#you can’t talk about him without giving twenty disclaimers about how he’s the worst man to ever exist

[evie-doesnt-write]

My enjoyment of a male character is often interlinked to their overall treatment by the fandom. When the fandom is extremely annoying about them, my love for them decreases and when the fandom hates them, it only serves to make me like them more.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (1/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: Mature / Explicit (Lemon) 18+ Readers ONLY

Word Count: 3931

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link 

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy... all words that described Regulus Black's grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: Should be maybe 2-3 chapters. It’s a mini series! I’ve never even thought to write Regulus content so I hope this is good! I enjoyed writing it. I want him to go from cold pureblood quiet boy to a more “loving” person. I hope that translates in the next few chapters.

Enjoy

"(Y/n) Raynott will be your bride," Walburga says matter-a-factly. Having been used to his parents making decisions for him his entire life, Regulus doesn't argue with the announcement. The indifference he wears well masks the annoyance he feels.

"We will arrange for the ceremony to take place soon."

His eyes dart up to his mother, "I have not met miss Raynott."

Walburga waves her hand dismissively, "dear, that is not  necessary  for a wedding."

It sort of is , he thinks to himself. He doesn't dare vocalize his displeasure. Orion looks between the two, too disinterested in the whole affair to give his opinion. Hell, he probably had something to do with the match.

"You'll have plenty of time to acquaint yourself with your wife when you are married."

Regulus looks towards the parlor window. The sky is grey, with storms passing over since the morning. A perfect reflection of his mood.

***

Mother fusses over my dress. "You need to look presentable. The Black family is respectable; they want a proper young woman,  who has been raised as you have , to be the perfect wife for their son."

The sudden betrothal has me in a state of shock. I hadn't thought my parents would do this without my permission... without telling me! 

"We will solidify the engagement tonight and choose the date." Mother continues to prattle on. "Probably in the next months. How exciting, isn't it (y/n)?"

"Yes, ma'am."  Lies.

***

Regulus straightens his shirt collar in his bedroom mirror. Grey eyes stare back at him, devoid of emotion. 

It'll be fine.

"Regulus!" His mother's shrill voice echoes through the house, "come down this instant! The Raynott's will be here soon."

Regulus takes another look at himself in the mirror before making his way down to stand by his parents. His mother nitpicks his person for a minute before she restrains herself. Not pleased with him completely but satisfied enough to let it go for now.

A knock sounds on the door, causing Kreacher to make a mad dash to the door to greet the guests. The house-elf leads the family of three towards them.

The first glimpse of the woman he'll be tethered to… He could admit she was pretty. She probably was very pretty. All he could focus on is the anxious tightness of her lips.

***

Dinner is a quiet affair. I don't talk, not to Regulus, or my parents, or the couple who will soon be my in-laws. I don't know if I could talk if I tried.

Walburga and Orion look pleased. Probably enthralled to have picked out such a meek and obedient wife for their son.

Their son , who has stolen glances at me the entire dinner but hasn't let a word fall from his lips.  His rather shapely lips.

He was handsome; I could acknowledge that. Not that it helped in the situation I've found myself in. No, his good looks  did not  make me happy to be stuck with him.

"Have we thought about potential dates?" Orion asks, taking a sip of his wine.

Father looks at mother, "Possibly in the next few months--" Mother is interrupted by Mistress Black, who makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

"Nonsense. Next Tuesday will do just fine."

I nearly choke on my wine.  Next Tuesday?

"That could work as well," Father looks at me, "how does that sound, Sweetheart." I want to roll my eyes. How dare he call me some loving pet name as he was marrying me off.

"That-- It is fine." I look up at Regulus. Unreadable as ever.

"What do you think, Regulus?" Mistress Black turns her attention to her son.

Regulus glances my way, blinking slowly, "the sooner, the better."

**

Days fly by, finally arriving at the day he was to be married.

Married.

It didn't sound quite like it should be a word that describes him. Regulus never assumed his parents would find him a match at his age. Nearly twenty now, his parents had suddenly decided he had his fair share of bachelorhood. 

Orion had taken him to his first brothel at the age of seventeen, intentions being his son would learn the art of procreation early on and get any foolish actions out of the way. Some of his best and worst moments had been in his father's favorite whorehouse. 

Orion clearly believed his education in whoring should be satisfactory by now. The bloodline was to be his mission next.

'Mission' was harsh. He didn't want his wife to feel like the women he had slept with were in preparation for this match. He wasn't the perfect man, he could admit that, but the last thing he wanted to do was make this girl believe she was being used for his pleasure and creating the next heir.

There was truth in her being the vessel for his line, but he hoped she could see he did not intend on treating her like such. Regulus did not know (y/n), doubted he could ever love her,  even with time , but she was to be his wife. The next Mistress Black. She should be happy. If they could not share mutual happiness like a couple ought to, he would try to make her happy in  different  ways.

Merlin knew his presence alone would not make her happy. Regulus was a cold man; he didn't share sweet moments or loving smiles. He would never promise to kiss her goodnight or hold her hand in public. It just wasn't who he was. But he could try not to make her completely miserable. And he hoped that would be enough for (y/n). 

It would have to be enough.

***

I feel numb as I stand in front of the long mirror in the white dress I didn't want. It wasn't ugly; I just wasn't the one to choose it. Which fits perfectly with the day's mood. Wearing the dress I didn't pick to marry the man I didn't pick.

Poetry.

I sigh loudly as mother walks into the room. She squawks about how beautiful I look in the dress  she picked.

"Thank you," my voice is so quiet I can barely hear myself.

"Where is that veil..." mother searches around my packed things for the long organza veil. Finally, she locates it. 

"Come sit so I can place it in your hair. Hurry now. We're nearly late." I obey, sitting down on my bed so she can fuss with the damn veil.

"Perfect. Let's scurry now. It would be very embarrassing for me if we were late for your wedding."

Would it be mother? 

***

"Who is giving this woman to be married to this man?" The older wizard officiating looks to my father.

"Her mother and I do." Regulus doesn't show a pinch of emotion; his face as inscrutable as ever. 

When I had dreamed about this moment, I had imagined the man who was to be my husband would have shed a tear or at least smiled at me as I walked down the aisle... Regulus regards me like I'm a chore as he takes my hand from my father.

"The ceremony of pureblood marriage in which you come to be united in values is one of the first and oldest ceremonies of our kind. Marriage is a gift in that we give ourselves totally to one another. Marriage is a gift given to comfort the sorrows of life and to magnify life's joys." The wizard continues spewing lies of a happy marriage to come. 

"Pureblood marriage is that of traditions, where two families come together to strengthen our convictions. The ultimate union, a blending of blood." I grimace, happy the veil hid my face well. It gave me no joy to think of a  blending of blood  between Regulus and me.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," the wizard turns towards him, "Do you take this witch as your wife? Do you promise to provide for, protect her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." He says the words with such ease. The wizard turns to me, reciting the words once again.

I pause. Maybe longer than what is appropriate, surely an embarrassing pause compared to Regulus's swift one. His grey eyes stare into mine. He doesn't look angry or alarmed that I've taken nearly half a century to reply. 

"I do." The words slip from my lips. I stare back through the wall of organza between us. 

"Master Black, you may kiss your bride." 

Surprisingly, Regulus hesitates for a moment before he lifts the veil from my face. The kiss is nothing more than a quick brush of lips. His hand wraps around my wrist as he pulls away. Without appearing to drag me, he pulls us through the dining room doors away from the crowd.

Letting go of my wrist, Regulus sits down on one of the velvet couches of the parlor. From a decorative box, he plucks a cigarette, lighting it without a word to me. The drag of the cigarette is long, the smoke billowing from his lips, expanding throughout the room. 

I have half a mind to tell him to extinguish the cigarette at once. Instead, I walk to the other side of the room and sit on a different couch.

The feeling of his eyes on my person can't be ignored, but I cannot make myself meet his eye. I want to wallow away in my misery, if only for a moment. Long stretches of misery are what I expect most of all from this union.

"Come," he stands from the couch, beckoning me like a lap dog towards his awaiting arm. I frown but obey, seeing no other option at the moment. He'll be surprised when he tries this again when I'm not expected to be with him. 

Regulus pulls out something from his dress robes pocket. Taking my left hand in his, Regulus slides a purple jewel on my finger.

"What--?"

"A wedding present. From me."

I look down at the large jewel. It looks expensive.  Hell , it probably is expensive. It's a massive ring, for Merlin's sake.

I remember myself quickly, "thank you."

Regulus nods. "They'll be waiting."

***

Regulus sits on the bed, watching as I pace around, searching for my clothing and personal items. Where the hell did all of my stuff go?

I huff, hating that I must ask Regulus, "Where are my things?" 

"They have been appropriately placed in our room."

"Yes, but  appropriately placed where in the room ?"

Regulus looks at me for a moment. His eyes are cold as he stands, walking towards a door. I follow close behind, finding my clothing has all been hung within the large closet. He glances at me before walking away.

I exhale, beginning to rifle around my side of the expansive closet. I pick a nightdress from the large collection, intending to remove this ridiculous dress...

Damn it!

The only buttons I can successfully reach on the back of the bodice are the top two. There's at least a dozen down the back, and the last thing I want to do is ask for Regulus's help… but if I don't, I'll be trapped in this damned dress for the rest of eternity.

With nightgown in hand, I shyly walk back out into the bedroom. Regulus now stands near the lit fireplace, staring into the flames. He's still dressed in his wedding robes.

"Regulus," I say quietly. He turns towards my voice. The light from the flames flutters against his dark curls.

"Yes?"

My face scrunches up. I hate to do this. "Can you help me? With the buttons, that is?" I turn my back towards him, waiting.

His feet make the lightest of noise against the wooden floor as he approaches me. "You'll need to move your hair." Slender fingers lightly touch my neck as he gathers my hair. I oblige, moving my hair out of the way as his nimble fingers loosen me from this trap of a dress.

When his task is complete, he doesn't move away. Instead, Regulus stays put, his breath fanning gently over my naked shoulders.

He stinks of cigarettes, and I wonder if he had somehow snuck another when I was occupied in the closet.

"Did you smoke?"

He's quiet for a moment before chuckling softly. "I did." 

I would have maybe pestered him about the habit, but I'm so caught off guard by his laughter. 

"Do you not like that?" He whispers in my ear. 

Turning around does nothing for my flustered state as I end up nearly nose to nose with Regulus. He doesn't move, his eyes never leaving mine.

Finally, I find my words, "no."

"No?"

"No, I do not like that you smoke."

He studies me, eyes flickering across my face. I find myself wanting to know what he's thinking. His face betrays nothing.

I don't know what to do with this, his body so close, eyes glued to my face. It unnerves me the way he hasn't said a thing back.

"Regulus..." his name comes out as barely a whisper.

Suddenly, Regulus is leaning in closer. There's no time to react before he's kissing me tenderly. It's not much more than the kiss we shared in obligation earlier, but now his fingers caress my neck and jaw. I get lost in the kiss, my body unconsciously pressing in closer to his. 

"Regulus--" I sigh as he presses kisses down my throat, his fingers beginning to move my sleeves off of my shoulders.

His nose brushes against mine before he mutters a low, "come." 

The nightdress in my hand drops to the floor, forgotten as my body seems to move by its own volition. Willingly letting him situate me on the bed has me in perfect shock. Only a few soft touches and gentle kisses have me so pliant under his touch.

"Do you want this?" he asks curiously, moving ever so slightly away from me.

I pause, unsure. I'm certainly attracted to him. I would be a fool to deny that. And... well, there's the pressure from this sort of relationship to complete the bond of marriage. In pureblood marriages, an extra spell was placed upon the couple specifically to encourage coupling. It was meant to bring a couple together, an artificial sort of attraction. The bond only strengthened with intimacy. Most couples liked to complete the initial bond on their wedding night because it gave a stable foundation for something  like love  to blossom from arranged marriages.

I stare up into his cold eyes, "yes."

"You're sure?" 

I nod. Deep down, a girlish fantasy still burns within me. That this artificial attraction that was placed upon us will grow into something other than comfortable civility.  I wanted Regulus to love me . I want to love him back in turn. I didn't wish to live in civility with children and an overbearing mother-in-law. I wanted romantic, passionate love. I wanted his glacial eyes to thaw. Wanted those eyes to be filled with warmth  specifically for me.

Regulus kisses my neck again, his fingers moving down the front of my dress.

"Can I?" His eyes flit up to mine. Fingers move across the neckline of my dress. 

I feel dizzy as I nod. Regulus gently pulls me up to a sitting position, moving the dress up and off my body. I want to cover myself up as he inspects my naked body.

"Don't cover yourself," his tone is alarmingly smooth. He seems to notice the way my eyes widen at his words. He rephrases himself, "please do not cover yourself."

"Are you going to get undressed?" I ask, trying to figure out where to put my arms.

A small smile jumps on his lips. He almost looks amused. I squirm as he begins to loosen the silk scarf from his neck. 

Slowly, he strips out of the rest of his clothing. Before I can get a good look at his physique, he's moved back onto the bed.

"Have you done this before?" He leans down, whispering into my ear.

My mouth opens and closes slowly before I shake my head. No, I had not. But, what was he expecting? Of course, I hadn't. No one like us--  like me  would even dream of this before this specific moment. Like Mother had said,  I was raised for this life. 

He stares down at me for an unnervingly long beat. Much too long for my liking before leaning in to kiss me. The kiss is deeper this time and full of something  more  than the last two we had shared. Courage comes over me, and I tangle my fingers in his curly hair. A low moan escapes his lips as he moves to press open-mouthed kisses to my neck.

His hand moves down my body, stopping to cup my breast. My fingers grip his shoulders as I press up against his palm.

Pupils blown wide, Regulus pulls away to situate between my legs. His long delicate fingers run across my skin, spreading my legs further.

Trying to breathe normally and push the sudden embarrassment that comes over, I focus on his face, ignoring the light brush of his fingers as they move up my inner thigh.

"It's going to hurt a little bit." His thumb moves slowly against my clit, as he watches my face with interest.

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting you ready for me." He gives me a small smile.

I frown, turning my face away from him again.

"Don't be that way," he gently moves my face back towards him, "there's no need to be embarrassed with me."

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Admitting this shouldn't make me so... self-conscious.

He looks amused, "I'll keep that in mind."

Regulus presses my knees closer to my chest. Maintaining eye contact, he presses kisses down my abdomen to my thighs. 

"Relax, (y/n)."

"Regulus--" I squirm as Regulus's thumb moves from my clit, dipping into my sex. 

"Relax." Regulus replaces his thumb with his finger, slowly easing it in to his knuckle. 

He watches my face as he moves his finger gently, "how does that feel?"

"Odd."

I catch his smile before it disappears from his face.

"Not exactly what I wanted you to say" He presses a kiss to my clit before lightly sucking. 

"Oh!" My fingers find his hair again. I hadn't expected this to feel good...  for me , at least.

A second finger joins the first as Regulus continues to please me with his mouth. 

It feels like electricity flowing through my veins. Small jolts pulse through my nerves with each swipe of his tongue or movement of his thumb. I want to close my legs, the feeling becoming too much too quickly. 

"No," he moves my thigh back towards the comforter.

"But--"

"No." Regulus continues the dance of his tongue against my sensitive clit, his grey eyes locking with mine as I writhed under the hypnotic movement of his mouth on me.

The pleasure crashes over me in waves. My fingers dig into his hair, pushing his mouth closer. My fingers relax as the aftershocks take over. I feel like I'm melting into the bed, satisfied and pulsing with dull electricity.

Regulus sits up, leaning over my body. His right-hand plants down by my head, his left moving my leg up towards his waist.

"Are you ready?" 

Suddenly, I'm shy again. I nod.

"I need you to tell me you are ready, (y/n)." His hand smoothes over my upper thigh as he waits for me to give consent.

"Yes, I am ready."

Regulus nods, hand pumping his cock slowly, "I'll be gentle, as gentle as possible." 

I stare up at Regulus, watching him focus as he brushes the head of his cock against my slit before pressing in slowly.

"Relax. The pain will subside in a moment. Relax." His voice is surprisingly gentle as his thumb brushes the sun under my eye, moving down my cheek. 

As he continues to press into me, I try to do as he asks. 

Regulus bottoms out, his eyes staying glued to mine. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something in those grey eyes. 

I open my lips to say something, but the words don't come. His eyes flicker to my lips. Slowly, he leans down, kissing me tenderly. 

"You can touch me if you want," he whispers. His nose brushes against mine as his hips begin to move.

"I--" I inhale shakily as he presses forwards, "Where?"

"Anywhere you want to. I don't mind." He continues to watch my face as I reach for his hair.

"Do you actually like this?" I laugh, raking my fingers through his curls. 

He huffs out his own version of a chuckle before replying, "I do."

"Oh--" I was expecting him to tell me I was giving him a headache with all the hairpulling. 

He continues the slow pace of his hips rocking against mine, watching my face.

"What are you looking at?" I ask quietly.

"You." 

I squirm uncomfortably. "Well... don't?"

Regulus stops, "don't look at you when we're doing this?"

"You're making me self-conscious!" 

He rolls his eyes, " I'm inside of you.  There's no room to be self-conscious."

"That..." I frown, "does not make me feel any less self-conscious."

I wiggle, sitting up slightly on my forearms. I look down where he's buried deep inside of me.

Regulus sighs, "There's no reason to feel self-conscious with me."

"But--"

"No." Regulus stops me from rambling on, "no more talking unless you want me to stop or you want something specific from me. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Good," Regulus looks like he's collecting his thoughts before he restarts his pace. "Touch yourself."

"What?" 

"Touch yourself," he presses his lips against mine, "touch your clit."

Hesitantly, I move my hand between our bodies.

"Just like that. Trust me."

My fingers press against my sensitive clit. I shudder beneath him, feeling overwhelmed by the push and pull of his cock as I press deeper against the nerves.

I look up at him, "Will you kiss me again?"

Regulus doesn't give me an answer, leaning in to kiss me hungrily as he chases his release.

Without warning, he moves my hand out of the way, replacing it with his own, more skilled digits. 

"Cum for me," the snap of his hips quickens as his fingers move rapidly. My world shatters as I cum for the second time tonight.

"Fuck." He buries his face in my neck as he releases.

I feel lightheaded as he rolls away from me. Slowly, I turn my head to look at him. His hair's splayed across the pillow, jaw relaxed as he catches his breath. I study his side profile with interest.

The question sits at the tip of my tongue. What happens next? He hasn't tried to... cast anything, a charm to end the chances of a pregnancy. Unless this was his plan?

"What... what about the possibility of a baby?"

"Don't worry about it."

"But there's a possibility, or maybe you wanted--"

"No," with a flick of his wrist, Regulus stops any chance of that.

I turn my body towards him, "are you tired?"

Regulus glances over, "Yes. I am."

***

He holds her as she falls asleep. It's nice, he supposes.

But dangerous.

It couldn't hurt to hold her when she's sleeping. He just can't let her catch him holding her when she wakes up.

She can't get the wrong idea about their relationship.

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

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[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

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@bloodyinspiredfuck

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

[rosaetae]

among the evergreen

☇ “The day you will see two of me is the same day you won't need me unless you say you do”

➣  pairing: reader x jungkook

➣  genre:  christmas themed, modernfantasy!au, e2l!au, fluff

➣  word count: 12.6k

➣  disclaimer:  this is literally an exaggerated satire of Hallmark Christmas movies filled with eggnog crack for the holiday spirit. please do not take this seriously. happy holidays! 

➣  summary: the odd christmas wedding with the odd christmas runaway with the odd christmas adventure with the odd christmas stranger

"You can't be serious right now, ___."

"Hyunjung, I've never been more serious in my entire life." Grabbing a chunk of clothes from your closet that ranged from sweaters to leggings, you shove it into your duffel bag. "This version my parents made of me?— I'm not her. They seriously think they're going to discipline me by selling me off to a man I don't know?"

