#this goes deeper than me hating my posture and stuff but lets not talk about that<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[maiaacchiato]

going through old photos and yeah. i fucking hate myself

[kerie-prince]

the intern

Peter Parker x Reader (college au)

requested: (anon) plz plz plz give me some college aged, super powerful ( think stark ceo powerful ) peter parker shit. idc what the rest of the story is about, i just need a brooding, smoldering, suit wearing, extremely expensive, college aged spiderman. plz and thank you!!!!

warnings: language

summary: When you start a new internship at Stark Industries, you're not only surprised to find Peter working as your boss, but that he's not the shy neighborhood boy you grew up with

a/n: this doesn't follow canon so for this imagine, hammer industries is just a rival company and the snap never happened lol also i don't know anything more than operating a phone so don't expect me to write sciencey, techy stuff lmao

(gif source)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you were running across the road to jump into a cab that was available. Your phone hadn't been charging all night as you thought it had which caused you to wake up forty-five minutes before the start of the interview. You need this internship before you graduate from Empire State and get your degree in robotics.

On the way there, you nearly got car sick as the driver took sharp turns and nearly ran past intersections seconds before they became red. Once in front of Hammer Industries, your heels clicked loudly as you ran inside the tall building. You checked in with the front desk and took the elevator up to the 10th floor.

Just as you arrived, Justin Hammer was calling your name. “I'm right here!” you nearly tripped on your heels and your breaths were short.

“I've called your name three times, do you understand what that makes you look like, correct?” Justin stood unphased as you stood up straight and tried to steady your breath. “All these people are on time. Some of these folks have been here for hours, even.”

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry–”

“Shame, I really liked your resume and your report on the expansion of nano-technology. Try again next year, maybe.” Justin started to call out the next participant and when she got up you stepped in front of her, “Please Mr. Hammer, I need this internship or I can't graduate.”

The people in the waiting room had their eyes on the two of you, tension so thick that it was almost hard to breathe. “Then maybe you should have come on time,” he pushed you aside to let the next person in to interview. You quickly ran back out and spoke to no one all the way home. Your eyes and cheeks were aching as you held in the tears during your Uber ride. The driver wanted to ask if you were okay, but if you were to break down in his car he’d probably be stuck having to listen to what happened and if he was honest with himself, he didn't actually care.

Once you got to your apartment, you made a straight line to the kitchen. “Hey, how’d the interview go?” MJ, your roommate, asked while still looking at her computer. You reached into the freezer for your emergency ice cream pint, snatched a spoon and walked into your room without saying anything. “That bad, I guess,” MJ said to herself.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

You sat with MJ and Ned in the cafeteria, but had not touched any of the food on your plate. Your head was laid on the steel table and you just continuously groaned. “I’m a failure,” you whined.

“No, what you are is fucking dumb,” MJ commented as she ate.

“Thanks, Michelle, that makes me feel so much better,” you looked up to glare at her before laying her head back down. Ned felt bad that his friend was in despair, “How come you didn't ask Peter for help?”

“Huh?” you lifted your head back up some of your hair falling onto your face.

“Yeah, Peter already works at Stark Industries, why didn't you just ask him to get you in? You could even skip the internship altogether and be in full time,” Ned suggested. You gave it some thought, but something about it didn't sound right.

“No, I don't want to bother Peter. I don’t want him to think that I’m only calling him for a job,” you sighed. Ned texted Peter anyways. Unexpectedly, Peter texted him back immediately.

“He says it’s fine,” Ned showed you his phone to read the text. ‘Yeah man, tell her to come in tomorrow and Ms. Potts will interview her’

You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding and pulled out your phone.

‘Thank you so much for helping me out’

(…)

‘No problem, anything for a friend’

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

The Stark Industries building was huge. It almost looked taller than the Empire State Building, and maybe it actually was. Your legs were shaking as you stared up at it. “Here goes nothing,” you assured yourself.

The lobby was bustling with people; workers walking around, a group of kids that seemed to be here on a field trip, and some teens taking pictures in front of one of Mr. Stark's Iron Man suits.

The trip up to the 17th floor was crowded with people as more and more entered in every passing floor. You had to squeeze yourself out and accidentally stepped on someone’s foot in the process.

Looking around, your jaw dropped. It was an open laboratory with groups of people putting together small robots, flying drones, and people laughing and talking. It was such a fun and cool looking environment, you wondered why you didn't just apply here in the first place.

Pepper Potts spotted you walking around and approached you with a tap on your shoulder. “Hi, I’m Pepper. You must be Y/N,” she reached her hand out to shake yours which you accepted. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Peter’s told me a lot about you. Come, follow me,” Pepper’s office had glass walls and a view of New York from behind her desk. You weren't particularly fond of heights, but even you would love to have an office view like that. Pepper gestured to the chair in front of her as she smoothed her dress to sit in hers. “So, I see here that you had an interview at Hammer’s. Can I ask why you chose them?” You didn't even know how they got that information. You hadn't seen or spoken to Peter in quite a while, so how Pepper knew that was beyond you. You sat there with your lips moving to say something but nothing was coming out.

Pepper seemed to have caught on what you were thinking and elaborated, “Before I do any interviewing, I do full background checks on everyone.” She had a gentle smile which made you feel better. You thought she would scold you or something considering the question did more than catch you off guard.

“My mother used to work there for a long time and I figured that I would follow,” you explained. Pepper nodded her head and wrote some notes down. She looked onto her computer and looked at everything there was about you. “Well, I see here that you have exceptional grades. 4.7 GPA since you started school and your paper on nano-technology has gotten much praise. I think even Tony read it.” No way. The Tony Stark read my paper? “So tell me, do you see yourself working here at Stark Industries?”

You looked outside and watched everyone in the open lab again. “Yes.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear. We’d love to have you here,” she reached over to shake your hand. You looked at her surprised and hesitantly shook hers. “Welcome to the team, Y/N.”

“Thank you so much!” You cupped her hand with both of yours and shook it a little too quickly, but she didn't seem to mind. You were ecstatic to start your path to your career, and at a dream place at that.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

Your alarm rang at the time you set it to, but there was no need for it. You couldn't sleep all night. Today is your first day of your internship and you were feeling so many things at once. Excited, nervous, happy, scared…

You tried to restrain yourself to a light breakfast, but MJ’s pancakes were to die for that you ate two whole stacks. You looked through your closet just about fifteen times; you had already picked an outfit the following night with the help of MJ, but when you put it back on, you hated it. It sucked for your roommate seeing as she had to sit through you changing from eight other outfits.

You tried to picture the lab again to see how other people dressed for a better idea to base it on your outfit choice. From what you remember, it was pretty casual, so that’s what you stuck to.

You were given your pass the day you were hired, so you had no issue walking inside. The elevator was just as packed as it was last time, but you were more composed so there were no toes being stepped on this time. You weren't exactly sure as to where you had to go, so you looked around to see if there were other interns to ask where to start.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice surprised you from behind. Your shoulders jumped a bit, but relaxed at the view of his face. His face… you actually hadn't seen him for quite a while. Months, maybe. His jawline was more defined, and his once floppy hair was styled neatly. You tried to not look him up and down, but the temptation was definitely there. And the other thing, his voice was deeper than you last remembered. Is this really Peter Parker? “Hey, Peter.”

He gave you a hug that nearly made you lose breath. He was stronger than you remembered. A memory flashed back to when you were in junior high; you, Ned and Peter were hanging around the local park and you beat Peter on rounds on the monkey bars. He gave up after a couple bars, but you went back and forth a couple times. ‘Show off.’ But now, he had muscles that the shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps.

The hug was quick, and you had to pretend that he didn't just squeeze some life out of you. “Do you work on this floor?”

“Yeah, you’re actually assigned to work with my team. Come, I’ll show you around.” He started walking and you noticed how his posture changed. Damn, I know it hasn't been this long since I've seen him. Why does he look so different? He was wearing trousers. Trousers? Peter hates trousers. But his ass is looking great–

“Hey guys, this is Y/N. She’s going to be working with us as an intern. And I'll say this beforehand, no she's not going to be taking coffee or lunch orders,” Peter introduced you. There were various aged people in this group. Some were your age, and one person looked to have been in his thirties. Peter is in charge of this group? They all said ‘hi’ to you and went around introducing themselves.

Once that was finished, Peter pulled a chair for you on the table. “You’ll take notes for me while I give this presentation,” he whispered to you before walking in front of the table and started writing on the clear glass board.

He was talking quickly and didn't stumble over his words like he used to. Everyone was listening to him attentively and you jotted notes down as quickly as you could. Every now and then, you would steal glimpses of him and feel a sort of… well you felt something. Amazement? Inspiration? Adoration?

No doubt was Peter one of the smartest people you've ever met and here he was leading his own team and making potential products for Stark Industries at such a young age. Seeing him at work was so… it was indescribable to you but all you could think of was how different he is now. In a good way, of course.

Peter Parker has been your friend for years and to see him change from a bumbling, shy, adorable nerd into a confident, intelligent working man attracted you.

When you got home, you thought a lot about your first day. Being an intern at Stark Industries was really fun, so far. You weren't expected to do silly things like get coffee or lunch for everyone or pick up someone’s dry cleaning. You actually learned something and even had your opinions heard on some of the things that Peter suggested for his team’s upcoming product presentation.

If this is what it's like to be an intern, you couldn't imagine what it would be like working full time.

“How'd it go?” MJ stuck her head in your room. “It was fun. I'm working with Peter,” you explained your day to her.

“Cool,” was the last thing she said before she went to her own room for the night.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

In the past few months, your internship at Stark’s has been going swimmingly. Everyone's been so nice, and the work is so fascinating. You've gotten closer with Peter and along the way, he felt like he was more than a friend and boss to you.

Currently, everyone was getting ready for their final presentations for the upcoming annual Stark Industries Convention. It was going to be Peter’s first year presenting his own project with his team and you were so excited to be a part of it.

The time you’ve spent with Peter was really fun. He was a good mentor and a great friend. The only thing was that you couldn't help but look at him a little too long, and you’ve found yourself thinking about him during your classes or doing your homework. The shy boy from Midtown High was no more, replaced– no, grown into the Peter you know now. But you pushed all feelings aside to focus on your next thesis paper and mock-up of the handout brochures of Peter’s project.

Sometimes, you didn't even feel like an intern as Peter would ask for any ideas you had to make the project better and even let you help with assembly. He stayed true to his words and you’ve never once had to run for coffee or things like that. There’d be times when you would study some of the little parts under a magnifying glass and he’d come up slightly behind you and explain about some of the bits on the working table.

And every time he did that, your breath would be stuck in your throat and you’d have to remind yourself that this was just Peter helping you out and you’re just learning. But it was normal to want more every now and then… right?

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

The convention was just a few days away and you had trouble finding something to wear. These events were usually black tie events, but did that mean the presenting teams as well? Wouldn't that be uncomfortable?

One of the guys on your team, Richie, sat with you during lunch and talked about how he was probably going to wear the same suit as always. Not because he couldn't afford a new suit, but he was just a simple person and he only wears it once a year for the conventions and that’s all, so it’s still in mint condition.

The girls on your team and some from others were going dress shopping the day before and invited you to join. You were excited mainly because now you don't have to bother MJ for it.

Speaking of MJ, you were going to ask her to come with you. Pepper sent out the electronic invitations to everyone in the company and authorized plus ones to even interns. She’s never been to one – for reasons you were still confused about – but you wanted your best friend to be there for you. And if not MJ, then you bet Ned would still come with you. Wait, what if he’s going with Peter?

On cue, Peter had sat in the chair next to yours in the small break room, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hey Pete. You excited for Saturday?” Peter quietly stirred his coffee and gave you a small smile, “Uh, yeah. I’m nervous, but I’ve worked really hard on this. And everyone, too. Including you.”

You slightly blushed. I didn't do all that much you thought. You two just sat there taking small sips from the hot, bitter beverage.

“So… I wanted to ask you something,” Peter started.

“Mhm?” The coffee nearly slipped past your lips. You quickly grabbed a napkin to lightly dab some of it off of your lips.

“Well, as you know, we can bring anyone with us to the convention,” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Is he going to…

“And I wanted to know if you were bringing MJ with you.” Oh. You nodded your head and thought you hid your disappointment well but without knowing, Peter actually caught it for a split second. “Good. You can come with me,” he smiled and stood up.

You were in awe; without effort, Peter just asked you to be his date for Saturday.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

“Dude, how are you not ready yet? He’s gonna be here any minute,” MJ sat at her computer per usual working. Your music was too loud for her taste playing from your shared bathroom. Peter said he would pick you up at 7, and it was currently 6:50.

You had put on and removed your make-up at least five times. Something was always wrong; one of the wings would either be thicker than the other, the blush would be the wrong shade, or the lipliner kept going out of place. But, alas, you finally nailed it.

Your hair was styled half up with elegant curls and braids. In between some braids were little bits of baby’s breath flowers. Most likely, you were going to have a hard time taking those out but they looked cute and it was too late to take them out.

Your dress was right above your knee and flowed comfortably so you wouldn't have a hard time walking. It was a neutral taupe color and had a V-line that ended just above cleavage and hugged the curve of your waist. You paired it with simple black heels and a small, white handbag.

“He’s here,” MJ informed you.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath, “what do you think?” You spun around and held your arms out. “You look really pretty. Now go get ‘em. I’ll watch it on the live stream.” She gave you a lazy thumbs up and resumed her work.

Outside was Peter in an all-black apparel. His dress shirt had only one button undone, and he had a loose blazer that accentuated the dip of his shoulders. He stood against the limo with his hands at his sides. God, he’s gonna be the death of me.

When he caught sight of you, he had a flirtatious smirk on his lips and held out for your hand. “Peter, where’d this limo come from?”

“Mr. Stark set it up for me,” he stated like it was no big deal. Must be nice being his favorite. He held the door for you to climb in and closed the door behind him. “We’re ready, Happy,” he told the driver. Happy rolled his eyes, closed the window and drove off.

The convention was off to a great start; Tony Stark came in with his suit as he always loved to do and started introductions before everyone else scattered around to look at the projects of the many departments in his company. Some groups of certain departments had large stages, some had small stands, like Peter’s.

There were still large crowds coming to see the smaller presentations, and everyone seemed to be fascinated with Peter's. You stood on the side as his team operated the machine and Peter spoke. He looked confident and it was mesmerizing to watch him.

After the night was over, all employee’s and some guests were brought back to headquarters for the after party. You walked around with Peter and had flutters in your heart every time he held the small of your back. The most exciting part of the night was meeting Tony Stark in person. He greeted Peter warmly, and then his eyes landed on you, “Peter, who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of mine,” he gestured for you. You shook Tony’s hand and stood starstruck. “The one you don’t shut up about?” Pepper hit his shoulder and laughed nervously.

“Wait, I’ve heard about you. Buddy of mine works at Empire State and he showed me your paper, it was really good.” You were still shocked that he had even read it and here he was talking to you about it. You went back and forth talking about nano-technology.

On the way home, you and Peter talked and laughed about things you told him as you caught him up to what was happening on campus when he couldn't be there. It was a really fun night, and Peter was more noticeably relaxed now that the hard part was over. “Alright, home sweet home,” Happy announced through the window.

“Well, that’s me,” you smiled sadly, not wanting the night to end. You reached to open the door but Peter climbed out from his side. He walked around to open your door and just like he did earlier, held his hand out for you to grab and assist you out the limo. What was different this time was that he kept his hand in yours as he walked you to the door of the apartments. “I had a great time with you tonight,” Peter confessed.

“Me too,” your voice was soft and low for only him to hear. Peter’s eyes switched from looking into yours to your lips before he grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you. The kiss was needy, passionate, but had a certain gentleness to it. Once he felt you kiss him back with the same fervor, he deepened the kiss and brought one hand to pull your waist closer to him.

You pulled apart to regain your breath and looked to admire his swollen lips and he copied the same notion. He leaned in to give you a gentle kiss and pulled away, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Peter.” Your cheeks were flushed and your face was warm. You watched him as he left and ran inside. Upstairs in your apartment, you found MJ and Ned sitting on the couch with a bag of chips in each of their hands.

“Good night?” Ned asked. You just nodded and walked slowly to your room.

“We saw the whole thing, by the way,” MJ said nonchalantly. You looked back to glare at your best friends, Ned smiling innocently at you and MJ keeping her straight face.

You changed into your pajamas and laid on your bed on your back, looking up at the ceiling. You couldn't wait to go back to work on Monday.

—

requests open!

[stwrlightz]

CHERRY WAS AD*M'S ORIGINAL EVE

First of all I'm not an Ad*m's apologist, I hate him and this blog isn't a safe place for Ad*m and people who actually like him. I just fuck hate that guy deeply and strongly like all sane people should do. 

But I was deep analyzing the show and his motives and, well, I am this kind of person. 

Well, let's start. It's pretty obvious that the relationship with Cherry and Ad*m was way deeper than we thought in the beginning. After episode 9 it's too strong. But most of the fandom still thinks it's a one way thing, but I think it isn't. 

Well, I can't say Ad*m liked Cherry too because he can't care for anything or anyone. He is literally incapable of affection or love. This guy is sick, like, really. He has all of psychopathy's symptoms. But he isn't really indifferent to Cherry either.

His facial expression totally changes when he sees Cherry's name on the card. He isn't content with fighting Cherry and that's visible. The way his posture changes and he becomes quite all way long is very unusual for him. He always talks crazy shit with his adversaries in the beginning, even with Miya in the qualifiers. But when Cherry talks with him, he doesn't even look at him.

And in their previously meeting he looks at Cherry in a very different way. Ok and that's actually when the theory becomes. Look, he actually thinks it was Cherry and Joe who abandoned him, left him behind, even if Cherry is sure was him. He sort of feels abandoned for him too.

And why? Because Cherry was Ad*m's Eve even before he actually wanted Eve.

But he really wasn't his. He always belongs to someone's else.

I think the obsession of Ad*m with finding his skating match, his true pairing, it's because he saw the matchablossom relationship and he wanted something equal.

He has some sort of feelings for Cherry but even if they had anything or Cherry liked him back, he wasn't supposed to be with him, because Joe was always there.

In the flashback, all of them, but in this scene in particular when he shows his face to the guys, we see the Cherry point of view, but there's more of that. In the point of view of Joe's for example, he saw Cherry turning their conversation back to get to Ad*m. And Ad*m saw his friends talking away from him because there's  always two of them and him. 

Like, this mf wanted to be in there, maybe in Joe's place, and when he realized that isn't gonna happen, he goes crazy looking for his "Eve".

And that's why he thinks langa is his Eve too. Well, the resemblance with Langa and Cherry is pretty obvious and the Anime makes sure we get it. Cherry is the first person besides his mom with Langa to interact in the show. And well, there's no obvious reason for a guy, who can't even write his own name right, to apply for a job in a calligraphy studio. 

C'mon, even Cherry saw himself in Langa, he's super interested in him, looking in his files and finding about the snowboard and stuff. Grab him for the hand and help him when everybody else is laughing at him? Look at these two.

A guy whose skate superpower comes from a special personalized board that brings the best of his skill? Where have I seen that before? 

Sorry Ad*m, this one is taken too.

Well, this was my essay. And I'm pretty sure I went crazy last Saturday but that made some sense for me and I really wanted to share this thoughts. Feel free to discuss it with me if you want. I have so many theories about this anime. You can always send me a message or stuff. 

[waywardimpalawriter]

His boulevard of broke dreams

His boulevard of broken dreams

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden, Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden

Setting: A few days before Dean’s attacked by the Djinn

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: angst, feelings,  

Word count: 2,979 (with lyrics)

Summary: Just a simple watch and report, till the man under surveillance reminds you who taught you everything you know.  

Notes: Sequel to “Her” also written for #decadeundertheinfluencechallenge the song I choose is Boulevard of Broken dreams by Green Day. “My shadow’s the only one that walk’s beside me. My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating.”

Tag list is open for all fandoms I write for

Dean list: @akshi8278​

His boulevard of broken dreams tag list: @cockslut-padalecki​  

Body shivering from the cold penetrating the cab of your truck dragging the thin crochet blanket tighter around your shaking frame and cursing the day of Sam Winchester’s birth. Searching for the reason you’re parked three blocks down hidden behind an old shed weary eyes searching for any suspicious active. Still wondering why you said yes in the first place. But then the reason rounds the corner and you duck down out of sight. Beat up old truck passed by as you raise neck turned to watch it disappear into the drive. A deep sigh leaving while teeth chatter and rubbing your arms to stay warm. Would’ve used the heat but a running truck gave way that someones sitting, watching.

