer might spare them.” Patrick ground his teeth. Fucking hell.

“Look. Why don’t we have a conversation face to face. Ya know, like actual people.” He spoke slowly, thinking that it might help somehow. The voice snorted.

“Yea why don’t we just go out for a cup of coffee and a sandwich? Sounds like a damn dream. Fucking northsider, you really are stupid.” He could imagine the guy shaking his head. “Your little trio took out my guys. That’s not exactly polite. Course I guess they did save my baby sister. Never did like that guy. They were expendable. More a liability than anything.” He continued on like he wasn’t discussing people’s lives.

Patrick paced about the room and ran a hand through his hair. He had never met someone who had such a disregard for life. He glanced at Smyth.

“Don’t you dare cave. Your guys are deadly.” Patrick took a breath and nodded at him in thanks. Smyth was right. He needed to trust his friends. He kept them close for a reason.

“How about I make you a different offer,” Patrick said. He needed to choose his words carefully. He had reserves all around that bar but didn’t want to make the snake bite.

“For someone who tries to put humanity on a pedestal, you sure seem eager to watch people die. That ain’t how deals work,” he scoffed.

“If you weren’t concerned about keeping that territory then you would just blow it up. The only reason you’re calling is so we don’t take it over. You considered those goonies of yours a liability but that doesn’t mean they weren’t holding onto that territory. So why don’t you just give it up?” Silence from the other end.

“So, if you wouldn’t mind leaving my guys alone and we won’t have to take any more of your territory. You stay out of that club while you’re at it. They don’t need scum like you running it into the ground.” The phone clicked off. Patrick spun towards Smyth.

“Pretty ballsy, kid. Now you gotta make sure he doesn’t retaliate. Go to your guys.” He nodded and rushed out of the room. He called V as soon as he got in the car. She never gave him her phone number, so he was forced to call the bar itself.

“We’re not open today if that’s why you’re calling.” Her voice rang through the Bluetooth in the car.

“V it’s me. You lock every damn door into that place, you got it? I don’t need to be worrying about you and that bar while I’m trying to protect my guys. Don’t let anyone in. The Snakes might be moving.”

“Oh, how romantic.” He shook his head and hung up. He did not have time for her sass.

Patrick sped through the streets, nearly hitting more than a few other cars. He swerved in and out of traffic towards the south side.

-

The stand-off had been going for nearly ten minutes. Every time the guys took a step, the leader would press the knife harder against her throat. They were stuck.

“I don’t get why you don’t just kill both of us? Why spare her? Not like she’s worth anything to you. She’s not even worth anything to her brother.” The guys shared a look.

“What are you talking about,” Pete asked slowly. He cackled again. The girl struggled but only succeeded in cutting herself more.

“Ha! You didn’t even know this little bitch was our dear leaders sister? Your informants are shit. Course, I could just blame that on your boss.” They couldn’t kill the girl. That was even more clear now. They didn’t need a bigger target on their back. Killing the leader’s sister in cold blood would be grounds for being kicked out of the gang.

“Our boss knows how to get shit done. His value for human life isn’t a liability,” Pete said. They didn’t know how much time they had before the girl was killed. Perhaps the leader was just buying time for backup.

“We’ll give you one more warning. Let the girl go and get out of here. This place is ours now.” Pete signaled to Joe as he spoke. Joe nodded and shifted the aim of his gun so it pointed at the leader’s head. He saw this and laughed.

“So ur just gunna go against your boss’s orders? What happened to all that valuing life shit?” Joe shrugged as Andy spoke.

“Deadly force is permitted when protecting others.” The guy scoffed.

“Bitch you ain’t worth dying.” He shoved the girl away from him. At least he has some sort of common sense. Joe thought. She stumbled forward and forced her way behind the guys. Pete watched her as she ran out the door. At least she was safe.

“Step one done. Now get out and don’t come back,” Andy threatened. The guy shrugged and sat back down on the couch.

“If you don’t kill me then the boss will so I’d rather die being loyal,” he took a sip from his beer. The guys shared a look. He probably wasn’t lying. Joe wanted to kill him. He deserved it but not when he was just giving up without having a care for his own life.

“That kind of loyalty is admirable. Too bad you’re still a piece’a shit who was gunna kill my baby sister.” The guys spun at the voice.

A guy stood there. His thinning hair line made him seem much older than he probably was. He opened and closed a lighter, like a tick. The girl from before hid behind him, looking much smaller than before. There was no way these two were related.

“I’ll deal with you little shits in a second. You can blame ur boss for ur deaths.” He pulled a gun out of the waistband of his jeans. He moved toward them lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Pete focused his gun at the leader of the Snakes. He didn’t even flinch.

“Make another move and I won’t hesitate to kill you. I’d rather enjoy it actually.” The guy may as well have yawned.

“Yea but ur little boss wants to do it don’t he? I ain’t worried about you.” He shoved past them and took aim at the other guy’s head. He looked horrified. The leader’s eyes glinted with excitement. He wanted to kill him. Pete glanced back at the girl. She had turned away and covered her ears. She should have never been involved.

“Have some god damn class and at least keep your sister out of this.” The Snakes leader only turned his head slightly in response.

“She’s free to leave whenever.” He refocused on the guy. “Beg and I might let you walk out of here.” Pete might have been scared. He had never met anyone as ruthless as this guy. They knew that they had to delay him as long as possible. Fuck why wasn’t one of them just shooting?

Joe fired a shot into his leg, Pete fired at his arm and Andy moved to tackle him. The leader grit his teeth together and shoved Andy back. He took aim at the guys and they rushed to split up. The leader fired randomly at them. They heard bottles shattering as they kept moving. They only wished the bar was a bit bigger.

“You fuckheads needa stop gettin’ in my way!” Joe took aim again but was thrown to the side. The guy that had been sitting on couch jumped to defend his boss. Joe couldn’t understand why when he was about to be shot by the same boss.

“What’s the point of defending him,” Joe scolded. “He’s just going to kill you.”

“Still my boss. I do shit for him, he does shit for me.” Joe shook his head and lunged back at him. There was no point in reasoning with him.

Pete tackled the Snakes leader, but the guy had five inches on him easily. Pete aimed a punch at his stomach but was tossed off. Andy jumped at him from the side, aiming his knee at the spot he had been shot. He winced and fell to one knee. Pete saw the flash from a blade.

“Andy, back!” the warning came too late and the blade cut into his leg. It didn’t seem like any arteries were hit, but they couldn’t be sure until they looked at it. Andy held a hand to the wound and tried to back away. The guy was already aiming for a second swipe.

“Stop it! Reggie that’s enough!” A hush fell over the bar and eyes turned to the girl. There was no way she didn’t know what she’d done. A name was highly confidential information in this business.

“Mana, I’m going to kill you.”

The door burst open and guys poured into the small bar. Their guns aimed at ‘Reggie.’ He glared at the group. Some of the larger guys tackled the other guy Joe was dealing with.

Patrick wandered in after the group, Smyth following behind. Pete wanted to relax but knew that could be a mistake if Reggie decided to make a move. He made his way toward Patrick, holding his wounded arm.

“I told you, we’d call when we were done.” Patrick glanced at him. Pete had known him long enough that he saw the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly.

“Plans change.” He looked around at the bar. “You guys really made a mess of the place. You know I have to pay to fix it right?” Pete rolled his eyes.

“His names Reggie,” Pete mentioned as Patrick moved toward the competing boss. He nodded.

“Go get that patched up,” he said as he passed Andy. Pete watched in admiration. He thought there might have been something at one point, but they were more like brothers. Brothers that would die for each other.

-

Patrick tried to keep a straight face as he spoke to Andy. It killed him to be so cool with them. He was worried and rightfully so. They could have been killed had he not shown up.

“I can’t believe you’d think that I wouldn’t act when you threatened my guys. You might actually be stupid.” Reggie smirked.

“I can’t believe you’d show your face for some lowlife grunts.” Patrick’s face betrayed him as he glared at the Snake. “Don’t tell me ya’ll’r friends? How cute,” he sneered. Patrick grabbed his shirt, making him wince.

“Keep talking and I’ll rethink letting you leave here alive.” The leader spit in his face.

“Ur weak. Gettin’ lucky ain’t good leadership.” He grabbed Patrick’s arm and twisted it. Patrick flinched and then there was an arm around his neck. His guys jumped up, but Patrick was a human shield. “You want this run-down shithole? Fine. But remember who’ll win in the end.” He held Patrick in front of him as he hobbled toward the door.

