#where the chair would 9 times out of 10 suddenly just be there lurking

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, Vigilantes 77, Replies Part 2

1) “Now Koichi, I know you`re our lovable dumbass and all that, but I don`t think you reached the point where you would forget she`s being possessed by a brain-eating parasite and has no actual control over her actions. You`re gonna give her a good talk and then what, smartass? The bee will feel shame and let her go? And then everybody gets ice cream and a rainbow shoots across the sky?”- Well, Knuckles’ father-daughter talk with Tamao didhave some effect, if only to make her more destabilised and erratic, so presumably making Pop likewise go crazy increases the odds of Koichi being able to lead her around by the nose on their running chase plan, focusing her ire on him rather than on bombing civilians and buildings. 2) “Koichi, she was a fucking tsundere, of course she got mad without a reason, that`s no reason to try to have a chat with the goddamn parasite.”- Maybe activating her Tsundere switch will confuse the parasite? Give it mixed messages on how to act and what to do? 3) “And Koichi is betting on the power of love breaking her out of the Queen`s control, which might as well happen considering its a shonen. Me, I`m still betting on the power of guns and a well-placed shot to her head.”- That, and since this is Knuckle’s hideout where he planned how to trap Tamao, he might have left schematics or notes lying around of his method to safely extract the Queen from her head with on-site brain surgery. He left them basically everything else to do the job themselves, it’d be irresponsible to skip out of the most vital step. 4) “Oh, you mean that literally halfway through the chapter we finally will start talking about what the tittle of the chapter refers to?”- That, and it also refers to the strategy the heroes are putting together to stop Bee Pop as well, along with Nomura’s own strategy lurking underneath that one, waiting to strike… 5) “No Koichi, don`t. We don`t respect him on this house, continue your plan of using the power of love to solve everything.”- One guy has a plan, tactical strategyand a methodical idea of what to do to save the day. The other is a bumbling goof who already failed once and whose plan for a rematch is basically winging it after some prep time and see what happens. But since one of these two is Soga, we’re going with the actually-likable, if unreliable, Koichi. 6) “A tad too late for that i`d say, but whatever. And wasn`t him supposed to be resting? You took over his spot just so you wouldn`t let him goddamn rest you ass?”- He wanted his own chance to be the ‘guy in the chair’ for Not-Spider man 7) “…

I`m feeling a bit disturbed by this, not gonna lie.

It all looks a bit… uncomfortable.”- Oh good, because I’m pretty sure that was the intended effect…. 8) “…

uh. okay. you know, that page was… well, it was- you know? Am I the only one that realized the implications of this whole thing? I hope I am, because that would mean that I am wrong. I prefer to be wrong about it this time.”- Nope, you weren’t and I think it was intentionally framed that way for a reason. 9) “Okay let me just pause a moment to reflect a bit.

I`m not simply overreacting, right?

That last page was as fucked as I think it was, right?”- Yes. Yes it was. We did say that Vigilantes starts getting dark around this point… 10) “Also what`s all this about now? Don`t tell me we`re suddenly hiring vigilantes to keep a neighborhood watch.”- More like part-time/semi-retired lower-rank heroes to increase the number of boots on the ground and those who can be the first-responders to people in danger when the next attack happens. Not knowing when the attack will happen means they just have to be constantly ready for an attack to happen anytime, and with crimes around the city requiring Pro heroes to respond to those, having volunteers available to handle initial crises response until they arrive to take over makes sense. 11) “Yeah, you all are hardline™ veterans that are highly trained on advanced warfare™, exactly the kind of people we need on the vanguard™ to deal with villains that disappear like ghosts™

Those are difficult days, it`s makes you feel like the world at war™ out here, but I`m sure you all can handle it”- It’s also a convenient way for Nomura to infiltrate events from the inside to maintain his ability to manipulate the situation as a seemingly-inconsequential side-character, without drawing too much undue attention. In contrast to Koichi basically planning to show up and cause a ruckus in contrast to the heroes’ plans, He’s stealthily working within said plans for his own aims. 12) “ALSO, WHAT IN GOD`S NAME IS THIS HERO

FURUHASHI KNOWS THAT THE HEROES ARE ALL HIGHLY-TRAINED WARRIORS, OR AT THE VERY LEAST INCREDIBLY ATHLETIC RESCUERS, RIGHT? WHAT AM I EVEN LOOKING AT HERE? THIS DUDE LOOKS LIKE HE BOUGHT THIS ON A CORNER STORE AND DOES THIS ON THE WEEKENDS WHEN HIS BUDDIES AREN`T UP TO PLAY GOLF”- He puts me in mind of a Robin that quit the Boy Wonder deal for a while, but still loves the glory days and isn’t quite ready to hang up the cape yet. Not helped by the fact he’s clearly put on weight since that hero costume was fitted for him, judging by how he’s having to constantly pull the top down to cover his stomach. 13) “FURUHASHI, YOU KNOW THAT HEROES AREN`T VOLUNTEERS, RIGHT? THEY DON`T DO “HEROES GIGS” ON THEIR DAYS OFF, WHAT AM I READING NOW, HOW DID WE GOT HERE, WHAT IS THIS WHIPLASH FROM FUCKED UP SCENE TO FUCKED UP WORLDBUILD?”- Even Nomura seems a little put off by the tonal whiplash, going by the sweat drops on his face there. 14) “YEAH, WE NEVER KNOW WHEN THE VILLAIN IS JUST WALKING RIGHT BY OUR SIDE, AM I RIGHT FELLAS?”-The most devious devil hides in plain sight. If there was one advantage to AFO’s disfigurement at All Might’s hands, it’s that he’d never again be able to appear ‘normal’ to deceive others- not that he wasn’t experienced enough to still be a devious SOB regardless. 15) “And that`s the end of the chapter, and- Boy, you know when you can see two trains speeding towards each other, but you can`t look away because that was what you came here to see in the first place? Thsat`s how I`m feeling about the story.

It`s an impending trainwreck, but I just- can`t look away.”- That vibe increased my investment in this series tenfold throughout these chapters. Not just the fact that Koichi has to save pop even from the official heroes, but that he’s got a villain out there specifically against him and he’s still clueless about it, or how these events are being deliberately engineered to screw with him. You can’t fight what you can’t see, and Nomura’s very good at remaining unseen. @thelreads

[cuz-reasons]

I just remembered how I changed my discord status to "schools done I'm normal now" when I have finished my last paper only to change it later that night to "that's it! You're going in the sofa!"

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (10/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Okay, so this is mostly fluff, thank goodness. And, finally, some answers about who took her. Nothing canon, but definitely fun to mess with. Anyway, please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, brief description of injury

Part 9

“Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but when can I go home?” I ask.

"We want to make sure you're healed enough to be on your own," Steve says. Bucky gives him a very pointed look and he clears his throat. "But I think you should be cleared before the end of the week."

I nod. "Okay."

"You're not going to argue on that?"

I shrug and shake my head. "No. I don't really see any point in doing so. I’m hurt, you’re telling me that I need time to heal. Seems pretty straight forward.”

"I see."

"Was there anything else?" I ask.

“It can wait till you’re feeling better.”

“No, Steve, I’m fine now.” He frowns and I tilt my head to the side. “What is it?”

“What connection do you have to Dr. Danielle Hoffman?”

“I don’t… is she the woman from the barn?” He nods. “Right. I only knew her as the Doctor. No one used real names and I didn’t bother asking for any, but that doesn’t matter. Dr. Hoffman is the reason that I have wings.”

Clint appears beside the bed. “Wait, you fell into her vat of toxic waste?”

“From what she said, yeah, I think so.” I reach over my shoulder and scratch at my left wing. “There were others like me at one point, but I think they’re dead. She probably found them long before me, partially because I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

“How so?”

“I fell into a vat of whatever was leftover from her initial experiments, I think. That’s how I got my wings. She didn’t have an answer when her lackey asked when I was made.” He opened his mouth, but closed it immediately. “What?”

“What’d she do to you? And why?”

“Steve,” Bucky warns. “That’s enough,”

“It’s fine, Buck, I’d rather talk about it than keep it bottled up. Besides,” I reach out and he grabs my hand. “Considering I’m not dead, I probably got off easy. The rest weren’t so lucky.”

“Okay.” He sits beside me on the bed and envelopes my hand in both of his. “You can stop any time.”

“I know,” I murmur. He kisses the side of my head and I smile. Steve clears his throat and I cough awkwardly. “Anyway… the Doctor was incredibly clinical about everything right up until the last few days, but I think she freaked out after a couple guards saw Clint and Bucky lurking around. That was about when they belted down my wings and started actually leaving marks when they hit me. Partially my fault, if I’m being honest.”

“None of that was your fault, (Y/N).”

I nod. “Mm, yeah, except when I punched a guard in the eye and then intentionally egged them on.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I don’t know! I was tired of being manhandled and jabbed with needles and dragged hither and yon at every hour of the day. When they were told to hit me, something took over and I told them to not puss out.” I laugh before realizing how morbid it sounds. “Stupid as it is, this really isn’t the worst I’ve been hurt. They didn’t really try all that hard when they came at me.”

“That’s still not okay,” Steve says.

“No, I know that. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but they hadn’t gotten a single reaction out of me that they wanted since the first day. Their bark was entirely bigger than their bite.” I lean against Bucky and he sighs. “But in that moment, I realized that you’d found me. It was just a matter of time until you got me out of there.”

“Didn’t figure you’d be in Michigan,” Bucky mutters.

I rub my hand up and down his arm. “Still.”

“Was there anything else you learned about Hoffman?” Steve asks.

“No. I was unconscious during most of the tests. She didn’t want me moving around while she worked. Why?”

Steve shakes his head. “Everything we’ve been able to dig up on her leads back to A.I.M., but after that it’s a dead end.”

“Well that would make sense. A.I.M. focussed on genetics for a long time, right? Aldrich Killian weaponized it, but I doubt he was the first one in the agency to do so.”

“You’re right, but Hoffman hasn’t been associated with A.I.M. for almost twenty years.”

“Even better for her, right? If she’s not under their roof, no one can hover while she experiments on, and inevitably mutilate and kill, live, human specimens. Being out on her own was probably the best thing that happened to her.”

“That… that makes a lot of sense.”

“She probably dragged a bunch of disgraced A.I.M. grunts along with her when she left.”

“She did, actually. There were a handful of private contractors in her crew, but just about everyone has ties to A.I.M..”

“What about that wiry, ratty-looking guy?”

“We’re still looking into him. We don’t have an ID yet, but we do know he was weirdly strong.”

“What if he’s one of her experiments?” I ask. “He seemed to be really close to her, not in the way that an evil boss and henchman are close.”

Steve nods. “You’re probably right, I’ll make a note of that.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly very tired, I lean heavily against Bucky. I shiver and he wraps his arm around my middle.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod and mumble, “Just really, really tired.”

Steve takes this as his cue to leave and promises to get back to me with any new information he has before I’m released. I thank him and he quickly disappears out into the hall. Only when the doors close does Bucky help me lay down. He lays beside me and Clint drags a chair up to the side of the bed. He pouts and complains about the hospital bed being too small.

I laugh. “It’s stupid uncomfortable, Clint, You don’t wanna be up here anyway.”

“No, I really think I do,” he counters. “Bucky’s been hogging you since we got you back. I’m just waiting my turn.”

“Aw,” I poke Bucky’s stomach and he grabs my hand. “You couldn’t let him cuddle with me for a little bit?”

Bucky shrugs. “The bed’s uncomfortable. He’d hate it.”

“We could probably move to one of our rooms, if we wanted,” Clint suggests. “The beds would be more than big enough for the three of us.”

“Wouldn’t we get in trouble?” I ask, looking between Clint and Bucky.

Bucky glances over his shoulder at Clint, who gives him a pleading look. “I’m sure it’d be fine. We just have to be careful with you and keep an eye on your injuries.”

I nod. "Okay, let's do it, then."

I look up in time to see a grin flash across Clint's face before he can tamp down his excitement. He takes his time moving his chair back to the edge of the room and fiddling with something on the couch. Bucky helps me sit up, but refuses to let me walk to the room. Instead, he loops my arms around his neck and picks me up. He wraps my arms around his waist and signals to Clint that we’re ready to go.

"You got her bag?" Bucky asks.

"Of course I do."

"My bag?"

"I drove back into the city after we got you back and packed up some things I thought you might need," Clint explains. "Just some clothes and your tooth brush, but you can't wear a hospital gown the rest of your life."

"Thanks, Clint." I reach out and he takes my hand. "I really appreciate that."

He smiles and kisses the back of my hand. “Thought you might.”

Bucky’s room is closest and he uses me to lead Clint down the hallway, gently pulling him along by our linked hands. The three of us bundle through the doorway and Clint drops my bag in the chair next to the dresser. Bucky allows me to stand on my own and I move to sift through the bag on the chair.

I find a pair of soft leggings and immediately put them on in place of the thin boxers I was provided. I pull one of my shirts from the bag and stare at it, knowing full well that I won’t be able to wear it. It’s too tight and would rub against my still too sensitive skin. I sigh and let it fall back into the bag.

Clint places a gentle hand on my waist and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t wear my shirts. They’re too tight to get on with my injuries.”

“That’s not a problem,” Bucky says.

He pulls one of his shirts from his dresser and cuts two slits down the back from neck to hem. Clint helps me out of the hospital gown and I readjust the straps of my sports-bra before taking the altered shirt from Bucky. I yank the neck over my head and slowly slip my hands through the arms.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask. “It’s huge.”

Bucky shrugs. “Big shirts are more comfortable to sleep in.” He lifts the middle flap from my right wing, positions it between my shoulder blades, and ties the slits off at the hem. “Is that comfortable?”

I shake out my wings and nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I crawl into the unmade bed and lay on my left side. With one eye closed and the other slightly cracked, I watch Bucky change into a pair of sweats. Clint simply strips off his jeans and climbs onto the bed with me. He pulls me to his chest and pulls the covers up to my chin. Bucky slides in beside me and places his hand on my back. Clint rolls us slightly so that Bucky can press closer without crushing my wings. Clint’s hand presses between my wings while Bucky’s arm snakes around my middle. His hand splays out over my stomach and his warmth practically seeps into my skin.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bucky asks.

I nod. “I’m just sore now, for the most part.”

“Tell us where it hurts?”

“Pretty much everything from the waist up,” I say. “I think my arms got overextended when they chained me up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clint murmurs.

“Sometimes it still feels like my wings are strapped down.” I sigh and scrub one hand over my face. “It’s hard to sleep when you guys aren’t there.”

Their arms tighten around me, but neither of them speak. With Clint and Bucky tangled around me, I feel so safe and secure that I can finally just relax. The silence that blankets the room is soothing instead of stifling. There’s no urge to explain away the pain or make excuses.

Bucky kisses the back of my neck and I cover his hand with mine. My body grows heavy and I slowly drift off to sleep.

The door slams open startling the three of us awake. I grip Bucky’s hand and both Clint and Bucky’s arms tighten around me.

“Bucky, she’s gone.”

It’s Steve.

“The hell are you talking about, Rogers?” I manage to say.

“But you-”

“Medbay is cold and silent. It’s easier to sleep here, with them.”

“We’ve got new intel, he says, breezing past what I just said.

“Okay?” I try to bury my head in the pillows. “It can wait till tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Go away, Steve,” Bucky says. “She needs her rest.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Clint muffles his snicker against the pillow. “Go away. She’ll find you tomorrow.”

Steve sighs. “Fine.”

He retreats and the door closes.

Bucky sighs and grumbles something about “getting out of here asap.”

“Steve said I’d be cleared before the end of the week,” I mumble. “I’ll bother him about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is twelve hours away,” Clint says.

“No,” I poke his stomach and he laughs. “Tomorrow is whenever I can haul myself out of bed, and there’s no telling when that’ll be.”

“Mm, you’re hilarious,” he says dryly.

“It’s why you keep me around, right?”

Bucky snorts. “Go to sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know that’s not why we keep you around.”

“But it’s one reason?”

“It’s a bonus.”

“Hmm,” I trace my thumb over Bucky’s knuckles. “An acceptable answer.”

“Sleep, (Y/N),” Clint mumbles. “We’re not gonna go anywhere.”

“Okay.” I nod, yawn, and press my nose to his chest. “Okay.”

-----------

Part 11

Finally, finally we can get away from the Hardcore Sad Times and back to interacting with Clint and Bucky (which I think is pretty great, just for my own peace of mind lmao.)

Anyhow, I’d love to see your reactions! I always like knowing what you guys thought, so please comment, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask!

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[sondepoch]

Day 9

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

“The flowers are beautiful, Jumin.” You smile as you stare into the bouquet of red and white, wondering how the man had managed to discretely procure these roses when you’ve been all but glued to his side for the past three days. You have more tact than to ask, though, so you settle for a bashful smile up at Jumin as he pulls a single long-stemmed rose from the bundle, lifting it up and fitting it into the first knot of the elegant braid you’d woven your hair into for this special evening.

Wear this, he had mumbled an hour ago, thrusting the burgundy gown you’re currently wearing into your arms. I have a surprise for you.

You ended up exiting the room fully dressed: wearing heels, earrings, a necklace, and all the other little accessories you’d managed to dig up that pair with the outfit. In truth, you’d expected that Jumin would be taking you out to a restaurant, to get your mind off of everything. When you’d next seen him, that thought had only been reinforced, staring at the man in his crisp suit, not a single strand of cat hair anywhere on his body.

But what he’s prepared is more romantic than even an evening at a five-star establishment, with all its elegance and prestige.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as Jumin leads you into what was once his living room.

“How do you like it, my love?” He smiles down at you, still holding your hand as he brings it up to his lips to lay a tender kiss over the knuckles.

“Oh, Jumin.” You’re left at a loss for words, your response coming out in a jumble. “How—how did you do all of this? And when? It’s—it’s so lovely—too lovely—oh, Jumin, it’s incredible. I love it. I love it so much, I love it and I love you, Jumin.” You wrap your arms around the man, sighing in content as he chuckles over your complete mesmerization.

And, looking around, who wouldn’t be mesmerized by this?

The living room has been reborn.

It’s no longer a comfortable lounging area, with couches and a TV—it’s something else entirely. Where there was once a carpet, now the hardwood floor has been exposed, revealing the vibrant color of the wood that seems to glow in the gentle lighting. All furniture has been removed, not a single couch or coffee table in sight, and the room is lined with tall wick candles, the flames flickering gently as they give off the soft scent of romance.

And there, in the very center of the room, is what brings the entire aesthetic together: a table for two, with a single candle and rose in the center of the table.

Stunning.

The table has even been moved parallel to the windowed wall you love so much, giving you both a perfect view of the city and its quiet but distant lights, and you can only stare at the sheer beauty of everything. Who would have thought that Jumin’s living room could be converted into this?

“Shall we?” The man whispers, offering his arm to you as you walk forward. Your heels click quietly on the ground, and soon enough, Jumin has pulled out your chair.

You take your seat with a gracious smile.

“It’s amazing,” You mumble, still looking around. The walls have been stripped bare of the modern artwork previously hung, the only art in sight being the cityscape the two of you painted together just two days ago. “How much effort did it take to arrange all this?”

“That doesn’t matter, my love. It was all worth it, I assure you.” Jumin’s gaze is soft as he strokes the top of your hand with his thumb from across the table. “Your smile has never looked so lovely.”

You can’t suppress the immediate grin that stretches across your features, a light blush painting itself over your cheeks. You would say something just as romantic back to him, but another man enters the room, one you recognize as Jumin’s private chef. Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment, given that you haven’t seen anyone other than Jumin in these past few days, but you quickly understand.

Jumin must want to give you the full experience of a romantic dinner. Having it located in his own penthouse is only meant to enhance the experience, which obviously will be a five-course meal with a privatized dining experience, complete with a personal chef and waiter.

“Sir, my lady.” The chef politely nods at you both. “The current meal course prepared is best complemented by a bottle of Pétrus, though if there is an issue, our stock offers a variety of other wines that pair well. Might I bring a bottle out?”

Jumin nods his head, the whole situation a mere formality to better simulate a restaurant, but you smile nonetheless. He’s so thoughtful.

“It occurred to me that the two of us have yet to have a formal dinner like this,” Jumin says when the wine arrives, pouring you both a glass. You take a sip of yours. “So I wanted to treat you.”

Before we have to part.

You hear that second part in your head, an unwanted extension of Jumin’s kind words. They’re true, but you ignore the thought, forcing it away with another drink of your wine.

“This Pétrus is delicious,” You say when the glass leaves your lips.

“I agree. It’s one of my favorite reds, so I always make sure to have a few bottles on hand.” Jumin smiles, taking a sip himself. “Though I must say, the company makes this glass taste infinitely better.”

Once more, your cheeks pinken at the man’s utter seriousness as he says words that, from anyone else, would be teasing. It only adds to his charm, though. Not that his charm needs adding to. The fact that he’s managed to do all this when he could have simply taken you out to a restaurant speaks volumes about his character—volumes about how much he cares for you.

Slowly, the night grows longer and the conversation turns natural once more, both of you finding comfort in the presence of each other. You feel like you should pay attention to the food, to the foie gras on your plate that is quickly exchanged for glazed steak rolls and then caviar with crème fraîche and then something else that you barely think about as you swallow, but you can’t. How can anyone think about food, of all things, with a man as interesting as Jumin so close?

You smile as he finishes his analysis of the current market economy, concluding with a brief mention of how the optimal time for purchasing stocks should come in roughly eight months, counterproductive as it may seem. If you’re perfectly candid, you’re not sure you care—but that doesn’t matter. The fact that these words are coming from Jumin is enough to make you hang on to every sentence for dear life.

After all, it’s not like you’ll have the rest of your life to savor his presence.

You take another sip of your wine at the thought, immediately forcing the knowledge away.

“(Y/N)?” Jumin asks. His eyes are round in concern. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” You say with a smile. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you seem to be drinking rather heavily tonight. This bottle is nearly empty, and I’ve only had a glass.” Jumin’s eyes shift away, clearly uncomfortably with the direct confrontation. “Do consider that tomorrow is a day of...importance. It would be very difficult for you if tonight’s alcohol adds to your burdens.”

Hungover.

Fancy phrases cast aside, Jumin is saying that it’ll be bad if you’re hungover for your wedding tomorrow.

You hold back a slight frown as the chef (or waiter? Jumin is partially correct, your brain is a bit fuzzier than it should be right now) sets down a plate of Danish chocolate truffles: the dessert course. You wait until the man leaves the room to respond to Jumin, staring at the three delicate balls of cocoa and sugar.

“Let’s not speak about tomorrow.” You take another sip of wine to push the thoughts away from your mind, savoring the fogginess that accompanies the wash of the Pétrus down your throat. With cares of the morrow freshly forgotten, you turn your face back to Jumin. “Shall we eat these truffles? They do look quite delicious.”

But Jumin doesn’t seem to register your question. If anything, his expression grows darker when he notes your utter avoidance of his earlier comment.

A moment of silence passes between you two.

And then Jumin breaks it.

He stands up with a sigh, walking over to you to pull out your chair. You almost lose your balance in your heels when he helps you up, his hold gentle but quicker than you’re used to. Or perhaps it’s just as quick as you’re used to, but your dulled senses are processing it incorrectly. “Come on, my love.” Jumin’s voice is soft, tender as he wraps an arm around your waist. He doesn’t sound angry, or even irritated. But there’s a mute helplessness lurking behind his words—one that you’re too mentally unfocused to understand why. “We should get you to bed.”

You freeze at the words, your body suddenly fighting back against Jumin. You still against his touch, rooting yourself to the ground.

“No.”

The word is quiet, but it’s there nonetheless. Jumin halts at your denial, glancing down at you with confusion painted over his fine features. “(Y/N)?”

You press your hands flat against his chest, forcing him to stop (and subsequently stabilizing you on the ground). “Do not force me to go to sleep now, Jumin.” You hear the waver in your voice, and you have to swallow before you continue. “Do not end this night earlier than it has to.”

Against your arms, Jumin sighs. If he didn’t understand it before, he understands the reason for your increased alcohol consumption now. “My love,” He murmurs, wrapping you in a gentle embrace. “We can’t...we can’t delay time itself. This...has to end.” Jumin pauses, leaning back ever-so-slightly. “You know that, right?”

You suppress an urge to curse at his words, a wave of frustration flooding you. Of course you know that. How much of a fool does the man take you for? You can hold your alcohol better than he thinks; you’re only slightly buzzed from the beverages.

Is it so wrong to give in to temptation, though? Is it so wrong to allow yourself to forget the truth? To forget, for one fucking moment of your godforsaken life, that this snapshot of happiness isn’t going to last?

“You need to sleep, (Y/N).” Jumin sighs, lifting you. Miraculously, he slides you out of your slip-on heels, placing you flat on the ground. “It’s time...to accept our reality.”

“Is this how you wanted dinner to end?” You ask. The question is real. Had you ruined the evening with your drinking, or was the dinner the goodbye in itself? You feel tears hot in your eyes, spurred on by your slight inebriation, and you suddenly wish you hadn’t touched your glass of red.

Jumin’s smile is sad as he gazes down at you, brushing a strand of loose hair out of your face and looping it behind your ear. His hand traces from your ear, to your jaw, to your ear again and then the back of your head where he had earlier slipped a rose into your braid. He strokes the flower’s petals, and as you gaze into his eyes, you understand his earlier sigh of helplessness. “This was the only way for dinner to end, my love.” A pause. And it’s here that Jumin should stop; it’s here that he should wrap you in a hug and lift you into his arms as usual, but for some reason, the man continues. “For us, there are no happy endings.”

The painful words of the truth hit you like a truck, knocking the air out of you, and you feel a shudder travel through your body. In an instant, the tears in your eyes are falling to your cheeks, and your knees would hit the ground if not for Jumin’s quick reflexes.

“Shh,” He whispers into your ear as you allow yourself to cry in the safety of his arms. For days, you’ve suppressed the tears. Suppressed the tears and suppressed the truth. But there’s no denying it anymore, is there? The wedding is tomorrow, and you’re going to forever lose this sweet mercy of happiness that you’ve found in Jumin’s arms. “Don’t cry,” He whispers. “Everything will be okay, don’t cry.”

“B-be quiet,” You mumble into his shirt, though you both know you don’t mean it. “Of all people, you don’t deserve to...to…”

To what?

To comfort you? To hold you? To cradle you in his arms, and soothe you?

Jumin lifts your body up, a motion he’s done nearly a hundred times by now in your brief stay with him, and carries you to his bed. He kisses your tears away, lips fluttering across your cheeks every time your miseries persist, until they’re dry.

He briefly leaves your side, murmuring something about getting you something to change into, but you barely register his words. The storm of emotion wreaking havoc on your heart is too much for you to think about anything else.

If you were to withdraw from the blankets and place an ear to the door, you might hear the snippets of a conversation Jumin has over the phone: hushed utterings directed to Luciel, something about coordinates and calling in a favor just this once to make saying goodbye a little easier. But the words end up staying between Jumin and the redhead hacker on the line, you and your despair entirely unknowing of the entire discussion.

But it doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter.

Because right now, to you, nothing matters.

Three days ago, you’d had at least that: three days left with Jumin Han. He was to be your mortal savior, a brief gift from God to show you bliss. But now, your time is up. And you’ll have to leave his side.