Thankful you’ve had years of stakeout experience and know all of Dean’s habits. Though you’ve counted a few knew ones since last being in his present. Head shaking those thoughts from your mind especially when you’re there simply as a watch and report. Memories skating back to get three days ago when Sam and Bobby dropped the bomb on your ass.

“We need eyes on him, watching his movements and those around just in case,” golden flecked green eyes stare right through you. Tipping his shaggy brown head to the side Sam gives you a half smile that doesn’t reach those once warm eyes .

Shrugging, “I don’t get why I gotta do this? Why not just bring Dean back into the hunt? Why are you leaving him in the dark about being alive?” Only finding out yourself four weeks ago that Sam Winchester came back from the Pit alive and relatively well. Course you hadn’t believed your eyes at first, flinging a silver dagger at his head which he ducked blade imbedded into the spot his head once resided. Holy water splashed in his face after recovering from almost being shish ka-bobbed.

“Because,” running a hand through that just brushing the collar length brown hair eyes still firmly fixed on you. “He deserves that life Y/N to have peace for once and not worry about what monsters lurk around the next corner.”

“Pff like Dean would ever relax into an apple pie life style Sam. Knowing him there’s salt at every window, devil’s trap under each entryway point. Sawed off shotgun under the bed with holy water and salt right besides.” Your own eyes boring into his not believing his reasons for a second. Seeing one too many differences in the youngest Winchester since his return from death. “You can’t tell me a man like Dean Winchester would consciously not prepare for anything to come knocking at his door. Even if he’s given that life up it doesn’t just fade away, I know.”

Shrugging though there’s a twist to the look he’s giving you almost like he doesn’t truly care what happens to Dean. It’s there then gone making you wonder if you’re seeing things.

Different voice fills in this time,“That maybe so but he’s still entitled to that life. Just as we have to watch his backside to make sure that life stays intact.” Stepping forward to rest a hand on your shoulder, Bobby’s gravelly voice softens a touch know your feelings. Having put you back together after leaving Dean at Lisa’s almost a year ago.“I know this won’t be easy on you kid and I’d do it myself but I gotta get back up to Sioux Falls. Been away too long as is and Jodi already called half a dozen along with every half wit hunter in the area,” giving you a half smile and a pat on the shoulder. Having a soft spot much like the one he harbors for the boys but doesn’t tell them.

“Piece of cake,” brushing the concern off but deep down thankful for Bobby’s reassuring words. “He’ll never see me and I’ll only make sure no bad guys see him.”  

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me, and I walk alone

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone

“So much for this being a piece of cake,” huffing out the words grabbing for the second blanket and thermos filled with coffee. “Hmm cake that’s what I could use right now and a fucking bacon cheeseburger too.”

Passenger side door opening you reach for the 9 mm beside you, aiming it at the familiar brown head of Dean Winchester holding up a grease stained paper bag. “I come in peace and really don’t want to leave pieces plus I bring a peace offering up to the goddess,” soothing laughter edged voice comes from just outside the truck cab.

Thought you’d know that voice even in a crowded party with music thumping bass shaking the very roof shingles. “The fuck you doing Winchester I could’ve blown your head off.”

“Promise?” Wiggling his brow peeking in with that sinful signature smirk tugging at one corner of those plush lips. “Wanna lower that piece before you actually accidentally shoot me Dirty Harry?”

Tossing a balled up napkin at his head amazed at how quickly the same banter flows between you like old times. But it’s not old times and you’re not here to relive them. “How’d you know?”

“Sweetheart you maybe good but I’m still the best,” sliding into the bench seat of the truck, extending the greasy bag towards you. Keeping the door open a moment longer to take in your appearance, interior lighting doing shit for your complexion though to Dean you’re still beautiful as the day you walked out of his life.  

Looking from the bag to Dean, “Letting all the cold air in dumb shit close the door,” huddling into the blankets deeper in the guise of trying to keep warm when in reality your shrinking away from Dean. “What’s in the bag?”

Slamming the aged door, hinges creaking in protest, “Thought you’d like something semi warm instead of jerky and lukewarm coffee.” Trying to study your features in the dim streetlamp light. Only catching shadows and angles from his position. Question’s and there’s a lot of them swirl inside his head. Most prominent one isn’t a question but a gut wrenching admission he wouldn’t voice to anyone other than himself.

“Never answered my question Winchester,” taking the offered bag as your stomach growled in hunger. Fresh French fries scented the air upon opening the brown bag. Immediately sticking a hand in and grabbing a few to stuff into your mouth. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome growly,” chuckling marveling at how somethings never change no matter how much time passes. “You always drive the same beat up pickup sweetheart. This might not be Bear,” patting the weathered dash broad in front of him. Affectionate smile tugging at his lips turning his glaze back towards you. “But you always find a truck just like him. Something wrong with yours? Finally gave up the ghost didn’t he?”

The genuine curiosity in his tone isn’t lost on you nor is the way he’s glancing in your direction while stuffing your face. “What something hanging from my mouth?” Wiping at your chin feeling a little self conscious under the weight of his stare.

“No sweetheart it’s just,” shaking his head adjusting himself, back pressed into the door, left leg bent foot dangling and wiggling, a sure sign his nerves are raging through his veins right now. “How’ve you been?”

Swallowing, hating the fact that your once close relationship has slipped into nothing. Remembering the promise — now broken — you made the last time in his presence. Though he knew nothing about it and most likely never really thought about you much after leaving. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from asking him to finish his first thought. You’re slow to answer, pretending to chew that last bite just a little longer to put off from answering. At a lost to what exactly to tell him. “Good…I’m good very good actually,” forcing the words out through a tightened jaw.

“Hmm,” knowing by your body posture, the constant darting of your eyes all tells him these are lies passing your lips. Part of him wants to know why? Why after almost a year with no visits did you happen to show up now? Suspicion riding him hard and demands the questions be answered. Though there’s that other side, the one he’s artfully kept carefully hidden ever since you stepped out of his life. The one telling him to pull you into his arms, hugging the very life from your body. Holding on to part of his former life one he missed if he wanted to be truthful with himself. Settling on, “Why are you here?”

“Pulling no punches I see Winchester,” bitting off his last name almost like a curse. Warmth of earlier gone with the devoured food now just a memory of greasy bag and dirty napkins. Catching the curt nod from the man himself you sit up straighter looking out over the quiet neighborhood. Carefully kept lawns and white picket fences, trash cans in hiding places and houses in the best shape the apple pie life a fantasy they’ve all talked about. But none manage to obtain till Dean, his name tasting bitter on your tongue. Unused after all those months passing like melting snowflakes. Not wanting to regain that familiarity with the man sitting opposite, eyes drilling unseen holes into the side of your head.

Flinching slightly, hating the way his last name is spit from your mouth like garbage. “You came here remember, your also the one who stayed away don’t lay that shit at my door Y/N.”

“Yes, but your,” turning, eyes flashing in anger towards him, “the one who walked away remember. You left this life, abandon Bobby and Cas… me.” Whispering the last part hoping he didn’t hear.

Scoffing, “I made a promise to Sam,” bitting the name out while trying to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t abandon anyone if anything you ditched me with no returned calls, texts or even a fucking visit.”

Hearing the bitterness that underlay the deep cadence in his voice, your head shakes trying to hold onto your anger. To not let out why you’re here nor the fact seeing him again after a year dredges up all those old feelings both those of insecurity and yearning. “Why would I stop by when I knew this would happen? When I’d see you with Her wishing for once you had chosen…” bitting your tongue, quickly turning away. “This was a mistake, get out of my truck Winchester.”

“No,” single word leaving those plush lips and making you whip around to stare at him. Mouth gapping like a fish out of water lungs burning for oxygen. “Not till you explain why you’re here. If it’s such a hardship to come why now?” Desperately wanting you to finish the thought but too afraid the answer would break his heart.

Only two things Dean Winchester regrets in his life, letting Sam dive into the pit with Lucifer trapped inside his body and you walking out of his life. Now he walks this life alone with no one truly beside him. Yes, Lisa’s there but unlike you, she doesn’t understand the nightmares, the constant need to double and triple check the windows and doors. The need to keep her and Ben safe always in the fore front of his mind. Many nights — though he’d never admit it — he’d lay awake wondering if he made the wrong choice.            

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Schooling your expression and turning towards him prepared to give an Oscar worthy performance not anticipating the lost expression in those whiskey fleck green eyes. Trying to keep the emotions from shaking the timber of your voice, “I’d been in the area figured I’d stop by say hi.” Swallowing harshly licking your dry lips slowly and diverting your eyes back towards the road. “Now I see it’s a mistake, you have a good life and I have mine. So kindly get the fuck out of my truck.”

“I call bullshit sweetheart,” moving closer, Dean reaches out to take the hand nearest and intertwine your fingers together. Familiar gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Touch of his hand searing into your skin like a brand scorching your very soul. “There hasn’t been a mysterious case in the area for over a hundred miles. Now you gonna tell me why you’ve drove out of the way to park on my street three houses down for the last three days?” For the first time in months feeling a peace enclose him like a warm blanket on a chilly winter’s morning. He desperate to keep that warmth to keep you but there’s a little voice in the back of his mind sneering at him ‘it’s too late you’ve lost.’

Eager to pull your hand free yet reluctance stills your movement as emotions swamp your mind with memories of years ago when the two of you still hunted together. Heart pounding a triple time rhythm one yours sure Dean could hear with being so close. Eyes close in a desperate bid to reign in those feelings, to give nothing away and leave just as stoically as last time. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Call it what you want Winchester but it’s the truth,” yanking your hand from his to cross arms over your chest. “I don’t care if it’s not the answer you want it’ll be the only one I gave. So I ask, no demand that you get the fuck outta my truck,” last few words hissed through clinched teeth.

And just like that cold water is poured over his head dousing the feelings bubbling up. For the best, his mind screams while turning to reach for the door. “Just so you know sweetheart I never abandoned you, would never I just didn’t think I could give you the life your deserve. I choose the easy way out because even if it doesn’t work with Her at least I would leave with my heart.” Door creaking when opened, Dean stepped from the aged truck slamming it behind him. Sam’s voice in his mind admonishing him for the chick flick moment of weakness.

Each step he took away from your truck tore his heart to shreds. Inter-monologue fighting between cursing at him and knowing that it’s for the best. Pausing for a moment to look back seeing no movement he wonders and not for the first time if he’ll ever see you again. One last look and he turns away back towards his house, not home because you weren’t there and without you and Sam it didn’t feel like home.

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge, and where I walk alone

Read between the lines

What's fucked up, and everything's alright

Check my vital signs

To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone

Siting in stunned silence searching for what to do if going after Dean is the best course of action or just starting up your truck to drive away is better. Either way would break your heart. Dean’s with Lisa and you’d never make him choose. Never put those kind of demands on the man you love. For a moment longer you sit in silent contemplation wanting to rage at the world, to burn it to the ground and let the remains scatter across the four winds. Head dropping against the steer wheel for a moment till movement catches your eye, someone lurking just outside the well kept community.

Eyes narrowing, scooping up the night vision goggles, a gift from a certain brown eyed FBI agent you helped out of situation a couple of months ago in Texas with a haunted painting. Scanning the area closely, finally coming to rest on a man who out of place. Soft curses falling from your lips. Reaching for the cell to pull up Sam’s number.

“Green light Sammy get your ass down here now seems we got a pest problem luring about.” Tracking the suspicious male till he sprints of at inhuman rate of speed. Pulling the goggles of to toss them beside the empty brown bah.

“Be there by night fall tomorrow Y/N. Dean make you yet?” Weariness in his tone makes you wonder just what he’s up to.

Wanting to lie though deciding against pulling a page from the Winchester play book, “Sadly but nothings leaked just hurry your ass up.” Hanging up to toss the phone into the seat next to you, settling in for a very long night of watching.    

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah

I walk alone, I walk a-

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

[holdthosebees]

La Belle Dame

Rating: T Pairing: John/Martin, pre-slashish. Background Melanie/Georgie. Summary: No powers, drag queen AU. In which John’s ex-girlfriend drags him to a charity show, and he has an awkward encounter with one of the queens.

A/N: A procrastination oneshot that I wrote while not working on any of my many, many WIPs. Shoutout to @jinxedlucky, who helped me workshop this idea and then told me not to work on it until I finish something else, and who was right. Also--Martin’s drag name, and the title, both come from the Keats poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci. 

The drag queen on stage had glitter in her beard and the most impressive biceps John had ever seen. The red sequins on her skintight dress shimmered as she walked up and down the edge of the crowd, mic cord trailing behind her, as she reached out to regulars, all winks. Georgie tapped John’s shoulder; he had to lean in to hear her, her hair brushing against his ear.

“That’s Sasha’s friend,” she said. “Tim. The one I was telling you about.” 

John nodded. He’d been struggling to keep track of all of people in Georgie’s new social circle, her girlfriend’s friends and their friends who were all supposed to be his friends by some sort of mathematical transference. The drag queen on stage tapped the mic, and grinned. Her lips were very red. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, monsters, everyone else,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Welcome... to Eastbenders!” 

There were a few half-hearted cheers. 

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Anyway, for the virgins in the audience, all our queens are local and all our proceeds will go to providing shelter and services to trans youth.” Another pause for cheers, more enthusiastic this time. “If you have any questions, ask comrade Sasha over there in the booth. Wave to the people, Sasha!”

John had met Sasha a few times over drinks. She seemed a very sensible person, unlike Georgie’s new girlfriend Melanie, who hated him on sight. He resolved to go and find her after the event, and maybe donate a bit. That was why he was here, after all; the charity.

“And the rest of you old slags, go say hello anyway. I promise you she’s very friendly.” The queen punctuated her sentence with a slow roll of her hips and a leer. John scowled down at his ginger ale, and ignored Georgie’s knowing look. She wasn’t going to tell him to lighten up, because she knew that he’d just roll his eyes in response, and she didn’t need to, because he knews she was thinking it. 

It was just that this, the lewd jokes for the sake of lewd jokes, the self-conscious decadence, it was very much not John’s scene. He didn’t have anything against it, exactly; he just found it childish, and strange, and there was something profoundly alienating about it besides. If it were up to him he’d be at home, reading, or putting a few more hours in on the project he was supposed to have in by Monday, somehow, although Elias clearly didn’t understand how long database work actually took.

But it was for charity, Georgie had said, and it had been ages since he’d been out and around, and he wasn’t going to meet anyone new if he just sat around moping. To which he had responded that he didn't feel the need to meet anyone new, and she’d looked at him with her eyes so knowingly sad, tinged with an insufferable pity. And so here he was, crammed into an uncomfortable booth in a dim bar, watching a man in a dress with a wig as tall as his head and heels you could punch through metal sheeting with croon into a cheap microphone.

“I am your host for the evening, Kinky Spice--” someone in the back booed. The queen sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, you caught me. I’m your host, Kim Morningwoodburn--” More booing, and scattered laughter. “Tough crowd! I’ll deal with you later, you naughty audience members you. I am, cross my heart, your host, Diana Explosion, and I’m here to ask you to welcome in our first performer, the bizarre, the incomparable Honey Wilde!” 

The lights dimmed, and turned blue. The crowd applauded as flog began to slip in from the corner of the stage, creeping across the floor. The music started, something slow and electronic. John was intrigued despite himself. 

Honey Wilde slunk slowly out of the shadows. Her shoulders were hunched, and she moved with a slow lurch. Her straight black wig hung in front of her face, like a creature from a Japanese horror movie. The lights flickered out. 

When they turned back on, she was standing at the edge of the stage, arms spread wide. She was tall, even without the heels; with them, she towered. Her hair was back, revealing a beautifully painted face; even John, who didn’t see the point of this sort of thing, had to admire the artistry. She was wearing a black gown of some sort of matte material, and black opera gloves. And on them, marching up her arms and around the curve of her bodice, curled around her throat--spiders. Huge, plastic spiders. And in her right hand, which she stretched out to the audience, slowly walking across her palm--

“Don’t worry,” she said, in a husky stage whisper. She stroked the back of the tarantula with one finger. “She won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She snapped her teeth, and then smiled, looking suddenly self-conscious. Diana Explosion wolf-whistled. John shuddered. He looked around, plotting an escape route. When he looked back at the stage, Honey’s eyes were on him. 

“If one of you could please do me a favor,” she said. “Tell the silver fox in the back row that I bite, too.” 

John’s face burned. Georgie jostled him with her shoulder. 

“He’s twenty-five,” she yelled back. The crowd laughed. Honey Wild ducked her head, and when she looked back, her smile was crooked. 

“I suppose being with you has aged him prematurely, has it?” she said. Georgie laughed. John didn’t. The tarantula walked slowly along Honey Wilde’s palm.

“Only a joke,” she said. “Don’t let it... eat at you.” 

Diana Explosion jeered. Honey shrugged. The gesture was strangely sheepish; it didn’t belong to the person in the gown and the dark red lipstick. Then the music shifted abruptly, pitched eerily up, and the performance began.

It seemed to be some sort of performance art, with slow techno interspersed with half-song stanzas of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale. What that had to do with spiders, John couldn’t say. He stopped paying attention. As the queen lurched and undulated across the stage, John stared down at his drink and thought angry, vague thoughts about pointless, fatuous entertainment and pretentious artists and men who thought that having a cock counted as a political statement. The next number featured a queen in a ridiculous harlequin costume and some kind of calliope remix, and John ignored Georgie’s worried glances and insistent nudges and pulled out his phone. 

When the break came, he slid past her and went out the side for a cigarette. It was a cool night; he stood with his back to the brick wall and looked up a the sliver of orange-grey sky above the buildings. He breathed in, felt nicotine fill his lungs, allowed himself a moment to relax.

The door swung open. The man who emerged was tall and trying not to be. He had unruly brown hair that seemed pressed down on one side, and was wearing a jumper, ripped shorts, and fishnets. There was a grey smudge of hastily removed eyeliner around his eyes.  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Hello. Mind if I share the alley for a bit?”

John shrugged. He offered the man his pack of cigarettes--might as well be polite--but was turned down. 

“It’s just--need to get some air, you know? Decompress. I always get a bit jittery after a number. Can barely hold my hands straight, ha.”

“Hm,” John said. 

“I don’t know how Tim does it. Of course, can’t hurt that he’s just like that all the time, I mean. It’s not really work for him, he just puts on a dress and goes out there, does his thing. Stuff really comes natural to him, you know?” 

“I suppose,” John said. 

“Sorry--you’re probably trying to relax, and here I am, talking your ear off.” The man ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more untidy, and looked down. There was a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “I, um. I’ll be out of your hair in a second, I promise. Just, while I’m here, I wanted to apologize.”

John raised an eyebrow. 

“If I crossed some sort of line,” the man went on, as though that explained something. “I mean, it’s what most people are here for, to be honest, someone to flirt with and be mean to them, but you seemed sort of uncomfortable? So. Sorry about that. It’s just, I don’t really do this that often anymore, I’m only here because Tim made me, and for the charity. So I’m out of practice with the back and forth, is all.” 

John squinted at him. The lighting was different; so was his posture, the shape of his face without makeup. But no, he recognized him now. 

“You’re Honey Wilde,” he said. “The one with the tarantula.” 

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Not right now, I mean, right now I’m Martin. But yeah, that’s me.” Martin gave an awkward little wave. John took a deep drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Are you sure? You seem sort of...”

“It’s fine,” John said again, more firmly. Martin’s smile was pained. He had dimples, John noticed; they were slightly asymmetrical, the right one deeper than the left. 

“Well that’s--good. I’m glad.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Martin kept looking at John, and then away; after a moment, John realized that he was being checked out.  

He considered this. Martin wasn’t bad looking, as far as John could tell. He seemed nice enough. The apology had seemed genuine. And there was a part of John, a vicious, petty corner of his heart, that enjoyed the thought of leaving Georgie in the bar to go home with a virtual stranger. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a step,” Martin said slowly, “but you don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself? Did your girlfriend drag you along, or something?”

“Ex girlfriend,” John said shortly. Martin’s eyes went wide.

���Oh,” he said. “Oh, I’m--that makes it worse, doesn’t it. I’m sorry.”

Of course, there were the negatives. Sex with someone he knew well was just as likely to be uncomfortable and awkward as it was pleasurable; with a stranger, the risk was doubled. Martin seemed courteous, but he still might take it personally when John asked him not to touch him, or have weird kinks, or just expect John to be more into it than he could possibly be and come to his own conclusions when John inevitably wasn’t. 

John watched Martin run a broad hand through his hair again, and decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

“It’s--it’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. She has a girlfriend now, actually, who’s working behind the bar.” 

