#this hair was a fucking masterpiece too god the way it moves and flops so curious about how intentional the hair was tbh

[breadandlottery]

Gi-hun victory dance 🥰

[ghost-in-the-hella]

If you are still taking prompts, and were so inclined, 47 for Gideon the Ninth!

I am always so inclined. Enjoy this... this thing. Gets a bit rude because, well, Gideon.

47. “You look like hell.”

---

“You look like hell.”

Gideon startles at the sound of Coronabeth Tridentarius actually speaking to her. She sounds more intrigued than judgemental, as if hell were an exotic travel destination she’s not yet been to but is eager to learn more about. Gideon is, not for the first time, grateful for her affected vow of silence as all possibility of coherent thought abandons her tongue. She would surely be a stuttering gay mess if she tried to speak to a woman as beautiful as this particular princess of Ida. With her feigned vow, she can still pull off the “strong but silent” affect and at least somewhat salvage the impression of being a suave badass who’s great with the ladies.

Or she could if she weren’t currently a panting, heaving, sweat drenched, bone dust coated, blood smeared, tattered mess.

It figures that Harrow doesn’t even have to be in the same room with Gideon to have completely ruined her game. Gideon draws herself up to her full height and squares her shoulders - fighting the urge to slump into an exhausted heap on the floor - and straightens her crooked aviators. She hopes that her face paint is still a badass skull and not a runny mess of gray; they’re not big on mirrors down in the facility. Her spine stiffens as Coronabeth steps toward her, smiling like they’re sharing a secret, and brushes one perfect hand lightly at each of Gideon’s shoulders, scattering fine chips of bone onto the floor.

“Poor thing,” Coronabeth purrs, locking Gideon in place with intense eye contact even through her shades. “Your necro’s really running you ragged, isn’t she?”

The last thing Gideon wants to talk about while a beautiful woman is touching her - actually touching her! Okay, touching the shoulders of her robes, but still! - is her screeching ferret of a necromancer. Her distaste must show in her expression even through the caked on layers of sweaty paint because Coronabeth chuckles prettily and squeezes her shoulder - Gideon tenses her sick delts reflexively, desperate to please - and gives her a conspiratorial smirk. “That’s alright. I won’t ask you to divulge any forbidden secrets about the Ninth House or the trials.” She runs clever fingers around the hem of Gideon’s hood - a rumpled heap around her neck, having fallen down as she heaved herself up the ladder from the facility in a hurry to get herself to a sonic - and winks suggestively enough that Gideon swallows hard. “She really must be putting you through the ringer. You know, I feel quite sorry for you cavs sometimes. So much is asked of you, and you get so little in return…”

Gideon has passed out. Surely, this must be what has happened. She’ll wake up in her nest of black blankets with a dirty magazine glued to her face by skull paint and drool, completely covered in sticky notes blackened with Harrowhark’s vitriol. Because it sure as hell feels like Coronabeth - Coronabeth Tridentarius, crown Princess of Ida, hottest necromancer this side of the funny books - is flirting with her. With her. Gideon Nav, indentured servant of the Ninth, perpetually demeaned cavalier primary to her lifelong nemesis, hottest cavalier in history to never touch a boob that wasn’t her own. With her stupid, itchy black robes that still smell faintly of Ortus Nigenad’s flop sweat no matter how many times they’re laundered, with her overgrown and uncombed hair all full of cobwebs and bone dust, with her half-melted face paint of a creepy fucking skull not quite concealing her latest acne outbreak. So there’s no fucking way that this isn’t some delightful dream inspired by too many titty mags before bedtime.

Coronabeth’s hand slides down from Gideon’s shoulder, gliding down the length of her arm - trailing over the firm roundness of her deltoid, the jaw-dropping perfection of her biceps, the corded extensor muscles of her forearms - down to seize her calloused hand with her own surprisingly strong one. “I think you deserve something in return. Don’t you?” 

Okay. New thought. Maybe Gideon hasn’t passed out, but she’s probably going to if Coronabeth keeps touching her like this.

Gideon nods very carefully, trying not to let any drool drop from her mouth.

Coronabeth’s smile is as bright as Dominicus. She tugs Gideon’s hand and leads her down an unfamiliar hallway. Gideon follows obediently despite her necromancer’s warnings ringing in her head, shrieking at her to trust no one. Well, Gideon figures, if she’s a lamb being led to the slaughter, at least she’ll die happy. A girl’s holding her hand! Flirting with her! Smiling at her! Touching her muscles! 

Much to Gideon’s surprise, she is not promptly jumped and flesh magicked to death upon entry to the Third’s quarters. In fact, as far as she can tell, she’s alone in them with Coronabeth. Sure, she had to offer up a bit of blood to the gross ward on the door, but she’s already bleeding a little bit from her adventures in the facility anyway so that’s no biggie. 

She’s relieved to note that there are two big, ostentatious beds in addition to the smaller (but no less ostentatious) cavalier bed at the foot of one. If by some miracle she does get laid today, she’d really rather it not be in a bed that Ianthe Tridentarius has also slept or - God forbid - boned in. Coronabeth hustles her past the beds (dang) toward a large and opulent bathroom. “Here, get washed up.”

A fluffy purple towel is thrust into Gideon’s hands, there’s a gentle shove at her shoulders and the click of a door shutting, and suddenly Gideon is alone in the fanciest bathroom she’s ever seen. It’s even more ridiculous than the one in the Ninth’s quarters. She catches her own reflection in the mirror and finds that she looks every inch as confused as she is. “What the fuck?” she mouths to herself.

“I don’t hear washing happening!” comes Coronabeth’s mellifluous voice sing-songing through the door.

Gideon Nav fancies herself a remarkably strong person, the kind of person who could move mountains barehanded if she set her mind to it. Apparently, she has one fatal weakness: a beautiful woman telling her to do, well, literally anything. So Gideon obligingly scours the paint off her face - Harrow’ll be furious, but Harrow’s always furious and her paint’s a mess anyway - and inspects herself once more in the mirror. Sexy. Hot. Gorgeous. Little bit of acne at the hairline and around the left nostril, bit ruddy-cheeked from over-scrubbing, but still a flawless masterpiece of hotness. 

She sniffs her armpits. Pretty sweaty. Are chicks into that? If they’re going to bone (please, please, please) then won’t she get sweaty again anyway?

Wait, are they going to bone? They are, right? They’re alone in Corona’s quarters, her terrifying sister and their insufferable cav have clearly been sent away, and Corona’s super hot and bossing her around and dragging her into her bedroom (well, through her bedroom to her bathroom, but still). If this were one of Gideon’s magazines she'd already be up to her wrist, or at least majorly winning at tonsil hockey. This is literally a textbook scenario for boning.

Okay, then. It’s on. So now what? Should she brush her teeth or something? Her breath’s probably pretty rank after the morning she’s had. Should she, like… shave stuff? 

“You may draw a bath, if you like,” Corona calls through the door again. “Ianthe and Babs will be gone for hours. And something tells me that you have never been pampered.”

And so Gideon ends up taking the first ever bath of her life in the gilded bathtub of the Third. She can’t bring herself to fill the tub more than a couple of inches, even though from her skin mags and her comics she knows a bath is usually filled until the person in it is all but drowning, or at least until the bubbles are tastefully covering the good bits (comics) or just barely not covering them (skin mags). She does throw in several of the weird perfumy things hanging out around the tub at Corona’s urging. By the end of it, she’s pretty sure she’s dirtier than when she stepped in except that now she’s filthy with scented soaps and salts and glittery “bath bombs” (surprisingly not that violent but also surprisingly messy) instead of sweat and blood. She scrapes and scrubs at herself and then gives her body and her clothes a good shake out in the sonic for good measure. She borrows some toothpaste and uses her finger as a toothbrush, then rinses with borrowed mouthwash. 

There’s a fluffy purple and gold robe that smells a bit like Corona’s perfume and seems the right size, so even though it’s a million miles off from her usual aesthetic she consents to shrug it on. It’s impossibly soft and warm and smooth. Stops a bit short on her thighs, but presumably that won’t get any complaints.

When she steps back out into the Third’s quarters, Gideon feels strangely vulnerable without her protective layer of filth. She smells like a stranger, and her fingertips and toes are wrinkled in a weird way that she assumes has to do with the bath bombs or maybe with how hard she was scrubbing. That, or she’s picked up some freaky skin disease from the Third’s bathtub. She hopes she’s not about to die or something.

Corona looks beyond delighted to see her emerge, ruddy and steaming, from the bathing chamber in her ludicrous little bathrobe. It’s a shame that it’s short on the leg coverage and heavy on the arm coverage, since Gideon’s legs are fucking awesome but not nearly as impressive as her guns. She wants to ask what Corona has planned for her now, but her stupid oath to Harrow stays her tongue. If all goes well, Coronabeth might have a better use for her tongue than words, anyway. So instead she stands there trying to look impressive rather than panicky and overstimulated.

“Come here,” Corona beckons with an elegant finger, her eyes glittering like shards of polished amethyst. Gideon’s pretty sure that Corona’s not using any necromantic tricks on her - she knows what that shit feels like by now, and it’s vastly unpleasant - but she follows her gesture as inexorably as if Corona were looping a leash of thanergy around her throat and dragging her closer. 

And then Coronabeth Tridentarius is touching her. Like, pretty much everywhere. “Hmmm, let’s see,” she murmurs thoughtfully as she palpates what feels like every trembling inch of Gideon’s being (apart from the good bits, but maybe this is what foreplay is? she’s heard of it, but her magazines usually skip straight to the main event). Instead of trying to think, Gideon focuses on feeling, which is much more in her wheelhouse.

Corona’s nimble fingers carding through her damp red locks (they could stand a trim), fingernails sending tingles through her scalp as they scratch gently against skin that’s never been touched in kindness before. Fingertips trailing down the strong line of her jaw, gently seizing her square chin and turning her face to every possible angle, her gaze as palpable as her fingers. Strong hands (how does the Princess of Ida have actual calluses on her fingers?) testing her muscles, examining her hands and paying particular attention to her fingernails (they could also stand a trim).

“You look good in my robe,” Corona announces, taking a step back and allowing Gideon to breathe for what feels like the first time since she set foot in her quarters. “Gold suits you.” She locks eyes with Gideon and quirks her lips into a subtle smirk. “Gold suits you very well.”

Gideon swallows hard, trying not to gulp audibly and concentrating on not sweating through her borrowed robe.

“Much better than black. Not that you look bad in black, mind you, but there are other colors that would be much more flattering for your lovely complexion.”

She takes Gideon by the hand and leads her over to an over-decorated table that Gideon observes is overflowing with cosmetics. “For example… Hmmm… Plum?” Corona holds up a tube of something that’s a deep, bruised purple, examining its contrast with Gideon’s skin. “Or perhaps mauve…”

Coronabeth is insatiable. Gideon is left exhausted. When she finally emerges from the Third House’s quarters (very much not laid), hours have passed and she feels as if she has run a marathon. Not from any outward exertion, but from the effort of holding still and keeping silent throughout the whole ordeal.

She is perhaps the most sexually frustrated she has ever been in her life, having never been touched by a woman (and what a woman!) so much before, or really at all before unless she counts herself or the shriveled crones of the Ninth.

She is also… well. Made over. Her hair has been combed and styled, and it reeks of hair gel almost as badly as Naberius Tern’s does on an average day. Her nails have been trimmed, filed, and buffed smooth before being painted a soft lilac and accented with shimmering gold. Her face has been rendered utterly unrecognizable; Harrowhark would likely envy the sheer amount of makeup on it if only it were in the design of a skull rather than whatever peacocky nonsense Coronabeth’s done to it. She is, at least, in her own black robes despite Coronabeth’s best efforts to get her to borrow some of Babs’s gaudy frippery.

She suspects she has, in fact, been fucked by the Third after all.

She slinks down the hall as stealthily as she can manage, thanking her lucky stars that her necro is probably half-dead in a bone or buried up to her pointy little goblin ears in ancient books or possibly both rather than being a normal, decent human being who might give a fuck where her cavalier has vanished off to for hours on end with one of her greatest rivals. She’s hoping that everyone else in Canaan House will be equally preoccupied and that she’ll be able to return to the safety of her chambers with her dignity at least partially intact when she rounds a corner and nearly faceplants directly into the solid mass of Camilla the Sixth.

Gideon draws herself up to her fullest and most imposing posture and tries to mask her humiliation as best she can. Camilla observes her cooly, but Gideon swears her fellow cav is just barely holding back a laugh. 

After a small but excruciating eternity in limbo, Camilla steps aside to let Gideon dart gratefully past. Camilla casts a few words over her shoulder as Gideon passes, and they follow her burning ears all the way down the hall and back to her quarters: “You look like hell, Nav.”

[ginger-grimm]

I honestly kinda wanna know what went so wrong with Legacies this season. It's not like s2 was a masterpiece but it was still better than what we're getting now (and no, not because of Kai) because there was unity and friendship. Now everyone just hates each other and can't get away from the school fast enough, it seems.

IDK if they were scrambling to get as many people off set as possible/split the actors up so they're not all in one spot, but there has been so much character regression/flip flop development this season, it is insane.

Why is Hope suddenly so uber obsessed with Landon? I don't hate the character of Landon (no matter how much the rest of the fandom may do), I actually want him to just be single because I feel like he needs to work out his issues from being abused in the foster system before and losing Rafael before he can start a relationship. And I don't want Hope with Lizzie or Josie or anyone either. She too should work her shit out first.

And goddamnit, did they have to ruin MG & Kaleb's friendship? I like the prospect of MG & Ethan, but not at the cost of a friendship dynamic I loved to watch since s1.

And what is with Josie getting nothing this season? I was finally beginning to like her again after the debacle that was her in s2 and now she's just being paid dust.

Don't even get me started on the obvious upcoming twist of Clarke secretly being in Landon's body which is why he has been acting more rational. I swear to God the writers actually fucking hate Aria.

And stop it with the Malivore plotline already. Please! We're on season 3, you literally locked the damn tar pit away finally. Let it rest! Move on! You have a school full of supernaturals for new plots and yet it's like you're clamering on to these monsters for no damn reason.

IDC what anyone else may say, that "apology" from Hope was weak and I can't believe Lizzie accepted it. Hope damn near killed both twins and Lizzie's just like "Well you have pretty hair so it's fine." Writers, you wanted to have all these relationships blow up, so actually fix them in a sufficient way. And Hope seemingly hasn't even THOUGHT of apologizing to Josie and MG.

[comic-brew]

Pieces

@whumptober2020 days n.4 Running out of time: Buried Alive and n.5 Falling (alt prompt)

Summary: The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

Notes: shitty au where basically TV Titans Jason has flashbacks of his comic-life, even though he technically haven’t lived any of them yet. How much this story progresses depends on if I’ll write a second ch. Beware of 2 different writing styles cause I started this way too long ago.

Reading time: 35 mins (4.4k)

Warnings: whump, panic attacks, being buried alive, self deprecating thoughts, angst, oxygen deprivation, PTSD (?), vertigo, falling, perhaps sth else I missed??

or read here on ao3!

ps. reblogs and feedback bring the author great joy uwu

***

“Hey, Jason” Gar greets after knocking and opening the door to Jason’s room just enough to peer his head through.

“How’re you doing?”

The boy waits but Jason doesn’t reply. He’s simply staring out his window, arms falling limply at his side, barely even registering the new presence in the room. Garfield bites his lip and invites himself inside and by Jason’s side. He glances at the boy’s rapidly moving, but hollow eyes, then at the view of the sky they’re aiming at.

“Are you still with us, buddy?” he asks.

He hesitantly runs a hand up and down in front of Jason’s distant gaze and that seems to do the trick.

Jason blinks, then shakes his head to rid himself of whatever thought he was so unnervingly engrosed into. Turning to face the green haired boy, he assumes the most carefree expression he can muster, forcing a halflit smile in a futile attempt to compose himself.

“Yeah, was just.. thinking” he assures, his eyes holding no emotion.

“ ‘Course… You sure you’re okay?” Gar presses, making little effort to conceal the incredulous frown his eyebrows are drawn into.

Jason shifts in his place while his hands clench and unclench, in an attempt to calm his discomfort and aggravation at Gar’s question, because he knows his teammate’s just asking out of honest concern. It’s not his fault Jason hasn’t slept in days and isn’t used to people checking up on him.

“I’m fine, dude, seriously.” Jason insists and Garfield knows better than to further inquire him “Now, did you want something?”

Fuck. Jason almost winces at how aggressive his words have come out. Gar blinks, opening his mouth to say something. Before his thoughts can materialize on the tip on his tongue, he seems to rethink what he wanted to say. That delay of course doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason.

God..Why does he always mess everything up?

As Gar’s about to speak again, the new Robin raises a hand to the green haired boy’s chest, stopping any word before it can reach his ears. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and I’m taking it out on you.” he huffs a bitter laugh “You don’t deserve me being an ass to you too.”

The boy’s brown eyes light up with understanding and relief and his tense shoulders physically relax at the confession. “Hey, it’s cool man. I get it.” he acknowledges, smiling politely and squeezing Jason’s shoulder.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t recoil from the touch, instead reciprocating Gar’s reassuring smile with an exhausted, but genuine and lighthearted smirk.

They both remain in that position for several split seconds, until Garfield finally retracts his hand to clasp his palms together as it dawns on him that he still hasn’t told his teammate the news he came to deliver.

“Actually I did come to tell you something” he announces, grinning widely and slightly fidgeting with his fingers “Rachel and I were thinking of watching a movie, you’re welcome to join us. You know, if you feel up to it.”

Jason takes a spare second to ponder and process Gar’s proposition. He steals a glance at the translucent glass of the window, separating his world from the towering skyscrapers and showering his neatly made bed in the soft gleam of the afternoon.

It would surely be better than staying there alone, falling into the inky depths of his eternal abyss.

Turning to face the boy whose eyes scour him expectantly for any indication of his intentions, he relents with a rather forced shrug.

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Jason says.

Gar’s face lights up and pulls into a joyous grin. “Cool… cool.”

He awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and starts heading towards the door, stopping midway to listen to Jason calling out after him.

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

The green haired boy simply nods and subtly waves his hand goodbye, before he disappears into the hallway.

***

When Jason steps foot into one of the spacious living areas Titans Tower houses, there are three heads turning at the soft sound of his approaching footsteps where he expected to be greeted by two. The platinum curls flowing gracefully with the motion can only belong to one person. Well, at least one person they know.

“Rose” he sighs. “Didn’t expect you to come”

“Didn’t expect to come either” she counters, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement, “But I guess this could be fun after all”

She is comfortably perched on a lovely armchair covered by smooth, pearl fabric, facing the flank of a matching couch. One knee bent and placed securely under her body, the side of her head is doused in the last dull afternoon light seeping into the room through the daffodil curtains keeping the golden sunset rays at bay. Rachel is regarding Jason with a mellow smile, sitting cross legged on the far end of the couch neighbouring Rose’s armchair and Garfield has already started fumbling with a rather ancient DVD player.

It’s a wonder how this thing still exists in a building where interactive holograms are a norm. But then again it wouldn’t be the oddest thing about this place.

“Well,” Gar begins, slightly groaning when the DVD port spitefully refuses to close, “We’re both glad you did join us. Now, take a seat ladies and gentlemen!” he announces with fervor when he finally manages to slam the port close, and gestures towards the unoccupied cushions next to the purple haired girl.

Jason takes the invitation gladly and flops down on the other end of the couch, closer to the hall he was in just a few seconds ago.

“What are we watching?” Jason asks.

Rachel turns her focus to him then, leaning her back on the couch and clutching a decorative pillow to her abdomen. “Gar found this, and I quote, 'apocalyptic masterpiece of censorship’ and insisted we had to watch it.” she grins, rolling her eyes at reciting her friend’s words.

Jason and Rose both snort at that as Garfield reaches the couch in a few quick strides. “Seriously guys, I have only ever heard about this movie from some pretty questionable sources.” he says giddily before sobering up again, clearly fussing over his discovery.

“We’re literally staring an urban legend in the face, guys!”

“Yeah, not like you hang out with the Titans or whatever” Jason quips. Seriously, how can a movie be more exciting than fighting crime alongside heroes? Than being a hero?

“Good point, bro. Good point”

Jason shoulders stiffen at the nickname, but only for a briefly awkward moment which Gar is more than eager to fill with more (unnecessary) information.

“Well, according to those guys the movie was banned shortly after its release and all copies were revoked and ultimately destroyed.”

“Clearly not all copies” Rachel muses before asking why the movie was banned in the first place. Gar mumbles something about it addressing some extremely controversial topics and offending some powerful douchbag before making his way to the middle cushion.

Rachel scoots over without even untangling her legs to make more room for him to sit.

Rose simply raises an eyebrow.

“Where the hell did you even hear about this stuff in the first place?”

Gar suddenly goes stills in his place on the couch. He runs a hand through his messy strands of hair before reluctantly providing an answer. “Uh… Tumblr?” he says while grinning awkwardly.

Rachel nods her head back slack-jawed, brows shooting up in a terrible attempt at showing understanding. Gar frowns as he then glances at Jason who’s staring at him with wide disbelieving eyes, the sound of Rose dramatically smacking her own face enhancing the atmosphere.

“It’s not that surprising guys, come on!” Gar protests, an exasperated sigh emanating from his lips.

At that, the three of them exchange deadpan looks before bursting out laughing. The laughter soon subsides into small giggles and high pitched breaths as the green haired boy smiles with content and leans above the mahogany coffee table to grab the tv remote.

“Well, friends, brace yourselves, for the most epic zombie movie to barely exist” he says, smirking as he plops back down on the leathern cushions.

On the screen, their reflections have given their place to the lean figure of a boy of asian descent in his 16s walking alongside a girl with dark complexion and luscious, auburn hair. A gentle, velvety voice surrounds them from the speakers and integrates them in the world the film is set in.

Time flows pleasantly as the story progresses with no interruption aside from a few enthusiastic inputs from a beaming Garfield.

The rest of the Titans are all gathered together in some other part of the Tower, once again excluding them from whatever plans they might be conjuring.

Because that went so well last time, Jason unwittingly ponders, quick to dismiss the thoughts lest those dreadfully fresh memories resurface.

But perhaps it’s already too late to whisk them away.

Jason gets up out of the blue, eliciting an inquisitive glare from the rest of the kids.

“I’ll just.. go grab some popcorn” he states vacantly, pointing at the hallway with his thumb without breaking eye contact. Truth is he needs a minute to recover from the intrusion of sensations he’d rather forget.

Plus, popcorn sounds nice.

“We can pause the film if you want” Rachel’s soft voice prompts, wording what has likely been dancing around the others’ minds as well.

“Nah, it’s cool. It won’t take long. I’m not going all the way to the Antarctica and back or whatever” he replies, fighting the nagging urge to roll his eyes and let the poison drip onto his voice. The kids nod and in a moment’s notice he’s gone.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Keeping up his pace feels abysmally hard. His head is reeling and his senses are swimming all around the place, reality feels like a fuzzy blanket draped over a newborn’s skin. Jason takes a few more carefully calculated steps before he stumbles on thin air. Careening into the wall he leans against the slick concrete on his flank until the world stops shifting enough for him to continue.

Somehow Jason makes it to the kitchen. He fumbles with the drawers, opening and closing them jerkily.

In just a few seconds the falling has progressed to the point where he can barely stand. He doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad the previous times.

Everything is spinning around. And when it all shifts upside down he’s falling from the marble to the ceiling, and when his skin and the asbestos are inches from colliding, the world tilts again like an hourglass that’s ran out of sand.

Just like that his descend is reset. Over and over.

He finds the popcorn bag in the last one and grabs it hastily. Only after the third attempt, the previous two ending shamefully with his clasp clutching piteously at empty air.

Dropping it of on the countertop it’s more muscle memory than will that redirects him to the sink. His fingers grip the knob, turning the water lukewarm, but as he lets it puddle on his palms he can’t feel it any clearer than a breath of a ghost on the back of his neck.

Jason splashes the water on his face but it ends up mostly on his clothes and on the ground. Gravity works funny when you have no sense of it.

His hands latch onto the edge of the sink and cling for dear life. The ledge, hold on to the ledge. His eyes open wide, they soak up the terror of the height. The terror of death.

The eerie reassurance of death.

The smog dissipates faster this time. But with it the distressing thought that it’s getting worse, that he’s getting worse, finds the chance settle in his gut.

Jason can’t do this anymore.

But he’s already been gone for a conspicuously large amount of time, and the thought of having to explain his reoccurring day-mares can’t even be entertained by his mind. So that makes a problem for another day.

The popcorn is ready in only a few minutes. Jason holds on to the sink for a couple more moments, taking deep breaths in and out, until his heart has stopped beating frenzied.

If they ask, he can always say he had trouble with the 'corn.

He can always say.

“Okay” he breathes out, closing his eyes as he informs nobody in particular.

“Okay I’m ready”

With that Jason grabs the bowl filled to the brim with the snack and disappears out the door. The journey from the kitchen to the smaller living area is nothing compared to the odyssey he went through following his departure from the lounge.

Once he sets foot back inside all heads turn towards him.

“What did I miss?” he asks, ever so cheerfully as he strides closer to the small den of couches.

One of them starts speaking, no doubt filling him in on the events that happened while he wasn’t watching. Whoever it is, Jason can’t concentrate on their voice enough to tell it apart.

On the screen, the boy is desperately gasping for air as he’s emerging from a moonlit grave.

The world spins out of focus, and before any of them know it the bowl has slipped through Jason’s limb fingers.

It has slipped, and it is falling.

***

The splintered wood pricks and stabs the sensitive skin beneath his shattered fingernails and the blood is threatening to leave his hands and drip onto his glacial cold face. His fingers hurt, they weren’t made as a shovel, they weren’t made to be penetrating wood, but they are doing exactly that, and he can’t acknowledge the piercing, burning throbs that travel through his veins to set the rest of his body aflame, because his lungs are burning, they’re flaring up more and more with every broken attempt at filling them up with air-

He has to dig, he has to keep going-

The last layer of polished wood finally relents, small pieces of it falling onto his raggedly, but once expensive, dandy suit. Blood is mixed with sweat on his palms, accelerating the speed with which it runs along his hands, tickling him while he scrambles for a breath of fresh air that never comes.

“N..o…” he croaks out and speaking is hard, his throat feels as the ash coated land left behind the passage of lava, and now he needs to cough, and he needs to breathe but there’s no air coming in, and frankly, he can’t decide whether it’s from the panic that has overcome him or because there simply isn’t enough oxygen in the cramped space he’s trapped in.

It’s not some prank

As if on cue the ground above him slightly shakes as the mud repositions and soil seeps through the open slit of the-

Of the coffin.

I’m buried alive…. I… I…, he realizes, ever so frantically.

And so his thoughts begin to plague him, the next one banging and clawing at the door of his mind before the previous has had the time to be stated, he’s hyperventilating and fairly so, he’s buried underneath 6 feet of soil-

Stop it Jason, get ahold of yourself. You made it this far because you never gave up, you won’t give up now either, a part of himself with a semblance of sanity left scolds him and orders his bloody hands to move, they grip the edge of the broken pine casket and pull with all their might.

The wooden seal cracks and Jason makes a supernatural effort to set it aside as it holds the weight of 6 feet of soil, his atrophied muscles protest by threatening to give out but it’s sheer determination that gets him to move on, he has to make it, he can’t die in there, he can’t leave, can’t leave his family.

Mud now openly drowns him from the huge whole in the lid of the casket, devouring every corner, sticking to every inch of skin and fabric.

He’s still gasping for air, his lungs and throat feel ready to burst and he’s dizzy, everything is spinning, but on the other hand 'everything’ is nothing more but a muddy grave and he’s still inside.

Almost frantically his injured fingers reach for the source of the soil. With jerky movements and all the strength he can muster he forces his hands through the earth. The stiff mud swallows him whole, lets the worms and maggots get tangled in his long strands of hair. Jason keeps his eyes and mouth stubbornly shut as he desperately struggles to propel his flimsy frame through the endless layers of ground.

He can faintly feel the darkness creeping in the corner of his mind, promising relief, promising safety. Those whispers sound tempting to his weak, grazed arms, to his blazing lungs-

The whispers don’t know that it’s not written in his DNA to yield.

His arms hastily swim through the wet mass that’s holding him beneath the surface, he can feel the dirt in his hair, in his ears, in his shirt, his pants, his everything. Maggots and caterpillars are crawling on his convulsed features. His heart is throbbing unnaturally loud, he can hear the thumping in his ears as his marred hands push and dig with painstaking effort.

Better hurry little robin! It ain’t fun if you die now, amiright boy blunder? HahaHA!

He’s digging, he’s trying, dyeing the earth crimson with his blood, please-

The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

He’s desperately gasping for a breath, just one breath to keep going, he’s coughing up phlegm and bile while his chest writhes and burns. He can’t help his mouth gaping in a last-gasp search for oxygen but the only thing entering his mouth and traveling towards his pricking trachea is dirt and rocks and… and…

…a feather?

A feather. He can feel it with his tongue, he can taste its sourness and almost hear a soft crunch under his teeth.

A feather. Robin.

He’s Robin, and Robin doesn’t die alone in an empty grave.

Robin fights. Robin protects. Robin wins.

With renewed resoluteness he forges ahead, his hand reaches where he supposes skyward is one more time.

This time, it’s met with the comfort of soft raindrops and the gentle wind blowing against his numb fingertips.

***

“-on? Jason!” Rachel calls at the sound of the metal bowl clattering to the ground, slipping right through the boy’s fingers and letting the freshly baked popcorn scatter all over the marble floor.

The girl exchanges a worried glance with Gar, before Rose gets up and marches furiously towards an exasperatingly unresponsive Robin, the popcorn crunching beneath her feet. She comes to a halt a few inches away from Jason’s hollow eyes and slaps him hard across the cheek.

The other two begin to protest loudly but Rose barely pays them any mind. She watches with pursed lips as Jason’s cloudy eyes regain focus and his hand shoots up to the skin gradually assuming the oh-so-wonderful shade of radish.

“Ow.. what the fuck?” Jason frowns at her while cautiously rubbing his cheek with his right hand. There’s no blood on his fingers, no mud on his skin. He can breathe.

Rose ignores his baffled query and simply turns to the two teens watching the whole scene play out from the safety of the cushions. She beams triumphantly as she announces smugly, “See? It worked.”

Jason, visibly annoyed by his incompetence to understand what the hell is happening traps her wrist in a vice like grip and tugs, forcing her to face him. She squints viciously at the gesture although she effortlessly pulls her hand free.

“Why the fuck did you slap me?”

The girl opens her mouth to respond, putting together a not so composed reply in her head -to put it mildly-, so it’s probably for the best when Rachel interrupts her train of thought.

“What happened, Jason? You completely zoned out”.

“Yeah, dude. What the hell was that all about?” Gar chimes in, nodding at the pile of popcorn by Robin’s feet and at the discarded bowl that has slid all the way to the edge of the couch he and Rachel are perched on.

“Wha..” Jason regards the strewn snacks with a quizzical look, as if he’s waiting for them to answer why they’re spread out all over the floor. Oddly enough, they don’t.

He fixes his still hazy gaze on his calloused hands next, his confusion manifesting in the form of furrowed brow.

He- he was-

no. He was never there. Always here.

His inviolate fingers are proof enough of that. But then.. is he losing his mind? Just like old Bertha, the old lady running around the theater, screaming that she had been kidnapped and experimented on by flying giraffes…. Not that it’s impossible with everything he’s witnessed the past year.

No, that can’t be it. He’s still shaken up from the fall right? It’s logical that he’s hallucinating about graves, he was seconds from ending up in one just a few days ago. It will go away right?

It will, it has to.

They can’t know, the street kid inside of him insists, they’ll throw you away like a broken toy. Broken..

“Jason, talk to us. What’s wrong?” Rachel is still staring at him, they all are. Her voice is laced with pity, they’re sorry for him. They’re pitying him, the bird that broke its wing and they know that now can’t survive on its own.

“What’s wrong with me?!” His head snaps to where her voice is coming from and the girl flinches at the bite behind his words.

“I didn’t mean- I meant you should perhaps tell Dick about it, he might be able to help” she stutters, her face bearing a deer in the headlights expression. Her gaze briefly meets with Garfield’s, perhaps to seek some backup. Somehow that angers Jason even more.

“Tell Dick? Really?” he snorts, “How about we tell Dick about that time you almost fucking choked me, maybe he could help!” he gasps mockingly. He is shouting now and the girl seems taken aback by the progression of his anger, gawking at him with a hint of sorrow tainting the indigo of her irises.

Gar stands up from his seat and approaches him, getting in the way of him and a Rachel fumbling for the right response to Jason’s accusation. The green haired boy extends his hand almost cautiously, it’s a simple gesture meaning nothing else than stop. It’s common sense, he knows he is going too far again but Jason’s common sense has jumped out the window. To him, they’re treating him like a wounded animal.

Perhaps he’s just projecting how cornered he feels.

“Dude, that’s enough”

“I’m sorry to break this to you, ” he points a finger accusingly at Rachel, “but Dick can’t fix everything like some kind of god you’ve made him out to be”

“Buddy-”

“He can’t fix you and your fucking razor blade tornado or whatever…” he keeps holding Rachel’s bleak glare gesturing wildly with his fingers and ignoring Garfield’s feeble attempts at making him stop.

“…and he can’t fix this” Jason concludes by pointing miserably at his head, then the rest of his body, until his hand drops limp at his side in resignation. His newfound rage has dissipated into downright bitterness.

At the far back the movie is still playing, forgotten. In the faint comforting light of the screen the girl with the auburn hair is kneeling in front of a stone cold body, burrowing her face in chestnut locks that would never grow any longer, as her shoulders heave sharply with every wreaked sob.

Grieving. Jason can still feel the three pairs of eyes -one consisting of one blue and an eyepatch- burning holes into the glimmers of tears stubbornly refusing to be spilt from his, even as he averts his stare.

There’s a deep pause after the abrupt revelation and the four kids are encompassed in a veil of tense silence no one seems willing to break.

Rose -who seemed rather amused when the yelling had started- is now solemnly inspecting the intricate patterns on the sheer curtains tucked to the side of the plate-glass window. Garfield is standing with his arms crossed protectively around his torso. Rachel has ceased to stare wide eyed like a freshly caught fish, however she’s keeping her arms close to her body and shifting awkwardly in her place. Her expression remains grim and her eyes dim, bearing an eerily sorrowful glint.

She puts her head down and eventually flies out of the room without another word. Consumed either by irritation or even guilt, if Jason has to guess. Gar spares no more than a defeated glance at her departure, otherwise maintaining his position by the abruptly deserted couch. He simply reaches for the tv remote, cutting off image and sound amidst a heated argument between the two leads. Damn this movie.

Deathstroke’s daughter looks between the two boys expectantly for half a second. None of them pays her any mind, too busy staring at the suddenly immensely intriguing floor.

“Nevermind, I’m out of here” she mutters through gritted teeth before getting down from atop the loveseat she had claimed and heading towards her own room.

Jason stares blankly at the scattered popcorn, but it provides no answer to the million questions dancing around in his mind.

Frankly, he didn’t expect it to.

Gosh. He’s so messed up.

Gar offers to help him clean up. He refuses. Perhaps Jason pushes him away just like everyone else. He’s got his own mess to clean up, first literally.

The metaphorical one might have just stained too deeply to remedy.

The night finds him placing the broom back in it’s place in the supply closet and sitting alone in pitch darkness.

Thinking of a grave that doesn’t belong to him, it never did, but it has his name on it. Thinking of the memories he shouldn’t have, piecing together how his heart only knows more fragments have been prodding at him, more broken pieces he doesn’t know where they fit.

The night finds him sitting alone in pitch darkness. Shivering, shaking with quiet tears.

Knowing he’d be undisturbed, alone, in the grave he’s built for himself.

[yesloverboy]

You and Michael playing PC games in the Sanctuary. Everything was okay until Michael decides to play the infamous "Cat Mario". That fucking fan made game that you can even past the first level. His rage level just explode with this game. I took inspiration from that youtuber named "Rooster Teeth".

listen y’all this is pure crack, but it was super fun to write. thanks so much for such a hilarious idea! 

…  

When Michael finally brought you to the Sanctuary, it was everything you dreamt it would be. Your new home felt like it existed on an entirely different plane of reality; a little slice of what you imagined heaven would be like, yet it was so much more. It was better than heaven, all because Michael had created it, and he created it just for you. It certainly wasn’t a complete picture of what yours and Michael’s new world would be, but for now, it was everything you could ever need to enjoy your victories and plan for the future.