You barely respond to the man as he helps you out of your clothes, slipping you into silk pajamas that feel cool and refreshing against your skin. He wraps you in an embrace from behind in an attempt to soothe your trembling as he pulls your body back down onto the bed, silently encouraging you to sleep, and give yourself the mercy of slumber to escape this life, however temporary.

But even as Jumin rubs soothing circles into your sides, all the lights out and the noises of the city far away, your mind is impossibly alert.

You think about the chocolate truffles still on the table. Three exquisite balls, shaped to perfection in their cocoa goodness, untouched and disregarded. You feel an overwhelming urge to return to the table, to drag Jumin out of bed, and finish those truffles with him.

It will be brief, but it will be happiness. Another memory for you to recall on painful nights, as you reminisce over a love that should have been but never could have been.

You almost turn around in Jumin’s embrace, with a heart set of whispering your request into his ear, before you realize—what’s the point?

There’s so much you want to do. Having chocolate truffles with Jumin is only the beginning.

You want to wake up with Jumin and appreciate his morning bedhead. You want to make him breakfast, and learn how he likes his eggs best. You want to find out how he drinks his coffee, and surprise him at work with a cup. You want to spend peaceful afternoons with him, and listen to him analyze all your favorite books. You want to take bubble baths with him, go to jazz clubs with him, play board games with him, have inside jokes with him, you want to love him goddamnit.

A tightness begins to clutch at your throat, and you wish it would grow tighter. Anything, to get you out of the hell that your life will be without Jumin by your side.

You can hear the grandfather clock chime twelve times: twelve loud syllables that are a ringing declaration that the cursed day has come.

Twelve reminders that the life you’ve lived has ended, your heart—the one thing keeping you afloat all this time—ripped out of your chest to be lost forever with the sweet memories of what these past nine days with Jumin have been.

You bury yourself in the covers, in memories of how you fell in love with this ebony-haired businessman.

Instinctively, a smile crosses your face. So many memories. It’s barely been over a week, but it’s enough to last you a lifetime. Enough for you to daydream all night, only popping out of your enraptured state once every hour when the grandfather clock breaks your focus to tell you that it’s one, two, three, four, five o’clock.

Before the clock can ring six times, though, the sunrise beats it.

You frown when you see the room beginning to lighten, the darkness lifted with the ghost of sunlight. You immediately stiffen, thoughts of Jumin and the time he had mistaken a spatula for ladle suddenly removed from your mind.

You swallow, and the way Jumin’s arms tense around you tells you that he, too, has been unable to sleep this past night.

You’re quiet.

You don’t want to disturb the moment.

If you freeze and pretend not to move, will time humor you and stop its march forward?

You hold your breath as light continues to fill the room, stealing away the last of your inner peace.

There’s no mistaking it: the new day has arrived, the morning sunrise you once adored being the bearer of bad news. A pity, you can’t help but think. There was a time when you liked the rising sun, with it’s promise of a new day, of new possibilities, new life.

All it can bring you now is the daily reminder of the miserable life you’ve been cursed to live.

A life without love, happiness, or hope.

A life without Jumin.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 |  ✔

Word count: 3.1k

Notes: Ahhhh I can't believe this is the second last chapter! It's been such a wild ride, and chapter 10 (day 10, i guess) is something I'm super excited for :) (lmao im already planning my next jumin x reader fic the things i do for this man smh) 

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/16/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 11

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12  || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 2800 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

No sex in this one.

Hold on to your butts.

Read it on AO3

One week. A mere seven days remained till the unveiling, and Zhenya was walking around with a constant coil of nervous anticipation in his belly. Every day was a nonstop series of decisions to be made, plans to be finalized, fittings to attend, and messages to answer. He was tired -- exhausted, even -- but the adrenaline was keeping him going.

His brother’s memorial service had taken place a few days after That Night By the Lake (as he was calling it in his head). Victor’s body would be buried and consecrated at his mountain home, but the King and Queen had held both a public and a family-only celebration of his life. The consort had accompanied him to the family-only celebration -- Zhenya didn’t need to talk during the hour long service, anyway -- and had been a tremendous comfort to him. Holding his husband’s hand, Zhenya felt steadier than he had since getting the news.

The services had seemed to give his parents some peace; no further suggestions that the unveiling be postponed had been offered, and nobody seemed to think that going ahead with it as planned was in poor taste (his family had sufficient critics in the newspapers that such an opinion, if it existed, would surely have been offered). 

With each day that passed, the danger of miscarriage dropped, and everyone’s steps lightened a little. His consort seemed to be feeling more energetic and was holding himself less gingerly as he walked. They’d even been having sex more frequently -- a few nights before, the consort had produced the infamous blindfold again, to Zhenya’s delight. He’d hoped for a repeat but hadn’t thought it his place to ask.

He hadn’t seen Sidney since That Night By the Lake. Sidney had kept to his word and stayed out of sight. With all the excitement for the unveiling, and the many demands upon his time, Zhenya had even managed to keep his mind off him. He couldn’t think about Sidney leaving, about never seeing him again -- if he let himself dwell on it, his guts twisted up and he couldn’t think about anything else. Once his consort was unveiled, he hoped like hell that he’d feel calmer about Sidney going back to New Scotland, and that he’d be able to say a polite good-bye without having to restrain himself from seizing Sidney and running away with him. Sidney would become a man he’d once known and then lost, a fond memory, and hopefully in the future, he’d be able to think of him without wanting to curl up into a little ball and sob.

He was on his way from a meeting of the King’s Council -- not unveiling-related business, for once -- to his office, where he was to meet with the groundskeepers about preparations for the party, when he heard hurrying footsteps approaching. He turned and was surprised to see his consort full-on running toward him, his veils flying out behind him, exposing most of his smart-but-casual suit. Zhenya cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face. The consort ran up and grabbed his hand, his body language screaming “excitement.” He pulled Zhenya the last few meters to Zhenya’s office and inside. The groundskeepers were already there, with Sasha lurking nearby. They rose, hats in their hands -- these men weren’t accustomed to speaking to the royal family -- and started in with the bows and greetings. The consort rushed over to them, nodding and touching their arms, gesturing to the door, looking toward Sasha, who got the message quickly. “Gentlemen, the Prince and his consort have business, we must ask you to wait a little while…” The consort was gesturing to his watch, then held up ten fingers, twice. “...twenty minutes, will that be all right?”

The groundskeepers agreed, and Sasha hustled them out of the room, casting a confused look back at Zhenya, who just shrugged. “No idea,” he mouthed at Sasha as the door closed behind them, leaving him alone with the consort.

Zhenya turned to face him, spreading his hands in a “well?” gesture. The consort hesitated, then came forward to grasp both of his hands and pull him to a chair. He pushed him down into it, then took a deep breath.

As Zhenya watched, his husband undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down a little bit, lifting his shirttail. He grabbed one of Zhenya’s hands and placed it against his lower abdomen, where...Zhenya’s eyes widened. There was a small, barely noticeable but definitely-there bump that hadn’t been there three days before, the last time they’d had sex. He leaned closer, a broad, delighted smile spreading across his face and joy bubbling up in his chest. He put both hands on the consort’s belly, framing the bump with his fingers, and looked up at him -- he almost fancied he could see the man’s grin through his veils. He leaned in and kissed the slight swell under his consort’s skin then hugged him, wrapping his arms around his husband’s hips and burying his face in his stomach. He felt the consort’s hands in his hair as he hugged him back and the shakiness of his breath against the top of Zhenya’s head.

Zhenya pulled away and tilted his head up, then shut his eyes, being very obvious about it. He felt his husband chuckle, then the brush of fabric against his face as he lifted the veils. He drew him down to kiss him, keeping his eyes firmly shut. The consort’s soft mouth opened to him and Zhenya slid one hand back against his belly, cradling the firmness of that little bulge, invisible beneath his clothes. The first time he’d held their child. 

He drew his consort a little closer. “Husband,” he whispered into his ear. He felt a shudder pass down his consort’s whole body. He drew back and tapped him so he could replace his veils, then opened his eyes and got to his feet. He pulled his husband into his arms, hoping that this embrace would communicate what he could not in words -- his gratitude at what the consort was doing for them, what he was enduring for them, and what Zhenya was willing to sacrifice for him.

-------------

Zhenya never saw much point in rehearsing for the unveiling, but rehearsal had been deemed necessary, so he went along with it. He suspected that it was a way to introduce another state dinner to the schedule.

It wasn't like the ceremony was complicated. He’d be standing up front with his parents and the consort’s parents, who’d arrived the day before from New Scotland. The consort would enter, in fancy bedazzled veils for the occasion, and present himself before them. The cleric would proclaim that the consort was giving life to the royal bloodline, or some such nonsense, and that he was to be accepted into the heart of the Prince and the honor of the family. He’d take one knee, and Zhenya would lift his veil, they’d exchange their weddings rings and that would be it.

And yet here they’d been standing for half an hour while various clerics and footmen ran hither and yon, repositioning people, agonizing over the processional order, the music cues, the placement of the kneeling stool, everything under the sun. Zhenya was almost grateful that his consort was present and neither of them were allowed to speak, or else he might have unleashed some choice commentary.

He glanced at his husband, standing at his side with his arms folded, and he could almost see the man’s eye-roll in his body language. Sasha was harassing everyone to please, get this show on the road, we’re all hungry, the consort’s feet are swelling, don’t you know he’s pregnant (the consort’s feet were not, in fact, swelling, but Sasha wasn’t above evoking pregnant-consort guilt to move things along). 

Finally they were ready for an actual run-through. Zhenya took his place, his parents and in-laws took theirs, and he felt that little frisson of excitement again as the doors opened and his consort walked regally to the platform and stood by the kneeling stool. It’s really almost here, he thought. Tomorrow. He’d see his husband’s face tomorrow.

The cleric directed the consort to take one knee, which he did, his veiled face tilted up. Zhenya stepped forward and, on his cue, mimed lifting the veil.

His stomach dropped and twisted as he did so. In his mind’s eye he saw himself lifting that veil tomorrow, saw his husband’s face appear, and of course, of course, all he saw was Sidney. Sidney’s eyes, Sidney’s lips, his thick, wavy hair and his jawline like a flying buttress. 

It won’t be him. You can’t imagine that it’s him. Stop it.

His mother nudged him. He became abruptly aware that he’d been standing there, pretending to hold up an invisible veil, for several more beats than he should have been. The excitement he’d been feeling had twisted into dread; his throat closed up and his hands shook. He looked down at the consort, who’d cocked his head in a sort of “what’s going on” gesture, and Zhenya was suddenly furious -- at himself, at Sidney. None of this was his consort’s fault. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong -- in fact he’d been so much more than Zhenya could have imagined -- and here Zhenya was, wishing for another man on the very eve of their new life together. 

He took a step back, his teeth grinding. More words were being said, instructions given, but he wasn’t hearing them. All he was hearing was his pulse beating in his ears. “Zhenya?” his father said. He looked around -- everyone was looking at him. He had no idea what was expected of him right now.

So he ran. He turned and strode out of the throne room, banging the door open and ignoring the rising muttering behind him. “Zhenya, wait!” he heard Sasha call. Poor, long-suffering Sasha, who had to put up with him and only gave him a moderate amount of shit for it.

He rounded the corner and ran into Fleury, almost literally. Only the guard’s quick reflexes saved them from a nasty collision. “Sir?” Fleury said. “I was just coming to collect his Highness for dinner.”

“I need to see him. Bring him to my chambers.”

Fleury blinked. “Who, sir?” Zhenya just stared at him. Fleury gave up the pretense and nodded. “I’ll get him, sir. It may take some time, I’ll need to -- find him,” he said, his eyes cutting away.

“Bring him, as soon as you can.” He continued his stalk down the corridor. 

Sasha caught up to him. “You kind of left everyone in the lurch, there.”

“I meant to.”

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t talk about it. I just need to...work something out. It’s fine, nobody needs to worry about anything, especially my husband. Tell Father and Mother and his Highness that I’ll be along to the dinner soon. Please tell the consort that everything is okay.”

“Give me a clue here?”

He stopped and faced him. “Do you need one?”

Sasha sighed. “No. I guess not. Just...put this to bed, will you? Once and for all. For your husband’s sake.”

“That’s what I intend to do.”

He shut himself in his quarters and paced. The image would not leave him -- lifting the veils, seeing Sidney, wrapping him up and spiriting him away to where nobody would ever disturb their peace again. His brain raced ahead of itself to a fantasy of a whole life lived with Sidney, in a home that was theirs alone, Sidney in his arms, in his bed, in his life. All the times he’d successfully avoided thinking of Sidney over the last few weeks seemed to be descending upon him at once, as if the reality of the unveiling was dredging up his own demons to torment him.

Twenty minutes passed before the door opened and Sidney walked in, his brow furrowed. He was tousle-haired and dressed in lounging clothes like he’d been roused from a nap. “What the hell, Zhenya?” he said. 

“My unveiling,” he said. “It’s tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I know! So why are you asking to see me?” He frowned and came closer. “Zhenya, you...you look awful. Are you having some kind of a panic attack?” His tone shifted from irritated to concerned. “I can get the doctor…”

“I’m not panicking, I’m…” He broke off and tried to gather what he could of his thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for this day. Weeks and weeks, I’ve waited. To finally see my husband’s face and hear his voice, to know him and see what kind of life we’ll make together.” He looked up at Sidney. “I was just at the rehearsal. Everyone was practicing where to stand, what to say, how fast to walk. Everyone but me.” Sidney stared at him, stricken. “My husband has done me no wrong, Sidney. He deserves nothing but a good life with me, and our children, with a husband who is focused on him, and only him. So when I saw him there, kneeling and waiting for me to lift his veil, all I could think was that the only thing I’d need to practice was not looking disappointed when at last I see his face because he is not you!”

The words seemed to strike Sidney like a physical blow. He bent over and made a choked, strangled noise in his throat. Zhenya watched him, mute with despair. “Oh God, Zhenya,” Sidney moaned, and then he suddenly reached out and seized him, crashing their mouths together.

Zhenya’s stunned paralysis lasted only a moment. He had told himself for months that he didn’t love Sidney but oh God, he did, he loved him from his bedrock and now the man he loved was in his arms, kissing him with an intensity that took his breath away, and he gave himself over to it, entirely. All thoughts of his consort, his duty, and the next day’s unveiling left him and he could only think of Sidney, the entire world was Sidney. Their kisses were desperate, grasping, clawing at one another like they were trying to climb inside.

Kissing him was even better than it had been in his dreams. That plush mouth, his strong body...that…

...the lips…

Zhenya buried his face in Sidney’s neck and inhaled. The scent of him. So familiar. 

He knew that scent.

...the earth after a thunderstorm.

He froze.

No.

No, no. Impossible.

He jerked back, holding Sidney by the upper arms, and stared into his face, afraid of what he might see there. Sidney stared at him, wide-eyed, his mouth red and plumped from the kiss. “Zhenya...what…”

No, he had to see. He had to know.

He dropped to his knees at Sidney’s feet and pulled down the waistband of his loose pants, put his hand to his belly…

...and felt the small, firm swell beneath the skin.

Oh, God.

He let his head fall forward, his forehead resting against his consort’s belly and the child that grew within him.

Sidney. His consort.

He looked up at him. Sidney met his eyes and then shut his own in defeat, a deep exhale rushing from his chest. “Zhenya,” he whispered, the word riding a mournful sigh out of his mouth, laced with regret and resignation.

Zhenya stood up and backed away. He turned around, his mind reeling. Every interaction he’d had with his consort or with Sidney since their marriage was unspooling in his mind, replayed now and colored with this new knowledge. How he had been played for a fool, allowed to torment himself with guilt over his desire for Sidney, to despise himself for wishing he could just run away with him and abandon his consort...all of it pointless, all of it unnecessary. Who had really been wearing those veils? How many times had he looked down at his consort and seen a fake? Oh God, had he ever...no. He couldn’t think of that. He could barely hold his swirling thoughts in his mind right now. Betrayed rage rose in his heart, repeating the single tortured question -- why?

He went to the door, straightening his clothing. He turned partly back, not quite looking at Sidney, still standing in the middle of his bedroom. “I’m going to the dinner. I’ll be missed if I don’t go. I will...make your excuses. You’re not feeling well.” He paused, then spoke quietly. “I can’t see you right now.”

He went out into the hall; just as he shut the door, he heard Sidney sob.

Next Chapter

[veridium]

dirty little secret

WOAH BOY. I did not expect such a quick turn around, but when you’re writing sweet, sweet friendship, shit happens. thanks to @bitchesofostwick and her fabulous writing that got my gears going.

I have been wanting to use an all-american-rejects ref as a title since we started and now, here I am!

on this episode...Olivia awakens to find Ellinor wearing a strange fleece (HM??). BUT, that is not the only incident that surprises her, as a message left on her door gives her cause for concern. 

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 

--

Her cell phone alarm goes off as it always does on wednesday: 7:30, just enough time to get her shit together before her 10am lecture. However, as she revisits the text she got the night before from Ellinor, it also becomes a beautiful morning for hearing all about her “group project meeting.” Luckily she doesn’t have to travel far, or bother with pants. Wearing an over-sized, old All-American Rejects tour shirt she thrifted a year ago, she fits the bill when lastly she slips on her pink fuzzy slippers -- the only items of her wardrobe she would accept in such a color. She then wanders a few doors down to Ellinor’s and Sera’s room. Sera is gone for a few days on some road trip to one of her many hair-brained destinations, so Olivia has no minced feelings about knocking loudly.

Knock, knock, knock. Nothing.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Nothing again.

“Knock, knock, bitch, get up! We need coffee!”

The door rips open, and a face with slight drool on the corner of her mouth and hair tousled over her eyes appears. But, it’s not her expression that Olivia’s eyes fixate on like a moth to a fleece flame.

A Knight athletic fleece, the expensive one.

“Good morning sunsh--shit, is that…”

Ellinor jerks her chin down, suddenly coherent. Her brow furrows and she whirls around to retreat back into her lair, mumbling things while she lazily swings the door shut. Olivia, of course, slaps her hand on it and waves it open with gusto.

“Ellinor Trev--”

“NO.”

“Is he in here?!” she skips in, looking around in all corners and nooks as if Cullen is compactible like a lawn chair or something. “Oh, God dammit, I never catch your lovers! No fair!”

Ellinor crawls back under her covers and pulls them up over her head. Interestingly, she does not forsake the fleece sweatshirt that has seemed to magically exist out of nowhere.

“Is that his…”

“Mmph.”

“So it IS. You’re a filthy liar! You said you didn’t do anything in your text, I got receipts!” Olivia promptly hops onto the lower side of the twin mattress, curling her legs up under her sideways.

“I didn’t do anything. I meant it. I just...this...it was cold, okay! Why does everyone think I am magically not cold susceptible? I have questionable circulation…” she half-whines the last part, before squirming into her pillow some more like a burrowing naked mole rat.

Olivia hums, not convinced. “You got some explaining to do, and this calls for extra strong coffee. And scones. I want every detail. I’m gonna throw on some sweats or something, I won’t be long.” The casual mood she has yesterday with Cassandra has carried over through a full night’s sleep, and Olivia feels all the pomp and makeup of her typical routine to be unnecessary for once. She swats on the bump in the comforter she suspects is Ellinor’s ass before hopping back onto her feet and out into the hallway. She’ll be back to wrangle her soon enough out of the depths of her ironic despair.

Scooting her poof-slippered feet out into the hall she spots her door half-shut. Only, it’s not her door -- not the way she remembers it, anyhow. There’s...papers? Taped on it just above the doorknob. Posted notes and event reminders aren’t exactly unheard of in dorm halls, but as she walks she scans the other shut and locked doors -- nothing. Just hers has stuff on it.

When she arrives she yanks off the posted paper and notices some hastily copy/pasted clipart of some crosses mounted on a hillside. Her stomach churns as she reads the message. It’s a pamphlet-esque flyer asking the reader if their soul has been saved, and if not, resources in order to accomplish that. On the back there’s a scripture excerpt as the header, and then a list of every Church in the city limits with their contact information and addresses. It has the design skills of a 4th grader who’s project is due the morning after and all they have to use is Microsoft Word 2003.

And on the very bottom, handwritten for that special touch: “For the Slut in 21C.”

She looks both ways down the end of the hall and sees no one lurking, though the hair on the back of her neck stands up. The faces of those Church preps that pouted at her when she was on Cassandra’s bike pop into her head. Oh, it would be an interesting coffee sesh indeed.

--

What had originally been intentions to come outside casual and no muss, no fuss, turned into a black knit oversized sweater dress, thigh-high black velvet boot stilettos, and loose curls with a full face of sharp makeup. She looks like an insta model out in the light of day instead of in her cardboard box, but it is better this way: people don’t fuck with her.

They get their coffee downtown and walk out onto the sidewalk. She has class in 30 minutes, anyway. Ellinor is holding the flyer in her hand, though it’s bent outta shape from Olivia’s wrath.

“I don’t know, Liv. It is kind of concerning that they know where your dorm is. Isn’t that a hate crime if it’s targeting a member of a targeted group?”

“Biphobia getting treated as biphobia instead of ‘free speech’ discussing sexual behavior that both straights and gays sneer at? In this economy?” Olivia slips her own shades on and shoves the forsaken paper into her bag. “And besides, my dorm is easy to find out. All they’d need is one person to see me walking in, or one person who lives in the same hall as me.”

Ellinor slurps her hot matcha latte and hands it over to her, before pulling her aviator shades down from atop her head of a loose braid crown. She slides her arm through the second shoulder strap of her backpack.

Olivia is steeping. On the surface she looks straight up pissed, which is intentional. But deep down she’s nervous. This was more than she signed up for.

“What are you going to do then? It’s obvious this has to do with you hanging out with her. This is bullshit. if I was there when those punks came into the dorm, I would have shoved my timbs so far up their pastey Jesus mayo asses that….that...gah! Just really far, okay?” Ellinor grumbles and sips as they near the corner. She hasn’t had enough caffeine yet. 

Olivia veers to the left and punches the crosswalk button. She reaches into her back searching for her keys as she spots her black mini cooper parked on the curb a block from them.

“I don’t know what the fuck to do! I feel like I’ve become this Scarlet Letter for something I haven’t even done. It’d be different if we had actually, like...did stuff. But she is so prim and…” the crosswalk signals walk, and they push onward. “She goes from this super interested and focused person to hands-off and out the door faster than I can get my eyeliner wings to match.”

Olivia walks faster as Ellinor hones in on the passenger door facing the curb. “Woah that’s...that’s pretty fast.”

“You think?” Olivia faces her over the car hood as she hits the car alarm button, making the headlights flash. She unlocks fast and eyes both ends of the street for surveilling gazes before sliding in.

“At least with Cullen...” Olivia tries to keep her conversation going while settling in, tossing her bag over her head. She slides her key into the ignition and checks her mirror. Ellinor slides her drink into the center console and pulls her seat belt. She’ll need it -- Olivia has a love of driving, and that love translates into speed and mastery of a stick shift.

“At least with Cullen, what?” Ellinor replies, dreading it already.

Olivia bites her lip and eyes her. “You know...at least…” she slumps forward against her steering wheel. “At least you know what his intentions are...I mean, were, for you. He was pursuing you. He wanted to do...to do things with you.” Her tone has gotten less spirited and more melancholy. Enough for Ellinor’s initial defensive pouty face to melt into sympathy. Though, Olivia worries if it’s less sympathy and more soreness at being reminded of what she tossed up.

Dammit, Liv, she thinks to herself. Ellinor isn’t as tough as she plays.

“Well...I think she really does like you,” Ellinor comforts after a pause, her gregarious personality trying its best to rally.

Olivia twists the key to start. The engine grinds and then starts with ease, and she clutches the stick shift with her manicured hand covered in black, dramatic rings on almost every finger.

“I know she likes me. What I meant was, like...you know.”

“You said she asked if she had another...didn’t she call it a ‘shot’ or something?”

“Yeah, but, I don’t--”

“Liv, I don’t know anyone who would ask if they could be friends with someone by asking if they had another shot. Remember how we met?”

Olivia looks at her windshield and snorts. “Yeah. You asked if I had time to talk about our Lord and Savior Gerard Way at a freshman ice cream social of all fucking places. Then I sat on my retainer.”

“Hah,” Ellinor sits back, elbow on the door. “Exactly. Not ‘Do I have a shot?’”

Ellinor, in her particular brand of eloquence, has a point. Cassandra is one of the most intentional people Olivia has ever met. She doesn’t even sneeze out of line. And she doesn’t strike Olivia as the kind of person to sit idle while the things and the people she wants float on by. But, there’s something still hanging her up on it all. An unspeakable hesitancy that comes from having one foot in and one foot out the door.

“I just wish she like...did the thing.”

“Thing? What thing?”

Olivia pulls the car into gear and puts her hands on the wheel, staring out her side mirror for oncoming traffic. “You know, like, there’s a thing queer people do when they want to drop their queerness on the radar. Say you loved the new Hayley Kiyoko single, or...shit, like, you went to Pride last summer and had a blast. Something.”

“Cassandra Pentaghast at Pride? Even if she’s 1/24th lady-lover, dude, I doubt she’d be down.”

“Yeah because that’s how it works, Ellinor,” Olivia chuckles and pulls into the lane, clutches and shifts into gear again as she accelerates. “It’s just like...okay, you know what I mean. Something. Just a little tidbit. Like...letting me go home with a fleece sweatshirt.”

She only has to side-eye her once to see Ellinor’s cheeks go deep with blush, her lips rolling shut.

Olivia raises a brow and adjusts her large, round black sunglasses. “Mhm.”

“Look, I said what I said. It was cold.”

“Fine, fine. I’m only holding off on hounding you ‘cause I know you have to see him again. I can almost see his face watching you leave with it. Ugh, good shit.”

Ellinor slaps her on the arm before grabbing her drink. “It wasn’t like that, dammit.”

“Not when you were looking it wasn’t,” Olivia continues to tease in that sultry tone. “But…’as she walked off, her figure becoming shapeless in the dark and only traceable by lamp light, I knew that she took a piece of my with her...a piece, of fleece…’”

“GOD you are HORRIBLE!” Ellinor’s laugh gets louder the longer Olivia does her act. The ‘poetry recitation’ voice Olivia does is too good, too pure even in its mortification. She laughs, too, as they turn onto the boulevard which will take them directly to campus.

“You talk a good story for a cynic,” Ellinor settles down, resting her knee against the door. The woman can’t sit right in any chair to save her life.

Olivia smirks as she turns her signal on, the car arriving at the light before the campus entrance. “My Mom had those movies on all day when I was a kid, okay. I internalized that trash in between Blue’s Clues episodes.”

“Ugh, I forgot, my bad.”

They pull in and drive past all the pretty red brick building tops, and people walking with backpacks on the sidewalks or running with shorts and tanks on. Olivia notices a jogger weaving through the pairings of people walking to class and she remembers the way Cassandra looked on the soccer fields, back when she was just a tall, dark, and beautiful stranger she could pretend was all these things. Never could she have foreseen this all unfolding, but a part of her misses when it was all a mystery. When it was a mystery, she could believe that Cassandra was for sure into girls. Now, she is attached to finding out the truth, and the truth might not be so kind.

They pull up into one of the Blue parking lots and by some miracle, someone is pulling out in time for her to snag the spot. She turns in and puts it into park.

“Tits up, girl,” Ellinor sighs, grabbing for her things as Olivia turns the key back, the engine going quiet. They both adjust their bras on cue at her word.