“That’s--Oh, you mean Melanie? That’s Melanie’s Georgie?” Martin smiled, more genuinely this time. “Melanie won’t shut up about her. They seem sweet.”

“I don’t know if sweet is the word I would use to describe Melanie King,” John said. “But yes. They do seem to suit each other, don’t they.” 

“Yeah.” There was something wistful in the way Martin said it, and a little sad. They looked at each other. John felt an unpleasant roll of anxiety; this was it, this was the moment when Martin would make a move, and John would say no, and they’d both go back inside feeling uncomfortable and awkward. 

But Martin just pushed off from the wall and looked back at the door and said, strangely tentative, “Well, it was good to meet you. I should get back in. I’m not performing any more, thank god, but I don’t want to miss the second act. I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?” 

John blinked at him. 

“Right,” he said. Martin flashed him a quick smile, and then opened the door. Through it, John could hear Diana Explosion, calling out, “--your seats, my lovely monsters, let’s get this show back on the road.” Then Martin was gone, the door closed behind him, and John was alone.

He took another deep drag on his cigarette. His phone buzzed, a text from Georgie, asking him where he was. He muted his phone and put it back in his pocket. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. 

[sugar-petals]

Cinder | pt.1 ➝ pjm

↳ sequel to cygnet (m). 

¬ pairing: Jimin x Reader

¬ words: 7,417

¬ summary: Two and a half years later. The Black Forest. After your separation from the Prince of Bavaria, you have found and won back his lost sword, Cinder. The blade leads you on a trail behind robbers who you suspect have abducted the Prince. 

¬ genre/warnings: bavarian prince!jimin, historical, thriller, rated r, action, graphic violence, gore/body horror, angst, hurt & comfort

¬ a/n: Paintings in the separators by Rubens.

The man falls over with a dagger in his heart.

Seconds later, Anna reaches down to withdraw the hilt.

She remains stern. Austere.

While blood keeps soaking through the man’s grey shirt, heavy raindrops start to ruffle the current of the nearby river. Friedrich is all neigh and trot tonight. He looks impatient standing at the bridge. His black fur wets down almost entirely. No other horse would volunteer to ever tread this area.  

When the rain begins to permeate the air entirely with a heavy earth-like scent, Anna boots the lifeless body into the creek. A gush of clear water from the river’s edge suffices to rinse off her blade. She stuffs it back into the casing at her belt almost right away.

Meanwhile, the pour from the sky has become relentless. Anna misses the south of France. Germany is no good when it comes to stable weather. Not at all. Still, she remains focused.

The maiden heads over to the bridge for adjusting Friedrich’s saddle until she is somewhat content with how it sits. The horse is jittery, completely drenched at this point.

It’s a solemn day.

Churning, the river sweeps a few crooked branches down its current while the water surface becomes increasingly agitated by the downpour. After three whistles and two claps, Anna decides to linger at the waiting spot herself to listen for a sign. And there it is. A reply.

Three whistles. One clap.

In a heavy gallop through the mud, fervid Gretchen storms toward the creek. Her mane, dark like hickory, leaves a dense spray of rain on your vest. You keep the leather reins wrapped tight around your gloves. Maybe there is another horse who would volunteer to tread this area.

Once you stop at the bridge, Anna greets you with a tip of her hat, earning one from yours in return.

“Clap louder next time, Milady. It was barely audible.”

“My bad. Started when the wind came.”

“The whistles were pretty good anyways,” Anna pats Gretchen’s flank. The horse’s breath goes slower by the minute.  

“Couple of Duke’s chambermaids taught me last week,” you shrug. “They always use it when picking berries at the mill.”

“Friedrich’s ears went all stiff when you did it,” Anna goes on to caress her own horse’s head. His ears are still upright either way. Either of your Warmbloods had been tense all day. They feel what you feel.

You barely nod looking around with a squint to your eyes. Mud everywhere. Steep rock. More branches. The rain keeps trickling down the back of your vest.

“Where is the guy with the grey shirt?” 

Anna’s face scrunches up.

“Down the creek. Got carried away pretty fast. Disgusting smell.”

It's almost guaranteed.

“That’s washed away by now,” you say, gazing down the current. “Robbers don’t have palace etiquette. The Duke is big on sanitation.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“We’ve been catching dust at Castle Altfried for too long. I'm not used to this either.”

Admittedly so, you can hardly stand the wind and ride with a stable posture. It's almost embarrassing. By comparison, Gretchen is remarkably steady underneath you. Anna does notice.

“Was there a problem with Steinburg?” she asks, and concern laces into her words.

You shake your head fast, making excess rain drip from your hat.

“No, I couldn’t find him. Gretchen isn’t fast enough yet. We’ve never practiced riding on boulders.”

The maiden hums.

“Right. She’s used to gentler paths.”

“But at least you got rid of this one,” you point toward the red patch next to the creek’s bank a few meters away. “Good job, Anna. You threw a dagger at him, didn’t you.”

“Guy was busy picking his nose and peeing into the water.”

“Really?”

“Aimed straight at the chest when he noticed me and wanted to aim his gun.”

You laugh at the image forming in your mind.

“What an idiot.”

“I think— He was guarding something for Steinburg around here.”

You look around the barren area a second time. A few pine trees in the distance make the landscape at least a bit more inviting. But yet again, you note how much you hate the Black Forest during storms.

And either way.

It's hard to suppress the feeling. The denial, and the desire.

You wish for Jimin's body close.

Right now.

The memory still feels palpable. It’s painful in your chest.

“Not the most hospitable place."

Gretchen, as if nodding along, moves her head.

Anna affirms quickly in reply. “Must've been something important to guard, he was clad in arms, Y/N.”

You understand. As expected of Steinburg's lackey.

“We’ll search the caves over— there,” you indicate toward the cluster of hills and rocks west of the creek. “I get a feeling the robbers are hiding something in those.”

Anna sounds a lot more disgruntled at that.

“Milady, we don’t know how sloped they are. We don’t have a lamp!”

Nothing are you more acutely aware of. Even spending the upcoming night without any lighting will be hard. But what can you do but lie to yourself.

“Don’t care,” you seize Gretchen’s reins tight anew. The horse responds immediately by turning west. “It’s the only spot the grey shirt guy could guard. And if there’s nothing, at least we can escape the rain. Our horses can rest for a minute. They’ll thank us later.”

“Still don’t like the caves.”

“Come, saddle. It’s a good rest. We worry about the light when we’re there. It’s not like we just race inside.”

“Fair enough.”

Anna, after tilting her hat to let some accumulated water drip down, proceeds to climb on Friedrich’s back.

You vow to be careful when Gretchen clatters ahead through the muddy area.

The entrance is cluttered with pebbles and debris from what appears to be the remnants of a prior, heavier storm. Chunks of branches, earth. And even more rocky ground. Wetted down everywhere because the rain has even fewer mercy than Anna when she throws a dagger.

Still, you feel the longing in your chest. There isn’t much that really helps you distract yourself from it. Not in a landscape as barren as this. All you can do is soothe Gretchen with some corn from your vest. It’s a bit mushy, but a swordmaster’s horse could care less. She’s seen rougher days. At least you find it a little amusing to watch Gretchen munch and shake her mane around. The entrance spot makes for good shelter. But still, you make sure to adjust the bow on your back.

Half a minute later, you shift in the saddle to observe Anna gaze and grope about the walls of the cave on either side before she returns. You stuff the corn back into your vest when you see her expression being much graver than before.

“This place is strange, Milady,” she says. “I can’t tell why. There’s something... ashy on the walls.”

“Ash?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. But it’s not steep as you thought, right.”

“Not really.”

That's good. Very good, in fact. You let Gretchen circle about the area a bit now. 

Ash on the walls. It really does seem peculiar.

The more you try to find the marks she is talking about, the more you wonder about the ground. Something is even stranger about it. So you look down closer leaning from your saddle, indeed making out some odd, elongated imprints and shapes.

“Anna, look at this!”

“Yes, Milady?”

The maiden already hurries over.

“I think there are footprints in the mud all around the entrance, I’m not sure. It could just be grey shirt guy’s. They don’t look like yours.”

You point beside where Gretchen stands with you on her back, waving her tail from side to side. Never is she as nervous. Not even when the Duke’s clarion players and knights march up every weekend at the Castle, playing their most intricate of songs while reeking like foul wheat. A nightmare to a horse. But even that won’t compare. 

Anna crouches to twirl her gloved fingers through the mud. After a few seconds of investigation from all sides, she comes back to where you stand farther inside the cave.

“Those are traces other than grey shirt’s, Milady.”

“And?”

Her expression turns far too dark for your taste once more.

“They’re from heeled shoes.”

Jimin’s.

“What!”

“We have to go in deeper.”

Silence. You peek toward the inside of the cave. No lamp. No clue.

No time, either.

“Shit.”

“Gretchen and Friedrich can’t stay at the entrance,” Anna points at the horses. “If Steinburg or the other two robbers show up here, we’re done for.”

“They’ll send one of them to search for grey shirt guy. It’s two against two.”

“We can’t think about that now. The horses will lead the way.”

“Didn’t we just worry about having no light whatsoever, Anna?”

“They’ll fit through there, the cave’s tall. Gretchen has great sense of smell. Her first.”

“Let’s just hope there’s not a wolf or a bear in there.” 

Eventually, you unsaddle, then take the bow and quiver from your back; strap both around Gretchen’s side at a height convenient to seize an arrow from. The rain keeps getting stronger.

Anna guides Friedrich toward the right slant of the entrance.

“Milady, I’ll always throw a knife for you.”

Her words are small a solace.

Your heartbeat feels louder in the cave than the rattling breath of the horses. Cygnet’s sheath rests in your left hand ever so firmly, cool, but wet from the rain. On the other side of your belt, tapping against the side of your hip with every step— Cinder, untouched. The wall of the cave feels brusque under your right palm. Anna glances back at you.

“We’ll have to rely on Gretchen in a few meters.”

“I don’t know if she’s ready.”

You’ve been riding around all day to scan the forest for any sign of the robbers or the Prince. Gretchen’s exhaustion is audible enough in her breath. You can be fortunate Anna encountered at least one of the robbers.

“The ground is even until now, we might be lucky.”

Might. And that's the problem.

“Maybe I can whistle while we still have a bit of daylight. If there are animals inside?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“This is the last spot where we stand a chance, Anna.”

A flash of surprise in Anna’s eyes tightens your grip around Cygnet.

“So you'll lure them out by whistling? I never thought about this.”

You don't want to imagine how the two horses would react if a wolf was in there. But there's no choice. The image of the heeled shoe's trace is too compelling inside your mind.

Jimin is here. And he needs your aid.

“I’ll do it.”

Friedrich, ears alert as ever, shudders, then sways from one hoof to the other when you bring two fingers to your lips. A long echo reverberates through the cave. It takes half a minute until the whistling sound ceases. It is so eerie that your legs seem to freeze.

“The cave is huge,” Anna trembles. She looks times stiffer. “The Prince could be anywhere.”

“Fucking hell...”

“There must be several caves branching out down there where it gets dark.”

All the more space for wild animals to get cozy.

Friedrich’s nostrils flare up, and he tilts his head towards Anna. He’s always done this being riled up before tournaments and lance games. You exhale, allow your eyes to trace the rock surrounding you. Calm, calm. 

Stay calm.

“You said that the place is strange earlier, didn’t you.”

“Yes, what about it, Milady?”

You let your hand cup over the cragged stone surface on your right. Only a few meters and the cave will be too dark to maneuver like this.

“All those blemishes you’ve seen on the wall. I mean— Those could indicate the way.”

“I’d guess so,” Anna leans sidewards to inspect the walls before her.

“I’ve seen two ash blotches earlier. Here’s none. Yes. They appear in certain distances. I’m sure those are marks. Not random spots.”

They did look like stains made by torches, almost. Dark, grimy.

“That would make sense.”

“Say— If the cave has several branches, the robbers need the marks to find the way.”

Anna gulps. Her voice sounds hoarse now.

“The ash at the entrance looked pretty worn. Didn’t it.”

“So did the other two,” you withdraw the hand from the wall. “The ashes aren’t here since, well, recently. They applied them a long time ago.”

“I know what you mean.”

“If these are the robbers’ headquarters—”

Far around the corner, a dim light emerges.

Yellow, awfully bright in contrast to the surrounding dark walls. The horses flinch, as do you. Anna looks completely debilitated.

Only seconds later, someone shouts. It’s a deep growl. Haunting.

“Jakob, is that you?”

You know who it is. The voice.

It can belong to only one person. 

The increasing alarm in Anna’s face tells you she understands, too. The yellow light keeps on approaching. She points to the saddles. But you’re frozen. Another shout.

“Hey! Jakob? Told you to guard the entrance, not to come inside. Why did you take the horses here? I can hear them!”

Steps. The light creeps up the walls further.

Jakob, you realize, was the robber in the grey shirt. 

You've anticipated it. Both of the horses squeal in fear, then scurry to turn. Holding onto Gretchen's reins is a useless endeavor. Brushing past Anna who promptly falls, they race toward the exit, with Friedrich heading for it first.

Gretchen second— 

Carrying both your bow and arrow with her.

Goodbye, headshot from a safe distance.

You rush toward Anna. The voice reverberates inside the caves again.

“Hm? What’s going on there, Jakob!”

The tone comes close enough for you to estimate its age. Mid thirties. Not approaching fourties yet. A heavy Swabian dialect. A man.

“Answer me!”

Teeth gritting, Anna still winds on the ground of the cave, grabbing her ankle. With a sinking heart, you realize that she twisted it. You've seen this type of injury in tournaments all too often.

By now, the walls are half illuminated. The steps around the bend of the cave are firm and significantly faster. Anna tries to get up using her other leg, but you prevent it by passing down your hat into her arms. 

“No. Stay here.“

“Milady!”

“Anna. There is only one way to win such a battle.”

"Y/N..."

"I won't be a fool again. Keep an eye on the horses."

“Yes, master.”

He is as bulky as the salesman Meier described to you at Castle Altfried, selling his molded fruits.

Bearded, two meters tall, and a putrid smell preceding him. From his fur jacket’s top left pocket, a silver shine emanates in the candlelight of the lamp.

Jimin's edelweiss necklace.

“You! Must be the harlot the Prince has been pleading for all night.”

A crooked sneer. Rotten teeth. He stomps towards you with taunt written all over his face.

“Erich Steinburg.”

He laughs. Disparaging.

“Haven’t heard that name in four years. Four! You want to know how they call me nowadays?”

“You don’t sound like I have a choice.”

Steinburg bends one knee, leaning forward to put down the clattering lamp. You realize he does it to admit you a fast glance at the hefty weapon fastened to his back.

“The Axe of the Black Forest. But I don’t lumber.”

His massive arm, the circumference perhaps a third of Gretchen’s neck, reaches back. It slackens the grip of the double-bitted blade out of its leather straps. Your heart rate pounds like a kettledrum inside either of your ears. His axe looks even more massive now that he grips it.

“I see you don’t enjoy a battle of honor, Steinburg.”

His gaze falls to your belt.

“Huh! I don’t swordfight against harlots with nimble sword sticks.”

Steinburg spins the axe in the right palm now, giving you a 360° view of the heavy blade. It’s almost twice as large as his head.

“I used to fight with unfair means some time ago as well.”

“Givin' that up'll cost you your life, I’m afraid.”

Ghostly, seemingly by itself almost, Cygnet slides from its sheath. It feels different after it rained every time. You balance, listen to the blade, tilt— until finding the right way to grip.

“I will beleaguer you regardless.”

Again, it is Cygnet doing its work without much of your help. Albeit scaring you, it finds a way to arrange itself in the beginning stance of any battle you have lunged into.

With the difference that there is nothing mock about it. 

Steinburg comes to trot closer. His steps are dull on the cavern's ground. The surrounding smell is so repugnant that you feel like turning your stomach inside out.

“It really is a stick. Don’t even get ten mark for that.”

“You think?”

“I’ll have great fun slicin' your corpse. The Prince will watch. Get good ransom for him, later.”

“You can try. Cygnet has slain men larger than you.”

"Too ambitious, harlot!"

The axe comes down with a vehemence that makes Steinburg’s arms bulge out a third their diameter. Cygnet’s blade first wavers, then glides off under the blow. You let go of the handle, drop to your knees. All to evade a diagonal swing of the axe aimed at chopping through your shoulder.

Centimeters left to Cygnet lying on the ground way past your reach, Steinburg’s own weapon engraves itself. There is no way you could retrieve your sabre. It did not last a single blow. The axe is far too massive. Steinburg is stronger than most knights at the Hohenzollern brigade.

But he is not first in line.

You stay kneeling and count to five while he draws back the axe again for another strike under tremendous efforts. It's one of the heaviest weapons you have ever seen.

5, 4, 3... 2.

A fervid pierce. So brute, you feel the shock sting through your entire arm. Steinburg first wavers— then collapses on the cave floor howling. 

No second strike comes down precise. The axe has fallen from his grip before touching the ground.

His trousers turn carmine, then wine red around the spot where you rammed Anna’s dagger into his loin from below. 

Femoral artery. 

Pricked. 

Right. 

Through.

“Fool.”

Steinburg bawls out, winding on his stomach.

“What have you done!”

“This is no lance game, fucker. You kidnapped the Prince of Bavaria.”

You scramble up from your kneeling pose. A quick reach toward your belt. Unsheathed in a second.

Another spill of red. Cinder drills into the robber’s back, burying half its golden blade in flesh. He screams again. You plunge it down until the grip, and anchor it fast in his rib cage.

“My only honor will always be to protect the Prince. My sticks are just a tool.”

“You—!”

The blade through his lungs already shortcuts his breath.

“Deal with it. They call you Axe? Can’t even handle a little dagger.”

“Who, who are you!”

You shake your right arm to relieve it from the strain it took to place the knife into his loin.

“First in line of all swordmasters from East Prussia to Rhine's End,” you reach to the floor to pick up your lost sword, sheath Cygnet. It did not last the first blow, but its blade remains intact. “Bodyguard to the royal family of Bavaria. Any last words?”

“You’ll pay. You’ll pay for this.”

“Already did. 210 mark. Fucking expensive."

"What are you talking about!"

"Spent the other 39 I had at the Altfried town inn on some delicious asparagus before I met this guy Meier. Was well-invested money. You can still have it if you want. Isn’t money all you desire?”

“What?”

The cave’s ground already sticks with a pool of red under your feet.

“Wait a second. Here’s your payment.”

You take a deep breath, as close to him as possible. Inhaling every last bit of the foul scent. Lean down. Cough up. 

And puke all over his face.

Three whistles and claps reply from the entrance of the cave. You wave the lamp back and forth. Seconds later, you hear hooves. Gretchen speeds toward you. Friedrich follows, with Anna on his back.

“Are you alright, Milady? Is the Prince alive?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Steinburg isn’t."

"You made it!"

"Don’t look at him for too long. And hold your breath.”

You nod your head toward the corner of the cave where Steinburg’s feet protrude from.

“Oh God!”

“Gretchen shouldn’t smell that, we ride past quick, alright. Take care of your foot when we do.”

The maiden’s eyes wander to your hip, scanning.

“Where is Cinder? The sheath is empty! Is it damaged?”

“The Prince will retrieve the blade himself when we return.”

You pull yourself up Gretchen’s saddle and spur. After passing you your hat, Anna follows.

“And the dagger?”

“Crotch. Thank you for lending me.”

“Crotch!”

“Not thrown like I thought I would. I’m not as good at it.”

“You’ve stabbed Steinburg up close?”

“I did.”

“Just what did he wield?!”

“You’ll see in a second.”

The horses pass the corner of the cave. You don’t have to spur Gretchen to go faster. She tramples over the stock-still pair of legs blocking the way deeper into the cave. Steinburg did bleed out fast. Bones crack. Anna keeps her nose covered with the inside of her sleeve.

Once you reach the next ashen mark on the wall, Anna removes the sleeve and huffs out.

“Steinburg had an Axe?”

“And he was two meters tall. Just like the farmers at the creek said. I think we owe them something for pointing us towards the cave.”

Their advice could not have been more priceless.

“Let’s just hope Steinburg didn’t hit the Prince with this thing.”

“He didn’t,” you shake your head, still lightheaded. “The robbers want to go for ransom. They get more when he’s alive than dead or lethally injured.”

“Right. You said the same happened at the Hohenzollern brigade. I mean when you started there as commander, Milady.”

“Yeah, that case was similar. Someone tried to abduct the Duchess Walthilde.”

“Did the kidnappers succeed?”

“No. She was unscathed. One of my soldiers had retrieved her before it was too late.”

Another ash mark passes, guiding you into a narrower cave tunnel. Either horse goes slower, but you still have enough space to fit through.