 The Sanctuary itself was like an oasis in the desert, overflowing with lavish gardens, ornate palaces, and artful sculptures that were seemingly derived from all the rococo masterpieces you could recall from the previous Earth. The sun always shone brightly, and it only ever thunderstormed when you were tucked safely inside; a blanket wrapped securely around your shoulders and a book in your hands. 

 Best of all, Michael seemed relaxed, more relaxed than you ever remembered. The scowl he had adopted back in the Outpost had melted away, his mildly cherubic face becoming one of ease, the soft look in his eyes making your heart flutter. He still maintained his elegance– after all, he is the son of Satan and heir to Earth’s throne –but now, Michael was free to breathe a little. As the days went by, he became the playful boy you first fell in love with, indulging you in movie marathons, ruthless game nights, and impromptu dances in the kitchen. 

 As elegant as your Sanctuary was, it wasn’t long before you and your beloved ventured back into some of the more nostalgic creature comforts of your previous lives. You’re unsure how, but Michael managed to save the remnants of whatever the human race had left of the internet before the nuclear fallout. 

 On a particularly lazy day, you find yourself in Michael’s study, diving deep into the rabbit hole of PC games from your childhood. You’re halfway through Resident Evil 2, when Michael strolls in, the sound of him humming softly under his breath drawing your attention away from the computer screen. His hair is pulled back into a loose bun, and a pair of beige linen pants hand loosely on his hips. You smile to yourself as an image of Michael in crimson velvet flashes in your mind, and you feel proud of how much he’s let himself grow. 

 Sure, he’s still the antichrist, but now the darkness inside of him doesn’t have to fight for space anymore. There’s no good half or bad half, human or nonhuman– there’s just Michael. Your Michael. 

 “What are you up to, my love?”

 You open the game menu, pausing your progress for a moment. “Oh nothing, just rotting my brain with the old Resident Evil games. You remember these? God they used to scare the shit out of me.” 

 “Language, darling,” he teases, poking fun at your casual mention of the Lord Almighty. “Mind if I join you?” 

“I thought you’d never ask!” you giggle. “Now pull up a chair so I can kick your ass, pretty boy.” 

 Michael drags one of the plush lounge chairs over to the desk, all the while chuckling to himself. “Someone’s feeling feisty, today. Why don’t we find something we both can play? I wouldn’t want to inhibit my baby’s progress in her crusade against the undead.” 

 You playfully shove Michael as he flops down beside you, the chair squeaking against the wooden floor as he stumbles into it. “Hey, you don’t have to make up excuses, I’d be intimidated by my zombie-killing prowess, too.” 

 Michael just rolls his eyes, a coy smile tugging at his perfect lips. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely it. Now hurry up and pick something before I change my mind.”

 You save your progress on Resident Evil 2 and close its window, promptly opening your folder of games you filed away for later. You had all the classics: the rest of the Resident Evil series, Silent Hill, Doom, Super Mario Brothers, Super Mario World, and a few indie games you had yet to try. 

 “What about this one?” Michael asks, pointing to a game labeled Cat Mario.

 The game looks innocent enough. Based on appearance alone, it seems to be the exact format of a regular Mario game but just a little more homemade. Rather than having the adorable Italian plumber you know and love being the game’s main protagonist, a little white cat stands in his place. The instructions are in Japanese, but everything about it is virtually the same game– how different could it be?

 “Sure! I mean, I haven’t played it yet, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t love a good Mario rendition.” 

 “Game on,” Michael grins, “Why don’t you go first?” 

 You happily oblige, and select the only available stage on the colorful screen. It may not be a true Mario game, but the delightful pastel blue sky and white little clouds make you feel right at home. 

 The first thing you notice as you move the little white cat is how much slower everything is. No problem, you think. Maybe it’s just a little hiccup in the developer’s design. It is an indie game, after all, so you can’t expect it to be perfect. It isn’t until you reach the first green pipe that you realize something is terribly off about the whole thing.

 Rather than your adorable little cat character hopping inside and materializing through another pipe, the cat sinks within in and the pipe flies off the top of the screen, effectively wasting your first life. 

 “Whoa, what the fuck?” you look over at Michael, but his confused expression is just a mirror of your own. 

 “Yeah what the fuck is right,” he murmurs, “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

 You scoff indignantly, “What do you mean, am I sure?”

 “Here,” he smiles confidently, “Let me give it a shot.” 

 Pushing yourself away from the desk, you allow the office chair to roll you out of Michael’s way, wondering what he could possibly do that would be any different from what you were trying. 

 Annoyingly enough, Michael gets farther than you did on your first attempt, quickly correcting every mistake he had observed you making. 

 “You know, the controls may be slow, but once you get the hang of it–” Michael starts, but is immediately cut off by the sight of a floating platform falling from the powder blue sky and onto the little white cat. 

 “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Michael growls, “That’s never happened in a Mario game before, has it?”

 Even though you’re just as perplexed as Michael, you can’t help but be amused by just how much he hates losing. “I don’t know, boy wonder. Has a green pipe ever flown off-screen in a Mario game before?”

 Michael just turns his attention back to the screen, his teeth clenched tightly in frustration. “Whatever, I’m trying it again.”

 This time around, Michael tries to make the cat jump and punch a question block, only for it to soar upwards and out of his reach. 

 “Please tell me you’re seeing this shit, and I’m not going crazy.” Michael whines. 

 “Oh you’re going crazy, alright,” you smirk, trying your best to bury the laugh that’s starting to bubble in your throat. 

 Michael continues on a little further, dodging green pipes and avoiding slow-moving enemies like the plague. You’re just about to tell him that he might be out of the woods when suddenly, the little white cat jumps up to hit a series of hidden blocks, only to be immediately boxed in by every single one of them. 

 You don’t have to look at him directly to know that his face is bright red with aggravation. In all the years you’d been with Michael, you’ve spent enough time with him to know that it’s taking him everything within his power not to smash the PC to bits with the wave of his fingers. 

 “This isn’t happening, this isn’t fucking happening.” Michael huffs, his eyes darting between the pastel-colored screen and your face, trying to gauge your reaction. “Listen, I’ve seen a lot of evil in this world– hell, I’ve done a lot of evil –but this is something else.” 

 You let out a hearty laugh and plant a firm kiss on his anger-flushed cheek. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure that whatever internet troll invented this horrible thing probably perished in the blast.”

 “Kicking and screaming?” Michael inquires, a hint of humor returning to his velvety voice. 

 “Kicking and screaming,” you confirm, “Although, I can’t help but wonder what that kind of evil genius could have done for the new world…”

 Michael looks at an empty corner of the room thoughtfully, his brilliant eyes sparkling. “Well, we could always do a good old fashioned blood ritual later tonight…maybe bring the bastard back. You know, for old time’s sake.”

 You grin, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection for your competitive husband. He may be the son of the Devil, but he had all the competitive fire of a Greek God, scorned and beautiful all at the same time. 

 “It’s a date.”

[wlw-imagines-blog]

All Roads Lead to You.

Anon Asked: Please can you do 16, 17 and 33 for Wanda? If you have too many requests, you don’t have to :)

16. “I’ve got you.”

17. “I can’t sleep, can I stay here.”

33. “Don’t cry.”

A/N: the book described with exerpts is real and by Shannon Drake, lmao i dont play around.

You watched the long stretch of highway that seemed to go on forever. Clouds had begun to build where the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the sky into an orange masterpiece. Music played quietly from the scratchy radio. An old  love ballad filled the silence between you and Wanda. It felt as though you had been in the car for an eternity.

You gazed at Wanda, watching the way her eyes settled on the road, her hands steady on the steering wheel. Her hair was tied away in a messy knot, and what little makeup she wore was smudged under her eyes. You couldn’t imagine you looked any better, after sitting there for at least three hours. Despite the her unkempt state, you smiled and looked at her longingly. The sun washed over her in a warm, orange light.

Wanda caught your eye. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you responded. “You’re just so pretty.”

She checked in the rear view mirror and snorted. “Right, okay.”

You sat up. “Listen, Wanda, you’re my best friend, and I think you look beautiful.”

“You’re sleep deprived,” Wanda shook her head. “The motel is in a couple miles, keep an eye out.”

Unable to convince her further, you pulled out the huge brochure map and scanned the lines for the motel.

“I’m starting to hate driving.” Wanda murmured. “Scratch that, I hate driving.”

“We’re on a road trip, driving is an integral part of that,” you hummed. “There’s a whole checklist. You have to enjoy long drives, the constant landscape of deserts, with the occasional tree, and most importantly, you have to be able to put up with me.”

Wanda grinned. “I really should have read the fine print before signing.”

“Hey! you enjoy being around me,” you protested before being fake-wounded. “I thought you loved me Wanda.”

“Oh, i do, honey-” you snickered at the pet name. “-but as your best friend, I have to inform you that your snoring is a problem.”

You pretended to sneer. “Next exit, you jerk.”

“In fact, it’s not just a problem, y/n, it’s a deal breaker.”

“Oh really?” you sat up straight, maneuvering around the seat belt to awkwardly put your hands on your hips. “What about your habit of leaving all your clothes everywhere? And leaving dishes in the sink, forgetting to turn off the tap..”

Wanda cranked up the radio. “Sorry, what? can’t hear you, y/n!”

“Pietro,” you pretended to talk into your phone. “Come collect your sister, she is a real piece of work.”

“Hey!” She shouted, almost too distracted by your jab to keep her eyes on the road. The car swerved violently to the right. Your stomach jumped as your hands gripped the seat.

“Fucking hell!” Wanda cursed. She slapped an arm across you to keep you in your seat.

She quickly righted the wheel, and continued to drive in a straight line. the car had gone incredibly quiet as the tow of you processed the sudden jolt of adrenaline.

You looked down. Wanda’s arms was still across your body, keeping you in place. Her hand unconsciously gripped your chest.

“Uh, Wanda,’ you said faintly. “I think its safe now.”

She glanced to where her hand was before registering what she was touching. “Fuck! Sorry!” She yanked her hand away.

You blinked before bursting into laughter. You wiped tears that leaked down your cheeks.

“Are you crying?” Wanda asked. “Are laughing yourself into tears? At our brush with death? Don’t cry, That was your fault! Ugh, unbelievable.”

The two of you pulled into the Moonlight Motel’s parking lot. It was run down and ancient, something from an 80′s movie. Wanda parked and you stepped out, stretching the cramps in your legs.

“Y/n, can you check us in?” Wanda swung her keys around her finger. “I’ll get our bags.”

You nodded and opened the front door, revealing a front desk as unassuming as the exterior. The woman behind the counter looked old and bored, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, eyes heavy with lethargy. She had a magazine in her hand, and would lazily flip a page every so often.

“Uh, hi,” you moved to the counter. “I’d like two rooms.”

The woman looked up from her magazine, and looked you up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. You squinted at her, smiling uncertainly. She then looked through the window to the parking lot where Wanda was unloading the car.

She pursed her lips. “Two rooms?”

Your eyes widened a little, brows furrowing. “Yeah, like I said, two rooms.” you cringed at how defensive you sounded.

The counter woman shrugged nonchalantly before typing on the clacking keyboard. She asked for your name and gave you two room keys. 

You went out to help Wanda. She was laden with the heavy bag, backing away from the open trunk. 

“You okay?” you called out as she seemed to struggle.

Wanda huffed. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She didn’t seem to see the wide crack in the asphalt that she was backing into.

“Wait,” you moved quickly. “Wanda look out!”

Her foot hitched on the crack and she began to topple backwards. You reached out and looped an arm around her back, while your other hand wrapped around her waist. The bags went tumbling to the ground.

Wanda was breathing heavily, arms automatically wound around your neck.

“It’s okay,” you released her, helping Wanda stand. “You’re good, I’ve got you.”

“My bad,” She turned a little red, smiling at you. “Thanks, y/n.”

You shrugged, mind racing at how comfortable Wanda felt in your arms. “No problem. Let’s go get settled.”

After freshening up in the cramped bathroom, you laid on your bed, reading a strange romance novel with a shirtless man and scantily clad woman on the cover. It had been left in the bedside drawer by the previous tenant, and you couldn’t help yourself.

Wanda knocked on your screen door, dressed in pajamas and a towel wrapped around her hair. she opened the door, eyes half closed.

“We’ll be on our way at nine tomorrow, yeah?” you asked, draping the book over your face.

She sat down on her bed. “Sounds good. What’s that?”

You lifted the book and turned in over. “It’s possibly the worst novel I’ve ever read. Hear this summary: Lady Rose Woodbine runs from her once fiance, Pierce DeForte, a dishonored lord and now pirate who wishes to wreak vengeance upon all those who have wronged him, including Rose. Now his prisoner, Rose is determined to be rid of him forever.”

Wanda flopped back, grinning. “Sounds like shit.”

You rolled over and began to read. “-He was tall, dark, and filled the doorway, one hand on his hip. His eyes burned through Rose, and she could feel her heart hammer against her bodice- What the fuck is this?” You laughed incredulously.

“-She felt the blade,” Wanda giggled widely, then  snatched the book from you and flipped to the next page. She put on a desperate, high pitched voice. “She shuddered. The very tip of it pricked the fabric of her gown at her waist. she gasped as he moved it with swiftness, tearing linen, silk, and cotton, all falling apart-”

You laughed and swiped the book back. “-She became acutely aware of the hard-muscled heat of the man that held her-”

“Oh my god!” Wanda clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. The two of you spent the next two hour tearing apart the raunchy book, howling with laughter at the absurdity of it all.

You flopped next to her, sides aching. “I hate it. Please burn it.”

“No, we have to take it with us, I have to know how it ends,” Wanda plucked the book from your hand.

It was eleven thirty. she rolled onto her side, meeting your eyes. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

You scoffed, propping yourself up. “Of course, Wanda! I think you’re more than beautiful. You’re wonderful! I never feel like this with anyone else.”

She shook her head. “I hope you know how spectacular are.”

“Oh, so is this a compliment battle now?”

Wanda chuckled. “Hey, wait, hear me out. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I care about you so much.”

You felt your chest tighten with minor anxiety. “I love you Wanda.”

Wanda gently reached out and held your hand. There was deep understanding in her eyes. “I love you too, y/n.”

You wrapped your arms around her and melted into Wanda’s body. Her hand stroked your hair. She pressed a kiss on your forehead, before whispering. “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?”

You nodded, kissing her cheek.

Maybe you should have asked for one room.

[addytheheartbreaker]

Yandere! Joen x Addy x Overprotective! Nicol part 3

(Warning: this part story is angsty and trigger warning themes for only 16+ contains mild swear words, violence, hurt and comfort and death mentioned of the following story that you are reading. Please advice you to not read it if you are uncomfortable of this topic, thank you.)

(This is gunna hurt me as hell, believed me)

*Joen's POV*

Early morning, a perfect time to wake up since I couldn't sleep properly. I haven't got thoses sleeping irritation since my asylum days. Anyway, waking up early on 6:03 am, I wore my comfortable and simple straightjacket that could fit me if he came to happen on my way, the amusement park is still closed yet I'll be back to open on afternoon once I am done with him. I couldn't help but excited to see her.

Teleporting on my way inside to the Dog mansion, I am outside Doll's door. The halls are quiet then I ever expected, I was expecting his step siblings or one of the dog brothers to patrolling or sensing a presence throughout the hallways or around the mansion to guarding any intruder to their property. Thank the lord for having this gift of power to be able to get inside without going to this place with my own feet. That would be the pain in the ass you know?

I teleported again inside with my sleeping beauty covering with transparent curtains around the mattress. My guardian angel is wearing the same pajama dress and she is surrounded with her stuffed toys as some of her other stuffed toys fallen at her bed alone. Picking up those plushies to return back to the owner of these plush toys, I moved the curtain to get her fresh air to her sleep as I sit beside her sleeping form.

She sprawl up straight with her head tilted on her right slumbering so peacefully. Is she supposed to wake up early this hour? She told me she will sometimes wake up so very early either 2 or 5 o'clock in the morning for no reason on her own head. Maybe insomnia or a sleeping disorder? Her own guts that woke her so early? It is complicated to understand herself with those situations to notices her issue. She looks so very tired. Did she wake up all night again or her work from her gang's status checking if her whole empire is under control with Doll still hiatus.

It doesn't matter to find out myself when I look at her as I started fuzzy again with my own feelings for her. I want to confessed to her. To be honest though, she looks just like Jessica Rabbit but much more different and better then I ever have in my life. Addy, my guardian angel, the Doll who saved me, company me my lonely days at the asylum, listen and understand me. But the only one thing that would complete the list is loving me dearly. The real Jessica Rabbit loves her husband Roger Rabbit, not by the looks but loving him for who he is honestly. She doesn't want to loved a man by their looks like some girls attracting to guys with muscles and charming features. Jessica loves Roger of everything about him, making her laugh and make her life happy.

That is what I thought of. I've been imagining myself as Roger Rabbit since that is what everyone called me before and my favorite childhood cartoon character. A silly, goofy and charming rabbit who makes everyone happy with my humorous tricks and magic to entertained them. But what is missing is my own Jessica Rabbit. That is where Addy came in. I noticed of how much she acted just like the female cartoon that I like. I said it many times in my own head: beautiful, lustrous, elegant, kind and gentle, a strong woman, serious, simple and a true babe she is. Doll is somehow a much more better version of Jessica. I liked a girl who is a bit shorter than me, simpler and unique, a good girl who secretly a bad girl inside and a wonderful personality.

Gazing on her sleeping position and hearing my own heart beat ringing through my ears and sweating a little as I gazed on her. Her long hair, her petite body, the feeling of love replaced it with longing and lust. I don't wanna rush things from her, but I couldn't help but gazed on her face until I stare at her lips.

Those pink lip of hers looks very divine and sweet through her well manner and shy/confident voice. I gulp while I keep staring at her lips as she sleeps very still. My heart and mind is telling me that makes me bite my own lip, I couldn't help myself no more as I leaned onto her carefully not to interrupt her slumber. My heart beats much more faster and my own guts twisted in excitement, I couldn't say no to her lips finally I leaned closely to her face with the help of my hand to cup her cheek to get a better angle as I finally kiss her.

My body twitch like an electricity spreading through my own body and heated up while I kissed her. Just as I thought about her own lips, so sweet and soft like a bunny. I kissed her deeply for more, I wanted more from her yet it so wrong if she woke up witnessing me kissing her without her permission. But I couldn't controlled myself of how much I needed her. God damnit, I could feel something underneath me painfully then my own hand started roaming down to caressed her abdomen and down to her hips.

Is this? Oh fuck it is happening. I wanted to kiss her even further to slip my tongue at her. I need her, no, I WANTED HER SO BADLY! SO BADLY THAT I WANTED HER AS MINE! I MIGHT GO FUCKING INSANE THE MORE I CRAVED THIS DOLL GIRL!

God, why did you make such a precious angel to make me feel this way, make me fallen to her beauty and kindness? She did deserved better then staying with that unstable mutthead, she belong to my wonderland where she can be safe and happy with those horrible people who had broke this masterpiece of a doll. How fucking dare they for destroying her and killing her several times while she is at her own era.

I didn't realized that have been kissing her for like an hour or long. I let go the kiss to stare of her lovely face again with a smile.

I snapped out from my own fantasy to hear someone interrupting the moment that I eagerly prepared for her just until I recognized voice then quickly glared at the person leaning back beside her door.

Oh that fucking asshole.

*Nicol's POV*

I couldn't sleep properly already, it was 6 o'clock in the morning and I can't get back to sleep. I always sleep on 12 o'clock but why didn't I sleep? Maybe I just worried to much? Maybe my problems are coming back? I already go through rehab to stopped drinking alcohol and drugs since 3 years ago. Why can't I sleep already?

I grunt myself angrily as I flop out from my bed as I lazily went my way to the kitchen to drink something to soothes me. Tea would be great to calm my nerves which only takes 15 minutes to prepared it. *sigh* such a nice aroma and taste, a bit bitter if I wish to add suger. Suddenly something feels wrong, very wrong. It felt like someone is inside the mansion unawared and possessive. I quickly finished my tea to investigate who the hell invaded my territory without my permission.

To my horror when I used my dog instinct to track down leading to Dollface's room. Prepared and ready myself in combat from the door and do a sneak attack to protect her. No one is going to hurt or kill my Dollface from me, I'll bite who evers faces to shreds real hard till I could taste copper tingling through my tongue.

The horror to my eyes suddenly changed into anger quickly. I quietly lean back beside the door, cross my arms, wearing my death stare look as I speak in a cold tone.

"What are you doing here, Rabbit?"

*No ones POV*

Joen glared straight into Nicol's eyes. Their eyes connected as sharp as a knife ready to stab to the death. Giving them silence between the two most former dangerous animals since Rivalry era, the two couldn't take their eyes off just until Dog's death stare breaks to analyzed what is going on. The Rabbit stands up from Doll's bed to greet him with his signature friendly greeting to pretend he had came in too early even if it means lying on his face.

Joen: ah, Nicol Mcgilles! I was just came here to check on Doll if she is safe. Well I guess she is still sleeping, I was wondering if yo-

Nicol: Cut the crap and stop lying to me Joen Roger. I know your game we used to played you Trickster.

Joen: *thought* did he just insult me? Wow, what a bastard he is. Well that is rude of you while I explained ya. *chuckles* if you could acted more nicely to me, I could have explained to you, ya crappy dogshit.

Nicol: *thought* grr that son of a- oh I knew he had hide something behind my back. That face that he was wearing. I repeat that again Psycho Bunny. What are you doing in Addy's room? Answer me with no shitty dodges yo got that?

The conversation became intense inside Addy's room, the atmosphere is not safe when the two keep their voices louder inside her room almost waking her up. Joen notices her movement still haven't waking up from their argument as the rabbit man dodges the dog man with a excuse.

Joen: why don't we go somewhere other than having our conversation here. Its very inappropriate for us to have this chitchat of ours while Doll is still asleep.

Both look down to checked Addy moving her head a little due to the noise which almost caught them from their loud voices if it keeps on going here. It is a good idea to go somewhere, but this pissed Nicol since she needed to stop the two from fighting. He hates to unleash his oldself back, but he had no choice however, he couldn't help but wanting to beat up Rabbit a lesson or two.

Nicol: yeah, good idea. Come this way Psycho Bunny, I'll escort you somewhere open to continue our discussion peacefully.

The two left Addy's room carefully not to disturbed her. Nicol escorted Joen through the hallways, guiding him the room much more open and a good choice to echo outside if anything happened, the dance room. That is where Nicol teaching Addy to dance since she haven't dance for a longest time and trained her to be ready for his performance in the Masked Singer. Two men face to face like a tournament ready to a fist fight, the two begin continuing their conversation earlier.

Nicol: okey where are we? Oh yes, What are you doing at Addy's room? Like I said, no shitty dodges for your nonsense of a lie. You are really bad at lying.

Joen: yeah, yeah I heard ya loud and clear Dog. I'm just here to get something what is mine.

Nicol: and that it?

Joen: taking Addy for myself. You actually just neglecting and forgetting Doll for a reason, for a reason of what? Your issues? your old self has coming back to ya? Oh that's right, your are just as horrible of day care as your old fucker doing when he is alive!

Nicol: don't you fucking dare mentioning the old geezer in this conversation, I am not like my ex master like that! I did what I did for her sake alone!

Joen: your sake, my ass! That is why you are getting in my way since you are a selfish, heartless and irresponsible motherfucker to leave her behind almost to her death!

Nicol: I don't understand Joen! What is it have to do with Addy anyway god damnit? Yes, I failed to know her unstable mentality is getting worse and her mental breakdown but I don't get the fact you kissed her. What is it have to do with her after I saw you kissing her?!

Joen: you always getting in my fucking way when you are beside her! I'm jealous for your closeness to Addy just like your own jealous of me and my brother's healing and strong bond together! I wanted her so badly to become as mine yet you happen to keeping her from me!

Nicol: *realization* are you saying you have a crush on Addy? Dude, do you have any fucking idea what you are doing right now with your head? You can't just kiss her while she is asleep. Just don't come near Addy with those creepy-

Joen: *thought* and that is what I am trying to fucking telling ya, yo mindless asshole! Don't you take my girl away from me!!! *grip tighten hands through raged* Fuck this and fuck you Nicolas! I'm taking her myself!!!

To be continue.... Coming up....

Joen's ending

[jimlingss]

Head Over Heels to Hell

➜ Words: 27.5k

➜ Genres: 80% Fluff, 20% Angst, Childhood friends To Enemies To Lovers!AU (it’s a roller coaster), Reverse Soulmate!AU, Historical!AU (kind of)

➜ Summary: Some people are destined to never have a soulmate. You are one of the few. Instead, you have something much different - a parasite set out to destroy and ruin your life no matter where you run to.

➜ Warnings: Mention of death and a shit ton of other things - I promise it's not too angsty but still tread carefully. Implied smut & slight historical inaccuracies.

➜ Notes: My god, I wrote this back in April. But honestly, I’m so fucking proud of it. This is probably my most favourite Hoseok story I’ve written up to date. Dare I say, it might even be masterpiece level. Anyways, I’ve been super excited to share this. Enjoy!

Cr.

Each person born is destined for one or perhaps several, fated to fall in love with their other half or a fragment of themselves. Whether it be a whirlwind of romance rendezvous, a heated passion pressed between sheets or a comforting presence by your side that makes a home a true home - each individual has a chance to make their heart feel full, their soul fulfilled and the void feeling that lingered while they travelled through life on their own disappears.

 You, however, are not so fortunate of an individual.

 “A few folks in the world don’t have a soulmate.” The old woman sighs while looking out from her porch. You sip on your juice box, swaying from side to side on your toes next to the rocking chair. “I can see it in your eyes, dear. A bachelorette. You’ll be alone for your entire life and the next to come.”

 You quirk your head to one side. “What’s a bachelorette?”

 You can’t comprehend what your grandmother is saying. She’s using such complicated words that your dad hasn’t taught you yet but you aren’t very concerned with it either. Any second now, your mom will emerge from the kitchen with ants on a log and you’ve made sure you finished your breakfast this morning to be able to eat them. Also, your mom says your grandmother is old and her mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be, whatever that meant.

 Did that mean she was crazy? If she’s crazy then that’s not good. But maybe crazy is fun and exciting. Oh! That little doggy that wanders around the yard is also fun and exciting. Speaking of which, where is it?

 “It means you won’t be able to experience love.”

 Your grandmother snaps your attention momentarily back into focus. You peel your eyes away from the verdant green lawn to the wrinkles surrounding her experience yet tired eyes. “At least, you can experience it but nowhere near the amount that soulmates would feel. Instead of a soulmate, you have something much different, Y/N.”

 “What is it?”

 For once, the sorrow and pity laced in her features has melted off. The old lady smiles at you and pets your head lightly. “You’ll find out someday.”

 Without fully understanding the weight of her words, there will come a day when you look back and regret not taking heed of the warning.

Fate decides to begin smiling down at you at four years old.

 Barely able to walk on your own two feet without wobbling, your mother sends you off to preschool with a bright knapsack and brand-new shoes. You aren’t aghast to be without her but more so, bewildered that there are so many miniature humans like you in the confines of such a small space. “Y/N?”

 Your name being called has you flopping your head to the ceiling where a young lady with an apron tied around her waist is grinning. “You’re Y/N, right? Welcome to our little Buttercup Daycare!” The teacher squats down to meet your height. “We’re just having a little playtime now before all the kids get here and we do some crafts together. Is there something you’d like to play with?”

 It’s then that you confirm you quite like this lady. She’s very nice and pretty.

 Your tiny arm raises, finger moving from your fist to point at the pink princess castle in the corner. She smiles and ushers you over. “Great choice! Do you like princesses?” You nod at her question, and she hums, watching as you open the door and study the plastic building. “You know, Emily really likes to play with princesses too! She would be a great friend. I should go get her.”

 No. No. No. You don’t want a friend. You want to play with the teacher- “Oh…”

 Before you were able to turn around and voice your opinion, the lady has disappeared in the sea of children. You whip your head around, standing on the tips of your toes to catch sight of her but the struggle is fruitless.

 Suddenly, it hits you hard. Your mother is gone. Your father is at work. The teacher is nowhere in sight and all these rambunctious strangers are scaring you. They’re shouting, screaming, running, giggling - it’s sheer madness.

 With the blind courage of a four-year old, you bravely step into the crowd, yelping when a stranger bumps into you, whimpering when a block is thrown at your foot, crying softly as someone steps on your shoes. It’s no wonder that you get pushed aside so easily when even a gust of wind could knock you off your feet. But this time, it isn’t a mere nudge.

 Like a swift current, a stream of children running indoors when they’re not supposed to, accidentally collides into your little body, shoving you aside and you're pushed to the ground. A shock ripples throughout your frame, knees bruised, palms met with the rough carpet. You’re absolutely stunned, unable to grasp what just happened but in the delayed second, as pain shoots up your bones, you break out into horrific and heart wrenching sobs.

 “Owie…”

 “Stop crying.” In the midst of the chaos, you rub your eyes with your little fists, lifting your chin to meet the tall shadow looming over you. The stranger wears no smile, oddly familiar in a way you can’t understand and his cold gaze doesn’t make you waver or scared. Instead, your eyes follow his command, halting the tears that were falling like raindrops. “Only babies cry. You’re not a baby.”

 The boy should be the same age as you. Should because no child should have such a fixated stare and serious expression. There are only a few inklings that show his youth, the pitch black hair that looks more like a ruffled cloud, strands poking out in every direction, the low height and stature that may be smaller than your own body and the navy green overalls splattered with colours that are not supposed to belong there.

 “Stand up.”

 He holds his hand out to you, palm facing upwards. You sniffle for a moment, letting the remaining salt water drip down your cheeks and then your arm reaches out.

 Your hand clasps his and the boy lifts you off your feet.

 “My name is Y/N.” You smile at him happily, giggling when he tries to shake off your grip but fails to do so. You fear if you’ll let him go, your new friend will disappear into the pandemonium. “What’s your name?”

 “Hoseok.” He sighs when he realizes that you’re going to stick around him now. But he decides you both might as well do something together. “You wanna paint?”

 You loll your head, following his finger that’s pointed to the round table with the green stools and brushes laying on the watercolour sets. Hoseok patiently waits for your answer and you give another toothy smile, letting your dress twirl when you look at him again. “Okay!”

 Four-years old is when you meet Jung Hoseok at preschool and you become stuck to his side like gum, declaring him as your best friend while discovering his enjoyment for painting; how he marks up white printer paper until it’s drenched in vivid hues, scribbling with brushes until all the brush hairs has fallen off. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, you’re his greatest friend!

 “Paint me! Paint me!”

 “No.” He ignores your crestfallen expression. “Don’t wanna.”

 It’s too difficult to hold back the sadness and you can’t help but cry, “Why?”

 The boy huffs out, turning away from you until you face his backside. “Cause I said so.”

 It’s not like he doesn’t want to. Hoseok would paint you if he could. But there’s not really a colour in the watercolour set that could be used to show how brightly your eyes shine.

 Plus, he knows he’s not that good. It would be mean to make you ugly. Especially when you’re far from it in reality.

 //

 Fate’s smile never ceases its smile. Even when years pass and you’re slowly getting a better grip on yourself, it seems like life has always shown you a better side of itself. Well...for the most part at least...

 “Y/N, why are you disrupting class again?” The teacher at the front slaps down her whiteboard marker on the metal ledge, exhaling and giving you a hardened glare. “Do we need to have another chat outside?”

 You wince from the sharp tone, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the class of thirty students have turned around to stare at you. “I’m sorry.” You sink lower in your desk seat. “I-I can’t find my writing journal. I think someone stole it…”

 The teacher scoffs. “Well does it look like we’re writing, right now? We’re doing social studies, so please, sit up straight and open your textbook to page one hundred seventy-four. Now. Please.”

 Everyone turns back to the notes on the board and you downcast your head, trying your best to pay attention but to no avail. To the side, a friend offers some consolation through a warm smile, though before she can lean over and whisper to you, the teacher gives the both of you the stink eye. The old woman’s voice drones on and on about the geography of the world, explaining a worksheet and what shade to use when colouring the countries in.

 As an eight-year old, third grade was the worst.

 Not only was the teacher mean to you, the classes were boring and you didn’t have that many friends. Most of the girls didn’t like you very much since you didn’t like to play with dolls anymore and you weren’t that interested in discussing crushes or soulmates. You liked to write but they thought that was boring. Friends or no friends, it was fine by you. But it was still kind of lonely.

 “I still can’t find my journal.”

 The teacher, sitting at her desk, looks up at you with her reading spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. “Well that’s what happens when you’re too irresponsible with your belongings, Y/N. You should learn how to be more organized.”

 “But I left it inside my desk in the corner like always!” While defending yourself, your voice moves up a pitch, and she seems to get annoyed from the sound. “It’s not fair! I think someone took it!”

 “Don’t be ridiculous! The door’s always locked.” She sighs, exhausted from having to reason with an illogical child. “Stop blaming other people for your mistakes, Y/N. If it’s lost, then it’s lost because of you. You’ll just have to re-do all the assignments and entries I gave.”

 “But-”

 “I don’t tolerate any back talk. Now go outside like you’re supposed to. The bell doesn’t ring for another twenty minutes.” The woman doesn’t offer any more chances as she turns back to her stack of papers, thirty booklets full of worksheets that were handed in and had to be marked by the end of the week.

 You open your mouth to retort but a staggering breath leaves instead. Your shoulders droop with defeat and you force yourself to drag your feet out of the classroom, frame quivering with sobs threatening to break through your throat. The hallway grows blurry in your vision, clouded with tears but you clench your fist, nails digging into your skin, repressing the urge to cry.

 “Y/N?”

 You slowly turn around at the familiar voice and quickly, you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Hey, Hoseok. What’s up?”

 “Nothin’. Are you okay?” He steps forward, meeting you halfway and you meekly nod.

 “Ms. Choi is a mean witch so it’s whatever.”

 Hoseok laughs and you find your lips upturning at the sound.

 One of the biggest reasons third grade completely sucks is because Hoseok isn’t your best friend anymore. Actually, he hadn’t really been your friend since two years ago when you entered first grade. It seemed like in your school, girls hung out with girls and the boys would do their own thing. As much as you disliked it, you couldn’t do much when your friends pulled you away to the other side of the playground where the park benches were and Hoseok was off at the field playing soccer with his other classmates.

 You can’t actually remember the last time you talked to Hoseok. Anytime when you did, whether it be during class or outside, your peers would ask you if you liked him or if you’re dating or if he’s your soulmate. You don’t even know what any of that means.

 (Also, there’s the whole rumour that you can catch germs from boys but you don’t think that’s right).

 “Did you find your journal?”

 “No.” You whimper, downcasting your head at the reminder and afraid that you’ll really begin to start crying. It would be so humiliating to do it in front of him - you’d never return to school again. “I think it’s lost.”

 “It isn’t.” He smiles and reveals what’s hidden behind his back, unbending both his arms and thrusting it out in front of you. A gasp spills from your lips and your doe eyes dilate from the recognizable bright green cover. “I found it in the lost and found.”

 You grasp at the notebook, taking it into your hands, feeling the metal coil beneath your fingertips and the wrinkled pages full of erasing, scribbling and doodles. “Thank you.” You choke out words of gratitude, grinning so widely that your cheeks might burst and your eyes well up with happiness. “Thank you. I-I thought it was gone forever. I thought it was stolen.”

 “By Seokjin, right?” He smiles when you nod. “Yeah, I think he stole my pencil too. I lent him a sharper once and it was gone by the end of the day. No one believes us when we tattle on him.”

 “You’re the best, Hobi!” It’s a nickname that you haven’t said in a while, and he’s about to mumble something back but you smother him in a tight hug. Hoseok pretends he’s being choked to death, making hacking sounds and muttering your name but you don’t let up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 “Yeah, sure.” He uses all his strength to rip your arms away from his neck, prying it off in a hurried pace before someone else sees. His breath steadies and he glares at you. But you remain smiling at him, and he scratches the back of his neck, sighing. “I hope it’s okay but I read some of it.”

 “What?” Your eyes enlarge. “You did?!”

 “Yeah.” Hoseok shrugs. “It’s actually not bad but you suck at spelling.” You smile sheepishly at him, acknowledging your bad marks in every spelling pop quiz. “I could fix it for you if you want me to.”

 “Nah, it’s okay.” You don’t want to bother him anymore than you already have. It’s already made you happy enough to have your journal back and to hear that your writing is pretty good; technically he said ‘not bad’ but you’re taking it is a compliment. “Thanks though.”

 The boy in his green plain shirt and trousers is beginning to say something but a hall monitor strides down the hall and whips his head over at the sight of you. “Hey! Aren’t you kids supposed to be outside for recess?!”

 You and Hoseok exchange a startled look before you both book it out the doors together.

 //

 At twelve, fate begins to show its ugly side. Technically not as much as your ugly side.