"Oh, don't be dramatic. They're not selling you off, they just arranged a marriage for you."

You open your mouth, gaping at her. "Even worst! Where's my consent? Where's my sense of individualism?! I'm an adult and yet, they're giving me away to a random person they arranged a marriage with just last year!"

"And may I remind you that you're getting married to that random person in two weeks, ___. Perfect for a Christmas wedding," Hyunjung optimistically exclaims over the FaceTime call, removing her towel that was wrapped around her head and combing her hair with her fingers. "I don't think you should be leaving."

You cringe at her romanticizing an arranged marriage that takes away your sense of freedom.

"No, Hyunjung," you point your lotion bottle in your hand at her. "The version that my parents fabricated of me— she. She's the one getting married in two weeks. I, however, am taking a trip to Europe."

"Europe?" She repeats, nearly gaping at the sound of that. "That's why you need me to drop you off at the airport? Europe? Are you joking me?"

You nearly snort, folding one of your t-shirts messily and tossing it into the duffel. "You thought I was joking when I took that trip to Greece by myself. Does it look like I'm joking?"

"Insane. You're absolutely insane."

"I hope you say that in a good way," you throw a wink at her.

"You cannot be serious."

"And why not? I'm my own adult! I can go to another country myself. Plus, you remember Hana, right? She offered a place for me to stay in London."  

Hyunjung raises her eyebrows. "And you're sure Hana is going to let you into her humble abode and take you in?"

"98% sure," you pause for a moment, continuing on to your last minute packing of shoving whatever you could into a duffel. "The 2% is only if I actually get there before she leaves for Amsterdam."

"Wait, what?"

"I should be getting there before Tuesday night, hopefully. If not, then I'm stuck to tend to a motel for a couple of nights until she comes back from finishing that research project in Amsterdam," you snort. "Which will be unlikely. I scheduled a plane for Italy that leaves tonight. From there, I have to take a bus to Belgium to take a ferry to London, so essentially I should be there before Monday."

"Why not take a straight plane to London?" Hyunjung inquires, evidently confused to your excessive and over-the-top plan.

"Where's the fun in that?" You chuckle, grabbing your backpack. "Do you wanna hear my plan that I originally called you for?"

Hyunjung makes a motion with her hand, urging you to proceed into such plan that you always make up to escape your drowning parents.

"A couple nights ago, I bought a plane ticket to Italy. I went to a travel advisor today and paid for a bus and a ferry with cash. This way, my parents will simply think I'm in Italy and while they'll most likely hold this whole huge crazy man hunt for me in Milan, I'll be in London, living my own life, single as a bird. Maybe drinking tea with the queen, perhaps."

The thin look Hyunjung plasters on her face is as if she was talking to someone who told her that she was having twins— maybe even triplets.

"Okay," she begins slowly, squeezing lotion into her hands. "Where do I lie in all of this?"

"What?" Narrowing your eyes at her mischievously, you smirk. "You think you have a role in my plan to be set free?"

"I have a role in any devious plan you make up in your head to get the hell away from your, and I quote, "insane, restricting puppeteers of parents"," she scoffs, making you laugh. "Now what is it? Do you want me to lie to them that you're in Italy?"

"See, you're already ahead of the game!"

She rolls her eyes.

"I just need you to lie that I did go to Italy only for a few weeks and if they press you, just tell them that that's all I told you. Easy."

"Yeah, until your parents try to blackmail me."

"They've never blackmailed you."

"Yeah," she exclaims before biting her lip. "But they could!"

"They won't do that," you roll your eyes at them. Sure your parents are strict, but they find blackmail a bit too extra. "Look, are you going to pick me up soon or not? I have a flight to catch."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs. "I'll leave in five."

The parents that you call yours were indescribably suffocating.

Over-exaggerating, but you do try to peer at it from their perspective, but all you see is publicity and reputation in a string of lies and facades— all of which is clearly evident because you were grown up to keep such a good reputation.

Daughter of a CEO of an oil company and a broadway star, your life was bound to be molded into the flawless model of what a family should be. From the fake smiles on the news to having to be present at elite parties that nearly make you want to rip your brain out, doing one wrong thing would be an instant detrimental effect to your family.

And being tired of having to keep an ideal picture during the day, you sneak out during the night under fake names and fake personas— you are not the daughter of two important people, you are yourself.

Not getting caught was your specialty. It progressed well over time, knowing how well you can harbor in the dark for so long without being exposed, but that week-long trip to Greece was what probably ruined your streak when your mother found out you were not on that school trip upstate, but you were oceans away, relaxing in the nice beaches of Corfu.

Maybe then your mother has gone insane trying to maintain a good reputation for you, but an arranged marriage? Something they've never told you about since two weeks ago? Hell, you were going to drop everything and go off grid just for the arranged marriage to not happen.

And that's exactly what you're going to do.

The current position you're, unfortunately, in is not ideal to your original plan you have set out for yourself.

Muscles growing tired, you've become exhausted, a tad bit dehydrated, and you had an odd craving for something with chocolate. And to tie it all off, your bus driver had just announced they are scheduled to depart a little later than usual as you sat at the window seat, pondering about the extra time you could've used to get a bottle of water and maybe some fudge brownies from the store, but sacrificing this seat is not apart of your plan.

So you sit there, watching strangers trickle in slowly to find seats on the bus, and thankfully none of them took the chance to sit in the empty seat next to you. As you finally grow a comfort in your seat, ignoring your growing dehydration and aching muscles, you may have spoke too soon when you felt the bus almost shake by how the one stranger slipped into the seat next to you with heavy momentum.

Glimpsing at the panting stranger, you shift your crossed legs to point towards the window. You don't see his face well enough, but you didn't show much care when you lay back into your seat. "Woah there, cowboy, we depart in twenty. You didn't have to rush and crash into this seat beside me."

"What?" He says, breathlessly. You can tell from the corner of your eye, he's giving you a questionable look. "It's supposed to depart at 10:30."

Snorting, you fix your posture. "Yeah, well, delays happen, big guy. It's going to be 11 now. Nice entrance."

As you peek at him, he don't miss the eyebrow he raises at you. Settling in nicely beside you, he holds out his hand in a polite manner. "Jungkook."

You glance at his hand and back at him, going back to leaning your head against the head support. "Hi."

"Ah," he takes his hand back after he notices you not taking it. "So you're going to make me ask you for your name?"

You arch an eyebrow at him. "I'm not making you do anything?"

"I introduced myself. It's a common courtesy to at least share a name back, but seeing that you didn't tell me your name, you're in turn ruining that common courtesy by having me ask you for your name."

"Or I'd rather keep my name to myself than reveal it to an utter stranger," you smile. "Nice try, but you haven't earned my trust enough to know my name."

He has a fixed gaze on you. "Did you want my life story in exchange?"

"That depends. How badly do you want to know my name?"

"Well," he lets out a dramatic sigh. "When I was little, my mom and dad got divorced and my mom married another man—"

"Hmm, see, " you cut him off. "I can't even trust that's a real story. Guess we're better off as strangers."

He chuckles as you close your eyes.

And that's how you shut him up from then, when the began to depart, and in the midst of just entering the freeway when you make the mistake of grabbing a small bag of pretzels from your backpack and sitting back to eat them in hopeful silence.

"Why are you heading to Brussels?" The stranger asks mid-crunch of your pretzel.

Your eyes widen slightly by the sudden question, before you're shrugging at him in response. "None of your business."

It would be easy to tell him that you're only there to catch a ferry, but along with that will follow up more questions— talking to him was draining enough.  

He lets out a light scoff. "A simple question."

"That's none of your business."

Jungkook cocks his head to the side as you're chewing on your pretzels. "Are you always this hard to crack?"

"Are you always this annoying?"

"Not really, but it's definitely getting a rise out of you."

"So I sit next to a dipshit named Jungkook who probably has daddy issues," you throw at him, referring to his previous said fact about him to exchange for your name. "Long hours ahead of us."

"And I, for one, intend to make the most out of it by trying to get to know you."

You snort, pulling out your earphones from your pocket, closing your eyes for the last time until the next stop. "Good luck."

Fortunately for you, when they flutter open, the bus had made a stop in the middle of a venue with greens and whites that catches your eye as you peer out the window. Making it quick, the bus driver announces for a 20 minute break parked in the Swiss Alps, instructing where the bathroom is and demonstrating a shop just in sight.

"Finally," you breathe in relief, feeling your dehydration grow with each second.

You ignore Jungkook and the fact that he was blocking you just slightly to take your break when you squeeze your way between him and the seat, making room for yourself between the people packing in the bus aisle to leave the bus as well.

The air was crisp and your breath was evident every time you exhaled, taking you aback by the wonders of the place around you. The skies were grey, but the massive trees and the sparkling fresh snow of the woods is what makes you wide-eyed.

And you think about how there are so many wonders in the world that your parents have not made you seen. Sure, you've visited Switzerland, but only for pure business. Never once were you told that you could explore and initiate that wanderlust that always grew inside of you when you're away from home.

Taking your boots and trudging through the snow, you follow the flock of people from the bus who are noticeably going inside one of the small wooden buildings or heading to where the restroom signs were.

Grabbing a water bottle along with a bag of chocolate-covered almonds, you're about to buy something with the cash you exchanged with Swiss Franc, when you tiredly see that the line was taking awhile. Letting out a yawn, you divert your attention out the window, only to see something interesting just nearby.

It was a cottage that looked completely different from the similar buildings like the store you're in. Squinting, your curiosity gets the best of you as you're trying to get a better look of it, noticing that there evident trails of moss on the roof, creating a rustic aura, as well as interesting charms being hung on the patio.

You wonder what's inside, completely enchanted by its appearance and its—

"What are you buying?" The voice of your familiar, annoying seat partner appears by your side, causing you to jump out of your thoughts and to scowl at his arrival.

"You don't ever know how to leave someone alone, huh?" You sarcastically grin to which he responds with a smirk, shaking his head.  

"Just you."

You give him a look before you're buying it. "Give me some space, Jungkook."

"I don't know if you're allowed to say my name when I don't know yours, gingercake."

You give him a fake smile before you were finally next in line and Jungkook seemingly follows you to the register. When you notice he's beside you empty-handed, you give him a pointed look. "You're not buying anything?"

"No," he replies. "I don't need anything."

"So, you're just here to annoy me then."

"Essentially," he laughs before he nods his head to a certain direction. "You noticed the cottage out there, too?"

"Quite creepy that you're watching me, don't you think?"

He shrugs. "Think of it what you will. But you didn't answer my question."

"I don't answer to strangers."

"But we're not," he says. "We're bus buddies."

"No," you cringe at the term he made for both of you as you grab the receipt and your snacks. "No, we're not."

Before he would say anything more, you make a hurried walk for the door, back turned to him.

"Oh, come on," he persists as he tries to walk beside you. "Is your name embarrassing, or something?"

"My name is none of your business."

"You're being so stubborn over a little thing. Are you like a wanted criminal? Is that why?"

You gasp dramatically as if he was correct. "Yes! Right on the nose!"

"Come on," he continues, knowing very well your sarcasm was not a pretty trait on you. "I'm not a snitch either way."

"No, but you do know how to get on my nerves."

"That hurts," he chuckles. "Come on, it's just a name—?"

You turn over to him in brooding irritation. "That you don't deserve to know, end of discussion. Jungkook, please, I am of little importance to you and you to me. Not knowing my name won't hurt you in the long run. So please, can I spend the rest of this bus ride without you bombarding me asking me what my name is?"

Jungkook looks at you before he puts his hands up in defeat. "Fine. But for the record, I have never met anyone so protective over something so little like their name."

"And I've never met someone so pushy, but here we are—" As you turn around, you notice that the bus was gone and your eyes widened.

"No, no, no," you mutter before you're sprinting towards the road and just there, the bus was moving further down the winding road, growing tinier within the second.

"Great! How absolutely peachy! We missed our bus!" You groan, removing your beanie from your head, exasperated. You turn over at Jungkook who just so happens to finally catch up to you, noticing the reason for your distress.

"It's fine, don't panic."

You turn over to face towards the standing dumbass with a baffled look. "We're in the middle of the fucking Swiss Alps, idiot! There is no service here. How the hell are we going to get to Brussels now?"

"Look, just calm down. Let's go inside and see if the cashier can help."

However, going into the store didn't help when the lady at the store didn't have any type of phone to help you contact anyone, nor was she interested in helping you both so she pointed you towards the cottage you happened to stare at earlier.

At first, you didn't oppose the idea, very curious as to what this cottage has to offer. And when you step onto the patio and a notice a wooden sign that says open, Jungkook is the first to turn the knob and take a step.

Remarkably, you're not walking in with fear, but you're walking in with a curious mind— and when you happen to step inside, you're not quite disappointed.

It was breathtaking— something you've never seen before. There were rows and rows of jars filled with herbs of sorts and odd colorful gems and crystals were displayed with the occasional plants that hung from the ceiling. A bucolic, yet eerie feeling was blossoming in your chest that you don't notice that you've walked farther in than Jungkook.

"Hello?" Jungkook calls aloud. You peer behind yourself, noticing his wandering eyes as you turn your head back front, focusing on the table with a crystal ball.

"Hello, is anyone here?" Jungkook tries again as you wonder where every single ancient thing came from before the sound of foot steps makes you pause, moving backwards to stand behind Jungkook.

"Visitors?" A voice of whom you'd assume belonged to a female spoke aloud in the unreal way possible.

As she makes an appearance coming out of one of the corridors, you notice that out gracefully comes a woman of red hair and piercing green eyes, lips decorated in berry and cheeks of a deep plum. Her clothing was almost a gypsy, but she wore a coat of fur over the gold jewelry she wore on her neck and hips.

"And what is this?" She brings a finger to her lips in utter astonishment and peculiarity, eyes narrowing to focus on you and Jungkook. "A wreath's bond?"

A what bond? You think.

Jungkook and you take a moment to glance at each other, exchanging odd looks before looking back at the woman who was shuffling towards the circular table with the crystal ball sitting in the center of it.

"Ah, you two don't know," she observes, laughing hysterically and taking a seat. You're confused, but there was an odd feeling in your stomach that seemed to give some sort of trust to her. "Come, you two. Sit. I have a feeling about you both."

"Actually," Jungkook begins, grabbing your wrist and preventing you from moving towards her. "We were told that you would know how to get to the nearest bus station."

Her head snaps up, and lets out a scoff. "By who?"

"Lady in the gift shop," you answer. "They had no phone, but she told us to come here."

"That damn grinch. Always tells visitors to come here when they need a phone or directions."

"Well, do you?" You ask politely.

"This is the Alps, honey-pie. There is no such thing as service here."

"Great, she sees you as food," Jungkook whispers quietly down to you. "She's going to eat us."

The joke that comes from Jungkook makes you nudge him with your elbow, releasing yourself from his grasp that you didn't realize was still there.

"Is there a bus stop nearby?" You try.

"Not nearby, but I can lead you to a village just an hour travel by walking... well, it's more of a ski resort, but surely there's people there willing to help."

"Where is it?"

She's silent before she's patting on the table, motioning you both to sit.

Jungkook and you hesitate, but you're the first to move, walking towards the lady who could easily kill you, but emanates curiosity that even you couldn't resist. Jungkook follows after you, sitting in the chair across from yours.

"Let me see your hands," she says, palms outwards, awaiting your hands. However, you were reluctant, looking up at Jungkook who was shaking his head discreetly. "Oh, I promise I won't bite. I'm Evanora, the friendly witch of the east."

"A witch?"

"That could explain the crystal ball," Jungkook nods, staring directly at the iridescent ball sitting on the table.

"What did you think I was?" She inquires, a berry-lipped smile on her face. "And the crystal ball is just for decoration. Now, hands. Give."

You, with a slight bit of reluctance, gives your hand to her, Jungkook following after you as the witch throws a smile, to which she closes her eyes and slightly squeezes.

You meet Jungkook's smile he was trying to prevent by the odd circumstance you both were in, you shrugging in uncertainty before Evanora opens her eyes.

She nods, pointing outside her window. "If you go down the trail, you will see cabins."

"Wait, that's it?" Pressing her, you were immediately concerned as to what she saw.

"What I saw," she pats your hand in an eerie manner. "Shouldn't be said."

You open your mouth, curious as to what on earth she could possibly have seen that's making her bite back a smile. Eyes peering over to Jungkook, you shake your head. "It doesn't matter anyways," you scrunch your eyebrows at her words. "Trail? What trail?"

"Packed up by snow. But if you follow the opening of those trees, you will find the village." She gives a smile before it immediately fades.

"What?" Jungkook presses, noticing her mood change.

"I must warn you, there are winter elves ahead."

"Elves," you blink.

"Like Santa's elves?"

"Winter elves," she nods. "Do not interact with them. They tend to distract you from your purpose. And they like to steal anything shiny."

"You can't be serious," you arch an eyebrow.

"You've met a witch. Is it really that hard to believe?" Evanora says as she stands. "Go, embark on your journey, but I will tell you this—"

Jungkook stands quite abruptly, seemingly ready to leave the cabin of Evanora's while you stand up slowly, awaiting for Evanora to finish. "Lose one another, you will lose the purpose."

"We won't lose each other," you promise.  

"I have a feeling that you may," she quietly says, but it was audible for you to hear. "And when you must, your wreath's bond will find you both again."

Scrunching your eyebrows together at the phrase, you're about to open your mouth to ask for explanation.

Immediately, the witch puts her finger up to silence you before she smirks. "The day you will see two of me is the same day you won't need me unless you say you do."

The two of you searched for the opening of the immense and jaw-dropping trees before you, noticing the snow, as Evanora said, being packed up on a trail, however that didn't stop the two of you from walking down the trail.

When you first begin walking, Jungkook is quiet, knowing that you're in your thoughts. And he was right. The so-called witch made you more concerned, especially after she held your hands and said she couldn't say what she saw. You think of the bad things that she must've seen, ranging from a terrible accident or a betrayal or anything that would bring you in harms way.

"Come on, you actually believe she's an actual witch?" Jungkook asks all of a sudden. He must have noticed your brain turning in the silence. "She didn't give us the best directions. She told us to find a ski resort where someone can help us."

"The day you will see two of me is the same day you won't need me unless you say you do," you say aloud, slowly. "What does she mean?"

"Just a whole lot of mumbo jumbo to me," he postulates. "She was probably just saying shit out of her ass." When he sees that you've paused, Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. "You're not telling me you actually believe in that nonsense?"

"I'm superstitious. I believe in ghosts, aliens, mermaids. A witch doesn't sound like nonsense."

Embarrassed wasn't the word you'd say you felt when Jungkook looks at you, flabbergasted after you decree that you believe in the supernatural. Maybe a tad bit awkward, but seeing that he lets out a chuckle, you purse your lips. "You've read Harry Potter, haven't you?"

"No. No, I haven't actually. I just believe in a little bit of magic, that's all."

"I still think the winter elves is a load of bullshit," he states. "Come on. Elves?"

"Yeah," you nod, semi-lying. "Yeah, I know."

From then on, it felt exhausting.

The continuous trudging in the snow with heavy boots felt overtiring, but determination was your factor that kept you persisting. You couldn't afford to miss a day— not when you didn't think of pulling out enough cash from the bank, so paying for a couple of nights at a motel in London will surely give your location away to your parents who are probably on a manhunt for you.

Just then, Jungkook, who was in front of you, stops.

It makes you bump into him, looking up from the white snow to give him a questioning look. Seeing that he points at something in front of him, you glance at the direction, noticing evident small houses that were seemingly built by branches scattered amongst the area.