“Really?”

“But the Duchess didn’t take it well. It haunted her for years. And that’s my only fear with Jimin. I don’t want to imagine how he ended up here. It’s been so long.”

At the entrance of the lacuna, Anna picks up a heeled shoe. It is unlike the one you’ve seen Jimin wear at the ball because it is so defiled with mud, with its sole torn off. 

However, looking at the red heel, you know it is his.

“They will think Steinburg is back when they see the light. We have to watch out for other robbers in there,” Anna puts down the damaged shoe. If you didn’t already, you would start to feel nauseous at the mere sight. Stepping forward with cygnet drawn, you illuminate the lacuna. Anna limps behind you.

The cave room is filled with stacked, empty barrels. Some for gun powder, others for beer. All out of stock. You’re not surprised why Steinburg would have needed the ransom. You lift the lamp more only to spot piles of ammunition and large chunks of wood. There’s a fireplace with ashes and leftover chicken bones. It’s what they used to create the marks.

Gretchen and Friedrich stay at the entrance, with either you and Anna hoping they would stay still for once. The image of the shoe won’t leave your mind. 

The sheer panic alone slows your steps.

After climbing through the pieces of wood, you already reach the end of the barrel front, sighing out.  

“They’re all out riding. I don’t think Jimin is here either. Fuck.”

“If they were here and heard your fight with Steinburg, they would have come out anyways.”

“Yeah, the lacuna isn’t far away from the spot where we fought. The echo is stronger here, too. They would have been alerted.”

The cave room is considerably warm, and large minus the empty stocks now that you think about it. An ideal hideout.

“They use cowardly long distance weapons,” Anna comments, browsing the scattered materials on the rough ground. She picks up a few of the pistols and investigates them from all sides. Only few of them seem to be loaded at all.

“I’ve become cowardly as well,” you gaze back to the horses where your bow and arrow are. How many ludicrous straw men they have shot at Altfried Castle. You can only laugh at yourself.

“No, arrows are practical,” Anna shakes her head, turning the pistol upside down, then shaking it back and forth. You can hear what she means. “But these guns right here are loaded with everything but real powder or bullets.”

They use spikes and all sorts of metal bits, rattling inside the weapon.

“Amateurs. It won’t even fire properly. You can tell they’re broke. And that is cowardly.”

“God. You would think someone like Steinburg would amass tons of money.”

You sway the lamp towards the barrels.

“Tons of mediocre beer, you mean.”

Anna scrunches up her face.

“That’s why he smells so damn bad. I don’t know how you could stand that up close, Milady Y/N.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Your stomach still feels uneasy.

“The wimp really was that rotten.”

“His aim was rather poor as well,” you say. “Jimin might have been lucky. What I saw was not the monstrous Erik Steinburg the peasants were talking about. He bled out faster than a cow.”

“Maybe that was a bad idea. We could have forced him to tell us where the Prince is.”

“It seemed like he was keeping him around here to me. Unless they were trying to lead us into a trap.”

“No,” Anna shakes her head. “With the grey shirt guy dead, and Steinburg? They missed their opportunity. And as we said. They’re amateurs.”

Your voice turns dark.

“They did manage to kidnap the Prince, at least.”

Silence.

“Probably when he was sleeping. You can’t defeat the Prince of Bavaria awake. With these guns in particular. It was a nighttime thing.”

“That’s how they took his sword, you mean?”

And only days later, they sold it to Meier. It makes sense now.

“Yes. We have to keep searching.”

She puts down the pistol, adjusts her hat. You turn to shed light on the other corner of the cave where a particularly large wall off barrels towers. Again, you raise the lamp.

“Maybe we find something there, Anna.”

As you sheath Cygnet and shove one beer barrel in the stack to the side to create an opening, you see a moving shadow. Anna yelps out. 

You retract your hand, four barrels come tumbling down to your left, making both of you jolt backwards. The lantern almost drops, but you manage to keep hold of it. The horses neigh at the entrance.

Now you see where the shadow came from.

Two bats flatter up to the ceiling of the cave room.

“My heart just stopped, Milady! Oh shit!”

Anna props herself up on one of the barrels that fell down. She still holds her foot. 

You gaze upward to see the two small fuzzy animals nestle together between rocks, shielding themselves with their wings from the light.

“They’re harmless,” you soothe. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them. We have some bats in the basement of Linderhof Palace as well—”

Suddenly, Anna tugs at your sleeve.

“Milady Y/N! Look!”

You turn.

“What’s wrong, Anna?”

“Behind the beer barrels!”

You flinch.

An opening. 

Now you spot it, too. The four barrels that had fallen had revealed another hole in the wall, seemingly a tunnel. You scurry to squeeze through the stacks right away.

“He’s in there. He’s in there! I know it!”

Jimin.

Finally.

You are sure.

The dim tunnel is much smaller than the initial cave way, barely fitting a horse if it would ride through. Anna hurries right behind you, following the light, with you trying not to graze against the moist walls of the tunnel with Cygnet. At this point, you know that any person other than Jimin with the wrong intent would have an advantage coming from the lacuna, following you into the hole. You don’t want to think about it.

The lamp glints up. At the end of the tunnel’s first bit, you step into a wider space.

“An interval!”

You scan the area. All dripping wet rock. And colder. Less space. And in a far corner—

“They have more barrels over there.”

“We have to follow the tunnel!”

A few meters in and you realize that the cave walls become even more narrow. Gretchen wouldn’t fit through anymore. And by the flicker on the wall, you realize. You’re in trouble.

“The lantern!”

Its white candle has almost reached the very bottom of the attachment. You look back, then forward, to see how far you’ve come, and how far you can go. An actual tail of the tunnel is still not visible. Anna rummages inside her vest.

“It’s not the best time to pull out a snack!”

“Milady.”

A candle stub. She’s picked it up at the fireplace, or where the ammunition was.

“You gem!”

“Quick, exchange them before there’s no fire anymore!”

The end of the tunnel is not a true end, but a slight depression that ends in a furrow. With the new candle in place, you can gawk far enough down the hollow, and curse yourself. Of course.

“There’s no way Steinburg would have even fit through the majority of the last meters! For fuck’s sake, we’re dumb!”

“It doesn’t even branch out, look!”

She’s right. The tunnel is a dead end. With Jimin nowhere near. If they find you now, you’re done for.

“Back, quick! Back, Anna!”

The walls are not even broad enough for a proper strike of Cygnet. Not a centimeter there to dodge a slice either. And every pistol shot: Not even an amateur would miss.

“Shit!”

Running is hardly possible. Anna’s foot looks dangerously slanted with every step. The candlelight threatens to go out if you do, swaying around the fluid wax too much around the wick and flame. 

Cygnet regularly scratches against the cave wall, carving dents into its sheath. You curse more when Anna almost falls because of the wet ground. Helping her find balance again with a tug at her shoulder, you see that the interval room is already back in sight.

Still too far inside the tunnel. 

When you reach it, Anna fully trips. You crouch down to pull her upward by her arms that you hear it.

A thudding noise. 

No, a knock. 

Two times. Three times. You almost black out with the shock and fall down next to Anna. The thudding continues.

Those aren’t bats.

But human noises.

Echoing. Echoing. Echoing.

You can barely unsheath your blade that the knocking turns dull. Cygnet remains stuck inside its casing. Your arms are heavy. The gnarly feeling in your stomach gets worse.

It doesn’t stop.

More thuds.

You raise the lantern to brighten up the tunnel.

“They’re not here yet. We can still hide. Get up! Come on!”

Both of you scramble off the floor. Anna’s shirt is ripped up at the waist. 

The knocks turn louder, and slower.

“Come over, Y/N!” Anna limps toward the barrels, opening the very first one in sight. She climbs inside with the lid in her right hand. “Give me the lantern, I put out the candle! The robbers will see the light!”

Ceasing knocks. The horses are raucous at the entrance of the lacuna. Your state of panic rises even more. Everything within your mind screams.

The lantern fades out with one blow. You can hear Anna place the candle container at the bottom, then, feel her grab for your hands to pull you inside. Within a matter of seconds and one foot in, you realize that the barrel is too small for both of you.

“Take another barrel! Fast!”

You drag your foot out, then grope for anything to hold onto in the other direction where you believe another barrel to stand. Anna closes the lid of hers, making you flinch before you realize what she did because of the sound. 

Finally. A wooden surface underneath your fingertips. Fumbling, you realize that the barrel you found is decently large. Ripping off its cover strains your arms, but you manage to get a foot inside, careful, then another. You detach Cygnet from your belt, stuff it into the barrel, then crouch inside and pull the lid in place overhead with trembling arms.

And then you sit.

Exhale—

There’s a breath that’s not yours. 

Deep and heavy.

Right before you.

You’re scared stiff. No movement.

Until your mind catches up.

The robbers have been waiting for you inside the barrels.

And Steinburg—

Was just a ploy.

A savage blow toward the other end of the barrel with your fist. Miss.

You kick your legs forward. The first passes the aim, the other tangents what you believe to be a torso. But still, no hit. The barrel shakes. Another strike, this time, with your elbow. You can’t land it. It goes into nowhere.

Now you understand that whoever is at the other end crouches.

A lunge. You quickly make out where the body is, clamp it between your legs. You seize at it with the last bit of force left in your arms. Shake.

And realize it’s bare skin.

With a familiar scent.

Whimpering emerges from below you.

Then, a sob.

You let go.

The knocking came from the barrel. This very barrel.

“Jimin!”

Sniffles. Heavy breaths. You feel your way to the spot where you believe his head to be.

“Jimin, oh my god!”

His wet face melts into your palms. Yes. It is Jimin. You would recognize him at the end of the world. 

But something—

Obstructs his jaw. You grab at the back of his head. A heavy piece of cloth, fixated around his head like a gag.

“I get this off, I get this off!”

Tugging at the knot doesn’t help. It’s tightly bound in place. Your hands, feverish, search for Cygnet inside the barrel. You loosen the hilt only centimeters out of the sheath as not to draw out the entire blade. This time, it works. Your sword has never been more intuitive when you fell down with Anna just minutes ago and it wouldn’t react at all. But now it does.

“Don’t move!”

You glide the exposed edge of the sabre across the back of his head to cleave the piece of cloth at its surface. By the ripping sound, you know that it is cotton. The rest of the gag opens with a tug through either of your hands pulling in opposite directions. Once loose, you toss away the cloth and cup his face.

Between cries, a hoarse, almost nonexistent voice.

“You came,” it murmurs. “You came...”

It breaks your heart. Jimin’s tone is so faint.

You feel his hand at your knee. Reaching down to grab it, you realize that his hands are bound, too. It is the same fabric you remember from countless fights. The neckerchief.

It comes off with an abrupt tug of your digits clawing into the knot.

Jimin’s hands close around you while you bow down to kiss his forehead. Under your thumb, his lips and chin feel coarse and dry. The hair you bury your nose in is soaking wet with sweat and your tears.

No trace of your hands goes without feeling a sore spot on his body. Where once his coat of mail led firmly, you can feel his ribcage. You can’t stop crying.

Loosening the remaining ropes on his body leaves another hot tear on your face with every knot until the shackles are wide enough for you to get his legs out. Much like his torso, not one layer of clothing protects them from the cold of the barrel.

“I thought it wasn’t real.”

His words are nothing but a whisper.

“What, Jimin?”

“I heard your voice in the cave. I’ve had all these dreams.”

“Jimin, I’m here. We heard your knocks. I’m here. We’ll get out of here now. Hold tight.”

You wrap one arm around his waist, so lithe, you fear it breaks. With the hilt of Cygnet, you smash upward to tilt the lid off the barrel. It comes down tumbling. You attach the sword at your belt again as swift, no, as far as the darkness of the room permits.

One leg out, you exit the barrel first, then lift Jimin over the edge, leaving behind cut ropes, cloth, and the neckerchief. 

He must have dropped at least a fifth of his weight. No second passes that your hands do not grip on him. He keeps on wincing. You caress his upper back with a flat palm.

“We’ll go home soon, Jimin. It’s over. We’re home soon. Steinburg is dead. I’m here now.”

“Is, is dead?”

Another whimper at your neck. You curse yourself for saying his name.

“Anna came with me. She’s in the other barrel. I’ll call for her and get her out slowly, okay.”

Anna audibly limps close before you, almost crawling alongside the cave wall. Jimin, encased in the embrace of your right arm, cries into the shroud of your vest that you gave him.

“They’ll find us,” he weeps. “They’ll hurt us!”

“They can’t. I’m here.”

You can hear Anna curse meters before you where the cave way broadens.

“My ankle,” she groans.

“We’re not leaving you behind.”

Her voice is so serene now, it makes you feel even colder.

“You have to.”

“Stop that.”

Jimin leans crouched at your chest. His voice is almost a whisper.

“You said you had horses.”

Anna halts, as do you. Same thought. Of course.

“God fucking dammit.”

“We have.”

You cover Jimin’s ears, then whistle. Loud.

A noise emerges. Friedrich's hooves clatter in the distance.

“I’m sorry. I reek of vomit.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him upwards, until he is settled on Gretchen’s back. It has taken ages to saddle up yourself. The cave is so dark, not one spark of light seeps through the rock and earth. Jimin clings tight to you leaning back, seated sideways on the horseback.  Shuddering.

“I shouldn’t have left Castle Linderhof this way.”

“Jimin. Neither you nor me can change that now. But I’ll fix this.”

Gretchen starts to trot forwards, followed by Friedrich. You duck as not to hit the tunnel ceiling with your head.

“That was so stupid,” Jimin grits.

Seizing the reins tight, you remember the flock of peasants that you encountered following the creek.

“The blame belongs to those who spread news that you were running from the Palace by yourself without a horse. Where did the robbers find you?”

“It was an ambush. I don’t know where it was. It was nighttime.”

He’s shivering. Gretchen goes a little faster.

“We figured.”

“They put a gun to my head.”

Jimin falls silent, and you bring, as well as holding the reins permits, an arm around his upper body.

The noise of Gretchen’s hooves resounds much louder now. Friedrich’s, too. You’ve reached the lacuna.

Which slowly begins to illuminate from where its entrance locates.

Once she sees it, Anna violently tugs at Friedrich’s reins to make him turn. The light comes closer. Voices become audible. Jimin freezes in your arms. The bats at the ceiling crawl further into the fissures of the cave room’s dome.

You glide your left arm, around Jimin just seconds before, down Gretchen’s side. Reaching into the quiver deep, deeper, to bring out four arrows, then disjunct the bow from its joist. Anna wants to beckon you toward the tunnel opening, but you already draw the bow’s string tight.

“Y/N!”

“No going back. We’re playing my absolute favorite game.”

“What are you doing! Y/N! What—”

“The maidens at Altfried Castle would have found it quite amusing.”

Half the lacuna is tinted yellow by now, casting light on the bruises scattered all over Jimin’s face, neck, wrists, ankles, and chest. 

“Come back to the tunnel! Milady, they carry pistols!”

Anna is on the verge of entering the hole again.

“I could care less.”

“We have no chance!”

“It’s my favorite game. I just came up with it. Do you want to know how it’s called?”

“Y/N, stop messing around!”

While Jimin ducks forward onto the mane of Gretchen, you sort the four arrows between the fingers of your right, then align them on your bow. 

“It’s called the One-Each-Eye.”

Carefree and unimpressed by the weather, the beer barrel dances back and forth strapped somewhat loosely to the back of the carriage. Pine trees dancing alongside the way accompany the vehicle headed south. It’s still cold. 

Chewing on a bit of cabbage, Anna, for a reason mysterious to you and especially the carriage vendor, has made Friedrich and Gretchen sprint faster without a single click of the whip. Her foot is tied with a sturdy band that you purchased at the market two days ago with about the very last mark from Jimin’s stolen purse that Anna, brave how she was, had managed to retrieve from Steinburg’s belt.

Inside the wooden chassis, the pattering rain is loud enough to disturb your sleep, but gladly, not Jimin’s. The Prince dozes with his mouth half open, and, at least in your imagination, with a giant woven scarf tucked around his neck. At least a blanket from the family at the mill covers him waist-down, scraggly, but clean and thick enough to do its job. The pair of linen shoes that they had left are far too big for him, at least three sizes. Every other hundred meters, a rock on the path makes the wheels judder. However, Anna is clever enough to subtly maneuver Friedrich and Gretchen around the chunkier stones and scattered bosk.

The wind is relentless, and you brood. The forest landscapes passing by look dizzy under the rain. Saying goodbye to the Duke through a herald had been hard enough, but necessary. The youngster at the mill, Meier’s son, had accepted your hat as payment and assured he would reach Altfried Castle in half an hour with your letter to the Duke in his rugged vest. The message reading a farewell—

And that Cinder had returned to its rightful owner.

Looking at Jimin’s hands, blotted purple at the wrist upward, makes you want to cry. When he wakes up during the next rocky bit of the path, you have to stop yourself yelling out of the carriage to scold Anna. The surrounding meadow still hasn’t dried up properly, so you realize that avoiding this bit of the road by going over grass is not an option. 

Jimin still has dark bags under his eyes. The soup at the mill had brought back some rosy life to his cheeks, but they still look so haggard, so taut and scratched, with stubble all over, that you find it hard to recognize him. 

The sky turns grey and pale with every minute that the carriage plunges deeper into the forest terrain. South, south. Never looking back. You grope for the quiver stored under your seat, look for the apple that Meier had given you at Castle Altfried, and hand it to Jimin.

“The doctors will take care of you, okay,” you lean toward him, and tighten the vest around his chest to withstand the wind. “We’re back home soon. Maybe even one day.”

Chewing at a corner of the red fruit, Jimin looks outside the carriage with glossed over eyes.

“I’ve been dreaming again,” he says.

“What was it about?”

“There was a festival. I don’t know. A kind of fair. We were dancing. I thought about this all the time.”

A little smile plays around his lips. His eyes are candid.

“We will dance, Jimin. I give you my word. I promise we will dance.”

The vehicle continues to rumble down the path with your words, and the horses speed up.

Three hours later, two sturdy knights, the Prussian emblem stuck to their coat of mails, open the carriage from either side.

— to be continued —

Thank you for reading. Stay tuned.

Do not repost, translate, or modify my works. © submissive-bangtan 2017-2019. All rights reserved. 

[manireads]

Freelancer III

Yay! Back at it again. I got lot of likes the last parts recently and it motivated me to really try to pick this up again. I’m switching up the idea for this but it’s quite similar to my original plan. It’s just a little more exciting for me to write. I don’t think it’s a good as the others but I still like it. Sorry for any typos and please enjoy!

WC: 1881

I.M. X Reader

Hacker AU / Heist AU

Parts I and II can be found on the master list in my bio. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Outside people are making their way around Seoul rushing to whatever destination they are heading to. It’s near the end of spring so people are dressed is light coats and and brighter colors to reflect the season. The sun is out in full force today but It feels like it didn’t quite hit the earth yet seeing how chilly and windy it is today.

With they weather being so nice, from the recent rainstorms, I felt like it was the perfect time for me to get out of the house with my friends. Hoping it would take my mind off the whole Changkyun ordeal. We had planned to spend the whole day out, shopping and eating, so that we wouldn’t get caught up watching dramas inside like we usually do. It was 12:30 pm and were sat in the little cafe that Soobin worked in, sipping on lattes and eating some sandwiches. It was very bohemian inspired with mismatched furniture and different patterns  and loose hanging plants scattered all over the place. Somehow, it still flowed together nicely and gave off a very homey feel. Soobin was surprised to see us when we walked through the door earlier. We had promised to meet up after her shift but Sojung and I were complaining in the group chat about how hungry and we knew we could get some free food and drinks out of Soobin. 

Halfway through brunch, that was turning into more of a lunch at this point, Sojung asked me about Changkyun. I tried to keep it light and casually but I was tired of keeping my thoughts in my head. I need someone to talk to about the secret calls and disappearing. I couldn't help but tell her anything and everything. Every little detail came spilling out of my mouth. After every question I asked her, hoping she’d tell me that I am over reacting, a little voice in my head answered for me. ‘No, it’s not normal. Yes, there is something wrong.’ I just couldn’t help but feel so helpless. After spilling my guts to her, I tried to pass it off as if it wasn't bothering me but she had no intentions of letting it go. She knew there was something deeper going on.

"All that and you haven't said a word to him?" Sojung asked me. I shook my head while I took a sip of my coffee. 

"Nope. I just don't know where he is going and I don't want to be that type of girlfriend, you know?" I placed the cup down on the table. 