 It’s painful to admit but you look like the ‘before’ shot of those cosmetic surgery advertisements - bad skin, pimpled face, gawky glasses, braces, awkwardly cut hair, limbs too long — the whole nine yards and more.

 It also doesn’t help that you feel like everyone else looks like they came straight out of a magazine, blown out hair, flawless features, a perfect smile and trendy clothing. So, it’s probably not all in your mind that people are staring and talking behind your back when you walk to your locker or to go to class. Why did puberty have to fuck you up so badly?

 “What are you talking about?” Your friend rests against the washroom counter. “You’re so pretty Y/N. You just don’t see it.”

 The reflection in the mirror says otherwise.

 You look over at her with an unimpressed expression. A lump lodges in your throat when you detect pity in her gaze but you ignore it. “Thanks but I feel really horrible. My skin is itchy and I feel bloated and this is probably too TMI, but my bowel movements haven’t been great.”

 “You’re fineeee.” She emphasizes, flicking a piece of dirt from under her nails. “Trust me when I say it’s a lot worse in your head. No one cares, you know. They’re all too concerned about themselves anyways. But it’ll get better, Y/N. Chin up.”

 “...Thanks.”

 It’s not like you wanted all these insecurities. It just happened to knock on your door, barge inside without a warning and now you constantly feel bad about yourself no matter where you go. The world would be a lot better if it were socially acceptable to wear a plastic bag over your head.

 “I better get back to Mr. Jeon’s math class before he freaks out and sends someone to go look for me.” She checks her phone once and then pats you on the back, standing back on both feet. “See you at lunch, Y/N.”

 “Yeah, see ya.”

 The moment your friend walks out the washroom door, you look back at the silver mirror with a long sigh. No matter what you do, how much foundation or concealer you pack onto your face, it doesn’t help anything. You can either look like a peasant girl or a clown - you’re not sure what’s worse.

 You reach deep into your hoodie pocket, a sleek surface meeting your fingertips and you hesitantly pull the small object out. It’s a lipstick that you smuggled from your mother’s makeup bag this morning. The pink bullet is soft and pretty in hue but you’re aware the moment it meets your mouth, it’ll look like a child trying to play dress-up.

 “All or nothing.”

 You murmur to yourself using some encouraging clichés and then, your hand lifts to dab on the colour. With the lightest touch and your pinky smearing the product, you pop your lips, taking a step back to look at yourself. And wow.

 For once, you don’t feel like a roach emerging from the back of a dumpster.

 You throw open the door, strutting down the hall. Despite no one being around, you feel like a glorious supermodel and the paparazzi are hidden in the corner, your idol waiting with a bouquet of red roses at the end of the aisle, an epic soundtrack playing to each of your steps. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is all you needed to be rich and pretty. Maybe he’ll finally look at y-

 “Y/N?”

 You whirl yourself around, heart stuttering inside your chest. “H-hey Hoseok. What are you doing?”

 The teenager is in a green sweatshirt, baggy jeans and breaking school rules by wearing a snapback hat indoors. He puts down his phone, stuffing the device and his earphones into his pocket and shrugs. “Bathroom.”

 You smile, covering your mouth with your hand. “You’re not skipping class, are you?”

 “Nah.” His hands dig around his clothing and he hums. “Do you have some change I can borrow? I need to buy something at the vending machine and I think I forgot my wallet at home.”

 “Oh, no problem.” You reach into your own pocket before taking out the tiny pink pouch that your aunt gave to you for your birthday. It takes a second until you take out a five dollar bill, lifting it up and into his palm. Your fingertips accidentally brush against his skin and you withdraw your limb like the movement burns you. Hoseok gives you a strange look but dismisses it.

 “I-I don’t have change, just this but you can keep it. You don’t have to pay it back to me.”

 The boy appears stunned and he furrows his brows. “Are you sure?”

 “Yeah.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear but realizing that it reveals more of your imperfect complexion, you downcast your head. Hoseok’s stare was becoming too intense anyways. “It’s fine.”

 “Are you going back to class?” he asks and you nod. “We can go together then.”

 “Don’t you need to use the washroom?”

 “It’s fine. I’ll walk you back.”

 “O-okay then.” It’s terribly awkward and you loathe yourself on having such inept social skills. If it were anyone else, they’d probably be able to find another topic of conversation and switch over smoothly, destroying the tense silence but alas, you are only a twelve-year old who has no such natural talent. “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while. What kind of classes do you have?”

 The subject that you do bring up makes you cringe inside.

 Who even wants to talk about school in their free time?!

 Hoseok seems to get an inkling of your inner turmoil since he rips his eyes away from the profile of your face to the end of the corridor, smiling to himself discreetly. “Y/N, we literally have the same classes together. We see each other everyday.”

 “Right.” You recoil, cheeks becoming warm with embarrassment. “Well, we might see each other, but we don’t really talk. You’re always sitting in the back of the classroom.”

 “And you’re sitting in the front.” The adolescent beside you laughs. “Who knew Y/N would one day become the smartest student?”

 “I-I’m not. Plus, I’m sure you get better grades than I do.” It was true, anytime the teacher asked you to hand back tests or quizzes, you snuck a peek at the grade marked in the corner of the page and for every single one, he either got a hundred or close to it. Most of your peers didn’t know but you did. “You’re the smarter one here, I suck at math and science and-.....Hoseok? Is there something wrong?”

 His eyes are fixated on your mouth. “No. You just have a little of pink right there.”

 He points to your cupid’s bow and you reach up, flustered and perplexed that he noticed the makeup you put on. You wonder if it’s bad or if it makes you even uglier than before. “Where?”

 “Almost. To the left a bit.”

 “Here?”

 “To the right. Up. No. Go down a bit. Here, let me do it.” Hoseok pulls you in with a gentle hand on your shoulder and his thumb on his other hand raises to your lips, rubbing away the colour. The touch is feather-light but from the mere proximity, you’re absolutely stunned at what’s happening. Your eyes enlarge, heartbeat pounding in your ears and your mouth fills with cotton.

 Whether he’s actually dense, or he knows the effect you get from him, he doesn’t make any comments. After a moment, Hoseok pulls away. “There. It looks pretty nice, by the way.”

 “T-thanks.” The pair of you walk the rest of the way in silence. It’s only when you’ve reached the classroom door that you notice he’s a few meters behind you, lingering and glancing at the ceiling. “Are you not coming in?”

 He hitches his thumb to the other end. “I have to grab something at my locker so you should go in first.”

 “Okay.” You watch his backside disappear slowly, counting each step the boy takes that increases the distance and leaves you farther away from him. Since when did he become so tall? You’re not sure but all you know is that there’s a feeling inside your chest, depriving from an unknown source and you inhale a breath, taking the leap of courage.

 “Wait. Hoseok.”

 He turns. “Hmm?”

 Perhaps it is destiny that has given you the bravery that you’ve lacked for so many years.

 “I’m sorry for not talking to you more. Sometimes it’s difficult since you’re friends with those guys and I’m-”

 You have no one. You’re not pretty. You can’t socialize well. You’re literally the most boring person on this planet. And you harbour a huge fat crush that inhibits you from making any interaction towards him.

 “We’re both in different circles.” Hoseok finishes your sentence and you laugh stiffly. That too. Yet, despite your self-consciousness and metal self-deprecation, he laughs happily and it alleviates the mood. “No, I get that. Don’t worry about it.”

 “I just think we should talk more. I kind of...miss….you…” You’re mumbling at this point, volume becoming quieter and quieter until it’s a squeak. You don’t even know what the hell you’re saying and your face is on fire. It doesn't help that Hoseok's gazing at you so intently without speaking a single word.

 “...that’s all.” To save yourself from further embarrassment, you quickly turn to the door, hand grabbing the door, ready to twist your wrist and enter inside.

 Except, you never get the chance.

 “Wait. Y/N.” Your old childhood friend has his hand wrapped around your wrist and if steam wasn’t leaving your ears before, now it is. “I lied.”

 “What?”

 “I didn’t forget my wallet. I don’t even need to buy anything in the vending machine.” He diverts his eyes, avoiding your stare and frown of confusion. “The rest of class made a mess, and then they ditched to go to the cafeteria. If you go back, you’ll get in trouble for sure.”

 Even with the delayed response from your end, you can only manage one single syllable. “What?”

 “I’m sorry for lying.” After his stupid classmates had ran wild, throwing paint all over the walls, flipping over tables and desks when the substitute teacher had walked out of the room, they all grabbed their bags and spirited away. The first person Hoseok thought about was you.

 You had left to go to the washroom, unaware of what was unfolding and instead of leaving with his friends, he wandered around till he found you. A sick, twisted part of him was curious to see how stupid and gullible you are - he wasn’t disappointed either. You believed him so easily, he didn’t even need to try. But what Hoseok failed to calculate was his own guilt and his weakness.

 You.

 “You can hate me if you want to, that doesn’t matter.” He reaches to grab the five dollar bill, and he slaps it back into your hands. “And you can snitch to the principal but don’t go back in.”

 “Hoseok.” A smile slips on your lips and you become sheepish. “I don’t hate you. Far from it actually. Just...I could never hate you. You’re still my friend.” Hoseok’s fingers still wrapped around yours, preventing you from entering the horrific classroom and the dollar bill in your other hand proves it so. “So, let’s go?”

 Your friend smiles, releasing his grip and grateful that you don’t want to kick his ass. “Last one to the vending machines has to buy!”

 A gasp sounds from your mouth when he takes off running and you laugh, shouting after him and probably disturbing all the other classes going on. “Hey! That’s so not fair!”

 //

 The class drones on and on. It’s absolutely unbearable. Heads are bobbing up and down, trying to stay awake while some have given up all together, sleeping on their desks with their heads rested in their folded arms. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, continuing with her lesson as it was planned.

 “Soulmates are a very peculiar phenomenon in our modern society today and many scientists have yet to discover the reason as to why since it isn’t very biologically efficient. It doesn’t seem like genetics or family history play a huge part, sometimes soulmates are outright opposites while other times they are very similar to each other. It may just be a psychological occurrence.”

 “All they have been able to conclude thus far is when soulmates meet, both parties experience a euphoria of emotions, each of them enhanced and the effects are very similar to some type of drugs out there. The love and passion are like none other. Typically, there are two types of soulmates that people can have. One, there is literally only one person that is your soulmate. Two, there are several people living in the world that could be your soulmate. It differs with each individual and again, no one knows the answer yet. Perhaps someday we'll know.”

 The only person actually listening is some guy at the front of the class. He raises his hand and the teacher calls upon him. “What about people who don’t have either?”

 “Ah...yes...those folks are...rare and far in between.” The teacher wears a melancholic expression, seemingly a bit uncomfortable with the topic. “People without soulmates can find companionship, but they most likely end up alone, in this life and the next and the next….”

 She concludes with- “it’s unfortunate.”

 Your forehead nearly smacks against the wooden surface of the desk as you’re lulled to sleep but your neck snaps back before you can hurt yourself. Fuck. You rub your eyes, screaming inside your head out of pure boredom. Then, an idea flickers inside your brain and you lean over to your friend sitting beside you in the other row.

 “Hey, I’ll make a bet with you.” At your voice, she perks her head up, eyes sparkling in interest. “Bet Mr. Min won’t visit Ms. Kang today. Five bucks, what do you think?”

 She smirks. “You’re on.”

 Lo and behold, the familiar blonde headed teacher sticks his head through the door, thankfully interrupting class and cracking a few jokes while shocking sleeping students awake with his cheerful voice. As Ms. Kang flirts with the chemistry teacher, your friend giggles while you pull out a crisp bill, handing it to her.

 “Okay, you win this time.” You sulk, looking back into your barren pocket.

 “I’ll bet you one more time.” Your friend grins, starting to have fun since class began. “If Mr. Min doesn’t stay for more than ten minutes, I’ll give you your five dollars back and an additional ten. But if he does stay for over ten minutes, I get ten bucks from you.”

 You contemplate the options, weighing each reward and consequence. It sounded appealing, not only would you get your money back but even more? Plus, Ms. Kang was actually teaching a full lesson today and there was a test tomorrow. Surely, he would leave, so she could continue addressing the class. You smirk at your newfound confidence. “You’re on.”

 In the next twelve minutes, you hand over more money.

 Your friend laughs her head off, clutching onto your stomach and you can only sigh from your multiple defeats. Another classmate turns around and asks what the two of you are up to.

 “We’re making bets.” Your friend wipes away the tears that have welled up. “Y/N keeps losing.”

 “Ooh count me in.”

 Someone else who was eavesdropping swivels around. “Me too.”

 The teacher is still chatting away with Mr. Min at the front of the classroom with a group of students while the rest of you wait in boredom. There’s nothing like an entertaining game with monetary prizes to liven up an atmosphere. “Who wants to bet that she’ll forget to hand out homework?”

 “Let’s bet to see if this paper airplane can go outside the window and into the classroom across from us.”

 “Bet that I can’t sneak out without anyone else noticing.”

 By the end of the hour and by the time the lunch bell has rung, your wallet is completely empty and everyone else has left to go eat. As you collect your belongings, stuffing markers and pens back into the pencil case, grabbing your notebooks and slinging your backpack around one shoulder, you can only hope that time will move quicker.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Oh, hey Hobi.” You smile, watching him grab his water bottle that he accidentally left near his chair at the back. “I’m fucking broke, that’s what.”

 He opens the door and you both walk out together. “You shouldn’t keep making bets with people if you’re always losing. Your gambling skills suck.”

 You exhale, having too many regrets and fearing what your dad will say when you ask him for a second allowance this week. The money from your summer part-time job was gone as well and all you can think of doing is sobbing on your knees, pleading about your penniless lifestyle. “I thought I could win my money back.”

 “Never go to a casino, you idiot.” Hoseok stops by his locker and throws his biology textbook inside. He closes it and walks diagonally down the hall to your own locker where you grab your gym bag for your next class after the bell. “You’d end up wasting your life savings away and you’d be living under a bridge.”

 “Isn’t that where we’re all heading anyway?”

 He laughs and swings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you two accompany each other in synchronized steps. It’s a familiar gesture and you’re no longer flustered from being in a close proximity from Hoseok. The infatuation that plagued you during your preteen years has long disappeared.

 High School was a whole nother game, people dating more seriously and futures on the horizon. You couldn’t be very bothered to crush over an old friend when you were more preoccupied with getting into the university you wanted.

 “Why are you glaring at me?”

 “I’m not.”

 At this age, you thought Hoseok would reach his own ugly phase. Puberty tended to affect boys in later years but even at sixteen, the bastard is still decent looking. While you grew more into your skin, learnt to become comfortable in your body and appreciate your flaws for what they are, you expected him to go through a similar thing that you did back then. Yet, never in a day of his life did Hoseok have awkward limbs or bad skin or an awful haircut. Rather, his rounded cheeks were becoming chiseled, his jawline sharper and his hair gelled into a neat fashion.

 And for you, rather than admiring his handsome looks, you’re goddamn jealous of his genetics and beautiful face. Why did fate have to be such an unfair bitch?

 “You spent your lunch money, didn’t you?”

 On cue, your stomach grumbles and you give him a surprised look. “How did you know?”

 “Cause you don’t have any control.” Hoseok reaches over, pinching your cheek and you slap his hand away, cringing at the thought of his dirty fingers clogging your pores and giving you acne. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

 You halt on your toes. He turns around.

 “Wait. Really?!”

 The boy smiles, his grin loosely resembling a heart shape. His eyes crinkle slightly and a bubbling laughter spills from his mouth. “Yeah, but you owe me big time.”

 “When don’t I?” You smile, catching up to him and giving him a good old noogie. “You’re the best.”

 His smile becomes sheepish, and he gazes at you for a long moment, savouring in your touch and presence. “I know.”

 There was something strange about you. From the moment he had met you a decade ago and held out his hand, he always felt a tugging feeling in his chest, as if you were familiar, and he knew you from somewhere else, from somewhere far away. But you weren’t his soulmate.

 Such a thing was impossible for Jung Hoseok.

 //

 The world revolves around the concept of soulmates.

 You didn’t realize it until you became much older and you stepped out from the small schools that you went to, the same classes and circle of friends that shuffled together from one year to the next. College was a time when your world expanded ten folds, where you couldn’t recognize three quarters of your classmates, where campus made you lost every single day.

 It also opened to your eyes to the obsession that people had with soulmates; how some folks were absolute consumed with it, going out to bars to talk to strangers, testing to see if they were a kindred soul, having date after date, entering camps and exclusive clubs to seek out their match, downloading special apps on phones to search for their true love.

 One of the few questions that you were asked quite frequently was: ‘have you found the one yet?’

 Your answer didn’t matter as much as the pitying expressions, the words of consolation of ‘you’ll find one soon’ and how people told their own stories of how they accidentally ran into the person they were meant to be with, and they knew instantly at that second. They always said that no matter where you went, where you’d go off to, your soulmate would end up finding you.

 That’s how fate is supposed to work.

 Except it worked much differently for you- “I’m never going to find my soulmate, am I?”

 “What?” Your dad puts down his spoon, startled and taken back. The dinner table is silenced. “Who told you that?”

 “Some people just take a bit of time.” Your mom smiles to soothe your nonsensical worries. “I know it took me years to run into your dad.”

 You sigh, recalling the memory like it's imprinted to the back of your hand. “Grandma told me I'd be single for my entire life and the next.”

 “Dear…your grandmother was very ill before she died. She just didn't know what she was saying. Don't let it get to you.”

 “She told me that a long time before she passed away.” You look at your parents for an extended moment, holding your breath in your lungs. You're an adult now and you have a right to know the truth. “You guys know it, right? Can you please not lie to me?”

 “Don't give up hope, you hear me?” Your mother lectures, tone becoming stern and unyielding for any retorts or comments. “I don't care what the doctors, nurses and psychologists say or even what your grandma told you. You’ll meet the one.”

 She says it with such certainty, like she's declaring the sun will rise again. “And when you do, you’ll know instantly.”

 You've heard it a million times before, the way your friends have described it, you've even seen it with your own eyes. It's supposed to be a burst of electricity, where the heart stops and the breath gets caught. The universe is supposed to shine in brighter hues, becoming vibrant and louder; happiness will become euphoria and love will become a deepening and familiar companion.

 The gaping hole that individuals never knew existed will be filled. They will no longer walk alone. They'll feel whole. It's everything that Hollywood movies show except it's real. It's perfect. It's a rose-coloured world.

 And all you can do is roll your eyes each and every time you hear it.

 Some people are born without soulmates. There’s no rhyme or reason. It has nothing to do with the way you were brought up, the environment factors or your genetic material. Like some people are innately extroverted or introverted. There’s nothing you can do about it and that thought hurts you even more.

 Your world isn’t rose but a green-coloured world.

 “Wait! Wait for me! Please!”

 Despite your arm waving in the air, heaving breaths shouting through the sky, the bus pulls away from the curb, signalling into the lane. “Fuck!” Your arm tightens around the strap of your bag and you pick up your speed, racing with all your might. “Stop!”

 The heavy rain beats down on top of your head, rattling the inside of your skull. The surroundings have turned into a shade of grey, vision clouded with water droplets clinging onto your lashes, each step splattering puddles onto your pants. But it doesn’t matter that you’re being drenched as if you stepped into the shower. You’re late for class.

 If you miss this bus then you’re done for.

 “I’m here! I’m here!”

 Right where you’re mere meters from the bus’ door, your foot juts out for another leap but you miscalculate your environment and your front toes collide onto the metal pole bus sign.

 “OW! FUCKING SHIT!”

 Pain shoots up your spine and you’re forced to stumble, crouching over and clutching onto your dirtied shoe. The passersby with their umbrellas or under the bus shelter don’t bat a single eyelash and you are alone, under the rain, putting pressure on your wound. It feels like you’ve just broken your foot or a toenail was ripped off, that it’s bleeding in your sock. To top off the agony, like a cherry thrown on top of a sundae, the bus merges and drives off, disappearing in the distant fog.

 “Are you kidding me?!” You sob out to the crying sky, knocking your head back and letting your stubbed toes pulsate and throb inside your shoe.

 You don’t have an umbrella. Your phone is dead. There’s no way you can contact an Uber. Thus, all you can do is limp your way to school in the pouring storm, looking at the roads every so often for a taxi. Fortunately, fate isn’t such a nasty bitch when you catch a yellow vehicle driving down the street. Unfortunately, the taxi doesn’t see you in time and it drives past, too close to the gutter.

 The sewer water splashes like an ocean wave crashing on the shore and if you weren’t drenched before, now you’re soaking wet, drowning in rainwater and sewage.

 “Y/N?”

 A familiar and warm presence appears behind you. Their umbrella drapes over your head, shielding you away from the cold droplets and it patters on the green canopy instead. Instead of bursting into tears like you felt you should, a smile graces your lips. You’ve never been more thankful to have this person around and in your life.

 No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you.

 “Are you alright?”

 “I’ve been having the shittiest day, Hobi. Literally the worst.” You turn around with a massive pout, sulking at your situation and cringing at how your textbooks and laptop in your bag are probably wet as well. “But what are you doing here?”

 He hitches his thumb to the black car parked by the curb. “I was driving past and I thought I saw you. I stopped to make sure. Aren’t you going to be late for class though? Get in my car, I can drive you to school.”

 “A-are you sure? I mean, I’m soaking right now and I can just keep walking-”

 “It’s fine, Y/N.” He grins, patting your head to placate your worries, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder to support you to the toasty vehicle. His other hand is holding the handle of the umbrella, and he tilts it to cover you completely, letting the rain drizzle on his left side. Your old friend doesn’t seem that concerned about getting drenched and momentarily, the pain in your foot has alleviated. “I have class anyways. We’re going to the same place.”

 Before getting into the car, you shift your head to gaze into his softened, brown irises.

 Regardless of what troubles you face, the struggles that present itself, Jung Hoseok is always around the corner. He’s your truest friend, the one who has stood by you for the longest time and the man makes your heart sing soothing lullabies. Maybe you’ll never have a soulmate but at least you have him.

 “Thank you.”

 He grins and you’ve sincerely never felt more gratitude.

 //

 Falling in love with Hoseok is a complete accident.

 Sure, it might’ve been predictable to everyone else since all the cliché romance books and movies always depict childhood friends becoming lovers, unrequited loves and harboured crushes becoming reciprocated, happily ever afters emerging from the horizons. You just never knew it was going to happen to you.

 You might’ve been massively infatuated with Hoseok years ago but you thought you grew out of that phase. At the end of the day, he’s a good friend; someone who watched you pick your nose in preschool, when you shit yourself in kindergarten because you couldn’t control your bowels yet, the time he witnessed when you called your teacher ‘mom’. He’s been through it all, thick and thin, disgusting and all the rancid memories. Your family knows his, mothers that have become friends themselves and fathers buddies. Hoseok was supposed to be a brother to you.

 But lo and behold, you had to catch feelings.

 Fate was a cunning asshole.

 “Sorry for getting your car all wet. I was sitting in class dripping everywhere.” You wring out a bundle of your hair, the damp strands clinging to your neck in an uncomfortable fashion.

 Hoseok, from across the table, wriggles his brows up and down. “Oh, I don’t mind if you’re wet at all.”

 “Shut up.” You roll your eyes, playfully scoffing at the innuendo. Brushing it off, you set aside your laptop to look at your friend. “Thanks though. I think I would’ve been screwed if I had to walk.”

 “Jung Hoseok here to save the day again!” He gives a blazing smile, pretending to be a superhero as he does the superman pose. You laugh, and he lowers his fist, expression melting into a warmer smile. “But is your foot okay? You were limping.”

 You’re surprised that he noticed but you nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

 The library is deathly quiet on a Friday at nine o’ clock. There are only a few people sitting around and assistants shelving books. At twenty-one, it isn’t uncommon for your peers to be out at a frat house or crashing a venue around campus, getting wasted and grinding up on each other, maybe meeting ‘the one’ out on the dance floor or at the bar. Hoseok has especially made a name for himself in the years at college, dating around and being the life of the party.

 It’s not necessarily a bad thing but you’ve felt slightly alienated from him since you weren’t big on the whole partying thing. You’d much prefer to curl up on a couch, binging on Netflix and chewing on snacks in the comfort of your own home.

 “Why are you here? Weren’t you invited to any parties?”

 “Nah, I don’t feel like it. Why would I want to go to one when you’re sitting right here.” His greasy remark has you huffing out tiredly, and he giggles. “Plus, who would drive you home?”

 “I can take public transit, you know. It runs until twelve.” You don’t want to be a burden to Hoseok or make him babysit you like a little sister or a pet. If he’s here for the wrong reasons, it would hurt even more than if you were alone. “And aren’t you seeing Yoonji right now? You should probably be out with her instead of me.”

 “No, I’m not seeing her.” He resists the urge to pull on your puffed out cheeks. Hoseok leans his chin in his propped up hand, savouring your sulking expression. “I’m single actually, have been for a long time now. And also, if I hear that you got murdered on your way home or if you slipped on some water and broke a hip, my mom would never be able to forgive me. She’ll burn my entire manga collection and probably run me over with her car.”

 “Of course your mom would.” You stick out your tongue, intentionally ignoring what he said about not dating anyone. “She loves me a lot more than she loves you.”

 “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” The man lazily flips through his textbook, barely skimming the pages and not reading correctly like how he should be. “Hey, Y/N.”

 “Hmm?”

 “Have you been seeing anyone?”

 Your head perks up from the document on your laptop and you give the most unimpressed expression, arousing laughter from the male. “Do you think I have? No one can love me - I’m unlovable.”

 That and you don’t have a soulmate.

 “That’s not true. I love you.”

 What. No. Wait. He probably means it in a brotherly-friendship kind of way.

 “Righttttt...” You bob your head up and down, narrowing your eyes and forcing yourself to dispel away all your delusional thoughts. “Well, I love you too.”

 “Okay, great.” He looks up from his textbook. “We should go on a date then.”

 “.....” There’s a pause. He waits patiently with a smile. You stare at him. “What?!”

 “It’s really convenient.” He quirks his head to the side, mischief glimmering in his orbs. “I love you, you love me. It works out. So, we should go on a date...unless you don’t want to.”

 “....I-I do but where is this coming from, Hoseok?” You lower your pitch, leaning closer as if someone from the ten tables over could hear. The situation unravelling before you is so sudden that you fail to wrap your brain around it.

 “What do you mean ‘where is this coming from’?” The male gives you a look. “Hasn’t it been obvious? I’ve liked you for years! And wow, I can’t believe you’re making me expose myself to you when you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

 He throws his arms over his chest, appearing vandalized but you’re in no mood for jokes.

 “B-but...but…” All those signs that you convinced yourself weren’t signs are actually signs?

 The endeared gazes, the overly affectionate physical contact, the lingering touches, the smiles and late night texts were all indications. Your mind is reeling from memories for the past decade, wondering if this or that was evidence for his hidden feelings. It feels surreal, like a dream.

 You fear if you wake up from it, reality and fate will be much crueler.

 “You don’t need to feel pressured, Y/N.” Hoseok stares down at his textbook, avoiding your eyes and becoming embarrassed about finally declaring his feelings openly to you. His voice is quiet but you can hear each word, carrying a weight that bears sincerity in each syllable.

 “You can say no if you want to, and we can go back to being friends. I just...I never knew if the feelings were mutual and the timing was always off. I tried to date other people but it...didn’t work out.”

 He takes a deep breath, put on the spot and pressured not to mess up. You’re an important person in his life and the last thing he wants is to scare you off forever.

 “What about your soulmate?”

 It’s the first thing that crosses your mind, a concern that is unbearable and one you can’t erase away. What’s the point of creating something more if he’ll meet his soulmate later on. You’ll be left in the dust, alone, forced to face the memories of ‘what happened but could never last’.

 But Jung Hoseok, being the person that he is, always manages to make your anxieties disappear.

 “You don’t have to worry about something like that.”

 It’s too simple of an answer. Yet, like the fool that you are, you trust in him. “Okay. Let’s go on a date then.”

 A grin spreads across his face, one that swells his cheeks and heart. “Right now.”

 You flinch when he suddenly slaps his textbook closed and you follow along, packing away your laptop and pens. Luckily, no one was really around to be angry over the disturbances the pair of you were making. “Right now?”

 Hoseok smiles. “Last one out the library has to pay.”

 Fate is too kind - and you realize so when you become aware that you were never alone.

 “You’re on.”

 //

 Each person born is destined for one or perhaps several. They’re fated to fall in love with their other half, a kindred spirit or soul, or a fragment of themselves. The love could be a whirlwind of romance rendezvous, a heated passion pressed between sheets or a comforting presence that makes home a true home. Each individual has a chance to make their heart feel full, their soul fulfilled and any loneliness is dispelled away.

 You have Jung Hoseok.

 He’s a friend and companion, a partner that you cherish. While one date becomes two and three and five until you’ve lost count, all you know is that soulmate or not, you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your days with him.

 “That movie was really good, like did you see the part where he came out of the space shuttle to confront her on the planet Neptune? Like wow, I thought he was going to die for sure but he risked his life for her. And then-”

 “Hoseok.” You stop in the parking lot of the theaters, twisting on your ankle to look at him.

 A sweet smile is still on his mouth, and he quirks his head to the side. “Yes?”

 “Can I kiss you?”

 The boy’s taken back and he laughs. “Where did that come from?”

 “I was thinking about it the whole day today.” You play with the hem of your sweater, diverting your attention elsewhere while you murmur softly, “We’ve been on so many dates, but we haven’t really done anything aside from holding hands…..”

 Albeit it was strange to date such a good friend, you still longed to get closer to him.

 Hoseok throws back his head like he’s in pain, and he whines. “I was going to kiss you later before you left but you beat me to it.” He pouts in defeat and then steps closer, cupping your cheeks in his palms with a softened smile. “Of course you can kiss me, Y/N. You don’t really need to ask.”

 Your eyes flutter shut and his close. Together, you move closer inch by inch until you can feel his lips on yours. A smile moves across your face, and he presses harder, tilting his head while you throw your arms around his neck. It’s nice but kind of awkward. The movement is foreign to you, though the pleasant tingles melt any tension in your muscles.

 Hoseok deepens the kiss, making a muffled sound leave your throat, and he savours your taste on his tongue. But suddenly, one moment you feel pleasure and the next, your head begins to throb.

 You don’t pull away, too addicted to his kiss. Then, there’s a burst of electricity.

 The flare rushes to your fingertips, heart stuttering, breath choking you. Underneath your eyelids, the universe halts and then begins to revolve again, faster, louder until it’s deafening and shining in such bright hues that it’s blinding. The happiness that rings through your bones becomes euphoria and love slaps you across the cheek.

 Maybe this is what people described when they meet your soulmate. But no. It’s much different from that.

 You are not so fortunate of an individual.

 An onslaught of memories, versions of yourself across centuries, comes barging through the door in screams. They shout and screech, begging to know as to what the hell you’re doing. The thumping of your head becomes white noise. You pull away from Hoseok like he burns you.

 The boy is as startled as you are, eyes wide, staggering back until he collapses on the concrete ground.

 “I-I remember…”

 You stare at him in sheer horror. “Fuck you.”

 Fate has never once smiled at you, it was cackling. Fate was never kind either, it was absolutely vicious. And instead of a soulmate, you have something much different. Jung Hoseok is a parasite that transcends time, destined to run each path that you take. He is an enemy.

 You’ve finally woken up from the dream.

[16th Century]

 A gentle knock on the door wakes you from your slumber.

 You sit up amidst the silk sheets and the hinges of the massive wooden door creaks. A servant maid peeks her head through the gap and the light from the hallway sheds into the darkened room. “Good morning, your royal highness.”

 “Is there a cause for your disturbance?”

 The tone of your voice rings above the high ceilings and the girl noticeably winces. She keeps her head downcasted. “Yo-your highness, the artisan has arrived.”

 “Is that so?” You hum a thoughtful note before snapping back at her, “then what are you waiting for? Help me prepare.”

 Immediately she enters and draws the heavy curtains away from the window. Sunshine meets your eyes and you find a smile emerging on your lips. She guides you off the bed, helping you splash your face with a cloth, combing your hair back and pinning it up with green ribbons and ropes of pearls. The lace corset is tied tightly around your abdomen, restricting your breathing but you endure it as you study the dress in the mirror. It’s a rather simple dress, a natural waistline and floor length, flowy sleeves and skirt, the jade fabric decorated with golden colours.

 “I think this is perfect, don’t you?”

 You twirl in front a few times and the maid smiles. “Yes, your highness. You look marvelous.”

 Upon being satisfied with her response, you address your servant one last time. “Do not utter a word to the king that I am meeting the painter, understood? If he asks of my presence, tell him I am in the study quarters.”

 “Yes, your highness.”

 The gardens are far away, across towers and courtyards, but you make it there in less than five minutes while hitching your clothing up by the fistful, running in the most unsophisticated manner that would surely cause scoldings from your mother. Yet, you continue on your way nevertheless.

 It’s only a strong gust of wind and an accidental misstep causes you to stumble. You are pushed to the ground, colliding onto the verdant grass, a shock rippling through your body. Immediately, you are shamed. Your knees are bruised, your gown soiled and palms stained with dirt. In the delayed second, as pain shoots up your bones, your bottom lip trembles, threatening to break out into sobs.

 “Do not cry, your highness.”

 You lift your chin and a tall shadow looms over you. The man wears no smile, an emerald circular cloak draped over his shoulders and an embroidered shirt underneath. His gaze is not cold but intense, yet, it does not make you waver or scared. Instead, your eyes follow his command, halting the tears that were to fall like raindrops.

 “Only infants shed such heart wrenching tears.” A soft smile appears across his lips, a fixated stare on your flushing visage but the serious man is the same age as you. His pitch black hair is more like a ruffled cloud, strands poking out in every direction and some paint has splattered on the skin of his cheek. “And I fear it would ruin your beauty.”

 He holds his hand out to you, palm facing upwards. You sniffle for a moment and then your arm reaches out, fingers clasping his and the male lifts you off your feet. The touch is soothing and light, causing your heart to soar inside your chest.

 “Don’t be foolish. I’ve never shed tears before you, understood?”

 You dust off your dress and he grins.

 “Yes, your highness.”

 The man tries to loosen his grip on your hand but fails to do so when you grasp at him tighter, lacing your fingers through his and not allowing him to let go. A snort of air leaves his nose, and he accepts the new position, guiding you deeper into the royal gardens with bushes of foreign flowers and tall trees lining the cobblestone paths, the scent of florals wafting through the air.

 Farther into the quaint and private place, a canvas is set around vivid oil paints and brushes. He has begun to recreate the image of the blooming orchards and you study the artwork that has yet to be completed.

 “My father has commissioned you as the royal painter but why have you not painted me?”

 Your dress twirls when you look at him again. Jung Hoseok, the man who creates another world with brilliant hues, passionately brushing strokes along the canvas, has been by your side for months and here he is once more, smiling at you.

“I cannot, your highness.” He lowers his head. “I fear that there is no paint I could use that would show how brightly your eyes shine.”

 You spin around to face the bushes, cheeks flaming with each praise. “Please, you flatter me too much, painter.”

 “Ah, but my words are too true, your highness.” He paces around and you lock your gaze upon his. “My skills would be no match to the reality of your beauty.”

 You sigh, longing to have the man closer. Each second and minute that passes feels too short.

 “Painter, I fear my lonely soul enjoys your companionship too much. It’s a shame that you were not born of a royal lineage. My father would never allow such a partnership. He would rather let this kingdom crumble than to give my hand to a commoner.”

“I understand your woes too clearly, your highness.” He takes three delicate strides to meet you in the middle of the grassy area, chest pressed upon chest and his fingers lightly skimming over your blooming cheeks. If anyone from the court were to catch you in such a position, the painter’s life would be at risk, but he seems to pay no mind to such thing.

 “And although I hunger to clutch your hand to my chest, embrace your being, declare you as mine and taste those lips with my own, we are but star crossed lovers.” He exhales, sorrow dripping from his honeyed eyes. “Fate is not so kind to folk like us.”

 You turn away from him in despair, staring up at the cerulean sky and wondering if the Heavens could ever grant you mercy in the name of love. “Eventually, I will be wedded off to somewhere far. The thought makes my heart ache in agony.”

 Your voice breaks and you plead with him. “Painter, would it be so shameful for me to ask you for a single kiss?”

 “Of course not, your highness.” He caresses your face and you melt within the touch. Your eyes shut and he leans in closer. “It is my duty to fulfill your wishes.”

 The kiss is the gentlest of touches, lips pressed upon lips, a bittersweet taste that cannot be savoured, a salty hint caused by your teardrop, the deepest of yearnings and aches for more.

 Why must fate be so cruel?