“You’re hiding that fleece in your backpack, aren’t you?” Olivia eyes the bag, a little swollen in shape.

Ellinor glares at her. “No.”

“Ellinor,” Olivia giggles, as she pulls her drink up out of the cupholder. “You don’t want to give it back. Admit it.”

“I admit…!” she looks away for a moment and composes herself. “I...am not the owner of this garment, and I will not be keeping it. It was borrowed. I said I would give it to him during class.”

“Mhmm,” Olivia hums again, reaching for the door. Before she does, though, Ellinor is not done with her side of questioning.

“You gonna tell her what happened?”

“Why should I? What is she gonna do, challenge all the preps to a duel on quad? It’s not gonna change anything. Don’t tell Cullen, either. I’m gonna...handle it. It’ll be fine.”

Ellinor rolls her eyes. “Look, I’m not any of your horoscope apps, but the Cassandra I saw last night staring down a guy stick up for someone she barely knows, seems like the kind of person who’d like to know if people are messing with her girl.”

The phrase ‘her girl’ makes Olivia’s stomach erupt into butterflies, and she blushes and looks away towards her window. Thank goodness for giant sunglasses.

“This isn’t High School. I’m not ‘her girl,’ I’m her friend. And a friend who could quickly turn out to be more work than she wanted to deal with when she realizes all her peers want to burn her at the stake.”

“Over my dead body,” Ellinor says, before grabbing Olivia on her forearm as she tries to get out for the car. “Hey, I mean it. If it’s not Cass, it’s me grabbing a crowbar, alright? Just say when and where to aim.”

Olivia looks back at her and her lower lip curdles. “Aw, Ellinor…” she tilts her head, “you do have affectionate emotions….?”

Ellinor quickly scoffs and pushes her. Back to normal in an instant. They get out, and Olivia locks the door. Slinging her bag on her shoulder she looks around again, slightly paranoid despite her cool exterior. No pastel polo shirts and no french braid pigtails. No woman in a black long-sleeve with pants and a pixie cut. For once, she’s relieved on both fronts, and walks with Ellinor down the way towards their respective lecture halls.

On the way, OIivia elbows her in the shoulder, a sly smile on her black lips. “Thanks, babe.”

--

Later that day --

-- Hey, you didn’t say whether you’d come with to the gala next weekend. I need confirmation!!

-- Ellinor: I can, but I’m not going to! You already have someone who can go!

-- That is the opposite of what I have! I’m not inviting her. Ughhh don’t do this to me I’ll cry.

-- Ellinor: [Kim Kardashian Tragic GIF]

-- You’re the worst. How did Cullen act when you gave back the sweater?

✓ READ AT 4:12PM

If she weren’t in the library, she would have screeched like a harpie. As it was, she was not in the place or the time to do so, so her catharsis would have to wait. She shoved her phone in her bra and goes back to collecting her arms worth of books. They aren’t for her this time -- a Professor she’s TA-ing for wanted to scan and make copies of chapters for students, and asked her to do it while they...well, do Professor things.

Such as TA’s did, and Liv being a TA as a third year undergrad was an esteemed vote of confidence she did not shirk.

She comes around the aisle she’s in and decides to cut through to the stairwell. She’s down two floors from the ground level where the checkout desk is, a level that separates the boys from the men in terms of archival dedication. She balances the six or so books of varying densities, wondering how close they are to weighing the same as her.

Around another corner and she comes upon a cluster of single-seat study desks -- you know, the kind that only libraries have, with soft wood and worn out, grey-blue upholstery. A couple heads bob up from their stationed spots at them and she pays them no mind. That is, until she sees a blonde head. Blonde, wavy head.

“C...Cullen?” she says, and is promptly shh’d by someone else. Cullen himself looks up from his desk and laptop, and grins.

“Oliv--” another shh, and he gives them a pointed stare of come on man, before pushing his chair back. “How you been?”

She bobs from foot to foot carrying the stack in both her hands. “Uh, good! Good, just, doing some TA work.”

“Oh, nice. Cassandra mentioned you TA for Professor...uh, their name esca--”

“Erickson. Professor Erickson,” she smiles. “Just for the intro to political and economic theory classes. It’s not a big thing.”  It was and is a big deal. The Political Science department has a huge group of grad students who could TA or assist courses, and they often do. Taking in an undergrad for a TA position meant that undergrad could do the work they did with Bachelor’s degrees, and sometimes even Master’s degrees, under their belt. Her parents didn’t stop talking about it like that for a month after she was invited by Erickson to fill the position. Though, they made it more pompous-sounding than she would have liked.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know. Cassandra is the only other undergrad I know who TA’s.”

“She...she TA’s?”

He looks at her and his brows go together. In a sort of, ‘yeah, of course’ kind of way. Like she was supposed to know that.

“Uh, yeah! In Philosophy, I think.” Figures. The woman breathes and spews philosophy and english lit fervor like Shakespeare has used her for a horcrux. It’s...annoying. And...wonderful.

“Ah, yeah, I think she mentioned that,” she lies, and tucks hair behind her ear while balancing the stack nervously in the other arm.

“You uh, you need help with that?” he gestures to get up, but she shakes her head vehemently.

“No, no,” she replies, smiling again. “It’s fine. I need the conditioning for dance, anyways. How is your group project going?”

He grins and looks back to his desk, blinking fast. He shouldn’t have to say, she already knows. But, it’s the kindness that counts. “Oh, yeah, it’s going good. Group projects, you know. They...they are what they are.”

“Yeah, but, at least it’s with Ellinor right? It’s always better with…” she catches herself, bits her smiling lip, and looks away too. Damn, didn’t think that one through.

“It’s better with people you know, right, I gotcha,” he finishes and puts her out of her misery. He’s a good guy -- he doesn’t let anyone hang out on a limb by themselves, even if he’s a bit awkward in his solidarity. It’s easy being in his presence despite the underlying melancholy.

“Yeah, right! Sorry, my head is fried from today. Look, don’t be a stranger. Come by anytime.” she sounds like she has a house with a picket fence and not a hole-in-the-wall dorm room. The olive branch didn’t fit the ecosystem.

He smiles crookedly and nods. “For sure. Yeah. You have a safe walk back with those books.”

“Oh you know, what’s a fall down some stairs?”

He chuckles and waves his hand casually. “Whatever you say.”

She waves back and sees herself off. A couple yards away from him and she spots the staircase, she reaches in her shoulder bag while keeping her eyes on the sign that says “TO LEVEL B,” feeling for her phone and attached headphones. The papers and pack of gum get shoved in and out, and the smooth plastic of her case finally turns up. She yanks it out before the stack of books in her hand fall apart. The sound and sensation of something falling behind her to the ground pries at the back of her head, but she ignores it -- the books are heavy, and the stairs are gonna be a pain in the ass, and that pain will pale in comparison to copying individual chapters 40 copies each.

She reaches the checkout desk after a grueling journey up two flights and through another plethora of shelf rows. While catching her breath against the desk, she checks her phone. A new message sent 15 minutes prior.

Cassandra: Hey. I’m going to be grading practice midterms Friday afternoon at my TA office in Henderson Hall. I thought maybe you would have a similar workload? Want to keep each other company?

Keep each other company. How sexy. Had she said she TA’d, and Olivia just never caught that detail? That would have been something she’d remember. Oh, wait, they were talking about course-loads at one point during a walk to classes...oh, shit, that was the day Cassandra wore a blazer and took it off as she was walking and was so smooth while doing so and...and...oh. God, Olivia is too bisexual to function.

She looks up and scans the room, her gaze out of focus while she thinks. No, she has no reason to! She can deny her this once, what, does she come at her beck and call now? She has no work to do anyw--

Her email ding goes off. It’s Professor Erickson:

Hi Olivia,

My mother is in the hospital and we are heading out of town to see her. I know it’s short notice, but could you grade the stack of bibliographies in my inbox before Monday and hand them out on that day’s class? I promised the students. Just markup for Chicago style and make sure they have the 3 required sources and 2 outside, and nothing looks iffy. I’m going to cancel Friday’s class.

I might be out until middle of next week. Monday is just a hand-back day, so don’t worry about keeping them entertained after they get their work. Play a movie, maybe. Nothing too radically bootlegged, please.

Don’t worry about the chapter copies. Those aren’t needed until next Wednesday, and if you can’t get to them I will finish what you don’t. Good job today by the way explaining to that one student the difference between socialism and democratic-socialism. You are getting more concise!

Thanks!

E

Sent from my Iphone

Professors. The nerve. They emailed on phones even when it was a long-ass message, and yet threw fits when students didn’t title their emails with anything less than an oath to name their firstborn child after them. Erickson wasn’t that bad, though. A fun guy -- a bit too into loafers -- but a fun guy, and amazing Professor. And she was getting paid, which helped.

She rolls her eyes closed and groans so deep the poor library work study student flinches. She looks at them apologetically before turning her attention back to her phone.

-- Hey. Sure, but I can’t stay very long. What time?

Cassandra: Cool, no worries. Say around 6?

-- Yeah, that works. Henderson is that long building by bio sciences, right?

Cassandra: Actually, it’s the one to the left of quad. Big archway entrance. I’ll be at my desk in 10E.

Olivia sighs. Great, a big building on quad. In front of everyone. Open season continues for her. 6:00pm on a Friday? Why that time? Surely if they were exams they were not going to be handed back over the weekend. Did Cassandra have a life that wasn’t work, sport, and more work?

-- Right, I forgot. Whoops. Okay, see you then!

Cassandra: Awesome. See you. 

Cassandra: Oh, also -- this song came up on my shuffle. It’s an old one, but it’s Adele. I would appreciate if you listened to it. I think you’d like it.

Another chance for a ‘sign’ thwarted. As promised, she sends the link to a song and it is, in fact, Adele. Adele. Olivia pouts to herself. Adele is a beautiful singer, but her songs tend to sound the same to her sometimes. One of those ‘you listen to one, you listen to them all,’ kinda deals. The song is entitled “Water Under The Bridge.” Olivia had hoped it would at least be one of the romantic ones, but it hardly sounds like a profession of love or crushing. Her frustration continues to grow in her mind, and she clicks her phone to lock. 

“Alright, Ma’am, that’s it! They’re due back October 7th!” The woman on the other side of the table shoves the plastic bag of books. What a blessing to have them in a bag. She smiles, says thanks, and heads out the door into the open air of dusk. As she walks back to Jefferson Hall a few minutes away, she can’t help but look over her shoulder ever so often, hand clutching her keys in her bag. But, no one approaches or even appears, and as she gets in the door to her own academic building, it feels like it’s all in her head.

It’ll blow over. No big deal. Just have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.

She gets into the elevator and hits the #3. Thankfully, she, too, has an office to hull up in.

[neonb-fly]

Masked Chapter One

Heyyy! It’s my first ever multichapter fic! I’m a little anxious to post this, but I hope you all enjoy it. No trigger warnings so far. 

See also on AO3!

Word Count: 1531

Summary:

One boring day in the Commons of the Mind Palace, Roman announces to the other sides that they're all going on an adventure he created for them. It's all fun and games when they get there, until they realize there are true dangers that lurk beneath the mask of imagination.

Chapters-  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Virgil sat in the commons, listening to his music on shuffle. The ear buds hung low in a tangled mess beneath his head. He could just barely hear Patton rustling about in the kitchen, humming softly to the tune of “When You’re the Best of Friends,” from the Fox and the Hound. Virgil sneakily turned down his music just to hear Patton singing. Logan reclined in a chair across the room from Virgil, his face buried in his book. He was reading A Brief History of Time. Virgil could hear the pages turn periodically, and saw Logan nod occasionally in the corner of his eye. He remembered the time Logan had lent him a book about space and time. Virgil had read it out of curiosity, but didn’t understand most of it. The parts he did understand, however, were quite scary.

It was nice sitting peacefully without much disruption. Virgil relaxed a little, letting his tense shoulders loosen. He rested his head on the soft pillow, and closed his eyes. Maybe he could nod off for a little bit.

“GUYS! Guys, guys, guys! Guess what I-“Virgil bolted upright at the sudden distraction. He looked at the stairs where he saw Roman running down them excitedly. He suddenly cut himself off as he tripped and fell down the last few steps right onto his stomach, landing with a loud “oof!”

“Roman!” Patton exclaimed worriedly, running in from the kitchen. “Are you alright?!” Patton crouched down over Roman, who immediately jumped back up as if nothing had happened.

“Positively perfect, Padre!” Roman dusted himself off a bit, still smiling, as Patton backed away.

Logan stuck a bookmark in his book, a little bit irritated. As he crossed over, the anger on his face subsided. Virgil hadn’t moved an inch from his couch, still staring at them warily. “Nice alliteration there, Roman,” Logan commented, failing to hide his smile.

Roman beamed at him before continuing what he had started before falling. “I just had the best idea for a quest!” Roman announced, and posed rather dramatically. Virgil rolled his eyes and turned over again, crossing his arms. He still didn't turn his music back on. He'd never admit to anyone that he was slightly interested.

“Great! What was it?” Patton encouraged. Even Logan seemed slightly interested. After all, if Roman was this excited, maybe the idea was worth a chance to listen to.

“I can’t really tell you! Because…” Roman paused for dramatic effect. “You’re coming with!” Roman looked on proudly. Patton seemed excited, and Logan looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps some exercise and excitement would be adequate. After all, we’ve had nothing to do all weekend, for once,” Logan pointed out. Patton nodded, bouncing up and down excitedly. A quest with Roman would definitely be lots of fun.

“How about you, Virgil?” Roman asked cautiously, peaking beside Patton.

Virgil tensed up momentarily, and shrugged. He turned around to face them again. “I guess it's fine…” Virgil didn’t want to be left alone while all the other sides were out having fun in Roman’s domain. Even if the idea was stupid. On rare occasions, Roman would invite the other sides into the dreamscape. Usually, it involved fighting some weird creature. The adventures rarely involved any plot. And most of the time Virgil was the villain.

Roman immediately noticed Virgil’s uneasiness. “You’re not the bad guy this time, Dr. Gloom.” That’d make for a change. Maybe Virgil should go. Without realizing it, Virgil's gaze softened.

“Then who is?” Patton asked him curiously. Roman was clearly excited about this as he started jumping up and down.

“I don’t know!” Roman exclaimed happily, eyes shining.

“You don’t… know?” Logan questioned, exchanging a confused glance with Patton. “How can you not know if it’s your own creation?”

“I’m letting the room do its own thing. I wanted a mystical journey. We’ll all get magic powers, and we have to fight the bad guy. I suppose it’s gonna be some super beefy villain we’ll defeat in an epic battle,” Roman shrugged, punching the air for show.

“Wow, that sounds so safe,” Virgil commented dryly. He slowly got up from the couch and went over to join the other sides in their conversation. Patton moved over to let Virgil into the circle.

“Sure is!” Roman said, pushing aside the sarcasm. Patton gaze had lit up at the mention of magic powers. Logan actually seemed somehow intrigued about this. “It will be ready by later tonight!”

“That should serve well with our schedule,” Logan nodded, pleased with the idea.

“Of course it does, we have nothing going on,” Virgil retorted. Patton gave him a look, and Virgil shuffled his feet a little under Patton’s gaze.

“After supper, then-“Patton jumped up suddenly. “Supper! I forgot about it! The cookies will burn!” He ran back into the kitchen to tend to what’s in the oven. Cookies? Virgil thought. Maybe they’re just for dessert. They didn’t need to eat, considering they’re just constructs, but it was still enjoyable. Besides, Patton loved cooking, even though Thomas didn’t know how to.

Logan shook his head disapprovingly, and returned to his chair. Roman ran back upstairs, presumably to prepare the world. That left Virgil standing alone. Virgil put his ear buds in once more, and stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets. He didn’t have anything to do until it was time to eat, so he walked back to the couch and tried to fall asleep. A few minutes passed by…

“It’s time for dinner!,” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen, waking up Virgil. He groggily walked to the table, where Roman was already sitting, talking enthusiastically to Patton about his ideas. Patton listened intently as he set the table. Logan walked in after Virgil. Patton greeted him and asked about his book, where Logan spilled into an all too complicated explanation of the theory of relativity. Roman listened in with half an ear, as he stuffed his food into his mouth. Virgil poked at his food a little. He took a few bites and ate slowly. He paused for a while, listening to the sides banter with each other. It always took time for Virgil to completely wake up.

He barely even noticed that Patton had asked him a question. “Huh?” He asked quietly, glancing up at Patton.

Everyone was looking at him. It set Virgil on edge. He didn’t like being the center of attention. “How was your nap?” Patton repeated, understandingly. Patton took another bite of his supper.

“Oh, good,” he responded. Still recalculating, he thought to himself. The other sides started talking again. Virgil took another small bite. Roman announced that he finished, and stood up. Patton set aside the little bit of food he had left, and Logan stood up, finished the last part he had. Virgil looked down at his full plate in annoyance, but nevertheless followed everyone to Roman’s room. He would probably get something to eat in there. Not that he really cared, anyway.

They stood in front of his door before Roman stopped them. “Now, be prepared to enter the coolest place ever! Close your eyes.” Logan protested a little, before giving in. Patton put his hand over his eyes, while Virgil begrudgingly complied. Roman guided them into the room. “Alright, you can open your eyes now!” The three opened their eyes and gaped at the sight. They were in the middle of a vast field, bordered by a forest and mountains scraping across the sky.

The field was dotted with flowers of all kinds. The forest stretched on for who know how long. Virgil looked behind him. Roman shut the door and it vanished into nothing. Virgil saw what looked like a camp of sorts, with people running about. It was bordered by the dark forest. Virgil looked around once more. By the mountains, he swore he could just make out black clouds randomly swirling in the sky. A storm brewing, perhaps?

He instinctively stuck his hands into his hoodie pockets for comfort. The sun was slowly setting. The sky looked like it had been set on fire. The hues of orange and red covered the land, like flames licking at the sky. Virgil looked at the others. They were gaping at the view as well. Patton was completely star-struck, and Logan was rather impressed. Who wouldn’t be?

Roman awaited their responses eagerly. He was quite proud of himself. “Wow, Roman, this is…” Patton started, but couldn’t find the right word to describe the sight.

“Wow,” Logan finished for him. Roman looked at Virgil.

“Uh, yeah, it’s great, I guess,” Virgil managed to get out, and kicked the ground with one foot. Roman knew the hidden undertone that Virgil actually was impressed, just decided not to show it. Virgil had to reluctantly give Roman credit for making such a beautiful scene. He tried to ignore an odd feeling surfacing inside of him. Whatever it was would be dealt with another day.

“Well? Shall we get started?” Roman asked, smiling. Patton nodded ecstatically. Logan smiled and nodded. Virgil shrugged. They were here, after all. He might as well get it over with. Maybe it actually would be fun.

[bullet-proofgirlscouts]

JiminXReader - In One Week, Part - 11

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10;

You gasped loudly, taking in a amazingly large amount of air as the shock ran over you. The frigidity of the ice water was instantaneous. Jihyo dumped it all over you, ice cubes and all, some of which, she bent down to stuff into your shirt with a smirk. You immediately wiped that smirk off her face when you spit the water in your mouth onto her when she was close enough. She tossed you a glare before storming out of the room. You let out a grunt, trying again to break free but you were considerably weaker thanks to the cold. Your teeth were chattering now, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin, the ice cubes she stuffed down your bra were melting and a painfully slow pace, making your skin feel like it was on fire.

Jihyo walked back into the room, another bucket in hand and before you could even protest she dumped another large amount of freezing water on you, somehow colder than the last one. You choked at the suddenness of it, coughing up, struggling to breathe. The coldness was shocking every time it hit you, and the air making your clothes even colder after it was done was not helping. Your whole body was shivering now, you started taking short breaths in response to the suddenness and shock. Jihyo had walked out and in, holding another bucket. She let out a heavy breath before dumping another bucket of water over you. This one wasn’t as bad as the previous ones, but it was longer, this bucket was considerably larger. Some of the ice cubes painfully bounced off your face, making you grunt.

She let out a yell, suddenly throwing the bucket on your face in frustration, practically slamming it down. You yelled as the bottom on it hit your forehead, a searing pain erupting from the spot.

“Oh shit.” The girl on your right swore, “She’s bleeding.”

“Who cares.” Jihyo said, voice laced with poison as she looked disgusted at the bleeding gash on your head, “Come on, let’s keep the bucket back before the janitor returns.”

“I- I really don’t think we can leave her here.” The other girl said, staring wide eyed at your wound, which, if by the feeling of a liquid that has been streaming down your face was any indicator, was a bad one.

“Yes, we can, and we are!” Jihyo yelled, startling them, “now you guys either come with me or I’m doing to you what I did to her!”

With that threat, the three of them immediately let go of you, racing after her. In a matter of seconds, they were out the room. Jihyo shot you another glare before slamming the door shut.

 You sniffled, slowly picking yourself off the floor.  You were trying to take in deep breaths, finding it difficult to pump air into your lungs. Suddenly, you heard a beeping sound above you, followed by a blast of freezing cold air hitting you. You gasped, looking up at the source. The air conditioner was on, and from the display, it was at the coldest temperature possible.

You immediately started shivering, your body quaking. You wrapped your arms around yourself, but that only resulted in you pushing your damp, cold clothes closer to your skin, which wasn't helpful. You needed to get out. Pushing yourself onto you legs, falling down once due to the water under your feet, you finally got up, and slowly walked to the door, your legs unstable beneath you.

You grabbed the handle, taking a second to find your balance, before twisting and pulling it, but it didn't budge. You tried again, putting more force into it, but nothing.

They had locked the door from the outside.

“No no no no.” You mumbled, getting more and more frustrated.

You grabbed the handle, pulling and tugging as much as you could, but the door wouldn’t budge. You didn't even have your phone so you couldn't call for help. Classes are long over and everyone one would have either gone home or are staying over for sports practice. No one would even be coming to the floor you were stuck in, not for awhile. You cursed as you gave up, your entire body screaming in pain from even the slightest exertion.

You looked around the room, searching for the AC remote. You walked around, looking beneath and behind every instrument and furniture you could find, but it was nowhere to be found. Jihyo must have switched it on when she was leaving and took the remote with her. The machine and its switches were way too far for you to reach, even if you stood on a chair so you couldn't even manually stop it.

You took off your jacket, the material sticking to you uncomfortably. You were stuck here. In a room where you were drenched in ice cold water, your clothes and hair wet, with the air conditioner turned on, freezing you. You hugged yourself again, grimacing at how ice cold your skin felt. You rubbed your arms, trying to get some warmth into them, but failed.

“Fuck…” you cursed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your head. You brought a hand up to inspect it, bringing it down to see it covered in blood. You held your jacket over it, using it as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding, hoping that you wouldn't get an infection You glanced up at the clock, noting how long you were in here and how long you might be in here. The best you could hope for is that someone would make rounds of the rooms, making sure no one was lurking around, but even that could take hours to even start. You tried to think of ways to get out of this, but the only immediate option you could think of was by breaking down the door, but you knew that was impossible in your current, shivering state. There was no window in this room either, so you couldn't yell for help, or even ventilate the room a bit. Jihyo made sure to think of everything.

Giving up, you made your way to the door, as far away from the AC as possible, sitting down on the wooden floor. You let your head lightly thump the door you were leaning on, not fighting the wave of heat that was coming up to your face. You practically sighed in relief as your eyes filled with tears, the action giving you some small amount of warmth. You felt hopeless. There was nothing you could do. It was terrifying.

You brought your hand up to wipe away the tears, glancing at your fingers that were starting to turn a light shade of blue. That just made you cry harder. You were scared. There was no one to help you, no one looking for you, you couldn't even help yourself. You started to sob, coughing and choking. You struggled to breathe, taking in too much air then not taking in enough. You grit your teeth, your head pounding as you started to feel dizzy. Black spots danced in your already clouded-by-tears vision. You closed them, trying to calm down. You felt like the walls were closing in on you, making you feel nauseous. Times like these, you always had someone to lean on, someone to cry to when things were tumbling to shit. Times when things seemed worthless but he would be able to break you out of it so fast.

“Grandpa…” you choked out, broken, “come back…”

~~~

Jimin looked at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

She was late. Very late. Twenty minutes late, to be exact. He called her phone but it just continued to ring before it was directed to voicemail.

“Jimin!” A voice called out.

The said man turned around to the source, ready to teach the girl some basics of being punctual, when he saw who it was that called him.

Jihyo scrambled up to him, quickly linking her arm through his. Her friends were right behind her, waving and greeting him.

“Jiminie~” she said, sweetly, “I hadn’t seen you all day.”

Jimin tried his best to not pull away from her grip. As much as he might not like her, he wasn’t rude.

“Sorry about that. I was busy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

“Stuff. Listen, have you seen-”

Jihyo groaned and rolled her eyes, “Let me guess,” she interrupted, “Your fan-girl? As a matter of fact, I did. She left over an hour ago.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, “But that… doesn't make sense”

“I know what I saw.”

But she wouldn’t do that, Jimin wanted to say, but he didn’t. He had a feeling she knew more than she was letting on. Which honestly scared him a bit.

“We’re going for karaoke now. Come join us.” Jihyo said, squeezing his arm tighter, “It’ll be fun.”

Jimin didn’t even hesitate when he said, “I’m going to have to pass. I actually have other plans.” Jihyo frowned but then sighed in defeat, “Ok. I’ll see you later then.” With that, she and her group left. Jimin watched as they took a turn, completely disappearing from sight before he walked back into the building. He just had a gut feeling that something was wrong. She wasn't the type of person to just leave without informing him, especially if they already made plans. He decided to just roam the halls, see if she was stuck in class or in the library.

~~~

You finally stopped crying. Your eyes felt swollen, your face felt incredibly hot and the pain finally seemed to be going down, but that's probably because you weren't moving a muscle. Thinking of your Grandfather made you go down a spiral, but you were finally out of it.

You had no idea what to do. All you could do was wait and hope that someone would find you. You were bored. Very bored. Your clothes and hair were starting to dry, but you were still shivering. Crying gave some temporary relief, but it was more of a curse than a boon, your tears freezing on your face due to the AC, making you colder than before.

There was nothing to do. Sure, there were instruments thrown all over the room so you could go play something, increase your chances of someone finding you, but you just couldn't. You didn't want to move. However, thinking about music made an idea pop into your head, and before you knew it, you started to sing your Grandfather’s favorite song.

~~~

The first and the second floors were empty, no sign of her in the library or the dance room (in case she was waiting for him there. Jungkook and Hoseok hadn't seen her) and Jimin was starting to get a bit worried. He tried calling her two more times, but she wasn't picking up at all. He sighed as he made his way to the third floor, getting a bit tired. He started to walk down the hallway when suddenly, he froze. He could hear something. Someone. A voice. Was it…signing?

He took soft steps, not wanting to lose the source by making any noise.

He could hear it clearly now.

Hold me close and hold me fast This magic spell you cast This is La Vi En Rose.

Jimin froze, his eyes widening, his heart starting to beat at a dangerously fast pace. He knew that voice. He would never forget the episode where she had sung this song as a dedication to her mentor, the man who trained her, treated her with love and never discriminated against her for being who she is.

When you kiss me, heaven sighs, And though I close my eyes I see, La vi en rose

It was Vivi. No doubt about it.

When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart A world where roses bloom

She’s here, Jimin thought, Vivi is here. The creator of the podcast is here.

And when you speak angels sing from above Everyday words seems to turn into love songs

Her voice was soft and weak, like it took energy to even gasp out words. And it was getting softer by the minute. Jimin had to figure out where she was.

Breaking out of his trance, he once again started to search, not making a sound as he made his way towards the voice.

Give your heart and soul to me And life will always be La vi en rose.

He found himself in front of the music room, the door bolted from the outside. And indeed, the voice had come from within. He looked down and saw a mobile phone on the ground, one which he recognized instantly. He bent down and picked it up, looking at the various missed calls that were in his name. Wait, what? Jimin thought, What’s going on?

Pushing off the fear and confusion as to why she was locked in...whoever she was, Jimin unbolted the locked door and pulled. He immediately felt some weight being pressed against it and incredibly cold air rushing out of the crack. Opening it slowly, he peeked in the room and saw her. She was lying against the door on her back, arms wrapped around herself. Her clothes were wet, the air conditioner was on and from the looks of it, at the lowest temperature possible. She was dangerously pale, her whole body shivering, teeth clattering against each other as she suffered the freezing cold. Her hair was matted to her face, just as wet as everything else. She looked up at him, startled by someone opening the door, and Jimin could see how red and swollen her eyes were, a deep cut on her forehead.

It was her.

His best friend, the person who loved him, the person he loved...the creator.

It was her.