She looked at me with wide eyes, completely surprised. I groaned out running my hands through my hair before letting my head hit the table. It was almost like I could hear what she was going to say to me, mainly because I've already been telling myself the same thing. 'You need to say something! You can't just let him walk all over you. If something is bothering you in your relationship, then you should speak up.' It wasn't long before our other friend joined us at the table. Soobin came over with a small tray with some pastries on it and more coffee. 

"Alright," She placed the tray on the table and took a seat with us. "I'm finally off. I hate morning shifts with a passion but I make the most in tips. Also, if you too keep on coming here for free food, My boss is going to realize. Anyway, what did I miss?" I was going to tell her nothing but,

"Changkyun is cheating on Y/N!"

"He’s what?!"

"He is not!" I retort back, lifting my head looking at the two of them. Soobin looked at me with a similar surprised look that Sojung had earlier. "He's not," I say, looking at Sojung challenging her. She rolls her eyes and goes to take another sip from her own mug. "He would never. You know he's not that type of guy. He's just acting weird." I mumble. I didn't want to believe that Changkyun could possibly cheat on me. But no matter how much I tried my mind always ended up on that explanation for him constantly leaving our apartment in the middle of the night.

"Sure." Sojung placed her cup on the table. She pursed her lips. "Soobin," She turns to her, her body language show that she didn’t want me to input. "If Hyunjung was getting weird phone calls in the middle of the night and then after getting these calls, she jumped out of bed at 2am in the morning and just left the house, not waking you up to even tell you where she was going, then doesn't come home until after work, what would you think she was up to, huh?" The whole time while Sojung talked I wanted to interrupt but she wasn't embellishing the truth. That was everything that I was going through for the past three weeks.

"Well, I'd ..." She stopped talking, taking the moment to took over at me with sad eyes. " Oh honey," She started.

"Not you too!" I leaned back in my chair, my eyes meeting the ceiling.

"Y/N, it sounds like he's doing something he doesn't want to you know about. What else could it be?" She sounded so concerned for me but I didn't want to be pitied. I looked back at the two of them, fixing my posture in the chair.

"I don't know what it could be but I can't just come out and accuse him of something like that. I mean, what if he isn't. You wouldn't be happy if Hyunjung just came out and called you a cheater, right?"

"Yeah, but Soobin isn't giving Hyunjung a reason to worry, unlike Changkyun." Sojung budded in making another point that I couldn't refute. All I could do was look at her hoping she stop being so right about this.

"Have you even asked him about all of this?" From my expression, Soobin could tell what the answer was. Her mouth dropped open. I could understand the shock from my friends. It really wasn't like me to not say something when I was bothered. But this had to do with Changkyun. I'm always so afraid to lose him since we graduated. I always felt like we weren't supposed to make it past that last year of high school. All of it was borrowed time and eventually the two of us were going to be forced to separate ways. It feels inevitable but I just don't want it to be now. Not while I'm still so in love with him.

"Okay, I'll ask him about it tonight when he comes home. Until then can we please drop it, I came out with my friends to get away from all of that."

"You're really going to talk to him?" Soobin asked. Sojung was watching me intently. I nodded my head. I knew I really wasn't but I just wanted to let it go and enjoy the rest of my day.  Soobin seemed to accept my answer but Sojung was still silent. We stared at each other until she finally broke.

"Fine. We'll drop it but I want an update after you do."

"Yes, mom." It was my turn to roll my eyes and Soobin giggled. From there, we ate the rest of our food and decided to roam around Hongdae seeing if there was place to do some shopping. we eventually came across this quaint boutique. We spent the afternoon trying outfits for the next time we would go out together. it'd be a nightclub so we wanted to look as good as possible. I ended up with a couple nice things, a few sweaters, t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a nice party dress. They were a out of season but they were all on the clearance rack so I didn't break the bank. After all the shopping, we decided to grab something else to eat before parting way. Sojung was the first to go, leaving Soobin and I walking towards the train station.

"Don't punk out okay. Just ask him where's he's been going and let him know that it bothers you a lot." I nodded leaning in and giving her a hug.

"Tell Hyunjung I said hi okay. Love you." I said, releasing her from the hug.

"I love you too. Don't forget" She said pointing at me as she made her way to the steps of the station.

'"I won't, now go before you miss your train." I waved before she disappeared down the steps.  It wasn't much a walk home from there. But I dreaded getting home more than anything. I stopped at the convenience store to waste time. Looking through the aisles picking up some chips, candy and even a bottle of soju.

An aisle over, I notice a man with wild brown picking out some bags of chips. I can't help but smile at his hairstyle thinking that he might have jumped out of bed and came to the convenience store. Knocking myself out my daydream, I pick up another bottle of soju and make my way to the counter.

"Is this all?" the cashier asks. I nodded as he starts to bag up my items. While he does that, I notice somebody beside me. It's the same man with wild hair. I take in his face quickly, the small cross tattoo by his eye and his overall outfit allude to the hair being more of a style choice than a circumstance. "That'll be ₩20,000." Immediately, I start rummaging through my bag. Each moment becoming more frantic because I can't find my wallet.

"I got it. I'll pay for both of them together.” He says, pushing his items closer to the cashier.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t put a dent in my pocket.” Pulling out a card from his wallet and holding it up for the cashier to see. He turned to me with a toothy grin and I smiled back politely. After paying for both his and my stuff, he handing me my bag.

"Thank you, that was really kind of you."

"No problem." He said simply and we both walked out of the store. "Welp, good night." He said making a small salute with his hands before walking the way I just came from.

"Good night." I say back to him and turn to walk in the opposite way. I let out a sigh when I deem we are far enough from each other. I didn’t want to have to explain to him why just because he brought my snacks, I didn’t owe him my phone number or my time, especially when I didn’t ask him to pay for it in the first place. But the fact that had just left me to go on my merry way made me smile. He really just wanted to be nice to someone.

The whole interaction almost made me forget what I had promised my friends earlier. It wasn't until I was a block away from my apartment complex that I could see the light on from the 5th apartment on the third floor. Changkyun was already home.

[i-dontwikeit]

Gifted one , part five.

A/N : WE’VE COME TO THE END. This is it, the last part. I wanna say thank you to my doll @melaniemidgard for all the support through out this thing and for the start idea as well. You rock.

Fandom : MCU ( Marvel )

Pairing : Loki x reader

Word count : around 2.8 k

Catch up here : PART ONE , PART TWO , PART THREE , PART FOUR 

Loki felt lost. He had no clue about how to approach this and what to do. He just wanted Y/N to remember how much she loved him, because, God, he loved her so much. He knew that he doesn't deserve her, her kindness or her love after everything he put Y/N trough, but he just wanted one more chance to prove that he is a better man and that he deserves her now. He wanted to show her that he is a different person and that he would never do her dirty the way he did. It made him incredibly sad knowing Y/N doesn’t even know what was he to her or what she is to him now.

Y/N meant the world to him even before, but he was just a blind man not seeing what he has in front of him. He kept acting like she meant nothing to him because of his fears. Because, God, he was undeniably scared of her and the impact she had on him. The way she could light up his mood in a matter of a second was lovely, but the way she could crush him in a matter of second too was something he wasn’t ready to accept.

And now when he looks back to the way he treated her, he had no idea why she stayed around him. He didn’t deserve that, not one bit. Having her back now, he was doing the best he can to show her she is the most precious thing in all of the realms. Sometimes, he thought, it’s a good thing she doesn’t remember. Yes, she doesn’t remember the love she felt, but at least she doesn’t remember the pain he caused her.

The problem was, he remembers. Whenever he looks at her now, he sees all the girls from a couple of months ago he brought back home, wanting to hurt her. He sees every single word he would spit like venom at her. He sees her head dropping down and he sees the hurt in her eyes. He sees the tears he caused that morning when she finally found out what he was doing.

So he slowly started to distance himself from her. He really didn’t want to. He wanted to be close, so close to her, taking care of her, loving her. But he just felt like it isn’t his place anymore. He thought he had his chance and he blew it, so he’s gonna let her go no matter how much he was hurting. He deserved the hurt he was feeling and she deserved the world.

So bit by bit, he started spending less and less time with her. He stopped visiting her in the garden and he stopped bringing her breakfast. He stopped sharing those late hours in the library and his favourite books with her. He stopped showing her the poems he wrote.

Y/N noticed, of course. She knew it hurt him that she doesn’t remember. She wanted to, she really did. And God dammit, she tried so hard. She wanted to remember him more than in her life, ever. But the thing was, she didn’t have to. She knew she loved him back then because she loves him right now, too. She just wanted to know how did the past play out so she could know how to do this.

And because Loki didn’t want to talk to Y/N, she decided she will found out from somebody else.

-

So she went and found Tony that night, in his workshop.

“ Hey Tones. “ she greeted him, kissing his cheek. “ What ya doing now? “

“ Just some silly stuff, honey. But it can wait. Do you need anything, or? “ he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. He started hugging her so much more lately. Not just her, but everyone else. He was so close to losing her and he realized that people are not forever, so if he loves them he is gonna show them now, when he still has the chance.

“ Look, I know you told me it’s not your place, but I need to know about Loki. Nobody wants to tell me anything and I deserve to know. A part of my life is missing and I deserve to have it back. “ she said, her voice firm but her posture showing how scared she was. She was playing with her sweater and looking at the ground and Tony know she was right.

“ Why don’t you ask Loki, honey? He can tell you better then me. “ he said, not wanting to be the one to break it to her.

“ He doesn’t even talk to me anymore, Tony. “ she said, her voice filled with sadness that was breaking his heart. “ He ignores me and avoids me all the time. I just want to know why. I.. I have a part of me missing, a part of my life and a part of my past. Please, Tony. “

“ Oh.. Honey.. Look, all I’m gonna say is that you were.. Something. You loved him so much, I know that for sure. You woke him up every morning and brought him flowers. You.. Um.. “ his cheeks got red a bit. “ You slept together a couple of times. And um. .I think he broke your heart. I don’t know why because before all that happened he asked me about you. He told me he never felt that way before and I gave him a couple of advices. “ he looked at your face, you still looking at the ground. “ He was a dick to you, okay? After those couple of times, he just became such a freaking dick and Nat, Buck and I wanted to break his nose. “

“ Oh.. Okay. Thank you, Tony. It means a lot to me. I just wanted to know what happened. I’ll talk to him about it, I think I deserve to know everything. “ she said, kissed Tonys’ temple and left. Tony looked at her leaving, hoping that he did the right thing. He just wanted to see Y/N finally happy.

-

Tony found Loki the next morning, angry at him for hurting Y/N once again. He entered his room , grabbed Loki by his neck and pinned him to the wall.

“ Look, Reindeer Games, I have no idea what kind of game are you playing. But, I swear to you, if you hurt her again, you will wish you were never born. “ Tony yelled at him. It took him a minute to calm down and let Loki down.

“ Sorry. I just.. You are a freaking idiot. You got second chance and you are blowing that one, too. She deserved everything and she fucking cares about you, so do something about it, Loki. “

“ Stark.. I.. I can’t, okay? I just can’t. “ Lokis’ voice sounded broken and Tony felt bad about what has just happened. He was suffering, too.

“ Why not? I don’t get it. You wanted it, now you have it, and throwing it away. “

“ I love her, Stark. I never loved anyone like her. But she.. God, she is the sun and the moon and everything else. She deserves the world, not me. I can’t give her that. “ Loki said, close to crying again. “ I broke her and I can’t look at her without thinking about what I have done, okay? I see her and the only thing I see are the tears in her eyes and how broken she was. “

Tony sat down on the bed next to Loki and patted his shoulder.

“ Look, I get it okay? You screwed up once so you don’t want to do it again. But Loki, she will forgive you. I’m sure she already did. You need to forgive yourself too, and get the girl you love before someone else does that.. Trust me, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life, even if you love someone else again. It never goes away. “  

“ I… I’ll see. I’ll think about it. I am not sure I can let go of what I have done. I will try. Thank you, Stark. Really, thank you. “ Loki said, hugging him. Tony was a good friend to him, no matter what Loki has done.

-

So Loki decided to listen to Tony. He decided to find Y/N and tell her everything. Tell her what he has done and tell her he wants to give it another try, if she is willing to give him that second chance.

While he was searching for her, Y/N was searching for him, too. They found each other in the library, of course. Where else.

“ Loki. I was just looking for you. “ she said, smiling sadly.

“ I was looking for you too. I.. I need to talk to you, Gifted one. “

“ Can I talk first, Loki? “ she asked, and how could he say no to her? She sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her.

“ Of course, my Gifted One. “ he offered her a light smile before sitting down next to her on the couch.

“ I … Tony told me about some stuff that happened. “ she said, and Lokis’ heart broke. “ I.. Can you tell me what happened? Loki, I deserve to know. “

“ I.. Y/N.. We were friends at first, I think. We worked a lot together on my spells and on your healing techniques mostly. We helped each other with things we struggled because we worked well together. You would wake me up every morning and give me green and black roses. I really enjoyed the company. I think you did, too. And one thing led to another and we.. I guess we became something more. We spent a couple of nights together and.. I don’t know. Things changed. My feelings got stronger and deeper and I pulled away. I became such an idiot towards you. I treated you like you were nothing. I would yell at you, humiliate you, I was so mean and it disgusts me today to think about you. But.. You were still there until.. Until you came into my room one morning and found another girl in my bed.. You stopped giving me the roses then and I knew I lost you. “

He cried while talking, stopping here and there to take a deep breath. It was so obvious he was in pain, too. Hearing all the things he did to her just broke her heart. She started crying, too. Loki moved closer to her and wrapped himself around, telling her he is so sorry for everything and if he could change it, he would in a heartbeat.

“ Why did you hate me, Loki? Did I do something wrong to you to act like that? “

His eyes widened at that question. She thought it was something she did? She thought it was her fault? He grabbed her hand and placed it on his leg, placing his hand over hers.

“ Oh, love, no. It was never your fault.. I.. I was a coward. “ he admitted. “ I don’t know why I was the way I was. You drive me insane! God, when we met, I wanted to like you. I did like you! I think I was even in love with you. You were so amazing and nice and lovely and gorgeous. But the others loved you, too. They wanted to be your best friend while I wanted that too. So when you would come in the room with one of them laughing, my mood would just fall. After  we.. slept together, I thought I finally got you for myself and I didn’t. You were still so close to all of the others and I hated it. “ he told her but before he could continue she interrupted him.

“ I.. I’m sorry, Loki. That’s just .. How I am. I love people and I love being around them and making them happy. If that hurt you, I’m sorry, but that’s not okay. What you did to me is not okay. “ she was both angry and hurt by his words, by what he did and the way he acted. She knew she didn’t deserve that

“ You didn’t hurt me, my Gifted one. It wasn’t your fault.. I guess. I was just jealous. And soon it became my second nature to snap at you, to take the frustration and anger on you. You didn’t deserve that. You never deserved anything but love, and I ruined it. “ he sighed, a few tears finding their way to his cheeks. Y/N wiped them off.

“ I am sure the me back then would forgive you. I think the me now can forgive you too. But it will take time and I do not know what will come from that, Loki. I will always be your friend, I promise you. “

“ That’s a start. I can work with that. How about I take you out for coffee today? “ he asked hopefully.

“ Okay. Sure, that’s good. I can’t wait. “

-

After that they, Loki and Y/N spent a lot of time together. She tried to make up for the lost time, she tried to create new memories because she lost the one she had.

He tried to make up for everything he did to her. He tried to make everything right and during the time they spent together he just fell more and more in love with her. He knew she was the one for him and he wanted to spend the eternity with that girl. So he decided to do something about that.

He prepared this whole dinner, her favourite pasta and her favourite wine. The room was full of dahlias, because they were, next to his roses, her favourite flowers. The music playing in the background was so quiet, barely there, but enough to make this setting even more romantic than it already was. He brought her into the room, having her eyes closed so he could surprise her.

“ We are here, my Gifted one. “ he said, taking off the blindfold he put on her. And when she saw the room in front of her, happy tears filled her eyes. She was shocked, surprised, swept of her feet. She just stood there, admiring what he has done for her, her heart beating incredibly fast that she thought it will explode in her chest.

“ Wow.. Loki… This is… I have no words. “ she said, turning around to face him. She put her hand on his cheek and caressed it with her thumb. “ It’s.. perfect. “

After they ate, he got up, turned the music a bit louder and took her hand. He got her to the middle of the room, one of his hands around her waist, his other one took her. They danced even after the song was over. So when they stopped, she pulled away from him, playing with the sleeve of her shirt like she would always do when she was nervous.

“ Can I.. Can I kiss you? “ Loki asked her. Not being able to form the words, she just nodded.

He took a couple of steps to her, looked her in the eyes and gave her the most loving smile she ever saw. He kissed her, finally, after all of that time dreaming about doing that. His hands around her waist, he teleported them into his room and spend the night showing her how much he loved her and how amazing and precious and beautiful she is to him.

And when they were done with all night long amazing sex they had, she looked around the room. It felt so familiar and Loki thought that maybe.. she remembers.

“ Do you.. Do you remember anything? “ he asked, hope in his voice filling the room.

“ .. I.. No. I’m sorry, Loki. “

“ Oh.. It’s.. It’s okay. “ he said. He thought that maybe he isn’t getting his second chance.

“ I don’t remember anything.. “ she said, crying. She wanted to remember.

“ But.. Maybe.. We can try to make new memories? “ he asked, his voice quiet, filled with fears and concerns and doubt.

“ Umm.. “ she stopped before saying anything else and all the hope Loki had vanished. She will say no, he knew. He lost her forever.

“ Yes. We can try. I would love that, Loki. “ she kissed him, showing him she means it, she wants it. She wants him.

“ We will make better ones, happy ones, My Gifted one. I promise. I love you. “

tags

again, if you are bolded, tumblr is being mean little thing and not letting me tag you. I am sorry. 

∞ :  @thatfanficstuff

Marvel : @melaniemidgard

Loki : @moonlightprime

Gifted One : @bambamwolf87 , @wickedscorpio22 , @fire-in-her-veinz , @kinghiddlestonanddixon , @darkprincessloki92 , @t-a-l-i-n-a-l-a-n-i , @galaxykidtilltheend , @aquawomxn , @fuckthatfeeling , @dayanacvm , @viranarts , @jessiejunebug , @hellkat2, @lokislilslut

[perpetually-jungshook]

RED || 04

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook; taehyung x jimin; taehyung x jungkook, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he’s only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 11.2k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Previous || Next

Since tomorrow is Sunday, Jimin doesn’t have to worry about his office job, which means he can stay up late relatively guilt free. Thus he disregards the need to look at a clock, gliding through the surreal after-midnight hours, passing time by scrolling through social media on his phone and idly listening to some TV show about baby animals for background noise.

He’s not sure exactly what happened between Seokjin and Namjoon after they started talking on the phone, but from what he could hear, it sounded like it had gone okay. The older boy had admitted to being irrational and apologized, saying something about “personal issues getting in the way of my judgement and stuff.” Jimin thinks they may have agreed to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning to talk things over, which is a great start. At least, it’s better than running out of a restaurant and coming home to mope about perceived rejection. But that was a few hours ago, just before both Seokjin and Hoseok went to bed.

According to Instagram, one of his high school friends is getting married; and on an unrelated note, piglets have very sensitive snouts.

Jimin can only assume he’d begun to doze at some point because eventually, he’s startled awake by the sound of the door opening. The world that comes back into focus is a bit hazy at first, foggy around the edges with sleep still tugging at his mind, coaxing him to come back with sweet whispered nothings and a gentle hand.

Illuminated by the soft blue light cast over the room by the TV is a vaguely familiar head of fiery red hair. A small smile that leaves Jimin puzzled finds its way onto his own expression.

“Hey.” Jimin’s voice is a little hoarse, deeper than normal.

Taehyung looks up, probably surprised that anyone is still awake. His reply is a whisper, likely trying to be polite to the rest of the household, “Hey. You’re still up?”

Jimin nods, blinking sleepily at his new companion.

“Yeah. Where’ve you been? Out so late,” he giggles quietly.

“I’ve been down at Kook’s. We lost track of time watching anime.”

Scooting over to give Taehyung room to sit if he wants it, Jimin curls up around a pillow, hugging it to his chest. “Sounds fun. So you guys are pretty good friends now?”

“I dunno,” Taehyung replies as he goes over to his duffle bag, fishing out some clothes. “He seems really cool. Just kind of shy.”

“Yeah Kookie’s like that.”

The conversation pauses as Taehyung exits the room, the closing door an indication that he’s probably changing and washing up. Now by himself, Jimin’s eyelids start to feel heavy again and he can only fight the wave-like pull of sleep with a well timed yawn or two. The sound of a faucet turning on momentarily underscores the words of the TV narrator, who is currently describing a sleepy litter of puppies. Gosh darn cute baby animals. They make everything better.