"Is this it? Are these the winter elves we have to worry about? Oh man, I sure hope they don't eat my toes!" Jungkook howls, hands on his stomach as he pokes at one of the houses on a tree stump. "Oh no, I wonder if they're magical. Are they gonna freeze us to death?"

You stand up straight, rolling your eyes at him. "Pipe the fuck down, asshole," you scold him, punching his shoulder.

"Oh, come on, did you really believe there would be winter elves? Elves? Please, these are houses made out of branches that a hiker probably made—"

His words were muted out when your ears catching something similar to a musical pipe.

"Shh," you bring a finger to his mouth. "Do you hear that?"

Jungkook's words are mute with your finger pressed against his lips while your ears try to pick up what sounded more clearly like a faint flute folk song.

Scrunching his eyebrows, he brings a hand to your wrist, removing your hand from his lips and stares at you intently. Gazing up to him, you stand still when he comes near to you, bringing his previously muted lips to your ear.

"That's the wind," he whispers, causing you to exasperatingly sigh, lifting your hands to push him away as he cackles loudly that he was clenching his stomach once more.

Annoyed wasn't a term you'd settle with how you were feeling at the moment, but as you stand there, with arms crossed over your body, you wait for him to shut up. "For gods sake, come on."

Grabbing his arm, you continue to walk along the veiled trail, his laughter fading away after a long time, and once it did, your breath nearly stops when ahead you see a spread of lights.

"Is that it? The ski resort she was talking about?" Jungkook asks, panting as you shrug, continuing to walk as you saw people in layers walk around. You admire the colors they were wearing, some were neutrals, but some wore festive colors of red and green, gold and white.

"Come on, old man," you tell him as he was trailing further from you.

"Slow down a little bit, would you?" He calls for you as you throw a grin at him, turning back around to keep walking on the cobblestone sidewalk, mesmerized by the village.

After a few steps of being mesmerized of the things around you, you turn around, noticing that you weren't the only thing mesmerized by the things around you, but when you see Jungkook being swept away off his feet into what seems to be a pub by a strand of golden hair, you're once again, annoyed.

Pursing your lips, you let out a sigh and turn around, beginning to walk down the street, easily letting your contempt ease off your chest as you try to look for someone to help by yourself. You didn't even care if you were going to have to leave this ski resort by yourself, that was your whole purpose.

You walk further down, watching in awe as the people decorate their exteriors, putting up tinsel, lights and garlands, those carrying a fresh tree into their homes, and those carrying stacks of presents, curious at how festive the place was being.

Stopping in front of a store, you stare from the outside, admiring the exterior before your eyes narrow, attempting to peek inside the store.

First, you see a spectrum of colors of what your eyes focused to be wrapping paper of different designs and patterns galore. You think it's a gift store, but then, you observe that there are people in rows, wrapping boxes in a quick and swift motion. At first, you're marveling at how fast they're wrapping, tying it all off with a bow on top and tossing it in a pile of other finished presents before you're thinking they resemble something so familiar that—

You're distracted.

Realizing this, you tear your eyes away from the store, continuing to walk, searching for someone who was not tending to decorating or not busy in this ski resort to help you, only when you reach a revelation.

This was no ski resort— at least one without a ski left. And as if Evanora's raspy voice was echoing in your ear, you realize the mistake that you and Jungkook made; you separated.

It is with no hesitation that you're walking with a brisk pace, others on the street looking up at the foreigner walking towards the pub in such a hurry.

You pull on the door, a bell indicating that customer walked in, eyes searching for the person you were warned not to split from, implicitly ignoring that others were looking at you with a strange curiosity.

Walking inside and letting the door shut behind you, your eyes graze upon the small pub before they stop to the familiar raven-haired boy talking to the blonde in which her pernicious coquetry was evident even from afar.

You're about to grab Jungkook from his arm in attempt to drag him away, but you stop when you see that the blonde seductively takes a finger to his neck, tracing a line down his throat to hook her finger along the silver chain that was tucked under his shirt.

Nearly vomiting whatever was in your stomach at the sight in front of you, you crinkle your nose in utter remorse when Jungkook looks at her up and down, a smirk on his face.

The sight merely makes you leave the pub, until you turn around adamantly, only to remember what Evanora was saying— they tend to distract you from your purpose.

Groaning distinctly, you whip towards the idiot and the seducing winter elf, clearing your throat at the two who were sharing a laugh together.

"Oh, hey," Jungkook looks up at you briefly before looking back at the blonde. "There you are. Where were you?"

"Can I grab you for a second?" You say oddly sweetly, feigning the blonde a friendly smile lifted by your cheeks in which she returns one politely before going back to drinking from her cup. Without even hearing Jungkook try to object, you grab his arm hastily and take him outside.

Jungkook stumbles over his feet for a moment before the crisp winter air hits both of your faces on impact. "Woah there, gingercake. What's going on?" Even with a tug, it doesn't loosen your grip from his arm as you try to drag him away from the pub as fast as possible.

"We're leaving," you utter, but hearing that, Jungkook immediately stops, your turn to be the one stumbling.

Turning around with a huff, you give him a scowl, letting your hand that was digging into his arm go. He opens his mouth, his narrow eyes questioning your motive. "Why?"

"Jungkook, just listen to me."

He crosses his arms across his chest, a smug painting his features. "What if I don't want to?"

You half-heartedly scoff at him, shrugging. "Fine, then stay. I couldn't care less."

He opens his mouth to say something, but even when he could even process words to elicit, you're already turning around again, eyes focusing on the horizon that's being set as your only goal and focus. As you walk ahead with persistence, you curse in your head for even being kind enough to get him out a situation that could easily have him stripped.  

"Hey, woah," Jungkook jogs up to reach in front of you. Stopping to raise an eyebrow at him, you observe him as he gives you an uncertain look. "Is that jealousy in your voice?"

"How rich," you scoff. "Jungkook, I am anything but jealous right now, and you're really testing me." Moving around him, you continuing to walk before he stops you again, looking around to find a gap between stores, pulling you to the side from the strangers who were walking past you both.

"You are!" He exclaims once he successfully pulls you away.

"Jungkook," you exasperate, before lowering your voice. "This is not the ski resort. This is the village Evanora warned us about."

"What?"

"You were flirting with a winter elf, idiot," you whisper loudly. "This is not a ski resort, it's a village of winter elves."

Jungkook half-heartedly laughs, shaking his head. When he sees that your face was anything but amused, his face morphs into confusion. "No, there's no such thing as—"

Rolling your eyes, you shut him up by moving closer to him, eyes not tearing away from his when you bring your finger to his neck, which ultimately makes him freeze at your sudden movements. As you're tracing down his throat, you don't think of anything more as you yank down the collar of his shirt, only to reveal what you originally suspected.

"Where's your necklace, Jungkook?" You ponder, your eyes never leaving his. Jungkook hesitates before he removes his eyes from yours and looks down, your hand not leaving its current state and exposing his bare, pale chest.

He inhales sharply before you finally let your hand go, waiting for his eyes to meet yours again. You take a step back, crossing your arms with slight arrogance as you offer an amused smile.

"She was trying to seduce you, Jungkook," you state. "So she could steal. She obviously did a good job when she made you forget your purpose and stole your necklace."

"For fuck's sake," Jungkook curses, running a hand through his hair. You were close to tell him 'I told you so', but you refrain when he takes your wrist and drags you out of the opening. "Let's go."

The scenery was beautiful, with the green hues that contrasted with the white that was almost so bright it blinded you, but with the little bit of sun that peeked from the clouds, you couldn't help but get distracted with everything around you.

It almost makes you feel like you don't have a crazy dad or an insane mother that expect you to be home in perfect condition just to sell you off to someone you don't know.

You must have been mindlessly walking and trudging in the snow with your boots nearly weighing you down because just when you bump into something, you're about to curse at yourself for being stupid to walk into a tree. That is, until you realize it wasn't a tree, it was Jungkook's form, who had idiotically taken a halt that caused you to bump into him.

"Jungkook—"

"Look," he cuts you off. Peering over his shoulder, your reaction had shifted from annoyance to awe when you notice that the evergreens weren't the only wonder.

Walking down to the ski resort was just over a hill, trudging over inches of snow and having to make sure not to fall face forward. Jungkook eventually sees a bit of struggle coming from you— to which, in your defense, he has an advantage due to his elongated legs— and reaches out to your for support. However, your adamancy slaps his hand away, continuing to walk over the hill to see more of the lights that contrasted the nearing night sky.

"Hey, question," he inquires aloud once the snow had reached scarce and just ahead were the many wooden buildings with warm lights.

Nodding, you spare him a glance, breathing almost heavy as you both continue to walk. "Shoot."

"Don't you think you could've stopped her when she was stealing my necklace?"

Jungkook reaches to your side as you both reach the icy street where people were bundled in clothes. What reassured you were the group of people walking down the street across from you, carrying their snowboarding gear inside a building, their laughter echoing down the streets.

Without pondering, you shrug. "I wasn't the one flirting with her."

"I'm going to ignore your raging jealousy here and ask you one more time—"

"Jungkook, I wasn't the idiot who easily got distracted and forgot what Evanora said," you cut him off. "She said that, lose each other you lose your purpose— and while you were being whisked away by some winter elf, I was trying to find someone to help us. It's not jealousy, it's called not being stupid."

"Great," he exhales deeply. You don't miss the stress that elicited along with it, you cocking your head to the side in sudden curiosity.

"Why? Was it important?"

He waves you off. "It was just a family necklace, that's all."

"A family necklace," you repeat, before scrunching your eyebrows. "Sounds pretty important to me."

"Doesn't matter anymore," he shakes his head as you both continue to walk down the village. "It's gone now."

Feeling a tad bit sympathetic, you reach up to him, matching his pace. "This," you say as you pull out your hand from your pocket. "This was handed to me by my mother which was given by her mother and by her mother and by her mother."

He peers down at your frozen hands, eyeing the ring. "What does the leaf mean?"

You don't tell him that the leaf meant growth.

In your mother's line of successful women, the ring was always passed down so long as there would be potential demonstrated. Your grandmother, being a former model, and your mother, having to be a broadway musical star, you were seen to have potential to be an heiress of the company your father runs— but it's too bad you distasted such high expectations. Hell, you were even willing to have the elves steal this rather Jungkook's necklace when all you're doing is creating a ruination in your line of successful women.

"It's alright," Jungkook says, shaking his head after noticing your reluctance. "You won't tell me your name, I can't expect you to tell me the meaning of your family ring."

At first, you're taken aback at how easy that was for him to say that, especially after trying to have you choke out your name. You stare, flabbergasted but almost grateful he didn't try to push this time.

"The necklace was given to me by my uncle from my mother's side," Jungkook explains nonchalantly as you both unconsciously walk towards the line of cabins that most likely held travelers. "Said he'd give it to his son if it weren't for the fact that his wife can only reproduce daughters."

Snorting, you quirk a smile at him. "How many daughters does he have?"

"Five," he chuckles. "All of who are very, very annoying."

"Why's that?"

"Annoying in a way that they're disgustingly successful," he says. "Runs in the blood except for mine."

To that, you let out a snigger. "I can definitely relate to that."

"What's this?" He laughs. "We're actually having a decent conversation?"

Rolling your eyes, you give him a nudge, shaking your head.

And oddly enough, for once the silence when both of your laughter dies isn't awkward— it's not tension nor is it uncomfortable. It's almost pleasant.

Jungkook, silently, looks at you in a peculiar fond way that makes you slow down your pace a bit. Your insides twist and turn in your stomach at the way he just stares at you without so much of a word— as if he's either judging you or he's admiring you, in which you're hoping deep down it's the former.

You're exhaling a shuddering breath when you desperately decide to ruin the moment, taking one of your hands out of your pocket at pointing at one of the cabins. "Over there," you declare, cheeks beginning to redden. "Let's try over there."

And you do not miss a second to speed up your pace, careful on the slippery street not to slip, hearing Jungkook walking behind you.

When you finally reach to a random cabin with a car parked outside, you're silently hoping that they would answer the door to two strangers.

And with each second passed and your hopes were falling, you hear the door unlatch, your ears perking at the sound when the door opens. A man, wearing a red plaid flannel and a black beanie opens it with a confused look.

"Hello?" He asks and your eyes light up.

"Hi!" You cheerily state, relieved that someone was even willing to open the door. "Sorry to be such a bother, but we're stranded and we were hoping if you knew where the nearest bus station is?"

The stranger nods with a warm smile. "It's down the hill, actually. Quite a trip on foot."

"Is it?" Jungkook asks. "Are there any taxis or maybe Ubers that you know of that's available here?"

The stranger shakes his head. "Nope, but I'd be gladly to drop you guys off there."

"Wait, really?" You ask in surprise, looking at Jungkook with excited eyes. "That'd be really great!"

"Of course," he gleams. "I'm assuming you both need to get to your families for Christmas."

Jungkook and you exchange glances. "Something like that."

"I'll let my wife know and grab the keys."

"Thank you!" You call out, the door being left a crack open as you turn over with Jungkook with excitement. You're nearly about to squeal when Jungkook gives this uncertain look that throws your whole excitement out the window. "Alright, what's in your panties that got you in a twist?"  

"You really trust this guy?"

Your expression falls, shrugging. "He's got a car— unless you want to walk another who-knows miles on foot by yourself?"

"We can't trust everyone we meet, you know."

Ironic he said that. Your expressions falls as you narrow your eyes. "Says the one who trusted a winter elf."

Sure, pettiness could be drawn from tHe opens his mouth to make a riposte, but the stranger comes back with his keys and a coat over his shoulders.

"I'm Seokjin, by the way," he introduces himself as he unlocks the car, both you and Jungkook sitting the backseat. He turns the engine on, immediately turning on the heater that felt like cold air at first.

When he backs up out of the snow without the problem of getting stuck, you feel your body at ease as you finally realize that your plan was setting back on track.

Seokjin speaks up, apparently disliking the silence that you both elicited. "How did you guys get stranded?"

"Our bus left without us," you tell him. "It was his fault."

Jungkook gapes at your accusation. "Oh, nice, we're pointing fingers now?"

Couldn't help but laugh in return, you counterfeit a smile. "Can't deny it."

"You know, for a person to look so nice," Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "You're an absolute pain."

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee," you send a wink his way, immediately frowning afterwards. "Piss off, Jungkook."

"Love to, gingercake, but looks like we're stuck with each other for—"

And just then, Jungkook's voice trails off by the sonorous jolly laugh that comes from the man  in the front seat. You turn your attention to him, wondering why on earth he would be laughing. "Sorry. You both remind me of my wife and I."

"What?" Jungkook and you say in unison.

"We used to banter like that a lot."

To that, you snort. "Banter is an understatement. Can't help it when he's a walking idiot."

"And she's a headache in human form," Jungkook pipes in, to which you glare in return.

"Well, my wife used to call me dick for brains," he adds, a jolly chuckle following after as he reminisces his memory lane. "But, I guess I must have warmed up to her if she somehow let dick for brains marry her."

"Yeah, well, she's much more stubborn and colder than that. I don't even know her name."

"You don't?" His eyes peer in the rearview mirror to give us a glance.

"We just met. And besides," you reason, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "It's not important."

It really wasn't. Your name isn't really your identity when all you think about when you hear it is high expectations. If you let your name be known, everyone is bound to find out who you are and eventually— with word getting around— your mother will find out where you are running away to.

Sure, you could make up a fake name, but you'd be creating bridges even after this trip you know you're going to have to burn them.

He chuckles. "I remember my wife being that stubborn. She really wanted me to give up on her."

"I'm guessing you didn't," you observe.

"She was worth all the constant banters, I'll tell you that," he shakes his head. "Once, she didn't want to admit she was sorry for keeping us a secret from her friends and family. It took her three months of guilt to finally say sorry."

"Three months?" Jungkook ponders. Seokjin nods behind the wheel.  

"It took her time to tell her friends and family about us, but she eventually apologized."

"She must have been scared to want to hide it from them."

The idiot next to you snorts. "Or embarrassed."

"Scared," he answers. "Which is why I forgave her the day I found out about it."

"And you let her feel guilty for three months?"

"I knew she was sorry from the beginning. I just didn't think that the most adamant person in the world would even think of apologizing to me," he chuckles. "But hey, eventually she did."  

To that, Jungkook lets out a chuckle before he's making a trip around the roundabout, making a stop in front of a wide building.

"Here's your stop," he says, putting the car in park. "You two have a nice Christmas, alright?"

You smile at him. "You and your wife as well. Thank you again for helping us."

He shoots you a smile just before you close the car door. "Anytime."

When you hurry inside the bus station, you totally forget about the time until you see it on the massive clock built in the station, and you sincerely hope that the next bus ride to Brussels would be in the next 2 hours. Luckily, as you and Jungkook stood in line for awhile, you both get a ticket for the next bus to your destination which comes in the next twenty minutes.

And as you're trying to forage for remaining cash, you realize that you were short. Jungkook must have noticed this when he coolly steps up and gives his cash, paying for his and your ticket. You look at him, surprised, when they give two tickets to him.

"You didn't need to do that," you utter to him as he gives your ticket.

He shoots you a winning smile, a wink following after. "All you have to say is thank you."

The entire trip of having to hike down the woods was more exhausting than the plane ride to Milan that you couldn't help yourself when you fall asleep on the bus ride. Jungkook must have knocked out too when you wake up in the middle of a bus stop, head on his shoulder.

You think of the possible reason as to why he would be going to Brussels. After all, this whole trip was of him trying to ask questions of you, not the other way around. And it's not like you weren't interested— it wasn't your priority to get to know someone you won't end up knowing in the next week anyways.

Because like everything in the world, not everything is permanent.

You let your head fall onto his shoulder once more, basking in the comfort that will only last for so long.

Getting off the bus at your desired location, you both realize that it reached dusk, the sun had made its set and the night has become dark. It made a stop just nearby a grand area of colorful lights that intrigued you from afar.

You turn around to face Jungkook who stretches as he hops off the bus. Shooting tired smile your way, you decide to give one back.

"Do you want to go see what's over there?" You ask him, nodding your head towards the place that caught your attention.

His eyes flicker from what you were indicating to yours, a mischievous look painting over his former tired one before he angles his arm, in which you gladly take as you both make way to the bright, shining lights before you.

It doesn't take you long to realize that it's some sort of Christmas Market, as advertised by some of the posters that you saw on the way to the big area.

There were chatters and squeals and Christmas songs galore and despite the weather being cold and brisk, you felt warm.

Saying that there were colorful lights would be an understatement, when really, the Christmas Market looked like an utter theme park within itself. The tall, elongated buildings were decorated from head to toe and even the gazebos that gave shelter to those selling— it was all breathtaking.

It must have taken Jungkook's breath away too when you catch him eye goggling at the many fascinating attractions around him.

"So," you begin, ready to take your first bite from your waffle that Jungkook bought for you after he saw you eyeing it from afar. "Why did you want to come to Brussels?"

The questions surprises him, but his answer was responded with ease. "To start anew."

"Does it have to do with the whole success-running-in-family's-blood-besides-yours thing?"

"You could see it that way," he chuckles. "Or simply because life as it is now for me isn't exciting."

You give him a look, lowering your waffle. "You sound discontent."

"And you sound like you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Chuckling, you shrug. "Well, I'll just say that my trip isn't so much of a nice vacation."

"Hm, you sound tired of the life you have."

"Sounds like you know exactly what I'm talking about."

And with that, both of your words are left in the air as you both are walking down, side by side, down the streets of the brightly lit Christmas market, being thousands of miles away from home.

In your own thoughts, you think about the what if's. What if you didn't hear your parents talk about an arranged marriage for you? What if you actually were forced into it like everything you've ever done in your life? What if you're walking down the aisle to meet a man you haven't even said one word to? What if you end up not loving him?

This wasn't any type of romantic story where two strangers eventually fall in love through force, this is was an ending to your own story. Realistically, there's a chance that the person you're going to marry isn't the prince charming or the knight in shining armor that anyone would expect.