~~~

[raesreadingcorner]

They Found Her in the Maze (Part 14)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Warning: It’s a bit rushed

Suddenly Brenda saved us from the man who had wanted to turn us in by shooting him.

We were at first reluctant whether to trust her or not but a nod from Thomas was all we needed before we ran and followed her up the stairs to where Jorge was.

 Upon seeing us he rushed over to the end of the room where he pushed open a rusty double metal door which opened us up to the outside and the long drop down, he yanked on a rope that begun from this building and went over to its neighbouring one and sturdy pieces of fabric fell down, it didn't take me long to realise what he was suggesting we needed to do.

I squeezed Newt's hand from being nervous and he returned the action before pulling me forward with him and we all got ready to make our way down after Jorge jumped.

Thomas quickly ushered us one by one, but I hesitated, and seeing my hesitation Newt quickly tried to reassure me, "We'll be fine, okay? I'll go first and you follow and I'll catch you at the end, deal?"

Breathing in a deep sigh I nodded as Newt rushed forward being ushered by Thomas. I bit my fingernails nervously as I watched him close his eyes before he pushed forward and went flying down, only being held on by the rope he gripped tightly.

"Riley, you're next, let's hurry." 

Thomas encouraged as I stepped forward and held the ropes above my head tightly, not giving it much thought before I pushed forward as I saw Newt do and suddenly I was flying in the air, I gasped at the sudden cool air that caught in my lungs until I was in the arms of Newt once again when I landed.

"You did it." He smiled, pulling me away from the entrance and hugging me just as Teresa came down.

"Oh no." I heard Jorge murmur. Quickly I turned around just as I saw the gunfire and Brenda and Thomas running away from the zip line. The loud hovercraft overhead didn't move as it's lights searched for us, and upon realising this Jorge sprung into action,

"Alright, we need to keep moving," He tried to get us to move but we all stood our ground, "What about Thomas and Brenda?"

He sighed, patting Minho's shoulder and looking at him in a serious manner "From what I saw, Thomas is a fighter, and him being with Brenda has only upped their chances of surviving. She knows every nook, every single exit in that damn building, so I damn well believe they will make it out, but we need to survive as well."

He quickly pointed up to the sky, "It won't take that Berg long to find us if we don't go now."

Quickly, we all reluctantly agreed and began to follow Jorge into his descent down the building, until we were at the bottom and running through the streets, using any fallen buildings as cover to hide from the Berg. 

"Just ahead, there's a building, follow me!" Jorge shouted back to us over the noises of the aircraft.

I squinted my eyes to try and find the building Jorge was talking about but found none, just as I was about the scream and ask where he was taking us, Jorge slid underneath some rubble lying against a broken wall, the only way he got through was a tattered tan sheet loosely flowing slightly off the ground.

We all came to a slow jog, glancing at each other, wondering who was going to follow first until we all watched as Minho sped up once again and slid under just as Jorge did.

"Frypan, go!" Newt encouraged his friend and then gestured for myself, Teresa and Aris to follow until he was the last one to come in.

We all caught our breaths as we looked around the abandoned basement of what I assumed used to be a building. Jorge allowed us time to rest before gesturing further into the room, 

"We're not safe yet, just a little further, but be quiet, there could be cranks lurking around any corner." He instructed, before walking off, machete in his hand.

"What about Thomas?" 

Teresa asked, refusing to move until she got an answer, Minho sighed turning around,

 "Look, we can't help Thomas or Brenda if we don't help ourselves first and get as far away from WCKD as possible. Thomas is a big boy, he can take care of himself for now, but we need to go."

At that, Minho frowned as if considering his own words about Thomas before shaking his head and following Jorge in the direction he went, and slowly we all began to follow.

Newt grabbed my hand and we began to walk, and I looked back at Teresa and gestured to the others, "Thomas has gotten us all this far, I'm sure he and Brenda can get to safety, especially since it's only the two of them, it'll be much easier."

Teresa glowered at my statement and reluctantly began to walk, pushing ahead of us and not looking back,

"Well, somebody's jealous."

Newt whispered trying to make a joke, I just shrugged, 

"I mean, I understand what she's feeling, let's just hope they both make it out alive and we all find each other."

We made camp in a small secluded alcove in the building, after we had scouted it out for any cranks which luckily there were none. The next day, Jorge woke us all up and explained that they needed to get to Marcus, an old friend of his.

"Brenda knows that he's the man I'd go to, they might have already bet us to him by now."

None of us argued as we got ready and followed Jorge once again to the outside. I squinted my eye, holding my hand over the direction of the sun until they adjusted enough to the sudden brightness.

"C'mon, let's go!"

"Hey."

I jumped at Teresa's voice as I glanced over, noticing Thomas was finally awake after whatever drug Marcus had given him that made him pass out when we found him and Brenda.

Most of the other's didn't pay attention though, as they observed Jorge questioning Marcus in the most violent matter, ordering for him to tell us about the Right Arm, so far, it wasn't going well.

Minho however at the sight of Thomas waking up, strolled over chuckling, "Welcome back, you ugly shank."

Thomas sighed before gradually sitting up with the help of Teresa. Glancing around he noticed me lounging on the beaten down couch and nodded to which I returned, offering him a short smile.

Suddenly, the loud smack of Jorge's hand colliding with Marcus' face rang through the room, all of us jumped slightly, Thomas especially as he looked over at the two men in confusion.

"Looks like you've been having fun." 

Newt remarking sightly as Thomas got up to get a closer look at Marcus, shaking his head in confusion, 

"Wait, you're Marcus?"

The man laughed dryly as he turned to face Thomas, blood dripping down his chin, "You catch on quick."

Thomas shook his head before walking away as Jorge began to talk once again. Thomas' eyes glided over to where Brenda was sitting at the other end of the room, a flash of guilt filling his eyes before he turned away and sat next to me on the couch,

 "It's good to see you alive Tom, I knew you were stronger than you looked." I joked to which I managed to make him smile,

 "Barely, if it wasn't for Brenda who knows what would have happened."

Brenda glanced over at us at the mention of her name, but it didn't last long until her attention was back on Jorge. I leaned over closer to Thomas, needing to know what happened, 

"Alright idiot, what did you do?"

 I whispered quietly, but loud enough for Thomas to hear as he sighed and shook his head, "I was stupid, like usual."

I patted his back lightly, "Sometimes, stupid is smart."

Before Thomas could reply, however, our attention was brought back to Marcus as he explained how he got WCKD the immunes they wanted, he had changed sides at the chance of his best opportunity, even if it meant handing over the very children he used to save.

Upon hearing this new information, Jorge frowned at him in disgust, 

"I change my mind, hermano," He begun, backing up slightly as he shook his head, "I do enjoy hurting you," 

He claimed before lifting his foot and hitting it directly into Marus' stomach. If it wasn't for the fact that this was a very serious situation, I was have cheered Jorge on.

Marcus was kicked to the floor, still tied to the chair as he laughed crazily. Jorge pulled the gun he had out from his back and stepped forward pulling Marcus upright once again before threatening the gun in front of him, demanding him to talk.

"Okay, okay!"

Marcus broke as he told us all he knew of the Right Arms location and then began to taunt us, claiming we wouldn't make it past WCKD.

I stood up and crossed my arms as I walked over to Newt, "He doesn't know what he's talking about." Newt murmured to me and I agreed.

"I know, they won't get us again, they won't hurt any of us." I

whispered back, just as Jorge pushed Marcus back onto the floor and gestured for us to follow as he claimed we'd get there with 'Bertha', whoever that was...

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Swearing, mildly suggestive content, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, eventual smut, main character death.

Length: 10.2k

A/N: A slightly fluffier chapter to soften the blow of pt. 6. <3 This is where the “eventual smut” tag starts being prodded to life, as a heads up to anyone who’s reading. As always, hope you enjoy! 

The dark presses heavily against his eyes, and though the moon is bright enough to give some hazy guidance, it also throws the woods crowding the path into deeper shadows. Hoseok knows it’s stupid to thoroughly expect to suddenly run into a bear or an ax murderer, but that doesn’t stop his heart from leaping nervously in his chest with every step. A good part of him wants to turn on his heel and just book it back to the cabin, and stay in there until the sun rises, but his friends would rag him for the rest of eternity and besides, who the hell is afraid of the dark? At his age?

Teeth clenched, his hand tightening around the bag of marshmallows he’d retrieved from the cabin, (carelessly forgotten by someone he won’t mention – Yoongi), Hoseok inches forward. Somewhere ahead is the clearing – strains of lowkey pop music come from that direction – a clearing which contains a blessed fire and even more blessed friends. Hopefully. Hopefully they’re over there somewhere, and not lurking in the trees, ready to try to scare the shit out of him. You’d think that after five nights of camping, they would have gotten tired of leaping out of shadows and bushes – you’d think that Hoseok would have stopped falling for it – but neither is the case. He still sees Taehyung’s shape in every log, and Jungkook in every–

A loud crack snaps behind him, and Hoseok whirls, a shriek not – quite – breaking from his lips. Swallowing it – and his heart, too, given that it catapulted into his throat – the film major stops dead, peering into the black that consumes the path behind him. He should have brought the flashlight like Yoongi said, and ignored Jimin calling him a chicken. God, it’s either a bird or a squirrel or one of the idiots he’s invited to his family’s cabin, but what if it’s not? What if he dies because he thinks it’s not a big deal? What if he–

Something seizes his hand, and this time Hoseok does scream, a sharp spike of sound that cuts off half a heartbeat later when he realizes he recognizes the grip. He doesn’t need Yoongi’s voice to confirm it, though the man speaks anyways. “Relax,” he says, a pretty constant refrain where Hoseok is concerned. “It’s just me.”

“I knew that,” he replies quickly, and Yoongi’s low laugh eases the scared pit in his stomach. His heart has already settled down, an immediate reaction to the man’s presence that always happens and has taken some getting used to. It’s stupid to be relieved to have the tattooist next to him, but the fact is that Yoongi doesn’t make him feel stupid about it, and that makes all the difference in the world.

“Sure you did,” is his companion’s easy response, and they start walking together, hand in hand. Hoseok can’t help but steal glances at the other’s striking face, the moonlight washing away the drawn lines so often embedded around his mouth and under his tired eyes. It’s a pretty look, though not as pretty as when Yoongi is napping on his couch, sunlight spilling across his serene expression. Hoseok quickly jerks his eyes away when another ominous crack sounds to the side, thoughts derailed by the noise. Yoongi squeezes his hand, and this time he’s not afraid.

They halt. “You guys can haul your asses back to the fire,” Yoongi calls flatly. “This was only funny the first time.”

There’s a pause, like the woods are seriously considering his words, before a rebellious voice somewhere in the darkness replies, “The second time was funny.”

Taehyung follows Jungkook’s disagreement with sunny cheekiness, emerging onto the path ahead of them. “The third time was pretty funny, too, hyung. I thought Hobi hyung was gonna have a heart attack.”

“Was that before or after you fell off the roof and nearly broke your fool neck?” Yoongi asks dryly.

“Both!” Taehyung replies cheerfully, and some rustling announces Jungkook stepping out of the shrubs and joining them. Hoseok thinks Tae should probably feel a bit worse about prancing around on a cabin roof with the sole intention of scaring him, especially when it had resulted in Taehyung falling off and causing a panic among all of them, but the other guy is irrepressible. As he puts it, his head had stopped bleeding after only a few hours. What an idiot, is Hoseok’s fond summation, because Taehyung wouldn’t purposefully hurt a fly, let alone any of their feelings.

He is kind of getting tired of the attempts at freaking him out, though. He wishes Yoongi would say something harsher as they begin to walk – when he draws a line, the younger guys tend to respect it – but the tattooist is silent. In fact, when Hoseok looks over the other is staring at him pointedly, and he knows deep in his gut what those lightly narrowed eyes mean. It’s like a prod towards the edge of a cliff, only Yoongi keeps reassuring him that if he jumps he won’t fall.

Is this worth digging in his heels, though? Being labelled a killjoy? He’s not a person with a hard stop; leave that to other people like his father, with the ultimatums and last straws. Yoongi’s pointed out (repeatedly) that there’s a difference between being a downer and standing up for yourself, and that his friends are hardly likely to dislike him for saying no, but it’s a difficult line for Hoseok to see and an even harder one to walk.

Except his newly named boyfriend is still staring at him, so much expectant silence in his eyes that Hoseok is surprised no one else can hear it. He sighs to himself. Fingers tightening spasmodically around Yoongi’s – his expression doesn’t change – Hoseok begins tentatively, “Yo, guys…” The younger boys glance back curiously, and though their faces are shadowed, there’s no sign of tension or judgement in the motion. “There’s only a day left of camping and, like… I’m kind of not finding this funny any more.”

“Oh, really?” Taehyung asks, and it’s such a bewildered, innocent question that Yoongi snorts.

It makes Hoseok feel better though, and he nods cautiously. “Yeah… It’s not a big deal or anything but, like, maybe just for tonight…”

Jungkook is quick to reply, as brazen in his apology as he is in his teasing. “Damn, sorry. We really thought you were having fun, hyung! We’ll lay off, sure.” Beside him, Taehyung hums in agreement, and, just like that…

The problem is solved. He blinks rapidly, hand relaxing in Yoongi’s grip, and though he really can’t see well enough to be sure, Hoseok still knows the other man is smirking in that smug way he has. The marshmallow bag clutched to his chest in dumbfounded silence, he doesn’t even care about that. If it feels a little stupid to be so relieved, it doesn’t look like either of the younger guys notice, and Yoongi’s not going to bother him about it. Not much, anyways. Hoseok can only kick himself for not speaking up sooner, though he’s so relieved it’s a half-hearted affair.  

They break into the clearing shortly after, a small, imperfect circle with a scattering of lawn chairs surrounding a crackling fire set into a shallow pit. He sees that – against all advice – Namjoon’s put about five more logs into the flames, and they’re alternating between suffocating in some places and roaring to unholy heights in others. The fact that most of them (with the exception of Kookie) have never been camping before was an excuse for inexperience at the start of the trip, but it hardly flies now. If Hoseok didn’t know better, he’d have suspected that Namjoon was secretly planning on burning the camp site to the ground, and everyone else along with it.

That’s clearly not the case, but this trip has been something of a revelation of Namjoon’s clumsier side. There’s ample evidence for it; there aren’t enough chairs in the circle around the fire, given that the bookstore owner broke his the first day. It worked out – as Hoseok settles into his seat, Yoongi sits in his lap, and has since the incident – but it’s still a little shocking. The broken tent pole had been funny, though the ax head embedding itself in the ground an inch from Jimin’s foot instead of into the log a good half a meter away had been a clear sign that Namjoon was a minor apocalypse waiting to happen.

He’s been regulated to non-dangerous tasks since then, but Namjoon’s adamant about helping with the fire.

It’s a little awkward to poke and prod the logs his earnest, possibly pyromaniac assistant added into a respectable shape (what with Yoongi in his lap and all) but Hoseok manages it and finds that Jin has snagged the bag of marshmallows. The eldest of them is already spearing the white balls onto sticks they’d foraged for that purpose – Hoseok’s offer of metal sticks had been indignantly rejected as not being rustic enough – and he passes them around as soon as the fire is back under control. Jungkook and Taehyung bicker, as per the norm, fighting for the best spot and slashing each others’ rods out of the way, but everyone else is content to lean forward, the warmth of the flames licking hands and faces, and let their marshmallows roast in whatever patch of heat that’s available.

For his part, Yoongi sets his first one on fire, ignores their amused consternation and lets the marshmallow burn into a blackened mess that takes a long time to crumple off his stick.

When Hoseok murmurs a question in his ear, under the rest of the conversation that’s long ago moved on, the tattoo artist replies lightly, “Figuring out how to fuck it up, so I don’t later.” Hoseok wraps his free arm around Yoongi, pulls him closer, and the other man leans back against his chest with no complaint.

He’s glad Yoongi agreed to come. It’s often a struggle to get him out of the studio, and even if Namjoon says he’s gotten better since Hoseok entered the picture, that doesn’t exactly mean the tattooist has turned into a social butterfly. His recent illness – some kind of violent stomach flu – obviously hasn’t helped, but Yoongi seems to be getting over it, and he’s actually been very engaged in this particular outing. It was his idea, after all, to bring tents instead of sleeping in the cabin, and putting those up (including Namjoon snapping one of the poles) had been one of the early highlights of the trip.

It’s good for Yoongi to be here, Hoseok muses, and not just for Hoseok’s sake, either. As the blonde man recites a word-perfect rendition of Tony Montana’s speech from Scarface – much to the delight of everyone, especially Jungkook, who’s giggling hysterically – Hoseok stares into the flames and lets himself be lulled by the sound of his boyfriend’s comically slurred voice. He laughs at the appropriate moments (“Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie.”) but he’s thinking about the way the heat is sinking into his skin, especially the skin around his collarbone.

You can’t memorize a bonded tattoo – not when it changes daily – but Hoseok’s still got a pretty good picture of it in his head. It’s never stopped growing – the fringe of flowers now trails up his throat and stretches three quarters of the way across his chest – but it doesn’t look… healthy, either. The petals droop tiredly and the colour is leaching from them, slowly but surely. Unless it’s changed for the better since he was able to look at it, before they left. It probably hasn’t.

He’s caught between a strange – albeit familiar – mix of concern; guilt that he’s not concerned enough, and guilt that he’s concerned at all. He has a boyfriend. He should be focused on and grateful for that – and he is. Sometimes Hoseok’s just afraid he’s doing Yoongi a disservice by thinking about his bonded at all. The thought – a thought that comes to his mind with frequent, uncomfortable regularity – makes him tighten his grip, and without breaking off his speech, Yoongi snuggles back, rests more firmly in Hoseok’s lap.

As always, his heavy presence soothes the unease, and Hoseok relaxes a little, eases himself off the anxious trail of thought. It’s becoming easier and easier to do that, these days – sometimes even without Yoongi’s help – and it also makes it easier to stop desperately throwing himself into crazy antics for the sake of laughter and nothing else at all. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t like fooling around anymore; it’s just that now he’s doing it for himself, and not just for others. That’s a much nicer thought, and Hoseok smiles a little to himself, taking his (only slightly burnt) marshmallow from the fire and pulling it, gooey and still-hot, from his stick. It tastes almost as sweet as being with his friends – and the bitter taste of charcoal barely registers amidst that.

Taehyung apparently likes golden brown marshmallows, but he doesn’t have the patience or the luck to manage them; he sets his fifth or sixth on fire, just like the previous ones, and blows frantically as the rest of them laugh. It looks like he’s going to give up, except then Yoongi hands over his own stick, which he’s been patiently holding at the edge of the fire for the last few minutes. The marshmallow on it is about as perfect as it gets, a hairsbreadth from falling off, and Taehyung exclaims in confused but delighted thanks, a swirl of, “Are you sure?” and, “Wow, thanks!” and “You did this for me?”

Yoongi shrugs, easily riding the excited wave until he can get a word in. “I felt bad,” he eventually says. “It was too pitiful; you wasted so many good marshmallows.” He’s cheerfully unrepentant of his own waste, and equally cheerfully ignores Taehyung and Jin calling him out on it.

It makes Hoseok grin, so affectionate that he presses his face to Yoongi’s neck, just for a moment, just to release the bursting warmth. The tattooist turns in his lap, runs his hand through Hoseok’s hair, and kisses him, a slow press that doesn’t summon fire – not like that disorienting first time – but puts something soft and secure in the pit of Hoseok’s stomach. The displays hadn’t embarrassed him back when they first – officially – started dating, and Yoongi has been surprisingly willing to be demonstrative in public, so long as he isn’t taken by surprise. He says that if it bothers anyone, they can go to hell and send a postcard. It certainly doesn’t embarrass either of them now, not when it’s just their friends who can see. (Not even when Namjoon calls, “Get a room!” with tongue-in-cheek mockery.)

The group’s conversation is a bundle of good-natured teasing, fond memories and idle speculations about the present and future. It’s slow, only spiking occasionally as someone (usually Jin) is baited into an explosion of comic disagreement, and even that quickly subsides. Over their heads, the moon is a bleak source of light, but the fire serves to warm more than just their bodies; it lightens the atmosphere, too, settling a cheerful and intimate blanket over the group of seven. The crackle of the flames fills their scattered silences, the phone music turned off awhile ago, and if Hoseok closes his eyes, the fire remains as a vivid imprint on his eyelids, the voices and low pop of the flames mingling together.

Time passes luxuriously, and no one looks at their phones to check the hour, but it must be getting late. Just as Hoseok feels his eyes beginning to close with greater frequency, his forehead occasionally nodding to rest against Yoongi’s warm back, a long, mournful sound – far away and immediate, all at once – pulls him abruptly wide awake. The howl is taken up by a chorus of forlorn voices, and it sends rapid chills skittering down his back, worse than when he was walking through the dark. They shut up Jin mid-sentence, and after a pause, Jungkook laughs, a hum that dies quickly.

“There’re wolves around here?” Namjoon asks, and to his credit he manages to sound more interested than afraid.

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies, and after his initial reaction he actually feels fond. It reminds him of another time, another place, with other people that he loved unreservedly when he was younger. “They’re not as close as they sound,” he adds, recalling his sister’s reassurances when his father had tried to convince him the wolves were lurking just outside the circle of light, so many years ago. “Their howls can travel a really long distance.”

Jimin’s voice is soft with wonder. “They sound so… free. But sad, too, y’know? I wonder why they –”

Another stirring call ripples out, somewhere in the night, a mounting crescendo of heartrending grief and fierce exultation that cascades into a sorrow so deep it fills the lungs of all the listeners, making it just a little harder to breathe. It’s immediately answered by a different voice, and then another, falling and climbing over each other in a harmony that catches at Hoseok’s breath and shoves it back down his throat, all the way to his heart. The strains of melodic wildness carry on, and the boys sit in rapt silence. Yoongi’s fingers rub in quick, concentrated circles against Hoseok’s thighs, and Hoseok has a feeling that he’s listening in a way that’s different from all of their hushed admiration, though he couldn’t have said why.

The tumult falls off, and the crackling of the fire lingers uneasily in the space left behind, like it’s aware of how severely lacking it is compared to the beautiful noise. Just as Hoseok stirs, about to break the silence he can’t stand, abruptly the man in his lap cups his hands around his mouth, throws back his head – and howls.

It’s not perfect, a bit too high, a bit too hoarse to join the previous chorus of unearthly voices, but it sure as hell scares the shit out of everyone nonetheless. Hoseok jerks, nearly takes them both out as he rocks the chair – cutting off Yoongi’s hair-raising cry – and Jimin, just next to them, literally does fall out of his seat. (Backwards, thankfully, and not towards the fire.) The rest of them are in a similarly startled state.

“Dude!” Jungkook grumbles, caught between reproach and admiration, and Jimin echoes the sentiment as he clambers to his feet.

Jin is sharper, his strained voice coming from across the flames, body hidden in the darkness. “Yah, are you trying to give us heart attacks?”

Yoongi laughs, as wild as the sound he’d made, and he might have replied except the wolves take up their howling again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a response or merely a continuation. One thing’s for sure; the untamed calls die more quickly this time, and what remains is expectant, tinged with something sharp and poignant, as if every tree is straining to hear the next note. Once again, the resulting quiet aches to be broken, and Hoseok’s pretty sure everyone’s leaned forward, waiting for Yoongi to snap the tension. He doesn’t though, sits still in Hoseok’s lap, and the void of noise presses heavy against them all, a suffocating weight.

Which is about when Hoseok realizes that Yoongi is playing them, his shoulders shaking with unvoiced laughter, and his lips curl in a smile. Quite before he knows exactly what he’s doing, Hoseok tilts his head back, looking up at the black canvas sky painted with streaks of silver and pinholes of white, and the moon really is beautiful, and it’s not so hard to let the edgy feeling in his chest rip out as another howl. Without the benefit of his hands, it carries less than Yoongi’s, but he’s got the enthusiasm for it and the sound is still loud, and Yoongi is laughing and everyone else is joining in, with calls that rise and peak and break apart into baying and barking and even some little yelps, too.

The wolves respond, and it’s a back and forth exchange for a time, no one knowing if they’re the ones eliciting the pagan answers, and not caring, either. Hoseok howls until his lungs give out and his throat is raw with the sound of it, and in between laughing and gasping and reveling in just how special it is to be doing this with these people around this dying fire, he almost misses the absence of the wolves, gone silent for who-knows how long. The otherworldly dearth can’t be filled with human screeches, but it can be filled – and is, filled until it’s overflowing – with human connections and Jin’s puns and Jimin’s giggles, Taehyung’s ingenuous comments, Jungkook’s goofy jokes and Namjoon’s thoughtful remarks.

Most of all, it’s filled by the man in his lap, who set this whole thing off and rode the wave of hilarity for a time until slipping away from the center, easily and naturally regulating himself to the background as an appreciative witness. Even as the conversation lapses, flickering lower just like the flames at their feet, Hoseok can’t help but be aware of just how much he loves Yoongi, how much Yoongi fits in as a part of his life, as a part of all of them. For all his protestations, the artist belongs here, and it makes Hoseok grin into the gathering silence.          

It’d be utterly peaceful... if Yoongi didn’t keep shifting, which he’s been doing since he started howling. The first night – the first hour or so, when Yoongi had done it – Hoseok had just assumed the other man was restless, but there’s something very... deliberate... about the way the artist moves, sometimes, in little bundles of twisting motion. He’s been doing it, off and on, every time they end their day around the fire. And he’d been awfully quick to volunteer to sit in Hoseok’s lap in the first place. It’s not that it’s painful, exactly, but having his boyfriend grinding against his dick does a really good job of putting certain thoughts in his head. Certain expectations which have yet to be met. When he shifts again, Hoseok’s arm tightens around Yoongi’s middle in response. He could have been imagining the tattooist’s quiet chuckle, barely a breath, except he isn’t.

Namjoon spares him from having to throw in the towel, so to speak. “I’m tired,” he announces, clambering to his feet, and Jin is quick to get up too. No need to guess what’s going on there, though it makes Hoseok just a little envious. “You have a time you want us to clear out of here, Hoseok?” Namjoon adds, distracting him.