 //

 It is of the midnight hour when the maid comes barging into your room unwarranted without even a single knock. It startles you to the point where you spring up from your silk bed sheets, gasping and ready to reprimand her but the maid’s wheezes and the distant shouting stops you from doing so.

 You climb out of your bed, taking a robe and covering up your sleeping attire. “What is the matter with you? Speak!”

 “R-rebels have stormed the castle,” she weeps, grabbing onto your arm and falling to the ground, kneeling on the floor, crying and sobbing with all her might.

 The shock is delayed. “Pardon?!”

 The young girl shakes her head, trying to regain composure amidst the mournful grieving. “T-they have captured your m-mother a-and your father has been executed.” You stagger backwards, and she crawls to you, gripping the hem of your dress. “Run, princess.”

 She screams- “Run before they catch you!”

 There’s not a single thing in your hands but your life as you flee the castle walls. The rebels are shouting together, holding torches and capturing any royal member as they scour each room and rip apart all the walls. The knights have fallen, advisors and servants alike being severed of their heads. Blood pours down the courtyard and a couple of paces away from the forest, a misstep causes you to collide against the cobblestone, a cry befalling of your mouth, skin scraped and blood trickling from the wounds.

 A tall shadow looms over you. You lift your chin. The man wears no smile. His gaze is cold.

 You smile, sighing of relief and thankful that the painter is here with you. Perhaps, you can flee together and finally live the life that you’ve always wanted. Except, he does not lift out his hand to pick you off your feet, he bends his knees, squatting down and quirking his head as he stares at you.

 “H-hoseok, what is going on?” You begin to waver from the sharp intensity of his eyes. Any trace of warmth has disappeared, and he seems more amused that you have fallen than worried. “P-Please tell me. I’m s-so scared.”

 Tears seep down your cheeks like raindrops. He doesn’t tell you to stop crying.

 Hoseok smirks. The corner of his lip tugs in a menacing way and his fingers reach out to hold your chin. He leans in, placing a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, and then he parts, admiring the confused expression marring your visage. “Oh princess, you are too innocent for your own good.”

 Your voice does not come out strong but weak. “E-explain yourself.”

 “All of this couldn’t have succeeded without your efforts.” He gestures behind him to the castle, your precious home, that was now being set on fire. Screams of the maids and dukes ricochets to your ears, and he doesn’t allow you to cover them up or cower away.

 Hoseok forces you to watch the scorching flames.

 “Not only did you advocate me to the king and allowed me into the castle but you fell in love with me as well and offered yourself fully. Such a foolish yet endearing character.” He shoves you away and stands, dusting his hands off and watching you pathetically cry.

 “And you were right. Your father would’ve been so shameful to have a daughter like you who helped overthrow the kingdom. Too bad he’s already dead.”

 You can’t wrap your mind around it. All of this is too absurd. Surely, it must be a dream. Hoseok would never treat you this way. He would never betray your trust. You love him.

 “W-what?”

 “Do you still not understand?” He looks over to the symbol sewn on his clothing, the green mark of the rebels. Your stomach turns and vomit threatens to crawl up your throat. You claw at your skin, teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

 “Y-you...you liar.” You spit at him, each heavy syllable oozing of venom. “You wretched bastard.”

 Hoseok tips his head back and chuckles. “There is no use in sprouting such vulgarities, Y/N. A revolutionary is needed for the people. They are suffering in ways you will never know. Your ignorance is too great. Life isn’t generous outside of your castle of silks.”

 The betrayal is too much for your heart to bear.

 No amount of rage or sadness, fury or anguish could display the turmoil sewn into your soul, the heartbreak that shatters inside your chest. Jung Hoseok hovers above your small frame. He stares down at you. “But because you demonstrated such benevolence to me and made my job so simple, I will give you ten seconds. Run or the rebels will slaughter you without mercy.”

 Your fragile body hauls itself upwards and despite the screams of your bones, the faintness in your head that swirls the world around, you falter down the hill, racing into the forest. You abandon your people, your family and home, the love that you held onto. You will never forget.

 And you will never forgive.

 Jung Hoseok laughs and gazes at your form. It reminds him of a little sheep running away from a pack of wolves. He muses that it was truly a shame; a shame that you weren’t part of the rebels and merely destined to be star-crossed lovers with him.

 For the rest of your life, you live in the dirty alleyways as a peasant, scraping after other’s leftovers, bugs crawling in your hair and biting your skin, teeth rotting and clothes tattered up. You sob until you can no longer afford to expel water from your body and the short days of your life consists of recalling your warm family and the beautiful life you once had.

 When you die, the last thing you think about is Jung Hoseok and your undying wrath.

[17th Century]

 “Where is my notebook?”

 You’re scouring in the tiny room, searching among the stacks of parchment, quills and bottles of blackened ink, tugging up your wrinkled olive dress. You pull up the smooth narrow sleeves, wincing at the troublesome lace cuffs and you tug on the strings of the small bodice for more breathing space. As you scour your belongings, the bun that was tied to the back of your head begins to loosen and clusters of curls framing your face tickles your nose. The sweat at your forehead slicks down your face and your appearance becomes disheveled in your franticness.

 “My notebook….notebook.” You gasp underneath your breath, standing straight again. “Was it stolen?!”

 There’s a knock and a short laugh. “Did you lose something again?”

 A man in a white linen shirt, dark trousers and a navy coat stands at the doorway, hands held behind his back as he watches you fumble about. “Yes, it’s going to be the end of me, Hoseok, if I can’t find it.”

 “Well, lucky for you-” He takes a few steps forward and reveals what’s hidden behind his back, unbending both arms and presenting it out in front of you. Another gasp spills from your lips and your eyes widen from the familiar leather bound notebook. “-I found it.”

 You grasp at the pages, taking it into your hands and feeling the wrinkled pages full of scribbles and doodles made in ink. You choke out the words of gratitude, grinning so widely that your cheeks might burst and your eyes well up with happiness. “Thank you.”

 “Thank you. I-I thought it was lost forever.”

 The man opens his mouth to reply but you smother him in a tight embrace. Hoseok wheezes, making coughing sounds from the pressure of your arms, and he even mutters your name after a minute but you don’t let go of him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 “You’re very welcome, Y/N.” He gently moves your arms from his back. “But you should let go of me.”

 If someone were to see, surely rumours would spread like wildfire. Folks in the village were already whispering of how he came and went inside your abode for hours on end and until the sun went down; a gesture such as an embrace would certainly be scandalous and soil your name.

 You comply, loosening your grip, and he slides away from you with a rather striking smile. “You ought to be more organized, Y/N. At this rate, you’d lose your head and I’d have to go looking for it.”

 A grin sneaks up your mouth. “That’s why I have you.”

 The man exhales, continuing on the other subject as you move away. “I hope you do not mind but on my way here, I’ve read the latest entries.”

 “And?” You settle yourself down in the wooden chair facing the windows, preparing a new bottle of ink to begin the next story. “What did you think?”

 “As usual, there was nothing amiss, quite good actually. Just, your spelling was horrible, Y/N.”

 “I know I’m rubbish at spelling.” You mutter underneath your breath, preoccupied with scribbling something down. After a moment, you sheepishly smile at him. “But that’s why I’m paying you to be my editor. If I were good at it, I wouldn’t need you.”

 “Oh, don't be ridiculous.” He jests in a playful tone, “you will always need me. What would you do if I was not around to remind you to eat once in a while and bathe? You'd be sitting in your own filth and rotting away in this home.”

 The two of you laugh together, admitting that he is not at all false.

 You were withdrawn, living on the secluded outskirts of the town. Not many folks desired to be acquainted with you since men frequently belittled your skills and women would rather discuss child rearing and gossip about the marriages taking place. You preferred to write and most considered that a bore and not an occupation at all. You like to beg to differ but that didn't mean you were free from loneliness.

 It was Hoseok that provided companionship, filling in the positions of what friends would. With his presence by your side, you no longer cared about the rude folks who would mutter behind your back. He is the reason you keep striving forward.

 “Speaking of which, I haven't seen you in a week’s time. What have you been working on as of late?”

 “It's a new story and a strange one but I cannot find it in me to shake it off.” Your eyes are blazing like sunlight. He considers the passion ignited within you is a very peculiar yet attractive trait of yours. “It's something I call ‘soulmates’.”

 His brows furrow. “What is that?”

 “It’s a kindred spirit in which upon meeting, there is a spark of..uh...lighting.” Your hands whip in grand gestures and you pace around the room in equal strides. “The primary character just knows that they will end up with that person and together, they will lead their lives until the next and next one. A person can have one soulmate or several, each a part of themselves that makes them whole. It is a kind of true love, an authentic companionship, a mate that matches your soul if you will.”

 “Perhaps I shall call the story ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.” You whirl back around to face your editor. “What do you think?”

 The man hums. “I think you don’t have enough sleep and your head is up in the clouds again.”

 You sigh, stomping your foot once. “Must you kid around? I am sincerely ecstatic about the idea.”

 “I am only teasing you.” He smiles in a soft manner. “I think the idea is brilliant. If it is you who comes up with it, it always is.”

 “I know.” Your cheeks heat from his compliments and you inhale a lungful. “It’s a shame that not many people will hear about it. What did they say at the printing press?”

 Hoseok grimaces, hesitating on the subject and hoping that you wouldn’t have asked. But you urge him to go on and tell him that your feelings will be spared.

 “Seokjin won’t allow you. He doesn’t believe a woman has anything worthy to say.”

 “Of course. It’s always the same issue.” You’re defeated and at a loss of what to utter. “I know my writing isn’t horrible, especially with your help, dare I say it’s quite good. But in the world we live in, no one wants to hear what a woman would say, much less what a woman would write.”

 Hoseok gazes upon the profile of your visage. The efforts of your labour are evident in the way darkened circles mark the underside of your eye, the natural flush that kisses upon your nose. You are tired and it hurts him to see you this way. “Do you want people to read your work?”

 “Yes, more than anything.” You look outside the window, lost in a trance of a land that would offer a lady like you more opportunities. It’s a silly thought but a prevalent one. “I never cared for recognition or fame. I just want my work to be out there in the world.”

 There is a silence that hangs heavily in the air.

 “Y/N.”

 “Don’t feel the need to comfort me. I am aware that there is no use in contemplating such ridiculousness. My time is better spent putting my active imagination to better use.” You meekly smile, grabbing a new sheet of parchment. A thought brushes across your mind that perhaps if you wedded to someone of importance, your tales can be spread into different civilizations.

 But you have no interest in letting someone take your hand in marriage. Most men would rather you bear children for them than write all day in a room. You’d be better off remaining on your lonesome. But perhaps Hoseok would want to...no...such a foolish thought.

 You have an inkling that you will remain unmarried for the rest of your days.

 The end of your quill is dipped in black ink, preparing to begin another story and you scowl at Hoseok who remains impassive, staring at you at such an intense fixation. “Get back to work before I shake my spear through you!”

 He jumps like his trousers are on fire. “Yes, madam.”

 And the man laughs at your glare.

 //

 A few weeks have passed since Hoseok has bid you farewell, being excused from his duties to travel to his ill mother in another village. You were awaiting for his return but you’re finally drawn out of your home by the excessive noise at the town square.

 “What is going on?”

 A chubby lady with a rounded womb, ready to burst with a new child, chuckles happily and takes your hand. “Your editor, Y/N. Who knew he would be such a literary scholar?”

 “P-pardon me?”

 A new declaration is posted on the wooden board and everyone swarms, despite most being illiterate. The lady who caught wind of news repeats it to you. “Jung Hoseok has been commissioned by the state as the official writer. His play titled as ‘A Midsummer Night's’ Dream caught the eye of the Minister and now he’s published his work under the name of Shakespeare.”

 “E-....excuse me?!”

 You feel faint.

 “Oh, it’s so wonderful, Y/N.” The woman is ignorant to your bubbling wrath. “You should really give his work a try!”

 “That...bastard!” A handful of village folk turn around in shock at your curse and even the lady is taken back, letting go of you and gasping at your barbaric demeanor. But you pay no mind.

 You are too enraged of the lies, the deception, the deceit. Upon racing back home, you discover copies of your work all stolen, ripped away from your hands and name, forged and ransacked.

 And cursing out his name, damning him to the deepest parts of hell, does nothing to sedate the madness of resentments. You will loathe the name of Jung Hoseok until the day you die.

 //

Years later, when Hoseok returns, he receives news from the villagers. Not long after he had left, you suffered under a violent illness and died. He weeps alone as he reads your last written work, ink bled on old pages, a story of enemies and vengeance.

[18th Century]

 The hot sun beams down and sweat slicks down your forehead, coating your skin in a sticky sheen and mixing with the grime on your cheek, the dust clinging to your hair. You are weak from hunger but it’s a familiar feeling that strangely reminds you that you are alive.

 After working since dawn, you take a moment’s rest, blunt sickle in your hand, eyes bleary from the continuous labour. But what catches your sight is the lady of the house walking on the stone path, viewing all the workers and peasants wading through the endless fields.

 “She’s so beautiful.” You sigh in a dreamy manner, following her graceful figure glide by, her cream coloured silk hat matching with the gorgeous gown. Lady Jungha has always been a beauty since birth, powdered skin and rosy cheeks. She is an exquisite phantom, a fictitious being that’s pulled out straight from books. “If only I could look like her.”

 “Why are you so concerned with nonsense beauty?” Your friend stands straight, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Hurry up and focus plowing the wheat fields or else we’ll have nothing to eat!”

 You downcast your head, griping a few words before exhaustion envelops your frame and you keep quiet, concentrating on your duties of a farmer.

 It’s only until the sun is beginning to dip across the horizon that you’re free from the grueling labour. Every part of your body aches as the day before and you only get a single loaf of bread to chew on, cowering beside your friend with a tiny fire that provides warmth inside the brick shack.

 “Y/N, could you fetch a pail of water?” Your friend rinses her face, shuddering from the coldness of the liquid. “We’re all out.”

 “Must it be me?” You sit up from your straw mat, peeking out the window and watching how the sun has fully disappeared. There is no doubt that in ten minutes time, the sky will be black and the moon will rise.

 “I beg of you.” She falls to the ground, suffering from a fever that’s been persisting for the past days. When you pleaded to the lord of the house to let her rest, he didn’t allow such a thing. Your heart only cries when you watch her in this much agony. “I’m not feeling well.”

 “If you must.” You nod, tucking a tattered blanket over her body. “I’ll be back soon.”

 The metal pail clanks as you rush down the dirt path to the well. You try to make it as fast as you can before it becomes completely dark and the nipping chills might lead you to sickness as well.

 But on your way there, with your head facing the dirt, on pure coincidence and on accident, you bump into the body of another person. “I’m so sorry-”

 “Um, pardon me.” He speaks in a sweet voice and you’re drawn upwards, looking the man in his eyes. His natural dark hair is parted to the side with a dab of hair wax, wearing a moss coloured suit; a silk cravat, coat and waistcoat to match. His breech, stockings and shoes are dignified, crisp clothes that show his wealth. “I apologize to interrupt you on your way but may I ask what household is this?”

 You glance over to the grand home towering high in the sky. “Why, this is the Jeon Household. Jeon Jungkook is the lord of the manor and of the land. Who may you be?”

 The man grins. “My name is Jung Hoseok, a traveller scholar.”

 “A scholar?” You smile, easing into the discourse. “That is rather impressive.”

 “Yes, well, I’ve retired to become a tutor and I’ve just arrived in this part of the country yesterday.” Hoseok takes a moment to admire the endless fields of the countryside and the peacefulness that lasts for acres upon acres. “I am afraid I lost my way.”

 You lift one hand to gesture to the path. “The road to the small village is this way and when you arrive at the riverside, leave to the right. There should be an inn there where you can stay at.”

 “Thank you.” He dips his head and before you can bid farewell, he steps forward. “Would it be unmannerly for me to ask you of your name?”

 There’s a second of hesitation, one where you lower yourself, facing the ground. It is shameful for someone like you to be speaking to someone like him, dashing looks and of higher status. You wish it were different but by your battered attire, you cannot lie. “I am L/N Y/N, a lowly servant and farmer to the Jeon Household.”

 However, the man is undeterred by your status and your soft whispers.

 “You are quite the beauty, Lady Y/N, if you do allow me to say. And...a bit familiar.” He gazes at you with a slight frown and finally rips away his eyes once you’ve blushed. Hoseok clears his throat in several harsh coughs. “Thank you for helping me this fine evening.”

 That night, you are unable to catch a single wink of sleep. Your mind is consumed by one single man.

 //

 The sun is falling once more. The wheat fields are tangling with each other, dancing to the warm breeze of the evening, birds chirping their songs before sundown. The fresh scent of the ground follows with the dirtied clothing on your body and you tear off your apron, neckerchief and white linen cap.

 “Where are you going?” Your friend watches you, chewing on her stale bread and bemused by your franticness. “Are you not going to eat?”

 “I will be back soon enough.” You re-lace your stays to hug your frame tighter, dusting off the deep emerald fabric of your petticoat. It’s a shame that you cannot afford a powdered wig or powder for your skin but you make do with what you have, pinching your cheeks for a rosy complexion, brushing your hair to the back of your head and decorating it with a few flowers you had pulled from the side of the path.

 “Why are you trying so hard to look beautiful? You are aware that no one pays no mind, especially to us peasants? They’re all too concerned about themselves to look at us.”

 You know that your friend does not lie.

 No matter what you do, the reflection in the mirror mocks your efforts. Your skin is itchy and of a sickly colour, burnt from being in the sun, the foul stench of labouring in the fields all day follows even after bathing, fingernails blackened from the dirt, the lack of food make your cheeks hollow and bones frail. A pitying gaze from your friend causes you to look away.

 There’s nothing you can do, no amount of colour, pinching or flowers could make you look anything more than ugly. You can either look like the peasant girl that you were born to be or a pathetic court jester - you’re not sure which is worse.

 Yet, you hold your head up high.

 “You don’t understand. I-I’ve met someone.”

 Your friend lowers her bread and stares. “You met someone?”

 “Last night and I can’t help but feel like,” a hopeless sigh spills from your lips, “like he may be my soulmate.”

 Such a concept as soulmates is something that came from a famous book that you heard about once. The writer was a marvelous one, plays and street performances coming from the story and even to this day, countless philosophers are debating the idea that each person may belong to another or select few, created by the so-called ‘fate’.

 “Oh, Y/N. You are too naive.”

 You smile at her. “Believe in what I say, I have a good feeling about this man.”

 Before she is able to ask more questions, you have already left. As fortune may have it, tracing the steps of yesterday, a familiar man stands near the path, admiring the beauty of the endless fields. He turns around at the sound of your huffs and smiles.

 “Is this a coincidence or done on purpose?” He waits patiently for an answer and recognizing how you are flustered by the question, he grins. “I do hope it is the latter for I was also hoping to see you again.”

 Your cheeks flush and a smile holds itself on your face. “Your desire is mutual.”

 The dusk light fills the sky and you pace alongside him, strolling together aimlessly without a place in mind. Simply, you are enjoying his company. “Have you always worked here?”

 “Yes, my parents were also servants for the Jeon Household. It was in my place to continue their duties.” You study the side of his face, chiseled jaw, sharp nose and all, before realizing the rudeness of your actions. “And you? Were you always a traveling scholar?”

 “Ah no, well, I am a tutor now.” He chooses each word carefully and his utterance of the words are gentle. “I am in search of a suitable job. Do you know if there is anyone in the Jeon Household in need of a tutor?”

 “Well, the lord of the house is very educated already.” You’ve always known that lord Jeon has been kind to you and your parents. There were many stories that surrounded him. “He is old and unfortunately a widow. He does have one daughter, however. The lady of the household, Jungah. She’s only nineteen years of age and very beautiful.”

 “Oh.” Hoseok stops to feel the breeze kiss upon his cheeks. It cards through his locks and you watch while in an enamoured state. “Is the lady of the household betrothed?”

 “Not that I know of. Perhaps the lady will need a tutor. I-...” You lower your head, trying to remember your place in the world as a lowly servant. “I could arrange a meeting for you if you wish.”

 “That would be splendid, Y/N. Thank you.” He beams like the sunshine itself and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. But upon realizing that it reveals more of your imperfect complexion, you downcast your head. Hoseok’s gaze was becoming too intense as well. He muses, “You really would be more suited to a bustling town.”

 “A town?”

 “The world has changed, Y/N!” He throws open his arms as if he welcomes the entire universe inside of them. “It’s developed. Such things as working for a lord of the land and barely having enough to eat, people are no longer living in such ways. More and more are leaving the countryside to work at these factories. You can buy food, a warm house, anything you want.”

 He faces you. “It’s wonderful, really. You wouldn’t believe it. You have to see it with your own eyes, Y/N.”

 You smile at his riveting energy but your expression turns to sorrow. “I can’t just leave. They own me here.”

 “I can help you.” Hoseok declares to the rising moon. “I can help you get away from this farm.”

 You gasp, stepping forward. “R-really?”

 “Yes, I have a friend who sells cattle. All you must do is lay on the barrow and let yourself be taken to the border. It’s never been more possible.” His eyes twinkle, brighter than the stars setting above your heads. “All my friend needs in order to agree is ten golden coins.”

 “T-ten?” You reach for your pocket that is weightless. They don’t give you earnings for your work - the food is already the pay. “All I have is four.”

 The man hums in contemplation. “Well, you can give me the four now and when you come up with the other six, I’ll let him know.” You scour your dress to reach inside the pocket, collecting your entire wealth into your hands. “It’s for a better life, Y/N. I want you to be happy.”

 “Thank you.” Your fingers brush against the skin of his palm, letting the golden coins drop into his hand and a strange emotion tugs inside your chest.

 After bidding farewell with the tutor, you watch his backside disappear slowly, counting each step the man takes that increases the distance and leaves him farther away from you.

 //

 Eventually, in three days time, you catch the gracious lady on her morning walk, and she finds interest in the man you describe. Hoseok expresses his gratitude as another meeting is arranged for him to address the lord of the house and it doesn't take long for him to be hired as the official tutor for Lady Jungha.

 You find that the pair of them, Hoseok and Lady Jungha, have taken a liking to each other, often smiling and glancing while strolling at dawn. But your friend insists that your mind is merely running wild again and such a relationship would be scandalous to the Jeon name. For reasons you are too shy to admit, you hope it is true.

 Each evening, you stroll together with Hoseok, mindlessly speaking and letting time trickle away without a notice. You see him frequently, especially since he now lives on the land as well. And the feelings within your being are only festering day by day.

 Except, one night, you cannot sleep well.

 “Where are you going?”

 Your friend lifts her head as you shuffle on outwear, brushing back your hair and leaving it unkempt. “I’ll be back soon. I need to make sure of something.”

 Today, as you waited on the same path, Hoseok never showed up.

 As improper and rude as it may be, you sneak into the manor like a shadow, slipping through the familiar corridors and hallways, past empty rooms and studies. Surely, if you were to be caught, you would be punished; perhaps days of food taken away from you or you would be forced to work the entire field during the night. But you cannot shake off the worry that plagues your mind.

 It’s not like Jung Hoseok breaks his word. He is a man of dignity and respect-

 “Hhmpph...mmp-h…” A muffled whine causes you to halt and you turn to the lady’s room, the door slightly parted and enough for you to peek inside. “Wait...w-wait.”

 There are two shadows on the bed and you narrow your eyes, barely able to see with the moonlight coming through the glass windows. But you recognize the voice immediately. “What’s the matter?”

 “M-my father,” Lady Jungha pants a breath, laid down beneath the man, “if he finds out about us, I’m scared of what he would do to you.”

 “My lady, are you not aware I would readily endanger my own well-being for you?” He places a kiss on her lips, the sound of smacking skin echoing in the quiet room. Your heart drops. “Your beauty is unadulterated, the most magnificent in the land. You are but a fragile flower and your mind of absolute brilliance. Never have I had such a student. No one compares to you.”

 He strips of his shirt, allowing the fabric to flutter to the ground. His large, coarse hands slink up the lady’s legs, pushing up her silk nightgown until it pools high above her chest. He removes her undergarments and you spin around, back hitting against the wall, teeth sinking into your bottom lip and breaking the skin.

 “Let me reward you. Let me take care of you.” His voice is soft and sweet, dripping of luscious honey and you fear that you will spew the little contents in your stomach out. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

 There are more groans and whines, kisses pressed and skin slapping on skin. The vulgarities and lewd sounds sends a warm wash over your body and you swallow hard, finding it difficult to walk away. “Okay, take me, Hoseok.” The young lady giggles quietly. “I allow you to defile my innocence.”

 Your hand covers your mouth to hide the breaking sob and you run as saltwater clouds the surroundings.

 “Is there something the matter?” Your friend shifts over the straw mat, shaken from her slumber and your sudden appearance.

 “I’m well. Thank you.” You face the dirtied wall, holding your palm to your lips, weeping into your hands until the exhaustion of your labour from the day has taken hold of your mind.

 //

 The sunlight does not seem bright anymore.

 The hard work and plowing of the fields offers a sense of odd fulfillment. The repetitive motions and slick sweat sticking to your face brings you down from the clouds to the ground. You remember who you are: a lowly servant who will never be anything more.

 “I believe I will take the hand of Lady Jungha in the days to come.” Hoseok tells you one evening as you both have stopped to stare out at the endless countryside. You’ve learnt to find sorrow within these walks now.

 “Is that so?” You offer a kind smile, sincerely ecstatic for the man. Despite his mere status, he is a good match for the lady of the house. They are both of beauty and dashing looks.

 “If it were not for you and your efforts, I would not be standing here today.” Hoseok grins, hands behind his back and spine tall. “One day, when I become the lord of the land, I will set you free.”

 You bow your head. “Then it would be my absolute honour, Lord Hoseok.”

 The man grins at the new title and your heart aches as you watch him stride away, increasing the distance and disappearing away from you.

 True to his word, in a month, he has taken Lady Jungha’s hand. It happens too quickly for you to fully understand, the wedding coming and going within a blink, and you simply focus on working the fields, having enough to eat after each day, working hard to obtain six more coins.

 In due time, the strolls with the man diminish until there is nothing left. Yet, what surprises you is the sudden illness of Lord Jungkook and his succumb to the mysterious disease. It is overnight that Jung Hoseok becomes the main land owner and master of the household.

 “Wake up! Wake up, peasants!” Horrific metal is rattled on metal, shocking you out of slumber and you awake, rubbing at bleary eyes. Your friend is in a similar state of confusion, exchanging a glance at you before she gets up, grabbing a cloak to cover her nightgown.

 “How dare you intrude into a lady’s quarters?” You gasp at the men who barge and kick down all the doors of the little huts. The stranger simply laughs at your scoldings and roughly grabs your arm, hauling you outside against your will and throwing you to the dirt. You yelp and your friend comes rushing to your aid, covering you with your own cloak.

 “Take all their belongings!” The men shout and the other servants are torn away from each other, children, women and men alike. “Rip down everything!”

You watch as they scour your tiny room for the little things that you have, a pot of water and straw mat, perhaps a stack of wheat in the corner. You stagger to your feet and a familiar figure stands by the side of the road, gazing out at the wide countryside.

 “Lord Hoseok, I plead with you to tell me what is happening.” Behind him, your friends and their families are screaming, homes torn apart and fires flickering your shadows on the ground. “Why are you treating these poor servants this way?”

 “Oh, Y/N.” There is something strange about the man. His kindness and benevolence has long left his soul and his smile frightens you. “I am selling the land.”

 “Selling the land?! What-?” You are befuddled and baffled. “Does Lady Jungha know about this?!”

 The corner of his mouth lifts, and he locks his eyes with yours. “The lady is bedridden in grief from her father’s death. She cannot sleep or eat and is no longer a wife to me. I have plans to send her to an asylum to get better.”

 “P-pardon me? T-that cannot be true!” You shake your head until it rattles and you can’t see straight. “That must be false! I have to see her for myself-”

 Hoseok clutches your wrist in his hand. “You will do no such thing.”

 A sick, twisted part of him was once curious to see how foolish and easily persuaded you are. He isn’t disappointed. You believe him so easily that he does not need to put forth effort. It nearly spoils the fun and amusement for him to trick you. You almost awaken a sense of guilt within him. Almost.

 It strikes you like a slap and your eyes widen. “You are not a scholar nor a tutor are you?”

 “And you realize so too late.” He lets go, applauding for the little wit you have left. “I lied.”

 Your stomach churns. You feel sick. “Who are you?”

 “A swindler who was once a peasant like you.” His gaze softens a mere tad. “I never once harboured feelings for the lady of the house, I was only trying to gain wealth. You can hate me if you want to, that does not matter.”

 “You are the truest demon that I have met,” you spit out in rage, “and hell has opened its doors for you.”

 He leans his head to one side, chuckling and laughing at the sudden insults. “Are you really so naive, Y/N? Are you not tired of licking the shoes of people who are of higher status? But I must say, if it were not for you, my scheme would have never succeeded. And for that, I thank you.”

 Hoseok reaches into his pocket, taking a single coin, one that you had given him, and he slaps it back into your hands, closing your palm so you can keep it safe.

 You shake with wrath, your entire frame rattling and knees threatening to buckle to the dirt. With the little strength you have left, you throw the coin as far as you can into the fields. Hoseok chuckles again and you prepare to launch over, maul his face with your dirtied fingernails. But his men grab your arms too soon, restraining your limbs and forcing you to kneel.

 “I-I hate you! I spite you! Damn you, Jung Hoseok! Damn you!”

 “What do you want me to do with this girl?”

 “Take her and sell her for the best price.” Hoseok waves his hand, dismissing his men and bidding you a final farewell. “She is rather valuable.”

 You’re thrown into a wooden cage, trapped and hanging onto the bars as the horse drags you elsewhere. You scream and shout but the man does not spare a single glance. You watch his backside disappear slowly, cursing each stride he takes that increases the distance and leaves you farther away from him.

[19th Century]

 “Are you looking for something?” A rounded woman emerges from the back of her market stand, sweeping your frame up and down to guess the wealth you have.

 You’re in a fitted linen shirt and dark green woolen skirt, belt wrapped around the natural waist of the simple ensemble and bonnet decorating your pinned up chignon hair. You look like a well-off peasant, not a customer who could pay for much, but it is a fairly good front since you’re actually penniless.

 “No, I’m just looking for now.” You smile softly and the woman huffs out in annoyance, spinning around to address some other folks who have gathered on the other side. As her back is turned, your fingertips run against the selection of green flower brooches, the gems sparkling in the sunlight.

 You slip one into your sleeve and walk away.

 The women wandering about the market are adorning full, bell-shaped skirt dresses, petticoats with frilled hems, hair in tight curls framing their face and maybe a long time ago, you would be envious of such beautiful clothing but it does not concern you anymore. There’s much more important business to attend to.

 The bustle of the crowded streets and children running at your feet is suffocating and you make a left at the alleyway, sliding the brooch from out your pocket and attaching it on the woolen shawl draped on your shoulders. It looks much better this way. You’re ready.

 Another left, another right, going deeper and deeper into the dirty alleyways that run with rats and of the poor pleading for money - eventually, you make it to the pine painted door, a dingy and discreet place in the corner that already smells of tobacco from the outside.

 You kick down the door. The chaos inside stops.

 “Men!” You smirk at their confused expressions. “Your real competition is here.”

 As a woman, it may be ungenteel to hike up your dress, put your boot on the table and shoot dice while hollering and screaming with the opposite sex but why should you feel ashamed when you are dominating and winning all bets?

 “I’ll bet one more time.” Your opponent, Min Yoongi, slaps down a hefty sack of golden coins. The others cheer, the entire room having all gathered around your table and watching the dark horse snaring victory after victory. “If the dice makes it even, I get my earnings back but if it makes it odd, I will give you the rest of this.”

 You contemplate the choice, weighing the reward and consequences. It sounds appealing, especially when everyone is howling for you to take the deal. In the end, you smirk at the newfound confidence. “You’re on.”

 The dice is thrown. Each person holds their breath.

 In the next twelve minutes, you’ve completely ransacked the place dry of their money. And you laugh your head off, clutching onto your stomach and cackling while the others can only sigh at their humiliating, multiple defeats.

 “Where did a woman like you learn how to gamble?” Yoongi sips from his glass of rum, eyes studying you carefully.

 “Ah.” You smile at him. “But there is your mistake. Woman or man, ‘tis true they are different but not so much. You would be a fool not to look at me as your equal opponent.”

 You’ve seen things that others would faint at; held a gun within your hands, fired shots into the sky, sailed seas with pirates until you found a home here. Yoongi grins. “A fool I am indeed.”

 “Hey!” A piercing interruption at the back causes all heads to turn. The bulky man watching from earlier is holding the dice within his hands, frown decorating his ugly face and rotting teeth. “This dice is fake! It’s not ours!”

 At once, all necks crane towards you.

 They stare. The large men, brawny arms and thighs, bruises lining their skin, red fists and faces becoming scarlet begin to take slow steps forward. Yoongi has his eyes widened, mouth drawing open. You sheepishly smile. And…

 You make a run for it.

 “Get back here!” They dive over wooden tables and stools, tripping and falling, glasses of rum and cigars abandoned, thrown onto the ground. By then, you’ve already yanked open the door, being chased down the alleyway. “She’s a swindler!”

 “A cheat!”

 The horde of men races after you but are no match for your agile legs and speed. You even laugh to further mock them, dashing through the dark alleyways, past the poor and rats, clutters of rubbish and dirtied children. It’s like a peasant parade, a grand crowd following after in shouts and screams and you are their gracious leader.

 “I prefer con artist!”

 You make it to the main street again, knocking over stands and throwing over tables to slow down the angry men. Women scream, men exhale in surprise, children darting away from your form. They trip and stumble, pushing their way through the mass of people. “Give back our money!”

 “Sorry but no thanks!” You hold up a heavy sack of coins above your head with a tinkling laugh, shaking the coins inside to further taunt them. “I need this more than you!”

 The police squadron has noticed the ruckus in the area and has begun running after the ruffians, blowing their whistles and commanding them to stop. You hope they catch the criminals so that you may be spared but if they’re caught, you would be too. People like you are never caught.

 The whistles are blown. “In the name of the royal family, halt immediately criminals!”

 The men continue to run after you. “Kill her!”

 “That’s a bit severe, is it not?!” You’re out of breath, painting and heaving for air.

 You know you won’t last long now. Hence, there’s no other choice but to turn the corner into another street and immediately, in the empty area, you place yourself into another narrow alleyway. “Where did that whore go?!”

 You gasp in offense, muttering quietly, “I am not a whore.”

 The incoherent grumblings quickly turns into a scream when someone suddenly seizes you, their hand yanking your arm but the sound is muffled as a palm is clasped over your mouth and you’re pressed against someone’s firm chest. You pull away from the stranger.

 He smirks. “Caught you.”

 You shove his fingers off of your body, snatching the collar of his fine coat and hauling the man deeper into the shadowed depths of the alleyway. “Jung Hoseok-” You push him to the wall. “-What are you doing here?! How?!”

 The man looks off to the other end that is lit by the sunlight, the unsuspecting thugs rushing past and officers following their tails. “I see you haven’t shaken off your gambling habits.” The son of the loan shark corners you with his larger body. “You still owe my family many loans.”

 “Damn you.” Your teeth grit. “Fine, be as it may, take me to your debtors’ prison.”

 “Good. It would be best if you follow me-”

 In an instant, your shoes have twisted upon the gravel and your heel meets the dirt as you lob your body to the left, ready to take down the alley for yet another chase. But you fail to consider Jung Hoseok’s own agile skills, and he grabs your waist before you’re able to dash.

 “Must you always run?”

 The hot breath tickles against the shell of your ear and you scowl, curses to be spewed on your tongue, but he spins you around and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 You scream. “Put me down, bastard! I am a lady!”

 “You aren’t.” He rudely smacks your ass, sending a jolt up your spine and you’re silenced in bafflement. The man makes his way on the opposite road of the chaos, into a quieter place with fewer folks wandering about. “And if you do not follow me, I will throw you to those rancid men. Would you like that better?”

 “I despise you.”

 Hoseok smiles, satisfied to see your more compliant behaviour. You decide that you’ll allow him to continue carrying you this way. You’re tired anyhow, legs sore from the race and at the end of the day, he is wasting away his own energy by hauling you there.

 “You shouldn’t keep making bets with people if you choose to con them. One day, you’ll be beaten to death.”

 You scoff loudly. “I am going to win in order to pay all my debts back, foolish man.”

 “Gambling never works, haven’t you learnt? You’d end up wasting your entire life savings away and living by the city’s sewers.”

 “Isn’t that where we’re all heading anyway?” You rest your hand on your cheek, propping your elbow on his broad backside. There are people staring at you, couples cowering away in disdain. You wonder if they’re soulmates.