Jimin smiles.

The bathroom door opens and Taehyung walks back into the living room, dirty clothes in a bundle that he sets beside his bag. He’s wearing sweatpants, though any glimpse Jimin might’ve had of them being “hung low on his hips” is unfortunately obscured by a threadbare white T-shirt.

“Taehyung?”

He hums in acknowledgement before taking a seat on the other side of the well loved leather couch.

The pause between calling his name and continuing to speak is just a beat too long, causing tension to flit through the air between the two boys.

“Why do you volunteer at the retirement home?”

It sounds suspiciously casual for the pause that had come just before, but the question “have you decided if you want to fuck yet?” just seems a bit too crass for the situation.

One of Taehyung’s eyebrows rises just a bit, though Jimin is unsure if it’s from shock, curiosity, or neither of those, but it’s definitely not condescending, which is reassuring. Maybe he’s just amused.

“Well,” he starts of quietly, hesitantly. “If you’re looking for a heroic story about me having a heart of gold, I’m sorry to say I’ll disappoint you.”

“Half of my income comes from porn. I really don’t think I’m in a position to judge whatever you’re about to say,” Jimin’s voice is finally starting to return to normal, less rough, now a little amused.

Taehyung takes a deep breath before replying, “I volunteer at the retirement home because my grandma lived there before she passed. We were really close and I guess I just saw how much they needed help.”

If Jimin could stare loudly, he would.

“You realize that’s like, total heart of gold material.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Both boys share a quiet laugh, but Jimin lets his peter out into a soft, “I’m sorry to hear about your grandma though.”

“It’s okay. I miss her a lot, but she lived a good life.” In the dim light of the TV, Jimin can see Taehyung smile wistfully. There’s pain in his expression, but it’s distant, like he’s long come to terms with what happened.

Jimin’s brain is still a tad too much on the “asleep” side of the spectrum to make decent conversation, so he lets the dialogue end at that. It seems like a good conclusion, bittersweet, like much of life. A few minutes pass.

Apparently puppies open their eyes at around two weeks old.

With the subject of Taehyung’s grandmother fading, Jimin’s body is tempted to scoot over and lean his head on Taehyung’s shoulder. The thought makes him feel terribly guilty. Is he really so desperate? Even after his time with Hoseok earlier today? Sure it’s a relatively innocent gesture, but he wouldn’t be doing it to comfort Taehyung, which makes it purely selfish. So he restrains himself, his posture getting slightly stiffer.

It’s when the episode shifts from puppies to kids (the baby goat kind) that Jimin begins to wonder when Taehyung will be going to sleep so he can wallow in awkward shameful semi-silence by himself. And it’s at that point that he realizes he’s literally sitting on Taehyung’s bed.

“Oh my god I’m literally sitting on your bed,” Jimin whisper yells.

All guises of quietness are dropped as Taehyung laughs, but thankfully, his laugh is naturally quiet and deep.

“Did you just realize that?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Jimin stands up, setting down the pillow and arbitrarily fluffing it. “You’re probably exhausted.”

“I was honestly thinking you were trying to pull something,” Taehyung says, chuckling.

“Pull something?” Jimin pauses, almost tripping on the coffee table as he blindly backs away, intending on going to his room.

“Yeah, like you were trying to see if I’d mention the the possibility of us fucking.”

Jimin’s heart skips a beat, pulse catching on the lump in his throat.

“I, ah, will admit, I thought about it. But some things are more important and it’s super late and you don’t even seem to be that into me so…”

Taehyung stands and in the soft light of the TV, Jimin can see his tongue poke out, briefly wetting his lips, maybe stalling, maybe thinking, maybe neither.

He reaches over and places a warm hand on Jimin’s shoulder, then affectionately ruffles his hair.

“Well I’m glad we got to hang out, even if it was only for a little bit.”

Jimin notices that the other boy doesn’t directly respond to any of his reasons for not bringing up fucking, baited or not.

“Same here.”

Maybe he really isn’t into me, Jimin considers, accompanied by a small pinch in his chest. He gives Taehyung a small nod and walks the remaining few steps to his room, closing the door quietly.

—

Week two PT (Post Taehyung), things seem to be going pretty well. The boy with the fiery red hair is no longer as… threatening as he used to seem. Maybe threatening isn’t the right word, but from what Jungkook has heard, he’s kept his promise and hasn’t tried to fuck Jimin. This is reassuring because it means one, Taehyung (probably) wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to sleep with Jimin; and two, Jungkook is starting to think of him as a good friend. And good friends don’t boink each other’s crushes (or, as a recently established rule, steal each other’s already microwaved hot pockets).

It smells like coffee, which is a fairly reasonable observation namely because Jungkook is currently sitting in a coffee shop. His sensitive nose can also pick up hints of tea, but nothing like that godawful poison Taehyung had made about a week ago. Sometimes he still wonders how Seokjin survived. Anyway.

This cafe is one of those places that features a succulent covered wall that doesn’t look completely real or completely fake, leaving customers intrigued but unwilling to touch because it’s color coordinated and shaped into some artsy spirals around the unreasonably cursive cafe name. Jungkook can’t read it, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with beans. Opposite the plants, the shades have been drawn over the of floor to ceiling windows, filtering the orange tinged evening sunlight into something soft and pleasant to match the dim illumination from the rustic, vintage glass fixtures hung above the high tables surrounded by wooden stools.

Soothing jazz music underscores the sounds of a clacking keyboard, a few conversations, and the loud buzzing of a blender.

Jungkook’s fingers wrap around the warm disposable coffee cup. It’s starting to get colder outside. Not quite winter yet, but he’s glad he can now comfortably wear a hoodie in the middle of the day and maybe not look like a depressed, overworked college student. Not that he doesn’t look like that anyway despite being neither overworked nor a college student.

He inhales deeply, but quietly, shifting around on his stool in a futile attempt to alleviate the stiffness in his lower back and lessen the ache in his butt. Jungkook was the first one to arrive, a little early as usual. And by a little he means an hour. It’s not like he was doing anything productive or interesting on a Thursday night anyway.

So why not go out, even if it means sitting by himself for a while? Distract himself from the fact that he has another shoot with Jimin tomorrow night. He compulsively takes a sip of coffee at the thought. Fuck.

“Jungkook?”

His gaze lifts from the currently upside down inspirational quote “artfully” carved into the tabletop to look for the familiar deep voice. Once again, it’s surprisingly not Namjoon’s.

“Hey,” Jungkook gives Taehyung a small yet genuine smile as he walks over, taking the opposite seat, which leaves the also (but less) unreasonably cursive inspirational quote right side up from his perspective, and the small stage behind him. “You here to see Namjoon?”

“Wait, is he… doing something special?” Taehyung asks, appearing genuinely worried and confused.

“Open mic poetry night?”

“Oh? Is that why you’re here?”

“Is that not why you’re here?”

Both boys stare at each other before sharing a giggle. Taehyung adjusts the faded blue bandana holding up his hair before replying, still amused, “I honestly don’t know what’s going on. Jimin just told me I needed to come. Low key, I was kind of scared he was asking me on a date so poetry night is like a huge relief?”

Jungkook smothers another laugh behind a sip of coffee.

“Well, dates aren’t really Jimin’s M.O. in general, so you don’t have to be afraid of that.”

“I mean, I kind of figured, but I didn’t want to just assume, yknow?”

“True.”

A few moments pass in awkward not-silence, the jazz music still playing, the people still talking, the blender buzzing loudly again.

“So are you super early or did Jimin tell you to come now?”

Taehyung glances at his watch, then replies, “I’m early. What time does the open mic start?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“Okay that’s the time he told me to be here.”

Jungkook feels a little relieved too. It seems that Jimin had just invited him as a friend, though it is a bit strange he hadn’t told Taehyung why. It’s a line of thought that Jungkook forcefully pushes away. He doesn’t have the right to question Jimin’s motives, or to be possessive in any capacity. Besides, Taehyung has proven over and over that he is not interested in Jimin’s advances. So shouldn’t Jungkook, at the very least, trust him?

“I’m gonna go grab something to drink. Save my seat?” Taehyung says with a big, boxy smile.

“No problem.”

Jungkook looks down at the table again, perfectly square and and oddly modern blend of metal and light colored wood.

Another sip of coffee compulsively passes his lips.

Before Taehyung can finish ordering, Namjoon arrives in his beanie, boots, ripped jeans, and three layers of a mismatched mix of a jacket, flannel, and T-shirt. He definitely looks like he belongs in this coffee shop, drinking some fancy hipster beverage Jungkook probably wouldn’t be able to remember or pronounce. In all seriousness though, it’s nice to see his housemate not in a suit and tie.

Namjoon works hard at a job that he hates, so seeing him be himself? It’s refreshing.

He gives Jungkook a dimpled smile and a small wave when they make eye contact, but as usual immediately goes over to secure his place in the lineup, talking to the girl standing next to the small, raised stage set up in the corner of the establishment. It is also an oddly modern blend of metal and light colored wood. Jungkook wonders if it was custom made.

“Looking good,” Jungkook laughs brightly as his older friend walks over.

Namjoon chuckles.

“Thanks. I’m a little nervous.”

“Why?”

Before Namjoon can answer, Taehyung comes back to the table, disposition cheery.

“Hello Namjoon! I hear you’ve got a performance tonight?” Taehyung says, likely not knowing he interrupted. “I hope you don’t mind— Jimin invited me.”

“Course I don’t,” Namjoon replies smoothly, only the typical, genuine easy going good nature present in his smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“What did you get to drink?” Jungkook asks politely, but gives Namjoon a “we’ll finish this later” look.

“Tea.”

“Naturally.” Jungkook laughs and nudges him with his elbow.

Taehyung gasps comically, dramatically placing his hand on his chest.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook sing-songs.

“Alright you two play nice. I’m gonna go warm up my voice. Practice a bit more,” Namjoon chuckles, ruffling Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook scrunches his nose. RIP the twenty minutes of trying to actually care about what his hair looked like before he left. He’d parted it and used a little product and everything. But it’s Namjoon, one of his best friends, which helps Jungkook be a little more forgiving.

“If you’re trying to convince me that you don’t already have everything memorized, it’s not working,” Jungkook teases.

“Maybe not practice then,” Namjoon is still smiling, but there’s something almost nervous about his expression, which is an emotion not often seen on him during open mic nights. “Maybe just work up my courage.”

Without further explanation, he gives Taehyung an acknowledging nod and walks away from the table, toward the restroom. Weird. Why would Namjoon need to “work up his courage?” Poetry is his element, the thing he loves.

Just as he’s about to ask Taehyung for a second opinion (because Jungkook is apt to read social situations incorrectly), the other boy’s name is called from the counter. He smiles apologetically before snaking his way through the sparse crowd, leaving Jungkook alone once again with a quick, “Be right back.”

He doesn’t allow himself the illusion of peace in solitude though, and it’s a good thing he doesn’t because almost immediately:

“Jung-Jung-Kookie!”

There’s only one person who calls him that.

Jimin’s familiar face bounces above a head or two, clearly seeking out his friend. Jungkook raises his hand in a halfhearted signal. The weight of shame at the fluttering of his heart and the heating of his cheeks has become normal and Taehyung’s words echo in his mind.

Nothing feels good or healthy about it, but you can’t help it because you love them.

A ghost of a smile makes its way onto his expression as Jimin spots him, mood visibly brightening even from across the room. The coffee cup suddenly feels too hot in his hands, despite the fact that it’s been cooling for well over twenty minutes now.

“Hey Jimin,” he attempts to greet his friend warmly as the older boy weaves his way over to the table, then circles his arms around Jungkook’s neck in a painful but affectionate hug.

Jimin nuzzles into Jungkook’s hair, humming happily, saying, “I’m excited for tomorrow. I already have my costume picked out and everything. You’ll love it.”

“I always like what you wear.”

The disparity between “like” and “love” are exceedingly apparent to Jungkook, but he figures Jimin won’t notice at all. He just doesn’t feel like he can commit to using the latter word right now.

“But I’m sure you’ll find this one particularly fascinating.” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows playfully, formal diction helping a knot of uneasiness tangle in Jungkook’s stomach.

Before he can find a good response, Taehyung comes back and saves him.

“Look who else is early,” the boy with the fiery red hair laughs lightly, but seemingly genuinely. “I didn’t expect you for another twenty minutes or so.”

He takes his old seat, across from Jungkook and now Jimin, who still has his arms wrapped loosely around the younger boy’s neck.

Jungkook can hear the smile in Jimin’s voice, “My dad always used to say fifteen minutes early is on-time and on-time is late. What’d you get?”

He nods at the drink as Taehyung takes a sip.

“Tea,” Jungkook is shocked to find himself answering first, but Taehyung had told him earlier. So it’s not weird, right?

“Nice! I pegged you as a tea person.”

“Considering he tried to kill all of us with his noxious tea fumes…” Jungkook grimaces.

Taehyung sets his cup down, holding it with both hands as he laughs heartily this time, “That tea is perfectly fine! In fact, it helps get toxins out of your body.”

“It still smelled like feet. Rotten, moldy feet.”

“Stop it,” Taehyung says, humorously pushing out his lower lip. “You’ll hurt its feelings.”

The three of them giggle as Jimin drops his arms a little and hooks his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder, the height of the stool not allowing him to rest it on top of Jungkook���s head. Jimin then turns to look at him, his face so close that Jungkook can feel the older boy’s warm, minty breath on his cheek. He must have just brushed his teeth before coming here.

“How do you know what rotten moldy feet smell like anyway?”

“That’s none of your business.”

This earns him a poke to his side, which causes him to squeak, but it effectively allows for a change in subject.

“Well, it seems like the two of you are becoming fast friends,” Jimin says, sounding thoroughly amused. “And you don’t even live together.”

“Yeah Kook’s pretty cool,” Taehyung shrugs, taking another sip of tea. “We have a lot of things in common— or at least a lot of similar opinions. And this is camomile, just so you know. Not moldy feet.”

He turns his nose up with a dramatic huff, but can hardly conceal a grin. He probably isn’t trying that hard.

“Okay, camomile is acceptable.”

“Can I try?” Jimin asks brightly, his arms dropping as he backs away to move around the table and hop up onto a stool next to Taehyung, looking excited, full smile reaching his beautiful eyes, crinkled cutely, almost closed.

Jungkook mourns the loss of body heat, the feeling of Jimin pressed flush against him, chest to back. Somedays, he indulges in the fantasy that they might cuddle like that someday, Jungkook as the smaller spoon despite his larger body. Seokjin once called it an intense “need to feel taken care of,” but Jungkook thinks of it more like… if Jimin was holding him, it would mean he wants to be there, that Jungkook isn’t trapping him. Maybe it’s a mix of both reasons.

“Sure,” Taehyung hesitates, but only for a moment before handing over his disposable cup.

The blender starts up again in the background.

Jimin takes a drink and makes a face, his ridiculously long tongue pushing out from between parted lips.

“Hot,” is all he says.

Taehyung laughs, “Small sips, Jimin. That’s the trick. Oh, Kook?”

Jungkook looks up, having been staring intensely at his coffee cup, now abandoned by his hands on the table, in order to not imagine the things that ridiculously long tongue might do between his legs.

“Y-yeah?” his voice, unfortunately, cracks like he’s a prepubescent teen again. Dark times. Coconut hair, mostly black wardrobe, a little too much eye liner. Okay maybe some things haven’t changed too much. But he definitely wears it better.

“Do you wanna come with me to record my podcast on Saturday?”

It takes a moment or two to process the words.

“Sure! Yeah— I mean, yes. Absolutely,” Jungkook says, heat rising in his cheeks. “But what exactly would I be doing?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully, “Well, just hanging out. I thought it’d be something fun we could do together. Then get doughnuts or something after.”

“Great,” Jungkook can’t help smiling. “I look forward to it.”

That random conversation comes to a smooth end as Hoseok and Yoongi enter the cafe and walk over, the former cooing when he sees Jimin still caring for his burned tongue. They go to the register to ask for some cold water and probably drinks for themselves too. Yoongi, already holding a cup of coffee from a franchise store, takes a seat next to Jungkook, having pulled over a stool from another table.

“Isn’t that like, against common etiquette? To bring in drinks from other cafes?” Jungkook asks, causing Taehyung to smother a giggle.

Yoongi’s voice, as usual, is a little on the gravely side, “This place’s coffee tastes like shit and you know that.”

“Well if you didn’t just drink it black-”

“I can drink it however the hell I want, thanks.”

To the outsider, Yoongi might seem unwarrantedly cruel or biting, but Jungkook just finds him amusing. He’s grumpy, sure, but all it takes is a simple laugh and nudge of Jungkook’s elbow to cause an angry pink to dust across his cheeks.

“Yes, black. So it can match your soul.”

“That’s an overused joke and it disgusts me.”

“Hey Kook, you’re one to talk,” Taehyung pitches in carefully, though with an easy smile. He’s clearly teasing, but has mentioned before that Yoongi terrifies him, so his hesitance is understood. He gives Jungkook a dramatic once over, smile getting wider. “I mean look at what you’re wearing.”

Jungkook naively looks down.

“Hey, at least I’m wearing grey and black. Yoongi’s wearing all black.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to look down to shoot Jungkook A Look, retorting, “I’m forced to wear button downs and slacks almost every day. Let me and my goddamn casual wardrobe live.”

“Shhhh,” Jungkook reaches over, placing his finger on Yoongi’s lips. He’s pretty sure that the older boy is fighting the intense urge to bite him. “I didn’t say it looked bad.”

He giggles and drops his hands, leaving Yoongi to mutter under his breath and indignantly sip his coffee. He figures the heat from the drink is probably what causes the red in his cheeks to deepen.

Really though, Yoongi doesn’t look bad. He hardly ever does, even on those hard days where he comes home from work half asleep and Jungkook isn’t sure whether the correct description would involve him murdering a man or having been the one murdered. Maybe it’s not a good thing that he wears exhaustion well, or maybe it’s simply a testament to how hard he actually works, despite his claim that all he does is “turn computers off and on again.”

Today Yoongi looks a little less tired though (then again it could just be the coffee). His hair is a bit disheveled, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and he’s drowning in this oversized black sweatshirt that makes him look nothing short of cute though he would definitely be The Murderer if someone said this to his face. The sleeves are so long that they’re scrunched up around his elbows and still almost cover his pale hands, which are still wrapped protectively around his foreign coffee cup. The lower hem of the sweatshirt drops almost to his knees, covering his dark jeans, which lead down to black converse. Sometimes, Jungkook wonders how it would feel to cuddle Yoongi, sit the older boy down in his lap so he can loop his arms around Yoongi’s waist and hook his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder, but Jungkook figures it would be like trying to hug a pissed off, soaking wet cat.

Now done poking fun at Yoongi, the three of them fall into a comfortable non-silence, listening to the jazz music, blender, and murmuring while scrolling through phones. A few minutes later, Hoseok and Jimin return from the counter, the former holding what he claims to be coffee (but is really hot chocolate), and the later holding a plastic cup of water. The five boys make polite conversation until the lights dim and the girl next to the stage announces that open mic poetry night is about to start.

No one mentions the fact that Seokjin isn’t here.

Namjoon is third in the lineup of five. This might make one think that it would be a fairly brief event, considering four of them are regulars, but it is a wrong assumption. The first person is up on the stage for twenty minutes, speaking in overly enunciated rhyming iambic pentameter. Jungkook internally cringes at the fact that he knows what that is, but he makes sure to clap, knowing that despite how cookie-cutter it was, the person probably worked hard to describe those trees and that lake in so, so many extended metaphors.

The second person is thankfully more on the brief end of the spectrum, clocking in at just under five minutes. What it’s about? Jungkook doesn’t know. He lost interest as soon as he saw Yoongi pull out his phone.

Yoongi isn’t usually the type to answer texts right away, so Jungkook couldn’t help being curious when he spotted the “now” time stamp on the message preview. It was Seokjin, but Jungkook had turned away the moment Yoongi unlocked his phone. If Seokjin had wanted him to see it, he would’ve texted the group chat or Jungkook directly.

Now, Namjoon walks up onto the stage amidst light applause from those patrons paying attention. It’s immediately apparent that he’s lacking the stage presence he usually carries, the confidence that allows him to stride up onto the stage without so much as a quiver of his knees. This time, despite his muscular shoulders, long legs, and broad chest, he looks… small.

Namjoon clears his throat as he gets to the microphone, then holds up a sheet of paper. Sure the other speakers consistently use notes, but Namjoon has never used them when he’s in front of an audience. It raises another red flag in Jungkook’s mind.