“Oh – nah,” is his reply. “I’m thinking of leaving around eleven, since it’s such a long drive, but if Yoongi and Jimin wanna hang out for longer…” He glances inquiringly at the two, but they both shake their head. “Either way, I don’t care if you guys wanna stay for longer, as long as you lock up after.”

“I think we’ll probably leave at the same time. Be easier if we’re not driving at night, anyways.”

Jin and Namjoon leave down a separate path that leads to another, larger clearing, where they’d pitched the tents. The younger guys don’t seem inclined to go to bed – Taehyung gets up and throws a few more logs on the fire – and while the event with the wolves has certainly pried him from the jaws of fatigue, Hoseok doesn’t feel like remaining here, either. It’s a little much to be asked to sit still, with Yoongi doing what he’s doing.

“I think we’ll head out, too,” he says after only a little while, and pretends his voice isn’t strained at all.

Someone snorts – he thinks it’s Jungkook – but that’s the only pushback he gets, and Yoongi doesn’t complain about Hoseok speaking for him (though he does complain about it on occasion, which is just blatant grumbling for the sake of grumbling). They untangle from each other and get to their feet, and Yoongi sternly reminds them to put out the fire before going to bed, raising a chorus of indignant protests. He needn’t have bothered. At the very least, Hoseok trusts Jimin not to forgetfully start a forest fire and kill all of them in the process.

As they step away from the clearing, their flashlight guiding the way in the near-darkness, Jimin’s voice floats teasingly after them. “Don’t stay up too late. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.” Yoongi barks a laugh, but for his part, Hoseok can’t help but feel embarrassed at just what his best friend is probably imagining – especially given that it isn’t true.  

It may be the beginning of March, and the days warmer because of it, but the nights are still quite cold. Away from the fire, once he’s kicked off his shoes and stepped into their tent Hoseok is reluctant to pull off the thick hoodie swathing his body, and Yoongi is in a similar state.

“Wah, it’s too cold!” Hoseok complains, and Yoongi agrees.

“Let’s just keep the hoodies on,” he suggests, moving to hook up the flashlight on a line he’s cleverly strung across the top of the tent. In the dangling light, Hoseok plucks at the smoke-saturated fabric of his sweater more than a trifle doubtfully.

“They’re dirty, though,” the student objects, and Yoongi’s low laugh makes him flush. “Yah, seriously, I’ve worn this every night at the fire; I don’t wanna sleep in it too!” he protests, maybe a little too fervently.

Yoongi hums, a carelessly discarded note. “Suit yourself,” he says, and clicks the light off. Hoseok can hear him shoving his phone into his bag and then a rustling announces the other man getting into the blankets. The first day they’d had two separate sleeping bags, but that hadn’t been warm enough – or close enough, if he’s being very honest – so they’d unzipped the bags and used them as padding, stealing a few more blankets from the cabin and lying under them together. Hoseok hesitates, but he really doesn’t want to wear the hoodie; he feels dirty enough as is. It’s actually got little to do with self consciousness – they’ve slept together (in the most literal sense only) plenty of times before – but he’s not keen on smelling like garbage while being next to Yoongi, either.

Pulling it over his head, he’s instantly too cold, teeth jarring together as his bare arms are exposed. His self-pitying yelp provokes another chuckle from Yoongi, before his boyfriend says, “Aw, come on. Get under the blankets before you freeze.”

Only too happy to comply, Hoseok also pitches his phone to the side before snuggling under the blankets that Yoongi helpfully holds open, making a happy sound to get into the warmth. As expected, it’s a whole lot more comfortable, and his boyfriend’s body heat is already sinking into the layers. Wriggling around in excited satisfaction, luxuriating in the way the cold is being driven from his limbs, Hoseok ignores Yoongi’s complaints as he buries further into the blankets. His heart is tripping in his chest, the usual reaction to their sleeping arrangements… although maybe a little exacerbated by what Yoongi had been doing earlier.

Before he can think on that too intensely, the other man shifts, is abruptly leaving the pile of blankets and drawing a confused exclamation from Hoseok. There are more rummaging sounds, and suddenly the flashlight over their heads is back on. As abruptly as he left, Yoongi is back again, sliding up against Hoseok, closer than before, so that if his heart was going fast previously, it starts to sprint now. Even days of sweat and smoke haven’t managed to totally wipe out the other man’s scent, and the wash of citrus and pine crowds his senses with sharp clarity.

“I forgot,” says the suspiciously oblivious Yoongi. “You promised to show me some of the footage you got from this week.” And Hoseok finds his camera being shoved into his hands.

He almost groans. “Now, really?” he asks pitifully, and the light dances across Yoongi’s face, highlighting his grin.

“What, were you planning on sleeping?” the artist asks, and Hoseok can only shake his head.

“I mean no, but, well, it’s our last night, and I thought…” His boyfriend’s face doesn’t indicate any abrupt comprehension, and the other man can only scrabble weakly to find what he means to say. After all that Yoongi’s done, after the hand holding and the cuddling and the making out – and there has been plenty of all three – he doesn’t know why Yoongi hasn’t made a move to take it further. And he doesn’t know how to say that he wants to take it further, when all of his subtler hints have been ignored. And he doesn’t know if he should want to take it further, or talk about it at all, with how Yoongi has been. And he doesn’t know –

“Let’s look at this, first,” his companion suggests archly, and Hoseok can’t understand how they’re on such a different page that Yoongi isn’t picking up what he’s putting down. That hurts, more than a little, the pleasant, tingling joy of before deserting him, and he nods his head because there’s nothing else to say. He’d thought that Yoongi’s teasing at the campfire had meant something, indicated a similar interest, but –

He flips open the screen – this is one of his more expensive cameras, and the resolution is high, clear – and is shortly accessing the folder titled “Woods Wandering.” There are a bunch of videos of varying lengths, and Hoseok chooses one at random, still put out and not paying much attention, berating himself for getting his hopes up only to let them crash down so hard. He can only be tensely aware of the body next to him, of what it’s doing to his own body, and hope that Yoongi doesn’t comment on it… or that he does.  

The sound of Jungkook’s giggling laughter fills their small tent, and he realizes which one he’s picked, from their second day. In the video, the camera pans up a tree, to reveal the youngest of them about a third of a way up the towering pine. He pauses in his climb, still laughing, to lean out and wave down at the camera. Someone (it’s Hoseok) makes a nervous sound off screen, but Jungkook seems to be having the time of his life. He pretends to pick up invisible bugs from the bark and eat them, scratching under his arms like a monkey.

“What an idiot,” is Yoongi’s fond observation, present-tense, and Hobi shifts in muted agreement, unable to laugh like his boyfriend is doing.

For the next few minutes, Jungkook scales the tree like he was born to do it, edged on by various catcalls and suggestions. He gets as close to the top as he should – and keeps going, as the shouts from below quickly turn far more concerned than amused. “Stupid,” Yoongi mumbles, and almost perfectly in step with that judgement, in the video a branch under Kookie’s foot breaks, and it’s too high for the snap to be heard but the camera captures the moment perfectly. He skids down several feet, branches bowing under his weight, until one catches without breaking. For a heart-stopping moment he teeters, off balance and unable to grab anything – Hoseok is shrieking, the camera tilting precariously, Namjoon and Yoongi both yelling something about getting under him – and then Jungkook snatches at another branch and steadies himself. And just like that, disaster is averted and the video ends with Hoseok’s nerveless fingers dropping the camera.

“He really likes to push it, doesn’t he?” For all that Yoongi leans back, seemingly still amused, a small amount of tension has entered his voice, and Hoseok has to agree with that. Jungkook hurtles himself around like he’s invincible, and for all that he is super athletic... one of these days there might not be a branch to stop his fall.

In a couple of weeks or months it’s going to be a funny video – Hoseok knows it’s one of the more interesting parts about videos, how they can change based on time and nothing else – but it’s too close now, and, frankly, his mood’s too low. Instead of replying to Yoongi, he just chooses another entry, and the other man once again leans closer to see, the coarse fabric of his sweater brushing roughly against Hoseok’s bare arms and making his stomach tighten.

The next few entries are a whirlwind of laughter and sunlight, streaming across wild antics and dirt-stained smiles. Taehyung and Namjoon fly kites, fending off the other boys as they tug playfully at the lines. Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin toss a frisbee around – a video which abruptly ends when an enthusiastic throw by Tae sends the disk whizzing into the camera holder’s shin. Namjoon and Yoongi kick back on lawn chairs, sipping beer in the sun and almost napping, while nearby the trio of younger boys chop up wood. Fast-forward, and Jin is found inside the cabin, taking advantage of the stove and other modern appliances to cook their supper. He shakes a knife threateningly, and the camera retreats.

Throughout it all, as they view the clips, Yoongi makes occasional comments and snorts with amusement, but Hoseok can’t reciprocate beyond a low hum or a brief smile. It’s funny and horrible all at once – he used to be able to lie to everyone (including himself), to mask his sadness if nothing else, but now there are seven people he can’t seem to hide his emotions from, and Yoongi is the worst of them all. He’s the worst because, not only can Hoseok not repress his hurt feelings around him, Yoongi has a way of making him feel like he shouldn’t. Like he deserves to be upset sometimes, which sounds stupid and harmful and is against everything he’s ever learned, but that sure as hell doesn’t stop his boyfriend’s lessons from hammering on the door. So, the dissatisfaction, the uncertainty, it simmers uneasily in his stomach and makes his lips pull down, and he makes no attempt, conscious or otherwise, to pull them back up.

God, does he really care about this that much? Is he really so hurt by the thought that Yoongi apparently doesn’t want to sleep with him? Isn’t that super shallow? But it’s not the prospect of his boyfriend’s disinterest that’s bothering him – at least, not the most. It’s that Yoongi seems so keen on avoiding the subject.

The next entry they view – it’s probably his favourite – challenges but doesn’t quite dispel the unhappy thoughts. Jimin rides on Jin’s broad shoulders, hands clasped around his forehead and partially over his eyes, ignoring the older man’s protestations about not being able to see as they stagger along the edge of a deep running creek that traces through the campground. They end up falling into the water while Hoseok nearly chokes on his laughter as he films. Shortly everyone is in the creek as well, splashing and shoving each other around – everyone but Hoseok, that is, filming diligently off to the side. Until Yoongi says something to Jin, gestures at the screen, and suddenly the florist is rushing out of the water and there’s a brief scuffle, the view tilting crazily as it’s jerked back and forth, until the victorious camera holder prances back several feet and reveals Hoseok scowling on screen, bereft of his shield.

“Go have fun, Hobi-yah,” Jin calls. “I’m not going to drop this, and you need some footage of yourself, too.” Then and now, Hoseok doubts the veracity of that statement, but nonetheless, in the film, he turns away, goes reluctantly to the edge of the water and takes off his shoes. Taehyung tries to splash him, Namjoon attempts to coax him in, and even Yoongi makes an effort to get him to join the fun, but it’s not until Jungkook abruptly surges up and latches onto Hoseok that he’s finally dragged in. Cue a lot of shrieking and swearing (the water was really cold) but he can’t stay mad at a well-meaning friend for long, and quickly they’re back to having fun.

They even have a three-way chicken fight, Tae on Jungkook’s shoulders, Jimin on Namjoon, Yoongi on Hoseok. Doubtless certain other people might disagree, but personally Hoseok is pretty sure they were the winning team overall; at the very least, the video ends with Jimin already fallen, and Yoongi clinging to Tae as they topple each other (and their partners) into the water with a loud splash. Yoongi is laughing even as he falls, his soaking shirt clinging to his body, and he looks so happy, so alive, it makes Hoseok’s heart ache with something like fear embracing fondness.

When he looks up from the camera screen, he realizes the artist is staring, a little crease between his brow, and Hobi shifts, embarrassed by how intently Yoongi is watching him and acutely aware that he’s being a letdown in the cheer department.

Eventually, abruptly, his boyfriend speaks. “You’re pissed about something.” It could have been an accusation, but Yoongi’s voice is softly perplexed, and Hoseok only feels a little prickling of defensiveness – and, maybe, the slightest tremor of gratitude that Yoongi had noticed. Maybe.

Which doesn’t really make it much easier to reply. Fingers twisting around each other as he sets the camera down, he looks away. “No, I – What makes you say that?”

The sound that issues from the other man isn’t quite a laugh. “It might’ve been the fact that I’ve talked more than you in the last half hour. Or maybe that you haven’t laughed once. Or maybe –” His hand reaches up, hesitates. Sometimes, in their private moments, the tattooist does that. It’s like he’s afraid to touch, afraid of what the contact will do. Eventually though, Yoongi's hand cups Hoseok’s cheek, and his thumb skims along the turned down lines of Hoseok’s lips, generating a pleasant tingle.

“Or maybe your mouth always does that, when you’re mad,” Yoongi finishes quietly. “So, don’t bother bullshitting me. What’s up?”

He honestly can’t tell if his boyfriend is lying about his ignorance or not; those cool, faultless eyes don’t give anything away. Still, if he had to trust his gut – which he does with Yoongi, almost always – he thinks that the male opposite him is being largely sincere, and that brings about a crest of frustration, amusement and relief. Regardless of the difficulties, he’d rather deal with oblivious Yoongi than lying Yoongi.

It’s hard to say where that thought comes from – it’s not like his boyfriend is a pathological liar – but it’s true; Yoongi lying makes him more uncomfortable than almost anything else. But Yoongi isn’t lying right now. He makes himself relax, wrestles with the anxiety by the simple expedient of reaching up and gently clasping the other man’s hand, still lingering against his cheek. “It’s just – it’s...” He pauses, but the patient expression doesn’t waver from Yoongi’s face. Tearing his eyes away, he focuses his gaze on Yoongi’s long fingers, moving his touch carefully along the delicate bones, the pronounced knuckles, his fixation an unconscious attempt to trace the lines of his own thoughts. Under his light contact, the artist’s fingers curl a little, the only sign of his impatience, and after awhile, Hoseok manages to get his mind in order.

“This feels nice,” he says nervously, more a confession than a comment. In case Yoongi doesn’t understand what he means, Hoseok brings their entwined hands up higher, his eyes still avoiding his boyfriend. “I... like this. A lot. And I just – I dunno, it’s like I should know, but do you like it too?”

There’s no instant understanding from Yoongi, but he replies too quickly to be doubted, even if his voice is gruff. “I like it, yeah. Of course I do.”

A light sigh flutters from his lips, a mix of pleasure and anxiety. “I – then I want to know if you – if –” Action is so much easier than thinking about it, of trying to explain the muddle in his head, so Hoseok doesn’t let himself hesitate, just throws caution to the night. He abruptly leans forward, his free hand grasping the back of the small man’s neck, and kisses him. Under his lips, Yoongi stiffens for less than a heartbeat, but the surprise is quickly replaced by something warmer, something warm enough to keep out the cold. His mouth softens even as his body does, and before too long his tongue is parting Hoseok’s lips, taking it a step further. The student could – almost – relish the hot feeling of the kiss, of inhaling Yoongi’s breath, but he wants to explain himself.

He pulls back, and in another time, in another place, would have laughed at the other’s disgruntled expression. “That,” Hoseok says, higher pitched and louder than before, unable to stifle the feeling in his chest. “"Did you like that?"” He almost needn’t have asked – there’s so much about his understanding of Yoongi that’s unspoken, below the surface of any kind of words – except that he does need to ask, sometimes, and the normally implicit understanding almost makes him ashamed of his ignorance.

Now Yoongi’s reply is slower, more thoughtful. “I... yeah. Yeah, I liked it. What’s – you’re not just asking to be a little shit, right?”

As always, the words are harsher than the intention behind them, and Hoseok lets himself grin, just a little. “No, not this time,” he agrees. “I’m – I had to be sure.”

“You doubted it?”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to pause, though after a moment he shakes his head. “No, I – I guess not. It’s just, I – I just wanna know what we’re doing, Yoongi.”

The artist makes as though to turn away, but Hoseok still has a firm grip on his hand and doesn’t allow the motion. When that escape fails, Yoongi tries another route. “Camping,” he says archly, almost like he really is that dense. “We’re camping.”

Frankly, by now Hoseok is a pro at bumbling through his partner’s attempts at diversion whenever they talk about something more personal, though he’d also thought – hoped? prayed? – that they were getting beyond that. His smile turns a bit sad, but Hoseok doesn't let it drop when he replies. “Haha. Okay, beyond camping.” Seeing Yoongi’s lips move, he interrupts, “Beyond sitting in this tent. And yeah -��� beyond holding hands.” Man, sometimes he isn’t the one who’s the little shit in this relationship. “I mean us, Yoongi. What’re we doing?”

Maybe it’s the poor lighting (it isn’t), but the other man seems pale all of a sudden. Well. Paler than usual. His unclaimed hand rises to rub against his neck, and it’s his turn to look elsewhere. Roughly, more roughly than before, he shoots back his own question. “Where’s this coming from?”

“From last night, when you kissed me before you went to sleep,” Hoseok replies immediately. “From three weeks ago, when we were making out at Jin’s and he dumped that water on us. From tonight, when you – when you were sitting on my lap. From right now.” He speaks passionately, and it’s such a relief to let the words spill from his chest, to know that, regardless of what he says, Yoongi might turn away but he won’t leave. Not like months ago.

And indeed, the tattooist makes no move to get up. He doesn’t even try to turn away again. His shoulders are shaking, just a little, but Hoseok doesn’t know if that’s from the cold (it isn’t) or something else. “I’m just – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he admits, and then he looks up, meets Hoseok’s eyes, and there’s something pleading in his expression, boarding on the edge of panic.

For once, Hoseok thinks he can actually be the leader, the one to help his boyfriend out of this pit. “I’m not – seriously, seriously, Yoongi – I’m not gonna be mad about it either way, but... I – I really want to be with you, Yoongi. With with you. And I just, I have to know... what that means. Mostly you seem like you’re down for – for the physical stuff,” and his surge of confidence can’t stop his flush at that, “but then – but then we never do more. And it’s – it’s totally okay if you don’t want to, seriously, I –” He stops, but it’s more or less true. He won’t understand – not based on the histories they’ve both shared of the people they’ve enjoyed being with – but he’ll accept it. He’s beginning to think he’ll accept pretty much anything, if it means being the best boyfriend he can be for Yoongi. He just wants to know.

The other man’s shoulders are shaking harder, and for a moment he gets a horrible, plummeting feeling in his stomach as he thinks he might actually have made his partner cry. Until – until abruptly, just as abruptly as earlier tonight, he realizes Yoongi is laughing. It’s not a particularly light laugh, more a callback to months ago, when everything was a sardonic joke, but at least it’s not tears.

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi breathes through his laughter, his free hand running through his hair. “What a fucking soap opera this is. I thought you were talking about – ah, fuck –” He breaks off, chuckling, and it only gets louder when he sees the look on Hoseok’s face. “Did you seriously just use ‘physical stuff’ to describe fucking around?”

“Well how else would you describe –” the student begins indignantly, only to realize it’s already been answered. Obviously that does nothing to help Yoongi get a hold of himself, and Hoseok is left swamped in a mire of annoyance and relief. This is – not how he pictured this conversation going, though it’s already a better path than the only serious argument they’ve had. Although he kinda wishes this was a serious... something. He’s been stressing out about it for weeks, and there’s Yoongi, laughing so hard he looks like he’s going to be sick!

Maybe he picks some of that irritation up, because eventually his boyfriend sobers, wiping at his eyes where tears – literal tears – have gathered. “Sorry,” is his not particularly repentant apology. “It’s just – shit, it’s too fucking funny. I –” For a second it looks like Yoongi is going to be overwhelmed again, but he smothers the hilarity with a deep breath. “Look, I just – I didn’t want to go too fast. You’re – okay, to be totally blunt, you’re so hot I couldn’t keep my hands off, but I didn’t want to shove you into it. I was...” He stops, searching for the right word, his lips curled irreverently. “...Waiting. Yeah. Waiting. That’s a first for me, but...”

As the full weight of the misunderstanding crashes down on Hoseok, his mouth falls open, and he lets go of Yoongi’s hand, sprawls back to prop himself up on his elbows. “I hate myself,” the wiry man moans, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. “Do you have any idea – it’s been so long – I could have said something. I thought you didn’t want to do – I should have asked. God, I suck.”

“Like you’re being paid to do it, hopefully.”

Whipping his head around, Hoseok glares at Yoongi’s impudent expression, the mischievous twist of his mouth not – quite – enough to burn away the outrage... even if his groin does give a throb at the thought of a different kind of sucking. “It’s not funny!” he protests hotly, and the tattooist schools his face into innocence.

“Nah, of course it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe… ‘Like you’re being paid to do it?’ Seriously?” Hoseok asks abruptly. “That’s what you come up with?”

Yoongi shrugs with studied casualness. “I can make a lot of things come up, Hobi,” he says, his pure expression fracturing into another sharp grin when Hoseok laughs – a little apprehensively – at the wordplay. The other man stretches out, picks up the camera again. “Anyways, let’s keep looking at this. It’ll be more fun without that stupid look on your face.”

“Stupid!” Hoseok begins indignantly, but Yoongi sails breezily by.

“How about you show me what you’ve got for your film thing?”  

He’s brought to even greater levels of outrage. “Hell no! I’ve told you that’s not happening until it’s finished!” It’s getting close – only a month or so more of editing left, with almost no filming in between – but he doesn’t show anyone his unfinished stuff, with the exception of his profs.

Not even his boyfriend. That’s been like the tenth time Yoongi’s asked, and while Hoseok is just teasing in his exasperation, the artist is usually quicker to let things go. He must really want to see himself in a documentary, though Hobi knows with no small amount of amusement that Yoongi won’t admit that. He’s equally aware that the other man is trying to rush them by the “moment” – as Yoongi would call it, probably with a scowl – but with the air cleared, Hoseok is happy to move on, if only to ease his boyfriend’s discomfort.

Although he kind of wants to do something other than watching the rest of the videos from this week.

And judging from where Yoongi’s hands start wandering as they settle closer together in the blankets, Hoseok isn’t the only who’s one more than a little distracted.

It’s not until weeks later that Hoseok first wonders what Yoongi had been so afraid of discussing in the first place.    

---

A blur of boring scenery and not much else, the fields on either side bleed by them, Hoseok’s (fucking beautiful) car eating the miles under its tires like it’s starving. Jimin somehow managed to bully the both of them into submitting to his choice of music, and a melodic classic (apparently it’s a classic; Yoongi’s never heard it before) is an admittedly chill background sound as they drive. Not that he’s telling the angelic-looking devil seated contently next to him that. Under his hands, the warm leather of the steering wheel hasn’t exhausted his steady grip, though he’s been driving for close to five hours now. He was supposed to have relinquished his position as chauffer about two hours ago, but…

His eyes flick to the rear-view mirror, checking on the man passed out cold in the back. They’d stayed up late last night, late even by Yoongi’s standards, but Hoseok had been up the earliest of them. He’d cleaned, put most of the camping shit away in the cars or the cabin, and by the time Yoongi himself had emerged from their tent, groaning and squinting in the too bright light of late morning, everyone else but Jungkook was up and had already eaten, curtesy of Jin and Hoseok. Shortly after, they’d packed the tents (threatening to leave Kookie for the wolves if he didn’t wake up and get out) and headed their separate ways with the usual chaos of taunts and well wishes for the drive ahead. For the first couple of hours, the trio in the car had kept up a lively conversation, but eventually the relentless road ground their chatter down. The wiry man in the back, after nodding off and then startling himself awake several times (and no, Yoongi hadn’t been stupidly smiling at that) eventually succumbed to the sleep he hadn’t had.  

Hoseok’s cheek is pressed against the window, red hair falling messily across his forehead, and with his mouth fallen open like that, he looks like an idiot. A really… fucking cute idiot. Shaking his head, Yoongi forces his eyes back to the empty road, unaware of the way his lips remain curled upwards even after his gaze leaves his soulmate. And unaware of Jimin, leaning against the door on the passenger side and very much awake.

The small man speaks after only a short time, his eyes on Yoongi’s face. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he begins casually, “what’d you end up getting Hoseok hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not particularly invested in the vague question. “Get him? You mean like when we went through the McDonald’s drive thru?”

Jimin’s eyes go so wide, and with such mute surprise, that Yoongi scoffs and rolls his eyes. Jesus Christ, what a drama queen. He should have gone into acting instead of –

“Hyung told you about his birthday, didn’t he?”

The car swerves over the middle line, though given the fact that there isn’t a fucking soul this side of hell except for them, it doesn’t really matter. Yoongi yanks the wheel, too hard, and almost overcompensates over the shoulder before managing to straighten out again. His eyes dart back to the mirror, but Hoseok hasn’t budged from his stupidly uncomfortable slump against the window. For a second, angry words stir to life in his throat, but Yoongi savagely bites them back, his teeth clenching over the sharp syllables.

Really? he asks himself. You’re gonna bitch him out over this?

Jimin is way too fucking observant, and the tattooist shifts in his seat, slender fingers drumming the wheel, uncomfortably aware of the other watching him. If it’d been Hoseok, the questions would have poured out, but Jimin is silent and it’s hard to fight that invitation. Too hard.

“I didn’t know,” Yoongi eventually admits, furious at the way the confession creases at the end. Like it actually hurts to say it. Like he actually cares. Still… why the hell wouldn’t Hobi have told him something like that? And when was his birthday, anyways? And why the fuck hadn’t it occurred to Yoongi to ask? Wasn’t that… some kind of dating thing?

Stretching his legs out, Jimin keeps his voice low. “I told him to tell you. He hates celebrating his birthday, but still… he should have said something.”

“Why wouldn’t he have?” Yoongi demands, struggling to keep his voice as quiet as his front seat companion.

“Why?” Jimin laughs, a little chastising. “You know he can’t stand people buying him stuff, and that’s kinda birthdays in a nutshell. Plus, I mean, with you especially, he –” Halting himself, the small man glances at Yoongi sidelong.

Yoongi scowls. “With me especially, what?” His mind flies to his financial situation. He’s got enough money, barely, for everything he needs, and Hoseok still pays for their “sessions” a few times a week, but he’s not some pathetic charity case. He could have afforded to buy something for his boyfriend. Skipped a few meals (and he throws half of them up, anyways, so why not?) and got enough cash to get – what? What could he even have gotten Hoseok that the student couldn’t get himself?

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Jimin hasn’t replied, and Yoongi swears under his breath, his empty stomach twisting. It was a good thing he’d turned down the cold bacon and toast Jin had saved for him or he might have been pulling over by now. No fucking wonder Hobi didn’t say anything, he thinks to himself, his hands white knuckled around the steering wheel. He didn’t want some stupid shitty gift he’d just throw out later. That’s wrong, he knows it is, but the fact is insubstantial in the face of his sudden, helpless anger.

There’s nothing to vent it on – he can’t beat up his body any more than the cancer already has, after all – but – but – God damn, he would have liked to have celebrated with Hoseok. Just hung out and like… done something sappy. Watched a movie and cuddled or whatever the fuck. Couldn’t Hoseok have just – told him?

“Don’t be too mad,” Jimin advises gently. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

He’d liked to have snapped that he did know, except that he’s not at all convinced of the fact, and he’s more than a little perturbed that his friend is assuming he’s not really pissed off at Hoseok, but at himself. And he’s even more pissed off that Jimin’s right. Fuck, fuck, he should have asked Hobi when his birthday was.  

“When was it?” he asks abruptly. “His birthday?”