“I’ll kill you just like ur brother killed my woman.” He shoved Patrick and made a run for it. A car pealed up to the curb and he hopped in. Joe rushed over to check Patrick for injuries.

“I’m fine. I want everyone I can get set on tracking him down.” A moment of silence. “Now!” Everyone moved on restraining the snake members that were still conscious. Smyth stepped up to him and spoke quietly.

“You hesitated. Now was not the time for trying to spare lives.” Patrick clenched his fist. He knew that.

“Will never happen again.” Smyth looked over his face. His eyes were icy. Patrick was finally understanding.

Patrick looked over to where Pete was. There was a girl who looked shaken. Had she been caught in the crossfire?

“Check the back for any workers. Let them know they’ll be safe from the Snakes.” He made his way over to Pete and the girl. “Are you ok?” She nodded.

“Are you going to kill my brother?” It took Patrick a moment to register her question.

“This is Mana. Reggie’s sister.” He looked her up and down. Didn’t strike him as the type to be running with the gangs. But he didn’t look it either.

“Depends what he does. I don’t like to kill people. But if he insists on attacking my guys or innocent people, yes I’ll kill him.” She bit her lip and nodded. They couldn’t trust her. Who knew where her loyalties were.

“I’ve offered her protection,” Pete said quietly. Patrick froze, and his eyes darted to Pete.

“Excuse us, Mana.” He yanked Pete away from the girl. He tried to be mindful of his injured arm. “Watch her,” he said to one of the reserves.

“You what,” Patrick hissed. “We have no idea who’s side she’s on!”

“I said we’d offer her protection, not tell her all our secrets,” Pete defended. “Her brother just threatened to kill her, and he doesn’t seem like the type to lie about that shit.” Joe joined the conversation.

“What’s going on?”

“Please tell Pete that offering protection to the sister of the rival gang is an awful idea. Where did you intend to keep her Pete?” Joe thought for a moment.

“I mean her brother did just threaten her,” Joe said hesitantly. Patrick ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re both crazy. Hard no.” Pete glared at Patrick.

“You’re just going to leave her when she needs help? That is not that Patrick I know.” Patrick threw his hand up in frustration.

“I’m trying to protect everyone! You’re saying that you trust her?” Silence. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face. “Fine. She can stay in one of the guest rooms. She doesn’t leave without an escort. And when we go she must have a blindfold on.” Pete nodded and left to talk to Mana. Joe rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t trust her either. But don’t lose your humanity, Trick.” He sighed. Joe was right and as much as he hated to admit it, so was Pete. He wouldn’t turn down someone who needed help. Someone tapped Patrick’s shoulder. An older woman who looked like this whole thing was an inconvenience stood with her hands on her hips.

“You best be plannin’ to fix m’bar,” she said. Patrick smiled at her and her gaze of steel faltered a bit.

“Ma’am, I promise to fix this place. I’ll build it better than it was before.” She nodded and cleared her throat.

“I’ll hold’ya to that boy.” Patrick turned back to Joe.

“Alright. Let’s head back. We need a new action plan.”

[scaryscarecrows]

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

AN: Dove Marquis is mine-she's essentially Penguin's PA (keeps track of his passwords, lawyers' numbers, alibis...). If there's a genuinely nice person in Gotham, it's her. This all takes place six, seven months before the legendary Tire Jacking incident. Title from the Lorde cover of the Tears for Fears song.

TW: vague-yet-hard-to-miss warnings of child prostitution. Nothing graphic, but they're there.

Jason’s cold.

He’s been cold, and wet, for most of the day, s’just that now it’s dark and the bricks he’d huddled up to have long since lost their heat.

He buries his hands in his pockets, fingering the holes there, and stifles a cough. His head hurts.

He watches people scurry by on the sidewalk, dodging the alley opening like a monster might reach out and pull them in. It starts to rain again and he ducks behind the sort-of shelter of a nearby dumpster, the smell threatening to make him sick.

And then the door opens.

The door’s never opened before. But it’s open now, soft light spilling onto the dirt and cardboard. An umbrella appears first, small and black, followed by a lady all dressed up in lace ‘n velvet and heels.

The door closes as quickly as it opened, but the lady stays nearby, umbrella propped against her shoulder while she lights a cigarette.

Jason’s not gonna say anythin’, just gonna wait right here ‘til she goes back in.

That’s the plan. The safe plan, the one that’ll let him stay here where it’s mostly outta the rain. And then he ruins it by sneezing. Violently. And like five times in a row.

Maybe she didn’t-

“Hello?”

Shit.

Freeze or flee? If he doesn’t make any more noise, maybe she won’t notice him and just think it was someone on the sidewalk.

“Someone here?”

Nope, no one, finish your smoke break and go back inside, please…

Heels click over to him and the next thing he knows, the drizzles have stopped because she’s kneeling in front of him, umbrella tilted just enough to cover him, too.

“Hey, there, honey.” He blinks at her, wonders if he can squeeze by and make a run for it. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Don’t got an umbrella. You got a problem with that?”

He doesn’t like the look she’s giving him. Straight-up pity, like he’s a drowned puppy. Bullshit.

“It’s cold out here,” is all she says. “Don’t you want to come inside?”

Um…

She’s not…she doesn’t…look. There’s a certain type of people that…ask that…and she doesn’t look the type. Who’s he to know, but…

“No,” he mumbles, eyeing the gap between her and the sidewalk. He could probably fend her off long enough to find a safer alley, use those heels against her. “No, I’m just gonna…”

He sneezes again and his head swims. A lace-covered hand reaches out and brushes against his forehead. He pulls away, shivering.

“Oh, honey.” Pity. So much pity, he fucking hates it. “Come on, let’s get you dried off, get you somethin’ to eat.”

“I don’t want-”

“Trust me, nothing’s going to happen to you.” He doesn’t believe her. “Would you rather me bring you somethin’ out here?”

He doesn’t want anything, could be drugged or somethin’.

He shakes his head-mistake, big mistake-and draws as far away from her as possible, even though it means sacrificing the umbrella.

“Come on.” She stands up and moves just enough that his exit is that much harder to get to. “It’s just going to get worse, and we’ve got a skeleton crew right now. I promise nothing is going to happen to you.”

He struggles up, intending to make a run for it, and the resulting light-headedness has him nearly falling back down. The lady grabs his arm to steady him and apparently he doesn’t have a choice.

Hopefully the food’s drugged.

He lets her tug him to the door and again the soft light spills into the alleyway. S’bright, hurts his head. The lady furls the umbrella and sets it in a stand.

“Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes. Probably won’t fit you, but it’ll be better than being wet.”

Huh?

“Oi, Dove, whatcha got?” a man, tattoos visible thanks to rolled sleeves, shouts across the room. Jason swallows and tries not to pull away.

“Let him be, Olli, he’s just a kid.” The lady-Dove?-gives him a nudge. “Come on.”

The room’s big and everything in it looks like it costs more than the whole building. It’s all purple and gold and plush. There’s a stage on one wall and a bar on the other and just behind the bar is a little staircase. Dove leads him there.

“Up here. A lot of us keep spare clothes, ‘cuz of the weather.”

This room’s smaller but no less nice-it’s blue, though, and sure enough, there’s a wardrobe and a couple’a chests and a big mirror.

“Let me see…uh…” She looks him up and down. “Think you’ll have to borrow from me, everyone else is huge.”

“I-I don’t need-”

“Kiddo, you look like a drowned rat. And you sound like shit.” She rifles through a chest and comes up with black sweats and a t-shirt that says Stay sexy, don’t get murdered! “Here. Put these on, just throw what you’ve got over the rail there. Come on down when you’re ready and we’ll see about food, huh?”

And with that, she leaves him in the blue room. There’s no window to sneak out through, and the stairs only went here.

The shirt’s soft, he finds when he picks it up. Too big for him, but soft. He ends up tying a knot so it doesn’t turn into a dress. The sweats have to be rolled (and rolled, and rolled), but he eventually gets them so he won’t trip and die. They’re warm. And dry. And soft, real soft.

He doesn’t wanna go downstairs.

He goes anyway, in case they come up here instead.

There’s not a lot of people in here-six or seven, maybe. Most of ‘em don’t even notice him, or don’t care. He wonders what they’re doing. Construction, he can see that, but like, last-minute construction. Upholstery and things.