And there goes your life.

Gone and wasted, and not being able to give it a second chance.

However, you weren't letting that happen now— not at this moment in time.

"Do you think that such high expectations can be overbearing?" You ponder out loud, glancing at Jungkook who was a bit startled by your sudden question.

"A lot of the times," he responds. "Why? What type of high expectations are you being held to?"

"Doing something that I don't want to do," you state honestly. "That's why I came all the way here."

"Avoiding it?"

"You could see it that way."

"Can't avoid it forever," Jungkook says. Can't avoid it forever.

You don't think you've ever seen a light show— or at least not one against a building that brings people's jaws to the ground, so when you're watching it, you're absolutely mesmerized.

The lights were dancing and moving in a fluid motion, you were marveling each second of it.

There's a feeling in your chest. So bright and so merry, you finally understand why almost everyone loves Christmas. With your family either being busy during the holidays, you never realized that this is what you're supposed to feel like. Light and finally content.  

Gleaming up at Jungkook, you only smile wider when you realize you caught his eyes. "What is it?"

There was this ghost of a smile on his face that he hides. "Nothing."

You give him a nudge, smugly grinning at him. "It's a simple question."

When he hears you repeat his statement in target to him, he gives this smirk— and for once you're not looking away in irritation or giving him some snarky comment back because when his eyes flicker to your lips and back to your eyes, you knew what was bound to happen.

And you were inevitably going to let it.

Jungkook, with gentle hands, brings you to him, pressing his warm lips onto yours and it is as if you felt your entire body just melt. You move softly against his lips, savoring every bit, but your lips were not helping themselves when they curl into a smile.

He is warm. Like a mug filled with hot chocolate, he is a fireplace on a Christmas eve, and admittedly, you've never been this warm in the cold.

When he lets go, he's looking at you with eyes shaped as crescents. "You trust me enough to kiss you but not know your name?"

To that, you let out a joyous laugh, reaching up on your tip-toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll have you know that revealing your name is dangerous."

Jungkook scoffs, dropping his hands from your cheeks. "How dangerous could yours be?"

You bit back a smile at his subtle frustration, grabbing his falling hands and holding them in yours. "Very."

And all throughout the night, it was filled with cheer and excitement as Jungkook and you strolled around in the everlasting lights. Free samples and attractions at its finest, you both spent your time together forgetting you two had lives you're running away from.

And until your legs couldn't hold you up much longer, you had to go find a nearby motel for the night, forgetting that you had to leave early in the morning for a ferry.

Jungkook and you fought for paying for the room, but Jungkook, being charming in a revolting way, inevitably wins and chooses a room where you both end up with a fireplace and a king bed together.

Just before your eyes were closing, time spent with him was filled with giggles and laughter in the air. He tells you about this one story of how, one Christmas, he thought he saw Santa Clause, but it just his dad's friend dressed in a suit trying to climb chimney for his sake. The story makes you laugh, and though almost unbelievable, it makes you flutter your eyes close, reaching a deep sleep that you desperately needed.

That morning, you feel like a child on Christmas morning— even when Christmas isn't for the next week. You felt excitement twist in turn as curiosity has gotten the best of you that all you wanted to do was run downstairs and open the presents that Santa brought.

However, the feeling was fleeting— because even children soon realize that Santa isn't real. And that breaking feeling was because of reality that waves over you as your eyes fixate on the sun that peeked through the window.

Waking up to Jungkook next to you, lightly snoring, makes you feel all sorts of butterflies— something you haven't felt in such a long while. You feel almost giddy, knowing that there's someone there and it just happened to be him, but of course, you knew it wasn't going to last long.

Not wanting to leave without goodbye, you bring your hand to his arm, giving him a little shake as you wake him up. A smile creeping on your face as he groggily awakes, squinting at your active presence.

"Hey," you say quietly. "I have to go."

Go was what made him sit up in bed quickly. "What?" He asks, voice raspy.

"I have a ferry to catch," you say as he rubs his eyes. "I wasn't going to stay in Belgium."

"You weren't?" He frowns. "Where are you heading?"

"London," you reply and you watch as his tired face falls, sitting up straight. "It was nice. You know, meeting you and all."

He smirks at you. "The feeling's mutual."

To that, you smile. "Well," you shrug, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. It was the least you could do. "Merry Christmas, Jungkook."

"Wait!" He pulls your arm back when you pull away. Raising an eyebrow at him, he looks at you with hopeful eyes. "Not even a name?"

You think you'd owe him a name, but you shake your head. "Maybe the next time I see you," you bit back a smile. "But, no worries, I won't forget yours."

When you get to Hana's place in London, you're glad that you made it just in time before she left for Amsterdam. You were also glad that your duffel bag and backpack that were stranded in the bus that left without you was brought to Hana's after you filed a claim for your missing belongings at the bus station.

Hana welcomed you with an embrace, bombarding you with questions that you didn't have time to answer because she had to leave that night, but she made sure she had enough time to catch up with you. You don't tell her about the colossal, mad adventure you had with Jungkook and how he lingers in your thoughts, but instead you tell her about the good things you expect to happen in your time in London.

And before she left to the airport, she gives you a hug, wishing you all the best luck for the holiday season in exploring a city you haven't been to. While you had the house to yourself for less than 24 hours, you realized that all good things come to end.

Especially when you answer the door and your mother is on the other side, hands on her hips.

You completely froze seeing upon her arrival. "Mom, what are you... what are you doing here?"

Without a word, she barges in, sitting on the orange sofa that Hana owns, crossing a leg over her other as she looks at you with darting eyes. "You think I don't remember Hana moving to London? I knew after you took that trip to Greece that you would make a spontaneous trip to London knowing that Hana lives here, but I didn't expect it this soon— oh." Your mother points at you. "—You are something else."

Being yelled at by your own mother felt like a chore, so you calmly close the front door she walked through, walking over to her. "Mom, I don't want to get married."

Her eyebrows furrow together. "___."

"Look, I'm an adult. Most moms want you to focus on finishing college and being able to make a living for yourself, but no, my mom wants me to focus on being presentable— not to mention that she wants to give me away so quickly! And it's not even with a person I love."

"___—"

You shake your head, cutting her off. "You are not making me go back there and marry someone I don't know."

"Sweetheart," she begins before she stands up, searching for your eyes. "You ran all the way here just because you didn't want to get married?"

"I ran all the way here to live, Mom. I wanted to live and experience life without having to worry about what the media has to think about me. Or having to put on a fake smile knowing that I'm a CEO's daughter and the heiress and that if I mess up, that's on me."

Your mother frowns, but you can only shrug in response. "For once, I just wanted to live. Is that so bad?"  

Finally, you give her her turn. You hear her sigh, almost disappointingly, but if a little disappointment is what will give you what you need, then you can live with it. "Darling, I think then this is a good time to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

She lets out another sigh. "You're not really getting married."

You blink. "What?"

"You must have overheard your father and I when he were talking with Mr. Jeon, but we didn't want to tell you when we first arranged it."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not actually getting married," she enunciates. "You're having a wedding to look like you're married, but you don't have to go through with it."

You open your mouth in confusion, but immediately close it when your mother continues.

"In order for your father to establish this business proposal with Arua&Co., the CEO's grandfather needs the approval. By doing that, he needs a traditional reason as to have two major companies combine rather than a very good proposal, and that solution is a wedding."

"But, how—"

"Our loophole is that he specifically said he wanted a wedding, not a marriage— not to have both of our kids actually marry each other. So, if you're dressing up and looking as if you're getting married, you don't have to go through saying 'I do' if you don't want to."

"So you're not really giving my life to someone I don't know."

"That's sick," she full-heartedly scoffs. "I may expect a lot from you, ___, but this is just the one thing we really need you to do. After that day, you're still single as you want to be."  

"Really?"

"Yes, and..." Her voice trails off as you cock your head to the side. "I wanted to tell you this, but because you ran away so soon..." She pauses before she looks at you with a motherly gaze, one that you haven't seen in a long time. "I know that your father and I have a lot of expectations from you, but I know you're an adult. And you need to live your life." You felt your stomach clench. "If you want your freedom, I'll give it to you."

Your jaw nearly falls but she puts her finger up quickly. "With certain restrictions!"

"That's fine— anything!" Nearly squealing, your eyes widen with happiness. "You really mean that?"

"Yes, I'm tired of having to be dreaded by you— my own flesh and blood," your mother laughs. "So, you don't have to come to any of the events we go on. But you will go to the ones we need you to be there for. And you can leave without being monitored, just— shoot me a text from now on. I'm going to get a heart attack the next time you decide to go halfway across the country without letting me know," she says begrudgingly that you couldn't help but give her hug.  

A hug that was genuine. A hug that you haven't given her in a long time.

"Really?" You ask, voice muffled in the hug.

"Really. Merry Christmas, honey," she promises, basking into the hug. "Now, can we go home? After you shower? You smell the bus."

To that, you lightly chuckle, nodding. "Right, but— can I do one more thing?" You ask, pulling away to give her a sheepish look. "Can we go to Switzerland real fast?"

It was a long story of how he managed to be back here, but long story short, Jungkook is one day in Brussels having beer, and now his two best friends are helping him put on a suit.

"I told you running away from your problems is never a good idea," Namjoon says as tends to the cuffs of Jungkook's scarlet velvet suit. Namjoon, the always practical one, was not helping his dread at all on this day.

Jungkook, groaning, looks at himself in the mirror, never thinking that this is how he would be spending his Christmas eve. "I don't want to be here."

"Well, you are and you're going to marry the girl, whether you like it or not," Hoseok asserts, flipping carelessly through his magazine of interior design.

"Thanks," Jungkook says with a hint of sarcasm.

Namjoon chuckles. "You're gonna wanna say I do anyways. I just met her and she's actually really cool."

"It's just... weird. I've never met her in my life and now I'll be spending the rest of it with her," Jungkook states and immediately he thinks of you— the stubborn girl he doesn't know the name and now he's probably never going to find her and actually know her name. Not when he's going to be all over the media platforms after this wedding and you to find out that he's actually an heir to Arua&Co. and married to some girl who probably isn't as adamant, or pretty, or curious as you.

Namjoon shrugs. "Yeah, well. You'll form a bond somehow."

Jungkook looks up from his suit after hearing a bond. Mind immediately tracing back to what the witch— if she even is one— Evanora said: a wreath's bond.

It doesn't take long before Jungkook raises an eyebrow, recalling the moment of when he sat down at the table across from the stranger and next to the witch, stating some sort of phrase— a riddle.

"The day you will see two of me is the same day you won't need me unless you say you do— it's today," Jungkook speaks.

"Aw, shit. Great," Namjoon announces, letting go of Jungkook's cuff and tending to his own collar. "Jungkook's been in Europe too long he's saying some whack ass shit."

Hoseok chuckles, continuing to flip through his magazine. "I'm telling you, bro, Switzerland is fucking crazy."

"No, you guys. Two of me— she meant the rings— the wedding rings. You do— she meant saying I do. It's a wedding day. She must be here."  

"What," the man who finally looks up at his magazine cocks his head to the side. "Now you solve random riddles? What did they feed you in Brussels?"

Jungkook, without so little of a hesitation, gets out of the groom's room of the venue, running down the hallway to the grand venue of the warehouse of where the lights are all around, there are mistletoe hung, and all sorts of greens bringing color to the room. But what he was searching for was the most vibrant of it all— only to realize that he sees anyone but you.

And to himself, he scoffs, thinking of how foolish he could have been to actually believe a witch who possibly could not have been one in the first place.

The dress you wear is lace, from your sleeves to your shoulders. Usually, you'd complain about wearing sleeves on a wedding dress— hell, you'd complain about every little thing that isn't much an inconvenience just to piss your parents off for having a bratty daughter. From the wedding dress, to wedding makeup, to the bouquet, to the food— everything will seem just wrong to you— but having that certainty and approval to say no doesn't make you peep one dreadful word.

Admittedly, you liked the idea of having this wedding. It was like a trial run— and you didn't have to oblige to any commitment.

Your mother walks in on you as you had just put on a dress, hair curled, and light makeup— your mother looks at you so lovingly.

"You picked this dress out, huh?" You ask her and she scoffs.

"Only the best for my daughter," she smirks as she walks over to give you a hug. She wore a deep green dress paired with a fur shawl. "You look beautiful. Even if you're not actually getting married today."

To that, you laugh, shaking your head. "If I have to be a runaway bride, might as well look good doing it."

"That's the spirit," your mother smiles, taking one more look at you. "Are you alright?"

"Just preparing how to dramatically say I don't," you joke, earning a mood lightener in the air. "Is the wedding starting?"

Your mother nods. "Your father is waiting for you outside. Whenever you're ready."

It feels odd, truthfully. About to go marry someone you haven't even properly been introduced to yet, but you try not to think about it— because after all, you don't have to go through with it.  

As your arm is interlocked with your father's and you were holding red roses and ferns, you couldn't help but think that this was some sort of fairytale, only for one that you were going to run away from anyways. You think of this just as your father would— solely just business.

As you hear the wedding song play in the audible warehouse, you take a deep breath, your father, giving you a reassuring smile before he starts to take his steps.

Do brides normally feel queasy? No, what were you thinking— you're not actually a bride, and you're not actually going to be married.

Your reassurance in your head makes you feel calm until you're stopping at a spot from across the aisle, where everyone had stood from their seats, countless pairs of eyes staring at you, and only you. Time had froze, but that's not what's making you freeze altogether.

Because standing on the other aisle is Jungkook, the boy from the bus, the boy who went to Brussels who wanted to start anew, the boy who was so curious as to what your name was, the boy—

He was the boy he made you warm in the coldest of nights.

"You alright?" Your father whispers to you, snapping you out of your trance you realized you were in.

"Yes," you answer, eyes not tearing away from Jungkook's.

The person in the velvet suit, waiting for you is just as much in a shock as you are, eyes almost wide, and a look that almost seems like he's relieved to see you. As if he had found oxygen again.

From finally standing in front of him, to staring at him with surprised looks on your faces while the ceremony was taking place, to the very end, you had so many questions and had so many things to say, but couldn't. Instead, you stare at him, thinking what you could possibly say to him to be in this crazy coincidence.

"Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take ___ as your loving wife?"

"I do," he says, his eyebrows scrunching as that was his first time hearing your name. You almost want to snort out loud at how peculiar it is to first hear someone you've been dying to know's name at an alter— standing in front of you. And just immediately, it shakes you because just before, you were thinking of the many ways of how to say you don't, you're actually thinking of saying I do.

"Do you, ___, take Jeon Jungkook as your loving husband?"

The question, that you were so prepared to either say I don't or to runaway dramatically, was left in the air, as you pause. In that moment, you couldn't help but look at the crowd, expecting an answer that was almost obvious— but when looking at your mother for reassurance, she gives you this look and a shrug.

Only if you want to.

Eyes meeting back to Jungkook's chocolate ones, you take a deep breath.

"I do."

"Then Jungkook, you may now kiss the bride."

And there's this big grin you couldn't hide when you notice his little smug look before he's leaning in, recreating the night of when the lights were shining so bright and when just a single kiss could warm you up.

"___," he breathes your name out as if it were fresh air once he releases you from the kiss. "Not as dangerous as I thought."

You scoff, a smile growing. "Just you wait."

He gives you one more look before he kisses you once more, lifting you up from the ground. This time you kiss him harder, confused, yet grateful that this is how you two would meet again— right under your noses.

When he sets you down gently as a feather, he gives you one more look before you slowly both turn over to the crowd who were muted by the moment you had with Jungkook. There was clapping and there was screaming— and you don't even realize that Hyunjung crashes into you with the biggest hug.

"I'm sorry! I tried my best to divert your mom when she asked me if you were in London!" She says, nearly taking your life away as she squeezes you.

"It's fine, Hyunjung— just let me go," you beg, attempting to push her away. As she finally lets go, she gives you look from your eyes to the bottom of your dress.

"I didn't think you'd go through with it," she says, eyes almost tearing up. Rolling your eyes at her, you notice that your mother is walking up beside the nearly crying Hyunjung, an eyebrow raised.

"Neither did I," your mother intervenes. "Is it because he's good looking that you decided to say yes?"

Turning your head to look over at Jungkook who was being hugged and patted down by his groomsmen, you look back to your mother, a big smile painting your features.

"No, actually," you begin. "We know each other."

Your mother is surprised by your answer. "You do?"

"Yes," you smile, looking over at Jungkook. You don't tell her that he was the person who you were stuck with the whole day— the person who made you believe that you could actually live.

"I guess it all works out in the end, doesn't it?" Hearing your mother say that to Hyunjung, you smile to yourself before you're approaching Jungkook who had been waiting for you, and probably has been for awhile.

"I knew you'd be here."

"Really now?" You challenge.

"The day you see two of me is the day same day you say you do," he fluidly states causing you to open your moth amusedly. "A wedding day."

"So, you believe in witches now?"

"Not witches. But maybe just a little bit of magic," he laughs, before he grabs at your waist smoothly, guiding you down the aisle in which you both walk down it, the many people clapping for the newlyweds.

Once he reaches the end where the photographer was snapping pictures, he lets one hand rest at your waist and the other to cup your cheek. He's close, so tremendously close, that his lips only graze yours.

"___," he breathes out with a smirk. "I'm never going to stop saying your name."

And when he kisses you, you feel warm all over again.

[renaroo]

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (6/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring.

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined.

A/N: My gosh we are so close to completing this thing! Just two chapters left, hard as it is to believe!

And of course a wonderful thanks to @shibascarf, @babybatbrat, @bibliofilariidae, @mcbangle, @secretlystephaniebrown, arouraleona, and boopinbabbit for your lovely feedback and support!

Michelle Carter

“God, I’m such an idiot sometimes!” Michelle hisses to herself, feet stomping down the corridor toward Rani’s room.

Her conversation with Ted Kord is still rattling around in her skull and she can’t tell what half of her she’d like to strangle more — the overly sharing side unable to keep a coherent secret or the crude and cryptic mistress of time she feels no right to even claiming.

Coming to a stop mid-stride, Michelle closes her eyes and lets her shoulders droop. She tilts her head back with a sigh. “No wonder Rip and Mikey trust me with next to nothing other than babysitting duty,” she groans. “Throw one little moment of emotional conflict and I utterly lose those salutatorian's brains.”

Opening her eyes, she looks toward Rani’s still distant room and feels a wave of conflict and shame that hasn’t pestered her in a while. But this is the feeling she should be used to by now — it’s just like their father used to always say when he bothered to be around.

“Been playing second best to nothing since the womb, huh, Michelle?” she mutters under her breath. “Could place second in a game of solitaire.”

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, steeling herself for a smiling face and positive disposition when a single voice knocks the wind out of her lungs yet again.

“What’s solitaire?” Rani’s tiny voice questions.

Michelle blinks in surprise just before Rani’s mousy haired head pops out from her room’s doorway.

Despite herself, despite everything, Michelle manages a softer and more genuine smile than the one she has been building up to and shakes her head slightly. “A really boring card game,” she answers easily. “Should have known better than to think you would be asleep.”

Skeets, the ever unhelpful bot, hovers out from Rani’s room and bops in the air. “It would have been an unlikely scenario even in the most forgiving of circumstances, Michelle! Which, unfortunately for us, the last twenty-four hours or so have not been.”

“Try the last twenty-nine years for some of us, Skeets,” Michelle jokes, closing the distance of the hallway and scooping Rani into her arms with a simple bow.

“That is much too small to be your correct chronal age, Michelle—“

“Skeets, shush,” Michelle snaps as she enters the bedroom. “Or I’ll give you to Batman to dissect. Again.”

“Three experiences too many, I will heed the warning,” Skeets banters back.