“It was February. The 18th.”

“Did you get him something?” Yoongi’s caught between hoping Hobi at least got something, and a curiously sick feeling at the thought of Jimin giving him a gift. A sick feeling that has nothing to do with his current sickness.

“Me? Nah. We worked it out years ago – he gets a birthday favour that he can claim whenever, whatever, and I have to do it, no arguing or anything. That’s my gift. He hasn’t asked me yet, though.” Yoongi honestly can’t say if that’s worse or not, but he swallows hard and tells himself to get over it – even as a niggling voice wonders why he and Hoseok couldn’t have had something like that.

It doesn’t whisper for long. When his gaze goes back to the mirror, to Hoseok slouched against the window, he knows why. As someone who’s only just getting over apologizing for existing, the lean man isn’t going to make something like his birthday into an issue. It was Yoongi who needed to insist on Hobi taking up space – Jimin probably had to do the same thing to reach that birthday agreement.

Some of his tension escapes in a rattling inhale as Yoongi sucks on his spit, and he rubs at his neck. “I’m gonna have to get him something, or do something, or…” He trails off. It’s not that he’s normally bad at this shit – actually, sometimes he’s pretty good – but the artist just… he doesn’t know what he could do that would be good enough for Hoseok. He doesn’t know what would be anywhere near a good enough apology for what’s going to happen in the future.

“You know,” Jimin says, glancing over his shoulder to check that Hobi is still asleep, “there’s some kind of film festival in like three weeks. That’s nearing the end of the semester, so he’ll be flipping his shit and trying to concentrate on projects and whatever. I probably couldn’t convince him to go, but you might be able to.”

“Yeah? What’s it called?”

“The Spring Day film festival,” is Jimin’s prompt reply. Yoongi hesitates – he almost doesn’t want to know how much tickets would cost – but the other man continues. “A senior I’m working with has tickets she got for free – her brother works for the company that’s hosting it or something? – and she said I could have them if I wanted. I mean, I’m not interested in going, so if you wanted to…”

There’s a weirdly nonchalant tone to Jimin’s voice, and it occurs to Yoongi that he’s trying very, very hard to make this seem like not a big deal. That might have made him glower, except he’s trying too hard to hold back his grin to do anything of the sort. Man, if someone had told him a year ago that he’d be meeting a bunch of people who were genuinely cool – and, more shocking, liked him enough to try to help him out – he’d have thought the person was high.

“That might be cool,” he says, and Jimin giggles, and he thinks, Shit, I’m gonna miss this guy.

Those thoughts come, sometimes, and Yoongi does his best to ignore them. Besides, once he’s dead he guesses he’s not gonna be missing anyone. That’s kind of depressing – litres of alcohol kind of depressing – so he shies away from it, forcing his mind to lighter topics. Like his and Hoseok’s talk last night. For a hot second he’d thought they were gonna be talking about – about a heavier topic – but then Hobi was going off about screwing around, and it had been such a relief to focus on that instead. He’d barely lied with that, either, and it’s always nice when he doesn’t have to lie to his soulmate.

He had been waiting – true. He hadn’t wanted to keep his hands off – also true (very, very true). The only lie was omission – the only reason he hadn’t asked Hoseok to sleep with him before was because he wanted to make sure the bond didn’t overwhelm either of them. The teasing, the constant contact, sitting in Hobi’s lap… it’s the only way Yoongi knows how to desensitize the other man to the connection without being painfully obvious. (Plus, it’s fun. Like, really, really fun.) Yoongi had been planning on bringing it up soon anyways – it’d been a pleasant surprise to have Hobi get impatient enough to break through his usual limitations and ask. At least it meant that, if nothing else, he’s enjoying the physical of their relationship.

And he’ll be liking it even more soon, Yoongi thinks to himself, lips curling into a half-smile, and doesn’t think about how much he wants to enjoy more than that, for months and years more. No point in wishing for time he doesn’t have.

Besides, when Hoseok jerks himself awake an hour or so later and groggily asks if it’s his turn to drive yet, it almost feels like any time spent with the other man is enough.          

[rhodirachel]

Fray | Chapter 4 | A BTS Fanfiction

Chapters

| FRAY NOTICE |

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 [END] |

Summary

What you thought was your life turned around by losing your job at a publishing company, another unexpected twist occurs as your life crosses into the fate of someone else- a boy by the name of Min Yoongi, a gang member.

Rating: M (for language only)

Words: 3395

Relationship: Min Yoongi (Suga/ Agust D) x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, gang details, violence

                                                    “The bell tolls

                                                    And suddenly

                                                I can’t bring myself

                                                    To let you go

                                                      Anymore.”

I stumbled around the club, mindlessly making my way throughout the crowd. The underground parties were practically always where I was; maybe not wanting to be there, but was anyway.

I could smell the dank odor in the building from the sweaty bodies and feel the musty air of moisture. Drunk girls in too high of skirts tried to grab my arms, batting their faux eyelashes and pursing their lips that have too much gloss on them. Usually, in this state, I would have taken the offers of the desperate women in the dancing crowd. No, no- not tonight, though. Right now, I’m looking for someone.

I held my cup of alcohol close to me, catching glimmers of the bar I struggled to walk towards. On one of the stools, I saw him. He was flirting with a girl- she looked as if she’s in college, or at least should be. I brought the cup up to me, staggering, before taking one last drink and carelessly tossing the cup to the ground, sitting next to the boy in another bar-stool.

“Mark,” I giggled, flashing a coy smile before eyeing her down. “Who’s the girl?”

Mark Lee. My best friend- closer than that, really. My brother. A soul mate. Any of these words could describe the black haired boy.

He smiled, motioning his head towards her. “She’s just this girl I met a few minutes ago. What’s your name? I’m sorry,” he says smugly, turning back to face her.

“Oh, it’s Joon Geum.”

He turned back to me and smirked before focusing his attention on her, listening to whatever mindless nonsense she had to spout. My eyebrows furrowed, gazing over the ground as I motion with my hand another drink to be made for me by the bartender.

I could feel twitching from my black eye as I strained to recognize people in the small building being over-crowded. The strain made me woozy, making me lose my balance for a second while simply sitting in my chair. I let out an uncomfortable groan in response, nodding as the bartender handed me a cup of the usual bourbon I order here.

“Thanks, Gi,” I said, turning around and slipping a hundred into the tip jar for him.

“No problem, Six. Always a pleasure to see a member of the CHAN family in my club every night; especially one as generous as you.”

My back was to him, but I smirked as I could hear the intimidation laced with his words. Kiss-ass.

The world spun around me, but I was ready to leave. I grabbed Mark’s shoulder, pulling him off his bar-stool and ushering him away from the girl he was trying to sleep with.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Mark scowled.

“…You wanna get out of here?” I asked, half-resting on the shoulder I grabbed him with for support as I stand.

“Wh… what? Six, you’re drunk right now. I’m in no position to drive either, I’m a bit tipsy.”

“Who the fuck cares? I’ll drive for you. I’m fine…” I said, stumbling away from his shoulder.

“Chan, I’m serious. You shouldn’t be driving.”

I got a hold on his shoulders again and looked at him in the eyes. “You trust me, right?”

Mark looked back into mine before helping me steady myself. “Yes, I do.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” I said, stumbling away from him and to the exit door.

I could see Mark wave to the girl in dismission as he came up and put my left arm around his shoulders, half-carrying me to the door. We went outside, and walked down the sidewalk, getting into our car at the end of the street.

I took my arm off of him and got into the driver’s seat, turning on the car as Mark buckles up and immediately turns the heat on; attempting to rid the car of the frosty winter air that lurks outside.

“C’mon, you have to at least put on your seat belt. You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack, I swear…”

“Ugh, stop pestering, Mark,” I grumbled before faltering, “but fine… I’ll put the damn belt on.”

As soon as I put the belt on, I hit the pedal on the car as fast as I could. The club, with all its bodies and must, is nauseating at some point. Or, maybe it was all the time. Maybe it was all the time and I could always just ignore it to a certain point. No matter the case, everything nowadays seemed to be nauseating at some point. The club, the women, the family, the booze, the home. Everything except me and him, right here. Alone, in the car at 2 AM, mindlessly driving down the roads that no soul occupies at this hour. At least, no one but people just like us.

It’s always paradise to get away with him. Even if for a few hours. It’s the only time when I can, truly, feel alive anymore.

I turn the wheel, steering us north. Han River is my destination; just on the outskirts of our neighborhood in Dongjak-gu, connecting us to the rest of Father’s “corporation”. The Hangang bridge, with its tied arches, looked absolutely stunning at night to me. There was something about the lights, the way they lit up the way in its own path, that made me gravitate to it. Almost every night was I there with Mark, gazing at the way the lights lit up the small, but very large, world around us. There was… a certain feeling I got. Something that flourished throughout. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite similar in my entire life.

With Mark having to grip my wheel and steer us back onto the road properly every now and then, we made it to the bridge. After parking carelessly to the side, we stepped out into the chilly air that permeated the environment around us. I held my jacket close to my body until I saw Mark get out of the car, holding his arms together in an attempt to keep some of his body heat.

“Here, go ahead and take this,” I mumbled, pulling off my jacket and handing it to him.

“A-are you s-sure?” he questioned, already beginning to tremble in his short sleeve.

“What else do you think? I’m the only one who dressed somewhat appropriately here,” I slurred sarcastically, gesturing with my other hand to the sweater I was wearing under the jacket.

“Fine, okay,” Mark surrendered, taking the jacket from my hands and putting it on. A perfect fit.

We walked across the sidewalk and to the rails of the bridge. The setting was literally perfect: not a soul in sight except for us two, the city-lit night sky, and the world was quiet for once. Mark sat himself on the thin rail, and I ended up leaning onto it to steady myself, elbows propped up, holding my face in my hands.

“How have you been doing?” Mark whispered, worried.

“I mean,” I garbled, hesitating. “I have a fuckin’ black eye because of my ol’ man, so. Yeah. I think that should suffice as an answer.”

Mark scoffed, never turning to look at me. “You know that’s not how I meant it.”

“Sure, I know. But it’s the truth.”

“Why did you have to leave her there, Six?” Mark huffed, rolling his eyes. “Really. If it weren’t for us just runnin-”

“You think I don’t fucking know that by now?” I retorted, sighing afterward. “Now I have to worry about that asshole again because of all of this. She could seriously go to the cops, and father definitely made that clear to me,” I finished, rolling my eyes at the last phrase.

Mark looked downwards, into the depths of the Han River. “We should at least tell the others.”

I pushed myself off the rail, immediately stumbling and throwing my arms up in anger. “Mark, don’t you fucking realize that I can’t do that?” I shouted, “That will completely take away my credibility as a leader! Can’t you fucking think?”

The last thing I said made me stop in my tracks as Mark’s back stiffened.

I shut my mouth, albeit hard to do so in such a drunken state. In the moment, as I made my way back to the rail again, the first snow of the season began to trickle down. I propped my head on my arms again, staring blankly into the night sky as a grim silence loomed on the two of us.

“It’s snowing,” Mark commented, raising his hand to catch the frilly ice.

A good moment went by in silence as the snow began to stick to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Mark looks out onto the river, into the city. “I know.”

A few minutes after, Mark got off the ledge and came to lean his side against me, still looking outwards. “What do you want for Christmas. Do you know?”

I scoffed, a smile reaching my face. “Yeah, okay. Seriously, don’t get me anything,” I turned my body, my back hitting the rail as I held my arms out in a pretentious context. “I already could get anything I wanted.”

But all I needed was you, really, wasn’t it?

Mark laughed, pushing my shoulder. “Seriously, come on. I know you can, whatever, but I want you to tell me anyway.”

I strained a smile as I know he’s not going to let up. I let a moment of silence pass, for his laugh to stutter to a stop, before I go on. “I want to leave. Just you and me. I want to get out of here with you.”

Mark’s small smile turned into a frown, contemplating my words.

“Chan, you know we can’t do that. You know what will happen, just like what happened with Five.”

“Screw him,” I spat. “Like he was ever a brother to me anyway. To any of us.”

I pushed myself off the rail again, moving to grip onto the jacket I lent to him.

“We can do this. We can do it differently. Mark, Jesus- I can’t spend another day like this. I can’t…”

I looked down at the ground, woozy from my drunkenness with tears streaming down my face. I lost more and more balance as the seconds past, and soon Mark had to hold me up from falling to the ground.

Mark pulled me up slightly, helping me steady myself so he could walk me to the car. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He helped me to the car, only this time he tried to put me in the driver’s seat.

“No, Mark, I can drive, let me-”

“No, you can’t,” Mark interrupted. “You are a mess right now, c’mon. Just let me drive, okay?”

The labored breaths from previously crying began to settle themselves. “Okay.”

Mark closed the passenger door, opening the driver’s side and climbing into the car with me. He was putting on his seat belt as I looked blankly onto the road ahead of us.

“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked.

I could see out of the corner of my eye he was smiling. “How about a day out. Just us. Will that satiate your wish?”

I heard the rumble of the car as he turned the key into its ignition. “Only temporarily.”

The bitterness of the air washed into the car as Mark opened my door, helping me towards the gang house. Seeing the arbitrarily gargantuan mansion in front of us, the world we were surrounded in back at Hangang was suddenly dissipating. It was time to return to the reality of our lives.

“You doing okay?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered, holding myself close, not wanting to fall over.

We walked into the pristine-looking mansion, nothing so much as looking an inch out of place. The shiny, white floors mirrored that of the white plaster walls and ceiling. “Contemporary” was the theme dad was going for when he built the place, but it all it did was look fake. As if no one could live here. Maybe no one could, either. I couldn’t.

We walked past the foyer and down the hallway, towards the living room. Mark put me down and sat next to me on the cold, leather couch, before I got up and made my way towards the room’s mini-bar.

“What the fuck, Six? You’re already drunk enough!” Mark blurted.

I waved him off, nothing to say. There really wasn’t. What was I going to say? Sorry I hide my fears and regrets with alcohol? Sorry that I couldn’t find any other better way to cope with my pain? Even you? No, I wouldn’t say any of those things. They were things that didn’t need to be said.

I grabbed a new bottle of scotch from the bar before sagging into the couch next to Mark. Immediately I opened the bottle and began chugging the thing. Even now, things hurt too much. It was one of those nights, and no way did I want to sober anytime soon.

“I know they kept the girl. Dad thinks she’s gone; that they probably let her go. But that look on Yoongi’s face… I’m not sure. It was just so, different… when he saw her laying there.”

Mark looked over at me. “You think she’s there?”

“Yeah, don’t you?” I say, looking back at him.

“I mean, not really…? I don’t really understand the importance of this girl. I highly doubt she’s going to go to the cops.”

“Wh-what?”

“I mean, don’t you think? She probably didn’t even make it, Six. She’s probably just dead.”

I huffed and began to shout at him. “That’s the most naïve thing I’ve ever fucking heard, how could you just assume that!”

“How could you assume that she’s alive? She was on the ground completely bleeding out!”

“Fuck off, Mark, it would take an idiot to think that stupid fucking boy let her die,” I scoffed, taking another swig of the scotch in front of me.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark fumed, “that’s it. That’s fucking it-”

He grabbed the bottle out of my hands, some scotch pouring onto me from how the bottle was tilted. I shouted in response, my hands lifting upwards in a fit.

“What the actual fuck, Mark!?” I barked. Mark stood up from the couch, waving the bottle with his hands as he spoke.

“I can’t see this every single fucking night, Chan! I can’t see you go into one of your episodes and think that it’s okay to drink yourself to death! It’s the same thing every time. We go to the club. We meet some girls, only to ditch them because you want to head out. We get to our place, you already being drunk. We get home, and you fucking drink more until you completely black out. Jesus, Six, what kind of fucking life is that?”

“My sad fucking life, Mark! Don’t you get that?” I roared, getting up in a stumble.

I staggered to him, pushing him with as much strength as I could muster, making him drop the bottle of scotch in the process. He pushed me to the ground with ease, due to my drunken state. I yelled out in pain as my head hit the ground, my hands quickly reaching up to my head in an attempt to nurse it.

I got up in a rush, almost falling over from the force of throwing my body.

“You fucking piece of shit-”

I punched Mark in the face, watching as he stumbled to the ground. I threw myself on top of him, beginning to hit his arms in blind rage as he covered his face. Before I knew it, he grabbed me and threw me down on the ground next to me, getting up just enough before sending a knockout punch to my face.

I groaned in pain, tears welling up in my eyes. My body relaxed as everything slowly began to go black, until suddenly I felt cold water hitting my face.

I could see Mark lifting the water bottle that was drenching me, a sad look on his face as he stretched his hand out to help me up. I looked up at him with a glare before softening and taking his hand, letting him help me up. He secured a hold on my arm, helping me steady myself as we walked back to the couch. We both fell into the cushions, and I turned my head slightly to read the clock. It was now 4 AM.

Mark went to get up. “I should get the bottle of scotch, it’s spilling on-”

“Don’t,” I said, holding him back down to the couch. “Let it stain the carpet.”

For a moment, Mark looked at me before making himself comfortable on the couch once more. I watched as the caramel liquid sunk into the living room’s white carpet. Suddenly, my cell phone began to ring.

“Jesus,” I complained, holding my aching head with my right hand. “I guess I should fucking take it, shouldn’t I?”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket with my left hand, not daring to move my head from its position now. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mark going over to the mini-bar, grabbing a wash rag and filling the middle with ice cubes. Reading the phone, I saw the abbreviation “III” on it.

Answering it, I sighed. “Yeah?”

“Hey Six, how are you doing?”

I scoffed, acknowledging the current situation. “You know, that’s a great question. What do you want?”

I could feel his laugh reverberate through the phone, making me wince in ache. “Is that really a way to treat your big brother?”

“I don’t know,” I flatly stated, “are you a brother anymore? No one sees you around anymore. Not even me.”

“Listen, Six,” he sighed. “I’m still here for you, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“What I called for, though, is serious,” he said on the other end. “I’m sure you’ve already been getting a lot of shit because of that girl?”

“Oh Jesus Christ, not this aga-”

“Listen, listen. I just need to know what happened. That’s all; then I’ll leave you alone.”

“It’s fucking four in the morning, Three.”

“And? You’re still up, aren’t you?”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled. “Fine.”

Mark sat next to me, slightly resting the makeshift ice-pack on my head. I closed my eyes, sighing.

“Look. I was with the boys, we saw the girl, we tried to have some fun, okay? She wouldn’t play, things got out of hand and I stabbed her. ‘Tried to get her purse, but this punk ass kid we know from way back came ‘round and ‘saved the day’. Good enough?”

“Do you even know who she is?”

“Fuck if I know? We found her on the street, how the fuck would we know her name? What the fuck do you think I am, a mind-reader?”

“Okay, okay,” Three sighed. “Thanks. And hey, I’m sorry. About, well, being gone.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

“Okay… I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I ended the call, throwing my phone away from me, not caring where it landed.

“Who was it?” Mark asked.

“Three,” I sighed. “Why would he even want to know about the girl? Not like he’s fucking around for anything anymore, anyway.”

I slowly laid my head on his shoulder, taking the ice-pack from his hand and resting it on the other side of my head. He let out a small sigh, taking his arm and wrapping it around my shoulders. It was silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Copyright 2017 © rhodirachel. All rights reserved.

[taylorsparklingswift]

My Taylor Swift story

It was Monday, 9th of October 2017. Me and my European group chat had just spent the whole evening freaking out over that Taylor Swift had reached her follow limit on tumblr and that we would never be noticed. I was devastated because I fell in love with Taylor 2008 but had never got noticed before and it made me really sad that she wouldn’t know that I even exist.

I was in the car, my boyfriend was driving me home and we were as usually listening on Taylor Swift and long live came on. The time was 10.14 pm and I was scrolling on tumblr when I out of nowhere received a message from Taylor Nation, I thought it was some cruel joke and checked the URL a million times. When I finally understood that it was the real Taylor Nation I started freaking out, I was just crying and I couldn’t breath, but yeah I think you understand what im talking about. My boyfriend was like omg have Taylor liked something of yours and I was just NO SHE HASN’T LIKED ANYTHING THEY SENT ME A DM. I tried to read the message a hundred times but all I was able to read before freaking out even more was *CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE*. I started answer them like “omg is this a joke? It’s not funny! Please don’t joke with me” And then I was like “in case it is for real, here are my information (I didn’t want to risk anything haha). When I realized what it could be and it may be serious I called my mom immediately and she honestly thought that we had been in a car accident or something like that because I was crying so much and she couldn’t hear what I was trying to say. I managed to say that there was nothing bad that had happened, but that I had gotten a DM from Taylor Nation. My mon tried to make me more calm and told me that we could talk when I was home (I was literally two minutes from my home but I couldn’t wait to tell my parents until I came home.

When I came home I started trying to explain everything to my parents and I must say that they were really suspicious. I showed them the 1989 secret sessions video and started crying again.

Fasten forwards to later the same night. I was just on my way to my bed when I at 11:09 pm got a call from New York, and I answered. This woman from Taylor Nation (sorry I don’t remember your name, it was so much happening at once) presented herself and explained everything, Taylor had been noticing me on tumblr and seen how much I love her and how much I care about other swifties and asked if I could travel to London that Friday (Friday 13th) for a secret event. She told me that I could take someone close to me with me so I didn’t have to travel alone, and for me I felt like the safest thing would be to take my boyfriend with me who also likes Taylor and always supports me loving her. They also told me that they had seen my post on tumblr with him and I explained that we had been freaking out in our group chat that Taylor never would notice us now that she has reached her follow limit. She just started laughing and told me that both Taylor and Taylor Nation are really good at lurking fans without them knowing it. AAHHHH WHAT HAVE THEY SEEN?!?! Our conversation went towards the end and I gave her my email so she could sent me more information.

I was shaking the whole time I talked to her and as soon as we hung up I called my boyfriend and told him everything, the only thing he answered was “you do know that your passport has expired right?” Imagine how I started freaking out when he reminded me of that. But I was determined that I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. I couldn’t sleep all night, I was shaking so much and I felt really sick. Rest of the week I just booked everything and was freaking out like all the time and I couldn’t eat or sleep the whole week and I couldn’t tell anyone expect my parents. LIKE IMAGINE GETTING INVITED TONA SECRET EVENT THAT YOU KNEW WERE PROBABLY SECRET SESSION. Still dying over that….

Fasten forwards to Friday 13th.

I started getting ready like 4 hours before we were leaving to get to the meeting point ( a girl gotta do what a girl gotta do). To get there we had to take 2 trains and bus nr 13 that stopped outside our meeting point (coincidence? Don’t think so). We were there an hour and half early but there were some people there early too and I met @lovingherisred13 and @shakeitoff6202 who I had been talking to before and I was so shocked but happy to see them there.

After a while we got in a line to register and TN was like “hi I’m so glad you could make it!” And then turned to my boyfriend and was just like “oh you must be Martin, Felicia’s boyfriend!” and I died. We got these bracelets that said United Kingdom in reputation front. We went downstairs to leave our stuff and we also had to wait there until we were going on the bus to a secret location. Me, my boyfriend, Bea and Morgen all got on the second bus and we were all saying together all night and freaked out together.

But okey okey, the bus stopped outside this enormous house that we were going in to, there were more security checks and after that we started mingling with everyone and eat all the wonderful food in her kitchen, she had M&M that said REP and also bisques with REP on them, olives, cheese (the best cheese ever), chicken tenders and much more. We talked to Scott and he gave us guitarpics (what a dream!). Taylors mom and Tree and some other people suddenly came down the stairs and told us to go sit in her living room, so we did that and then after a little while of freaking out when we say the chair in the front middle, the goddess Taylor Swift walked in looking like a sexy angel and she sat down and she was like “Hi guys, I’m Taylor” and yes I died, right there, died. She told us that she had handpicked all of us and that she as been lurking all of us for one year and that she had screenshots of our post that she sent to Taylor Nation. She played us the entire album and told us every detail behind every song and what’s to come. All the time she was just her beautiful, precious, sexy, dorky self, and several times during the evening she just looked straight in my eyes and just smiled (and yes I died, right there, again). When she was done she told us that we were going to meet her in pairs in another room and while we were waiting we got to look in the magazines and talk to Taylor Nation. (So awesome!)

When it was me and my boyfriends turn to meet her, I walked in the room and was just in shook that she was there, like she was there, she was (is) a human being for real (no I hadn’t processed that during the whole evening). She say that and just walked up to me fast and just gave me the longest biggest and best hug ever, the kind of hug your mom would give you if she haven’t seen you in 9 years, and I was like this is it, I’m gonna die. And in the hug she told me that she was so happy to finally meet me. When the hug was over she was like “Oh my gosh you have the exact same hair as me, that’s so crazy”, and we talked about that. And then she hugged my boyfriend and thanked him for coming with me and for always supporting me support her. I told her that I’m so incredibly happy to see that she is so happy and she thanked me so much for saying that and said that she knew I was happy too (and looked at my boyfriend) and that she was so happy for me too, and then we hugged again.

I asked her if she could sign my emergencypassport, that I bought just for that trip and she was like I’m so sorry but I cant do that because of rules, I really wish I could! And she hugged me again. And then she told me some stuff about the album that she didn’t tell earlier (but ofc I can’t tell you what) and we hugged again and then we took a picture all three of us and I asked if I could get a picture alone with her and she was like “yes of course sweetie!” And we hugged again. It was then our turn to leave and we said goodbye and I told her that I loves her and she told me that she loves me back and we hugged again for the hundredth time. When I got out I was so shaken up and in shook and I think her mom saw that because she just walked up to me and hugged me and told me that Taylor loves me and that she is so thankful that all us swifties always supports her. She also said that my hair was just like Taylors and I told her that Taylor said the same thing and we just talked for about 10 minutes before Tree told us that it was time for us to go downstairs and wait for our bus. Downstairs in her like gym we where all freaking out and sobbing and yeah…

Then we had to go to the bus and we got a bag with merch and on the bus everyone was like in shook and when we got back to our meeting point all our social media exploded as we told everyone what just had happened.

And that was the best evening in my entire life!

Thank you so much @taylorswift and @taylornation for this incredible and wonderful night. It was truly the most amazing night of my life. I’m just so happy that I got too meet the one person who I have been looking up to for 9 years and who always makes me wanna be a better person. I love you so much Taylor and I just wanted you to know that I’m forever grateful! ✨🌻💛

[xxprincessjewelsxx]

The War (Suho Mafia!au Fic Sequel) Chapter 14 - Hide And Seek

Warnings: Warnings

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8(M), Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15(Finale)

“Where’s Junmyeon?” I questioned Minseok as soon as I entered the penthouse.

Minseok who was leaning against the island looking over paperwork looked up at me. “Last time I saw him was the when he left earlier...I thought he was supposed to meet you for your appointment with Yixing.”

“He never showed up,” I said, setting my purse on the counter roughly.

“It was a long time client...it could just be taking longer than expected,” he said, “Speaking of which, how did your appointment go?”

“You’re asking but I’m sure the two idiots behind me are trying to mouth and use hand gestures to tell you,” I said pointing over my shoulder at Chan and Soo.

“Of course not,” Minseok said, “But in the event that they were it would probably lead to me finding out that I lost the bet.”

“Honestly Minseok, I-”

My sentence was cut off when the elevator dinged and Sehun came rushing into the penthouse out of breath and holding his side, a large bloody patch under where his hand was holding.