Dove’s across the room, arguing with a man about ‘boss said’. Boss? So she’s not in charge here? What’s goin’ on?

He sneezes-damn-and starts to cough. Dove’s kneeling in front of him in a flash.

“A little dryer?” He manages a nod. “Okay, let’s see…kitchen’s not stocked, but there might be some hot chocolate back there. Wanna start with that?” He shrugs. It doesn’t matter. “Come on. You can watch me make it.” Huh? “If I come out here and find you raiding that liquor cabinet, I will rat you out!”

This last is directed at Olli, who laughs.

“Just a drop, Dove?”

“You wanna explain to Penguin that we’re out of booze before we even open?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then no.”

Penguin? As in, the guy that used to be a crime boss, then the mayor, and then went back to crime?

Shit. He’s gonna die. He’s seen too much and forget knock-out drugs, the hot chocolate’s gonna be poisoned.

“I’m actually okay, so…”

Nature hates him. He’s just about to start inching towards the door when there’s a crack and a BOOOOOOOM outside, loud enough to feel in his bones.

“You’re not going back out in this. Come on.”

She steers him towards a pair of swinging doors. The kitchen’s cold, empty and steel. Some of the cabinets are half-open, and Dove frowns and smacks them shut, muttering about ‘raised by wolves’ and ‘take an eye out’.

“I swear, if we’re out, they’re going out to get me more, that was my box-here we are!” She pulls a blue box out of a cupboard. “I always have to hide it, because they ruin it with cheap whiskey.”

He doesn’t say anything. Outside, there’s another BOOM of thunder.

The kitchen floor is cold against his toes and that, more than anything, reminds him that running isn’t worth it. They’ll catch him, easy, and that’ll be the end of that.

Dove fills a kettle with water from the tap, plunks it on the stove, and turns on the gas.

“We gotta wait a bit, this stove takes its sweet time boiling water. Just water. Everything else is fine, but water? You could take over Gotham while you wait.”

“Like that’s hard,” he mumbles involuntarily. She snorts and pulls down mugs.

“And there’s that Crime Alley sass. Thought you had some in there.” Clunk, clunk, go the mugs against the counter. “I mean what I said. Nothing is going to happen to you tonight.”

Yeah, he’s heard that one before.

He sneezes again-ow-and wraps his arms around himself. He’s confused. There’s a lotta ways this should be going, but it’s…not.

“You got a name, kiddo?”

“Jason,” he mutters.

“Good to meet you. I’m Dove.”

Yeah. He figured.

She tears the envelopes open, one by one, and dumps the brown powder into the mugs. Nothing else follows. Maybe they’re not gonna poison him for seeing things. Like there’s anything to see, but he knows how crime lords work. No witnesses.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he says anyway, just in case. Dove snorts again and shakes her head.

“Boss is out of town, and he’s not the type to murder kids. He’s bad with them, though. God, he visited a school once…I never thought I’d be so glad to see him go back to crime.”

“What happened?”

“His advice for dealing with bullies was ‘push them down the stairs’.”

Oh.

That’s…that’s…it probably works, but still.

The kettle screeches and he flinches. Dove pours the water into the mugs, the glug-glug-glug loud in the open space. Nothing else follows the water-no hidden vial or envelope or anything. In the main room, something thuds and there’s swearing.

“Stay here. Spoons are in the right-hand drawer, if you wanna mix that up.”

Click-clack, click-clack.

He tugs the drawer open, steel like ice against his fingers. Sure enough, there’s spoons, all piled in a little basket.

“The hell’d you do?”

“It’s fine, I got it.”

“If I have to tell the boss that you idiots broke things, I will be naming names.”

“Aw, c’mon…”

“I know it was you that ate my damn leftovers, don’t even test me.”

“That was last week!”

Jason grins despite himself and leans up. The powder’s mostly settled in a little hill at the bottom of the mugs, but there’s some floating at the top. Looks normal. Smells normal. Probably not ‘special crime lord poison hot chocolate’, then.

“Just be careful, okay? I have bigger shit to worry about than you breaking the sound system.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Dove comes back in, rolling her eyes. Jason steps away from the counter and eyes the swinging doors.

“Life lesson-padlock your leftovers,” she grumbles. “All set? Lemme see if there’s food.”

He wraps his hands around the mug, soaking up the warmth. A little voice in the back of his mind says it’s too hot, but his numb fingers refuse to let go. It’s the warmest thing he’s felt in days and like hell is he giving that up.

“Uh…how’s pizza sound?”

“I’m good…”

“Well, they have to eat, I have to eat, you may as well eat with us. C’mon.” They go back into the main room. “Calling pizza, who wants what?”

Jason’s never seen such a swarm of noise, not from adults. They all teleport across the room, bickering over pineapple (‘fuck, don’t go ruining the art, man!’ ‘I’m not, and stop swearing in front of the kid!’ ‘fudge you!’).

* * *

By the time dinner’s over, Jason’s hot chocolate is gone. He’s warm (ish) and more sleepy than anything else. The men have long since stopped even pretending to work and are sprawled on the stage, arguing about the lyrics to ‘Dr. Feelgood’. He’s sitting up against the wall, wishing the lights wouldn’t make everything seem so blurry and wondering when they’ll throw him out.

He yawns and shakes his head to try and wake himself up a little more. It doesn’t work, but it makes everything that much blurrier…but that could be the headache.

“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s ‘come play with cock’, clear as fuckin’ day.”

“Stop swearing in front of the kid, dummy! And no it’s not.”

“V’heard worse,” he says. “You don’t have to watch it around me.”

“You’re like nine, I don’t swear around kids younger than thirteen.”

“Ten!”

All that does is make them laugh and the one-the ‘don’t swear’ one-reaches over to ruffle his hair. He pulls away and swats half-heartedly at the scarred hand.

“Still younger than thirteen. So stop swearing, ipshit-day.”

“I know what you said.”

They laugh harder. Jason scowls and wraps his arms around his knees.

Eventually the conversation quiets down, turning to spouses and kids, and Jason yawns again, winces when it turns into a nasty hacking. Dove gets up and vanishes into the kitchen. Should he follow? She didn’t say to follow, and nobody else is paying any attention to him, but…

The coughing doesn’t want to stop and he doesn’t notice, at first, that the conversation’s stopped. Not until Dove’s crouching in front of him again, holding out a glass of water. The others are looking over with that same pity she had before and he refuses to make eye contact with any of them.

“Gettin’ tired?” He shakes his head, knowing that ‘tired’ means ‘time to go home’ which means ‘get out now’. From the look of her, she doesn’t believe him. “You sure? It’s awfully late.”

He’s had later nights.

“M’fine.”

“Well, at least come sit with me, huh? Test out the booths, make sure they’re all good for the customers.”

That’s the flimsiest lie he’s ever heard, but he gets up anyway and scrunches into a plush booth near the bar. It’s purple and velvet and soft and he doesn’t even try to stop rubbing his fingers over it.

“I gotta go supervise, okay? If you want anything, just yell.”

Once she’s not looking, he curls up on his side, looking out at the other tables. It feels good to lie down on something that’s not cardboard or otherwise rescued from a dumpster. Feels even better to close his eyes to the blurriness. Just for a minute, that’s all.

A minute turns into ten turns into twenty, and the next thing he knows, someone’s draping a coat over him.

“Mm…”

“Shh.” No Swearing Guy. “Go back to sleep, buddy.”

S’just a coat. And it’s warm, real warm.

He wasn’t sleeping, but he’ll close his eyes again if it means he gets to keep the coat for a bit.

No Swearing Guy walks away and Jason burrows under the heavy fabric. After a few minutes, he makes a few adjustments so’s the sleeves are bunched up to make a pillow. If he’s gonna be here, he may as well be comfy, right?

Just for a little bit. Tha’s all, just for a little bit, then he’ll get up and let himself out.

Few more minutes.

Jus’ a few more minutes…

Zzz.

THE END

[sincerelybluevase]

A Beauty and the Beast-Retelling: Thorns

“And whatever you do, don’t stare at his face,” Mme Jeunet advised her as they mounted the stairs.

“I won’t if he doesn’t stare at me,” Chestnut replied.

Mme Jeunet turned around and let her eyes glide over her, taking in her round body, her skin so dark she almost blended into the ebony wood of the furniture, and her eyes, cat-like and fae. Her eyes flicked up to her face, and Chestnut could read the woman’s revulsion for her in the slate-grey, could see it in the way her lip tried to curl up into a snarl.