“I, um…”

The speakers screech with a bit of feedback, causing him to flinch away from the microphone slightly. A small crease forms between his eyebrows, reading as distress. Memories suddenly bubble to the front of Jungkook’s mind, small snippets, fragments, pieces of a puzzle he probably won’t ever see completely.

Relative quietness in the group chat. Less time with everyone spent at one apartment or the other. A morning where Namjoon left without eating breakfast and came back three hours later before locking himself in his room for the rest of that Sunday.

Namjoon’s voice sounds small too, still deep and smooth, but afraid.

“I wrote this poem just a few days ago after having a… conversation with a friend. It doesn’t have a title yet, but I’ve been thinking of calling it A Study in Gray.”

He pauses for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. Then begins.

I look at you, sitting across from me,

only a table’s width away.

If I reach out, I would be able to touch you.

Just a brush of my fingers and I could

feel the warmth that’s risen onto your cheek.

If I reach out, I’d be able to put my hand on your shoulder.

A comforting gesture to say I’m here,

you’re not alone.

If I reach out, I might be able to bridge the gap

that I unknowingly created when I told you I’m

not sure what I feel.

These were the things I was sure of:

You appeared excited when we met, nervous.

It made me excited yet nervous too.

You ordered a coffee, which you don’t usually drink

and put a little too much sugar in.

You’ve always said it upsets your stomach.

Why do I know this?

Why do I know that you prefer tea?

I don’t know what it means.

I have entered an area of gray,

where surety has faded into the unsure.

I am uncomfortable here,

which is something of which I’m entirely sure.

My life consists of blacks and whites,

not rights and wrongs but

decisions that turn people into numbers

and emotions into letters on a page.

Equating what happened to a grayscale

is damning both you and me to the world of colors,

though you are anything but gray to me.

You are bright red, passionate;

vibrant orange, excited;

deep blue, stable;

rich violet, imaginative;

and soft pink, comforting.

You are not a grayscale,

but I am— and you help give my life color.

Jungkook’s focus momentarily drifts to Jimin. His features look soft in the dim lighting of the cafe, a small, proud, yet concerned smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches their friend speak, slowly gaining a passionate tone, but still lacking the usual confidence. Jungkook’s attention then slowly slides over one seat, now landing on Taehyung. He wears a focused expression, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together. Jungkook can only see half of his face due to the angle, but the way the lighting plays off of his fiery red hair and tan skin is interesting. His photographer’s eye wants to capture the moment, but he can’t—

Actually, yes he can. Taehyung gave him permission.

He doesn’t have his camera, which is unfortunate, because he’d like to have this moment saved in high resolution, but his phone will work just fine. Jungkook snaps a quick few photos before he blushes and realizes that he should probably take a couple of Namjoon too. They aren’t as coordinated as he’d like them to be, but that’s the thing about candid shots. Isn’t it.

A sharp nudge to his side makes Jungkook wince and almost drop the device. He turns to look at Yoongi, who’s also holding up his phone but is recording instead. Jungkook must have gotten in the way, blocked the view or something. He mouths an apology before tuning back into the poem.

There is only a table’s width between us.

If I reach out, I’d be able to put my hand on your shoulder.

A comforting gesture to say I’m here,

you’re not alone.

If I reach out, I might be able to bridge the gap

that I unknowingly created when I told you I’m

not sure what I feel.

If I reach out… But I don’t.

Because I’m afraid.

Because I’m confused.

And by the time I realize that I

need to

reach out, it’s too late.

I find a wall between us, one of glass.

It allows me to see the color, but not touch it.

And the worst part is,

the wall that separates us…

I don’t know if I’m the one who put it there.

It’s definitely different than Namjoon’s usual ranting about capitalism, sexism, and racism. Jungkook can almost positively say the content change is what had him so nervous, and he can’t exactly blame Namjoon. It was a moment of emotional vulnerability instead of the raw passion he usually displays while writing, then reading it aloud. There was a lot of figurative language, but Jungkook definitely has more pieces to the puzzle now. Seokjin must have confessed that morning at breakfast.

Four of the five boys around the table clap enthusiastically, wanting to be supportive of their friend and probably being embarrassingly loud amidst the polite applause from the rest of the cafe. One set of hands is missing though, this much Jungkook can tell because he’s sitting right next to it.

Yoongi’s thumb hovers above his phone screen for a moment more before he hits the “stop recording” button, then pockets the device. He gets a couple claps in before the next person walks up on stage.

Namjoon practically bounces over to his friends with a bright but nervous smile. He glances at the five boys, scanning their faces. His smile falters.

“Did- did you guys like it?”

There’s still the low murmuring of quiet conversations and mixing drinks in the cafe, background noise that makes talking during the performance a few steps shy of impolite.

“Namjoon, that was great!” Hoseok answers immediately, excitedly, probably a little too loud but the sentiment is appreciated.

“I agree, it was awesome,” Jimin adds with a nod.

Yoongi hums, his voice a little pouty as he thinks aloud, “Could do with a little less repetition, but it was good.”

Coming from Yoongi, that’s definitely a compliment.

Jungkook simply reaches out and puts a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, giving it a proud, affectionate pat. Taehyung even gives a quiet comment of approval, though looks a bit shy about speaking up.

It does not go unnoticed that while Namjoon glows under the kind words of his friends, he does keep glancing toward the door. Jungkook can’t help but wonder whether he’s disappointed or relieved that Seokjin didn’t show up.

—

Jungkook hums quietly to himself as he sets up his camera, an idle distraction that does little to settle his nerves and instead makes him feel somewhat nauseous. The alternative is feeling very nauseous as he waits in anxious anticipation to see why Jimin’s costume will be “particularly fascinating.”

The ensuite bathroom door opens and Jungkook suddenly thinks there’s a high chance he might be a masochist.

The background image Jimin had requested should’ve given him a hint. It should have, but either Jungkook didn’t want to see it, or he’s just really dense. The edit Jungkook had made was of the interior of an ice castle, and the theme reflects perfectly on Jimin— in the way he’s done his makeup, in the way he’s dressed (or rather, undressed), and the way he’s carrying himself.

A delicate, thin crown sits atop his head, matt silver with a tasteful amount of (plastic) diamonds accentuating the leaf-like design in the metal (which actually might be plastic too). He’s wearing another cape, though this one is noticeably thinner and shimmery silver. Where does he keep getting these? Is there an outlet store for capes? Capes R Us? Jungkook wants to laugh at the thought, but he can only swallow thickly because this time, Jimin isn’t completely naked underneath that cape.

His eyes, made sharper by the makeup, narrow as he smirks, “You like it?”

He’s wearing a body harness, dark leather straps crisscrossing beautifully along his chest, abdomen, and thighs, all in stark contrast with his skin, the cream couch, the silver cape and crown, and the icy blue that will be in the background. It makes him look more feminine than usual, accentuating the generous curve of his hips before spiderwebbing up into a choker, sitting at the base of his neck. It leaves his chest and crotch on full display.

Jungkook has to fight the carnal urge to pull at the straps, yank Jimin forward into a searing kiss. He squeezes his hand into a fist and thinks of taxes and essays.

“I don’t think I should answer that question,” Jungkook clears his throat and goes back to setting up his camera. “But it objectively looks nice.”

“You’re seriously no fun,” Jimin pouts. “I get to see one reaction when we do these shoots and that’s yours. C’mon Kookie, I dressed up so pretty…”

Jungkook pauses, his finger poised on the power button, but he doesn’t look over. Not yet. He’d gone to the gym this morning, just to try it out again before his membership expired. He’d felt good about it, like maybe he was getting back on track.

And yet here he is, struggling to keep a blush off of his cheeks, to keep his goddamn dick in his pants. It’s frustrating, not two steps forward one step back, but like no matter how hard Jungkook tries to step, his feelings keeps restraining him bodily, not allowing a single inch of progression.

With a deep breath, his hands leave the camera and he turns to face Jimin with a small smile, crossing his arms in subconscious defensiveness, maybe hoping to spare himself the pain, “Okay, well what can I say that’ll make you happy?”

“That takes all the fun out of it.”

“Oh stop,” Jungkook laughs lightly, hating himself for feeling like a slut as he caves and walks over, placing his hands on Jimin’s shoulders and keeping his eyes above the waistline. “You look great. Objectively and subjectively. I know you worked really hard for this.”

Jimin’s lips, previously downturned in disappointment, quirk up, his expression vulnerably hopeful as he asks, “Really?”

“Are you asking me to repeat the cheesy as fuck thing I just said?”

“Maybe.”

“If you weren’t pretty much butt naked right now I would smack you.”

“Smack me… where?”

“No, I’m not going to spank you.”

Jimin giggles, wiggling his hips humorously, causing his still flaccid dick to flop around, “But Kookie…”

Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Don’t swing that thing around near me.”

“What? You don’t like it?” He giggles harder, rolling his hips enthusiastically to make his dick bounce, “But you stare at it all the time.”

The younger boy backs away a step, fighting a strange urge to laugh hysterically.

“You can’t prove anything.”

Jimin matches his step and closes the distance again, now rolling his whole body sensuously. It would be… really fucking hot if his dick wasn’t soft. This one detail makes the situation ridiculous and hilarious. Jungkook takes a few more steps back, now laughing openly. His legs bump ungracefully into the bed and he’s forced to half stumble, half crawl over it in a desperate attempt to escape with his sanity at least partially intact.

“Jungkookie! Come give me a hug!”

“Make me.”

“I’m trying!”

Smiling deviously, Jimin catches Jungkook’s ankle, dragging him back onto the bed as he tries to dive off of the other side.

“How are you so small but so strong?”

Jimin is suddenly straddling the backs of his calves and his hand comes down on Jungkook’s ass, more sound than sting through the fabric of his jeans, but he squeaks in surprise anyway, freezing as he realizes what might be touching the back of his thigh. Something brushes against him as Jimin moves again, distributing his weight strategically.

“Is this what you want, Kookie?” Jimin teases, his hands now on Jungkook’s thighs to stabilize himself, not necessarily doing anything naughty. “Is this what you imagine me doing to you when you look at my photos?”

Jungkook’s first response is a petulant whine, muffled into the blankets, followed by, “I don’t jerk off to them.”

“Oh of course you don’t,” Jimin coos, giggling again as his fingers play with the bottom hem of Jungkook’s shirt, pushing it up just high enough so that the cold tips press against the skin of his lower back. He shivers. “Then in your fantasies, do you top or bottom?”

Jungkook’s cheeks must be scarlet by now and he’s trying very hard to ignore the fact that there’s a high probability he’s got a goddamn boner.

“I…”

“C’mon Kookie, I’m curious. Tell me and I’ll get off of you.”

Jungkook lets out another whine of distress as Jimin wiggles on top of him and yeah, that’s definitely a flaccid weenie touching his thigh. In any other situation, this would be pretty great. Jimin in a pretty body harness behind him, otherwise naked, asking whether he’s a top or bottom. But in this situation? Not good. Hella not good. Like a whole metric hella, worth approximately two metric shit tons. More importantly though, why would Jimin want to know this?

He’s never shown more than a teasing, but good natured shallow interest in Jungkook’s obvious attraction to him. What changed? Or has anything changed at all? He fights down the surge of hope. Even if Jimin finally decided to reciprocate feelings, this isn’t how Jungkook would want things to happen. Are rose petals and a candle lit dinner cheesy? Yes, but that’s the kind of boy Jungkook is. So he hesitates, unsure where this is going, what Jimin is thinking.

Jungkook struggles again, trying to get free without having to answer, but it only makes things worse. Much, much worse.

Jimin’s weight shifts quickly as he pins the younger boy down beneath him, chest now flush against Jungkook’s back and oh god the flaccid weenie is now definitely touching his butt (the less he thinks about it as “Jimin’s dick,” quite a serious topic, the better).

“Just tell me pleeeease?”

At this point, anything is better than this situation, Jimin on top of him, wiggling again, material of the cape draped over both of them. It’s starting to get too warm. Jungkook’s brain and willpower are losing traction as tension builds in his body, a mixture of panic, guilty arousal, and physical discomfort. For some reason, it’s Jimin’s fingers withdrawing from under his shirt that finally causes him to snap.

“You top.”

Everything stops abruptly except for the building heat beneath the cape. Jimin is no longer moving and his giggles fade away. For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of their breathing and the faint voices of the TV on the other side of the wall in the living room.

And then Jimin asks, voice unreadably soft, quiet, “I… top?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with equal quietness and softness, though he thinks it’s due to the fear of being judged.

“Huh,” he huffs, sounding surprised above anything else. “Well that’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jungkook says, a little panicked as Jimin scoots off of him, lying tummy down on the bed beside him. The cape continues to cover both of their bodies, which is probably a good thing. Though with the older boy’s body heat gone, the warmth is a lot more bearable.

Jimin shrugs, the action muffled by the abundant silver cloth around his shoulders.

“Yeah. Most guys I ask want to fuck me— yknow, want to do the fucking.” His voice sounds small as he continues, “So I guess I just didn’t expect that answer.”

Jungkook wonders if Jimin prefers to top or bottom. He’s never heard the older boy explicitly express his preference, probably for the better since it would’ve had to come up in casual conversation. That doesn’t mean Jimin doesn’t have one though, and Jungkook also inevitably wonders whether he lets himself indulge in that preference, or simply allows the other person to choose. He can’t voice any of this though, of course not. It’s not his place. He loves Jimin, but— no.

He loves Jimin, and thus he shouldn’t ask. It’s too personal, might make things awkward because that’s what Jungkook does. He makes everything uncomfortable.

So naturally he goes with the safest option: humor.

“Well you’re the one who climbed on top of me and suggested it in the first place,” Jungkook laughs, but it’s breathy, a little strained.

Jimin gives him a small smile, “Okay true. I just… you didn’t seem like the type that’s all. Considering how much you work out and stuff.”

Work out, present tense. As if he hadn’t just picked it up again today. It’s weird to think that Taehyung knew more about Jungkook’s more recent habits than Jimin does.

“We’re generalizing then?” Jungkook smirks, feeling more comfortable now that he’s started to recover from his near fatal encounter with the unexpected weenie and Jimin has put a bit of physical distance between them. It also helps that they’re teasing again, meaning Jungkook feels less like he’s under a spotlight.

“No! I just… yes,” Jimin pouts, but it’s cute. “I’m sorry Kookie. I of all people should know not to assume things like that.”

“It’s alright,” Jungkook, a slave to his emotions, reaches out and pokes Jimin’s nose, not sure where else he might be able to touch without ruining makeup or hair or feeling like a pervert. “I’ll forgive you one day.”

Jungkook giggles with humorous, purposeful obnoxiousness. It causes Jimin to smile again.

“RIP Jimin,” he says, speaking in third person.

“RIP Jimin,” Jungkook agrees softly.

They lie there for a minute or two, searching each others’ expressions. Or it’s maybe just a few seconds. It’s hard to tell, but eventually, Jungkook takes a deep breath, his voice quiet as if he’s disturbing something more than relative silence, “We should probably get some work done, right?”

The older boy nods and slowly pushes himself up, the cape cascading around him gracefully in some places, hugging him sensuously in others. Jungkook can’t help but notice that his companion’s dick is half hard now, but thankfully, the younger boy no longer has his own half chub to hide. So much for that hallmark romcom scene.

The rest of the shoot is relatively uneventful, considering what happened before it started.

After months of practice, Jungkook has finally managed to perfect (mostly) the art of not (often) looking down at Jimin’s dick, which is supposed to be hard when photos are taken, as per instructions.

So yeah, he totally masturbated as Jungkook set up the lights. It took a lot of humming to pretend he didn’t hear Jimin’s hand, his shaky breathing, and soft sighs. Sometimes he wonders what Jimin thinks about when he touches himself. Certainly not Jungkook, but it’s definitely an intriguing line of thought.

Jungkook also wonders whether Jimin practices his expressions in the mirror between shoots because fuck he just radiates the perfect amount of coldness while dripping with sensuality. It’s a weird contrast, seeing Jimin in a body harness, implicative of binding, and wanting the older boy to fuck him senseless while draped over the arm of the couch.

Taxes and essays. Essays and taxes.

Thus ice prince Jimin is brought out of the imagination and into physical being, captured in photographs with sultry stares, no smiles, and the prettiest dick Jungkook has ever seen (or tried not to see because gosh darn it he still has dregs of willpower).

When Jungkook says they’re done, Jimin stretches out and gives him a small smile.

“Thanks Kookie,” he stands and with a much different demeanor than earlier, wraps the cape fully around himself as if wanting to hide his body. “I’m gonna go shower off.”

“No problem,” he says, returning the small smile. “Want me to wait for you or…?”

It’s still relatively early in the night. He figures Jimin might want to get food.

If Jungkook didn’t know better, he’d think Jimin’s cheeks dust pink, but it must be a play of the light.

“Ah, okay. If you want to. I mean you have to pack up anyway.”

Jungkook nods. They stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before Jimin jabs his thumb over his shoulder, continuing, “Alright, I’m gonna go do my thing.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking with quiet steps into the bathroom.

For some reason, sympathy is the first word that comes to Jungkook’s mind. He cleans up the shoot methodically, but avoids the couch. That’s Jimin’s responsibility namely because… well, ass and balls, to put it plainly. It’s just a silent agreement they’ve had since the beginning. The sound of the shower is consistent in the background.

When he finishes, Jungkook sits down on the very edge of Jimin’s bed, trying to relax. He’ll leave his equipment in here for safekeeping. Maybe he’ll suggest eating in, heat up some leftovers because honestly he’s kind of tired.

But then Jungkook perks up at the sound of a familiar voice.

It’s muffled through the wall, distorted slightly by the TV and the shower, yet Jungkook can still tell it’s Yoongi and if Yoongi is here, something exciting is about to happen. He doesn’t go out after work without good cause and he definitely doesn’t come upstairs unless invited (unlike Jimin and Hoseok, who love to pop up in the other apartment without warning).

Jungkook gets up to walk to the door because those extra couple steps will definitely with all certainty absolutely improve his hearing. Yoongi’s talking to Taehyung and it makes Jungkook happy to know he can identify both voices immediately now. What they’re saying, he has no clue but the boy with the fiery red hair laughs, which is reassuring.

His ear presses to the door.

“… something to show him.”

“No, I haven’t seen him yet. He might still be working.”

“Oh okay. Mind if I hang out here?”

“Take a seat.”

“What are we listening to?” Jimin’s whispered voice, so close to his ear, makes Jungkook startle, which causes him to jump back, accidentally elbowing Jimin in the stomach and stepping on his foot. “Kook what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry! You scared me,” Jungkook says, hands ghosting over Jimin to make sure he’s alright. “But I promise I didn’t meant to.”

The older boy is now in sweatpants and a much too large threadbare T-shirt that slips over one of his shoulders. His hair is damp, though towel dried so it doesn’t drip or stick to his forehead. It’s probably still a little tacky from product, but it’s natural again and he’s barefaced, features softer without the makeup. This is obviously a more domestic look. Jungkook prefers this over body harness ice prince Jimin.

“Really?” Jimin laughs breathily, holding his stomach and looking up at Jungkook like an injured puppy. “No, Kookie, I thought you tried to kill me on purpose.”

It takes a few seconds for the sarcasm to register, at which point Jungkook quiets the ensuing stream of apologies and scrunches his nose in a pout.

“Aw don’t be like that,” Jimin says. “I’m the one who almost died.”

Jungkook continues to pout dramatically, now leaning against the door with his nose to the wood. Jimin coos, gently trying to pry the younger boy away from the wooden barrier, hands on his shoulders.

“Kookie…”

He simply (fake) sniffles.

“C’mon you love me,” Jimin is giggling, still weakly tugging on him. “Let’s hug and make up.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Jimin squeals quietly as Jungkook allows him to pull his larger body away from the door and envelop him in a tight hug. It’s everything Jungkook wishes he could have on a regular basis. Soft, affectionate, strong. As Jungkook turns to accommodate Jimin and wrap his arms around the older boy, he can’t help thinking that Jimin fits perfectly in his arms, chin hooking over Jungkook’s shoulder, their bodies melding together to fill the cracks.

But it’s the wrong kind of perfect. Two things that aren’t meant to fit, like a coin in a ring, baby carrots in a battery slot, or a tennis ball inside of a drainage pipe. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

—

Jimin gives Jungkook a playful squeeze, smothering giggles into the younger boy’s chest as his body naturally lets out a huff with the sudden added pressure. It’s cute. Such a big boy, but so quiet and gentle.