As they enter Rani’s room, Michelle slows her approach to Rani’s bed and adjusts her hold on the younger child. Her thoughts are nearly as heavy as Rani is getting as she lives and ages with them. It’s not going to be long before picking her up isn’t an option for Michelle or Michael.

“Are you going to make me go to bed?” Rani asks critically.

“Eventually,” Michelle admits, turning to sit on the edge of the bed while still keeping her grip on Rani. The girl sits easily in her lap and leans away, giving enough space for them to look into each other’s eyes. “We need to have a talk about everything that’s happened first.”

Rani’s cheeks grow slightly pale and she squirms uncomfortably. “Oh,” she says. “I think I’d rather sleep.”

“Well, that’s tough, kiddo, probably should have put yourself to bed before I got over here then,” Michelle jokes, poking at Rani’s stomach playfully.

In response, Rani turns and twists, but the enthusiasm is slow and dull compared to Rani’s usual behavior.

It’s one of many signs Michelle, Michael, and Rip have learned to pay careful attention to with Rani. She is a sensitive little girl, and her traumas are numerous. When she’s not bopping around she’s almost assuredly in some state of regressive isolation or pure shock.

Watching the man she loves as a father get beaten to a pulp by an evil man they have encountered before is, at the very least, a trigger. Michelle can be certain of at least that much.

“Rani, listen to me,” Michelle says, firmly but without any heat to it. It’s enough to draw Rani’s wide eyes to her. “We love you, and we want the best for you. You know that, right?”

After a moment of clear confusion, Rani manages a small nod.

“Good, because we do,” Michelle reinforces. “And we know you love Rip and want to find him. We do too! But you are a very little girl and this is a very dangerous multiverse we live in. You absolutely cannot, under no circumstances, leave Time Lab without either Mikey, myself, or Rip.”

“I had Skeets,” Rani says quickly.

On instinct, Michelle turns her head to acknowledge Skeets’ floating presence. She immediately turns her eyes back on Rani but it’s a moment too late as Skeets already feels acknowledged.

“Young Rani does have quite an argument on that account,” Skeets says supportively.

“Yes, Skeets, you did a great job,” Michelle says with a roll of her eyes that threatens to continue right out of her sockets. “What were you even doing allowing any of this, Skeets? Aren’t you programmed with safety protocols and whatnot?”

“Yes I am, Michelle, however, there are no proper babysitting protocols. And while I advised against rash action, it was best to make do with the situation at hand,” Skeets returns promptly. “Might I point out, this is not far off from my calculations when dealing with your brother.”

There isn’t much she can give to deny that fairly abundant fact so Michelle releases a groan instead. “Why can’t anything just be simple?”

Rani squirms and meets Michelle’s gaze. “Please don’t be mad at Skeets, Michelle,” Rani pleads. “It’s my fault. I just wanted to find Boppy, and he did leave me a message.”

Michelle feels her chest tighten and she squeezes her grip on Rani sadly. “We all want Rip back, Rani, believe me.”

“In further defense of both Rani and myself,” Skeets spoke up, hovering closer to eye level with Michelle, “following clear instructions left by Rip Hunter is often an important and practical step for all of us here in the Time Lab. And those newly chalked directions were fairly direct considering the usual clues.”

Blinking, Michelle thinks it over.

“That’s… actually pretty true, Skeets,” Michelle remarks thoughtfully. “And it did lead to saving Ted… and getting a bunch of us almost killed, but definitely the saving Ted part.” She presses her lips together, still deep in contemplation. “But even then there wasn’t any sign of Rip, even when Michael was almost certainly in trouble. And that’s not like Rip at all. I can’t even count on my hands and toes how many times, when Mike’s taken too much, Rip has shown up and tipped the scales for him. It’s almost his signature at a certain point.”

Following the conversation, Rani draws her own brows together in concern. “Michelle, you don’t think Boppy wrote the message? But who did? I’m the only one who’s ever written on the board before… and Boppy made me switch to making my unicorns and butterflies on paper so I don’t do that anymore.”

Sighing, Michelle shifts Rani’s weight to her other knee. “I’ll be honest, honey, I’m not sure yet what exactly I think about anything.”

Rani’s bottom lip puckers out as she studies Michelle carefully. “If we don’t know what’s going on, how do we know I did the wrong thing?” she asks pointedly.

“No, no, missy, you’re not philosophizing out of this one,” Michelle stops her quickly. “This isn’t a matter of right or wrong at the moment, it’s a matter of keeping you and everyone else safe so that we can all be together again as a big, happy family. And if you’re flying around to random times and places without us, we can’t do that. Because I know for me and Mike, losing you is the absolute worst thing imaginable these days, and I’m not going to let it happen. Okay, girlie?”

While she ducks her head down to avoid Michelle’s gaze, a coy smile finds its way to Rani’s face. She knows when Michelle says these things that she’s speaking from the bottom of her heart. She has to know by now.

And if she does, considering the emotional mess Rani was when she first came into their lives, maybe that means they’re doing something right after all.

When Rani breaks the silence again, it’s with a deceptively simple question. “Is Ted Kord now in our family? Like Boppy?”

Thinking about it, Michelle takes a breath and then leans back. “I honestly don’t know what’s in store with those two, Rani, love,” she admits. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon. Either because Michael and he need to sort things out or because of the whole… assassination stuff. That makes it kind of difficult to picture this arrangement ending too fast.”

Before Rani can respond, there is a loud shout followed by laughter.

“Welp, that’s the nose, and no sounds of murder,” Michelle jokes. Rani looks at her questioningly so she rubs her shoulders. “What I mean is, things are definitely looking like we can be expecting to see more of the former Blue Beetle.”

“Okay,” Rani nods. “And if he’s family, then Boppy will be okay with him staying here, like me, so that’s good.”

Michelle has a hard time arguing with Rani’s peculiar logic on that accord.

That is until Michelle looks over and notices the little girl is still furrowed in thought, her eyes darting back and forth as if she’s reading something on her room’s wall. Then, looking at Michelle cautiously, Rani asks, “If he’s not family… how is Black Beetle able to always get in and out of Time Lab? Or write on the board, if it’s him?”

If Rani hadn’t always been so innocent and young, Michelle thinks the questions would have been laced with more accusations. It’s already enough to make Michelle’s heart seize.

They are, after all, very good questions.

Playing up to the role of an adult, Michelle looks toward Skeets instead. “Skeets… how is all of this stuff possible from Black Beetle?” she asks, more worry in her voice than she intends to let on.

For once, Skeets’ response is not immediate and overly explanatory. The droid hovers, a strangely ominous look to his screen in the wrong lighting.

“Apologies, Michelle,” Skeets says in a flat and altogether unapologetic tone. “Information about my scans and records for Rip Hunter and Black Beetle are blocked as of update two-two-seven-dash-eleven-dot-thirteen. Courtesy of Rip Hunter.”

“What?” Michelle asks, aghast.

“Why would Boppy do that?” Rani asks again, only now her pointed questions are accented by the shake of Time Lab’s very infrastructure itself.

The little girl in her lap screams and throws herself into a fit before Michelle can even blink. She can’t draw a single coherent thought before leaping to her feet, Rani in tow, and looking at Skeets.

“I am receiving an intruder alert!” Skeets says loudly, a red exclamation popping up on his screen.

“You useless, toaster!” Michelle sputters in frustration. “Tell me where this is coming from!”

“I believe it does not require much deductive reasoning,” Skeets answers, following Michelle through the door and out into the corridor, “to assume that the laboratory is the most likely option!”

She would die before admitting it out loud, but Michelle knows that Skeets is right. She turns on her heels and takes off to follow the continuing noises of clattering and shaking.

Their home is under attack, their family, everything they still have of their old world and time — and Michelle cannot be nearly as upset with that as she is with the haunting premises that Rani and Skeets have given her.

Black Beetle or not, the real attack is on the understanding Michelle has had of their everything in the last few congruent years. And as much as she wants Rip Hunter safely back with them, she needs a serious word with him about that alone.

[sunlightdances]

Killing the Space in Between

Title: Killing the Space in Between Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Words: 2,514. Rating/Warnings: No real warnings. Rated PG. Summary: The theme for this challenge is “nostalgia”, so here’s my take on it: this takes place after Civil War, but Bucky doesn’t go to Wakanda right away. The gang's all healing together. Enter our Reader. Prompt: “Are we on a date right now?” Author’s Note: Written for @whirlybirbs​’ Endgame Fic Challenge! Thanks for hosting, Hope! I love your writing and am so pumped you’re gonna be reading something of mine. Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, Bucky Barnes, or any other characters/plots from the MCU. I don't own the song “Closer to You” by Carly Pearce, which inspired the title. I also don’t have any knowledge about Manhattan, so please suspend your disbelief for this fic, please and thanks. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission! This includes AO3 and Wattpad. Reblogs are fine and encouraged, tbh!

Bucky Barnes has sweaty palms.

Well, one sweaty palm. He would chuckle at his own joke if he wasn’t so nervous, glancing down to where you’re practically pressed against him on the train.

The train lurches as it comes screeching to a stop, and he grits his teeth as you sway against him, sending him an apologetic smile as he automatically wraps an arm around your shoulder, steadying you.

God. He’d be ready to flee if you weren’t so nice and so warm and looking at him-- oh. You’ve been talking, he realizes, and he feels so off kilter. He can’t stand it, but sort of in a good way.

“Sorry,” his voice is gruff even to his own ears. “What did you say?”

“I was just saying thanks for agreeing to come with me. I know you don’t like crowds.”

But I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. “Sure, it’s no problem.” He makes a face at himself when you’re not looking. That’s all he could come up with? God. Sam is never going to let him hear the end of this. Steve either, for that matter. If word gets back to them about what an awkward idiot he turns into around you, he’s finished.

He’s still a little unclear on where you’re taking him, but he jumped at the chance to get out of the Tower for a day. It’s a little suffocating there. He knows everyone is trying to help him, but there’s still too much tension between he and Stark, and Steve’s-- he’s trying his best.

It’s hard for Bucky to know he’s disappointing his oldest friend every day he can’t pretend to be the man he was when they were in their twenties. He’s seen too much. He’s not the same person, and he knows part of Steve is always going to wish for that version of Bucky.

When Steve found him in Budapest, he barely had two weeks of being relatively back in his own head before he had to fight for his life, for the life he wanted to have.

You were there too.

A year ago…

Steve is banging on the door, Bucky’s right arm locked in his tight grip. Bucky feels woozy, he feels like his brain is being pulled apart. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder and curses under his breath before knocking again, this time harder.

The door is pulled open. You’re there, hair disheveled, a bruise blooming on your cheek and a cut on your temple. “Sorry- had to check.” You say, and then you’re ushering Steve and Bucky inside.

There are no introductions, not really.

Steve is semi-panicking. Bucky might not have a solid grasp on Steve anymore, but he can read the tension radiating off the other man.

“I need to hide him here. No one knows about this place.”

“Stark?”

“It’s his tech. That’s why I need you to stay here. He shouldn’t look for him here, but that’s the least of our problems. Someone’s tailing him - they think he set off the bomb. I’ll set the alarm when I leave--”

“Leave?!” Your voice is high pitched, “Steve--”

“I have to try.” He steps closer, voice low. It’s clearly not meant for Bucky to hear, but he does anyway. “He saved my life. We took some fire at the apartment -- he wouldn’t have done that if he was still trying to kill me and everyone else.”

You look wary, but nod. “Okay. Okay. I-- Steve, Tony’s serious about this.”

“I know.” His voice is firm, but Bucky can tell Steve’s more upset and rattled than anything else. “I have to go figure out what to do next. The only other person I want you to let through this door is Sam.”

Bucky is overwhelmed. Too many names, too much going on inside his head to make sense of. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just-- keep him comfortable.” Another step closer. Definitely not meant for Bucky to hear, “Keep your gun on you always. Don’t go anywhere without it. Don’t let your guard down.”

You swallow hard, but you don’t look scared. Bucky finds himself wanting to smile as he watches you roll your shoulders back and straighten, determined.

“Be safe, Cap.”

A squeeze of your shoulder and an indecipherable look back at Bucky, and then Steve is gone.

A few uncomfortable seconds pass before you look at him, clearly nervous but trying to hide it. “Are you hurt?” You ask, and Bucky’s knees feel weak.

When is the last time someone asked him that?

“I--” His voice is weak, rough with disuse. “I don’t know.”

“I’m a nurse,” you tell him. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but if something’s hurt, you should let me help. We might be stuck here awhile.”

His heart is hammering. He’s-- he feels fear, and he’s not used to that. He’s used to not feeling much at all. But you’re-- the kindness in your eyes is sending him spiraling. He’s afraid what he might do. He shakes his head, almost violently.

“Okay,” your voice is soft, placating, “Okay. I won’t touch you. We’ll just wait here for Steve, okay?”

Now

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever know how much of a help you were to him that day. You never did anything without his permission, but you stayed close. You respected his boundaries, and you kept an eye out for him, for any sign it was all becoming too much.

When Steve and Sam came back, it was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to him. They were on the run. There was a rogue Hydra operative trying like hell to unleash the Soldier everywhere they went.

He had to face the truth about the Starks. The fight with Tony.

But in the end, Steve offered him a home, a place to recover. That meant he had to face his past, though. He didn’t want to. He didn’t trust himself, or anyone else, even Steve.

But you were there too. You helped, and Steve’s friendship never wavered. Soon he had a tentative friendship with Natasha too, forged by a shared past that they both never liked to speak about. He had a weird, wonderful new alliance with Sam.

And you. You were-- he doesn’t want to put a name to what he’s feeling, because it’s too much, and he’s not ready for that yet. Not yet.

He forces himself back to the present.

You both walk in comfortable silence down the street, and Bucky’s so, so tempted to let his hand bump into yours, weave your fingers together, hold on tight and just let himself drown in the comfort he feels when he’s with you.

You look lovely in the early winter morning - you’re bundled up in a puffy coat, a scarf wound around your neck, and a knit hat on your head. He wants to memorize all the details of this morning and keep them locked away, so he can revisit them whenever he’s feeling lost.

“I thought we’d check this out-- the exhibit is-- I don’t know. I thought it might help.” You say, bringing his attention to where you are. The New York Historical Society. “Two of Brooklyn’s golden boys… it’s a wonder they didn’t dedicate the entire museum to the both of you.” You say, smiling, talking about him and Steve.

Bucky smiles but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he deserves to be remembered like this.

He follows you into the museum, trying not to scowl at everyone who turns and looks in his direction, some with awe on their faces, some with clear trepidation. You insist on paying his admission, even when he protests, but the sparkle in your eyes won’t be denied.

If he wasn’t so anxious, he’d actually be really enjoying this. He’s always liked learning and history in general, and there’s so much he’s missed - he could spend hours here and never know enough.

He can tell when you’re close to the exhibit. You walk a little closer, a little slower, chewing on your bottom lip. “If you get freaked out, just say the word,” you say over your shoulder, leading him on. “We’ll get out of here the minute you say so.”

He clears his throat. “I trust you.” He says. And it’s the truth. You look momentarily surprised, but try to hide it. You’re adorable.

The exhibit is everything he hoped it would be and nothing like he expects all at once. It’s similar to the one Steve’s taken him to in Washington. It’s a little overwhelming - the music, the voiceovers… the photos. His memories come to him in flashes, more now that he’s recovering.

The exhibit with the uniforms is startling. He knows they’re replicas. Whatever happened to his blue coat after he fell… he doesn’t want to know. But seeing it there, seeing all of them there, the Commandos… it’s a lot. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional. But he misses them. He has flashes of laughing around a fire, of the ear-splitting sound of artillery and the adrenaline of making it out of a fight, the relief of seeing his friends alive and well.

He’s aware of your eyes on him.

You try to act like you’re looking at other exhibits, giving him space and time to take everything in at his own pace, but it’s the opposite of what he wants right now. He wants you right there beside him, he wants to grip your hand, he wants you to tell him that he’s done alright with his life, that none of this is his fault, that--

“Hey.” Your voice interrupts the beginnings of what he suspects would have been a panic attack. “Doing okay?”

He looks down at you. “Yeah.” His voice is thick with unshed tears. “I think this is enough for one day,” he says gently, still not used to saying what he’s feeling or drawing boundaries for himself. “Can we--”

“Let’s get something to eat.” You say immediately, brightly, your enthusiasm drawing the dark clouds away.

“I feel like you had ulterior motives for getting me out of the Tower,” he says, elbowing you gently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim, and he laughs. It feels-- going from feeling this unavoidable sadness to cracking jokes with you… he can’t put it into words how it makes him feel. Light. Unburdened. Happy.

.

.

.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t think he’s being dramatic when he says this is the best meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life.

He’s got the biggest slice of pizza, and you. You’re across from him, smiling as he tells you about the stupid shit he and Steve used to get up to in their Brooklyn neighborhood, your head propped up in your hand as you hang on his every word.

This is-- it’s a day he never dreamed he would have.

He knows he still has to face the music in terms of his recovery. There’s the trigger words, and whatever other shit they put in his head that he’s got to find a way to get a hold on. But he feels better knowing he actually has people on his side that want to help him.

Steve’s been talking about the Avengers. About Bucky, and having a place for him there, for as long as he wants one. He’s been talking about helping people, saving people… it seems like a dream.

And then there’s you.

You’re always there, eyes shining like diamonds, a bright smile there to greet him whenever he comes into a room. If you were ever afraid of him, you hid it well. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than he is for meeting you, your friendship, and your gentle affection.

He wants to-- he wants to tell you things. He wants to say things to you that are probably too much, too soon, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to tell you that his heart beats faster when you’re around. He wants to tell you that he thinks about you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, eyes on your plate as you grab another slice.

“Are we on a date right now?” He blurts, and immediately regrets it. Your wide eyes meet his, and god, he wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry--”

“Do you-- do you want it to be a date?” You ask, sounding a little nervous yourself, and Bucky can feel the spirit of his mother practically smacking him in the back of the head for being such an idiot.

But the truth? He does want this to be a date. He’s scared as hell. But still, he wants it.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” You ask, not waiting for him to answer. Letting him off the hook.

He nods.

“I have the biggest crush on you.” There’s a blush on your cheeks and you duck your head, and Bucky has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life. “I know this is the worst timing -- you’re still going through so much, and I’m so happy just to be in your life--”

“I--” He interrupts you, not even sure what he wants to say, but knowing he can’t let you think that he doesn’t want you. “I like you.” He admits, and can hear Steve’s snort of amusement in his head. He’s Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. And he tells you he likes you?!

That blush is still there on the apples of your cheeks though, so he takes it as a good sign. “I’m not… sure how to do this anymore. It’s been awhile.” He says, wry, and beams at you when you laugh in return. “I just know that I like the way I feel when I’m with you.”

You reach for his hand across the table, slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he wants to. He absolutely doesn’t.

“I feel that way about you, too.” You tell him. “We-- we can go as slow as you want. We don’t even have to do anything else besides this.”

“I can think of a few other things I’d like to do.” Bucky replies quickly, and there he is. The James Buchanan Barnes he thinks he was once, the one who was confident and sure.

“That was terrible,” you say, but the smile on your face is worth it. He thinks he’d do anything to see you smile like that more often. Your face and your voice softens, “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

On the way home, there’s absolutely no space between the two of you as you walk to the train station, hands clasped tightly together. No space between you on the train either, one of his arms slung around your shoulders as you sit.

He’s going to walk you to your room tonight, but he won’t kiss you. Not yet. He’ll save that for another day.

One day at a time, he thinks. One day at a time.

.

.