How she loves to look down on me, Chestnut thought, and felt the familiar stirring of ire coil in her belly. Her hands folded into fists almost of their own accord.

“Can I give you some advice?” the woman asked, pursing her thin lips, “M. Fontaine has seen every doctor, has tried every surgery and therapy available, to little avail. You are only here because he is desperate. We would never consider a fairy to help him if there was an alternative.”

Chestnut resisted the urge to lower her eyes under Mme Jeunet’s piercing stare. “So I’ve been told,” she said, curling her toes inside her shoes.

“You have surely been told that you won’t be paid until M. Fontaine says so, then?” Mme Jeunet asked, voice monotone, as if she was talking to an object rather than a person.

“I’m not here for the money,” Chestnut managed to bring out through gritted teeth.

Those horrible cold eyes looked her over again, rested on the mud-crusted hem of her dress, on her fraying cuffs and thin-soled shoes. “Of course not,” Mme Jeunet said. She turned around and went off with long strides, forcing Chestnut to almost run to keep up with her.

She stopped when they reached a large door with a handle made of iron. Mme Jeunet knocked, a quick rapping of her sharp knuckles, then waited for a while before being told to come in.

Chestnut made to follow her, but the woman gave her another icy stare, as if she’d just encountered something nasty under her stout boots. “You can wait here till M. Fontaine deigns it time for you to enter,” she said, then slipped inside and shut the door in Chestnut’s face.

Chestnut took a deep breath and forced the magic that roared and bubbled inside her to still. It lapped against her skin, biting and gurgling, demanding to be let out, to curse that horrible housekeeper till toads jumped out of her mouth, or till her eyes spun inside their sockets like marbles.

She pushed it down, into the empty space that ached and smarted in her abdomen. She pressed a hand against her belly, against the soft, stretched skin, against that place that still bore the marks of two years ago, when it had been round and tight and full…

Don’t think about that now, she admonished herself. Her face shouldn’t look like a mask tight with grief, not when she had the opportunity to make a little money.  

She cradled her violin case against her chest and inhaled deeply, held her breath, exhaled, then did it again, and again, till the door opened and she was allowed to go inside.

Her eyes skimmed the dark furniture, the gilded legs, the china vase with pink roses, lovely and pale, before they came to rest on M. Fontaine.

Even though Mme Jeunet had warned her not to stare, even though she had been told about his war injuries, Chestnut couldn’t help herself.

M. Fontaine’s neck was a mass of scars, a mixture of orange and pink and red, as if someone had poured paint in water. The skin was raised and twisted, like a wet, crumpled napkin, snaking up his throat, covering the right side of his face the way ivy covered the house. It tugged at his eyelid till it drooped like a fading flower, pulled his mouth into a one-sided sneer. His ear was nothing more than a black hole, the rosy shell burned away till it was gone completely. His right arm had been torn from its socket by the explosion that had fried his skin, leaving his sleeve empty. The fabric rustled almost ominously every time M. Fontaine shifted in his chair.

“Good afternoon,” Chestnut said, dipping into a curtsey.

“Don’t stand there. Sit down,” he barked, words slightly slurred because of his twisted lips.

She lowered herself gingerly on one of the chairs, taking care not to scratch the wood or stain the fabric with her dress. She wished she’d taken the time to put her other dress on, the one that wasn’t in urgent need of a wash, but the roads had been more mud than sand, slowing her down so much that she had to hurry to make this appointment in time.

“My name is Chestnut,” she started, but M. Fontaine didn’t let her finish. He waved his remaining hand as if batting at a fly, biding her silence.

“I don’t care about any of that. Just tell me how you think you can help me,” he said.

“I… Through magic,” she said.

“Through magic, hm? That’s an honest answer,” M. Fontaine said, tapping his fingers against the chair, drawing soft clicks from the wood.

“It is the only answer I have for you. I intend to heal you with my magic,” she said.

“I am a Christian,” he said.

“I am, too. I grew up at Lady Rose’s court, in England. It is one of the few Christian courts in Faerie. My father was a missionary, trying to convert other members of the Fair Folk,” Chestnut explained. She folded her hands in her lap to stop them from plucking at her fraying cuffs.

“And yet you use magic?” he scoffed.

“To help others, yes,” she said.

“How does that work?”  

She looked at him and noted that he had been a handsome man before his accident. The skin that wasn’t scarred had become pale like the underside of a fish, probably because he did not venture outside anymore, but it was clear and draped over sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw.

She could also see the physical discomfort his burns caused him when he blinked, when he talked. Most telling to her fae eyes, though, was the phantom arm where his real arm had been before. It flickered like fire, dancing and changing every second, making it hard to focus on it. The pain she could so clearly see licked up his shoulder and spine, burning and hot.

“I can see that you are in pain,” she said, “and that you have been for a while. You can still feel your right arm, you can still flex your fingers and bunch your hand into a fist, even though there’s nothing physically there anymore. Most of all, though, you can feel that limb hurt. I will take that pain away.”

M. Fontaine blinked slowly. His scarred eyelid resisted the motion, the skin taut and hard. “How?” he asked, voice soft, no longer sneering. “How will you do that?” He tilted his head sideways and towards her, hoping despite himself.

“Through music,” Chestnut stated.

“You will sing my pain away?”

“I don’t sing.” Not anymore. Not since two years ago, when… Don’t.

She pulled her violin case on her lap and stroked it. “I will play for you. We will start with the violin, and move on to the piano after a little while, if necessary.”

“How long will it take?”

“I am not sure. It is different with every patient.”

“And you expect me to take you in to my home, to offer you board and lodging while you pluck some strings and press some keys, as well as pay you?” he sneered, a flame of pain sizzling along his arm. He opened his mouth a little to let out a hiss.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Obedient Chestnut,” Thistle’s voice sneered in her head. She was no longer that obedient, sweet girl, though, and she would not be sent away from here before she could have shown this man that he was wrong about her.

“I don’t expect you to pay for something that won’t work,” Chestnut answered, voice steely, “But I can assure you that your time and money won’t be wasted on me.”

“I have seen countless of doctors, tried everything they could possibly come up with. None of it worked. Why would your fiddling cure me when they have failed?” he asked, drumming a tattoo on the arm of his chair. A bead of perspiration slid down his throat as he swallowed against the pain that Chestnut could see had become his constant companion.

“I don’t know how my magic works; I only know that it works,” Chestnut answered honestly, trying not to stare at the hole of his ear, at the solitary tuft of hair that threw just above it.

“I don’t see why a fairy…” M. Fontaine started.

“The way I see it, you have no other options. You have tried everything, and nothing worked. Why not take your chances with me? Those few coins are worth nothing if you can’t enjoy life, if you’re always sitting in that chair panting with pain. But I am not stupid; I understand you don’t trust me. You don’t know me.” I am a member of the Fair Folk. She inhaled deeply, pressing her violin case hard against her belly to still the sharp stir of anger, of magic. Had she been so easy to anger before a part had been ripped from her, before…?

“Before that rose has lost its final petal, I will have cured you,” Chestnut said, and pointed to the rose that stood in a solitary vase in the windowsill. It was lush and red, almost obscenely so, with thorns thick and long as fingernails.

M. Fontaine looked at her, face a mask of scars and distance. “I will hound you off my estate if you fail,” he said.

The harsh prick of fear tore through her, but she didn’t let it show. She gave him a small nod and picked her case from her lap. “We can start tomorrow,” she said, then left before he could change his mind.

Curious to see how this continues? You can read the rest of this fairy tale retelling and many more in the collection Tales From Faerie, which is now available as an ebook on Amazon for less than four dollars. That is less than a coffee at Starbuck, and will last you a good deal longer ;)

[incorrectshinraquotes]

Fanfic: Tattoo

Summary: Elena wakes up one morning and finds a strange tattoo on her arm. Soulmate AU, kinda.

Main Characters: Elena, Rufus

Ships: Elena/Rufus

Also read on: Fanfiction.net   AO3

That morning was typical. I got up at 6 a.m. like I always did, made myself a cup of coffee, and got in the shower. As I was showering, I noticed my arm had a tattoo of flower designs on it. They started at my right wrist and wove all the way up to my elbow. They looked like ink drawings, like when someone gets so bored and the only surface they have to draw on is their arm. It was a very elegant pattern, but I was confused as to how the tattoo got there. I hadn't been drinking or anything the night before. I was home all evening. And the markings didn't hurt, they were just… there.