“What the hell?!” Minseok said, “What happened?”

“Kitae...him and his men...parking garage of client...ambush...SHIT THIS HURTS...ngh...he got Junmyeon and Jongin,” Sehun managed to spit out.

I felt like I was going to vomit. “Is he...”

“I don’t know...” Sehun replied, “He was just...hey that hurts!”

“Well I have to see how bad it is,” Minseok said yanking at Sehun’s shirt, “It’s a through and through...Chan, call Yixing...he’s gonna need stitches.”

“Mommy?”

 I spun around and quickly grabbed Jinwoo, removing him from the room.

“What was wrong with uncle Sehun?” he questioned.

“He just had a really bad owie...like that time you fell and scraped your knee at the park,” I replied.

“Oh...is Uncle Yixing going to give him a dino band aide too?”

“He’s gonna need a different type of band aide...now why don’t we get you settled for a nap,” I said.

“Aw...but I don’t wanna,” he whined as I set him on his bed.

“I know...but if you take good naps it will help you grow big and strong so you can take care of your baby sister,” I said.

“Mmmm aren’t their other ways?”

“Not that I can think of right now...now take your nap,” I said, kissing his forehead.

He fell over with an exaggerated huff and I turned on his nap music before heading back out to where the guys where.

“How are you going to get him back home?” I questioned.

“Finding him is the first thing,” Baek said, his eyes not leaving the tv screen and it showed him tracking a vehicle off of what looked to be street security cams.

I heard a clicking from behind me a turned and saw Minseok loading a gun. “I’m going to be down in the parking garage...send me a text with the address when you find out where they are...I’ll call Jongdae and tell him what’s going on. Y/N, make sure Sehun doesn’t try and go anywhere and don’t you dare try and leave either,” Minseok said shooting out orders, “Chan, Soo....come with me.”

As the ran out the door I grabbed a dishtowel and kneeled down next to Sehun and put the towel against his side causing him to hiss in pain. “What happened, Sehun?”

“Just as I said,” he replied, “I just managed to get away...Junmyeon said he had a bad feeling but for some reason he didn’t go with his gut this time.”

“Was he...hurt bad?” I questioned, starting to feel emotional.

Sehun could see that but he could also tell that it would just make me even more upset if he didn’t tell me.”It looked like he had a gash on his head...that’s all I know though.”

I felt a tear run down my cheek. There was a time where I wanted nothing to do with Junmyeon...where I would be more than happy to run away from him and never look back. But know...with Jinwoo, with a baby on the way...with knowing how much we love each other. If I lost him...

“Minseok and the others will do everything they can to get him back,” Sehun said, putting his hand on top of mine, “We don’t leave anyone behind...especially not our leader.”

~Junmyeon~

The chair Junmyeon sat in lay toppled over on it’s side, his arms still securely fastened behind the back of the chair and ankles tied to the legs keeping him stuck to the chair, unable to remove himself from the floor. His gut hurt; the relentless punches and kicks sure to have cause a broken rib or two and bruises later...if there was a later.

‘Don’t think like that, damn it...you have to get out of here!’

It was hard not to think about the negatives rather than the positives. If he didn’t get out of there he knew that the guys would always look over Y/N, Jinwoo, and the baby for as long as Y/N wanted whether she stayed...or moved on. But Y/N had mentioned a few days prior that she had felt a fluttering in her stomach...something that could feel like the baby moving between 20-25 weeks. 

He didn’t want to miss any of that...he couldn’t miss any of that. He couldn’t miss out on feeling his child kick, hearing their cries for the first time, holding them, seeing Jinwoo become the protective older brother he’s bound to be, watching them play together, watching them grow up...

He fought at the restraints that were around his wrists and could feel the rope digging into his wrists. He has just barely managed to get one hand loose when the door flew open, Kitae stomping in and pulling him up from the floor roughly. “Now...I think it’s about time we get down to business where are the bank codes?” 

“All this for bank codes of judges, lawyers, and multi-millionaires...I’m sure you could find your our special way of getting the codes out of them,” Junmyeon said, trying to free his other hand.

“Not those ones...” Kitae replied, “I know somehow you managed to get Changsun’s bank codes...probably with the help of that good for nothing brat of a daughter of his. For some reason I can’t access any of the overseas bank accounts...and I’m sure you and your hacker would know exactly why that would be.”

“Maybe Mr. Lee changed the code cause he was worried that there were snakes lurking within his organization,” Junmyeon said, earning himself another punch.

“I have some of my men waiting to enter that penthouse of yours on my signal...do you really want to risk the life of your unborn child over money?”

Junmyeon thought for a moment. “What makes you think your men would survive entering my penthouse?”

“So that’s how you want to play it?” Kitae said, pulling out his cell phone, “You have ten seconds to agree to give me the bank codes...or I send the text.”

There was suddenly frantic yelling that could be heard from down the hall and Junmyeon could recognize some of the voices. “Seems your time is up, Kitae...and I’m not giving you anything.”

The door flew open and Minseok rushed in and without a single thought fired at Kitae, hitting him twice in the chest.

“Get the cell phone from him!” Junmyeon yelled at Minseok who tried getting to the cell as Kitae laid on the ground.

“Too...late...” Kitae said pressing the SEND button.

“Get me untied! We’ve got to get back to the penthouse!” Junmyeon said frantically trying to get himself untied.

Minseok untied him and Junmyeon jumped up off the chair and took off without an explanation of what was happening. ‘I’ve got to get back to them...I can’t let anything happen to them!’ 

Yixing had showed up within twenty minutes of being called and began to attend to Sehun’s wounds. Thankfully I had managed to slow down the bleeding a bit by keeping pressure on it, but that didn’t stop the pain.

“Uh oh...” I heard Baek say from the sofa.

“Uh oh? What’s uh oh?” I questioned.

“We have uninvited guests,” he replied still staring at the security screen and seeing five men file into the elevator.

“Well do something!” I snapped.

“I am trying!” he said before suddenly the screen wigged out on him and he got a “System Failure” screen, “What the hell?”

“What just happened?” I questioned.

“I’ve been bugged!” he said, looking more offended than angry, before looking at me, “Get Jinwoo, go to the bedroom and hide under the bed and do not...I repeat....do not...make a sound.”

“What...” I started but couldn’t get the words out.

“What we have to,” Yixing said, causing me to look at him and seeing him loading a gun.

“I sometimes forget that you’re one of them...” I said.

“Would you go!” Baek snapped.

I nodded and ran down the hall to Jinwoo’s room waking him up from his nap. He rubbed his eyes and looked at me startled from the abrupt wake up. “What’s wrong?”

“Well long story short, Uncle Baekhyun really wants to play a game of hide and seek and so I had to wake you up so we can hide,” I said picking him up and running to Junmyeon’s and my room and ushering him under the bed. I then carefully maneuvered myself under the bed, slightly uncomfortable from the position that I was having to keep myself in due to my belly.

It wasn’t long before I could hear the sound of a fight and gunshots breaking out from down the hall and my emotions started to run high.

“What’s that sound?” Jinwoo questioned.

“I’ll tell you later, but we have to be really quiet remember?” I said. He nodded and soon all that could be heard in the bedroom was the sound of our breathing. 

It seemed like forever before the sound of gunshots faded away. The door to the bedroom opened and I looked at the shoes of who entered the room. My mind was swimming with fear, so much so that I was having a hard time figuring out if it a member of EXO, or someone else. I could positively say that it wasn’t Yixing due to the fact that it wasn’t a pair of non-skid work shoes, but other than that...I couldn’t tell.

My heart rate and breathing increased as the person stopped next to the bed and a hand came down to the bed skirt.

‘Please be someone I know...’

To be continued...

[oddree13]

Dec. 17 - Flight Cancelled - @omgcpwinterextravaganza (Read on AO3)

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Delayed. Cancelled. Delayed. Cancelled.

That was the pattern going down the board at Logan Airport, a few days before Christmas. A snow storm had blown in, bring more snow than expected, and it looked like it wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

Sighing, and glancing at his phone for no other reason than habit, Nursey went to go sit back down, hoping somehow that the weather would change.

It wasn’t like he really celebrated Christmas, but if he was going to be alone he might as well do it in New York City where he could be alone with the bustling city. But after ten minutes of brooding, he realized that nothing was going to change the weather now, and went off to find an agent to rebook him.

As he walked past security, back into the main terminal, he spotted a familiar shock of red hair and strided over, hoping his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

“Poindexter?” he called out, and was relieved when Dex turned around startled by his name being called.

“Nursey? What are you doing here? I thought you left yesterday?”

“I did technically. I went into Boston a day early for this lecture I wanted to check out, but now I’m snowed in. You?”

“Flight was today and well, you can guess what happened,” he sighed, looking around as if by looking out the windows the snow would stop.

“Any chance we can get back to the Haus you think?” Nursey asked, in case Dex had already looked into that.

“We’d have to take the T then a bus back, but the Samwell buses aren’t running anymore,” Dex said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They stopped at noon today, and I doubt any ubers and taxis would be willing to drive that far out in this weather.”

“Right....” Nursey trailed off, running a hand through his hair in thought. “Look, I don’t want to recreate every bad holiday movie that glorifies sleeping in a terminal, and I know how you get when you don’t sleep well, so how about this - I’ll get us a room at the hotel attached to the airport, and before you say anything, I have travel insurance so it’ll be covered. The only thing that’ll cost us is the room service we will most certainly order along with the movies,” he grinned, doing his best to convince his friend that it wouldn’t be a huge expense.

“Nursey, that’s really nice but I can stay here, it’s fine. Really. Besides if the weather clears up I could get the first flight out,” he tried, but Nursey leveled him with a look and before he knew it, the two of them were on the shuttle to the hotel.

It was obvious that Nursey wasn’t the only person with this idea, because the line to get a room was long, and by the time it was Derek’s turn they only had king beds left. As he looked to the side to see if Dex would be alright with it, the redhead just gave him a look that said ‘we do this every roadie.’ Without another moment’s hesitation Derek booked the room, and soon the two men were ensconced in a king room with a stocked mini fridge.

In no time Derek ordered room service, to which Dex rolled his eyes at, but soon had no ground to tease Nursey on as he discovered the bathrobes and, embracing their situation, wrapped himself in terry cloth and lounged on the bed.

“You know two years ago I would have murdered you for even suggesting this and then stayed in the airport out of spite,” Dex laughed, as Nursey stripped out of his clothes and into just pajama bottoms and a matching bathrobe. “I know now that this is just how you help out and show you care. I get it’s not a show off thing.”

“I’m sorry you thought that,” Nursey said laying down on the couch and picking up the remote. He looked over at his friend, with a small smile. “I get why, but I’m glad you didn’t murder me for suggesting it now. I don’t think I would have been able to get this room knowing that you’d still be at Logan curled up on an uncomfortable chair.”

“Yeah that would have sucked,” Dex agreed, and settled down as Nursey scrolled through the movie options.

***

A tray of food and two wine bottles later, Nursey and Dex lay on the bed, watching Star Wars: the Force Awakens.

“Honestly at this rate I don’t think there isn’t a human in this movie I wouldn’t sleep with,” Nursey giggled.

“Is that so?” Dex teased, watching Poe and Finn reunite on screen.

“Yeah, I mean you’ve got the obvious main trio - Rey, Finn, and Poe - that are all too pretty for words. I’d sleep with Harrison Ford no matter what his age is,” Derek began.

“But you’d even sleep with the First Order guys?” Dex asked, curious.

“Well, Kylo Ren honestly might just need an orgasm to calm the fuck down, and Hux, well,” he started, but stopped suddenly.

“What about Hux?” Dex asked, peering over at Nursey.

“Well I actually wouldn’t sleep with him. I don’t substitute,” he shrugged, hoping the vague response was enough.

“What do you mean substitute?” Dex asked, turning his full attention to his roommate.

“You know, go after someone because they look like someone you’re into,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t aware you had a thing for military dudes, Nurse,” he teased.

“Yeah it’s not the military thing and before you asked, it isn’t an allegorical Nazi fetish either,” he snorted.

“Then what is it?” he asked, but before he got an answer, his attention was drawn back to the fight between Rey and Kylo, forgetting to pester Nursey about his unwillingness to fictionally go to bed with Domhnall Gleeson.

It was only when they were both tucked into bed later, not quite drunk, but still tipsy, that Dex asked, “Is it because he’s ginger?”

“What?” Nursey asked, a little confused at the question.

“Hux. You don’t want to fuck him because he’s ginger,” Dex replied, staring at the back of Nursey’s head in the twilight of the room. When Derek didn’t answer he continued.

“Whatever guy you like right now must be ginger if you won’t substitute,” Dex began, turning over onto his back to think. “Well he can’t be at Samwell because there honestly aren’t that many redheads at school, and half are girls, and the guys that are there don’t see like your type.”

“Dex, just drop it,” Nursey warned, his chest tightening in worry.

“So that means that the guy must be on another hockey team or back in New York,” he continued, ignoring the warning.

“Dex, it doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen so there’s no need to talk about it.”

“But why not? You’re good looking, smart, funny, and the clumsiness thing has a charming side effect if you play it right.”

“He’s straight,” Nursey gritted out, ignoring all the compliments that Dex had just showered on him.

“Oh,” Dex said, his mouth closing in regret. “I’m sorry, Nursey, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine. He’s just not into dudes and that’s fine. I just have a rule that I don’t go to bed with people to fuel unattainable crushes, fictional people included.”

“That makes sense,” he agreed, but instead of turning back over and trying to sleep, Dex rolled over and hugged his friend.

“His loss then, Derek,” he whispered, his breath ghosting on the back of Nursey’s neck.

“Yeah,” Nursey squeaked out, his throat tight, “his loss.”

***

The next morning the snow was still going, coating the city in several more inches. After each of the defensemen were on hold for over an hour with their respective airlines, they decided to order some breakfast and work on some homework to kill the day.

By the time evening came, the pair decided another movie was in order so Nursey scrolled through, reading the titles to Dex.

“Zootopia?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Deadpool?”

“Saw it.”

“Moo- nah nevermind you wouldn’t be into that”

“No wait, what movie?”

“Moonlight,” Nursey finished, looking over at Dex.

“For your information, I already saw it,” he replied, looking smug.

“For real?” Nursey asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, for real. It was during a long weekend and well I was curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“About what life would look like if you just never admitted to yourself what you really are,” he shrugged, not meeting Nursey’s eyes.

“And what did you think?”

“I thought it was good. My goal this year is to admit to myself some things,” he swallowed, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well that’s healthy, Poindexter,” he offered, and went back to scrolling through the movies, settling on Captain America: Civil War.

As the Marvel film played before them, Nursey wondered what Dex had to admit to himself. Earlier he’d explained how he would have reacted differently about the hotel had it been two years earlier, so maybe he was generally trying to become more self aware. But there was also the other possibility lurking in the back of Derek’s mind.

“You know if you wanted to admit something you can always talk to me...you listen to my bullshit all the time,” he offered, his eyes still focused on the screen.

Dex just nodded and didn’t say anything.

When the movie ended, they decided to skip a second movie in favor of lounging, so Nursey got out a book to read while Dex went back to working on his homework. The sound of typing filled the room and became background noise to Derek. So when Dex spoke up he was a little thrown.

“...I just wanted to tell you I'm gay. That's what I meant earlier...and I've only got a handful of days left this year so might as well finish up this resolution.”

It took Derek a few seconds to process the information but once his brain filtered what Dex said and stopped short circuiting, Derek defaulted to the tried and true Samwell line of, “Thank you for trusting me with this moment,” to which Dex laughed.

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?”

“What do you want me to say?” Nursey countered, his book now closed on his lap.

“I don’t know, freak out more? I’m really not sure I’ve never told anyone before.”

“I mean, I’ll tell you that I didn’t see it coming that’s for sure. I thought you were going to go off and get married to a girl and make a family fit for an LL Bean catalog.”

At that Dex had to laugh. “Yeah I don’t think the family I want right now is the kind they put in a magazine,” he snorted.

“And what kind of family is that?”

“A fictional one, Nurse. What I’m picturing right now isn’t going to happen. The guy is way out of my league, and well the kids I’m picturing aren’t exactly biologically possible.”

“I doubt this guy is out of your league,” Nursey began scooting over to be able to look at Dex properly. “You’re an NCAA athlete with the body to match. You’re smart, hard working, and loyal to a fault. If this guy doesn’t see that then he’s a moron.”

“I mean he is a moron but not for those reasons,” Dex smiled, a blush rising on his cheeks. “But he’s into someone else, I know that.”

Derek looked intently at Dex and took a chance. Moving his hand, he covered Dex’s hand, and was pleased when he heard the hitch in his breathing. “You were right. I didn’t want to even go to bed with a fictional ginger because I would look at them and want it to be you. And I know you just came out, and that I might not be the guy you were just talking about, but if I am, I need you to know that you aren’t out of my league. Fuck, Will, you’re the only one in it because I can’t get you out of my head. And I’m not expecting anything because you literally just came out and we’re about to go home, but I needed you to kn-”

Dex leaned in to kiss Nursey, cutting off his rant, cupping his check with one hand, the other resting on the back of his neck. “Shut up Derek,” he whispered as he pulled back a bit from the kiss. Nursey for his part just nodded, and went back in for another kiss.

***

The rest of the evening was spent trading lazy kisses and talking, and come morning when the weather evened out, Derek may or may not have changed his ticket to spend the holidays with his best friend turned boyfriend, instead of spending it alone in Manhattan.

[artificialqueens]

Older (Biadore) 9/9 and epilogue - nellie

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long to get up, but I wanted to write the epilogue at the same time to hopefully make people hate me a little less for taking this in a direction you probably didn’t want it to go in. I was going to post them as two separate parts, but this chapter is a little short so I ended up just putting the epilogue in at the end of it (which is also fairly short, actually). THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading. Right from the beginning I wanted to write a (mainly) realistic story and I hope I’ve managed to do that, even though it got more difficult to stick to my original vision with all the lovely feedback you left me. But this is where the story was always heading so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Adore doesn’t sleep.

In fact, Adore basically doesn’t do anything except worry about seeing Bianca again. She worries about what she’s going to wear, and what she’s going to say, and what Bianca is going to say. She worries about whether or not she should wear cute lingerie, because there’s always a possibility that Bianca might want to get back together, but what if she does and they fuck and she sees what Adore’s wearing and knows she was planning for it? Basically, she just worries.

A lot.

Her mouth is dry no matter how much water she drinks and her stomach is churning so much she’s scared to eat anything. It’s the most terrifying thing she’s ever done by far, and she nearly chickens out a hundred times.

She spends most of the night experimenting with different looks and watching makeup tutorials on YouTube, which is almost a distraction but not really, since every time she finishes and looks at her reflection in the mirror all she can think about is whether or not Bianca would like it.

She’s well and truly fucked and she knows it.

Eventually the sun comes up and she starts sorting through different clothing choices instead. She finally settles on a threadbare Nirvana t-shirt paired with a dangerously short leather skirt, ripped fishnets and her favorite boots. Her hair is unbrushed and falls across her face and her eyes are lined with perfectly smudged black eyeliner and orange eyeshadow. She tries out various lip colors before settling for a basic nude lip, then steps back to the far corner of the room to get as much of her reflection as possible into her tiny, shitty mirror. She looks fucking hot, just the right combination of “I don’t care” and “fuck me now”.  She looks ready for battle.

She glances at the clock, groaning when she sees it’s not even 9am yet. It’s way too early to even think about heading to Bianca’s, but it isn’t like she has anything else she can focus on so she shrugs and heads out anyway.

***

She stops for a bagel she’s too nervous to eat and a coffee she probably shouldn’t drink because she’s already keyed up enough already. It’s just after 10 when she gets to Bianca’s so she’s only four hours early which is… well. It’s not great, but as far as Adore can tell her options are either to lurk somewhere nearby and spend the next few hours trying not to vomit or just fucking knock on Bianca’s door and get it all over with.

She raps out a quick pattern on Bianca’s door, shifting her weight restlessly from one foot to the other. Maybe Bianca isn’t even home. Maybe she’s still sleeping. Maybe she’s at her new girlfriend’s house and she wanted to meet at 2 because she won’t be back until then. Maybe –

And then the door swings open and Adore bites her lip as the nerves threaten to completely overwhelm her. She can’t speak so she just stands there, blinking stupidly at Bianca and trying to remind herself to breathe.

“Adore? It’s… you’re early.” Bianca seems understandably confused, but she steps back anyway to let Adore inside. She’s still wearing pajamas with her hair tied back in a messy bun, but somehow she manages to look collected and together.

Adore suddenly feels overdressed and tries vainly to tug her skirt down to a more respectable length. “Sorry. I. It was. I look stupid, don’t I?”

Bianca tilts her head to the side as she studies Adore carefully. Her eyes flick over Adore’s outfit and she seems to be considering something before she breaks into a smile. “It’s armor, right? I get it.”

“Yeah.” Adore tries to smile but she’s still terrified and she can’t manage more than an awkward glance in Bianca’s direction. “I’m sorry I’m early. I kind of just wanted to get it over with.”

“Jesus Adore, I’m not going to murder you. We’re just talking, that’s all.”

Adore makes a face and Bianca laughs, holding her hands up in mock defeat.

“Okay, fine, point taken. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, a shot of vodka?” She catches Adore’s look and shrugs in response. “I’m not your fucking mom. If you want to drink at 10am, I won’t stop you.”

As much as Adore would like to be drunk she knows from past experience that won’t actually help anything, so she reluctantly shakes her head and settles herself on Bianca’s couch, trying to act as though she’s a lot more comfortable than she really is. Bianca is obviously sensitive to her discomfort, sitting opposite her on a chair she’s pulled out from the kitchen instead of joining her on the couch.

There’s silence. Adore wonders if Bianca’s waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t know what to say and focuses on picking at an invisible thread on her t-shirt instead.

Eventually, Bianca clears her throat. “I was really mad at you for lying to me.”

“I know.” Adore’s voice is quiet and she can’t bring herself to meet Bianca’s eyes.

“If it had just been a week or two I would have understood. But you let it go on and on. It made me feel like you’d never cared about me. You just wanted what you wanted, no matter what the cost.”

Adore nods. She’s not really sure why they’re having this conversation in the first place. It’s not like it’s going to change anything. But she hurt Bianca and she understand that maybe one of the consequences of that is having to sit here, hearing Bianca pour her heart out. It’s uncomfortable and it makes Adore’s heart clench painfully, but it’s nothing she doesn’t deserve and she knows it.

“I guess I’m still mad at you. But I miss you.”

Adore’s breath catches in her throat and she risks a glance at Bianca, who’s looking at her like she’s a complex problem that’s impossible to solve. “I miss you too.”

Bianca nods, almost as if she’s piecing together some kind of complex equation and Adore missing her is the last formula she needs. It’s endearing, but it makes Adore nervous. She has no idea what’s going on in Bianca’s mind or why they’re even still talking. She won’t quite let herself hope that they might get back together, but the thought hovers in the back of her mind anyway, as much as she tries to chase it away. Why else would Bianca want to talk to her if not to work things out?

“Why aren’t you at school?”

The sudden change of subject takes Adore by surprise. Of everything she’d expected Bianca to say, both good and bad, asking about her schedule hadn’t even made the top 10. She can’t say she’s thrilled with the idea of letting Bianca know exactly how much of a fuckup she is, but she doesn’t know how to evade the question and she figures at this point lying would be a bad idea.

She shrugs. “Got kicked out. Fuck it, you know? I was never going to get the grades for college anyway, so who cares?”

“What do you want to do?” Bianca leans forward in her seat as though hearing Adore’s response is the most important thing in the world.

Adore feels herself flush, hoping her carefully applied makeup will be heavy enough to cover the sudden pinkness of her cheeks.

There’s a long silence. “Adore? What do you want to do?”

Fuck. She can barely even bring herself to say it. It’s so fucking embarrassing, but Bianca is looking at her expectantly and eventually she groans, lifting her head up to the ceiling and pushing it as far back as she can until her neck complains. “I want to be a singer.” It’s awkward to speak with her throat so stretched out, but she doesn’t move, staring at one small black dot on Bianca’s ceiling and trying to ignore everything else.

“So be a singer. You don’t need college for that.”

Adore lowers her head abruptly to stare at Bianca. “I can’t just… be a singer.”

“Why not?”

“Well. I…” Adore trails off. It’s not like she has a good reason, but it’s also not like people just become singers. Or, at least, good singers. She doesn’t want to end up in some shitty wedding band or singing at karaoke nights desperately hoping someone might discover her. She wants to be a motherfucking rockstar.

“You can do anything you put your mind to. You made me fall in love with you, after all.” There’s an intensity to Bianca’s words, tinged with a hint of sadness.

Adore hates that she’s the cause of that. “I’m really sorry, okay? You’re right, I was selfish. I’m trying not to be anymore.”

 “Please. You’re seventeen. All seventeen year olds are selfish.”

Adore can’t help but wince at Bianca’s matter-of-fact tone. She’s acutely aware that no amount of newfound maturity or carefully chosen outfits will negate the fact that she can’t vote or drink. In fact, in plenty of states even having sex with Bianca would be against the law.

“Hey, age is just a number, right?” She shoots Bianca a confident grin, inwardly feeling anything but, yet desperately hoping she can convince Bianca she’s right. “I mean, I’m still the same person I was before. Nothing’s really changed.”

“Do you really believe that?” Bianca’s voice is soft and she doesn’t quite meet Adore’s gaze.

“Yes. I don’t know. Maybe?” Cards on the table time. Adore steels herself before diving in with reckless abandon. “All I know is I made you happy and we were good together. Why does that have to change?”

There’s a long silence. Adore gets the distinct impression Bianca is trying to choose her words carefully. It’s not exactly a good sign, but at this point she has nothing to lose so she forces herself to sit still and wait, the whites on the knuckles of her tightly clenched fists the only sign that she’s nervous.

“I thought about it,” Bianca says eventually. “I just don’t think it can work. I don’t want to be with someone who’s still figuring out who they are and what they want. I’ve done that. I don’t want a girlfriend who can’t go to bars without a fake ID, and who still lives at home with a mom who’s not exactly going to be thrilled I’m in the picture. If we’re both single when you actually are 22 then great, call me up and maybe we can try again, but right now isn’t our time.”

It hurts. It’s nothing Adore doesn’t expect, not really, but it still hurts and she’s surprised to find herself blinking back tears. “So, when I’m 22, huh?” She manages a weak smile, hoping Bianca will politely ignore how much she’s embarrassing herself.

“Well, maybe 25. You do have a bit of growing up to do.”

Adore laughs, which only causes the tears to spill over. She wipes at her eyes impatiently, feeling ridiculous.

“Hey.” Bianca suddenly appears beside her holding out a Kleenex box.

Adore takes one gratefully. “Thanks. Sorry I’m being such a drama queen.” She dabs away the last of the tears, aware she’s probably fucking ruined her makeup and wondering why she thought such heavy eyeliner was ever going to be a good idea in this situation anyway.

Bianca shifts so they’re sitting with their shoulders touching. Adore can’t help but lean further into Bianca’s warmth, too aware that this will probably be her last opportunity. More than losing Bianca as a girlfriend, what really hurts is the idea of losing her as a friend. If she’s honest, Adore’s not sure how the fuck she’s supposed to navigate the next few years of her life without Bianca there to offer advice.

“I don’t suppose you want to be my life coach?” It’s a joke, except that it’s not. Not really.