There's a diamond sky that's waiting for us just outside of town With the moon hanging for me and you, baby We can cut the headlights out when there ain't no one else around Kill the space in between, slide across that leather seat Heart to heart, face to face, you know all I wanna do Is get closer, closer, closer to you

[theycallmebeccawrites]

One Shot: Crossing Lines

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: Crossing Lines

Pairing: Chris x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: language, descriptive sex scenes

Summary: Chris’s best friend comes over to his place following an awful, ended early, first date

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

This story can also be read on AO3

You’re bored out of your mind as you sit across the table from another awful date; this time with a guy you met on a dating site. You’d found him funny online, but there is nothing funny about the cocky asshole now.

“Excuse me,” you say, standing up, suddenly. “I need to visit the lady’s.”

You tuck your wallet purse under your arm and make your way across the restaurant to where the restrooms are. That’s when you run into her; a woman dressed in all black and wearing large black sunglasses the hide her eyes.

“You should leave,” she says, stepping in front of you. “That man you’re with is my husband.”

“What?” You’re taken aback by her words, but then you realize it gives you an out from the worst date of them all. “Sorry, he didn’t say anything. Consider me gone.”

You pass her and go into the kitchen, hoping the fact that the owner’s cousin is one of your best friends will allow you to slip out through the alley. You bypass the dish pit and are almost to the alley door when the owner of the restaurant calls your name.

Turning around, you expect him to be mad, but instead he is holding a pizza in a to go box. “You looked miserable out there,” he says, holding out the pizza box. “I don’t blame you for ditching him.”

“Thanks,” you reply, not wanting to reveal the real reason you’re sneaking out through the kitchen. Judging by the loud voices and a sudden sound of breaking dishes from the dining room, he’ll figure it all out soon enough.

While he leaves to find out what’s going on, you exit the restaurant and walk around the block to your car, very glad you hadn’t taken the asshole up on his offer to pick you up for your date.

After getting into the car and starting it, you tell Siri to call Chris.

“Hello?” his voice greets you seconds later.

“You busy tonight?” you ask, thankful once again for the Bluetooth enabled stereo he’d given you for Christmas last year.

“I thought you had a date.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Just tell me,” he says. “You went to my cousin’s place, right? I’ll hear about it anyway.”

“I’m certain you will,” you reply with a sigh. “Fine. The short version is his wife showed up.”

“What the fuck! That bastard was married!”

“And boring as hell,” you reply. “I left the table to go to the bathroom and his wife met me in the hallway to tell me to get lost.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “This is why you shouldn’t go on those stupid dating sites.”

“How the hell do you suggest I meet guys then?” you ask. “The guys in Boston won’t date me, my dad, my brother and my grandfather are all cops.”

“Maybe you should add that to your profile then.”

You choose to ignore his suggestion and return to your original question, “So, are you busy tonight?”

“Nope. Just hanging out in my apartment.”

“Can I come over? Your cousin gave me a pizza.”

“I’ve got a fridge full of beer and other stuff.”

“I’ll be there in five,” you reply then hit the ‘end call’ button.

A few minutes later, you arrive at his building and take the parking spot of someone leaving. You grab the pizza box and then head up to his apartment, where he is waiting for you in the doorway.

“You look hot tonight,” he says not even trying to hide the fact he is checking you out.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” you reply, taking in his relaxed look of a black t-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans.

He takes the pizza box from you and then leads you into the large, loft apartment that he owns even though he usually spends his time in Boston at his mom’s house.

“So how did I get lucky and find you here tonight?” you ask as you kick off the heels you’d worn.

“My oldest nephew is having a sleepover,” he replies. “I was there earlier, but it was just too much for me and I told my mom I was staying here tonight.”

“Just wait until your niece is old enough to have sleepovers,” you tease.

“I grew up with sisters, I plan to be far, far, far away when that happens,” he states as he puts the pizza box on a kitchen counter. “I have no interest in being tied to a chair so girls can give me a makeover. Been there, done that, don’t need to do it again.”

“Your mom would have pictures of that hidden away somewhere, wouldn’t she?” you ask innocently as you open the box and grab a slice of pizza.

“Probably, but she won’t share them,” he says giving you a ‘don’t even think about it’ glare before opening the fridge and grabbing two beers.

“Maybe not with a stranger, but I’ve been your best friend for -”

You stop talking when you find yourself pressed into the counter by his hard body. Your lick your lips and swallow as your eyes move up his chest and to his handsome face.

“We’ve crossed certain lines in our twenty-five year friendship,” he says, his voice lowering in tone. “But there are still others that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“You’re right,” you say, trying hard to ignore the hardness that is pressed against your lower belly.

He remains pressed against you for another second before he backs off and grabs the pizza box.

You follow him over to the black leather couch and take a seat. He puts the pizza box on the coffee table then drops into the spot next to you. He grabs the bottle opener off the coffee table and pulls the lids off both beers then holds one out to you.

You finish your first slice of pizza and grab a second as he turns on his TV and quickly navigates through different menus. You don’t pay much attention until you see him hit play on “Pretty Woman”, one of your favorite movies.

“We can watch something else,” you tell him.

“You’ve had a shitty night,” he replies as he leans forward and grabs two slices of pizza then stacks them on top of each other.

Having had your fill of pizza, you lean against him and smile when he wraps one of his arms around you. You stay interested in the movie until the scene where Julia Roberts’ character goes down on Richard Gere’s character. It is then that you feel the heat of Chris behind you, feel the way his body feels against yours and remember the hardiness you felt in the kitchen.

“Are you dating or almost dating anyone?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

His eyes meet yours and he shakes his head then verbally answers, “No. No one.”

That’s all the invitation you need since you two had decided last Christmas that you could handle being friends who occasionally fucked. No longer interested in the movie, you turn your body towards him and bite your lower lip before leaning in to him.

His mouth meets yours halfway and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. You love kissing him, because he treats it as an artform; one in which he is well-skilled, or rather, well-practiced because, if you’re being honest, the first kiss the pair of you shared at age 12 was a sloppy mess.

You feel his large hands slide down your back to grab hold of your ass and you allow him to guide the slow, rocking movements of your lower body into his. Then his fingers grab the bottom hem of your dress and pull it up so you’re panty covered sex is pressed directly into the rough denim covering his hard cock.

Pulling away from him, you lean back and locked your eyes to his as you take control of the movements of your hips. He smiles back at you with dilated pupils before shifting without any warning.

You find yourself on your back and staring up at him as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his sculpted torso to your hungry eyes. You can’t help but reach out to touch him, but quickly find your hands being guided, by his, down to the fastenings of his jeans. You quickly undo them then watch as he pulls them down, freeing his hard cock in the process.

As he stands up to remove his jeans, you hurriedly take off your dress and drop it onto the floor, leaving yourself in a black push-up bra and lacy black panties. Your eyes meet his as he lowers himself onto the couch and you bite your lower lip as you undo the front clasp on your bra. His eyes drop to your breasts as you unveil them to him. He licks his lips and then leans down over you.

You arch your back, offering your breasts to him as his mouth finds one and his large hand finds the other. The little hairs of his beard tickle your sensitive skin and his velvety tongue quickly soothes the occasional irritation. He proves his mouth and tongue are skilled in more than just kissing as he makes his way from one breast to the other, showering the skin of your chest and torso with the same attention he does your nipples and breasts.

Heat pools between your legs as he continues his journey down your body and you ache to feel him buried inside of you, but you know he’s going to make you wait. You jump as his fingers touch your through the fabric of your panties and you press your body against him. You glare at him as he smirks back at you while teasing your through the lacy material.

Finally, you feel his fingers on the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips to allow him to remove them. Your eyes follow his hand as he drops the offending fabric on to the floor and then you cock your eyebrow as he grabs the edge of the coffee table and pulls it your direction. Then he places one of your feet on the table, effectively opening your most intimate parts for his viewing.

And view he does. His eyes study your folds and you blush. He licks his lips and then bounces his eyes up to yours to wink at you. Then he begins with delicate, irritatingly deliberate touches to your inner thighs, teasing you.

“Chrisssssss,” you whine.

He teases a little longer before those long, slender fingers finally touch you where you need it the most. Your eyes close as he works you over, slipping his digits through your folds and you arch you back as one of his fingers, slickened by your juices, slides into your sex. Your hips naturally rise and fall in sync with the movements of his hands and you cry out in disbelief when he pulls out.

Then his mouth is on you and your grab hold of his strong, muscular shoulder as his tongue becomes intimate with your sex. Your cries fill the loft as he brings you to the edge of your release and then over the edge, leaving you panting and jello-limbed.

You open you eyes and see him smiling cockily at you as he licks his lips. He’s leaning back on his knees and palming his hard cock, his intentions clear. He gives you another minute to regain your composure before he moves his pointer finger in a circle motion, signalling for you to roll over.

Smiling, you lower your leg from the table and then sit up. You slide your bra off your shoulders, dropping it onto the floor and then you turn around, positioning your knees on the edge of the couch and facing the back of the couch.

You feel one of his hands grab your waist as his other guides his cock into your folds in a single thrust. He gives you a moment to adjust to his girth before his other hand grabs your waist. Your hands cling to the back of the couch as he slides in and out of you, each thrust increasing with speed.

At some point his hands end up on your ass, clinging to your soft cheeks as he slams into you repeatedly. His grunts mingle with your cries and you find yourself biting the throw blanket that is draped over the back of the couch as another orgasm tears through your body. You feel him stiffen behind you and his body jerk as he cums inside of you.

Weak kneed, he pulls out of you and collapses on to the couch, pulling you into his arms in the process.

You wake up sometime later and find yourself enveloped in his arms. The TV has long since turned itself off and at some point Chris has covered you both with the blanket. You snuggle yourself into his chest and breath in his scent that both turns you on and makes you feel at peace and, most importantly, at home.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you can feel his heartbeat and you can’t help but wish that the two of you couldn’t change your “friends with benefits” status into a boyfriend/girlfriend one. You’re not sure when it happened, but you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.

“You think too loud.” His low tone sends vibrations through your body. “Go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You’re not sure you can go back to sleep and then you feel it, his hand on the small of your back. You feel one of his fingers drawing something, but you can’t tell what it is at first. Then he repeats it.

He draws a horizontal line then a vertical line and followed by a second horizontal line.

The letter “I”, you realize.

Your heart pounds as he redraws the second object and you quickly recognize as a heart.

Then he draws a horse shoe like shape that you interpret as the letter “U”.

Then he draws on final thing, two vertical lines in rapid succession. It takes you a minute and then you realize he’s drawn the Roman numeral for the number 2.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

You pull your head away from his chest and look up at him. He stares back at you and then winks at you before closing his eyes. You resettle yourself against his chest, doubting that sleep will come, but you find yourself drifting off as you listen to his breathing slow.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[babyboyoonie]

Do you do requests..? :o Can I ask for a teacher/student forbidden relationship? But like.. Yoon is the student?

Sure anon ❤️❤️❤️

Disclaimer: since I have to remind people so often I’ll leave this here. This is fiction. Don’t take it seriously. Appreciate our works and our way to love the boys and next pls. 🤧

Here we go!

Hoseok tastes butterscotch on the tip of his lips; imagines the aroma of cherries all over his taste buds as he yearns for a forbidden fruit too far away for even a glimpse of their pretty face.

“You do realize it’s like, your last night as a free man right?”

Suho’s dramatic voice cuts Hoseok’s delusions of bleached blond locks on his pillow and petite hips between his hands, for him to grab, to manhandle however he desires. Hoseok’s so fucking pathetic, God.

He huffs out a breath, chuckles low in his throat and kicking his friend in the shin.

“I just love how you make it seem like the dude’s getting married. We all know Seok—he’s gonna party even though he has morning classes to teach.”

Junhong knows him way too well for Hoseok’s liking. Chances are that he also caught the mooning looks Hoseok’s been throwing the petite figure that’s been sitting at the corner of the club. Little flower seemingly protected by a bunch of men that throw dirty looks to anyone getting too close for their liking.

Ugh. He chugs down his drink.

“I would not.” Hoseok totally would, and they know it, if the blank looks they were throwing his way were anything to go by.

He shrugs, a wide smile stretching his lips as he rips his eyes away from the person he can’t even guess the gender from over here. Can’t even see their face for God’s sake. But hey, does it really matter?

His burst of energy is contagious, it seems, because there are a bouquet of amused grins following his. Content, pure enjoyment, if only a tad bit colored by that sweet craziness that comes with tip-toeing on the edges of being drunk.

“To your promotion man,” Junhong cheers, sliding an arm around his shoulders and raising his questionable drink with the others. Hoseok knows better than to ask questions.

“Cheers!” It’s a cacophony of his friends screeching. Hyungwoon sliding into a suspicious high note, Suho staggering on his feet before he jumps on the table, and Hyerin cackling her ass off—Hoseok seriously considers asking the bartender to cut her off. But—but no. They’re here to look over her in case something happens. That’s what best friends do.

Hoseok knocks back the remains of his drink, not quite drunk, but not totally sober either. He stares at his empty glass, licks his lips, the slight burn of alcohol sending another bout of excitement into his blood. And he’s gonna stop there, because everybody and their grandmas knew Jung Hoseok couldn’t handle his liquor to save his life. Lest he do something as stupid as try to talk to that sweet flower when he’s oh so clearly off limits.

Ugh, again.

A light haze settles over him, and his already low inhibitions break slowly the more time passes; the more he laughs, the more his friends speak nonsense and wild around like they were teenagers again. And so what if the late twenties meant getting more serious and have a different outlook on life? Hoseok didn’t think so. Was persuaded there was no such things as suddenly shifting around just because one neared more their thirties and had a job they were going to keep forever. Yeah, he was going to start teaching as a college professor tomorrow. First things in the morning—

—But…he was still himself. Fun-loving, dance-addict Jung Hoseok. Not quite willing to jump into stupid things like in his younger days; but not bitter either…like one would think for someone with such a heavy string of failed relationships. The thought makes him grimace. He jumps on his feet, shrugs off the heat and the veil of drinking that tried to settle over his brain. “‘m gonna dance,” he says out loud, announces more like, determined.

Junhong stops trying to get Suho out of his boots—what the fuck—to grin up at him wide. Mischievous. Here we go—“You gon’ try and get that cutie huh?”

“Shut up!” He laughs, rolling his eyes; unable to stop himself from blushing. Heating up at the thought, images vivid yet sweetly blurry printing themselves on the back of his eyelids. Hoseok’s heart’s so weak. Falling so easily, so strongly. It’s a fire that lights up suddenly and burns whoever had the bad luck of being the target of his ephemeral adoration.

But it tastes different, this time. Cherry eternity. Hoseok’s so weak. Can already imagine himself picking flowers with an angel he only caught the pale skin of and a petite figure looking like it’s been sculpted to be broken good. So good.

He tilts his head on the side, hazy and shameful but not really. Giving up, somewhere, steps leading him to the bar. Just at the edge of sliding in the mass of grinding people that try to make it pass as dance. Successful, no one pays head about anyone’s business in the dim lights of the club. Hoseok’s at the edge. Going to pass the lines of beings sat at the bar stools and knocking back drinks like water. Aims to forget his sudden obsession with fire and heat and touching people that aren’t this pretty wildflower—

It happens in a second; just a flash. He kind of stops breathing for a while.

The angel sitting at the bar looks equally ethereal as he looks uncomfortable. Upset. Curled, little body on the stool; long fingers playing nervously with the hem of his shirt. And goodness, and goodness. He’s shaking. Just slightly, almost imperceptible, but Hoseok’s firing way too fast toward him to not see it.

To realize that, perhaps, the shaking may be of anger. Directed rightly to the large hand itching higher and higher on his thigh; from the sleazy man probably in his forties that’s leering down and dirty at him. Swallowing up his personal space.

Hoseok’s shaking too. Vivid, as if he had seen a ghost. Barely glances at the most certainly pretty face he’s been itching to see all night. His eyes are frigid, he knows, as much as his blood’s boiling. Fake cheery smile and voice way too high for it to be totally natural. “Aw pumpkin…Making friends without me?” The pout that forms on his lip’s well studied. Used again and again and honed perfectly for quick change of masks.

Hoseok’s good at that. Knows the act he puts on’s perfect enough for two; but he wavers. Wavers when delicate fingers intertwine with his, a soft and spring-like smell taking over his senses as a warm body melt into his. Hoseok gets—Hoseok gets distracted. Looks down, slowly, smile still carefully joyous, and he sees. Finally. He sees.

And, Lord, Hoseok could cry. How did they make boys so pretty?

Boys with such pretty lips? This one…has a very, very pretty pair of lips. All pink and soft-looking, glistening with a red tilt that could be cherry chapstick as much as the vivid red drink the boy’s been nursing. It forms a sweet, relieved little grin as he looks up at Hoseok. “Never, honey,” he whispers, and Hoseok hears angel weeps at the angelic music that forms his voice. “He was just leaving, wasn’t he…?”

The creep had since long retreated his wondering hand. Nurses it close to himself, gaze unreadable, sobered up from his previous inebriated state. Finally, he breaks out into a leer as he gets up. “Whatever,” he shrugs. Downs his drink under Hoseok’s half still spell-bound and enamored gaze at the boy beside him, and half chilly at the older man. He throws them a last, knowing gaze, stumbling away with a very loud—“at least someone’s tapping that jail-bait ass.”

Wow. That was just a whole other level of creepiness right there. Hoseok shudders.

And then, it’s just the two of them. Not really. Not with the hundreds of body pressed against each other not so far from them. Not with his own friends probably wondering where he ran to; and the darling boy pressed against him—so little and warm—with his army of friends that would most certainly have hoseok’s head for being so close. It’s not just the two of them. But the boy’s smiling up at Hoseok. A little sheepish, a lot sweet. Cheeks a pretty shade of pink, but perhaps it is just Hoseok’s wishful thinking. At this instant, it’s only them.

“I’m—I’m legal. I swear.”

Hoseok blinks. And then laughs. A stifled, quieter version of his usual laugh, but not less filled with mirth. Kind of fonder, a lot relieved. Thanks fuck. Hoseok was going to fucking cry and go back moping and morose with his friends had the boy not been of age. He’s thirsty and with a huge heart boner for a little man he’s been mooning over all night—but he’s not that much of a creep.

He swallows the rest of his laugh, biting his lip, inching closer down. The boy’s lips part, and Hoseok’s eyes can’t help but follow the movement. “Well, hi, legal. I’m Hoseok.”

“You’re the worst,” the boy bursts out with a laugh, the hand still tightly intertwined with Hoseok’s squeezing tightly. His laugh stretches his cute little mouth to expose lovely gums and oh, oh. He’s so cute, Hoseok’s on the verge of tears again. “I’m Yoongi.”

Yoongi. Little, giggly and starlit-eyes man’s called Yoongi. Doesn’t look away from Hoseok, a little smile still on the corner of his lips. Bright something, illuminating the dark club, sitting pretty on his snow face and turning Hoseok’s legs wobbly jelly. “I,” Hoseok mutters, grip tightening around the little man’s shoulders. “please don’t hesitate to punch me in the face if I do something you dislike.”

“You’d have to do something else other than look at me from the other side of the room first, big boy,” the air turns a little thin with Yoongi’s whisper. Cheeky baby. Low voice tingly, oh so pleasing. Then heavier, as he looks up at Hoseok again. Cat-like eyes turned into bedroom eyes. Head tilted and mouth parting again, inviting. Hoseok could bite those lips and feast upon them until his damn last breath.

Yoongi doesn’t lean away, when Hoseok leans down down. Light body balancing between the hands that seize his hips, blooming flower, night sky in his eyes and millions of promises on his lips; vivid youth colored red delight, he’s so tiny between hoseok’s hands—yet so /powerful/. Aura wrapping in waves all around them, pliant for Hoseok, but a fire-like something in the corners of his grin that assures he could knock him flat if he ever wanted to.

And so, and so—

Later that night, when Hoseok’s towering over Yoongi’s quivering, raw-kissed and bitten body, filling him up to the brim and swallowing his every breath and moans—he silently congratulates himself on not getting punched once.