I tried scrubbing the tattoo off my arm, but it wouldn't fade. Eventually, I decided to just ignore it and get ready for work; I would be late if I spent any more time trying to get the ink off.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off. I brushed my hair, put some pants on, and as I was pulling my white button-up shirt on, I noticed new markings appear on my arm.

Meeting with Tseng 10 a.m, discuss Elena's recent performance issues.

What?

I stared at my arm for a good five minutes, evaluating the words. Why were they there and what were they supposed to mean? It was almost as if someone were writing reminders on their arm and the note were transferring to my arm. But if that were the case, how did that person know both Tseng and myself? Why were they planning on speaking with Tseng about my performance issues. Sure, I've made a few mistakes on missions recently, but I was nervous and distracted! I've been a Turk for only a few months and I've been trying very hard to prove myself. Sure, my weaknesses are inexcusable, but I don't feel like my mistakes should cost me my job.

The only person I can think of that would have a meeting like that with Tseng is Rufus Shinra, but he doesn't seem like the type of person to write notes on his arm. Or doodle flower patterns… The whole situation just didn't add up.

I shook all my thoughts away from my head. I would solve this whole tattoo mystery later. I was running late for work.

When I got to the office, I headed straight for the break room, determined to get my hands on some more coffee. The entire commute to work was spent theorizing about the strange markings on my arm. Naturally, I came to so many conclusions that I might as well have none. Luckily for me, my Turk uniform covered up my arm, so all the doodles on my arm wouldn't look unprofessional in front of my coworkers.

I entered the break room, noticing how my three fellow Turks were all gathered there as well.

"Good morning everyone," I said in my most cheerful voice. Nothing was on my mind. Nothing at all.

Reno looked over at me, confusion on his face. "How the hell are you so chipper in the mornings?"

I shrugged and nudged him out of the way of the coffee machine. Filling up a paper cup with the drink, plus some cream, I was content.

I could feel Reno's eyes on me the entire time I was making my coffee. I chose to ignore it, seeing as how Reno always had a habit of staring at people he was trying to figure out. I had taken a sip of my coffee and set the cup down, about to ask our commander if there were any missions today, when Reno grabbed my arm and pulled the sleeve back, studying the flower designs that were still prominently there in blue ink and the word in a contrasting black. He chuckled to himself and released my arm. "Get bored on your drive here?"

I pulled my arm protectively against my chest and glared at him.

"No," I said defensively, "They just showed up this morning."

That last part I said in more of a concerned whisper.

Reno chuckled again and took a sip of his coffee, shaking his head.

"What do you know?" I accused. He wasn't telling me something.

Reno ignored me and watched as our commander headed towards the door.

"Going somewhere, Chief?"

"I have a meeting with Rufus," Tseng said calmly, "I'll be back before too long. Make yourselfes busy in the meantime."

I checked my PHS, noticing that the time was 9:45. So that reminder on my arm was written by Rufus. His handwriting was a lot more… average than I imagined it to be. Simple printed letters, very unlike the elegant cursive I imagined he wrote in. But why were Rufus's reminders on my arm?

"You think they're going to talk about you, like it says on your arm?" Reno asked from over my shoulder. I jumped slightly, forgetting that anyone else was in the room.

I looked at Reno in a manner that I hoped said "tell me what you know, or else."

"Ok, look," Reno started, holding his hands up defensively, "I didn't wanna say anything because its probably not true, but I've heard of people who, when they meet their soulmate, whatever their soulmate writes on their skin, it shows up on the other person's skin."

"Say what now?" He sounded totally crazy!

"Look, I'm not saying its true. I've just heard rumors of it happening."

"So you're saying Rufus Shinra is my should mate? And that he draws on his arm when he gets bored?"

"Not gonna lie, I didn't know that last part. Only way to find out is to look at his arm and see if it's the same."

"What if I wrote on my skin? Would it show up on his?"

Reno shrugged, "Don't think so. I think it's a one way thing."

I sighed. I really didn't want to confront Rufus, especially not about something so… trivial? Childish? It sounded ridiculous is what it sounded like. Rufus would probably laugh at me, show me that nothing was written on his perfect skin, and fire me because of the meeting he had with Tseng. Nothing good could come out of this confrontation.

I waited an hour after Tseng got back from his meeting to walk myself up to Rufus's office. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, even though it was only about ten floors.

I stopped by the secretary's office and asked her to let Rufus know I was there. I wouldn't tell her the reasoning, but she didn't question it. She recognized me as a Turk and knew not to ask too many questions, a fact I greatly appreciated.

As soon as she told me I could go up, I walked with purpose up the stairs and to the metal, air-locked doors that would lead to Rufus's office. They opened the second I reached them.

As I strode into the office, I was taken aback. I had never actually been there. It was plain elegant. Black and white metals for the desk and a bar in on corner. It must have taken a lot of work to change the office from President Shinra's gaudy style to this.

I heard Rufus clear his throat and I realized I had been standing in the middle of the room, looking around, transfixed in my own little world. I stepped forward and, per Rufus's request, I sat down in one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk.

"What brings you here, Elena?"

I was utterly stumped at the question. How did I explain the weird tattoos on my arm? I stared at him for a moment, probably looking like a deer in headlights.

"Well?"

I shook my head a regained my compostre. "W-well…" I managed to stammer out. This was going to be a lot more difficult that I thought it would be.

"Ok, well, you see, I was talking with Reno and he said that I should talk with you because a really weird thing happened to me this morning. I was in the shower—"

"Elena, I really don't need to know much about your personal life. I'm believe any advice from Reno should be wisely ignored."

"No, you don't get it, look at this!" Without hesitation, I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket and showed Rufus the markings on my arm. Rufus furrowed his brow and studied my arm, obviously perplexed.

"Elena, I don't—"

I interrupted him, "Look, I know this is stuff you've been writing on your arm because Tseng said he had a meeting with you and it was at the exact time that this note says that a meeting with Tseng was going to take place and Reno said it was some kind of weird soulmate thing and I don't know if I completely believe that but I can't ignore the markings on my arm, like they're there, and I just—"

"Elena," Rufus looked at me with a look that clearly said I needed to stop talking. "I admit that this is very strange, but I highly doubt this connects us in any…" he was choosing his words carefully, "romantic way."

"Maybe not, but I just thought it was something I should point out."

Rufus looked thoughtful, studying the drawings on my arm. When he finally looked at me, he smirked. "Well, I appreciate that."

"Yeah…" The conversation got awkward because I had nothing else to say, so I did what I always do in awkward situations: I said the first thing that came to mind, "Why were you and Tseng talking about me?"

I could have phrased that more elegantly, but Rufus just chuckled. "I promise, it wasn't as bad as the reminder on my arm makes it sound."

I nod. That's an acceptable answer I guess. I have a feeling I won't get a more detailed answer from him.

And again, the conversation grows awkward and I blurt out the next thing on my mind: "Why do you draw flowers on your arm?"

I can see a tinge of pink on Rufus's cheeks. I'm sure that was something he thought no one would ever find out about. Now he was the one who looked like a deer in headlights. One point to Elena for catching President Rufus Shinra off-guard.

Rufus cleared his throat and regained his composure, "I just always find myself drawing them. I like the simplicity of the patterns."

"They're really pretty." I say, still not thinking about what's coming out of my mouth.

I can tell Rufus doesn't know what to say. I give myself another point for that.

"Let's just keep this between us, shall we?" He finally says, still obviously a little embarrassed. I nod in agreement, despite the fact that Reno already knows.

I got home that night, much later than I had intended. I decided to stay late at work to get some extra papers filed and I was ready to pass out the second I walked through my door.

I noticed as I was changing my shirt that the ink on my arm had faded considerably. Rufus must have washed it off earlier.

After eating a quick dinner and watching a few epicodes of a TV show I liked, I headed to my bedroom and climbed under the covers on my bed. I looked at my arm again, still baffled by how strange that whole situation was. I noticed that a fresh set of words were written on my wrist:

Goodnight, Elena.

I smiled to myself and turned off the light on my nightstand. I know Rufus said there was no connection between us because of this, but maybe he was wrong about that. Maybe he could end up being my soulmate.