“No.” Bianca nudges her shoulder against Adore’s. “But if you need any help or someone to talk to you can always call me.”

It’s probably a lie. Adore knows that. It’s just the ‘we can still be friends’ speech packaged up in a slightly different way and of course Bianca doesn’t really mean it. But it makes Adore’s heart feel a little lighter anyway and she risks a glance into Bianca’s eyes, which are suddenly impossibly close to her own. “You promise?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

**

 Adore leaves Bianca’s apartment feeling more at peace than she’s felt in a long time. She’s not happy, not exactly. Her heart still feels like it’s been torn in two, leaving her with a physical ache in her chest, but now she knows the feeling won’t last forever. Okay, so, they’re over and the finality is painful but Bianca doesn’t hate her anymore and at least she has some closure even if Bianca never speaks to her again.

But maybe she will.

Maybe they’ll stay friends and maybe one day this whole fucking thing will be nothing more than a footnote and a funny story to tell at parties. “Hey, remember when you were 17 and you tricked me into dating you? Fun times.”

The truth is, Adore doesn’t know what the future holds and she’s honestly fucking terrified to find out. But she’s done with coasting along letting life happen to her. She’s ready to step up and grab it by the balls and go after what she wants, just as soon as she figures out what that is. But she has time. She’s young, she’s hot and she’s fucking stubborn. She’ll get there. One way or another she’ll make it happen.

She’s Adore Delano and she’s fucking unstoppable.

***

Epilogue

Adore looks at her reflection in the mirror, carefully painting her lips red, yet still somehow managing to smudge one corner of her mouth.

“Fuck!”

It never gets easier. Night after night she wears the same fucking thing and yet somehow her lipstick is always smeared. It’s become a running joke with her fans now and as much as she knows she should probably just give it up and switch to another color, by now it feels like some kind of game they’re all in on together.

If she was going to play a show tonight she wouldn’t care, but she’s taken the night off from her tour to do something far more important and everything has to be fucking perfect.

She fixes the red smudge with concealer, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach as best she can. She’s been thinking about this night for weeks. Years, really, if she’s honest, and now it’s finally here she’s not convinced she can even go through with it.

She and Bianca are still friends, even if they often go months without speaking. Bianca’s busy with her stand-up career and Adore always seems to be on tour with her band so it’s not like they have that many opportunities to see each other. These days, most of their interaction is reduced to the occasional Instagram like or Facebook comment, but Bianca is still the first person Adore calls when she feels like her world is falling apart – not that that really happens much anymore.

She knows Bianca’s been at home for a week and she’s been careful not to post anything that might hint at her own plans. She’s deliberately given herself this one night off, but with a shows in LA yesterday and tomorrow there’d be no reason for Bianca to expect her. Except, of course, that it’s the night before her birthday and at the stroke of midnight she’s going to be 25.

They haven’t ever talked about what Bianca said and despite the fact that Adore’s positive she will have forgotten all about it, this plan has been in her mind for years. She’ll show up on Bianca’s doorstep at midnight and they’ll fall into each other’s arms and finally get their happy ending. She knows it’s fucking stupid really, that life isn’t a movie and there’s no such thing as a happy ending.

But here she is, sitting in her apartment and fussing with her hair in the mirror as she gets ready to go and seduce the woman she’s been in love with since she was 17.

As far as she knows, Bianca doesn’t even know it’s her birthday. She’s missed the last two, texting Adore with a belated, “Fuck, sorry, happy birthday xxx” two weeks later. Adore never minds it. She’s come to learn that the measure of how much someone cares about her isn’t in the dates they remember. It’s in their willingness to pick up the phone at 4am when she just needs to hear a familiar voice. And in that, Bianca has never let her down.

And maybe the whole thing is stupid, but Adore knows in her heart that she’ll never be able to let Bianca go if she doesn’t go through with it. It’s not as though she hasn’t tried over the years. She’s had girlfriends and boyfriends, but none of her relationship have ever really managed to stick and there was always an unspoken expiry date. She’s spent the years waiting for this night and she knows she has to follow the plan if she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life wondering what might have happened.

She checks the time on her phone, her heart skipping a beat when she realizes she needs to leave.

She’s completely fucking terrified.

The doorman hails a cab for her and she gets in, giving the driver Bianca’s address before turning her attention to her phone, not in the mood for small talk. Either he understands or he just doesn’t care, but either way the trip is silent and it feels like no time at all before she arrives.

She checks the time. 12:02.

Bianca moved into a secure apartment years ago, but Adore lucks out and catches the door as a drunk couple stumble into the building, letting herself in behind them. She’s grateful. Having to buzz Bianca is a lot less romantic than just knocking on her door.

Then, suddenly, she’s standing in front of Bianca’s door, biting her lip and steeling herself to knock. This is it. The years of dreaming and pining and waiting, and probably building everything up way too much in her head. Everything comes down to this one final second.

Adore holds her breath as she raps on the door, giving three sharp knocks.

Silence stretches out for what seems like an eternity and then there’s the sound of a lock clicking and the door opens to reveal Bianca standing there wearing a dressing gown, her hair pulled up into some complicated looking bun.

She looks good, and Adore forgets to breathe for a few long moments. “Hey,” she manages eventually. She’s got a whole speech that she’s had planned out for years, but faced with Bianca it instantly flies out of her head and she’s left searching for something to say. “You look great.”

Bianca smiles. “Happy birthday.”

Adore finds herself being pulled towards Bianca, practically falling into her arms as they kiss. She dimly registers the door closing behind her and then Bianca’s hands are on her hips, holding her in place and it’s a cliché and it’s fucking stupid but all Adore can think is that she’s finally, finally home.

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47  I Chapter 48 

Things are still a mess, I went through quite an adventure just to get signal to be able to post this. Despite everything, me and my family are doing all right. We have a generator and I’m allowed to write an hour a day in now my aunt’s computer, but sometimes it’s really hard to do so with different situations going on. I will still continue to be on hiatus until things are stable. I’m managing to write how I can, I already started work on the next chapter but I won’t be able to post something anytime soon because of the emergency. An hour is not enough to finish an entire chapter for a week. As always, patience, hope, as well as help, please check this page to help me with my move: https://www.fundmytravel.com/campaign/0P1dsy0SI2 With the situation, it’s harder than ever to get money. Any little thing is enough and I will be doing some videos in thanks, if not, sharing the link would be more than enough, thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope that you can wait enough for the next.

                                                Chapter 49

He was shoved and thrown inside his room in a stumble that dropped him harshly to the floor of the shining tiled floors. The men showed no concern or help, they quickly shut the door behind him and left him to whatever, the bang of the doors a haunting echo, assuring the cage, the lock, the loneliness the arising queen found himself in. The room looked rich, with tapestries, paintings, relics, a large bed with pillows and blankets, curtains of silk, cleaned and large to the proper accommodation of any kind of royal. It was rather surprising after that walk through halls of ruin, darkness and abandon.  

 He could stand here by himself now, inspecting, untrusting, careful in every step, every breath, testing even the air with each approach around the room. Once he could see that there was no trap, no hidden figure or awaiting kill, he hurried seeing what kind of sudden escape he could be offered. The entrance door was locked, the only two other available rooms a bathroom and another locked door that refused whatever pulling or pushing Feliciano tried. He took a glance out the window and opened, only surrounded by dark hills in an eternal blizzard, the wind blowing as harshly as ever, looking down to see a height that will prove fatal if he dropped. He closed the panes and settled with excluding the idea of escaping through this window, but not seizing any other thoughts that could help. He searched for any kind of information through cabinets, shelves, even under rugs or behind tapestries. When nothing turned out, he gave up by laying upon the singular bed, which he had to admit was quite comfortable, a sinking of softness that he did not expect in this castle. Yet it wasn’t truly relieving, it wasn’t rest, his mind still wondered and worried deeply over Ludwig, holding tightly to the blankets as he tried to keep himself from imagining the worst, wishing deeply for him, for a kind of sign that could lead him to his security. He decided that he should instead focus on finding where they keep Ludwig, go along with Augusta’s plan and find that library, tell Ludwig what she gave him and hopefully they can find their exit in the least three days’ time. In those thought he let himself drift throughout the day, night and even the next day, until he received quite a gentle knock on his door for the night, a scared servant surely.

 “Our king commands for you to join him in his dinner,” he said and Feliciano held a great temptation to refuse, but he then realized that this could be his chance  to roam the castle as he wanted, a chance to later find his detour to the place of his true wish. With a defeated sigh he accepted to doing this if he wanted Augusta’s plan to work, so he eased his breaths as he changed, to a covering white robe that did well in hiding his form, as well as hiding the glow of his face to nothing of impression. He did not want the wrong attention coming from Khaos.

 He was brought forward to a large dining room, the typical of royal feasting, accommodated as it was to receive hundreds of guests, with food piling, even empty plates, cutlery and napkin for every empty table. At the very end sat King Khaos, smiling, a handsome robe that he wore in specification, for impression, for a desire, but all he got was the other’s trembling, question and surely fear, hesitant to make any deeper moves into the room.

 “Sit, sit, sit,” he insisted in quite a friendly manner, pointing to the chair at his first left, but Feliciano refused it, instead picking the one at the very end opposite of him, eyes remaining on his empty plate, accommodating and making sure to Khaos his choice of wanting to be away from him as far as possible at the moment. Khaos was clearly annoyed, trying to hide it by giving attention to his wine glass, drinking, landing it rather harshly on the surface of the table.

 “I have no intention of hurting you right now, it is not yet the time,” Khaos tried to ease, but Feliciano made his uncomfort clear, his eyes avoidant, hands shaking under the shadow of the table.

 “I would rather stay here,” Feliciano determined, for once meeting Khaos’s dark eyes to assure him, seeing them anger and mystify in evil to Feliciano’s refusal of him.

 “Very well, we shall eat then, please, pick from whatever you like.” With a simple motion of his hands, all the offered plates flew on to Feliciano’s closeness, an array of different kinds of things that truly made Feliciano’s mouth water.

 Tzatziki with chips, shrimp, roasted turkey, wraps, almond cookies and Ice cream. It was becoming really hard for Feliciano to just sit there without having a hand reach for his picking. Once he had a covering of all his plates, Khaos brought back them back to their normal settling, letting himself just watch how Feliciano gazed to his served food warily, poking with his fork, surely expecting some kind of wrong doing.

 “They aren’t poisoned if that’s what you’re wondering.” He began taking his own bites, relaxed with the richness of the dip, licking his fingers in quite the normality, like any kind of friend in a dinner visit.

 After Feliciano took his first bite from the shrimp, with no kind of ailments but actual good taste on his tongue, did he continue, the situation showing to him how hungry he had been, quickly ravaging to the point that Khaos had to fly him more plates to take new pickings. It was as he tried the turkey that Feliciano thought about how Ludwig would like it, settling the strong reminders, the missing, the holding as if trying to get back his warmth and presence, especially with such close evil lurkings.

 “Where’s Ludwig?” He suddenly asked with childish fear, gazing above the room for him, wanting to hope that he just hadn’t noticed him taking sitting along with them, hiding behind the piles of food or some excessive decoration. No, he would have noticed quickly no matter the obstacle, Khaos would have made a comment, they were truly the only two there.  

 “In the room I had assigned for him of course, I had the servants bring him food so we could focus on being with ourselves,” he smiled in expectance, as if Feliciano could dare accept to this so easily, pushed away from his beloved and letting this fiend think that he could be so easily tampered as to betray him.

 “Why would you want that? I clearly do not want any kind of interaction with you, we’re set to battle for the next alignment and I just want to be with Ludwig right now,” Feliciano tried to beg, but Khaos smirked, letting himself lean against the hold on his hands, teasing.

 “Do you really? From what I heard you tried to avoid him as much as you could. The reports weren’t saying anything friendly going on between you two and you even refused his proposal,” he laughed.  

 “Because of threats like you! Trying to protect me! Trying what he could for me! I…I didn’t know!” Feliciano defended, gripping harshly on the fabric of his robe on his lap, trying to control any kind emotion that would show more of his misery.

 “Did he really had to act out so harshly?”

 “It was the best option, and even so his feelings would escape from time to time, especially in this journey. They poured like they had never done and it had proved to me enough his dedication and love,” he tried to alight even if the memories still hurt, even after Ludwig had revealed his reason.

 “And after everything you actually still love him? You are truly Augusta’s great grandson, with just her useless fantasies and hopes,” he rolled his eyes as he took another sip of his wine. “And yet you refuse to give me the same hopes and chances, who knows, perhaps I can prove better than whatever your arising king refused to offer you.” He dared smirk, he dared believed, and Feliciano angered in the very fires that Augusta had made him feel when she faced her past husband for him.

 “Ludwig was always loyal to his position as coming king, hardworking, powerful and also kind to others even if he had to refuse himself like this to me. He was never spiteful to anybody and never misused his power. Those moments he did show his love…where meaningful, strong and just enough to keep my feelings for him solid,” Feliciano made sure, he defended in a spite he never thought he could utter. “No story, not even after I found out your truth, was enough to prove me of any kind of mercy and righteousness from you…you deserve no kind of chance or hope.” Even in the strength of his words Feliciano trembled, shivering, fearing a kind of slash coming forward to him for his rashness.

 Khaos kept on smiling and it only helped to instill more fear, to coward back into his chair, losing all kind of appetite in finishing his ice cream.

 “And darling I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he was proud, showing a devilish smirk with teeth that looked hungry and ready to bite.

 “Then don’t expect any kind of obedience and adoration from me,” Feliciano still defended, even as a gulp escaped and as surely he let himself coat in worrying sweat, intensifying as Khaos took a standing.

 “Oh Feliciano, there’s a year left for the alignment, of being bored, of having no one but me, and with the kindness I read from you, I’m sure you’ll give me a gracious opening and I’ll make good use of it when it’s done,” he smiled in a such a sickened way that made Feliciano want to stand and hurry out of there.

 “I won’t let you,” Feliciano still assured even in the shaking.

 “I’ll make it possible, I’ll create whatever atmosphere and chance. I have power, I have all the rooms of the castle, I can keep Ludwig however I want and he doesn’t need to find out if you don’t want to. Come on, make it easier, either way I’ll have you begging for me in no time.” He came closer, suddenly smashing his hand against the table to assure him and Feliciano stood in a flash, angering, tear stained, raising a hand in fierce fire, glowing harshly and just enough of a heat to have Khaos stopping, enough of a warning to not mess, to not continue.

 “Don’t. You. Dare.” He threatened, and even with the tears falling Khaos could see enough menace, enough potent that wasn’t wise to mess with. “I am not as lowly as you,” Feliciano barked, managing strength and perseverance of his magic, expectant of an Ace.

 Khaos groaned and moved back, granting their earlier distance, taking his sitting and yet Feliciano lost any kind of tranquility to be able to sit back in his chair.

 “You’re much harder than what I expected, but none the less I won’t stop my trying, there will be several other dinners of course,” he smiled, still in sickened hope.

 Feliciano wanted to get out, he wanted to get out!

 “Other times, other places, I’ll get to you soon enough.” No doubt was shown in him, he continued to grin, giddy and excited in a way that made Feliciano want to destroy it.

 How mean, how harshened this Khaos made him. It was unsightly for someone of his usual sunshine glow.

 “Angela!” Khaos suddenly called and in an instant his faithful servant made her entrance, with her bow and empty stare. “Escort Feliciano back to his room, we’re done for the night.”

 “Yes, your majesty,” she obeyed, quite kindly offering space and time for Feliciano to follow her.

 Feliciano took no delay, he hurriedly left behind her, quite a breath being released from him the moment he came into the ruined halls, walking close to this woman, hands on his chest as a sort of protection from whatever could be around in these cursed corridors. He expected to be granted freeway through the halls as soon as the dinner ended, but of course Khaos had no kind of trust with what he could do with his freedom. Of course he would be watched, guided, all kinds of eyes on him to avoid any kind of release. Yet Feliciano tried, gazing about to the new halls that passed by his left and right, into the maze of this palace, of its mysteries, it’s hiding. If only he could find an escape through them that could grant him that chance to see it all, to find Ludwig. Oh Ludwig, Ludwig… the grasp of his hands turned tighter on his chest in his worry, in his call for him, in the need of his comfort, light, trust and love. After dealing with Khaos’s such cruel advances, it made how Ludwig acted noble. As his eyes searched, his eyes then landed on the figure of this woman, Angela as Khaos had called her, walking straight on without a care to her surroundings and the occurrences. Feliciano noticed how thin she was, weak, like a simple breeze would be enough to blow her apart.

 “Have you eaten?” Feliciano found himself wondering, truly worried for her, such care quite startling to her, confusing, no words to reply to this kind of question. They left the halls in quite the silence as she thought of the proper words, stuttering and thinking if she was perhaps going against some untold orders.

 “No-no, we’re only allowed to eat if our king decides to,”

 “What?” Feliciano was in indignation, a new kind of anger surging through him. “That is incredibly mean and absurd, he can’t leave his own servants going hungry!”

 “He-he told us it’s our duty as servants,”

 “And as servants you should be well fed and cared for to give proper work for your rulers,”

 “We-we…we do just enough as we are…”

 “I can’t leave you like this!” Feliciano would not permit it any longer, advancing, coming close to her side. “Where is the kitchen?”

 “The-the kitchen?”

 “Yes, the kitchen, you have to get something to eat!”

 “No-no, I’m not permitted to unless our King commands us to, I could get-”

 “Come on!” He took a grasp of her arm and lead her forward through other halls, back, in a scheme similar to how the kitchen was in his own castle, hoping it could be similar here. “Where is it?” He commanded in a force that reminded himself of his grandfather.

 “It’s…It’s…” she still hesitated, but as another pang of hunger went through her, as she was already at his easy mercy, she let herself be taken. “Continue down this hall, then take the first stairs downward to your left, it’s at the end through the double doors.”

 Feliciano followed her instruction, moving them quickly in the quite surprisingly empty halls, until they entered, hiding between racks of pots and pans as cooks did their usual in cleaning and preparing for their leave and closing. They remained hidden until they both made sure that all had left, leaving the kitchen in utter darkness, Feliciano using a simple fire spell to light up the room, gazing about to have an idea of where they kept certain foods. He spotted some of the leftover wraps, kept in a crystal covered plate, leading them both forward, opening and quickly offering to Angela, who devoured, the first wrap gone in a matter of seconds. Feliciano decided he would find her more food as he handed two more wraps and as he found different ingredients and where different utensils lay. He simply began cooking what he could in the best silence he could utter. By the end, he had made Angela some small sandwiches, fish, a special salad, Amaretto cookies and handed her some of the left-over ice cream. He made sure she had as much as she needed and wanted, taking sitting beside her as he settled on having some hot chocolate he had made for himself last minute.

 “Let me know if you ever feel hungry again, we’ll sneak in like we did and I’ll have no problem cooking for you,” he offered, relishing in his sips, for once smiling his usual self in this dreaded place.

 She nodded, too distracted in her bites, in her filling to utter a word. It wasn’t until she finished all, now on her ice cream, slow and now enjoying in a moment of peace and sweetness, did she utter her words. “Th-thank you…thank you so much, it was all delicious. Never in my years have I been offered something like this and never did I expect I would receive such treatments from you…you are truly kinder than what the reports were saying,” she admitted, with such a glow, color and vibrancy that was odd for someone who was a dark creation of Khaos.

 “You deserve this after having to put up with Khaos, after all the kinds of hardships he surely put you through,” he told her, placing gentle hands on her arm, which caused her to smile and feel confidence.

 “Your stay will surely make it more bearable,” she confided, brightening and Feliciano even shook her hands as a promise to help her how he could.

 Afterwards they settled on finishing and cleaning everything to not leave a trace of their presence, just the time to have Angela thinking, of wanting to show her gratitude somehow, something she knew that the arising queen would want.

 “I want to repay this,” she braved enough to say as they exited, as she took a new kind of leading, surely of plans of heading elsewhere. “You want to see your king, don’t you?” She guessed as much, especially after their kind of embrace the last time she saw them together.

 “Oh yes…Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Please! Can you take me to him?” Feliciano let himself become desperate, holding to her arm to make this decision sure, to make this leading definite.

 “It’s the least I can do, but…you have to promise to not say a word that it was I who brought you and we have to be as hidden as possible, the threats that could come to both of us are large.”

 Feliciano nodded and accepted, the moment they took deepening staircases remaining silent, even letting his body fall to that command, keeping a tight hold to Angela as if that of trusting friends, both taking easy steps and precautionary eyes. The quarters where Ludwig was surely kept were tight, of old stone dark walls, yet somehow warm with the torches that alighted at the side of every door present. Surprisingly there were no soldiers, or guards, or even other inhabitants, no snores or movements as Feliciano watched over every small window that showed from the door. Of course, he questioned the vacancy, something that he didn’t need to word for Angela to know.

 “Our King is confident in the castle’s own guarding system, as well as his own power to defend. He rather keep his men fighting or attacking outside the field than remain here and watch over a prisoner prince he’s confident cannot do a thing to escape or won’t be enough to overpower him.”

 It was a relief to Feliciano, giving him breath as they now moved freer through the halls, until they reached a deep end, a singular hall that Feliciano would have surely missed if it wasn’t for Angela’s pull. She made sure no other was in the adjoining rooms and made sure that Ludwig was in the one Khaos had assigned. Once she saw him there, sitting upon the bed, his hands scratching at a small kitty-like winged lion who purred at his touch, she conjured a set of keys under her sleeve, unlocking, many sounds that alerted Ludwig to a standing and a defense. Angela opened the door wide and gave Feliciano immediate showing, who instantly smiled, his whole body seeming to jump even if he couldn’t to avoid sounds of discovery, smiling, eyes glowing with a sun that was enough of a potency to bring the same smile to Ludwig, relief, welcome, one he could show without a care after their truth admitted in the divide of the field. They came to a more secure crash, of nothing to separate, of for once by themselves and truly bathing in this glory of together.

 “Feli-Feliciano, what are you doing here? How did you get here?” Ludwig took the chance to separate and check him over, inspecting arms, hands, body, even every curl on his hair down to his most specialist one.

 “I’m fine Ludwig, I didn’t let Khaos for a moment touch me.” To assure him, he took his hands, letting them caress at the side of his face, the same pure softness that showed no other kind of battle or strain. “Angela, one of Khaos’s main servants, took me here!” He announced, pointing to her, still standing by the door. She waved sheepishly, beginning to fear the intense blue eyes that the prince of Hearts gave her. “I helped her, so she decided to help me, and she took me to see you because I really wanted to see if you were all right.” Any deepening look of their eyes was interrupted by Pookie, flying in between with his own excitement to see his master. “Pookie!” Feliciano shouted in delight, taking the little St. Mark to his embrace, cuddling and noosing. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

 “He stayed with me afterwards, he missed you deeply…as did I…” he admitted with a very shy blush that made Feliciano smile, confident, closeness, wanting to show love, devotion, leaning, a closing of lips that seemed for a moment sure.

 “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your highness, if you’re planning to leave, we must immediately-”

 “I won’t go.”

 “Huh?”

 “I’ll be staying here for the night, if I may, I really do not want to leave them alone and I don’t want to return to that bleak room,” he decided.

 Silence as Angela thought it over, planning, sincere with the begging look in Feliciano’s eyes to accept. “All right, you may stay for the night, but I’ll be coming early in the morning, servants would be expecting you there for your next Khaos meeting.”

 Both the Heartian’s faces soured, Feliciano giving a leaning into Ludwig’s chest, Ludwig wrapping his arms around him as if to avoid any kind of closeness that could bring Feliciano to those dangers of Khaos.

 “Okay,” Feliciano accepted meekly, for at least he would have the nights with Ludwig.

 Angela then closed the door on them, locking as she usually did, a smile of luck and happiness to Feliciano before she settled off, for once truly leaving them alone. Once again they focused on just being in their arms, of their scents, threading and intensification of their leaning, until the silence was too much, until there were reminders and concerns.

 “Why did Augusta made you come here? She told me you had a plan from her,” Ludwig reminded, maintaining at least the hold of his hand, leading him to sit on the bed that was too small for Ludwig’s figure.

 “She does, she saw me suffer too much for you and she couldn’t let it be, she thought this was the best she could offer…as well as we needed to,” Feliciano explained, making himself comfortable, not for a moment letting free any touch of Ludwig.

 “Needed to? What could be the purpose of letting you come in here with Khaos? It should be a burden only for myself.” How he cursed the seed Khaos had planted in him through Romulus.

 “To protect you! To save you!” Feliciano pleaded for Ludwig to understand, letting his hand caress at his face. “There’s something here in the field, a library, books all about the universe, about the origin of Pisa and Khaos’s powers, about Ace power and even about generational passages of power, like I have, like you. Augusta told me that I can find books there that can help me control and learn about my Ace power, as well as something to surely help and get rid of what Khaos has in you.”

 “A library?” Ludwig perked.

 “Yes! It’s dire we find it. Augusta told me of a plan of escape but before anything we have to get these books.”

 Ludwig remained pensive, trying to find any hint of such a room through the talks of the men, spoken in a language he couldn’t understand, thinking of the halls or doors he passed, but nothing gave enough of a clue.

 “How are you planning on finding it?”

 Feliciano was scared to answer, Ludwig could feel the tensing in his hands. “I could ask Angela or…I can coax Khaos to tell me.”

 All kinds of alarms resounded in Ludwig’s head at the mentioning.

 “How exactly do you think he will tell you?”

 “He looks at me weirdly…” Feliciano got shivers being reminded of it, “and you have to remember that Augusta was once his wife, he…wants me as he did her.” The grip he had of Ludwig tightened, he could feel his vengeance, his fear, his intensity for protection.

 Feliciano feared continuing but he had to let him know. “I’ll…give him enough of an opening for him to feel confident in telling me, I don’t think it would be that hard. As soon as I know I’ll come tell you and we can both go to the library together.”  

 Yet Ludwig did not show any kind of relief, he was still thinking of what Khaos could do if Feliciano didn’t control well enough what he did as an opening, letting his thumbs rub at his hands, showing enough concern that made Feliciano smile, adoring how Ludwig was easily letting himself show now.

 “Don’t worry…it won’t involve him getting too close, I won’t let him place any kind of finger on me if I can,” Feliciano made sure, such dedication that Ludwig saw it true despite his fears.

 “Did Augusta tell you how many books we should bring?”

 “The most important ones, if we want to bring any others then it’s in our decision, but the less the better, we have to make quite a run after we get them.”

 “What exactly is this plan of escape?”

 “Augusta told me that this castle is the ruins of the old one Khaos used to hold in the heavens, she thinks much of the halls and rooms have remained with some few exceptions. She really hopes the secret passageways didn’t change, some that she created herself back when she was locked in his marriage. One should lead us out of the castle unnoticed, but we have to be quick in reaching the outer field, we can easily be spotted and have Khaos and his men chasing us.” Feliciano was already nervous, a shake that Ludwig tried to calm by placing both his hands on his, raising them and placing on them a kiss, so sweet, so full, Feliciano’s eyes watered with joyful tears.

 “We’ll manage.”

 This was the union he dreamed of having with Ludwig, despite being stuck in this dark castle with such a high menace above them. This was enough of a light, this was enough of a calm to bring them into rest together, sharing the limited space of the bed how they could in their tangled arms and legs, in last kisses against their heads before they settled for once in a night of union, reminder of their childhood, reminder of a new grown chance between them that was bound to start from now.