—

Hoseok has classes to teach like, right now. Right this instant. Has already written his name and raised his head to beam up at this new class. He has a class to teach. But he kind of wants to die, right now.

He spent the whole night and morning wondering how to keep the precious boy that curled in a ball on Hoseok’s chest, like a heat-seeking kitten. Didn’t have to try that hard, to his utter amazement. Yoongi has his number saved in Hoseok’s phone over breakfast. Doesn’t speak much after waking up, but he’s darling, so so darling. Lets himself be maneuvered and manhandled without a sound, seems to actually purr when his hair’s played with and—so easy to get along with. Hoseok feels like he’s known him for years. Grew up with him playing and staring at his cereals for an hour before eating it. It feels like an old memory poking his head in the present, to come in the bathroom and see the sleepy little man brushing his teeth slowly with Hoseok’s spare brush tooth.

Yoongi hadn’t need to do a whole lot for Hoseok to be utterly and completely smitten. And so, and so. The whole night and morning were spent with Yoongi-filled thoughts. Regretting not accompanying him this morning to spend more time with him.

Now—

Hoseok’s not sure it would have been a good idea.

He stares at the blanching, eyes-widening man sat not so far from him, and kind of dies a little.

Yoongi just had to be his student didn’t he?

[hoeassproductions]

Break A Leg: Chapter 7

Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own, possess, or have any links to Chris Evans, nor do I profit off of this work. Any claims otherwise are grossly misleading. This work is not to be posted anywhere else without my explicit permission. If you would like to be added to the tag list, reply here or send me an ask. I’d be happy to add you! Happy reading! Word Count: ~1,400 

The Best of Friends

On my way home, I do my best to distract myself by creating a mental list of all the things I need to do before Chris comes to get me. I start writing down all of the things I need to get done in the notepad I keep in my purse for moments like this.

Pay bills... water plants... empty fridge... not freak out about being alone with Chris for 4 hours driving to a secluded area…

I have a long list by the time I get to my car. Once I get home, I check the time.

2 hours. You got this!

I send a quick text to Eric asking about dress code and specifics about the trip. While I wait to hear back, I send Chris my address and let my mom know I'll be gone so she can come and water my plants. By then, Eric texts me back.

E: It's casual. Come prepared to move around.

That doesn't give me much to go on… so I got my suitcase out of the closet and pack a little bit of everything to cover all of my bases.

I bring the now packed to the brim suitcase to the front door and get to work on some of the other things on my list. Before I know it, it's a quarter after one and I still haven't heard from Chris. I look around my house to see all that I had accomplished in the short amount of time. Proud of myself, I pick up my phone to shoot Chris a text about being ready when I hear an abrupt knock on my door.

Through the side window, I can see that it's him. “Hey I was just about to text you. Let me grab my wallet and keys and we can go.”

As I walk to the end table on the other side of the living room, Chris assesses the living space he can see. “Nice place you got here” he says.

“Thanks” I say  sheepishly.

“This your bag?” he asks, motioning towards my suitcase.

I nod ‘yes’ to him as I walk in his direction.

“Great, ready to go?” he asks as he picks it up.

We walk out to the porch and I lock the door behind us as Chris goes to put my suitcase in his trunk then meets me at the passenger door to open it.

“Thank you, sir” I say as I lower myself into the seat, not breaking eye contact and giving him a smirk.

Chris is still standing in front of me holding the door open, his jaw hard set, when I have gotten myself settled into the seat and buckled in.

“Earth to Chris!”

“Yeah. Right.” he finally responds, breaking out of his daze.

Chris slams the door close just a little harder than necessary and walks around the front of the car while muttering something quietly to himself.

He gets in the driver’s side, grips the wheel until you can see the whites of his knuckles and takes a deep breath.

“I waited to get gas in case you wanted to get anything for the road” he says in a quiet, rough voice.

Without waiting for me to reply, he peels out of my driveway and down the road a few blocks towards the nearest gas station without saying another word.

Chris pulls up to the first empty pump. He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and hands me a 20. “My contribution for the snacks. Feel free to get whatever you want,” He says gruffly, then steps out of the car to start pumping the gas.

Trying to shake his tense mood, I go around the pump to go inside. I head straight for the bathroom and lock the door. 

Get it together, Y/N! He’s already being weird. Get a hold on yourself or you'll make this awkwardness worse. You need to lighten the mood.

I quickly pee and wash my hands. I leave the bathroom prepared to distract him with good snacks and my amazing road trip DJ skills.

I'll just play songs he can't resist singing along to. He'll have a better mood before we even leave the metro area.

I grab some snacks I like, some I think he will, and head for his car. With my arms full, I walk slow to not drop anything but I quickly realize that I can't see Chris in the car as I begin to cross the parking lot. Just getting in earshot, I can hear him on a phone call.

“Yes I know I need to calm down. I can't help it. You know how I can get when this happens and she has no clue… Ma, I know I need to say something but it's too early... I can't tell her… I love you too. Thank you for the advice and helping to ease me. I have to go. She will be back any minute…”

When I hear this, I quickly retreat a few feet back across the parking lot. Questions already bombarding my thoughts, I take a deep breath and act as if I've just arrived.

“OK, Evans. I hope you're ready to get this road trip started because I got the goods and some sick tunes!” I say as I round the gas pump and he comes into view.

Chris takes in the massive amounts of snacks and candies in my arms, and begins to laugh as he approaches to open my door for me. “You know it's only a few hours right?”

“Hey! If you aren't snack shopping for a road trip like an unsupervised 7 year old, you aren't doing it right.”

“Fair enough” he agrees. Once settled in my seat, I sort the snacks for now and later.

Chris gets in the driver’s seat and I begin to show him our stash for the next few hours.

“Okay, I got waters for each of us. Potato chips, red vines and jerky. The classics. Then some protein bars, because I didn't know what you've eaten today, some Cool Ranch Doritos and, my personal favorite, Starburst Jelly Beans.”

“You got jelly beans? Pop those suckers open! Full disclosure, I have zero control when these are in arm’s reach, so you better act fast!”

“A jelly bean lover? Man after my own heart! Now, on to some tunes. Do you have a genre in mind or you can take a chance on a playlist I already have for occasions such as this. Pick your poison.”

“Let's go with your playlist. Let's see what you got!”

With that, I hit shuffle and let fate, as well as my great music taste, decide our road trip soundtrack. Immediately, we both begin eating our snacks and enjoy singing to the music, happy to be getting the awkwardness out of the way.

Before too long, my mind begins to drift back to what I overheard earlier.

I know why I'm nervous but why is he?  He told his mom on the phone that it's too early to tell something, but what?  Maybe he’s up for a big part or something?

Combing through my thoughts, I didn't realize that I spaced out until Chris’ hand is waving in front of my face.

“Y/N, where'd you go?”

After being quiet for a few moments, I finally get the confidence to respond honestly. “I overheard some of your talk with your mom earlier-”

Before I can finish my questions, Chris enters into a coughing fit.

“Oh my God. Are you okay? Breathe. BREATHE!” I tell him as I pass a water bottle.

He takes a few gulps while trying to concentrate on the now open road. After he finishes off the bottle, he becomes very quiet.

“Chris, is everything alright? You seem pretty anxious…”

“I'm sorry Y/N, but I need to know what you heard. That was a private conversation.”

“I didn't mean to upset you. I only caught a little. You seemed anxious and upset, I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help you?

”Y/N,”Chris starts, his eyes now boring into you. “You've done enough” he says.

The rest of the ride is fairly silent, even missing our sing along. With about twenty minutes left, he grabs my hand in his and holds them together.

“I’m sorry. You mean a lot to me and I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Our friendship...yeah, me either. I understand. We’re good” I say to him as I force a smile.

Previous Chapter

A/N: It’s been soooo long, I know. I’m the worst. I’ve really struggled with having time to work on this story as well as finding a transition that felt right. I do have a few tricks up my sleeve for this retreat though, so stay tuned! Any feedback you have on this chapter, or how the story is progressing so far, please let me know!

I’ve done my best to update the taglist, but if you’re finding you’re not on, and want to be, let me know! New readers are always welcome!

Tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @beccaheartschrisevans @avenger-nerd-mom @mycapt-ohcapt-writes @mad-for-marvel @vanillabeanlattes @captain-ariel-barnes @emilyevanston @thewife101cevans @loricameback @plussizeappreciationfics @a-tale-of-two-comics @melodramaticfanatic @writingcreatingstorytelling @kirstie-lotr @mywritingsblog @disney-fire-fox @harrinoodles @lookwhatyoumademequeue @janeyboo @aglarelen @purelyfictionallife @shallowshawn @cevansgirl @mrs-captain-evans @randomcevans @nomadicpixel @symonlyjen5 @elivanah @katiew1973 

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

Now 2~G-Dragon pt.17

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:4,426

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book

Y/N POV

What the hell am I going to do?

I walk to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. I’m sick to my stomach from all of this. I knew Jiyong wasn’t a good person before, and I knew there would be some more things that I wouldn’t be happy to hear, but of all the things I thought Trish could be referring to, this never, ever crossed my mind. He violated that girl in a terrible, deplorable way, and he had no remorse—he still barely does.

I try to breathe in and out slowly as tears spill down my cheeks. The worst part to me is knowing her name. It’s kind of fucked up, but if she was just some anonymous girl, I could almost pretend that she didn’t exist. Knowing that her name is Natalie opens up too many thoughts. What does she look like? What did she plan to study in college before Jiyong took her scholarship from her? Does she have any brothers or sisters? Did they see the tape? If Trish hadn’t brought this up, would I have ever known?

How many times did they have sex? Did Jiyong like it? . . . Of course he did. It’s sex, and obviously Jiyong was having a lot of it. With other girls. Lots of other girls. Did he stay the night with Natalie after? Why do I feel jealous of Natalie? I should feel sorry for her, not envy her for touching Jiyong. I push this sick thought out of my mind and go back to thinking about the type of person Jiyong really is.

I should have had him stay to talk it out; I always leave or, in this case, make him leave. The problem is that his presence washes away every ounce of restraint I should have.

I wish I knew what happened to Natalie after Jiyong demolished her life. If she’s happy now and leading a good life, I’d feel better, slightly. I wish I had a friend to talk about all of this with, someone to give me advice. Even if I did, I wouldn’t divulge Jiyong’s indiscretion. I do not want anyone to know what he has done to these girls. I know how foolish it is to want to protect him when he doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t help it. I don’t want anyone to think any worse of him, and mostly I don’t want him to think any worse of himself than he already does.

I lie back against the pillows and stare up at the ceiling. I just got over . . . well, was working on getting over Jiyong using me to win a bet—and now this? Natalie, plus four other girls, since he said she was week five. Then Dan’s sister. This is a cycle with him, this is what he does—will he be able to stop doing it? What would have happened to me if he hadn’t fallen in love with me?

I know that he loves me—he truly does love me. I know that.

And I do love him despite all the mistakes he makes, and has made in the past. I’ve seen changes in him, even in the course of the last week. He has never expressed his feelings about me the way he did today. I just wish that his beautiful declaration hadn’t been followed by such an ugly revelation.

He said that I’m his only shot at happiness, I’m the only chance that he has to not spend the entirety of his life alone. What a heavy statement. What a true statement. No one will ever love him the way I do. Not because he’s not worth loving, but because no one will ever know him the way that I do. Did. Still do? I can’t decide, but I want to believe I know him, the true him. Who he is now is not the person he was just a few months ago.

Despite the pain he’s caused me, he has also done a lot to prove himself to me. He has made a huge effort to be the person I need him to be. He can change; I’ve seen him change. Half of me thinks that it may be time for me to take some of the blame here—not for what he did to Natalie, but for being so hard on him when change takes time and nobody can erase their past. What he did was wrong, so incredibly wrong, but sometimes I forget that he’s an angry, lonely man who up until now has never loved anyone. He loves his mother, in his manner, if not the same way that people usually love their parents.

The other half of me is tired. Tired of this cycle with Jiyong. In the beginning of our relationship, it was a constant back-and-forth, with him being cruel, then nice, then cruel again. Now the cycle has evolved somewhat, but it’s worse. Much worse. I leave him, then come back, then leave him again. I cannot keep doing this—we cannot keep doing this. If there’s anything else that he’s hiding, it will break me—I’m barely holding myself together now. I can’t take any more secrets, any more heartache, any more breakups. I always used to have everything planned—every detail of my life was calculated, overanalyzed, until Jiyong. He’s completely turned my life upside down, often in a negative way. And yet he’s also made me happier than I have ever been.

We need to be together and try to move past all of the terrible things he’s done, or I need to end things and keep them that way. If I leave him, I need to move away from here, far away. I need to leave behind every reminder of my life with him or I’ll never be able to move on.

And suddenly I realize the tears have stopped, telling me that my verdict is in. The pain that comes from considering leaving him is much worse than the pain he has caused me.

I can’t leave him. I know I can’t.

I know how pathetic that is, but there’s no way I can be without him. No one will ever make me feel the way he does. No one will ever be him. He is it for me, just the way I am it for him. I shouldn’t have had him leave. I needed time to think and I should take more time, but I’m already wanting him back. Is love always like this? Is it always so passionate, yet so damn painful? I have no experience to compare this to.

Hearing the front door open, I climb off the bed and rush into the living room. But I’m disappointed to find Trish instead of Jiyong.

Trish hangs Jiyong’s keys on the rack and removes her snow-covered shoes. I’m not sure what to say to her since she told me to leave with my mother.

“Where is Jiyong?” she asks as she walks into the kitchen.

“He left . . . for the night,” I explain.

She turns to me. “Oh.”

“I’m sure if you call him he’ll tell you where he is, if you don’t want to stay here . . . with me.”

“Y/N,” she says, clearly searching for words, but with sympathy on her face. “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t want you to think I have any ill feelings toward you—I don’t. I was just trying to protect you from what Jiyong can do. I don’t want you to . . .”

“To end up like Natalie?”

I can see that the memory pains her. “He told you?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?” I hear the doubt in her voice.

“Yes—the tape, the pictures, the scholarship. Everything.”

“And you’re still here?”

“I told him I needed time and space, but yes. I’m not going anywhere.”

She nods, and we both sit down at the table across from each other. When she looks at me with wide eyes, I know what she’s thinking, so I say, “I know he’s done terrible things, deplorable things, but I believe him when he says that he’s changed. He isn’t that person anymore.”

Trish puts one hand over the other. “Y/N, he’s my son, and I love him, but you really have to think about this. He just did the same thing to you that he did before. I know that he loves you—that’s clear to me now—but I’m just afraid that the damage has been done.”

I nod, appreciative of her honesty. But I tell her, “It hasn’t. Well, damage has most certainly been done, but it’s not irreversible. And it’s my decision to figure out how to deal with his past. And if I hold his past against him, how will he move forward? Is he never deserving of love forever more? I know you probably think I’m naive and foolish to keep forgiving him, but I love your son, and I cannot be without him, either.”

Trish softly clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Y/N, I don’t think you’re either of those things. If anything, your forgiveness shows maturity and compassion. My son hates himself—always has—and I thought he always would, until you. I was mortified when your mum told me what he did to you, and for that I’m sorry. I don’t know where I went wrong with Jiyong. I tried to be the best mother that I could be, but it was so hard with his father not being around. I had to work so much, and I didn’t give him the attention that I should have. If I had, maybe he would have more respect for women.”

I know that if she hadn’t already cried herself out today, she’d be crying now. The guilt in her is so thick, I just want to comfort her. “He’s not this way because of you. I think it has a lot to do with his feelings about his father and the type of friends he has, both of which I’m trying to work on. Please don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault.”

Trish reaches across the table, and I give her my hands. Taking them in hers, she says, “You are certainly the most kind-hearted person I’ve met in all of my thirty-five years.”

I arch my brow. “Thirty-five?”

“Hey, just go with it. I can pass, right?” She smiles.

“Definitely.” I laugh.

Twenty minutes ago I was just crying and on the verge of a breakdown, and now I’m laughing with Trish. The moment I decided to let Jiyong’s past be his past, I felt most of the tension leave my body.

“Maybe I should call him and tell him what I’ve decided,” I say.

Trish tilts her head to the side and smirks. “I think he could use a little time to stir.”

The idea of torturing him further isn’t appealing, but he does need to really think about everything he’s done. “I guess so . . .”

“I think he needs to know that there are consequences for bad choices.” She gets a twinkle in her eye. “How about I make us dinner, and then you can put Jiyong out of his misery?”

I’m happy to have her humor and guidance to bring me out of my sad confusion over Jiyong’s past. I’m willing to move beyond this, or at least try, but he needs to know this type of thing is not okay, and I need to know if there are any more demons from his past that are waiting to railroad me.

“What would you like?”

“Anything is fine. I can help,” I offer, but she shakes her head.

“You just relax, as much as you can. You’ve had a long day, what with everything from Jiyong . . . and your mum.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah . . . she’s difficult.”

She smiles and opens the refrigerator. “ ‘Difficult’? I was going to use another word, but she is your mother . . .”

“She’s sort of a B-word,” I say, not wanting to say the real word in front of Trish.

“Oh yeah, she’s a bitch. I’ll say it for you.” She laughs, and I join in.

TRISH COOKS CHICKEN TACOS for dinner, and we make small talk about Christmas, the weather, and everything else except what is actually on my mind: Jiyong .

Eventually, I feel like it’s literally killing me not to call him and tell him to come home now.

“Do you think he’s ‘stirred’ long enough?” I say, not admitting that I’ve been counting the minutes.

“No, but it’s not my choice,” his mother says.

“I have to.”

I leave the kitchen to call Jiyong . When he answers, the surprise in his voice is evident. “Y/N?”

“ Jiyong , we still have a lot to discuss, but I would like it if you could come home so we can talk.”

“Already? Yeah—yeah, of course!” He rushes the words. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay,” I say and hang up. I don’t have much time to go over everything in my head before he arrives. I need to stand my ground and make sure that he knows what he did is wrong but that I love him anyway.

I pace back and forth across the chilled concrete floor, waiting. After what seems like an hour, the front door opens, and I listen as his boots thud down the small hallway.

When he opens the bedroom door, my heart breaks for the thousandth time.

His eyes are swollen and bloodshot. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks over and places a small object in my hand. Paper?

I look up at him as he closes my fist around the folded-up paper. “Read it before you make up your mind,” he says softly. Then, with a swift kiss to my temple, he goes into the living room.

As I unfold the paper, my eyes widen in surprise. The entirety of the sheet is covered with black scribbles, front and back. It’s a letter—a handwritten letter from Jiyong .

I’m almost afraid to read it . . . but I know that I must.

Y/N,

Since I’m not good with words when trying to relate my inner life, I may have stolen some from Mr. Darcy, whom you fancy so much. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten: and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice . . .

I know that I’ve done so many fucked-up things to you, and that I in no way deserve you, but I’m asking—no, begging—you to please look past the things that I have done. I know I ask too much of you, always, and I’m sorry for that. If I could take it all back, I would. I know you are angry and disappointed by my actions, and that kills me. Instead of making excuses for the way I am, I’m going to tell you about me, the me that you never knew. I’m starting with the shit I remember—I’m sure there is more, but I swear not to purposely hide anything else from you from this day forth. When I was around nine, I stole my neighbor’s bike and broke the wheel, then lied about it. That same year I threw a baseball through the living room window and lied about it. You know about my mother and the soldiers. My father left shortly after, and I was glad when he did.

I didn’t have many friends because I was an asshole. I picked on kids in my year, a lot. Every day, basically. I was a dick to my mum—that was the last year I told her I love her. The teasing and being a dick to everyone continued until now, so I can’t name all the instances, but just know it was a lot. Around thirteen, me and some friends broke into the drugstore down the road from my house and stole a bunch of random shit. I don’t know why we did it, but when one of my friends got caught, I threatened him to make him take the blame for it, and he did. I smoked my first cigarette when I was thirteen. It tasted like shit, and I coughed for ten minutes. I never smoked again until I started smoking pot, but I’ll get to that.