[taonsil]

end of year fic summary \o/

this is copied over from dw so isn’t a tagging thing, but please do take it if you want~ it was in shareable format originally.

dhjfd I set my w/c goal at half of what my actual output was last year because I hoped to do more art, I didn’t realise it was gonna be because of the block from hell. but! the last minute burst of enthusiasm at the end of the year got me there, just makes for a pretty repetitive summary orz

january: - february: autochoris yeol, chansoo drabble march: april: may: june: round trip july: watch the time cause no one's watchin' august: september: october: suyeol drabble november: sparkle dust, unbeleafable december: useless husbands wip!

total number of fics (edited and reuploaded drabbles included): 7

total word count: 61k

favorite: gonna have a lot of same-y answers this year as there's less to pick from OTL but favourite, definitely unbeleafable. I really had a love-hate relationship with creating it, but I'm so pleased with the final result. It's a 'verse I'd happily have continued writing if there hadn't been a deadline

the best: unbeleafable. maybe it was due to lack of practice or coming out the other side of a massive writers block, but my style changed a little and I think it really benefited this fic! but also it was my first real attempt at writing explicitly nd characters and a plot that revolved around those themes. I'm the first to hold my hands up to my first attempts at other subjects having been clumsy, so I feel like I spent months just tweaking and editing it;; I really bonded with the characters in this (and the sideplots/supporting characters) n, yeah, it's just something I'm really proud of

most underappreciated by the universe: round trip! it's probably the only true gen fic I've ever written, and pokemon au. I found it very fun and cutesy to work on and (again, probably bc of the block that was getting me down most of the year) I was pretty happy with how the details worked into it. it's not super interesting, but I did hope it would be enjoyed ;u;

most fun to write: sparkle dust and unbeleafable. sparkle dust was ripped from a draft I created around march, and it was awful. it was when I could barely string a sentence together. it got real fun rewriting it once I felt back on my feet and feeling more confident of the direction it was going in, and that it's on a subject I enjoy, as well as knowing it was a gift for cat :'D unbeleafable was much the same - I started it in may, dusted it off in october and basically rewrote the entire thing at a personal best speed once I felt connected to it and comfortable with how the writing was going (and I enjoyed adding in little details so much, I was honestly laughing like a loser at some scenes while I was working on them). also the gross husbands wip I’m working on rn, it’s 6k in and I’m enjoying it a lotttt

sexiest: I mean..it's sparkle dust bc its the only one with actual sex in lol (if it could go to a character it would be tao in watch the time though, before he knows that yeol isn't up for anything his dialogue and actions are pretty sexual). and the wip but I can’t really talk about it cause it’s not up yet D:

“holy crap that’s wrong even for you”: everything was just standard Me this year imo.. it's not /wrong/ in any way, but writing an explicitly autochoris fic was pushing my own boundaries wrt comfort writing a subject. I mean I guess a sloppy blowjob wasn’t very Me but

fic that shifted my own perception of the characters: unbeleafable and watch the time. watch the time because that was also lifted from an old (2015) work, and writing the 'verse in more detail changed the character's attitudes. it's the first time I've written a tao who is so charming, mature and relationship driven, while cy is softer and more anxious (where as previously he was usually my filler character when I needed someone loud). and unbeleafable was just uh..honestly jm's depression was an afterthought. it wasn't in the original outline (which in fairness was only aiming for a 4k meet-cute, not the extensive slow burn it turned into). that his depression started to become detailed and was then a major plot point basically developed as I wrote, and I was backtracking to adjust earlier details to fit it. that jm really defined himself and I had to catch up;;

hardest to do: watch the time, god. I think I spent four months on it. I can't even words how terrible my block was this year, it really got me down. even when I was writing stuff that I can look back at now and see was ok, it was like I couldn't even tell if what I was reading made sense. it's the slowest I've ever worked on something and it was a really painful process, but I loved the idea of it so it felt like something good to work on when I was in a bad spot. (unbeleafable caught some of that too - I was poking around the same 5k of it for several months and considered dumping it so many times orz)

biggest disappointment: sparkle dust..a bit..bc I'm still terrible at smut lmao even with the context of the scene I just feel I could have done it better

most telling: I mean, everything. watch the time is chantao, ace themes, gender themes, (there's even a mention of tao's tattoo) it's a very very Me fic. a few people guessed unbeleafable was me. in a different sense that was telling, because I wanted yeol to be so loveable and worked hard to portray issues that matter to me in good lights

a thing I’m surprised at: that my w/c is as high as it is all considered djhf but no like, really the biggest surprise I've ever had in all my time writing fic was how positive the response to unbeleafable was. I was so genuinely shocked, I was even saving screenshots of some of the comments in case they were deleted or something. I still am surprised tbh.

what pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you never would have predicted in January? chantao and chansoo were probably the only thing I did expect tbh. pokemon au, subaek smut, suyeol..none of that was exactly what I anticipated, considering last year and previous was mostly focal around suchen and sutaohun

story with single sweetest moment? hnnn the lil chansoo drabble about yeol cutting his hair is overall entirely affection based. and there's two scenes in unbeleafable - when cy hugs jm after their sort-of-date and jm buries into it, and when cy offers jm his sleeve to hold while they're talking. (djhfd also this marrieds wip. they’re Very married, there’s a lot of gross husband-ing)

the story that made you cry: unbeleafable 🌿 the entire theme of it is personal to me, both yeol's autism and jm's depression. at times I was letting it write itself, and I got quite upset when they reached the point of being unsure if their communication issue would resolve. it was hard writing those scenes, because I absolutely couldn't change yeol's character to make it easier, but at the same time I really felt for how desperate and hurt jm was. (also in a nice-cry kinda way when they resolved things I was just, YES ; A;) (hmm also watch the time a lil bit when they had the confrontation and yeol was sure they’d have to break up)

easiest story to write: round trip was kind of a breakthrough wrt the block, after a lot of struggling it came pretty easy and got done in a day or two~

most overdue story: watch the time. I've wanted to write about sex repulsion for a long time but always skirted around it. also literally, seeing as it took me months longer to complete than intended :'D

did you take any writing risks this year? what did you learn from them? mmm kind of, in the subjects I chose. writing about an autochoris experience and writing a repulsed ace wasn't uncharacteristic for me but my confidence was very low at the time and I felt very uncomfortable about it. and unbeleafable honestly terrified me, I felt so vulnerable waiting for that to post and probably wouldn't have done it if it weren't for the fact it was anon initially. for me it felt like a big risk posting something that I felt could get a bad reception to an fest. I nearly contacted the mods at one point to ask them if it was even a good idea orz (also I feel my style just..changed somewhere, idk, but I decided to go with it instead of trying to change it back. its going ok ??)

in regards to writing, what did you learn this year: dghfd that blocks do end and that forcing yourself to produce has varied success. most importantly, I learned that sometimes bad things /dont/ happen :P

do you have any fanfic goals for the new year? I'm gradually working through my list! from last year I've achieved 4k+ averages for smaller fics and also writing 15k+ longer ones. and even managed something rated :P hmm idk though. I've always said 'more plot and a chaptered fic', but I wonder if I even want to do that anymore? it was more just something to tick off than a personal goal. I kinda would still like to write something plot driven but I'm accepting that my niche is what it is and it's probably what I'm best at/won't get bored doing. it feels like it's taken me until now to really decide and gain the confidence to write about the kind of people I want. so a very gentle goal for the new year would just be regaining my confidence, getting around to making that inspiration/techniques page I've always meant to have, continuing to polish up my style, and enjoying! writing!! again so I can get back to having fun !! upping suyeol’s page count also sweats

[libraribear]

Dadd Cadash: A Prologue

I wrote a prologue for my Dragon Age: Inquisition character while trying to capture his voice. I’m not quite sure I succeeded, and it’s certainly rough around the edges as I haven’t written any fiction in a LONG time. Still, I can only let this one percolate and tweak it for so long.

It was midnight, and the guards were out in the city - one of many that dotted Thedas. Most of the city was already asleep, but one storefront was only now closing up shop. Locals referred to it as Jorgen’s Stop, but everyone who worked there referred to it as “the Castle”. Had anyone been paying close attention, they would have seen a peculiar trio of customers enter shortly before closing time. Two could only be dwarves, given their short, thick profiles, and the third would have been unrecognizable due to the black hood covering his eyes - but was probably a human, or perhaps an elf. The third figure was being supported by the other two.

It was local tradition that any building where the Carta primarily conducted business was referred to as the “Castle” or “Stronghold” or “Fortress”, essentially any word other than “run-down, nondescript building”, which was normal type of place the organization frequented on the surface.