He won’t lie, it’s nice hugging Jungkook. He represents an area of safety to Jimin, the cause of no pain except the slow boiling guilt inside him, but that’s omnipresent  anyway. Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him, won’t let anyone else hurt him either. He’s a source of comfort and warmth, two things Jimin doesn’t often get to experience without giving something of himself away.

“So you never answered my question,” Jimin says, pulling back to look up at him without the danger of them being close enough to kiss. “What were you listening to?”

“Nothing too interesting. Yoongi’s here.”

“He is?”

“Yeah. Wanna get something to eat?”

Jimin nods and lets go, slowly taking a step back. He can still feel the ghost of the dull ache and sharp bite of the leather on his skin, especially around his groin. It’s hard to find full body harnesses for men that are pretty. So yeah, sometimes he has to resort to strangely fitting female attire, which often leaves his genitalia in uncomfortable situations. But that will all fade by tomorrow evening. For now, he’ll enjoy the feeling of a job well done.

They exit the room with polite greetings to Taehyung and Yoongi before Jimin leads the way to the kitchen where they heat up leftovers. He slides the bowls across the island countertop, placing one in front of Jungkook and the other in front of the empty seat beside him.

As Jimin is getting the spoons, Hoseok and Seokjin walk into the apartment, the former chattering on as usual about Ms. Piper, who apparently sent back her food four times today, refusing to eat until— and pardon Jimin for not listening intently— something about a rice dish.

He takes a seat next to Jungkook, handing the younger boy a spoon so they can both start eating.

In his peripherals, Jimin can see Yoongi stand up and approach Seokjin, interrupting the conversation about Ms. Piper. They speak quietly until Yoongi pulls out his phone, handing it to the older boy. Seokjin looks perplexed for a moment before nodding, then walking over to the small dining table behind Jimin, meaning he can no longer see.

He thus loses interest quickly, especially as Hoseok strides over and puts his arms around both his and Jungkook’s shoulders.

“I see you’ve finished with the shoot already huh?”

“Yeah,” Jimin confirms with a smile. “Jungkookie made it nice and easy.”

“That’s great! Our resident photographer is so talented,” Hoseok presses a loud smooch to said photographer’s cheek. “But now that you guys are free, we should totally play a game.”

“That depends on what type of game,” Jimin turns to give him a suggestive smile. “After what happened last time-”

“Okay that wasn’t my fault.”

“Namjoon still had to get stitches,” Jungkook pauses eating for a moment to add helpfully.

Hoseok pouts, backing up to cross his arms over his chest, “Well he should’ve been more careful with the Monopoly pieces.”

“So what game?” Jimin presses with a light laugh.

“How about… truth or dare?”

Jungkook huffs, “Can’t you pick anything less cliched?”

“Well if someone hadn’t pissed Jin off we could still play hide and seek.”

A memory flashes through Jimin’s mind. A park at midnight, dappled with the dim white glow of streetlights and washed in soft silver by the crescent moon. A pond, inky black with blurry edges that gently lap at the paths around it. Worn wooden benches, massive aged trees. Hoseok decked out in glow sticks; Yoongi sitting in a playground plastic tube; Jungkook helping Jimin into a tree; a splash— Namjoon and Seokjin soaking wet.

He smiles.

“Maybe we should try hide and seek again,” Jimin wiggles happily in his seat, bringing the bowl into his lap so he can continue eating as he speaks to Hoseok. “But this time no going near the pond.”

“Yeah okay good idea, but I’m not going to be It first this time,” Hoseok negotiates, hands now on his hips.

“Not It,” Jungkook declares. He finishes his last bite of food before getting up and walking over to the sink.

Jimin perks up, asking, “So you’re gonna play then?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t be so nonchalant, Kook, we all know you’re excited to squeeze into some small space with Jimin,” Hoseok teases.

“No, not doing that again,” Jungkook says over the sound of water hitting the bowl as he rinses it. “He giggles too much.”

“Guilty,” Jimin raises his fork in acknowledgement.

“And if I’m playing, I’m playing to win.”

“Perfect! I’ll go indoctrinate Yoongi and Taehyung.”

“You know we’re like right here? We can hear what you’re saying?” Yoongi says from his seat on the couch.

Hoseok shrugs, “Good, then I don’t have to explain anything.”

“Shameless,” Yoongi huffs, then looks down at his phone again.

“So we’re talking about something like manhunt?” Taehyung’s head tilts.

“What?” both Hoseok and Jimin ask.

“Manhunt it’s… hide and seek. Outside.”

They all stare at each other for a few seconds before Hoseok clears his throat, “Oh, okay yeah. Well, not It.”

Seokjin elects to stay home and there’s no response from Namjoon, so twenty minutes later, Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Yoongi get out of the car and hop up onto the curb, the latter covered in glow sticks almost to a comical degree, a physical manifestation of the burden that comes with being dubbed “It.”

It’s starting to get cold out at night, which leaves all of them in hoodies or sweatshirts. Jimin thinks it smells like rain, but Hoseok quickly assures him that it wasn’t in the forecast. The park is instead covered in a thick blanket of fog, weighing down heavily on Jimin’s lungs, his visibility disintegrating into a hazy white at about three or four meters. He can’t even see the playground equipment he knows is in the middle of the massive park. This is going to be an interesting game.

“Everyone’s got their phone on, right?” Hoseok asks, checking his own. “Reception okay?”

“I didn’t picture you as the safety buff,” Taehyung teases.

Hoseok snorts, obviously amused, “Well Jin isn’t here to nag us, so someone has to do it.”

As the two of them exchange playful retorts, Jimin pulls out his phone and finds, to his dismay, that he’s only got ten percent left.

“I’m gonna need a hiding buddy,” he inserts quietly, feeling a little guilty. He should’ve at least grabbed a charger or something.

“And it’s not going to be me,” Hoseok puts his hands up in mock surrender as they start walking toward a massive tree that’s marked the starting point for the four games of hide and seek they’ve played here.

Jimin turns to look at Jungkook with a pleading smile, but he just shakes his head. The older boy feels slightly hurt, but he can’t blame Jungkook. Jimin does giggle a lot.

“You can hide with me.”

The offer catches Jimin by surprise and he turns to look at Taehyung, asking with hesitant hopefulness, “Really?”

“Of course. I mean, I’m the only one left anyway,” Taehyung winks, then laughs brightly, voice deep and smooth. “I always like having a partner anyway. Makes things more fun.”

With their past, Jimin hadn’t expected him to offer, but he’s definitely grateful and won’t turn it down.

“Okay cool. Thanks.”

“Great, now that you two are done being sappy, rules?” Yoongi crosses his arms, looking like a disgruntled human incarnation of a yard that was vomited on by too much Christmas cheer, just sans the fluorescent reindeer, candy cane wielding penguins, and uncanny valley Santa Claus.

“Don’t leave the park, don’t go near the pond, and don’t shout for help unless you need it,” Hoseok states effortlessly, as if he’s thought of this extensively.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alright Yoongi, how long?”

“Forever.”

“Fuck you, you just don’t want to look for us.”

“Caught me red handed.”

“One minute,” Hoseok supplies, then points in a grand, sweeping motion. “Face the tree.”

The oldest boy does as asked, putting his arm up and resting his face in the crook of his elbow. He sounds bored as he starts counting, “One… two… three…”

Hoseok screams and takes off running into the mist, back in the direction of the car. Jimin thinks making noise is not the best idea when you’re trying to be sneaky, but whatever floats his boat. Jungkook jogs away in the opposite direction, strangely quiet for a boy of his size, his footfalls quiet crunches on the wet grass. He might be heading toward the area of dense foliage where he tried to climb and hide in a tree last time.

Jimin turns to look at Taehyung, arching an eyebrow. The other boy shrugs, so Jimin leads the way to the playground. Their pace is quick, but not frantic, sand sticking to shoes as they make their way to the multilayered structure of painted metal and molded plastic. With the fog, it almost looks like a castle in the clouds. They take the stairs up onto the equipment, the bridge squeaking in protest under their weight, causing Jimin to laugh. Taehyung playfully shushes him before they attempt to fit into one of a few tunnels.

Jimin manages to crawl through and climbs another platform to sit in a small tower-like hut at the top of an enclosed slide. There are small slits that allow him to see out, but it’s too dark to see in at night. The perfect place to hide. Besides, if Yoongi gets close, he can just slip into the slide and make sure he’s too big to go all the way down.

Taehyung, on the other hand, decides to stay in the tunnel. He’s on his stomach, back and shoulders dipping just beneath the line of opaque plastic windows. Even if both of them can’t fit into Jimin’s spot, he’s a little disgruntled that Taehyung is so visible. What if he gives away their spot? He takes a moment to remind himself that it’s just a game.

The two boys make eye contact and Taehyung smiles, causing Jimin to unexplainably giggle again. Maybe Taehyung won’t be the one giving away their position. To prevent himself from making any more noise, Jimin turns slightly to look out onto the expanse of fog covered grass. In the distance, he can still hear Yoongi counting, but the excessive water in the air distorts the sound, making it impossible to tell what number he’s on.

When the counting stops, the world becomes eerily silent. All Jimin can hear is the shaky sound of his own forcibly quieted breathing, trapped by his plastic surroundings. Eventually, Jimin spots what looks like a diluted Christmas tree walking around, colors muffled. He has to smother another giggle.

Man, no wonder Jungkook didn’t want to hide together.

“Jimin, do you see him?” Taehyung’s whispered voice sounds like a shout in such a heavy quietness.

“Yeah. He’s not close.”

Maybe minutes pass. Maybe seconds. Taehyung takes out his phone.

“Turn it off,” Jimin whispers sharply, causing Taehyung to drop the device. It clatters loudly against the bottom of the tube, causing both boys to wince and smother surprised laughter into their hands.

The blurry Christmas tree gets closer, which silences them effectively, especially as Yoongi walks out of the mist like something out of a goddamn horror movie… if the monster was covered in a ridiculous amount of glow sticks.

Jimin stills his whole body in anticipation, which naturally means he suddenly needs to pee. Will Taehyung and his terrible hiding spot get them found? Will Jimin giggle at an inopportune time? Will Yoongi zero in on the sound of a phone clattering against—?

He almost jumps out of his skin when Yoongi pauses practically right beneath the slide tower and says, “Found you.”

The only thing that stops him from huffing out a long list of expletives is a curse that beats him to it.

“Fuck.”

“Watch your language,” Yoongi chides.

It’s Jungkook’s light laugh that follows, causing Jimin and Taehyung to exchange a surprised glance. When had he come to the playground equipment?

“What gave me away?” Jungkook asks, amusement plain in his voice.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi huffs and Jimin can only watch as he crawls underneath the structure, into one of the plastic tubes. Jungkook must be sitting inside. “I’ll always find you.”

“I think that was the gayest thing I’ve heard today. And I talked to Jin earlier.”

Jungkook laughs again, a little awkward this time, but Yoongi doesn’t respond.

The younger boy continues, “Did you find anyone else yet?”

“Hobi thinks I don’t know he’s in the car.”

“Isn’t that technically cheating? Since we’re supposed to stay in the park?”

“Tell him that.”

Jimin and Taehyung are staring intensely at each other, the latter’s phone still sitting on the bottom of the tube in which he’s lying, likely not picked up in fear of it making too much noise. Jimin’s heartbeat is pounding in his pulse points, a frantic “what the actual fuck” smile on his face. This has to be like something out of a movie.

“What about Jimin and Taehyung?”

“No idea.”

“So you just made a beeline for me?”

“Yes. Now sell out your friends.”

Suddenly, there’s a confusingly excessive amount of clattering, the sound of items hitting plastic, similar to when Taehyung dropped his phone. It takes a moment for Jimin to realize that it’s all of the glow sticks.

“Hey, you can’t just-”

Jungkook cuts Yoongi off with a laugh, followed by the sound of another short scuffle, more glow sticks colliding with the plastic tube.

“Get off.”

“Make me.”

Jungkook must be on top, pinning Yoongi down. He sounds like he’s having a great time. Yoongi? Not so much. But there’s also fondness hidden in his dry command, an emotion that takes years of knowing Yoongi to find.

“You little shit.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then the patter of light rain, fading in from a few drops and plateauing at a quiet steady staccato rhythm. It makes the next part harder to hear.

“What’re you…?” Jungkook’s question trails off, seemingly unsure.

“Oblivious brat.”

Yoongi’s voice sounds soft, yet pained. The dozens of thuds that follow precede the older boy crawling out of the tube and back into Jimin’s line of sight. His face looks pink, or maybe that’s just the excessive amount of glow sticks.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook crawls out after him.

“Back to the car.”

“Why?”

“It’s fucking raining?”

“Wait, I think we should talk about it.”

Talk about what? Jimin watches as they leave the playground area, walking on the grass again, Jungkook jogging to catch up to Yoongi’s fast pace.

“Later.”

The rest of the conversation is lost in the rain and fog. Confused, Jimin turns to look at Taehyung, who points to his lips.

“What” Jimin mouths, still clueless.

“Kiss,” is the word Taehyung silently chooses to respond with.

Before Jimin can ask for an explanation, the sound of Taehyung’s phone buzzing causes both boys to startle and Jimin hits his head on the plastic roof above him. He’ll later find out that it’s a text from Hoseok telling everyone to come back to the car because of the weather.

[Next- the link will take you to Ao3]

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[viirales]

You know the drill ~ Rainbow!

Headcanon Prompt:  You and your rainbows….

Red: sex headcanons 

Much like the whole ‘romance’ thing mentioned previously, sex is simply not a priority.  To an extent, he is still interested, just without the desire to actively chase it anymore, as once he did.  But, once again, for the sake of the ask, let’s say someone reels him in:  He would most likely have to be on the bottom of any, uh…encounter, for a reason that essentially boils down to ‘Man of steel, partner of Kleenex’.  Despite the control he has over his strength, all it would take it one mistake or the slightest slip-up to crush his partner.  Or, at the very least, badly injure them.  If they’re on top, they’ve got at least some kind of control over the situation; if he starts getting too rough with them, for example, they can slow things down or stop completely to get his head back in the game, where as if he’s got them pinned under him, that might be a little more difficult to do.  It’s not a foolproof method by any means, but it’s better than nothing, right?  

If a potential partner isn’t willing to get a little rough, don’t bother him.  Not talking like, break out the whips and chains kind of rough, but if they treat him like glass (or like they’re walking on eggshells with him) the whole way through, it’s not a turn-on by any means.  And for God’s sake, he ain’t gonna cuddle immediately afterwards.  At best, he’ll tolerate it for a little while if a partner insists upon it, but even that will generally end with something along the lines of, “Alright, get off me already.”  

Orange: emotional headcanons

For one to have fear, one needs a reason to be afraid.  Alex no longer has that, as he knows he’s capable of withstanding (or recovering from) damn near anything that’s thrown at him.  However, there is one thing that does get under his skin in the worst of ways, and that’s simply being controlled in any manner.  Whether he’s got something in his brain that counteracts his own thoughts and forces its will, or he’s just strapped to an examination table and unable to move or free/defend himself–-doesn’t matter, it freaks him the hell out.  He’ll say it just pisses him off, and it does…but it goes a little deeper than that.

Yellow: mental headcanons -everything about their mind (are they intelligent/attentive/perceptive/intuitive/pragmatic/idealist/pessimist; do they have good memory; are they good a problem-solving/learning; etc..)

Alex is an intelligent man, as he’s always been.  He picks things up quickly and retains what he learns, regardless of whether or not he uses the information.  With this also comes a vivid memory.  For the most part, this serves him well; things like remembering safe paths out of danger, base and blockade locations, or even recalling a seemingly-minuscule piece of information at a vital point.  Stuff like that is a-okay.  However, the issue arises with the other memories floating around in his head, courtesy of those he has consumed.  He sees what they’ve seen, heard what they’ve heard, even felt a twinge of the things they’ve felt, and when some of that stuff hits his vivid memory, it ain’t leaving any time soon....

Green: spiritual headcanons 

First of all, that would be a great big no in general, as he is still the logical, realistic kind of man that he was in his prior life.  Where he is concerned, if he cannot see or touch something, it isn’t real.  The possibility is, but he needs some hard evidence staring him right in the face before he’ll break down and believe it’s a real thing.  Thus far, no deity has descended from the heavens to speak with him, and it’s probably not going to happen anytime soon, so he doesn’t believe in any of that.  If you do, good on you; he’s got nothing against people who believe.  It just isn’t his thing, nor has it ever been.

Cyan: romantic headcanons -

Despite his dislike of all that ‘cuddling’ nonsense, physical intimacy between a romantic partner and himself will be an important part in any relationship he does form.  It all ties back to that whole ‘treating him like a monster’ business.  Someone who is supposed to trust and care about him should be willing to touch him on occasion, or be in close proximity while they’re doing…whatever they’re doing, together.  If they’re not, his mind is going to be concocting reasons why, and it very well may end on the one mentioned.  ’Off nights’ aren’t counted, ‘cause everybody’s got those days/nights where they’re just like ‘you know what, shoo, go away, leave me alone for a while, okay’, and he understands that.  Hell, he’s got them, too.  But, if it’s a continuous occurrence—well…

Blue: relationships headcanons 

Alex isn’t exactly the “life of the party”.  He isn’t one that will just walk up to a random person and strike up a conversation just for the hell of it, and he’s never been one of those folks, so making friends has been a bit more difficult for him than some.  Make no mistake, he had a group of frequent companions in his prior life, but it was fairly small, exactly the way he’d prefer it.  He’ll take a tiny circle of trusted friends over a massive web of contacts any day; that’s as true now, as the virus, as it was as Dr. Mercer.  Now, as it is with any exclusive group, finding a way into that circle is not an easy task, but for the dedicated few who make it in, they’re there for life (or until they fuck it up, but…well, y’know…).

Indigo: daily life headcanons -everything about their everyday life (self-care; hobbies; daily routines; etc..)

As much as he hates the city (and he does, make no mistake about that), there is something enjoyable in just wandering the streets.  Fresh air is good for everybody, right?  And besides, there are usually countless throngs of people doing the same bloody thing, meaning he has crowds to blend in with, which also means he can just kind of be for a little while.  No running around, no bashing people out of the way, no being shot or pursued through the goddamn city--at a glance, he’s just another guy.  

Wandering isn’t a daily routine or anything, but it happens enough that it must count for something.

Violet: habits headcanons -everything about their routine behavior (good habits; bad habits; posture; mannerism; etc..)

So, there was another ask about habits of his.  New habits, ones retained from his life, etc.  I saved it to my drafts to answer, and it disappeared, so this one also goes @ the anon who sent that:

To an extent, yes–but even with that limitation, it is still conditional and not all of those habits or pleasures are there.  The virus has rewritten the pieces within him, and because of that, things were likely lost in transition or perhaps were replaced by something different entirely.  However, the few bits he has retained will not just come to him, in most cases.  They’ll take some kind of rediscovery before he’ll be like ‘oh yeah, this was a thing’.  Since food was mentioned in the ask, I’m going to keep with that.  So, say, in his prior life, he was a big fan of hot dogs.  Y’know, those big ol’ New Yorker hot dogs with all the fixings and everything?  He wouldn’t be just wandering around one day and have this sudden epiphany that that was a favorite of his–not until he took a bite of one and was flooded with that sense of familiarity that it would sink in that yeah, he fucking loves those things. Or, where occasions and holidays are concerned (another thing from the ask), he remembers the big ones throughout the year (Christmas, Halloween, New Years, etc), but as for which ones were his favorites?  Pfft, nope.  He doesn’t recall that any more than he does the small-scale stuff; personal occasions, I mean.  Let him deal with all the crap that comes along with those days–especially his birthday, if somebody else remembers it, because he’ll remember just how much he despises being the center of attention while everyone around him sings that dumbass song–and then he’ll tell you which one(s) he enjoys.  

Kind of a deja vu sort of deal.

As for habits, it’s difficult to tell if one is left over, so to speak, or brand new.  There are a few that have broken with the change, but a few have remained.   Like, once it was routine that he’d wake up early-ish, and the first thing he’d do was grab a cup of coffee, park his ass at the desk he had in the apartment, and get a little work done.  So ingrained did that become that, on the sparse few days he didn’t do it, it left him with a feeling close to confusion because…well, damn, what else was he supposed to do in that time slot?  There’s something he should be doing but he’s not so ???  

Obviously, that habit is one that’s broken because 1) his apartment was blown to pieces, so he doesn’t have a desk, and 2) he doesn’t need to sit around and work anymore.  More of the smaller ones have persisted through everything.  Little tics, like scratching at the left side of his jaw when he’s deep in thought, or fidgeting if he’s standing/sitting too long–things like that have been retained, not that he’s aware of that they were retained.  As far as he’s concerned, they’re just…things he does now.  Whether or not he did them before is irrelevant.