 Soulmates - the idea that a kindred soul has been fixed for each individual are not only in stories anymore but in real lives. Folks have supposedly begin recognizing an odd burst when they meet their other half. It’s a ridiculous phenomenon. You couldn’t care less about soulmates. What matters is wealth.

 Wealth would help you, free you, give you a better tomorrow. You’ve lived this entire life alone and it is no doubt that for the rest of it, you will continue to be by yourself. There is no one trustworthy - it took you too long of a time to learn that.

 “I’m not naive anymore.”

 “Good.” He laughs, finally setting you down on the property, swinging his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close as he guides you inside the building, down the familiar halls. You shove his limb off with an ugly scowl, and he smiles. You accompany each other in synchronized steps, the surroundings too familiar for your liking.

 Jung Hoseok is a man with short, black, tousled hair. He wears a double-breasted frock coat and long trousers, a luxurious attire considering the family he comes from. You hate it even more that he is a rather dapper young fellow.

 “This is for your own benefit, Y/N. You don’t even have any money for food. At least if you stay at this place, I can bring you some bread to eat and you have warm shelter.”

 You step inside the cell, and he locks the door with a brass key.

 “This place is cold and horrid,” you cry out. “There are rats and fleas everywhere! You think I could stay here?! You’d be leaving me to die!”

 He smiles at you through the gaps of the metal bars. The stone floorings and walls barricade you in. “I will bring you a blanket and you can make do.”

 You spit with all the fury and rage festered in your soul, “Do not act like you care for me!”

 “Don’t mistake my pity for generosity then.”

 “Damn you, Jung Hoseok.” You grip the cold bars that trap you, screaming after his retreating form. “I loathe you with every last breath in my body!”

 He turns from a little way, figure engulfed in the darkness of the hall. “If it helps, I share my own hatred for you. You make my job a lot harder than need be.” A small smile holds on his face and you see it all too well. “Just sit down and begin separating the strands of rope in the basket. Enough of it and in a few years, you might be released.”

 You curse him to hell and back.

 //

 The sunlight coming from the barred window is always hot in the hour of twelve. You’ve noticed this before a ways back but thought nothing much of it. Today, it makes all the difference.

 You’ve collected the leaves and grass from the corners of the cell, cringing and sobbing out when you accidentally brushed your hand in rat feces, a dead rat and maggots eating at the decaying flesh. But alas, after wiping your fingers on your tattered clothing, you continued on your quest.

 It took a while to break the wooden basket and carve out something decent but you managed with the little fork Hoseok gave you to eat. It’s all thanks to him that you can do this.

 “Come on now.” You murmur, rubbing the two wooden sticks against each other on top of the pile of grass, leaves and rope. There’s a puff of smoke and sweat builds at your forehead as you work your arms back and forth. “I beg of you…”

 The sunlight helps to ignite the tiny flame and a smirk spreads into your cheeks.

 You nurse the fire as quietly and quickly as you can, throwing the bundles and bundles of rope that was prepared for you to separate into the light. As the fire crackles, meeting the height of your waist, you take the stool, standing on top of it and you throw yourself over the tiny ledge.

 Using the motion, you kick the bars of the window loose and you throw your legs out. The height of the drop is survivable. But before you can make your escape, pattering footsteps echo through the hall. “Y/N?!”

 Hoseok stands back from your cell in dreaded horror. “Bloody hell, you started a fire?!”

 “A good distraction, eh?” You smirk at his glare. It was always within the con rule book to create distractions and delay the enemy. “I suppose this would be a good time to bid you adieu.”

 He calls your name over and over again, gripping the iron bars that separate the two of you.

 “You know no matter where you go, I will find you?!”

 “Aww, if you were not an enemy, that would almost sound romantic.” You give him a flying kiss, lips smacking against your palm and gestured out to him. He frowns and you give a wink, a cheerful giggle as well. “Goodbye, Jung Hoseok.”

 “Y/N!”

 And you slip out the window, right out of his grasps, running as fast as you can.

[20th Century]

 Even as the threat of war breathes down your neck, threatening to grab hold of your lungs and smother you in all its horror, soulmates still run rampant through the streets, slaughtering each sliver of hope you have left, strangling the happy life that you want so desperately.

 “You haven't found…” Your friend leans close as if sharing a secret. “...‘the one’?”

 The world revolved around the idea of soulmates. It hit civilization like a ship’s cannon, sudden and full of impact. Now, it was all girls could giggle about and boys could fantasize. Folks would be absolutely consumed with it, parents pairing their children and friends’ together and hoping for that burst of electricity that could only be shared between kindred souls.

 One of the questions you were asked insistently was: ‘have you found the one yet?’. Your answer didn’t matter as much as the pitying expressions, the words of consolation of ‘you’ll find one soon’ and how people told you their own story. They always said that no matter where you went, where you’d go off to, your soulmate would end up finding you. That’s how the scientists and teachers, old philosophers and stories, the newspapers said it.

 That’s how fate is.

 “What if I just don’t have a soulmate?”

 You exhale a breath towards the sky and your friend looks at you in astonishment. “Who told you that? Plus, no scientist has said such thing yet. Everyone has a soulmate! Some people just take a bit of time, Y/N. You’ll find someone soon, I just know it.”

 She says it with such certainty, as if declaring the sun will rise again. “And when you do, you’ll know instantly.”

 You’ve heard it a million times before, the way your friends have described it, you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Yet, your own faith and hope are dwindled.

 “Isn’t there more to life than finding your soulmate, getting married and having children?”

 You’re not sure where this is all coming from but perhaps it is the resentments of your universe, how your parents have constantly shoved the ideas of romance and matrimony down your throat since you were a child. When you look around, women are glowing from pregnancies or branded with a ring on their finger.

 “What if I want to go to university instead?”

 “Are you ill?” She nibbles on her bread. “Why are you speaking such nonsense? Y/N, this is the Great Depression and I know your own family is well off but people don’t even have enough to eat.” Your friend shakes her head, scoffing at the ridiculousness of your words. “School...and for women? What kind of place would ever accept that?”

 You don’t respond. She sighs.

 “Y/N, don’t you want happiness and to feel loved? We don’t have many choices other than those things. So, keep your chin up and don’t give up on the idea of soulmates just yet.”

 It’s a rose-coloured world. Everyone sees the universe in blazing shades, laughing and grinning even at such a poor time. They see the glass as half-full, each failure an opportunity to learn, pouring of optimism. They beam with love and happiness, holding hands and sharing kisses.

 Yet, you don’t feel like you are flushing with rose. You are green. A monster of envy.

 //

 The heavy rain beats down on top of your head, rattling the inside of your skull. The surroundings have turned into a shade of grey, vision clouded with water droplets clinging onto your lashes. Each step you take splatters puddles onto your house dress, a kelly-coloured, floral, cotton hand-me-down from your mother.

 You’re drenched from head to toe, squealing before taking shelter under a closed flower shop.

 You don’t notice the person who you’re caught in the rain with, the individual that was already there and lifting their hand out to catch the droplets, staring up at the clouds and considering how much longer the storm will take. “Looks like it won’t stop anytime soon, eh?”

 Your body jumps in shock but soon eases from the warm and familiar presence beside you.

 “Jung H-Hoseok.” You blink at him, managing a slight smile out of politeness. “What a surprise.”

 The man is a notorious playboy, someone you’ve seen sucking face in alleyways with other girls, feeling them up right in public, especially Yoonji from three houses down your parents’. Your own mother has told you to stay away from men like him. They’re nothing but trouble.

 “Are you alright?” He gives a sly grin, taking a step closer to you and his body radiates the heat your own skin craves. If someone were to see now, they’d immediately become suspicious and in this small town with gossip being the main activity, your mother would know about it instantly.

 Luckily, no one’s around and the streets are empty.

 “I’m perfectly fine, just soaked from the rain.”

 Hoseok smirks. He’s a cunning fellow, a known looker too. His white shirt is rolled to his sleeves, veins popping from his forearm and you know that any lady in this town would be swooning to be in this position but you don’t dare look at him. You focus on the street.

 “It’s been awhile since we chatted, Y/N.”

 “Well, I’d rather not.”

 “Why?” He tips his head to the side, staring at you with the utmost concentration that you nearly begin to break a sweat.

 You finally look at him, twisting on your ankle to frown. “Would Min Yoonji like it if she knew you were trying to flirt with me right now?”

 “Darling, no one ever said anything about flirting.” He’s amused and that makes you angrier. “But if you want me to, then I can.”

 “You. Are. Ridiculous.”

 “And you are beautiful.”

 “You!” Your mouth has filled with cotton, cheeks heating up by the second and it would be an understatement to say that you’re flustered. How is it that he can get under your skin so quickly and break down your barriers; you’ll never know the answer. “Ugh!”

 “Have I stolen those words out of your pretty lips? Or should I kiss ‘em to make sure they’re okay?”

 You scoff, crossing your arms as if it’s for extra protection. “Now I know why my mother told me to stay from the likes of you!”

 “Why?” His grin spreads into his cheeks, and he leans down to meet your eyes. “Because I make you excited, because I’m dangerous, and she’d rather have you settle down with someone plain and boring like that idiot down the street, Taehyung? Kid doesn’t even know what sex is.”

 You narrow your eyes, spitting out the syllables like it’s your only arsenal left against his suave attacks, “because you toy with women’s hearts and throw them after you’re done.”

 “I would never throw you away.” He answers without missing a beat, leaning against the glass window and studying your frame carefully. “I’ve always liked you, you know. You’re different from the rest of ‘em.”

 “H-How so?” Your interest is piqued, and he realizes it, cockily smirking yet again.

 “You’re not a simple one. You’re a challenge and I like that.”

 There’s a familiar feeling about the man and it puts you on edge. Though you must admit, it is exhilarating to be speaking to him and simply considering all the scandalous acts you could do together in secret. “So once I become easy, you’ll be done with me?”

 “Never.” He shakes his head. “You might know me as a heartbreaker but Y/N, sweetheart, I’m a changed man.”

 Your brow lifts. “Oh?”

 Hoseok sighs with exhaustion. “The war is coming. Everyone says it ain’t, but we all know it’s coming. Before I’m drafted to go out to the field and die, I’d like to open my heart once and love someone completely.” He stares at you once more. “And if it’s you, I think I can do it.”

 You’re filled with bafflement again. “I...you…”

 “At least give me a chance, Y/N.” The rain pitter patters against the green awning of the florist’s shop, the scent of the fresh earth fills your senses and you feel overwhelmed with a sense of peace. More so, Hoseok’s pleading twitches your fingers and melts the barrier around your vulnerable heart. “Let me take you out on a date. What do you say?”

 It’s the first thing you think of. You whisper it in a gentle voice.

 “What about your soulmate?”

 “That’s not a problem.” He smiles, looking out at the street that still pours. “Don’t have one, never will. I’m a free soul.”

 “Huh.” You giggle, having never heard such a thing aside from it coming out of your own mouth. “Soulmate-less people do exist after all, don’t they?”

 “They sure do. And once people figure it out, there’s gonna be nothing but pity for folks like me.”

 He can already feel your skin on his, a simple brush of the shoulders but it leaves him aching. Hoseok wonders what those lips taste like, sweet or of crisp citrus, how soft your mouth would feel on his, what it would be like to swallow your pants and make you the happiest woman on this damn forsaken planet.

 “You mean folk like us.” You bring him out from his daydream, and he realizes that it’s better to be in reality since you’re here by his side, in the flesh and beautifully smiling. “I don’t have a soulmate either. I can tell. It’s something in me that says so.”

 “Yeah…” He gazes at you, amazed at how true your words are. He really hasn’t met anyone like you, who knew him better than he did, who felt the things that he did, someone to share sadness with. “I’ve never met anyone where I’ve felt a burst of electricity. For all I know, my world has always been bright colours and all that sort.”

 “Hmm…” You look at him, locking your eyes into his fixed stare. “You know, you feel real familiar, Jung Hoseok. Maybe we’ve met before this life.”

 The man grins. “That’s the kind of line I used to use when I was trying to flirt with somebody.”

 You nudge him, brushing your shoulder against his again. “Maybe I am trying to flirt.”

 “Can I kiss you?”

 “Yes, you may.”

 His lips touch yours until he caresses the back of your neck, holding you close until your chest is pressed against his and his frame shelters you. Candy - he grins when he finally figures out the sweet taste, and he chases the flavour of your velvet lips until a gentle whine leaves your throat.

 Although there is no burst of electricity, your heart doesn’t stop and your breath doesn’t get caught, all you know is that you’re happy. And this is enough for you.

 //

 Falling in love with Hoseok is a complete accident.

 You don’t mean to be head over heels for the man, certainly don’t mean for him to take your heart and kiss you senseless until your limbs feel of butter. When your parents scold your ears off, you resolve to break the relationship but somehow, you run back into his arms like a fool. He takes you and comforts you like a man has never done before. You don’t mean to smile so brightly when he calls you beautiful. You don’t mean to be so weak that you feel marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. You don’t mean any of these things but Hoseok was always a cunning one.

 Maybe it is a mistake but the best one you’ve ever made.

“This is my old babe.” Hoseok slaps her trunk lightly. “Someone threw ‘er away and I told my pop I’d fix her up and I did it. I gotta admit, I love her to death.”

 “More than me?’

 “Maybe.” He teases and chuckles when you roll your eyes. There’s nothing special, at least not in your eyes, but when you lay a finger, your boyfriend inhales sharply. “Careful now. This is a Cadillac Sixty Special.”

 You give him an unimpressed expression, hands on your hips and head quirked to one side. “I’m starting to really believe you love a car more than me.”

 “I’m just joking, babe.” Hoseok leans over and plants a soft kiss on your mouth. Before you can pout, he opens the backseat door and ushers you inside. “For m’lady.”

 You get in, and he follows soon after, shutting it and the pair of you stare out the empty road.

 There’s a long pause. “This it?”

 “What do you mean?” He gasps. “This is the best view you could get! This car’s the best!”

 You sigh again and Hoseok laughs, leaning over and draping his arm over you, pulling you close and you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m just kidding around. I know a view that’s much better than this.”

 “And what’s that?” To answer your question, his other hand begins to skim on your thigh, fingertips tracing your skin, getting higher and higher and shifting your cotton dress up until your underwear peeks out. You grab his wrist, looking around and whispering in hushes, “What are you thinking?! We’re out in broad daylight in your parent’s driveway!”

 “No one’s around, honey. C’mon…” He noses at your hair and it’s not like you don’t want this. You do very much, perhaps more than him but you’re also afraid of what would happen if Mrs. Kim, the next door neighbor, decides to walk her little puppy and faints when she sees what’s going on.

 Finally, after some contemplation, you grab Hoseok’s face, pressing your mouth against his until he smiles into the kiss. “You better make this worth my while, Jung.”

 His pupils are blown out, lips swollen and ready to devour you in the backseat of his used car. “Oh, I will.”

 At the very least, he cares about you enough to be okay with staining the leather.

 Regardless of what troubles you face - your parents’ disapproval, the looming presence of the war, your own worries and anxieties about the relationship - Jung Hoseok is constantly around the corner. No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you. The man makes your heart sing soothing lullabies and maybe you’ll never have a soulmate but at least you have him.

 “Jung Hoseok here to save the beautiful m’lady.”

 There’s a blazing smile written across his features and you laugh, causing him to melt into a warmer smile. He jogs up to you, draping a coat over your shoulders to defend you against the slight nipping breeze. The pair of you are taking a walk around his neighborhood, an odd pastime but one you insisted on.

 “Are you okay?”

 You secure the warm fabric over your exposed skin, savouring his scent that is lingering on each stitch of the wool fabric. “I’m fine. Why?”

 Hoseok wiggles his brows in a suggestive manner. “Because you were limping the other day.”

 You scoff. “And that was because of who?”

 Your boyfriend giggles sweetly, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close into his chest. You ease from the gesture, the nervousness temporarily rolling off your shoulders. As the both of you pass a minty coloured mailbox, you finally break the silence.

 “Hey, have you been getting your mail lately?”

 “Every Sunday as usual. Why?” He is amused at the strange question, turning to look at you but already having an inkling on what the whole gist is about. “Are you worried about the war?”

 You hide your face, diverting your eyes and your voice is soft, barely on the edge of breaking. “You know they already told Namjoon and Jimin? Those two are leaving next week, packing all their bags, saying goodbye to their loved ones and family members and...and-”

 “Hey. Hey now. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.” He gently boinks your head with his, smiling and placing a kiss on the crown. “They’re older than I am and my brother hasn’t even been called yet. There’s no way they’ll call me first. Plus if I did go, I’d have Namjoon and Jimin and my brother to look out for me.”

 “But what if-”

 “No what if’s. Don’t wanna hear it.” He sulks with a pout, letting go of you and instead, catching your hand within his. He holds it tight, lacing your fingers together and you smile at him sadly.

 “Are you scared?”

 “Nope.” He punctuates the syllable and shakes his head. “What’s there to be afraid of? I’m not afraid.”

 You squeeze his hand. “It’s okay if you are. I would be.”

 “Why are you suddenly asking me all these questions?” He stops in front of his house, holding you close and staring at your expression. “What’s going on in that little pretty head of yours that has you worrying so much?”

 Hoseok knows you too well at this point. Your cheeks flush and you stare at the ground. “There is something. And, I’m scared of what you’re gonna say when you know.”

 “Scared of what I'm gonna say?” He laughs and kisses your cheek. “Darling, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. Don’t you know that I’m fearless?”

 You lift your brow in an incredulous manner. “Really?”

 “Except for spiders, I don’t fight things that’s got more than six legs,” he teases and then becomes serious, “but enough of the jokes, what’s wrong?”

 “I...we’re….” You hesitate, stuttering and an absolute mess. Maybe it’s foolish but you trust this man with all your heart and you love him so. Hence, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself before the storm comes. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

 “What.”

 “I’m pregnant?” You nervously laugh, swinging your held hands and staring at your shoes. “I don’t know how long it’s been but I haven’t been feeling well lately and I haven’t had my...cycle in a while. All the signs, I got them.”

 “Oh wow.” He exhales a lungful, looking off into the distance without an expression. Hoseok is in a state of disbelief, unable to wrap his mind around it, and he repeats you a few times, “We’re gonna have a baby. A baby.”

 “Yep…” You study him carefully, having not expected much but the lack of communication was no less than being put on a tightrope, holding your breath and on the brink of anticipation. “What do you think?”

 “That’s….I’m….I’m going to go...for a bit..”

 “What?!” Out of all the possible reactions, this had to hurt the most - there was no reaction. “You’re leaving?!”

 “I just have to.” He begins to back away, getting to his vehicle that’s parked at the side. “I gotta get some air. See you.”

 “Wait!” You run after him, shouting with all your might as he gets into his little precious car. “Jung Hoseok!” He ignores you completely, putting the keys into the ignition and starting the engine while you bang on the window. “Hoseok! We’re going to talk about this!”

 Despite your fist pounding against the window, heaving breaths shouting through the sky, he pulls away from the curb and goes into reverse. “Hoseok- Fuck! OW FUCKING SHIT!”

 As he was backing up, he mercilessly runs over your foot.

 Pain shoots up your spine and you’re forced to stumble, crouching over and clutching onto your squashed, dirty shoe. You attempt to rip your limb away from under the rubber tire but the force is too much. It feels like you’ve broken your foot or a toenail was ripped off, that it’s bleeding in your tattered nylon sock. It swells and screams. To top off the agony, like a cherry thrown on top of a sundae, he finally drives his car off, freeing your extremity, disappearing in the distant fog and abandoning you on the side of the road.

 “Are you kidding me?!” You sob out to the sky, knocking your head back and letting your broken foot pulsate and throb inside your poor sandal. “HOSEOK!”

 //

 You should’ve known better.

 At the first sign of commitment, he had ran for the hills and was never seen again. You were lied to. You were betrayed. It didn’t matter if you loved him until your heart ached and it didn’t matter if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You should’ve listened - to others and to your own instinct. The familiar feeling about the man that put you on edge was a warning.

 Jung Hoseok is never there when you truly need him.

 When you knock on his door, his mother tells you he is not there. When you hear that he has been sent a letter, he is not there. When you wait for a final goodbye, he is not there. When you search for him desperately at the train station before he is sent to the war, he is not there.

 When your foot heals, he is not there.

When you lose the baby, he is not there.

When you cry until it hurts, he is not there.

 When you find out that he has died in the midst of the battlefield, he is truly gone forever.

 “I’m sorry.”

 His comrade lowers his head, hat held in his hand, teardrops dripping on your front doorstep. “W-we couldn’t even get his dog tags. He’s gone, Y/N. Hoseok is dead.”

Jung Hoseok never comes back.

 He never gets to face your wrath, your revenge, your anger or heartbreak. He could never marry you if he wanted to, hold you in his arms and apologize a thousand times, try again to raise a child and to kiss your lips on days when you’re tired. He is not there to grow old with you.

 And you have never been angrier.

 “Who said you could leave, Jung Hoseok?!”

 You screech it to the sobbing sky, embracing the cold and harsh rain drilling on your skull. It drenches you, anchoring you to the ground and you ignore the dirt that splashes against your black dress, walking further and further out to the field.

 “You were supposed to go down on your knees and beg for my fucking forgiveness!” You shriek until your throat is raw, crying it out until you’re not sure what is teardrops or raindrops. It aches everywhere and he isn’t here. He isn’t here. Hoseok isn’t here anymore. “You were supposed to cry when you found out the baby’s gone! Bastard. You are a fucking bastard! You know that?!”

 No matter where you go, Hoseok is always able to find you. But why does he never show up when you need him the most?

 “You threw me away! You left me alone like everyone said you would! I resent you!” Your voice gives out, a mere whimper that no one can hear against the thundering sky. “I resent being in love with you. You were supposed to stay with me, goddammit!”

 The rain is ugly. It reminds you of the day you kissed him.

 “When I meet you again, I swear I’ll never forget the things you’ve done to me. All of it.” You’re not done with Hoseok, far from it. You still have to grab him by the collar, curse and scream and swear at him until he apologizes. You never got to kiss him one last time, embrace him, stare at his face until it’s imprinted into your mind. You didn’t get to say goodbye yet.

 Although the rain can’t, the Heavens can hear the oath you vow.

 “I’ll never forget you,” you breathe, “or so help me god!”

[Present Day]

 You live in fear.

 Regardless of where you are, you’re constantly on edge. You look over your shoulder, running from one city to another, frightened when you catch a tall figure with tousled black hair. It’s been years since you’ve been like this but it seems like you’re still suffering without him around.

 “So, we’re just going to trim half an inch of your hair.”

 You smile in the mirror as the hairdresser positions her silver scissors. “Yes, please.”

 But as you catch a person entering the salon, chiseled jaw and sharp nose, dark locks and great height, you flinch and cower. The lady screams, “hold still!”.

 Though, it’s too late.

 Your head ends up with a horrendous bob haircut. And it wasn’t who you thought it was either. The man was a stranger.

 On another particular day, while making it to your work and gripping an umbrella over your head as it drizzles, across the road and past the fog, you catch a familiar person. Of course as any sane individual would, you scream and try to book it the other way. Unfortunately, your heel ends up getting caught in the cracks of the sidewalk and you collide with a random pedestrian, twisting your ankle in the process as you face-plant.

 Once again, the person you saw was a stranger.

 “Have you found your soulmate yet, Y/N?”

 Your colleague quirks her head to the side, fingers laced together with her husband’s. You down your glass of wine, ordering another from the bar and you look her dead in her eyes.

 “Don’t have one.”

 She doesn’t ask anymore questions.

 If you knew what your grandmother had told you all those years ago, if you knew even before this life and all the others, you would’ve stayed the fuck away from any name of Jung Hoseok.

 You don’t have a soulmate. Far from it. But no longer are you dripping in envy, a green monster to the love surrounding the universe. You’re just trying to survive.

 You don’t have a soulmate, though, you’re not completely free either...no...you have something much, much different and much worse. You have a destructive parasite, destined to ruin each path that you take and cause you sadness, pain, anger. You have something that is guaranteed to lie to you, betray your trust, to hurt you in ways where you’re unable to stand back up again.

 Jung Hoseok is your destined enemy.

 //

 “Why couldn’t anyone else go?” You grumble incoherently underneath your breath, eyes shut tight and head leaning against the cold window. “Dammit, dammit.”

 “Welcome aboard on flight W560 and thank you for flying on our airlines today. Please make sure your belt is on when the plane takes off and prepares to land. There will be a light above-”

 The white noise and engine whirling in the back adds to your thumping headache and anxiousness. You try to drown out the noise, ears ringing and motion sickness teasing you as the airplane begins to roll on the taxiway to the runway. At the very least, you were in business class and there were relatively nice seats, a lot of legroom as well. Luckily, you’re also able to miss the long-winded instructions and the entire takeoff when you fall asleep for about an hour.

 It’s only when your shoulder brushes with the stranger beside you that you’re gently coaxed to consciousness. It’s warm. You can’t remember the last time you had such a nice nap. And your lids flutter, slowly opening your eyes. You meet someone beside you and your lips fall. Your heart stops.

 You scream.

 “Shush!” Hoseok reaches over to clamp a hand over your mouth but you flinch. A flash of hurt crosses his features, and he withdraws his hands, pressing his finger to his own mouth to signal you to be quiet instead. “Stop it, Y/N!”

 You continue to scream, startling and scaring all the surrounding passengers. You cower away from Hoseok, drawing your limbs together and nearly falling out of your seat like you’re afraid his touch will burn you. From the close proximity, you feel suffocated. You are smothered.

 For years, you’ve been running. Ever since you knew about the past, you’ve avoided him like the plague. It must be a consequence from fate now that you’re literally boxed in a long rectangle in the sky. But if he’s here...that means something horrible is bound to happen.

 Oh god...you’re going to die, aren’t you?

 “The plane’s gonna fall!”

 You shout in hysterics, crying so hard that you can’t see straight. The flight attendants have gathered in the commotion, trying to understand what’s happened and the reason for the sudden distressed outburst. “We’re going to crash and burn! It’s going to fall!”

 The people around gasp, murmuring and panicking from your proclamation of the aircraft plunging into the ocean below.

 The attendants rush to pacify you. “We need you to remain calm. Take a deep breath.”

 “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” You shake uncontrollably, hugging your own body and weeping to the point where your chest hurts. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die! Please!”

 “The plane won’t fall, Miss L/N.” A flight attendant calls your name once they’ve learnt it and someone kneels in front of you. “There’s just a little bit of turbulence which is caused by strong winds. You’re going to be perfectly fine! We’re going to land in a half an hour! Would you like to walk to the front and take a breather?”

 The comforting voices of the attendant and the others in the background calming the passengers around drown out of your ears. You’re still weeping, for all the centuries, all the lives you lived, for fear and hatred, for pain and sadness. Because Jung Hoseok is here.

 He’s finally here when you don’t want him to be.

 “I-I…”

 You want to switch seats. You want to get away from the man beside you. You want an escape.

 But you also know that as long as he’s on this aircraft, the possibility of it tumbling downwards to crash and burn are all the same. It doesn’t matter how close he is to you or the distance down to the millimeter. As long as he is around, you’re not safe.

 “Y/N.” It’s a soft and sweet voice, an intimate timbre that rattles inside your skull and pulls you away from your blinded fit. The tears in your eyes fall, no longer clouding the surroundings. The pace of your heart thumps to a regular rhythm, breath steadying with each rise and fall of your chest.

 Your eyes have locked with his. Hoseok gazes at you, having lost the details of your features from his memory and restoring all the changes that have happened over the lost years of your lives together. The man seems to hesitate before he lifts his hand, putting it on top of yours.

 This time, you don’t flinch.

 His thumb runs along your skin. “We’re going to be okay. Nothing’s going to happen. I swear to you. So, please, trust in me this one time.”

 There’s a pause.

 The flight attendant takes a sigh of relief when you’re no longer ballistic. They look between you and the man, recognizing that the pair of you must’ve had some kind of prior relationship. And they decide to stand back, somewhere nearby in case you need assistance but enough to give you space to relax.

 “W-Why are you here?”

 “I’m going on a business trip.” He tries to explain himself, looking down at his lap. It’s been too long since you’ve last spoken to one another. “I work at an insurance company now.”

 You snort. He looks up and you provide the explanation before he can ask. “That’s ironic considering you ran over my foot.”

 Hoseok’s eyes widen. “I did?”

 It makes you sick. You don’t want to think about the past.

 Your head leans against the window and you cross your arms, looking out at the white clouds instead of his face. There’s a chance you might punch him in the jaw and you’d certainly be detained if you did such a thing. “You just happened to sit next to me?”

 “It was a coincidence.” His voice moves up a pitch in defense. “I swear, I didn’t plan this out. I don’t even know that you were going to be on this flight. You can check my ticket! I’m supposed to sit here! When I got here, I saw you asleep, so I just sat down.”

 Of course, it was a coincidence. Fate is such a bitch.

 Hoseok inhales a deep breath. “Y/N, I don’t even know what you’ve been doing for the past few years.”

 “Good.” You mirthlessly smile and it doesn’t reach your dead eyes. “If there’s one thing I’m doing right, it’s not letting you know where the hell I am and not knowing where the hell you are. I need you to stay away from me. As far as fucking possible.”

 “I want to talk.”

 “I don’t.”

 The last time you saw Hoseok was at the parking lot of the theaters back in university. The last time was when you kissed him, remembered and left running. In the midst, he was stunned, hand reaching out to your retreating form and pain struck in his chest and on his face.

 You had begun to run since then and it’s been nearly a decade. True to the doctor’s diagnosis and your own grandmother’s words, you didn’t have a soulmate. Everyone around you had gotten married or became engaged to their kindred spirit while you wandered the planet alone.

 But you didn’t care. As long as you were away from him, you didn’t want anything else.

 “I still love y-”

 “Be...be quiet.” It physically pains you to speak to Hoseok. “I beg of you. Before I get another anxiety attack, I need you to stop and pretend that you’re invisible. Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t breathe.”

 You shut your eyes tight, unable to see his expression. “But I need you to listen to me.”

 “I don’t want to listen, alright?!” You’ve been traumatized, the grief clinging onto each of your bones and you feel tears well up in your eyes again. Each time you look at Hoseok, the faces of your previous self shows and you recall history; the smother flames engulfing your home, illness plaguing you as the quill trembles in your hand, standing naked on a stage while a man sells you to a crowd, being beaten to a pulp and running….running...running.

 And the most painful of all memories: being abandoned after knowing love.

 “I’m scared of you. You scare me shitless. Every single time I’ve met you, you messed me up somehow so please!”

 Fortunately for you, Hoseok complies with your wishes. For the rest of the flight, you don’t hear a single peep out of his mouth and once the plane has landed, you hurl yourself out as fast as possible.

 You never once look behind.

 //

 “When are you going back to work?”

 Your mother asks as she sets breakfast down at the table and your father discards the newspaper. Maybe it was taking it one step too far but now that you knew Hoseok was living somewhere in the city, you couldn’t risk going back. If you encountered him once, chances were high that he would keep coming back and back into your life.

 You couldn’t return. At least not until you figured where to run off to next.

 “Not sure yet. I saved a lot of vacation days up so maybe I’ll stick around for two weeks.”

 Presently, you were hidden in the secluded outskirts of your grandmother’s old house. Technically, it’s your parents’ since they moved into the quiet and quaint place for their retirement years. It’s a home for you too and it’s been a long time since you’ve visited.

 “Well alright then.” Your mother seems appeased by the answer and you dig into the toast. She hesitates, exchanging a look with your father and you can recall why you haven’t been back in so long. “Have you found your soulmate yet?”

 “Nope.”

 “Y/N, sweetie, are you even trying to look?”

 “No.” By being as clear-cut and simple, you hope they won’t ask anymore. “I’d rather not.”

 “But how will you ever find them?”

 You fill your mouth up before pointing your fork to the pair of them, narrowing your eyes. “Didn’t you say that if they’re my soulmate, I’ll meet them anyway?”

 Your father nods in agreeance. “But it doesn’t help to look for ‘em, y’know. Makes the process faster.”

 Your mother hums and you can already tell the gears inside her head are beginning to turn. She considers everyone that she knows, friends of relatives, children of friends, anyone who you might know. “What about that boy that you were friends with during preschool? He went to the same schools as you all the way to college too, right? What was his name?”

 Before you can stop her, she says it. “Jung Hoseok!”

 You choke on your orange juice, coughing and heaving. Your mother’s eyes are twinkling, and she grins with your father. “That would make sense, huh? Together since you were children?! And I spoke to his mother a month back. He hasn’t met anyone either, right? Maybe you two are soulmates.”

 “That’s impossible.”

 Literally — Hoseok is the opposite of your soulmate. If your parents knew that he was your enemy, destined to cause you suffering and chaos, they’d never mention him again. Maybe they’d voodoo him and throw salt all over their doorstep too. But you can’t break the news and cause them heartache. You can’t bear to say it and let them know that their only child not only will end up alone in this life and the next, but they have someone out in the world that will cause them endless pain.

 “Plus,” you add, “don’t soulmates recognize each other upon meeting?”

 Your mother’s brow furrows, realizing that you’re right but your father taps his chin, not ready to give up on the idea. “I’ve been reading lately and the T.V. says there’s a lot of things that go into soulmates so who knows, maybe it’s just a late blooming relationship.”

 You hold back a laugh. “I seriously doubt it.”

 “Don’t give up hope, L/N Y/N. You hear me?” Your mother lectures, tone becoming stern and unyielding. “You’ll meet the one someday. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. You always do and there’s nothing you can do to run away from it!”

 Christ...you can only hope she’s wrong.

 //

 The field was verdant in hue, the mint walls of your bedroom and soft beryl flowers haunted you. Green was the colour of your envy, of the luck that you didn’t have, of your greed for love and companionship. But it was also the shade of the serene nature that surrounded you, the symbol of healing and of hope. Hope that would certainly hurt you in the end.

 More importantly, the colour reminded you of him. And you couldn’t bring yourself to hate it.

 “Y/N! There’s someone here for you!” Your mother’s call has you stumbling down the stairs in confusion. There wasn’t anyone that you knew around these parts and- “It’s been so long! We were actually talking about you earlier. Oh, speaking of which, you haven’t met your soulmate yet, right, Hoseok?”

 You freeze. Your mother moves aside. The man is standing in front of your doorway with a sheepish smile, one that conveys too many apologies at once.

 He’s a hundred years too late.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I just thought we should talk.”

 “Now, Y/N.” Your mother butts in. “Be nice to our guest! It’s been so long since I’ve seen him as well. Hoseok, dear, would you like to go in for a drink of coffee or tea? You can stay for as long as you’d like-”

 “No.” You stride past her, grabbing onto his sleeve and dragging him away. “We’re talking outside.”

 It hurts. It pains you beyond belief. You never thought you had to face him again. Yet, here you are. No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you. And it drives you crazy in the worst ways.

 “How did you even find me here?”

 You’re tapping your foot, arms crossed, completely unimpressed with his presence. On the other hand, Hoseok is meekly smiling at you, taking in the quiet surroundings of the field. It reminds him of an era that was long ago where it was more tranquil, and he was by your side, taking aimless strolls to waste the evening away.

 “You took me here in the first grade and then again in ninth and twelve. You might not remember but we grew up together.” He watches you carefully. “In this life. Not the other ones. In this one, we were friends long before anything else happened.”

 “Used to be.” You correct. “We used to be friends.”

 There’s a silence.

 “Why are you even here, Hoseok?” You break the summer birds’ song, interrupting the sun’s fall from the horizon. “Is it to apologize so you can feel better about yourself? Do you want to try to move on? Well guess what, you’re too late. You’re lifetimes and lifetimes too late.”

 He takes a moment to decide his words. “I hate that you’re afraid of me.”

 You laugh without an inch of happiness. “I think it’s for good reason, don’t you?”

 “I still care about you. I love you, Y/N.”

 You spin on your heel, having absolutely none of it. It takes all the strength in your muscles to begin to walk away from him. Hoseok inhales a breath and for once, the roles are reversed.

 He watches your backside disappear slowly, counting each step you take that increases the distance and leaves him farther away from you.

 He takes the leap of courage before you’re gone.

 “In the sixteenth century,” he screams and you stop, “I didn’t betray you because I wanted to. It was the plan from the start. The people were suffering and the kingdom needed to be overthrown. The painter...I...still loved you very much.”

 The bandage around the wound is ripped straight off. It hasn't healed. It stings.

 “When you wrote all those books in the seventeenth, I just wanted to help you and get your work out there in the world. I...I came back and I didn’t know you had d-...d...died.”

 Hoseok almost begins to cry. His nails sink into his clothing. His head drops to the floor. It hits you like a bullet train - you weren’t the only one who was tortured.

 You turn around to face him.