At the entrance, a kind-looking, unscarred dwarven merchant was closing up shop for the night. It had been a slow day, with only a few general goods, one well-sharpened dagger, and two or three silk-lined burlap bags sold. The bags in particular were a specialty of the seamstresses that provisioned this particular shop - their inner linings had a peculiar way of securing Lyrium Dust As the storekeep swept the last of the day’s grime back onto the street, he peeked out the window, as he would normally do at least six times each day. He looked left, looked right, and, satisfied the street was clear, rapped his left heel against a very particular spot on the floor three times in quick succession.

The store was closing, but with the night’s patrol having gone past the store and not due back for at least four hours, it was time for real work to begin.

---

Following the signal, the two dwarves had gone to work in a small, torchlit room which was three floors deep in the earth. The only entry was a well-hidden trap door in one corner of the room’s ceiling. The room was sparsely furnished, save for a now three-legged chair, a rough-hewn table, and a foul-smelling elf. The elf was bound to the chair by the legs, waist, and neck, his hands shackled to the table. His unusually fine (for an elf) clothing was marred by blood, dirt, and sweat, and normally fine, shoulder length golden locks were plastered to the side of his face. The first dwarf, the one who had been carefully giving the elf most of the night’s attention, wrinkled his nose at the stench. The second had heard, seen, and smelled it all before, though he couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at his companion’s misgivings.

They had been able to mask the screams so deep beneath the earth, but they had been unable to do anything about the smell after the elf had wet himself with fear. The unfortunate soul had passed out, not in blissful slumber but in the grim sleep that one turns to only when their body can take no more pain - though repeated blows from a chair leg had contributed. If the elf awoke, he would have a tremendous headache.

The two dwarves observed the elf, one leaning forward and admiring his handiwork, the other with his arms crossed, guarding the door. The first dwarf had been working on the elf for hours, cajoling, encouraging, leering at, threatening, and finally beating him, but was now enjoying the silence. It had been a long night, and though they had not let on during the interrogation, the man’s will had indeed been strong in spite of his fear.

The first dwarf was exhausted - the second dwarf merely tired of waiting and watching. For a few more moments they stood, listening to the ragged gasps of the unconscious elf. There would be no rest until they had made their report to their superiors - but their superiors didn’t need to know the elf had passed out - yet.

The first dwarf, the one closest to the elf, had braided blonde-hair, fair skin, and deep-set green eyes that shined with his youth. He also possessed the beginning of what might one day be a grand beard. His fine black leathers were stained with a bit of the elf’s blood, but he leaned forward anyway, admiring his handiwork. If he had been afraid to get dirty, he would have found a longer club than the chair-leg he now held in his left hand - or perhaps another profession.

Though the welts on the sides of the elf’s head were painful, the youth was particularly proud of the elf’s hands, which were now a nasty combination of black, blue, and green, the majority of the unfortunate being’s slender fingers pointing in directions that nature had clearly not intended. It was the youth’s first interrogation.

“Virgin no more.” The youth murmured, trembling. He looked back at his dwarven counterpart, searching for approval, but the second dwarf’s face was a mask of calm. He turned back to the elf. “Didn’t I tell you I’d beat you bloody with part of your own chair if you didn’t tell me what we wanted to hear?”

Behind the youth, the second dwarf’s face gave way to an exaggerated roll of his blue-grey eyes. This dwarf was older, his face bearing the scars and marks of over three hard decades on the surface. Close-cut, dark brown hair made a ring around his otherwise bald head, before giving way to the full beard and mustache that occupied the lower half of his face. His left eye, though still quite functional, was marred by a deep, reddish-brown scar above and below his eye, and a faint tattoo of blocks and bars rested on his right cheek. If one was appropriately versed in the many markings of the many different guilds of the Carta, one would have recognized that this met he was an experienced hand in his guildhall, which belonged to a former thug named Sordri the Savage.

Unlike his youthful accomplice, the second dwarf’s leather was unmarred, and he was clad chiefly in an earth-brown cloak and loose-fitting, dark green breeches that had seen their share of the weather. Two daggers rested within easy reach at his sides, though several more were secured in the folds of his baggy sleeves, the pockets of his cloak, in tall boots that rose above his ankles, and affixed to his wrist in small sheaths.

He rested the palm of his left hand on his temple, bored with the whole affair, and traced a small scar that rested in front of his left ear. In his youth, it had served as a reminder of the perils of opening his mouth, but in his role as supervisor of his younger accomplice, he felt free to do so. Age and rank carried their privileges, after all.

“You SURE told him, Rinn. Breaking his fingers won’t get us paid.”

Rinn turned to him and grinned. “C’mon, Dadd. The boss won’t like it if you openly question his methods and motives. He always reminded me that physicality might be the best way to get someone to talk. How else do you think he got the name ‘the Savage?’”

“Might. In this case it didn’t. Remember he keeps me around ‘cause I’m the only one with the stones to question standard motives or methods, lad.” Dadd shrugged. “That, and because I’m good at keeping an eye on whelps like you. Physicality has its place, but you didn’t apply it correctly. Besides, he and I came up with ‘the Savage’ together over brews. Sordri Ternadirican was too much of a mouthful, but he didn’t want to be confused with that Sordri Aeducan fellow.”

Now the younger dwarf’s eyes rolled. “As if I needed keeping an eye on, ‘specially from an oldie like you. You saw - I did everything right, just like the boss taught. I tried it nice, I tried it mean, I went through the usual threats - even invented a few. Nothing could get him to talk.”

Dadd ignored the age crack. In reality, he was only ten years the youth’s senior - but in what was a very dangerous profession serving the Carta, ten years service might well have been forty.

“That’s because you didn’t give him enough time to think about whether or not his hidden coins were worth the array of promises you offered him. You just stacked them all on top of each other, one after the other.” Dadd explained. “When you start getting physical, you need to give him time to consider whether or not the pain he’s feeling is worth his information…  you also need to give him time to stop screaming before you break another finger, or you won’t get anything out of him. Treat your interrogations the way you’d treat a fine lover… Use patience. Savor these kinds of things… especially when you’re trying to accomplish a goal.”

“Didn’t need no savoring to accomplish my last few goals…” Rinn muttered.

Dadd didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah well, when you’re patient they might let you pay less to have your goals met.” He winked. “Don’t forget this lesson. Interrogation is about anticipation… and patience.”

“But boss wanted it done by midnight!” Rinn retorted, stubbornly eager to get the better of the discussion.

“Yeah, but you got yourself wrapped up on midnight, and that wasn’t the most important part of his statement. The most important part was that…” Dadd’s voice trailed off, and he crossed his arms while staring at Rinn expectantly.

The lad groaned. “...that Boss wanted it done. Maker’s arse.”

For the first time that night, Dadd allowed himself a smile. “Let’s not bring the Maker into your screw-up. These things happen, especially to greenies like you. Let’s go fetch some healing potions and we’ll let you try again tomorrow night - though those healing potions are coming out of your take today, you know.”

At the mention of his take, Rinn’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Idiot.” Dadd thought to himself. “You forgot this one is all about the money.”

“My cut!” He hissed. “You greedy arse! The Boss said this interrogation was both of ours! IT should come out of your share as much as it should mine! Why, I oughta-” The younger dwarf brandished his club, and for a moment, Dadd admired the speed with which Rinn had snatched up his weapon as the youth stepped menacingly toward him. It reminded Dadd why he was so enamored with the kid’s potential in the first place - if only something could be done about that temper.

“Wait!” Dadd barked sharply. To his great surprise, Rinn did, a fact for which the elder dwarf was grateful - because he hated killing stupid when it had potential to grow. “Did I tell you to break his fingers?”

“No, but you could have stopped me! You should still pay some of your share as well.” Rinn took another step forward. Acting as if he was taken aback, Dadd took a step back and casually hooked his thumbs through his belt, though in the same motion he also disengaged the clasps on his wrist sheathes.

“We’ll have to work on those skills of observation too.” Dadd mentally noted. His voice trembled slightly, though it was still an act. “You feel really strongly about this, don’t you?”

“I do!” Rinn growled.

“Well, I-,” Dadd paused, and looked past the angry dwarf. “Oh look, the elf’s awake.”

“He is?” Rinn spun around, but found only confusion. The elf remained slumped over on the table, still unconscious.

Dadd’s first thrown dagger took Rinn in the right palm, and the club clattered to the floor. His second pinned Rinn’s left foot to the earth, and the youth’s voice, so menacing before, became a high-pitched shriek. Dadd lunged forward and stepped on the youth’s right foot, so that the youth’s only choice was to attempt to throw Dadd aside or tear his left foot away from the dagger. He did try just that, but the older dwarf grabbed the younger’s wrists. He leaned in close enough for Rinn to smell the ale and onions they’d had a scant few hours before on his breath.

Dadd’s voice was low and even, nearly a whisper. “Rule one. Never take your eyes off someone you’re threatening if they can still act.”

He ground his boot-heel into Rinn’s foot, eliciting a gasp of pain. He maintained the pressure as tears begain to rim Rinn’s eyes, then lifted his foot slightly and let go of Rinn’s bad hand.

“Get three potions, two for the elf, one for you.” He produced a few gold coins and pressed them into Rinn’s good hand. “Your take won’t cover them, so have some of mine. We’ll try again with this elf tomorrow, and if you ever threaten your superior again, I won’t be aiming for your hands or your feet. Got it?”

Rinn nodded meekly.

“Good. Now, hold still.” Dadd bent and retrieved his second dagger from Rinn’s foot, but he kept his eyes locked on Rinn’s the whole time. He was sorely tempted to give it an additional twist, but decided that the point had been made. Briefly, he regarded his first dagger, as Rinn tried to staunch the bleeding. He grabbed Rinn’s wrist. “Here. Hurts less if you don’t look at it.” He removed the dagger and took a few steps backward, continuing to stare at Rinn.

“Now, go get your potion and get yourself cleaned up.” He stepped aside, and Rinn began to hobble out of the room, clutching at his wounded limb.

“One more thing!” Dadd barked, and Rinn froze in the doorway. The elder dwarf took two confident steps forward and used the edge of Rinn’s black cloak to wipe the blood off his daggers. “These black clothes won’t do. Find something more casual. If you see someone dressed all in black on the city streets, you can’t help but look at him - and the richest purses to cut walk the streets during the day.” He clapped the youth on the shoulder, hard. “Now go.”

Rinn limped the rest of the way out of the room, and Dadd replaced his daggers in their sheathes. The youth glanced back at him once, as Dadd bore a hole through him with his gaze. When Rinn was finally out of his vision, Dadd brought one scarred hand to squeeze at his eyes, before taking a breath to calm himself. Hopefully this one would live long enough not to resent him for it, but to realize how swiftly he would have been killed had he drawn his weapon on anyone else.

A dwarf could dream. Steadying himself, Dadd left to give his report to their master. He had defused one situation. Now it would be time to defuse another. He hoped he wouldn’t need to draw his daggers to defuse this one, because if he did, he would probably be dead. He left to seek an audience with the Castle’s grandmaster.

---

Grandmaster Sordi wasn’t mad - Grandmaster Sordri was furious. Dadd had thought it might be so. He had told him about the failed interrogation, but not any of the other parts.

“Rinnium is a failure. It’s clear to me- why isn’t it clear to you, Daddarin? I told you that we needed an example, and to kill him if he didn’t get the elf to talk - this is his fourth foul-up.” He steepled his two bejeweled hands together. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t kill him in front of all the other initiates tomorrow.”

Dadd put his hands on his hips, unswayed by his superior’s bluster. “I’ll give you three. One, the elf was weaker than we expected - you can’t pin that on young Rinn. If he were made of hardier stuff, he’d have stayed conscious long enough to tell us what we needed to know. Two, you and I both know we lost eight to the guard in that last Lyrium raid - you can GKKKKHHHH,” Dadd paused, drawing a finger across his neck for emphasis, “the lad if you want, but that still leaves you three in the hole for the next shipment.” He paused, letting his master wait expectantly for the third reason. The moment was necessary, Dadd reminded himself. Give him time to think through his rage for a moment and he would see that everything that Dadd had said was true.

“I thought you said there were three.”

Dadd allowed himself a small smile. “You’re right, I did. The lad offered up his share of the day’s take because he didn’t get the elf under control as quickly as you’d asked him to.” He had removed the pouch from Rinn’s belt when he had cleaned his daggers, and he tossed the pouch, which jingled as it whistled through the air, into Sordri’s lap. Sordri paused, picked up the pouch, and shook it slightly next to his ear. If there was anything that could get him to stop and think, it was the prospect of more riches.

“Thirty gold coins.” The grandmaster’s ear was impeccable. “Not an insignificant amount. He really offered up all this?”

“Sure did, boss.” Dadd lied smoothly. ”You’re focused on his foul-ups, but I’m focused on his talent. And I tell you true, he’s got the swiftest fingers and the quietest feet this side of Thedas. You keep him alive and let him, er, marinate a bit more, and you’ll have one of the finest thieves ever. He just needs experience.”

“Experience.” Sordri scowled. “Maybe all I’ll get is another talented thief that questions my orders and talks back to me. Is that what I really want?”

Dadd grinned. “I don’t know who you could possibly be talking about, but if I may - a question of my own. Do you like money?”

“Of course I like money.”

It was Dadd’s most common defense, and it always swayed his master because his master could look at the books and see very clearly how much more money had crossed his operation since Dadd had joined the organization.

“Then let him live. You’re pissing away money if you kill him just because you’re impatient or because he’s dumb. Piss too much of it away and you’ll be back down here with me living with the dogs instead of encrusting yourself with jewels.

Sordri let out a bored sigh, and his furious expression all but vanished. “Maybe I miss living down there with you and the rest of the dogs. I was Sordri the Savage, then. Clawing my way to the top.”

“Beating elves, dodging guards, extorting coin, handling lyrium, parrying halberds with knives, killing those in front of you to get to the top - what’s not to miss?” Dadd murmured. He could have gone on, but any more and he might just have revealed how truly dissatisfied he was with his current life, one which saw him doing most of those things on a weekly basis - when he wasn’t beating up on the trainees, of course.

Sordri remained silent.

“Thought so.” Dadd bowed slightly. “I’m going to go check on the lad and get to wor-”

“No. Wait here, Daddarin Cadash. Now I have three things to tell you.”

Dadd had been turning to leave, but stiffened as he realized Sordri had used his full name. In ten years of serving as Sordri’s second, his defense had never failed, and for a moment he wondered if it had. Some of the younger dwarves had long spread rumors that Sordri only used your full name when he was about to kill you, and though Dadd had seen Sordri kill plenty of people without addressing them by their full name, this was nonetheless a unique occasion. He turned his blue-grey eyes on the jewel-covered dwarf.

“First- if anyone below you ever draws their weapon on you again, you are to kill them. We cannot afford even a hint of disloyalty. Do you understand?”

“How did you-”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I could hear his scream four floors away. You seldom raise your daggers unless it is in self-defense or a paid assassination. When a whimpering dwarf walked past my door still wringing his wounded hand, it was easy to guess what had happened.” He paused, giving Dadd a mocking grin.

“Do you understand?” This time, the question had little to do with the understanding of the first rule, and Daddarin knew it.

“Yes, guildmaster.” He murmured, feeling like a green thief again.

“The second thing relates to the first - don’t disobey me again. I know how much you value flexibility, but it pays to be inflexible in some things.”

Dadd remained expressionless, but inside he was furious. Sordri’s inflexibilities usually led to needless loss of life, or wastes of resources.

“The third thing. Your numbers were wrong. If you or I were to kill that lad, we wouldn’t have been down three hands, we’d be down four.”

“Four? I don’t understand.” Dadd narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Did we lose another on the raid, or did someone defect?”

“Four. I need you to undertake a very special mission for me, Daddarin. You’re the only one I can trust with this and, truth be told, perhaps the only one we have with the experience to pull this off. Sending you away in light of this incident will do nicely - it’ll keep people from asking questions. Go get what you need for a long journey, and pack plenty of parchment and quills to send messages - not to mention your cipher.”

“Don’t need no cipher. I have our codes memorized. But if you want me to write in codes, then that can only mean...”

“Yes. You’re going to be a spy. One of the other cells requested the most reliable man I knew, and believe it or not, that’s you. So go pack and I’ll tell you the rest of the details tomorrow before you leave.”

“Do I even get a hint?” It was this kind of backtalk that had originally led to Sordri nearly taking his eye several years ago, but that was before his loyalty had been unquestioned.

Sordri’s lips curled wickedly. “Let’s just say you’re going to find religion.”

END