 “In the eighteenth, I was a fucking douchebag, I know. But I had suffered so much as a peasant. I wanted a better life for myself. It...It wasn’t my intention to make you suffer too.”

 You call his name, and he ignores you, continuing onwards.

 “The nineteenth.” Hoseok smiles past saltwater eyes. “It was better for you not to gamble. I would have fed you, given you a warm home, and I was going to release you after a year. And maybe, maybe you would have stayed if I asked you to.”

 You step closer to the boy and you wait for the reasons of the years that hurt you the most.

 “In the twentieth — I’m sorry.”

 Jung Hoseok, like all you had hoped for, collapses onto his knees. He faces the dirt, tears dripping like raindrops. “I was a coward. I was too afraid of everything.”

 Your shadow looms over him. He grabs onto the hem of your sweater, anchoring him down to the ground, and he begs for your forgiveness. It’s pathetic, the way he sobs but you don’t feel a single morsel of satisfaction like you thought you would. It aches. Everywhere.

 “You didn’t say goodbye to me.”

 “I’m so sorry.”

 Your arms stay by your side and you look down at him.

 “I lost the baby.”

 Hoseok cries harder. “I’m sorry.”

 “I waited for you.”

 He continues to apologize, each one full of sincerity and anguish. “I’m sorry.”

 “You were supposed to stay with me.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Your hand lifts. You hold Hoseok close to you, carding your fingers through the familiar black locks. It’s been the same pigment for all the centuries you’ve known each other for.

 “Every single day, I waited for you to come back and you never did.”

 His tears stain the fabric of your clothes. “I’m sorry.”

 “You were never there when I needed you the most.”

 He stands himself back up onto wobbling legs, on a face drenched with tears, with a heart weak and overwhelmed. “B-but I’m here now.” He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and you linger in the close proximity, yearning to be closer yet keeping the distance.

 “I’m scared that the longer I spend with you, the worse the outcome will be in the end.”

 “I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t apologize. This time, it isn’t his fault. “I just...I can’t leave you. I can’t do it. In all the lives we’ve shared together, I’ve loved you in each one. But I never fought hard enough. I never fought hard enough for you.”

 “That doesn’t change the fact that you scare me.” You lock your eyes with him. “I’m scared of what will happen later on, if you’ll end up causing me more grief, if I somehow die in a tragic death and never live peacefully or happily. How many more times do we have to keep living like that before we learn that it’s better to stay apart?”

 “But it’s not up for fate to decide for me!” He shouts it with resentments of the past, of the hand of destiny and his own choices that have led you to become so petrified of him and to be so broken. “I don’t fucking care about destiny or about soulmates or whatever the hell we are! Enemies?! I don’t care!”

 You scream back, “How can you not care?!”

 “Fate doesn’t control me.” He’s out of breath and your eyes widen. “And as long as I’m breathing, I’ll make sure I’ll continue to atone for my mistakes. I’ll make sure you’re the happiest woman alive.”

“How can you be so sure?” You ask him, pleading for an answer, gazing into his eyes. “How can you be so sure of yourself? Of us?” 

“Because I love you. I love you,” Hoseok repeats. “And maybe that’s not enough. Maybe it’s not enough to beat whatever’s been predetermined for us. Maybe it’s not enough to restore your trust in me. But I love you. And I can’t walk away from us. I’ll try as many times as I need to. I will fight for as many centuries as I need to. All I know is that I want to be with you....in this life and the next.”

“You’re stupid.” You shake your head. “You’re stupid for believing that we can beat fate but maybe I’m more stupid...for always fucking believing in you.”

 One moment you’re shouting at each other and the next you’re tearfully laughing.

 Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe you’ll end up suffering again and again, back on the endless loop of hardships and heartbreak. Maybe it’s dumb of you to think that you can beat fate at its own game. You’ve been hurt enough times. How much more can you handle and how many more times will it take for you to learn? Jung Hoseok is your destined enemy after all.

 But maybe he’s right.

 Maybe you have more control of your life than you thought. Maybe it isn’t up to destiny or some unseen source. At the end, your existence wouldn’t be worth anything if you keep on running away. A peaceful life but an unhappy one isn’t what you want.

 You love Hoseok. In this life. In the last ones. You always have.

 All you need is a leap of courage and to fight hard for what you want.

 “Then let’s fight together.” You wrap your arms around him, staring at him until it’s imprinted into your mind, embracing his body and kissing his lips once - fulfilling all your wishes from the previous life. “You can make my life as much of a hell as you want. Just don’t leave.”

 “I won’t.” He pulls you close, arms around your shoulders and holding you tightly. Hoseok breathes in your familiar scent, crying and endlessly grateful for your existence. He does all the things he should’ve done. And he keeps you close.

 You giggle, melting into the hug. “I still love you.”

 Although your love is not a burst of electricity, where the heart stops and the breath gets caught - the universe doesn’t suddenly shine in brighter hues, becoming vibrant and louder - this love is yours.

 “I love you too.”

 It is yours. A constant work in progress, a construction of hard effort and bruised hands, of tired and relentless struggle but it’s one that you fight for. And it’s one that you know, you’ll be proud of in the end.

 “Now stop crying and come inside.” You tease him, stroking his hair and patting his back. “I think my mom and dad are watching from the window.” He nods and sniffles and you laugh.

 This man was once a painter and editor, a swindler and a loan shark, a soldier as well. But now, the boy is your old friend and someone you cherish with every part of your being.

 Instead of looking behind, you focus on the horizon and your fingers lace together with his. “Stay with me for a while?”

 Hoseok grins. “Always.”

 No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you.

 And now he’s here when you need the most.

[artificialqueens]

Sweet Music Playing in the Dark: Ch.2- Lip and Cheek (Craquaria)- Dill

A/N: Hi guys! Here’s the second chapter for sweet music. This is my first smut attempt, so I hope it’s okay lol. I’m working on a few things at the moment that will slowly trickle out now that I’m done with school. You can find me on AO3 @drdill. Thanks for reading!

Summary: Soon Max will be moving to New York, and Gio interrogates Kevin to see if they could last.

“Come on, it’s totally Bill.”

Max stuffs another piece of sushi in his mouth, watching Mamma Mia! intensely on the television, knees to his chest on my couch.

“I don’t disagree, I’m just saying this all could’ve been avoided with a paternity test.”

“Don’t try to get technical with this masterpiece.”

“Fair enough,” I giggle. “I wouldn’t be mad if Sam proposed to me, though.”

“Well, obviously. He could get it any day of the week.” I choke on my water.

Earlier in the day, he knocked on my door, my sandals between his fingers and a smirk on his lips. Probably thinking my life is a mess, he asked me about my swollen knee and it turned into an hour of us drinking coffee at my kitchen table. Wanting to repay him for his hospitality the night prior, I suggested sushi and a cheesy film in sweats. From my obnoxiously loud ABBA jam-session in the morning that left “Dancing Queen” in his head for the rest of the day, he chose appropriately.

The final scene ends to the Netflix home screen and I start picking-up empty soy sauce packets.

“Sorry for getting wasabi on your couch,” Max says, standing up to help clean.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s been worse things on it,” I tell him with a wink, immediately ready to punch myself in the face. Why the fuck do I open my mouth? He just laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m not even gonna ask.”

We head back to the couch, sitting opposite, staring anywhere but directly at each other. He’s stretched out towards me while I sit cross-legged and hands in my lap. Seconds pass and we’re waiting for the other to initiate some form of conversation, resorting to him making a fun beat with his hands on the side of the couch and this thigh, and me bobbing my head and shimmying my shoulders. A laugh escapes me.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say, fully honest. “Most weekends where I do nothing aren’t this fun.”

It feels like a first date- painfully hesitant. For the twenty-seven hours I’ve known him, he’s surely made an impact. Maybe I’m just desperate for the attention he’s giving, and maybe the feeling is mutual, but I’d rather be entangled in blind affection than ignorant to it.

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting to make a friend during my quick stay,” he tells me, “but I’m so glad you fell on that fire escape.” He chuckles when I roll my eyes and observe the bandages wrapped around my bruised knee.

“As embarrassing as that was, I guess the garlic bread was worth it,” I smile. He shifts positions and crosses his legs like me, moving close enough for our knees to touch.

“Since we’re sharing thoughts,” he says, “something’s been eating at me.”

“And what is that?” He sighs. “Last night, when you said goodbye, we shared a quick hug and you were gone.”

My lips are between my teeth, unsure which direction this could turn.

“When just hours before, you wanted to kiss me like it was nothing.”

Relief quenches me like a cool glass of water.

“Well,” I reply, leaning a bit closer, “I can tell you that it wasn’t nothing.”

“You don’t say?” His draws circles on my kneecap through my black joggers. I nod in response when he greets my eyes, leering.

Like muscle memory, we find ourselves in the same position as last night. This time, the puzzle pieces fit together, completing what could’ve been my evening departure. His lips are even softer than they look, sweet and tangy like the lemonade he sipped during the movie. I smell his aftershave on my next inhale before deepening our kiss, bunching his shirt in my hands and pushing him onto his back. Propped on my elbows, I drag my tongue over his bottom lip and reconnect to his mouth, full of paradise. He leisurely travels down my spine to my lower back. For the time being, it’s a musical rapture.

Then there’s an abrupt knock at my door.

It was maybe fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds. I’m fuming, nostrils flared and eyes slowly shutting.

“The universe really doesn’t want this, huh?” he says with a sympathetic grin. I peck his lips before standing and unlocking the door.

Kevin greets me with a huge smile- of all the people to ruin our moment.

“Hi, honey.”

“Someone’s back early,” I say, moderately bothered.

“I really didn’t want to bother you, but I must’ve left my key at my sister’s and Max wasn’t answering his phone. Could I use your spare?”

“Hi, Kevin.” Max pokes his head from the couch.

“Maxie!! Y’all already met!?” He’s elated at the sight of his friend, which quickly turns to sheer panic. “Oh shit. Did I jus-”

“No, it’s fine. We were just hanging out. Being neighborly and all,” I say before Max can speak, unenthusiastic jazz hands to follow. Max’s face drops and nods.

“Yeah, I can let you back in. It’s pretty late anyway,” Max tells Kevin, hopping off the couch and standing next to me.

“Thanks for the sushi, Gio.” He goes for an awkward hug, an even worse ending than last night.

“Anytime.”

Kevin watches us stiffly before giving me a hug.

“You up for brunch tomorrow?” he asks me. I hide my irritation with a cheeky smile.

“Duh! Max will you still be around?” I must’ve caught him off-guard.

“Hm? Oh, yeah! Yeah I can come.” He’s flustered.

“Wonderful. See you guys tomorrow?”

“I’ll knock when we’re ready!” Kevin replies. He leads the way out of my apartment with Max.

“Bye-bye.” I shut the door and reflect. Of all the people to ruin our moment. I love Kevin. Typically he annoys me with bombarding my phone with texts, but this time, nothing- the one time I don’t get minute-by-minute updates on his train ride home. I throw myself on the empty bed, frustrated and lonely.

—-

*knock knock knock*

I grab my wallet and head for the door in white converse, rolled black shorts, and matching black tank top. In the hallway, Kevin’s alone wearing a coral v-neck with khaki shorts and flip flops.

“Where’s Max?” I ask.

“Bathroom. He should be out in a sec.” He looks down at my legs.

“What happened to your knee?”

“Oh, I just fell,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

With those words, Max opens the door in a navy button-up and flip flops, still drying his hands on his shorts. His hair for the past couple of days was fluffy and unkempt, curling on his forehead. Today, it’s tamed with some wax, swooped to the side, and absolutely delightful.

The restaurant is a few blocks from our building. We get a table, a few drinks, and discuss Kevin’s quick return.

“So, why’d you come back so early?” I ask, still annoyed with prior events. Max, sitting next to Kevin, gives me a smug look that he can’t see.

“I overestimated how much time I can handle them,” he cackles. “Also, my momma kept showing me photos of her church friends’ single daughters. The mothafuckin’ nerve!” I laugh and swirl my drink.

My favorite part of these brunch dates is when Kevin’s adorable Caribbean mother calls him while he tells me about his latest hookup (in too much detail), trying to play matchmaker after mass. He always exaggerates his workload to explain how he, the gayest person on this planet, doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.

“I still have no idea how she hasn’t figured it out yet,” I tell him.

“One of these days, I’ll probably get fed up and tell her. We’re getting close.”

“You should’ve just asked how their sons are doing,” Max says. Kevin howls as he takes a satisfying sip of his drink.

Our food comes a bit later and we continue catching up, Kevin and Max telling old stories from college in-between bites as I listen. The more they speak, the more I realize they are the exact same person in different bodies. It’s almost scary; from karaoke nights at a cheap dive bar near campus, to reenacting musicals in their apartment with friends, I’m surprised Kevin’s barely ever mentioned him to me.

Unintentionally, I keep staring at Max. No particular reason, just watching him: the way he eats his fries, talks with his hands, covers his mouth after laughing too hard. I become so fixated that whatever Kevin is babbling about turns inaudible- I just keep looking at the slight stubble poking through his chin that he scratches every so often, the scar on his right elbow when he props it on the table, even how he nods along to every word Kevin says. He’s a completely average guy, but I’m mesmerized by every small detail.

“Would you like some more water?” I’m snapped out of the trance by our waitress holding a metal pitcher in front of me.

“Oh, um, yes please.” She refills my glass and walks off.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to the bathroom.” Max stands up and goes away from the table. I catch myself staring again as he walks away until he turns a corner and is out of sight. Then, I’m greeted with a fresh pair of eyes from Kevin. With the coy glare, I think he’s connected the dots.

“What?”

“I know that look, G,” he replies.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Since when were tiny white guys your type?”

“Since Friday night.” Apparently, I’m ready to spill.

“I was wondering when you guys met. Y’all were pretty close last night.”

“We met completely on accident. I tripped on the fire escape steps and he helped clean the scrape, then asked me to stay for dinner.”

“I thought you ‘just fell.’” He’s using air quotes, taunting me from my previous answer.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Y’all were being more than neighborly last night, weren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I totally cock-blocked you, didn’t I?”

I’m silent and avoiding eye contact, causing him to go wide-eyed.

“Oh my GOD.” He slaps the table with every word, way too excited and causing patrons to stare. “I knew it!”

“Shh!” I’m attempting to contain his emotions, pinning his arms down on the table. When he finally cooperates, I speak softly.

“We almost kissed Friday night, and I redeemed myself yesterday until you just had to ruin it, bitch!”

“Well if I would’ve known my friends were fucking I wouldn’t have knocked!”

“We didn’t think you’d be home until Monday!”

“True,” he cackles. “I can’t believe you two were ready to hook up that quick. Max typically isn’t into hookups.”

“I can’t believe you barely talked about him with me!”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested!”

“Well, I wasn’t until he started acting all hospitable. He’s so nice.”

“You’re telling me! If he wasn’t a top that’s half of my size I would’ve married him by now.” The last sentence almost has my jaw in my lap.

“That man is a top?”

“You are such a whore.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I only speak facts, babe,” he winks. “But you didn’t hear it from me.” A sip of his mimosa and Max appears from the corner again, sitting down and returning to his meal.

“What’d I miss?” he asks. I shake my head.

“Nothing much.”

——

Evening rolls around and I run upstairs to check on my laundry. When I throw the load in the dryer and come back down, Max is standing in the hallway with his bags, placing his ticket in his jacket pocket.

“Leaving so soon?” I ask with a smile.

“Very late, actually. My flight leaves in two hours and I haven’t even called an Uber.”

“Oh, shit. I shouldn’t keep you then.” I reach in for a hug and he wraps his arms around me softly.

“Be safe heading back.”

“I will,” he tells me. “See you in a few weeks.”

With that, he gives me a cheeky grin and walks quickly down the hallway to the elevators where this mess started. I go back inside, a deep sigh following. What am I doing?

My conversation with Kevin this morning has stuck with me all day. I need more answers. Stepping onto the fire escape with a blunt, I tap on his window until the curtains draw back and he opens it.

“You rang?”

“I’ve got some questions.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“Me too. But keep it quick. Grandpa is getting tired.”

We sit down, feet dangling from the platform when I light the joint and taste it’s sourness. I pass it to Kevin.

“Before I start, can you promise to be as honest as possible?”

“Yes, Judge Judy.”

“Okay, good. You said he normally doesn’t do hookups, right?”

“Nope. He hasn’t been with someone since sophomore year.” That’s weird.

“Seriously?”

“Well, kind of. He had an on-and-off thing with this asshole named Jake until graduation that fucked with his psyche a lot. He’d leave Max every couple of months and come running back like nothing happened. I wanted to kill him, then Max for falling for his bullshit.” Kevin’s getting re-heated just by talking about it, taking multiple hits before passing the blunt back to me. “He cares so much, probably too much.” I nod along.

“Anyways,” he says, “How much have you seen each other while I’ve been gone?”

“Probably like ten hours total.”

“In two days?”

“Yeah?”

“Wow. What kind of social butterfly did Max turn into since I left the west coast?”

“He keeps to himself a lot?”

“All of the time. That’s why I was so shocked when you guys were hanging out together, let alone doing whatever that was when I knocked.”

“Calm down, we didn’t get anywhere when you interrupted,” I giggle.

He sighs. “I don’t know what you did to him, but he seems really interested in you. I asked him about the weekend after brunch, and he was floored about goddamn sushi and Mamma Mia!.”

“Did you consider my incredible charm and wit?” I smirk and nudge his shoulder, causing him to sway and laugh.

“I’m sure that’s what it was. Listen, as much fun as this is, I’m falling asleep out here.” “Fine. One last question.” “What is it?” “…can I have his number?” I ask bashfully.

“You mean to tell me that y’all were getting hot and heavy and didn’t even bother to get that on night one?!”

“It wasn’t the first thought in my mind when I climbed on top of him, bitch!” He rolls his eyes with a smile, takes out his phone, and sends me his contact information.

—-

I didn’t text him. The first man to give me attention for more than three hours to hook up, and I’m blowing it to smithereens because I’m too nervous to make the first move.

A few weeks have passed since he left for Seattle again. He’s probably moving in right now as I answer emails and procrastinate by looking at old looks from this year’s Met Gala. A camp aesthetic? My fucking dream. A message appears on my Mac from Kevin.

Do I have to do everything for this relationship to blossom?

I’m confused, until my phone starts buzzing. I reach into my pocket and see that it’s Max. Oops.

“Hello?”

“Gio?”

“Hey, Max.”

“Hi. Uh, Kevin gave me your number.” I chuckle.

“I figured. How’ve you been?” “I’m so sore. Kevin and I have been moving boxes and furniture all day.” “Why didn’t Kevin let me know sooner? I would’ve helped out,” I tell him as if I couldn’t text him for a month.

“Well, that’s actually why I called you. Kevin just left and I still have a lot of unpacking to do. Are you busy?”

Surprisingly, I actually do have plans. Some coworkers invited me out to drinks tonight because I was in the room as they discussed plans, but it’s not the first time I’ve bailed on them. They definitely won’t miss me.

“Not at all! Send me the address and I’ll be there soon.”

“You’re a lifesaver! I’ll text it to you now.”

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

He sends me the address and I get dressed to bare the Brooklyn heat. Before leaving, I text Kevin back:

I’m pulling my weight. Don’t worry ;)

—-

“How was the drive?” I’m helping him load plates and glass cups into his cabinets while he stands on a chair.

“Too fucking long,” he says, “It took me five days to get here, but I stayed with my friend Brian when I got to Milwaukee, then Tony in Chicago. Every other place was just some crappy motel and a prayer that I wouldn’t get bed bugs.” I snicker at the last comment.

“At least you get to sleep in your own bed tonight.” “Yeah, finally.”

We finish putting away every bowl, spoon, and rubber spatula he brought and break down the boxes for the trash. His living room is barren besides a bunch of bubble wrap and tape lining the lightwood floor and an empty bookcase with hundreds of novels on the floor next to it. It smells like an old bookstore- the sunset bleeds through and highlights every dust particle floating around the room. Max stands by the small island in the kitchen, hands on his hips. He’s glowing, arms and face golden before the sun falls over a building and everything turns gray. Clearly exhausted, he gives me a smile and a look that begs us to return to the mess tomorrow.

“Welcome to New York.” I mirror his smile and pull him into a hug. He sways us back and forth in absolute fervor, dancing in my arms.

“We need to celebrate. Grab the wine in the fridge.”

As I get the bottle, which is the only thing in his fridge, he greets me with two coffee mugs- the Seattle skyline painted across both.

“The wine glasses must’ve been in a different box,” he says, a giant grin plastered on his face. “My mom made these.”

“Classy,” I smirk.

He follows behind with the bottle opener as I sit against the white wall, legs crossed and scrolling through his laptop’s music library. After uncorking, he pours almost full cups for the both of us, and slides down the wall next to me, moonlight from the window striking his leg as he stretches. To go with some acoustics, I jokingly search-up a Yule log video for mood lighting. He laughs and rolls his eyes watching the crackling embers on his computer screen.

“Dumb ass,” he whispers under his breath before raising his mug toward me. I do the same.

“To crushed dreams and expensive rent!”

“L'chaim!” I reply. We clash our drinks together and sip occasionally. I’m relieved he bought sweet wine this time, watching dusk swallow the sky.

Through fifteen minutes, radio silence. His shirt reflects a light orange from the fake flames, darkness encapsulating the living room. My head rests on the wall, eyes shut and feeling Max bobbing to the music every once in a while, silently pouring more wine into our mugs. No moments on my own fire escape have felt so peaceful, especially when the next song plays:

If you were falling,

Then I would catch you.

You need a light,

I’d find a match.

Max starts quietly humming the chorus, swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. I silently laugh when our arms brush against one another.

‘Cause I love the way you say good morning,

And you take me the way I am.

Eventually, his head softly lands on my shoulder as it did so perfectly weeks before. I hide the smile forming on my lips, slowly inching my fingers. Reaching his hand on the floor, they playfully dance on his knuckles before intertwining, giving a gentle squeeze.

I feel his prickly cheek glide across my skin until his lips connect, placing delicate kisses from my shoulder to collar bone. The sensation causes the hairs on my arm to stand, a deep sigh escaping. He continues sprinkling soft pecks along the area, using a finger to move the strap of my tank top and grazing my slicked, bare chest. My hand detaches from his and relocates to the side of his jaw, thumb tracing as he squeezes my thigh. I lean my head back in satisfaction, hungry for any contact, and he wastes no time moving off the wall and attacking my neck with more aggression. The suction tingles as his tongue soothes the spaces he bruises, his hand traveling up my thigh, nearly at my crotch. I can smell the wine in his breath.

“M-Max…” I’m barely making words. He raises a single finger and lightly drags my lips, silencing me. His control may be rousing, but I’m tired of waiting.

Growing impatient, I reach under his thigh and pull him towards me. His leg swings across and straddles my lap- I immediately feel his growing harness as he grips my cheeks. Thousands of fireworks go off in my head as I finally taste his lips on mine. It’s sour and velvety, our noses smash together upon impact, tongues sloppily discovering rhythm. Our music has been drowned by deep exhales and the fabric of our shorts at the slightest friction. I take his bottom lip between my teeth, eliciting a moan when our mouths reconnect. My arms pull him closer to make sure this isn’t some painful dream, teeth clashing and steadily rolling my hips. I reach under his shirt, outlining every back muscle during the passionate exchange. Without missing a beat, he starts lifting the white fabric, revealing his lightly-toned torso and prominent v-line. He smirks as my eyes grow wide, unsure of what I was expecting, and finds my lips again before tossing it near some boxes. I shut the laptop and wrap my arms around him once more.

After several minutes, we relax and catch our breath, still firmly attached with his arms around my neck and mine on his waist. He pulls me close, fingers lost in my hair with my head at his chest. I kiss his sternum as he controls his breathing.

“Took us long enough,” he smirks. I smile and place another kiss on his salty skin.

Looking up from his embrace, his face is shining, beads of sweat forming at his hairline with his mouth agape, forming a light smile. Standing slowly, he extends his hand, head motioning to the bedroom. I graciously accept as he helps me up and leads to the door- a quick admiration for his shoulder muscles and notice of a weird tattoo I’ll ask about later. We have more important plans.

The door shuts behind us and I can only see silhouettes, nightfall and car headlights pouring through the two windows near his bed. Barely in the room, I ditch my tank top on the floor and grab his waist from behind. His neck cranes back as I bruise the porcelain skin, fingers tracing up and down my arm. I feel his chin on my cheek and I lift my head, tenderly greeted by his lips. My hands drop to his hips, fingertips progressing to his stark erection as I stroke it’s length. Eagerly, he takes my wrist and moves it to his waistband, to which I duck underneath and grab his cock, thumbing the head and spreading the precum before pleasuring him.

“Oh my God,” he severs from my lips, groaning and grasping my neck hairs hard as I revert focus to his shoulder.

“I’ve been dreaming about you,” I whisper, my hand moves up and down excruciatingly slow, teasing something that’s been built-up for a month.

“Th-that makes two of us.” He stutters, breathing deeply as I continue to stroke his shaft.

“Show me,” I simper and bite his earlobe, my free hand rubbing his chest. With those words, his hands reach behind to grab my shorts at the waist and yank them to my thighs. He stops my action by turning around to face me, pulling the minimal clothing off of my body, exposing my erection. Kneeling before me, he places a chaste kiss on my inner thigh, dangerously close, before pushing me toward the bed.

My legs hit the sides of the mattress and cause me to sit close to the edge. Max travels down from my collar bones to my navel, lips and tongue blessing my torso as my fingers comb his hair when he falls back to his knees. He licks from base to head, swirling his tongue before taking me in his mouth. I’m brought to my elbows in luxury, relishing in his skill. His hand works in tandem on my shaft while the other grips my thigh.

Holy shit.

It doesn’t take long before I’m encapsulated- euphoric moans escape, head thrown back when he takes the entire length to the back of his throat and gags. My body starts to twitch, knowing I’m getting close. Sitting up, I place my hand at his cheek, slowing his pace to a halt, chocolate eyes dark with passion, skin waxen and pale blue in the moonlight, almost angelic.

I meet him halfway with my lips, salty and wet, finally pulling his shorts and underwear down. He steps out of this clothes and I scoot farther onto the bed when he climbs over me again and sloppily kisses my mouth. We roll around the pale cotton sheets, savoring the embrace and caressing each other’s bodies. Laying on our sides, his hand travels down my back and hastily grabs my ass, slapping it when he makes contact. My breath hitches- it burns in the best way possible. His stomach is warm against mine, legs intertwined with sensual murmurs filling the air.

“Fuck me,” I mumble against his lips. “Please.” Our kissing stops and he meets my eyes.

“Are you sure?”

I nod, giving him a quick peck, a grin forming on his lips.

He quickly slides off the bed while I move closer to the pillows. Rummaging through a bag close to the bathroom, he pulls out a condom and some lube and walks over to me, body shining from perspiration. A loud snap and the cap pops open, the sticky liquid coating his fingers before he sits in between my legs. I’m already balling the sheets in my hands, licking my lips and anticipating to crumble at his touch. His cold middle finger teases my entrance. It’s tingling, almost painful with build-up. There’s a sharp sting when he enters one finger, pumping slowly with his other hand tracing my abdomen. I sigh in relief at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut. He introduces a second finger, leaning down and peppering my hips with kisses, arm moving faster and faster within me. My chest jolts at his fingers dancing atop my rib cage and reaching my jaw, his thumb outlining my bottom lip. To his surprise, I take it in my mouth and begin to suck lightly

“Fuck,” is all he can breathe as I moan onto his finger. Eventually, he slows his pace before removing his fingers, eliciting a whimper from me and a smirk from him. I hear the crinkling of the condom wrapper as he tears it open and slides it over his cock. Propped on his arms at my sides, he leaves me with a glossy stare before settling back on his knees and grabbing my thighs.

The head grazes over my entrance until he thrusts idly about halfway. My knuckles turn white, clutching the bedding and hissing as I get used to the pressure. In a couple of movements, we groan in unison when he’s fully inside me. It feels like a bolt of electricity shooting through my veins at the sensation. He quickens the pace with each advance, holding my waist tightly.

I can barely see his face, making out small details: a single hair is curled on his forehead, brows furrowed close together, an expression of pure zeal in his eyes and mouth. My legs wrap around his hips and he balances over me, arms by my ears and chests becoming parallel, sweat exchanging when they graze each other.

I’m becoming overstimulated, grunting with every one of his thrusts, face turning red. I start shivering, getting close and panting. Stroking myself quickly, my back arches as beads of white coat his chest and drip onto my stomach. I collapse underneath him. Max’s hands find mine among the chaos and bring them over my head, interlocking fingers as he groans into my shoulder.

In a short moment, his body begins to contort. I feel the warmth inside me when he exhales loudly and finishes, arms wobbling and fighting to keep him up.

——

We lay in our sweat. The only sounds I can hear are our heartbeats and Max’s deep breaths next to me. I’m on my side with my arm draped over his chest while he scratches the back of my neck. He kisses my forehead softly before pushing himself off the bed and walking to the bathroom. The light he turns on blinds me when I roll over. Shielding my eyes, he comes back with a damp washcloth, wiping himself before handing it to me and climbing back into bed, examining the contusions blanketing my throat and chest. I toss the towel on the floor.

“You’re incredible.” Max’s first words to me after everything are as soft as every kiss he leaves on my hand and knuckles. If I weren’t drained, I’d pin him back down and show my appreciation, but instead I turn back to my side and lazily embrace him as we lock lips for the millionth time. I don’t want this night to end, but my head aches for sleep and he breaks to yawn. His head drops to the pillow, arm still around me with the other on his rib cage. My body curls into his, falling fast asleep.

He cares too much, but so do I, and I think we’ll be okay with that.

[shootwinterfest]

we only have this moment

Shoot Secret Santa by @youre-lacking-vitamin-me!

Despite their day jobs (or maybe because of them), Root and Shaw manage to hit all the “normal” relationship milestones. In their own way, of course.

-------------------------

LOVE LETTERS

(the way to a girl’s heart is long and winding, especially if it’s her digestive tract)

The postcard sticks out like a sore thumb.

Probably because it’s in-between six hundred kilos of cocaine, John thinks, not bothering to put on gloves as he reaches for the glossy paper. It’s probably fine: there are fingerprints on everything from the steering wheel to the tiny plastic baggies in the dealers’ coat pockets – they probably won’t need some horribly kitschy postcard with a generic beach background and a WordArt ‘Havana!’ on it for evidence.

It’s the kind of thing that diplomatically-minded people – people like Finch – would gently suggest exchanging for a different one, maybe one that looks less dated? Slightly less tactful individuals, not to mention names but – okay, Shaw – on the other hand, would probably set it on fire.

John sighs and turns it around to look for an address or maybe a name or any identi – oh God.

The back – if at all possible – is worse: it’s literally covered in those pointy S’s he vaguely remembers sketching on his notebooks back in middle school. Hundreds of iterations of the same letter, in various sizes, are littered across the surface. It looks like a high school desk; or worse, one of those rappers nowadays with all the facial tattoos.

He tucks it into his jacket pocket, shuddering at the thought of having to choose between paperwork and Shaw’s wrath. But there’s no escaping it, so he trudges down the alley that will seal his fate.

---------------

Back at the subway station, he drops The Abomination™ as he passes by Shaw. It flutters – turns in the air – catches on a breeze that smacks it into the wall – floats lazily down to land just left of her foot. She doesn’t even glance at it.

“Pick up your trash,” is what he gets instead.

“It’s not trash,” is all John gets out before he remembers that yes, yes it is; it is absolute garbage and why do they even keep picking them up? He motions to an alcove where four other sheets of pointy S-adorned paper – a scrunched-up note, an advertisement flyer, some high schooler’s art project, a torn bit of newspaper – hang menacingly. “It’s another one of those.”

---------------

Three weeks, seven papers and two rolls of masking tape later, a form begins to take shape.

“It’s a heart,” Harold remarks, and it’s the absolute wrong thing to say, judging by the way Shaw is reaching for the gun on her thigh. “I mean! It… is? But who would –”

“Three guesses, Finch,” Shaw grinds out.

John adds, “And the first two don’t count.”

---------------

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?” 

“It’s creepy.”

“But it’s how everyone in middle school used to get a date!”

“Like that didn’t just prove ‘creepy’,” John mutters.

Shaw doesn’t pay him any attention, “You’re taking dating advice from how fourteen year-olds ask each other out? Twenty years ago?!”

“Worked back then,” Root shrugs, mildly offended that her masterpiece isn’t being appreciated. Fourteen hundred and six pointy S’s – the initials of Sameen Shaw – and counting. It looks beautiful up on the subway wall – could use a little more lighting, and the last piece, of course… and apparently more masking tape, considering Sameen just ripped the whole thing down the middle.

“This,” Shaw shakes the offending swathe of paper and launches it onto the subway tracks, “is not how you get someone to go out on a date with you,” she spits out, marching off with John and Harold limping after her. 

---------------

That’s what she says… until the last piece arrives as a large stuffed-crust pizza decorated with a pointy S made of pepperoni slices. With Root in full pizza delivery girl getup.

She tips her cap, “How about now, Sam?”

Shaw’s cheeks are bursting, her eyes roving up and down the red uniform. “… only if there’s more pizza involved.”

-------------------------

SLEEPING TOGETHER

(love may not mean letting them walk all over you, but it does mean being a mattress once in a while)

Sameen can barely blink herself awake before she hears the stressed, “Don’t move, Miss Shaw,” from six feet to her left.

“Finch, wha-”

“Don’t. Move.”

Something kicks into overdrive. She’s been in this situation before. Given, only a handful of times, and she’d been lucky to have expert bomb defusers near her the first two and Cole the last time around, but she’s survived stepping on pressure plates and triggering trip wires – now’s no different.

Except it is. A cursory glance around shows her she’s still in the subway, there is no call to panic stations, and nobody is ordering her to stand on the edge of her foot for the foreseeable future – probably because she’s lying down.

Until she sees who is next to her in the makeshift bed. And groans. Because of course she’s here now, after weeks of radio silence and general wondering where the hell the other woman had pissed off to next.

Sameen doesn’t realise it now – won’t realise it until it’s much, much too late – but somehow, Root is everywhere: hidden amongst the computer junk and too-big clothes flung left, right and centre across their – the, not their – apartment, collected as notes and pictures in-between the pages her copy of Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám… and possibly in whatever remains of her heart.

And now she’s also tucked into Shaw’s side, clutching a fistful of tank top and drooling on have-seen-better-days blue sheets. Also hogging all the blankets.

“Really, Finch?”

“Shh sh sh sh shhhh!!!!!” he motions wildly with his arms and touches a finger to his mouth in what she assumes is supposed to be a placating gesture. Shaw flops down none too gently, but it does the trick, and he continues, “Miss Groves returned yesterday evening after a run-in with some of Samaritan’s agents – her friends, Mister Casey and Mister Daizo – were able to apprehend them before they could do any real damage… other than that to themselves.” He turns a little green at the thought of Samaritan’s lunatics offing themselves, but composes himself. “She’s busy sleeping off whatever drug cocktail they injected her with, although judging by her recent sleep patterns, it might be a while before she wakes up.”

Shaw only raises an eyebrow.

Finch swallows, clears his throat. “Miss Groves needs this sleep, Miss Shaw, so if you could find it within yourself to stay still for a few more hours…” his gaze drifts off to the mess of brown curls spread across the pillows, “… it would be much appreciated.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, tries to shift so Root is lying less on her arm and more on her own. It doesn’t work. Not exactly the way she planned on spending her Thursday morning, but – 

“What about Mister…” Food. Something about food. Pasta? Couscous? “… our current target?”

“Ah, yes! As luck would have it, Mister Reese has already apprehended Mister Rice, the gentleman you were following yesterday, and we haven’t received another number yet.”

The mark’s name has Shaw’s stomach growling; a corner of Finch’s mouth ticks up.

“Is there anything I can get you that could help during these… trying times?” he asks, doing his best not to piss Shaw off any more, but still not willing to quite give up on the teasing tone.

“Burrito… s. And Bear.” She glances at the cocoon Root has managed to tangle herself up into. “… and another blanket.”

“Right away, Miss Shaw,” he motions for Bear to come, asks him to zit, Bear! Mooie hond! En ga maar slapen – blif hier, grabs his hat and the last bedspread on the table, offers it to the angry assassin before taking his leave.

Harold pretends not to notice Sameen tucking the blankets more securely around Root as he closes the door behind him.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS

(a mother always knows)

“Sameen?” Root startles, and instantly knows she’s screwed up.

The woman in front of her stands ramrod still, using oh-so familiar eyes to rove over her leather jacket and the laptop in her free hand and the way she shifts to adjust her falling bra strap. They linger on the visible portion of her cochlear implant (Root wants to curl her fingers up to her ear and push her hair back over the offending instrument, but she’s terrified that a single move will send the lady running, and she can’t have that – not yet) before meeting her eyes; beautiful, but so, so guarded.

The accent is obvious, and the grammar isn’t perfect, but the words shake something deep in her core anyway, “I am sorry, but afraid I am not my daughter.”

And Root knows that – because Shaw is three thousand miles away, pulling herself through an air vent while shouting profanities loudly enough that she might as well be right next to her; Root’s arm, along with the phone, falls to her side, the still-connected call forgotten.

It’s like looking twenty years into the future, wondering if she’ll ever get the opportunity to see the real thing. Nothing and no-one is safe, as the hundreds of scars between them prove time and time again, but right now, she’s looking into an older woman’s eyes and finds some part of Sameen staring right back.

Until she isn’t. The tinny sound of Sameen’s voice yelling “Root! Where the fuck did you go? Oi, Root!”  forces those eyes to the phone in Root’s hand, and she shouldn’t be able to see the screen lighting up with Sam scrawled all over it, but for whatever reason, she’s smiling anyway. It’s almost like she knows – 

A mother always knows, Sam, Root hears her own mother say to a girl who no longer exists.

Brown eyes lift back up, twinkling in amusement. “She has always had terrible potty mouth, that one.” The woman turns to leave, but gives Root a once-over, calculating, appraising. There’s a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Take good care of her, Miss Root,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone as quickly as she appeared. 

Four minutes and fifty-three seconds too late, a young woman standing just outside of Houston’s city centre whispers, “Yes, Mrs Shaw,” to no-one but herself.

-------------------------

HAVING CHILDREN

(or, well, you know; dealing with the one that actually matters)

“You know, when you said that you’d be ‘coming around sometime this week’, I kind of expected it to be for a ‘haven’t seen you in three years; how’ve you been?’ reason rather than a ‘one of your classmates is next in line to be head of the Bartonelli crime syndicate but their half-whatever wants them dead so here I am to save the day’ reason.”

Shaw blinks at Gen over the rim of her milkshake. Wonders whom she has to sleep with around here to have her drink Irished up so she doesn’t need to have this conversation. Then she remembers that she’s in a McDonalds and that alcohol consumption is frowned upon at eleven in the morning and that Root is the Machine-only-knows-where, so there goes that plan.

Gen doesn’t give up, “Where’re John and Mr Finch?”

“Unavailable.”

“So why are you here?”

“Lovely question.” She slurps at the milkshake

Gen leans to the left, trying to get a glimpse of whatever is down the aisle. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline at whatever she sees, “Why’s Miss Davenport here?”

“Who?”

“Dee eye-thea teasha,” Gen supplies through a mouthful of burger. Some swallowing later, she repeats, “The IT teacher. Well, one of them. She’s new – all the boys and even some of the girls are madly in love with her because she’s got gorgeous brown hair and wears really tight jeans.” She gnaws on her lip and contemplates her burger before continuing, “And if rumours are to be believed, she hacked her way into the county test score database and gave everybody forty-two percent.”

“She sounds familiar.”

“She’s also walking towards us.”

Shaw turns around just as someone – Miss Davenport? – appears at her shoulder and bends down to push a straw into what’s left of her melting milkshake. A manicured hand wraps around the glass, displacing the condensation, and Shaw follows it to a pale arm to the sleeve of a black blouse to –

“Hi, Sameen,” Root hums, and presses a kiss to Shaw’s cheek.

---------------

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sam?”

Root looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Shaw wants a drink with an alcohol content of at least 40 percent. Gen is… still gaping.

“Shut your trap – the flies are coming in.”

She does – and promptly bites her tongue. Sameen sighs and pushes her now more milk than shake in Gen’s direction; she moves to begin picking at her now-lukewarm fries, but has to swat away a hand before she can pull the box closer, away from the fry-snatcher (more like try-snatcher) slouching in the booth opposite with her too-tight jeans and gorgeous hair. Shaw would throw a chip at it to ruin in, but the idea of wasted food makes her decide to pop it in her mouth instead.

Root’s still looking at her expectantly, saccharine smile never wavering.

There’s a huge chunk of burger in her mouth, so Shaw just nods her head in Gen’s direction, “Djenn,” before kicking the hacker under the table, introducing her as, “Woot.” She swallows and glares, picking at her teeth. “Don’t discuss. Some of us are still eating.”

They don’t. They start talking about her instead.

Which is infinitely worse.

---------------

“Why Regina Bartonelli, anyway?” huffs Gen as she trudges up the stairs to her dormitory, playing with her keys to find the right one.

“Why not Regina Bartonelli?” Root counters, smirking, like she knows where this is going. Shaw doesn’t, but she motions at a door, imploring the girl between them to unlock it so she can enjoy the scotch stashed in one of Finch’s computer tower skeletons.

Gen has to think about that. “I… she… it always seems like she’s at the centre of everything. Nicest art project, so everyone crowds around. Her house is apparently so huge it’s bigger than the school!” She tugs the door open. “And, well. She’s pretty much the prettiest girl in our grade…”

Ah.

“And you’ve noticed, have you?” Shaw teases. Gen – outraged and burning red to her ears – slams the door in their faces. 

Root swoons dramatically before throwing herself into Shaw’s arms, crocodile tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Oh!” she sniffs less-than-delicately, “they grow up so fast, don’t they?” and Sameen bursts out laughing.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS (REPRISE)

(just because the dead can’t hear you, doesn’t mean you didn’t say anything)

“Your daughter’s in love with a sociopath,” Shaw greets the headstone in front of her, and wonders what in seven hells she’s doing.

Although, to be fair, it isn’t like she can have this conversation with anyone else.

Fusco would offer her a confused nod, a pat on the back, and a platitude he’d remembered from whatever book he’s currently skimming over. And maybe a donut he still has left from lunch. Finch would clap his hands over his ears two words into the first sentence. The Machine would use anything she said as information for the next sorry sucker that needs advice. Zoe would tell her to put a ring on it.

That doesn’t really leave anyone. Except maybe John.

Wonderboy is interested, and sympathetic, but she doesn’t know how to explain to someone who has feelings that she’s not doing whatever-this-is with Root because of some weird outpouring of hormones and neurotransmitters and – you know what, she totally is. Why isn’t she having this conversation with John?

She’s halfway into getting up before she realises she drove two hundred miles out of her way to have this not-a-discussion with a dead woman. Back to squatting. Might as well have the talk now.

The wind comes up, tugging at her hair and clothes, throwing dust in the air. Even as she sits here, at the edge of the potter’s field on the outskirts of Bishop, Shaw doesn’t think she could ever understand how forlorn Root must have felt in this town.

Mrs Groves doesn’t say anything. Her name stares back up at Shaw from the small, grey headstone, and in that moment, means absolutely nothing. But this does:

“And, well…,” Sameen pauses, thinks of the words. “I… I think that, if – if I could love anyone… it’d be her.”

-------------------------

BEING A FAMILY

(this is love – in finale)

“Excellent food you have here,” Sameen comments before heartily biting into the pepper steak she’d snaffled from the pan. “Really top-notch. Almost like alcohol at parties without adult supervision.”

“Please don’t chew with your mouth full, Miss Shaw,” Harold reprimands reflexively as he puts down the second bowl of roast potatoes, smiling despite himself.

“Oh, never mind, mom is here,” she teases, moving to scoop another helping of spuds on her plate before John can get at them. 

They’re supposed to be celebrating Christmas, because while we may not have a normal lifestyle, we shouldn’t shun the incorporation of at least some normalcy into our lives, some part of Finch’s speech creeps unbidden into her thoughts; even though Shaw doesn’t do Christmas, she does do food and alcohol and good company on the rare occasion such as this one, and it feels warm, comfortable, like home.

There’s some clinking in the background that draws her back to the present, where she hears, “… so if I may make a toast –” Harold invites them all to do as he does, lifts his glass… and says nothing. Despite his ten-minute speech yesterday about embracing the holiday spirit and ensuring we do not lose our moral fibre, he’s completely at a loss for words. Quiet tears begin slipping down his cheeks.

“Hear, hear,” John murmurs, pulling Harold back into his seat. She lifts her glass and tips it in the general direction of the table, turns to Root to do the same. But Root isn’t there.

Well, she is. But not really. She’s lost in the Christmas lights and cheer and atmosphere, looking around as if to capture it all, as if it will all be gone tomorrow. In one go-around, they catch each other’s eye: Root smiles shyly, and Shaw finds herself gazing directly at the insecure twelve year-old girl that’s usually simmering beneath the surface. Her eyes are almost glazed over in wonder at the mess of tinsel and fairy lights and assorted baubles that Bear dragged around the subway earlier this morning. If her mother ever had to see this place, she’d probably have a cadenza. 

But right now: “It’s Christmas, Sameen,” she whispers, fingers grasping at Shaw’s hoodie as if to anchor herself back to the ground.

To help, Sameen shifts closer, presses her leg against Root’s thigh, and tucks their heads together conspiratorially. The now less-full glass is held up, daring Root to bring hers closer, to make sure this is real. 

“Here’s to us,” she grins, and clinks their glasses together.

[allthestripes]

Let Me Love You - a Valentine’s Bunny fic (for hypochondriac-butters)

Kenny scribbled furiously on his piece of bright pink construction paper. He didn't usually put massive amounts of energy into things, it just wasn't his style, but for this, he felt it was worth it. Crayons were scattered across the table of the art room, most of them half-melted and broken from the heat of Kenny's hand or the pressure he had used on them. With a few final flourishes of his hand, he dropped the blue crayon he had been holding, staring down at his masterpiece.

It looked innocent on the outside, only one word written across it in slightly scraggled cursive. Little, colored lines formed swirling patterns, creating a pleasant looking design. However, it was the inside that Kenny was most concerned with. It's reception, at least.

He licked his lips nervously under the hood of his parka, looking around the class. His friends, Stan and Kyle, were sitting together making people chains together, each person linked by the hands with tiny hearts. He would have laughed and called them gay if not for the paper in his hands. His eyes scanned over the rest of the students, taking in each person before alighting on the object of his deepest affections.

Letting out a sigh, he slumped over the table, watching the other paint at an easel. How in the world was he ever going to do this? It's not like he could just walk up and say, "Hey, dude, you're hot and I'm hot, and we're both single. Interesting, right?" No, no. This boy was too good for that. It needed to be special…

A heavy hand dropping onto his shoulder almost made him crush the delicate card in his hands, and Kenny's head snapped around as he leveled a glare at the owner: Eric Cartman.

"Aw, come on, Kinny, don't look at me like that," the chubby boy whined. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't want your help," Kenny growled, but was ignored as Cartman pulled his chair closer.

"I've been watching you as you creep stare at our dear friend," he continued. "I just wanted to say that since I'm so great at helping people get together, how about letting me help you, too?"

"Fuck you, you giant assed-"

"GREAT!" Cartman slapped his back, knocking the poor boy forward and the air out of his lungs. "I was going to try and match up someone else, but I'll move you to the top of my list since we're friends."

Kenny opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when Cartman addressed the air beside him, calling it "Cupid Me". The fuck? Deciding that Cartman was crazy, Kenny got up and slipped away, heading towards the easels. He stopped short, not wanting to get too close. He didn't want to be spotted, seeing as his open staring was pretty weird already.

The boy in question started to turn around, and in a panic, Kenny threw himself to the side, landing heavily on Stan and knocking him into Kyle. The trio collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and pained cries. Of course, this drew the attention of the entire class, and Kenny grabbed the strings of his parka, yanking them to close his hood, hiding his reddening face.

The other students began to laugh, and it took Kenny a full minute to realize it wasn't directed at him. Glancing back, his eyes widened as he saw what was causing the laughter. Stan and Kyle had landed in such a way that resulted in them kissing, and the two were so shocked by this, they hadn't moved away from one another.

Using this as the perfect distraction, Kenny ran out the door into the hallway, snatching the hall-pass from the teacher's desk as he rushed by. Once he was free, he made his way down the hall to his locker. Turning the dial, he popped the metal door open and stashed away his carefully constructed gift. He couldn't risk taking it home, it could get lost or crumpled, and he couldn't keep it on him for the same reasons. No, it would be safest in his locker.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and for all Kenny's perversions, he was a bit of a hopeless romantic.

----------

After narrowly avoiding getting locked in the gym with the object of his affection, Kenny made his way home with his little sister, Karen. The small girl was bouncing as she walked, telling Kenny about her day. He listened closely, a slight smile on his face. Kenny loved listening to her, hearing the excitement and happiness in her voice.

"-then Tricia, you know my best friend? Anyway, then she told our teacher that she didn't care about adding numbers and stuff, and she flipped her off! It was so funny, Kenny, the teacher was so mad!" Karen giggled at the memory, jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. "She's so cool and doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. I wish I was more like her…"

Hearing the sadness entering her tone, Kenny stopped, taking her hand and pulling her into a hug. "Well, I think you're perfect as is," he said. "Don't worry about being like other people. Just be the very best you you can be."

This got a giggle in response, and Karen nodded, hugging him back.

Once home, the little girl went off to her room to play, and Kenny left after checking to see that Kevin was around to watch her. They nodded slightly at each other, then Kenny dropped his backpack in his room and left to hang out with his friends. Arriving at the Marsh residence, he found Stan and Kyle sitting in the front yard, holding hands shyly.

He grinned under his hood, walking up to the pair. "So everything worked out I see," he teased, taking a seat just off to the side so he could look them both in the face. "First kiss wasn't to bad, was it?"

"Oh, shut it, Kenny," Kyle huffed, his face almost as red as his hair. "It's your fault, anyway."

"You're welcome~."

Rolling his eyes, Stan asked, "Do you know what's up Cartman's ass? He was super pissy on the bus home today, and kept saying something about ungrateful bastards. Butters was trying to cheer him up, but it didn't seem to be helping."

Kenny shrugged, flopping back into the snow to hid his sudden blush. "I don't know, did we ever get that alien prob out? Maybe it's malfunctioning and zapping him so he's cranky."

"Oh, man, I can't believe I forgot about that!"

After this, the topic of Cartman was dropped, and the boys went inside to play video games. When the sun had set and Sharon Marsh had fed the three, Kenny returned home with all the leftovers he could carry. As always, he went to his siblings' bedroom first, letting Karen and Kevin eat as much as they wanted before taking the rest to the fridge for his parents.

He went to his room and got into bed. He wasn't particularly tired, but he needed to get as much sleep as possible. It was going to be an emotional day, whether for the good or bad. He had to be ready.

----------

Waking the next morning, Kenny jumped in the shower before anyone else was up. He ate a cold waffle, then scrubbed his teeth for a good ten minutes. He didn't think he was going to get lucky enough for a kiss, but he didn't want to be unprepared if something like what happened to Stan and Kyle happened to him. It paid to be ready for anything.

Dressing quickly, he grabbed his backpack and left, heading to the bus stop a good half hour before he needed to be there. He just couldn't handle waiting around the house. Too many things could go wrong there, better to just go to a relatively safe spot.

He spent the time pacing, and when his friends arrived, the grass was poking through the snow where Kenny had worn it down. Cartman was in a better mood than the day before, and continuously shot knowing looks at Kenny between teasing Kyle and Stan. Every movement from the two, even a simple adjustment to warm their legs, would get him to scream, "OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS ARE SO FUCKIN' GAY!"

Kyle lasted ten minutes, longer than Kenny had anticipated (perhaps Stan's calming presence was already helping him), before he jumped on the other and they rolled around, fists flying and legs kicking. It was no small effort for Stan and Kenny to pull them apart, and they managed it just as the bus pulled up.

Tucking his hair back into his hat, Kyle boarded first, stomping to the back and throwing himself down, Stan settling beside him and whipping the dirt and snow from Kyle's jacket as best he could.

Chuckling to himself, Kenny followed, sliding into the last empty seat. The ride to the school was blissfully short, and Kenny rocketed out of the vehicle and to his locker, beating the flood of students that poured in shortly after.

Ripping his locker open, he gingerly removed the card he had so carefully crafted the day before. When it was in his hands, Kenny felt like he was on overdrive, aware of every single tiny detail all around him. He had to keep his gift safe until he could get it to it's target.

Challenging his inner ninja, he let the other students move him as though he were a leaf in a stream. Or, more accurately, a dry, dead leaf caught in a rapid. He was shunted from one side of the hall to the other, bumping and crashing into things left and right. For a brief moment, he wondered how disappointed Token would be in him for dishonoring the ninjas so terribly, but he quickly refocused.

Reaching the classroom, he forced his way through the crowd and popped into the room. He looked around, taking in all the people milling about and talking before the day began. Spotting his goal, he took a steady breath, straightened his parka, and walked over.

Butters was sitting at his desk, humming brightly as he organized a small stack of valentines, the kind bought at dollar stores. They were Hello Kitty brand, and Kenny could see the edges of fake tattoos poking out from each.

"Hey, Butters," he said, taking the desk beside him.

"Oh, heya, Ken!" the blonde greeted, sending him a smile that almost sent the death-prone boy straight into heaven. "How ya doing today? Do you have any plans with a special lady later?"

Oh, boy.

"Ah, no. I, um, I wanted to give you something." He held out the somehow still pristine card, offering it to him. "You don't have to read it now if you don't want too." In his mind, he silently begged the other not to read it until he was struck down, then he could forget and Kenny could get over him. But the universe just loved to fuck with him, so instead of him dropping dead, Butters put aside his cards and took the pink paper, flipping it open immediately.

Kenny's body tensed, his eyes focused on Butters' expression. The pink was brighter than Kenny remembered, and he wished he had used a less… noticeable color. As he watched, Butters' eyes grew wider and wider until he was sure they would fall out. A small twinge of guilt flared in his stomach when he saw the almost invisible scar line that went down the boy's left eye, but he didn't have time to think about it as Butters turned to face him. He was gripping the paper tightly, as if worried someone would take it from him.

"Ken, d-do you really mean all this?" he asked, his voice soft.

Silently, Kenny nodded, not trusting his voice. This was it, the moment of truth.

Butters looked between the card and Kenny, then a smile began to grow on his face, getting wider and wider until it looked almost painful. He bounced in his seat and laughed, then jumped up.

"Aw, Ken, you're so mushy!" He looked down at the carefully planned love confession, practically glowing with pure sunshine happiness. "I didn't know you were so poetic, neither!"

"Well, what can I say? You bring out my creative side, B-" The blonde's hand pressed into the fabric over Kenny's mouth, shutting him up. He looked at the other in surprise, wondering what he was doing.

"Nuh uh," Butters scolded lightly. "If you really wanna date me, Ken, you have to call me Leo, okay? But ONLY you get to call me that."

Kenny blushed, but smiled, grabbing his hand. "Anything for you."

"Anything?" Butters tugged on one of the parka strings. "Then could ya pull your hood down for a moment?"

Without hesitation, Kenny used his free hand to pull back his hood, shaking out his hair. As he had done this exactly zero times in school before, it immediately caught the attention of all the others, though the pair didn't notice, too busy in their own little world.

"What did you want me to do that for, Leo?"

The softest thing Kenny had ever felt brushed his lips lightly, and his entire being felt like it had caught fire. It wasn't painful like real fire, however, just warm and… dare he say, nice?

It took half a second too long to process that Butters, BUTTERS, had been the brave one and kissed him first. Holy shit. He hadn't thought it was possible to be more in love, but BOY had he been wrong.

"Oh, gee, I-I hope I didn't upset you, Kenny. I was just real happy because of your note that I couldn't help myself," Butters said as he inched back, his hands curling into loose fists as he rubbed his knuckles together nervously.

Before he could say anything else, Kenny pulled him into a hug, pressing gentle kisses all over Butters' face, making the boy squeal and giggle.

"You could never upset me, Leo," he said, finally moving back, though he didn't let him go. "I meant every word of that letter. I would die for you a million times, more if you needed me too. I don't know if I would actually be successful, but I'd be willing to give murder a shot to make you happy."

Butters snorted and broke into the bubbly laughter that Kenny adored. He patted his floof of hair, making it bounce. "For real, Leo. I don't know how you did it, but you kicked the shit out of my heart and made it yours."

"That's real gay, Ken." Butters tapped the tip of Kenny's nose, smiling. "Good thing I'm bi-curious."

[taytaybooks]

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT MUSICALS THREAD #2: AMÉLIE

In the previews where they each hold a prop on a pole and then all together the props assemble the fly they all sang about ahhh😍😍 it’s so clever

PROLOGUE: TIMES ARE HARD FOR DREAMERS

The instrumental- it’s so soothing

“I can see the world I’m dreeaming…all arouuund me”

The change from soothing instrumental to jaunty music 😍

WORLD’S BEST DAD

“As my heart fills with love” The “ba bums” and “ahhs” after that line to show her heartbeat ahh and how everyone (the ensemble) hide behind the door and comes out when they sing the “ahhs” for the heartbeat and how they dance oh this show is too much😍

“We can keep her heartbeat stable

Your school is the kitchen table now”

“Would you like to name him?”

“Fluffy”

*looks of disdain and confusion*

WORLD’S BEST FRIEND

The instrumental at the start😍

The fact that a grown man wears a fish costume on his head and sings onstage I mean wow😂

“Listen to your crazy mom droning on now I’m her bla bla bla bla bla” lmao

“Your parents are crazy

But you can count on meeee” the dancing in this scene oml and the fact that a man dressed as a fish holds a smaller fish and smacks it on the ground so it “flops around”

When the instrumental turns slow again😭 And it’s meant to be a sad part but the fish is scootering around on stage singing “goodbye” in a warbled voice😅

WORLD’S BEST MOM

“We’ll be spending the day at Notre Dame” I love how this is sung

“Now the whole world of Paris picks up speed” I love the way everyone on the train moves forward and backward to show the train’s movement

The “ahhs” before Amandine prays for a son

The nuns/holy people with outrageously huge hats😂 And then the holy person with a dinosaur head on his head😂😂

The dummy hitting Amandine and killing her😂😂 and the chalk on the backdrop depicting a dead silhouette with “mom” next to it

Her dad memorialising the mom with a gnome she hated😂😂😂

TIMES ARE HARD FOR DREAMERS

PIPPA SOO IN GENERAL TBH

“All of these towns I’ve never heard of racing paaaast”

“It isn’t what I have, it’s only what I have in store

That matters now, the past can only fade!”

“And I might be a dreamer

But it’s gotten me this far” this resonates with me idk why

“My own museum full of paintings I look through!

Where everything is clear!

It isn’t where I am

it’s only where I’ll go from here

That matters now!

And I am not afraaaid!

As everything I’ll ever need appears

This is how my world gets maaaaade” especially that last note😍

The set change right before the song finishes😍

GOING ROUND IN CIRCLES deserved to stay on the cast recording☕️🐸

THE COMMUTE

“Stopping atop St. Martin’s canal

Skipping a stooone”

“She cracks créme brûlée”

“And how many couples in Paris are having an orgasm right at this moment! ….Fifteen!” Because every Broadway show needs some nasty in there

“Later this evening her life will chanaaange”

THE BOTTLE DROPS

THE FACT THAT A FRIENDS CLIP IS PLAYING ON THE TV SET AHHHHH

Honestly the instrumental to this song and like every song is just so beautiful😍😍

“Fingers slip, a bottle drops, and falling in slow motion”

The instrumental change😍😍😍

“Slowly crack the treasure open”

“A watch that’s waiting to be wound

A treasure waiting to be found

I am Howard Carter stepping into Tutankhamen’s tomb” ahhh

And while the ensemble is speaking I love the small “Give back the box” and “I have to try” in the background

“If I did I could be like Lady Diiii!” That note tho

THREE FIGS

is so jaunty oml yes

“You’re my best friends inside the Seeeeeine”

“Figs all in a BUNCH” the way he says bunch cracks me up every time

“Figaro is bluuue

There’s nothing on his plate

What’s Lucien to doooo?

He finds the guy a date!“

THE GIRL WITH THE GLASS

“Why is it that someone so young and so full of life spends every night alone at her window?

…Unless all her friends are dwarves and I can’t see them"😂😂 good old Dufayel

“Are you an artist?

Every day I come to a canvas with palette and brush

and I ask myself the same question” shit just got deep guys

“Paintings, these paintings"😍

“But in the end it always comes down to…heeeeer”

“But the girl with the glass looks away”

“Just a young girl who doesn’t belong to anywhere,

anywheeeere or anyoooooone” this really shows how lost Amélie can be and its relatable af TBH

HOW TO TELL TIME

“Look down, Monsieur Bretodeau, doooown” I love how she says this honestly😍😂

“On the ledge, a metal box”

“Unlock the box”

“Here’s how to tell time

How to tell time

How to tell time

How to tell time

How to teeeeell

A cognac please!” This whole part is sung so well ahhh

TOUR DE FRANCE

So jaunty and upbeat I love it

“Listen to the squeak of the bakery cart

Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs”

“Looking through the glass

focused on the feast in the grocery window” I love the way she sings this gah Pippa you angel😍😍

“An envelope opens

A cat in a hallway

A filament flashes, flickers and dies

And there goes a hat

Thrown in the air

Thrown in the aiiir” The ensemble around them and the jazz hands ahhhh

“I can feel every stranger in Paris just waiting to collide

How a heart can pull like a moon as we circle each other

Then crashing together

We end up open wide"😍😍

The "ahhs” before she sings “I can see everything clearly now from heeeeere”

GOODBYE, AMÉLIE

The video showing Amélie doing good around the world😂😂😂

The fact that it’s sung be an Elton John lookalike like whattttt and also how the lookalike has a glittery suit and purple hair😂

“We’re an ocean of rowboats you decided to save” I just really like this line

The “oohs” in the background ahhh

Oh, where will we go

Oh, who will appease us” the way they sing this😍

“Saving orphans!

Stopping fires!

I’ve got the high notes and

I’m singing with the choir!

YEAAAAAAAH!” SHE GOT THE HIGH NOTES ALRIGHT DAMN GIRL

BACKYARD

“I’m thinking of shaving my head

And I really want to try crack” ok the fact that the Pippa Soo said this is explanation enough

“Dad you should come and visit me”

“Nope” so blunt😂

“You’re coming with me” cheeky Amélie

The gnome getting excited about going with the Stewardess mmhmmm

WHEN THE BOOTH GOES BRIGHT

I love how the ensemble dresses up and ‘takes photos’ during the song

“There’s the girl you were

There’s the trip abroad

There’s your father’s smile

There’s the face of God” this has like a really cool nostalgic feeling to it

“There’s when she said yes

There’s the next ten years

There’s the loneliness when she disappears” nostalgia and sadness😍

“What’s the use of trying to hide

Or tearing yourself in two” This seems literal and metaphorical and I love it

SISTER’S PICKLE

“You have to give it back to him. Or you could imagine relating to someone you never meet, build no relationship. Become a nun!”

*actually dresses up as a nun as a disguise to give the book back to Nino in a FUCKING sex shop ok then Amélie*  

“Can I help you?”

“No just browsing"😂😂😂

BASICALLY THE WHOLE SONG LMAO

“He’ll think that I’m a nun

And I am not a nun

He’ll think that I am chaste

And I’m not that chaste

Or I could run awaaaay

Leave his book on the shelf

By the lube and the lingerieeee” out of context this is very weird but I love it😂

“It’s hard to go unseen

At least in this instance with so little distance between” I love this because everyone tries to hide the bad parts but you can’t really do that once you get to know someone well which is sort of what she’s afraid of, but not really?

“I’m not finished with the boy- I mean the book

So I will hold him- hold it till tomorrow” mmhmm girl suuuure keep being in denial sister

And that part at the end where the instrumental changes and ahhhh

“This is so weird” haha no kidding Nino😂

HALFWAY

THIS SONG IS A MASTERPIECE

The instrumental gahhh I swear this song makes me cry

The red fabric backdrop with the equations and waves projected onto it is so cool😍

“But whenever the boat gets halfway there

There is always halfway more”

“In my mother’s schoolhouse

There was always halfway to goo

To gooooo”

“I hear you breathing"😂😂😂

“Who are you?”

“I’m a mystery wrapped in an enigma trapped in a paradox disappearing into thin air”

“Me too"😂

"Little boat, big ocean

I’m the girl with the copper spyglass

who prays that today she will spot her shore

All at once a lighthouse

All at once through the copper spyglass

A light telling me to lean in on the oar

I start to row

But before I can get anywhere

From point A to point B

I am at that kitchen table

where I’ll always be at sea"😍😍😍 this part always gets me when I’m feeling lost and alone and I love the visual projection of it with Amélie moving towards Nino and the sailboat projected onto the red fabric moving towards him too, but then both the boat and Amélie stop and move back away from him ahhh😍💔

"Little boat big oceaaaan” ahh Pippa why is your voice so magical

WINDOW SEAT

“Unsuspended in mid-air And I can see everything from here”

“If I could reach you from Machu Picchu

Then I would say everything I would give anything” this is sweet even if it’s fabricated haha

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE GNOME

Basically the fact that a grown man is dressed as a gnome and singing this fucking song lmao  

I love how they project the Polaroids for the audience to see

Also the fact that the flight attendant/stewardess and the gnome have a little romance going on

“I admit he looks good as a guard

But I want him back in my backyard”

“Do you see that crack in his clay”

“His black paint’s fading to grey”

“Travelling the world is tremendous

But for a garden gnome it’s gotta be hard” poor guy just wants his damn gnome back man

“The stewardesses, they always wonder, doesn’t matter where I roam

She asks "are you one of Santa’s elves?”

And I say “ma'am I am a gnome”

“Back before these feelings made me feeeel thingsss” this is so relatable honestly

“Dad this is Suzaaaanne” girl I see you😂 but seriously Amélie is so pure she matchmakes her own dad and boss gah

THIN AIR

“The frame tries to hide you

Just like a disguise

But I know that face

From the look in your eyes

So I’m reaching out to you”

“Whooooo are you now

When all youuu have is thiiin aiir around youuuu”

“It’s easy to vanish when no one’s around

Your footsteps fall silent as snow on the ground

And I may be hammered but I can hear my heart pound

And it’s reaching out to youuu

Reaching out to youuuuu”

As I’m typing this I’m realising I very well may just be in love with the whole song….

Also ADAM CHANLER-BERAT

“It’s too easy to disappear these days

There you go but nobody sees it

You leave a photo behind for a stranger to see

But now you’re so close I swear I can feel you

No more stories just show me the real you

And I promise that I’ll let you see the real me” awwww Nino😍

“So who are you now

When all I see is a face that hides way love until

You’re alone in a place you

Hide away until you’re alooooone

With thin aiiiiiiiiiiir

Arouuuuund you” 😍😍😍especially how the first line is sung

WRITING ON THE WALL

Amélie’s disguise when she spray paints the quote lmaooo😂

So this song is pretty short but it sounds so ethereal and beautiful😍

Like honestly who would even think it’d be a random as quote from an aspiring writer😂😂

BLUE ARROW SUITE

SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SONG I LOVE IT WITH ALL MY HEART

The soft, magical sounding instrumental after “bring five francs”

“Here on a hill

There sits a great cathedral

Where I’ve left a trail

That only goes so far

Here I can keep him moving forward

And keep things as they are

Halfway to love

And just close enough

To Sacre-Couer"😍😍😍 it’s so beautifully sung and the words ahhh

"I know my heart Is speaking with a murmur

Making the sound that only I can hear

All I can manage is a whisper

Of this heartbeat trapped inside

Here in this place

Grant me the grace

To be amplified” and then the instrumental changes ahhh it’s so beautiful

The hats the ensemble in the carousel are wearing😂😂

“Maybe I can try and stay

Just stand right here

Here he comes!

Screw that!

Run away!” Amélie is forever relatable and so cute😂😍

And then the “ahhs” after the last verse (if you saw my Anastasia post you probably realised I have a thing for “ahhs”)

THE LATE NINO QUINCAMPOIX

The fact that she’s so paranoid and has such an overactive imagination that this whole song is basically her imagining a scenario where he gets hit and almost dies

The part where the ensemble joins in😍

“Current flows through Nino’s arteries

Which stops his heart

As train parts tear his limbs apaaaart” lovely imagery😂😂 and their reactions lmaoo

“Who has time for a guy like that

For a guy who doesn’t know

How to tell time

How to tell time

How to tell

Ahhhhhhh"😍😍 when Nino arrives and everyone else goes crazy lmao😂😂

A BETTER HAIRCUT

The instrumental is so jaunty?upbeat? Idk I just know that I love it

"Everything was going perfect

In the circus

Until the day he dropped me

And then dropped me for the tattooed lady”

“She broke her leg in seven places”

“I did"😂😅 the usual you know

"And it seems that every single guy I know

Has another lady on the side show”

“You know our girl’s a fragile egg”

“Don’t break her heart”

“Or break her leg"😂 this whole song goes from funny to sweet lmao

"She’s not a waitress who will take your order”

“Bring your food or fill your refills”

“Except when working at the Windmills” 😂😂 when they forget she actually works as a waitress lmao but very good message, this musical is/was gold😍 I miss it so much😭😭

“Can you prove?”

“That youuuuu are a looooover for the ages

Can you proooove that”

“Youuuuuuu are not highly contagious"😂😂😂

I love that they shove him & his table out of the way so they can dance

"Love is just another diagnosis

Like bacterial vaginosis” Oml this song kills me 😂😂😂 WHO WROTE THESE LYRICS

“I love her and I don’t know her name” Nino is such a sweetheart awww

“All the while while love infects us

The side effect is that love connects us” this extended metaphor is weird af but it works so well and I love it because it also manages to give us all a great message😍👏👏

STAY

THIS SONG IS SO CUTE I LOVE IT

“But don’t expect me to play fair”

“I hear you coming

What can I do to

Drown out this drumming”

“No turning back now that you took the breadcrumbs

And I lost the way

And arrows fall out of thin air

If I could just find the right words to say

Would you stay right there

I like you right there”

“Stay where you are

Safe enough range

Try to move closer

You’ll only get halfway

Pin down your heart

Put out the flame

Don’t come any closer

But don’t move awaaaay”

And the canon effect of Nino and Amélie (he kind of like echoes her?) in “stay where you are” and “pin down your heart”^😍

HALFWAY (REPRISE)

“Is it true that you’ve solved Zeno’s paradox?” I love the way she sings this gah

“I have to do more than stay”

“Even though I am always halfway there”

“I could meet you there halfway” I ship them so much

AND THEN THEY KISSSSSSS

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE

AKA THE SONG I WOULD SELL MY SOUL FOR ITS SO BEAUTIFUL

“Where do we go from here

Now that you are standing by my side

After all there’s more to life than holding you” 😍😍

“After all there’s more to life than we can see

Will there be troubles?

I don’t know

Will there be sweet things?

I hope so

Will there be time to keep on dreaming when this dream is over?” This is so realistic ahhh I want to legitimately cry, such a real and beautiful love😍

“What happens when you can’t hold on

Or when I can’t hold on to you?”

I love the faces they make when taking pictures in the photo booth😂

“What’s gonna happen?

I don’t know

But whatever happens

Here we go

What’s gonna happen

And where do we go

From here?” A perfect ending to a perfect musical that deserved better❤️

Other Threads

Anastasia

[bughead-fic-request]

Leave a Message: Chapter 2 - When I Think About You...

Summary: Betty and Jughead continue to listen the the many messages she left on his phone while she was drunk. 

Words: 2,219

Warnings: Smutty goodness. 

A/N: I’m super tired and half drunk so there are probably errors. Please forgive me. 

You can find chapter one here or on AO3.

Betty, Veronica and Cheryl laid on the beach in their bikinis as they watched Jughead surf.

“So, you left a whole bunch of messages on his phone expressing how much you like him and he likes you back?” Veronica asked, adjusting her navy blue bathing suit top.

Betty nodded sipping a cider. “Yeah, he said he’s liked me since ninth grade but he just never did anything about it.”

“He probably thought you were still into Archie or that you were in love with Craig or whatever. No matter what, he hid his feelings well.” Veronica remarked.

“Uh, no he fucking didn’t.” Cheryl piped up. “He acted like you hung the moon. He’d show me your tweets and Instagrams and talk about how funny you are.” Cheryl sat up and looked at Betty, her breasts almost busting out of her red bikini. “Babe, you’re a lot of things but you are not funny.”

“I’m funny.” Betty muttered, looking towards the ocean watching Jughead wipe out and his head appear above water a few seconds later.

“What I’m trying to say is I’m glad that you two are doing whatever it is you two are doing.” Veronica beamed. “You both deserve to be happy.”

“I’m just trying not to get ahead of myself.” Betty tried her best to hide her excitement as she watched Jughead run out of the water. His surf board was tucked under arm as he shook the water from his raven coloured hair before running his hand through it, slicking it back. For a moment he looked towards the sun, closing his eyes as the droplets of water reflected light. She couldn’t believe how much he had filled out, how broad his shoulders were, how lean and generally sexy he had become.

And for some reason, he had chosen her.

He started running towards the girls, sticking his board in the sand when he reached them. “How’s the sun tanning going?” He asked as he shook water all over them.

“Ah, come on, Jug!” Veronica scolded, wiping the cold beads of water from hot skin.

“You guys should get in there. The water is beautiful.”

“I am fine right here with my hat and my drink.” Cheryl said contently.

“I’m not much of a swimmer, Jug. I don’t want to get my hair wet.” Veronica brushed him off.

“Bets, you want to go in?” He asked.

Betty shook her head.

“Come on, come in the water with me.” He begged, holding his hands out to her.

“Jug, you know I'm afraid of the ocean.” Betty reminded.

“I know and it breaks my heart.” On top of being a surfer Jughead was going to school to be a marine biologist. “Please, please go in with me. There's nothing in there that can hurt you.”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Uh, sharks, jelly fish, piranha’s, barracudas probably. I could also drown.”

“I promise I will not let anything happen to you.” He pouted as he motioned with his hands for her to come with him.

Betty huffed. “Fine, but I'm not going to like it.” She stood and grabbed his hand.

He led her to the water and she hesitated just before going in.

Jughead took a step back when he realized she wasn't walking with him. “Bets, I'm in here almost everyday. Its safe, I promise.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly and she followed him in.

There was no real reason Betty hated the ocean. She never had a scary brush with a shark or a horrifying incident with a fish. She just had an all encompassing fear of the ocean. She believed there was a reason humans couldn't breath under water and we should just leave it all alone.

Jughead felt the exact opposite.

They stopped once Betty was in just above her waist.

“You can swim, right?” He asked.

“It's a little late to be asking that but yes, I can swim.” She laughed as she dragged her palm against the surface of the water.

“See this isn’t so bad.” He said.

“Its fine.” She mumbled.

“The salt water is really good for your skin too.” He informed.

“Really?” She asked.

“Yeah, well I'm mean, look at me.” He said pointing to his muscular chest. “I'm all hot now, right?” He cocked an eyebrow. “The ocean did that.”

“Surfing and the sun did that.” She corrected.

“Surfing which I did in the ocean and sun I got while surfing in the ocean.” He cocked his head like he had her there.

She rolled her eyes as she watched his go wide, looking past her. “Oh my god, Betty! What is that!” He shouted pointing at something behind her.

“What?” She yelled as she looked behind her. “Oh my god! What?! What is it, Jug?!” She started screaming running towards him, her arms flailing as she desperately tried to reach him.

When she was close enough, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him towards her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his head, pushing her breasts into his face. “Jug! Jug! Is it a shark?” She was still screaming.  

“Bets!” He yelled, squeezing her side. “Babe, there's nothing there. I was just joking.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” She lightly smacked him in the head, exhibiting her annoyance.

He raised his eyebrows at her in a knowing way.

Betty's eyes widened as she took in her current position and started nodding her head. “Because now you have a girl with her legs wrapped around your waist and her tits are in your face.” She couldn't help but grin. “Very smooth Mr. Jones, very smooth.”

“The ocean taught me that trick.” He tilted his head up and stretched his body to place a kiss on her lips.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. She wasn’t sure how long it was going to take to get used to being allowed to kiss him. No longer having to imagine it.

“You’re really good at this.” He exhaled, his eyes still closed, their lips still pushed against each other.

She smiled. “You’re very easy to kiss.” She started tracing patterns on his back. “But I would like to get out of the ocean now.”

He pulled away and looked at her. She was fluttering her eyelashes and trying to look as sweet as possible.

“Fine.” He said walking them to the shore. Betty wouldn’t place her feet on the ground until they were out of the water.

They spent an hour or two more tanning and drinking on the beach.

Veronica and Cheryl took off to see a movie while Jughead and Betty went home.

Jughead insisted on making Betty dinner. While he seasoned steaks, potatoes and collected things for a salad, she looked for a movie to watch.

“I feel like we’ve seen all the good movies.”

“Let’s watch Shrek again.” He suggested.

“You always want to watch Shrek.” Betty complained.

“That’s because it’s a masterpiece.”

Betty sat up and looked at him. “I have a question for you, why do you never want to watch new things?”

“I also have a question.” Jughead picked up his phone.

“No, no, no.” Betty started shaking her head.

“What did you mean when you said this?” He pushed play on his phone.

“And then I masturbated for like forty minutes.” Betty’s drunk voice was casual and abrupt. The message was quick, only lasting those eight words.

“I’m assuming you called me right back and just started talking right away and then either hung up or your face hit the phone.” He chuckled popping a piece of cucumber in his mouth. “What were you talking about?”

“I think I know but I’m not sure.” Betty was rubbing her face.

“What do you think it means?” Jughead encouraged.

Betty took a deep breath in and sighed. “Do you remember when I finally came to the beach and watched you surf for the first time?” She asked.

He nodded.

“It was the first time I realized how much the sport had changed your body. It’s a completely shallow thing but seeing you come out of the ocean all wet and tan and tone, it sparked something in me.” Betty could feel her face flushing. “So, I was in bed that night, alone again, and I was horny. It had been awhile since I had touched myself, or anyone had touched me for that matter, and I had that image of you pop in my head. All wet and buff and happy, so I fantasized about you that night.” She rubbed her face like it would wipe some of the embarrassment from it.

Jughead was staring at her, his gaze piercing. “So you got yourself off thinking about me?” He asked cocking an eyebrow.

She nodded, flopping down onto the couch, covering her face.

“Show me.” He said.

She looked through her fingers to see him standing at the foot of the couch. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want you to show me how you touched yourself.” He placed one hand on the back of the couch and his othe on the cushions beside her and crawled over her. His muscles strained as he kept his weight off her, his lips dipping down towards her ear. “I want to see how you think I would please you.”

Her breathing hitched at his statement as he lifted his face to look at her, the passion in his eyes telling her he was dead serious. He leaned down and captured her mouth with his, kissing her furiously.

“Take off your shorts.” He instructed when he pulled away, moving back so he was sitting on his heels at the end of the couch.

She unbuttoned them slowly, still unsure if she was going to be able to do this. She had never masturbated in front of anyone before. She started to push them down her slender, tan legs and he helped her pull them off the rest of the way, tossing them on the floor.

“Were your panties off?” He asked.

She nodded. “I sleep naked.” She confessed.

“Then the panties and top have to go too.” He told her.

She slid her panties off and removed her t-shirt and bra. She bit her lip as she squirmed underneath his gaze. He took her in with a smirk. “Now, show me how you touched yourself.” He nearly demanded.

Her breathing was shallow as she snaked her hand down her body resting it in-between her legs. Her index and middle finger ran between her folds to find she was already soaking wet. She lubricated her fingers and brought them up to her clit which she started to circle. Her eyes fluttered close and she let out a moan.

She had no idea how much time had past as her fingers worked faster and faster, driving herself into a frenzy.

“Bets.” Jughead’s voice cut through her pleasure. “Betty, open your eyes and look at me.” He ordered.

Betty opened her eyes but didn’t stop moving her fingers. Jughead’s mouth was slightly ajar while her watched her flushing body as she moved closer and closer to orgasm. He had unzipped his pants and was jerking himself off as he watched her, his breathing becoming as sporadic as hers. The sight of him pleasuring himself turned her on even more and she groaned at her impending release.

Jughead leaned forward supporting his weight on the back of the couch again as he continued to stroke himself. He dropped his head towards hers and kissed her fiercely, the both of them panting and moaning into the others mouths.

“Baby, are you ready?” He asked.

Betty couldn't even answer, she started nodding as her body writhed underneath him.

“Can you come with me?” He sputtered out.

She nodded again.

“Now, now.” He grunted as his release covered her stomach and chest.

Betty cried out as her body began trembling, her thighs squeezing together as her sexual bliss flooded her body.

They sat like that for a few moments, letting the haze of their sexual encounter settle.

“That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” Betty blurted out.

“You are so fucking gorgeous. I wish you could have seen yourself.” He placed a kiss on her neck.

She blushed and tried to hide her face with her hands. “I can’t believe that happened.”

“It was the hottest thing you’ve ever done, huh?” She wiggled his eyebrows.

“My sex life has been very basic.”

“Yeah? Craig wasn’t into kinky shit?”

Craig was the guy Betty dated during her senior year of high school. She shook her head. “He thought doing it at the foot of the bed was wild.”

“We are going to have to change that.” He winked and smacked the side of her ass. “But first thing we need to do is get you cleaned up.”

She looked down at the ribbons of his arousal that lay on her abdomen. “Yeah, I should probably get in the shower.”

“How about you get clean, I’ll get some dinner ready and then we can have a beer and watch Shrek. Sound good?” He titled his head.

“That sounds very good.” She leaned forward and gave him a kiss, standing quickly and running towards the bathroom.

Tags:  @xobughead @bugheadjones-the-third @how-ardently @gershwinn @birdlovesafish @betts-jugsforbughead @molly-2610 @believe-that-you-can-my-friend @jandjsalmon @bugheadjonesiii

[v-a-l-v-e]

2p!Gerita - It’s A Date

He dazed me with the soft brush of his gaze and his humming which was a song to my ears. Even as he shouted, cried, and kicked; his voice was that of an angel’s. He was a gem among rocks; wand among sticks; butterfly among moths; but not all could see just how beautiful he was. His shouts were roars of a large cat and his grins were sunny summer days. When he held a paintbrush in his hand his mind raced with incredible stories and tales he could display on a canvas for all to see. How marvelous it was for a masterpiece to create art. His lips would tingle whenever he sat beside me in a meeting; planning his next move like life was a game. With stunningly sharp eyes he was able to make even the most manly and brave men bow to him. He had the body of a wildcat and the mind of a mastermind. He was the most dangerous man to ever walk this earth.

“Germany!” I heard Luciano call me from outside. Even though I have known Luciano for hundreds of years, he still refers to me by my business name: Germany. We had just finished training that day; Luciano making me run the track a ridiculous amount of times. I left the roof’s protection and was attacked by the sun’s rays. Why did Luciano have to make us train in the middle of a summer day?

“Yeah, what is it?” Luciano sat on a bench, hunched over and pulling at his shoestrings. It took me a second to realize he needed help, “Uh… Can you tie your shoelaces?”

Luciano glared in my direction. His stunningly beautiful eyes made shiver and nearly melt, “… My shoes are just broken…”

“They don’t look broken to me.” I knelt down in front of him, attempting to help but he slammed his foot on my face and tried to push me back. “L-Luci! That hurts, man!”

“I don’t need your stupid help, alright!? I just feel lazy today- yeah! Yeah, that’s it! I’m just lazy today and you’re my slave! Ha! Do my work, slave!” He giggled darkly as if he got great pleasure from having such a big guy as myself his slave.

I smiled and rolled my eyes, “Yes master, whatever you say~ But you have to do it with me, alright?” He blushed harder and leaned over, pulling the strings taunt on his other shoe. I grinned more as I continued, “You start by crisscrossing the strings, then make them taunt again. Make sure it’s tight so your shoes don’t slip off.” He followed my lead, having no trouble. “Now here is where it gets tricky, okay? Listen close. You make a bunny ear, then you loop the other string around the bunny ear and- then… then you pull the string through, and make bunny ears!”

Luciano stared at me with his famous bitch-are-you-stupid-face. “That’s too complicated. And you’re really bad at explaining!! These are shoelaces, not bunnies!!”

I laughed at Luciano’s comment, “It’s just an expression, Luci.” Luciano blushed shamefully and glanced away. I couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful eyes and round face. His face was a masterpiece; he had incredibly adorable and stunning looks. He had a soft, round face with plump lips and magenta eyes that complimented his tan skin and brunette hair.

I often had the urge to each out and gently touch him, but I knew he’d snap at me if I did. Luciano blushed harder and mumbled, “Stop staring, Jerkface…” ‘Jerkface’ had become his favorite insult for me. It was adorable. I loved it when he gave me little nicknames that he thought would hurt my feelings; but they never did.

On our way walking back to the car I still couldn’t keep my eyes off of Luciano. Whenever he glared at me from out of the corner of his eye I would smile and asked what was wrong.

“You keep smiling at me and it’s creepy!” Luciano huffed. I chuckled, finding his attitude adorable and hilarious. I reached over and bumped my hand against his; asking for permission. He blushed harder and suddenly held my hand.

I’m sure Luciano is aware of my feelings for him. I’ve never brought it up but I show obvious signs. I want to know if he feels the same way, but I’m scared he’ll reject me or be disgusted by me.

After explaining my situation to my brother he said, “You should just tell him… I-I mean… He’s not rejecting your physical affection, right?”

I sighed and ran a hand through my messy hair, “Yeah, I guess…” I rambled on, “But you never know what’s going on in his little head. He’s known me for so long, he probably just sees me as a friend. Oh god… I shouldn’t say anything; it’d just feel wrong…”

For once Gilen spoke demandingly, even if he did stutter a bit, “Siegfried! You are a Beilschmidt, and Beilschmidts aren’t cowards.” I raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t someone to make such exaggerated statements. “We are men of war and men of war don’t bow down to emotions!”

“Yeah, yeah! I get that, Gilen… But it’s just… ehh… I don’t want it to be awkward between us. I don’t want anything between us to change, but I want to get my feelings out…”

“Siegfried. Luciano is smarter than that, right? He knows making it awkward would be the worst thing to do. But that’s just if he rejects you. Don’t you want to know if he has feelings back?”

I groaned and flopped onto the couch, “Fiiiinnneee… I’ll do it tomorrow… Over text.”

“No, you’re doing it in person…”

“Fiiiiinnnneeee….”

The next day Luciano dragged me to the track per usual. It felt like he wouldn’t stop talking; or at least I was being extremely quiet today. “My brother is really dumb and I hate him… I wish he’d just shut up permanently. That would be cool… Siegfried? Siegfried, did you die last night or what?”

“Sorry~ I was listening to your sweet voice and I dozed off.” Luciano huffed and suddenly stopped walking. He simply stared down at my feet. I was wearing two different shoes; one a flip-flop and the other a tennis shoe. “Uhh… W-Wow, I must be really tired today, huh?”

“I don’t care if you’re tired; you’re still doing the routine. In fact, now you have to do it barefoot!” I honestly wasn’t really against being barefoot; I hated shoes because they felt like cages for my feet.

We started with our warm-up. More like my warm-up. Luciano only participated in running around the track. I’d do pushups and he’d lie on top of him, yelling something like: “Move it tubby!! I could’ve done one-hundred by now!!” He can barely do five pushups.

After the warm-up Luciano immanently took off onto the track in a gentle jog. I followed beside him, “Why don’t you ever you wait for me, Luci?”

“Germany, I don’t have time waiting for you. You’re slow and pathetic.” He stuck out his tongue at me and I smiled. He’s so fucking cute. I love it. After a couple runs around the track, I collapsed onto the bench in exhaustion. Luciano was still going strong, and he’d make fun of me every time he looped around the track. He eventually had his share and plopped down next to me, whining and reaching for the water bottle I was downing. “Give it t-to me!!” He panted and weakly punched the biceps on my arm.

“Here you go.” He grabbed the bottle and tilted his head back, downing it and spilling water onto himself. I watched Luciano, my thoughts going wild. Indirect kiss. Indirect kiss. Indirect kiss. I found myself unable to hold myself back, “Did we just indirectly kiss?”

Luciano didn’t respond, or he at least didn’t hear me.

“Indirect kiss…. We just indirectly kissed each other… I don’t mind. Doyoumind?BecauseIdon’treallymind…” I spoke quickly, feeling myself become hot and embarrassed. When Luciano didn’t answer I said a bit clearer, “You’re hot.” No response. “I’d get funky under the sheets with you.”

Luciano suddenly glared at me. My whole body stiffened and felt like it was going to fall apart. “I’m not a whore Siegfried. You’re supposed to ask me out on a date before that.”

“W-Wait a-are you s-saying-“ I stuttered badly.

Luciano splashed the remaining water onto my face, smirking. “If you must know, I think you’re too hot for your own good.”

“I-I like your f-face… I love your face… F-Face good. Ja.”

“Oh shush you silly German boy. I know you love me.” Luciano snuggled against my arm, “How about you ask me out on a date? Right now.”

“U-Uh…” Was he being serious? Luciano never really joked around but I couldn’t believe what I hearing. He was accepting my love and he was extremely calm about it. “… How about tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up and take you out for dinner.”

Luciano snuggled harder and accepted my request, “It’s a date.”

[bratkook]

clairvoyant. (m) part two

Author's note: just so you know there isn't any smut yet, that M is just there for future chapters bc of the things they'll contain okay awesome. also still dont know who its centered around, what a thrill. 

 Word count: 3k

masterlist.

The stares you were getting as you walked across the quad that separated the girls dorm from the boys were definitely something else. Maybe you had something on your face? Oh wait, no, it was because you were carrying a giant size photo of Taehyung’s ass.

“If he doesn't actually hang this up I’m breaking it over his head.” You muttered to yourself bitterly. The trouble you had gone through to actually find someone willing to print it out was insane, it was a miracle you had it printed a day later. What was so wrong about wanting a picture like that printed? Honestly this is all thanks to that girl in your printing class last year because without her Tae would’ve gotten a 4x6 picture of his butt.

You huffed out hair that had fallen out of your ponytail and onto your face and thanked the guy who actually held the dorm doors open for you.

“Y/N! You have to check in before you go up there!”

You rolled your eyes at the rule but continued walking to the elevator, “You know all my information Baekhyun, I’ve got shit to do.”

The RA just stood behind the counter, letting out a sigh but copying down your information from another page since you basically lived here.

By the time you made it to Tae’s room your arm was cramping up from hauling around the canvas.

You gave his door three soft kicks and waited for him to open it, hearing the other guys chuckling whenever they passed you and saw the giant picture.

Luckily you weren’t out there for long and were greeted by a giant smile when he saw it was you. His eyes scanned down your body and did a double take when he noticed what you held, “Oh my god is that it?”

He pulled you into the room and shut the door behind him, looking like the giddiest kid in the world when you held the canvas up for him to see.

“This…is such a work of art.”

“You’re so conceited.”

He grabbed it from your hands and propped it on his bed against the wall, clearly admiring it, “Well yeah, but it's just such a nice picture. Like the colors are pretty and everything's so sharp–”

“It’s a picture of your ass.” You deadpanned.

He shoved your head, successfully ruining your ponytail some more, and walked to his desk to rummage through the doors, “Obviously but you really know how to capture a picture.”

You smiled at his compliment even though you were pretty sure he just loved it because it was of him, but regardless being praised on your photography was pretty uplifting, “I spent about 3 hours staring at your ass in Lightroom and editing it so thanks for liking it.”

He stood up straight with a ruler and pencil in one hand and a couple of command hooks in the other, “Dedication. And that’s exactly why you’re gonna be big when you get out of here, but for now, help me level this out and hang it up?”

You slipped off your shoes and hopped onto his bed, grabbing the pencil and ruler to try to mark off where the hooks would go. Tae stayed on his knees in the bed and held up the canvas so you could get a feel for the size and placement, “I’m not exactly opposed to this position”

You were focused on drawing a straight line across the wall so you jumped when you felt his teeth gently bite down on your upper thigh, resulting in the line going wonky. “Good job, now your pictures gonna be crooked.”

He let out a whine at your teasing and decided to just rest his head against you as he continued to hold up the canvas. “By the way, how’s your roommate?”

He nuzzled his cheek against your thigh before responding, “He keeps things clean and he’s funny. I can tell he’s got a good head on his shoulders, I feel like his mind just chants school, study, sleep.”

“Hm, maybe it’ll rub off on you and you’ll start going to your classes?”

“Ha! Y/N, you are the queen of wishful thinking and I appreciate that.”

And you are the king of sarcasm you mumbled to yourself with a smile. You marked off two spots in a guestimate location and ruffled his hair so he could stand up and finally hang this masterpiece up.

“Okay go stand over there and tell me if it’s straight.” You nodded and hopped off the bed, shuffling back a few steps to get a good view.

He had placed one hook on the wall and stuck the other directly onto the canvas, calling it his foolproof plan to ensure a straight line.

“A little higher on the right.”

The canvas leveled out a bit more, the hook on the canvas not securely placed yet until you reassured him it was perfect.

“Like that?”

“If you could move it a teeny bit up it’d be perfect.”

His tongue was poking out between his lips as he concentrated on moving it a teeny bit. Honestly what kind of measurement was a teeny bit? But if that's what you said he’d be damned if he didn't listen.

“Okay there!”

He finally pressed the hook against the wall, his hands slowly letting go of the canvas as he backed away to examine it. The picture was absolutely massive but it fit perfectly between the window and edge of the wall right above his bed. It’s the first thing anyone would see when they come into the room and you weren’t sure if the RA’s would classify this as pornography but you’ll find out eventually.

You guys turned to high five each other, falling into a celebratory dance and missing out on the door opening until someone broke the silence.

“Um, wow?”

You both turned to look over and your eyes widened when you recognized him, his eyes were glued on the picture but when they spotted you he looked away, the blush on his face being a telltale sign that he was embarrassed.

“Hey Jungkook! How was class?”

He let the door shut before setting his backpack down on his desk on the left, tossing his coat onto his bed and ruffling his own hair. “It was slow…” he mumbled out quietly, obviously feeling very caught off guard, “Quick question, why do you have a picture of that streaker’s ass blown up?”

You could see Tae’s ego inflate at the mention of the incident, his smile was huge, “It’s a self portrait that Y/N took of me, pretty iconic huh?”

He would call himself iconic, classic Taehyung.

“Wait that was you?!” Jungkook’s eyes were probably the widest you’d ever seen on a person so you couldn’t help but laugh a little. He glanced at the giant canvas and then down at Taehyung's thighs, tilting his head slightly and shrugging.

“In the flesh.” He turned around and smacked his butt before flopping down on his bed, his hands crossed behind his head as he leaned against the wall right below the picture.

“No wonder you had a beanie on, you’re the only dude here with bright red hair.”

You nodded at the comment, “Well to be fair, the majority of the school knew only Tae would be capable of doing some shit like that.”

“The beanie was just so the principal wouldn’t have blatant evidence against me.” Tae added on, tapping his head like it was clearly genius and then averting his attention to his phone as he tried to take a selfie with the canvas.

Jungkook nodded as he rocked back and forth on his heels, not knowing if he should make himself comfortable or leave. Was Taehyung your boyfriend? Could he ask that or would that be awkward if he wasn’t? It didn’t seem like you were, but what if you guys wanted to be alone? He was gonna ask–

“Hey, how’s your nose?” You could feel your face heat up from bringing up that embarrassing memory but it was common decency to ask. How could you have beaten him with your camera, that stuff didn’t just happen.

At the mention of his injuries his train of thought derailed and his hand came up to feel around his nose and eye, wincing when his fingers touched a spot that was still tender. “Ah, still a little sore but it definitely isn’t broken and I didn’t get a black eye.”

You let out a sigh of relief, pulling out his desk chair and sitting down on it casually. “Thank god, I mean my bank account is probably in the negatives right now but if I broke your nose with my lens I would’ve paid your medical bills.”

“Holy shit that was you!” Tae yelled out, his phone still held in front of him as he tried to get his best angle. He broke out into a fit of laughter, “I remember when I finally met him and I saw him all busted up he just said some girl hit him twice in the face with a camera. I should’ve known it was you.”

You covered your face with your hands, why couldn’t he just say he’d gotten in a fight. Don't guys like to assert dominance when they meet? He wasn’t doing himself any favors by saying a girl beat him to a pulp with a camera.

You could hear Jungkook ask why he should’ve known it was you as you stood up from the chair and pushed it back in, “‘cause if you know Y/N you know she’ll always have that massive fucking camera with her as long as there’s something good enough to shoot.”

“So I’m gonna go–”

“Are you sure?” Jungkook basically shouted out, “I mean, I could leave if you guys wanted to be alone.” His eyes flickered between the both of you, seeing you frown as Tae wiggled his eyebrows.

“No,” you chuckled, “I have to get going. But please, spread the word about how I assaulted you, maybe it’ll build me a rep of being a badass.” You gave them smiles, saying you’d see them later before leaving the room and heading back out of the guys dorm.

It was barely 4 in the afternoon and you should probably be heading to your own dorm room to prepare for the start of your classes tomorrow but you found yourself walking towards the edge of the campus and getting yourself an Uber.

The short ride to your destination was spent in your own head, questions on how this semester would play out, if you had a plan b, hell even a plan z would’ve been safe. You were a classic over thinker, someone who pushed their problems to the back of their mind until they were alone and then proceeded to freak the fuck out when it became too much.

When the car stopped you shot out of it, barely getting a thanks out before entering the building and immediately heading for the elevator. The number 10 lit up as you pushed it and you couldn’t fight the urge to fix your ponytail while looking at your reflection on the elevator doors.

Once you exited on the floor and made your way down the wide hall you could already see Jimin leaning against the doorframe, waiting for you, clearly looking worried.

“You okay?” He asked you, letting you step into his place before shutting the door and giving you a glass of water.

The glass was emptied in the time it took you to sit down on his couch in the living room. You took off your jacket and shoes, letting yourself get comfy as he waited for your answer because were you really okay?

Sure you always seemed okay but Jimin never failed to see through you. You always hid how stressed you were, how close you were to a mental breakdown, and he related to that which is why you were so close. He got your methods of destressing so you always confided in him because he was never one to judge. He was always the one you vented to, probably the one person who knew absolutely everything about you because despite what everyone thought of him you knew he was the most caring people you’ve ever met.

“How’d you know I was coming?” You dodged the question, grabbing one of the throw blankets and spreading it out over your legs.

He smiled and sat down next to you, tossing some of the blanket onto his lap, “My phone told me I ordered an Uber, obviously I knew it was you.”

Right. Jimin insisted on linking your Uber apps together simply because he understood. He knew you fluctuated with your money, you could survive with your scholarship money but that didn’t last forever and that's when you would struggle to make ends meet. If he could make your life a little bit easier by providing a ride here and there he definitely would.

You never abused his generosity and only used the app to get to and from his place, everywhere else was walking distance in your mind. Obviously Jimin was well off, having more money than he knew what to do with, but that didn’t mean you were willing to roll in a pile of cash whenever he offered to pay something off for you.

His fingers were tapping on his knee, your eyes flickered over to them and then slowly up to his face, seeing he was still waiting for an answer. Are you okay?

“I should probably still text you whenever I come over, what if you weren’t here.”

“You know where my spare is.” He responded without missing a beat, giving you a soft smile, his lip ring reflecting light at the movement. He raised his eyebrows, his final warning for you to tell him what was up.

“I'm fine, promise.”

He eyed you suspiciously, his arms folding across his chest, “The last time you promised me you were fine you had a full on meltdown in your dorm at 5am.”

You winced at that, remembering your roommate not knowing what to do when you started freaking out, mumbling about bills, going bald and being a nobody who would live at home until you were 60. The only thing she could think to do was grab your phone and call the last person you texted which in that case was Jimin since you had just left his place.

He showed up, calmed you down and left. Seemed simple enough, but when you woke up the next morning you saw he had settled your bill problem with a few taps on his phone which is what he claimed he did best. You swore that once you made a name for yourself you would pay back everything. It wouldn’t seem like much, it's not like he had bought you a frickin Tesla but a couple hundred bucks was still money.

“Please don’t have me show up at the girls dorm at 5am again, do you know how many questions I got? People are gonna think I’m a male escort that you call over.”

Your jaw dropped, “Stop it!”

His eyes crinkled up as he started laughing, grabbing your hands as they tried to swat his legs, “I don’t mind it, do you know how many girls would blow up my phone if they thought I was an escort.” He let out a whistle and wiggled his brows at you.

You sat back, letting your foot nudge his thigh and yanking the blanket off of him completely, “Oh yeah, just let that news travel and we’ll see how long you stay a student here.”

He just shrugged, “Do I look like a man who goes to college for the sake of education?”

“Absolutely not, you look like a man who goes to college for the sake of parties and hooking up.”

The rings on his fingers glimmered as he pointed at you, “Bingo.” He stood up from the couch, rolling up his long sleeve and showcasing a few of the tattoos he had on his forearms as he opened his phone and scrolled.

“And because you are keeping me on my toes with the mystery of whether you’re okay or not,” he looked at his phone while he spoke, his fingers tapping the screen rapidly and you could only assume he was sending out texts, “We are gonna do what we do best.” He looked up at you with a smile and you smiled back, already knowing what was coming.

“Get blackout drunk to forget our problems and then cry about it the next morning while hungover?”

He faked a gasp of shock, “Y/N, you fucking mind reader. But yes, and luckily the bastards at Delta fucking whatever are throwing a party with the new pledges tonight.”

You cuddled deeper into his couch as you laughed, “Why do you always refer to them as the bastards at Delta fucking whatever like you hate them–”

“Because I do hate them!”

That only made you laugh harder, “Then why do you keep going to their parties!”

“Because they always have good booze.”

You just stared at him and from the look on his face you could tell he already knew what the next word that was coming out if your mouth was because he shouted it out with you.

“True!”

It really wasn’t that funny yet you both double over in laughter at the stupid phrase the pair of you said at the dumbest times. He pretended to wipe a few tears away and double checked his phone before putting it away and clapping his hands, “Alright, your ass better take an uber back to the dorm and be ready by 10.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he stopped you, literally putting his hand over your mouth before you could speak, “I don’t care if you have an 8am class tomorrow we are going dammit, you’re just gonna have to show up to lecture hungover as fuck.”

You grunted some incomprehensible words behind his mouth and he just nodded along like he completely understood.

Showing up to the first class of the year with a massive hangover….yeah you could do that. First impressions weren’t that important right?

[bruciewayne]

tell me about the stars [6/20]

masterpost

[ao3]

Thursday, 20th December

In the morning, even though they were both running on way too little sleep, they couldn’t think of any regrets. Especially with a tupperware full of gingerbread on the counter.

He woke up, washed up, stumbled to the kitchen and was greeted with a perfect, hot Steve Rogers cup of coffee, given to him by an incredibly awake Steve Rogers, was he magic? Probably.

Bucky grinned at him, too tired to school his face into something slightly less lovesick, fuck Bucky was adorable in the mornings, and accepted the coffee, warm, calloused fingers brushing against long, pale ones, maybe lingering too long.

Steve cleared his throat, “Uh, the uh, NyQuil helped, last night, thanks,” he turned around, pretending to be busy with his cereal, for fuck's sake, get it together Rogers.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky replied, not taking his eyes off the back of his head, “you gotta take better care of yourself, y’know.”

Steve turned around, mostly composed, and smiled back at him, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both shovelling cereal into their mouths, with definitely NOT PRETTY lips, nope, flicking through their phones and showing each other memes they found. It was nice.

Stop thinking about morning kisses, Rogers, never gonna happen, nope.

You’ll never wake up to him in your bed, Barnes, c’mon, get a grip.

But despite the relative ease of Bucky’s morning, probably as a direct result of Steve Rogers the rest of his day didn’t follow in suit. At all.

He stepped in gum on his way to the university, getting it stuck on the bottom of his shoe and in his laces, when he got to his class, thirty minutes late because he’d forgotten his ID, there was a notice blu-tacked to the door saying that it had been cancelled because his professor was ill, which, on any other day, any other day, would be great, fucking fantastic, even, but he desperately needed help on his assignment because he’d missed the last class and he had no idea what to do.

So he decided to go across campus to the labs to get in some hours, only to find that there was some sort of gas leak, goddamn biologists, and that they were closed until who-knows-when because most people were off for the holidays come Friday.

Which reminded him of the twelve-hour road trip he was gonna take with Steve. Twelve hours in a four by four rental with a ridiculously beautiful man he may or may not have a crush on. Who’d he’d asked to be his fake boyfriend. Because he couldn’t think fast on his feet. What an idiot.

And to top it off, it had started pouring it down pretty much the second he left his apartment and hadn’t stopped all day.

By the time he got home, laden with bags full of Christmas presents (and tape and wrapping paper, he highly doubted they had some) he wasn’t a happy bunny, as his mom was fond of saying, his shoes, somehow, got even more sticky and tacky and disgusting. That’s what he got for taking the subway, great! His hair was soaking wet, rainwater dripping into his eyes and down his neck, soaking his shirt, fantastic! And he forgot to take his keys, wonderful!

He rung all the bells at the apartment block door until someone opened it up and made it up to the top floor, by the stairs because of course the elevator was broken, and of course they lived up five stories (although, admittedly, it was probably worse for Steve).

Reaching their door, he kicked up the doormat, hoping the spare key was there. Nope. Giving up, he sighed and sat down, leaning against the door, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out sweet wrappers from… Halloween? an empty gum wrapper and his phone, maybe to call Steve, if he wasn’t busy, or if he was to play some mindless games Steve had got him addicted to, he didn’t want to handle any socials right now.

Dead. Why not, of course it was. Terrific!

He leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes, letting his mind run through everything he had to do, FUCK, he still had to pack for tomorrow and rent a car and wrap presents and double check his fake-relationship malarkey with Steve, god he couldn’t imagine the mortification if he’d fucked it up and they were caught out in a lie, or even worse, made his feelings obvious to Steve and fuck up their friendship.

At least he stil- nope, he refused to jinx the one good thing about his day. He wasn’t a superstitious guy, generally, but he wasn’t risking it today. No siree.

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed like that, but his hair had gone from soaking to slightly damp when Steve, light of his fucking life, showed up, lucky dry-haired fucker. The rain must have stopped.

“Hey, Buck, you ok?” he dropped his bag and went to sit cross-legged in front of him, reaching out, against his better judgement, to cup his face in his hands. Without opening his eyes or moving his head, he replied, sarcasm cutting through tiredness, “Fucking peachy.” He could tell Steve rolled his eyes, call it his sixth sense; his Steve-sense.

Steve probably had a complimentary Bucky-sense, because he could tell that he was feeling sorry for himself, stressed and tired, not mad. He thought he knew him pretty well in that sense because he was right.

“Ok, time to get up,” Steve said, getting up himself then tugging at Bucky’s arms in an attempt to pull him up, he knew how to do this.

It took them a good minute to get everything into their apartment but they managed, and Steve set out to make Bucky feel better. They flopped on the couch, and he asked Bucky what he needed to do, and he rattled off the list, working himself up, then calming down when Steve ran his fingers through his hair, a repetitive, soothing motion, grounding him.

“Ok,” Steve started, calmly, after Bucky finished, “you go have a shower while I’ll sort out the rental, then pack and then we’ll watch a movie and wrap presents, sound good?”

Bucky nodded, staying on the couch, Steve’s fingers running through his hair, for a minute. He took a breath and got up, “Yeah, yeah, ok, I’ll go do that, thanks.”

Steve smiled up at him, “Anytime.”

Fuck he was hot, Steve stuttered through the last lines of his call, thoroughly distracted by the masterpiece in front of him, dressed in sweatpants and only sweatpants, his slightly wet torso exposed to Steve the elements and his hair a tangled wet mess.

Shut up, stop thinking about him in a shower, for fuck’s sake Rogers.

“Hey,” he said, once he trusted himself to talk without his voice cracking, he waved his phone at Bucky, “I sorted out the rental and,” he pushed a cup of hot cocoa towards him, “cocoa.”

Bucky grinned at him, cradling the mug in his hands, against his naked chest, “You’re the best.”

Steve grinned back, “I know, anyway, presents and The Martian-”

Bucky froze on his way to the living room, and spluttered, “The Martian’s not a Christmas film, Stevie, put on Home Alone-”

Steve huffed, “Yeah but we already watched Home Alone this year.”

Bucky, knowing that Steve could probably argue his way out of a Nazi base (probably after trying to punch himself out) decided to end it there and then, “John Mulaney.”

Five minutes later, they were sitting on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, bows, labels, Christmas cards and popcorn with The Comeback Kid playing on the TV.

Steve was wrapping presents and sticking bows on them, and Bucky was writing out cards, their unwrapped gifts and blank cards pile was growing steadily smaller and smaller, inversely proportional to their ‘done’ pile.

By the end of the special they were done, Kid Gorgeous had started and Bucky had dragged a blanket off the couch and wrapped both of them in it, Steve leaned against him, thigh to thigh and shoulder to well, about mid-bicep, and Bucky slid an arm around his shoulders, his insides melting apart when Steve leaned further into him.

Steve tried to calm his racing heart because Bucky was shirtless and he could feel everything under his hands, his abs tensing when he laughed and fuck he was beautiful when he laughed, joy radiating from his face.

Yeah, Bucky’s day had gone pretty shit, but he’d started and ended it fairly good, most definitely as a direct result of Steve Rogers.