When I was fourteen I lost my virginity to my friend Mark’s older sister. She was a whore and seventeen at the time. It was an awkward experience, but I liked it. She slept with all of our friends, not just me. After I had sex the first time I didn’t do it again until I was fifteen, but after that I couldn’t stop. I would hook up with random girls at parties. I always lied about my age, and the girls were easy. None of them cared about me, and I didn’t give a fuck about them. I started smoking pot this same year and did it often. I started drinking around this time—me and my friends would steal liquor from their parents or from anywhere else we could. I started fighting a lot, too. I got my ass beat a few times, but most of the time I won. I was always so fucking angry—always—and it felt good to hurt someone else. I would pick fights with people all the time for fun. The worst one was with this boy named Tucker who came from a poor family. He wore the oldest, rattiest clothes, and I fucking tortured him for it. I would mark on his shirt with a pen just to prove how many times he wore it without washing it. Fucked up, I know.

So anyway, one day I saw him walking and I knocked him in the shoulder just to be a dick. He got angry and called me a dick, so I beat the shit out of him. His nose was broken, and his mum couldn’t afford to even have him see a doctor. I still kept fucking with him afterward. A few months later his mum died, and he went into a foster home, a rich one, lucky for him, and he drove by me one day. It was my sixteenth birthday and he was in a brand-new car. I was angry at the time and wanted to find him just to break his nose again, but now that I think about it I’m happy for him.

I’ll skip the rest of my sixteenth year because all I did was drink, get high, and fight. Actually that goes for seventeen, too. I keyed a few cars, busted some windows as well. When I was eighteen is when I met James. He was cool because he didn’t give a fuck about anything, like me. We drank every day, our group. I would come home drunk every night and would puke on the floor, and my mum would have to clean it up. I would break something new almost every night . . . We had our own little gang of friends, and no one fucked with us. They knew better.

The games started, the ones I told you about, and you know what happened with Natalie. That was the worst of that, I swear. I know you are disgusted by me not caring about what happened to her. I don’t know why I didn’t care, but I didn’t. Just now, when I was driving here to this empty hotel room, I was thinking about Natalie. I still don’t feel as bad as I should, but I was thinking—what if someone did that to you? I nearly had to pull over to get sick even thinking about you being in Natalie’s place. I was wrong, so wrong for doing that to her. One of the other girls, Melissa, got attached to me as well, but nothing came of it. She was obnoxious and loud. I told everyone that she had hygiene problems, down there . . . so everyone gave her shit about it, and she never bothered me again. I got arrested once for being drunk in public, and my mum was so angry she left me at the police station all night. Then when everyone found out about the Natalie shit, she had enough. I threw a fit when my mum mentioned sending me to America. I didn’t want to leave my life back home no matter how fucked up it was—I was. But when I beat the shit out of someone in front of a crowd during a festival, Mum was done. I applied to SCU and got in, of course.

When I got here to America I fucking hated it. I hated everything. I was so upset that I had to be near my father that I rebelled even further, drinking and partying at the frat house all the time. I met Hyuna first. I hooked up with her at a party and she introduced me to the rest of her friends. Nate and I hit it off the best. Dan and Seunghyun were dicks, Seunghyun the worst. You already know about Dan’s sister, so I’ll skip that. There were a few girls that I fucked since then, but not as many as your imagination will have you think. I did sleep with Chaerin once after you and I kissed, but the only reason I did it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t get you out of my head, Y/N. I kept thinking it was you the entire time. I had hoped that would help, but it didn’t. I knew it wasn’t you. You would have been better. I kept telling myself, if I only see Y/N one more time I will realize this is just a ridiculous fascination, nothing more. Purely lust. But every time I saw you I wanted more and more. I would think of ways to annoy you just so I could hear you say my name. I wanted to know what you were thinking of in class that made you stare at your book with a frown, I wanted to smooth the crease between your brows, I wanted to know what you and Taeyang whispered about, I wanted to know what you were writing in that damned planner of yours. I actually almost took it from you once, that day when you dropped it and I handed it to you. You probably don’t remember, but you were wearing a purple shirt and that hideous gray skirt you used to wear almost every other day.

After that day in your dorm when I fucked up your notes and kissed you against the wall, I was in too deep to stay away. I thought about you constantly. My every thought was consumed by you. I didn’t know what it was at first—I didn’t know why I had become so obsessed with you. The first time that you stayed the night with me is when I knew, KNEW that I loved you. I knew that I would do anything for you. I know that sounds like bullshit now, after all that I’ve put you through, but it’s true. I swear it.

I found myself daydreaming—me daydreaming . . . about the life that I could have with you. I pictured you sitting on the couch with a pen between your teeth and a novel on your lap, your feet on my lap. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head. It tortured me, wanting you the way that I did and knowing you would never feel the same. I threatened anyone who tried to sit in that seat next to you, threatened Taeyang, to make sure that I could sit there, just to be near you. I would tell myself over and over that I was only doing all of this weird shit to win the bet. I knew that I was lying to myself, I just wasn’t ready to admit it. I would do shit, like crazy shit, to fuel my obsession with you. I would mark lines in my novels that reminded me of you. Do you want to know the first one? It was, “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

I knew I loved you when I was highlighting fucking Tolstoy.

When I told you I loved you in front of everyone, I meant it—I was just too much of a prick to admit it once you dismissed me. The day that you told me you loved me was the first time I felt like there was hope, hope for me. Hope for us. I don’t know why I kept hurting you and treating you the way that I did. I won’t waste your time with an excuse, because I don’t have one. I just have all these bad instincts and habits, and I’m fighting against them for you. All I know is that you make me happy, Y/N. You love me when you shouldn’t, and I need you. I have always needed you and always will. When you left me just last week it nearly killed me, I was so lost. So completely lost without you. I went on a date with someone last week. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I can’t stand to chance losing you again. I wouldn’t even call it a date, really. Nothing happened between us. I almost kissed her, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t kiss her, I couldn’t kiss anyone but you. She was boring, and nothing compared to you. No one is, no one ever will be.

I know it’s probably too late for this, especially now that you know all of the fucked-up shit I’ve done. I can only pray that you will love me the same after reading this. If not, that’s okay. I will understand. I know you can do better than me. I’m not romantic, I won’t ever write you poetry or sing you a song.

I’m not even kind.

I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, but I can swear that I will love you until the day that I die. I’m a terrible person, and I don’t deserve you, but I hope that you will allow me the chance to restore your faith in me. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and I understand if you can’t forgive me.

Sorry. This letter wasn’t supposed to be this long. I guess I’ve fucked up more than I thought.

I love you. Always.

Jiyong.

I SIT AND STARE at the paper in a daze, then reread it twice. I had no idea what I expected, but this was not it. How can he say he isn’t romantic? The charm bracelet on my wrist and this beautiful, somewhat disturbing, but mostly beautiful letter shows otherwise. He even used the first paragraph of Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth.

Now that he’s bared himself to me, I can’t help but love him more. He has done a lot of things that I would never do, terrible things that hurt many people—but the thing that matters most to me is that he doesn’t do them anymore. He hasn’t always done the right thing, but I can’t ignore all the effort he’s made to show me that he’s changing, trying to change. That he loves me. I hate to admit it, but there is a sort of poetry to him never caring for anyone except me.

I stare at the letter a little longer until there is a knock at the bedroom door. Folding the sheet up, I put it in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I don’t want Jiyong to try to make me throw it away or tear it up now that I’ve read it.

“Come in,” I say and walk over to the door to meet him.

He opens the door, already staring at the ground. “Did you . . .”

“I did . . .” I reach up and lift his chin to look at me, the way he usually does to me.

His bloodshot eyes are so wide and sad. “It was stupid . . . I knew I shouldn’t have . . .” he begins.

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t stupid at all.” I move my hand from under his chin, but he keeps his red eyes on mine. “Jiyong, it was everything that I’ve been wanting you to say to me for so long.”

“I’m sorry that I took so long, and that I wrote it down . . . It was just easier. I’m not good at saying things.” The red of his weary eyes is beautiful against the vibrant green of his irises.

“I know you aren’t.”

“Did you . . . should we talk about it? Do you need more time, now that you know how fucked up I truly am?” He frowns and looks at the floor again.

“You aren’t. You were . . . You’ve done a lot of things . . . bad things, Jiyong.” He nods in agreement; I can’t stand to see him feel so bad about himself, even with his history. “But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You’ve done bad things, but you aren’t a bad person anymore.”

He looks up. “What?”

I take his face between my hands. “I said you aren’t a bad person, Jiyong.”

“You really think that? Did you read what I wrote?”

“Yes, and the fact that you wrote it proves that you aren’t.”

Confusion is clear on his perfect face. “How can you say that? I don’t understand—you wanted me to give you space, and you read all that shit, and you still say that? I don’t understand . . .”

I run my thumbs over his cheeks. “I read it, and now that I know everything that you’ve done, my mind hasn’t changed.”

“Oh . . .” His eyes become glossy.

The idea of him crying again, especially in front of me, pains me. He’s obviously not getting what I’m trying to say.

“I already made my mind up while you were gone to stay. And after reading what you wrote, I want to stay more than ever. I love you, Jiyong.”

[allofusandco]

The beginning is not the beginning

The beginning is actually sort of in the middle.

The beginning before this one involved a lot of alcohol, though not as much as Al likes to remember there was. Not so much that he’d had trouble getting it up, or keeping it up. No, not that much. Anyway, call that the prologue.

Maybe a few years ago he would have tried to convince himself Matt had talked him into it, tricked him somehow, but Al isn’t twenty or twenty-one or twenty-three; he’s thirty-two, and he can’t actually pretend to himself that he wasn’t the one who made the first move, who’d put his hand on the back of Matt’s head and pulled him in. The fact they’d left the lights low did nothing to change the fact that Al had got on his knees, had pressed Matt into the mattress and fucked him ruthlessly, had kissed his stubbled face with an unusual passion and a fierce affection. No, the low light, those few beers, they change nothing.

The fact it happens a second time less than a week later says nothing but that Al needs to find himself a girlfriend.

Anyway, he always leaves before Matt wakes up so that was is supposed to be the end. Not the beginning.

So then there’s the beginning which is actually the middle. Al is working, it’s a slow Sunday because of the icy wind and rain, and Matt has to be a sucker for punishment to be back here. But he’s back here, sitting at the bar, smile on his face.

“What time d’you get off?” he asks, with deep dimples and pretty eyes and a mouth Al wants to fuck. But won’t.

“Ah, could be late.”

“Right.” Matt isn’t put off, not yet. “You could come over.”

“Yeah, nah, like I said, probably gonna be late.”

Matt’s dimples falter. He looks around, but the place is pretty empty, and no one is close enough to pay attention.

“So the other night…”

“Oh, man, I was wasted,” Al says, averting his eyes and reaching for a glass polishing cloth, because the sparkling schooner glasses could always use another round, if it will give him something to do that isn’t watching Matt finally get that this is not going to happen again. “Can’t remember much.”

“Oh.”

Fuck, now he feels guilty. Wasn’t part of the plan.

“Look,” he says, deciding that forty seconds of honesty won’t kill him. He leans heavily on the edge of the bar. “Shoulda done the disclaimer thing, before, but. This isn’t really me.”

“What isn’t you?”

“I’m straight.”

Matt’s face shifts. Confusion. Understanding. Disappointment. And then he just looks so fucking done that Al’s skin prickles with cold.

“Nah. You’re a fucking coward,” Matt says, counting out coins that rattle on the bar. “So it’s better I figured that out now, instead of later.”

And it’s shit, and it bloody hurts, but it’s done, and over. No way in hell Matt will come in here again, and Al is safe.

Except Matt isn’t the type to avoid a local because he doesn’t want awkwardness. He comes in with friends, plays pool, orders politely from Al without asking how he’s doing, and it’s shit, utter bollocks. He comes in with his sister for a meal and doesn’t so much as make eye contact. He’s a fucking adult, and it’s annoying.

Worst of all, he comes in to meet what has to be a date, and Al almost grinds his teeth into paste. He says hi when he comes to pay the bill, and Al grabs him by the wrist before he can even stop himself.

“Is that a date?”

Matt casts his eye toward the door, gently pulls his arm away, and nods, before he takes his card back. “Yeah. Tinder thing.”

He’s so fucking gorgeous with his black hair and his rich brown skin. No dimples just then, though.

“D’you like him?”

Matt pauses at the bar. His eyelashes catch the lights. He turns with the same tired expression Al saw that Sunday.

“Not as much as I liked you. You idiot,” he adds, but for a second there, he’s got a look on his face that says he wouldn’t be that hard to convince.

“I get off…”

“Shithead. Ask me on a date or go home and fuck yourself,” Matt says. And then he’s gone.

It turns out in the end that asking a guy out isn’t necessarily more complicated than asking a girl out, and once you get past the flop sweat, being on a date with a guy isn’t as difficult as it looks on the surface either. Nope. It’s a date, whatever, they get a bit pissed, they talk about their families. Turns out Matt’s first name is actually Maiele, but no one outside of the Lao side of his family has called him that since he was a kid. They sound pretty cool, actually, big rambling family who regularly cook and eat together, cheerfully overwhelming the quieter white side of the family with fragrant fresh spring rolls and fermented fish paste and carrot salad.

He’s a shit, though. They don’t end up in bed together until after the third date.

And afterwards, naked and sticky and a tangle of limbs on the bed, Matt manages to convince him to talk.

“How can you not know what romantic attraction feels like?” Matt wants to know. Al shrugs. Romance is a weird thing, and it’s an uncomfortable thought. “But you know what it’s like with a chick.”

“Well, yeah.” He thinks a minute. Lets himself talk, whatever comes to mind. Whatever. Wanting to know what she thinks about something. Wanting to show her something or talk to her just because it reminded him of her. Doing shit he really doesn’t want to with a smile on his face because it will put a smile on her face. Imagining what a future might be like with her.

“See, you are a fucking idiot,” Matt says, rolling over, arms around Al’s midsection, head resting on his stomach. Al’s hand falls to Matt’s hair, fingers curling between silky strands.

“I never said I wasn’t.”

“Luckily. What’s the difference?”

“Between?”

“If you saw something you thought I’d like. Could you honestly not pick up your phone and fucking text me about it? Because I have a dick?”

Could he?

Turns out, he could.

The middle is actually the middle.

The middle is the cool part.

Al is pretty sure there is never going to be a moment in his life when he can think about the word romance with a guy’s face in his head without having a panic attack but it turns out he can still sort of do it. He even sort of likes it. Matt is touchy-feely, a hand holder, kisses Al’s neck when he’s chopping veggies or whatever. They take turns being little spoon, flip over in the wee small hours. The sex is good. No, the sex is fucking great, and there’s so much of it; it comes as a shock to Al that he’s sort of a switch. But really, if more guys actually had a clue about their prostate, there would probably be a lot more… butt-stuff happening in the world.

(He actually kind of loves having Matt plastered to his back, muttering in his ear. No, he really, really fucking loves it.)

Matt’s family is a trip and the food is awesome and they call him Skippy which is such a high school throwback that it’s kind of funny.

A weekend in Sydney for a buck’s night, Al takes thirty photos of gross bin chickens and texts them all to Matt, who responds with increasingly annoyed emojis. Doesn’t stop him from texting a kiss before he sleeps on Saturday night, though. They fuck. They argue. They hold hands.

And then Matt says he thinks he’s sort of done with the whole dating scene.

And then he offers Al a copy of his house key, and asks him to move in, because they haven’t slept a night apart in four months anyway and maybe if they saved some cash they could look at buying, maybe around Carlton or Fitzroy.

And then a girl hits on Al in a bar and he says he’s seeing someone and then Matt sits down and touches his arm and the girl says, what a waste.

What a waste. This could be it. If he stays with Matt he’s never going to slip his fingers into a woman’s slick heat again, never get married or have kids or do anything normal. Fuck, he’s barely been able to bring himself to introduce Matt to his friends. Giving up everything doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship, right?

Fucking Matt.

Everything is his fault.

And then, then it’s the end.

The beginning of the end.

Al cloaks the entire thing in an air of self-sacrifice, but hates himself with every fibre of his being. It’s all true, though. Matt does deserve better. Al is a fuckup. Al prefers women anyway and Matt fucking knew it. (The fact he’s not even sure about this bit anymore has no relevance.)

Anyway, he’s been thinking of working in the States for a year or two since forever, and if he doesn’t do it soon, he’s going to be too old.

And, don’t look at me like that.

Angry tears. For a moment or two, the looming specter of violence.

When it’s all over, Al punches a wall so hard he splits three knuckles.

This end is absolutely, definitely, the end.

It’s a bit over a year later that Al sees on a friend’s Facebook that Matt has moved in with someone else, they’re planning to get married as soon as the government gets its head out of it arse.

So even if he does get over his shit, that’s done with.

The End.

[linaquezxo]

Into the Mind: Series

DISCLAIMER: The following stories have been labeled and recorded as chaotic fiction. A “fabrication” of ideas which gain no further research by detectives. Here, we will take a chilling trip into the minds of those who have lost theirs. Was it the correct decision to pass up these patients as mentally ill or is there possible logic within the illogical? It is purely up to you to decide whether any of this is true or false. But you must understand one thing, insanity is a dangerously contagious disease. These stories will have no happy endings and no limits. Read with much discretion.

***************

It was a Tuesday afternoon at the Norristown State Hospital, a middle aged man enters his office, and takes a seat behind his desk. The room is a clutter of files, papers (mostly crumbled into balls that have missed the trashcan to the left of the exit) and family photos. In each photo, the man’s face is as stern as a soldier’s, just as it is now. His wife and colleagues would often joke that he’s been this way ever since his doctor smacked him on the ass after birth. It was the only joke that still sprinkled some sweetness onto his sour life.

Behind him, the windows allow the faintest orange hue to creep through the blinds and color the room dimly. He sets his cup of coffee down and beside it he places a file and then turns his attention to his computer to quickly sign in. Outside of the room, his assistant can be heard making her way towards his office--there was no mistaking the urgency in those heels. Instantly, he reached for his coffee and took a sip, preparing himself for the worst.

She stepped into the office with force and a winning smile that caused the man to arch his eyebrow in sudden interest. In her hand was a yellow folder that she held rather tightly, there was a name written on it but at this distance, the man couldn’t decipher it.

“You’re going to enjoy this one.” She says, tossing the file directly onto his desk.

He eyed her for a moment before turning his attention downwards.

“It’s just what you’ve been waiting for.”

*******************************************************************************************

Exeter Inc.

Name: Crystal Sullivan

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Diagnosis: Apotemnophilia

The following is a printed copy of a pre recorded session:

So, no back story on me, huh? That’s not important, I guess I’m supposed to just dive into this. Get straight to what you really want to hear, right? I figured as much. Well, fuck where do I start, huh? I mean, really where the fuck do I even begin?! There’s so much...so many...details. So much. I….

Okay, okay...are you listening? You’re gonna need to pay close attention….

Let’s see…..this is all started on a Friday right after school, when I had gone to the mall with my best friend, Jane. We skipped lunch that day--we spent that time in the library copying each other’s homework for the upcoming class--and decided to go straight to the food court before heading home. On the way there, we came across a homeless man who was sitting just outside the entrance. This wasn't unusual, homeless people always made a home for themselves outside of just about anything, even the parking lot held a few, although they'd get chased away by security eventually. So, his presence wasn't what caught me off guard...it was the sign he held.

Now, before I continue with any of this, I need you to understand that I know what you’re thinking. A homeless man? Really? That’s what caught my attention?

Nothing you could possibly be thinking right now is new to me. I’ve already gone over the thoughts countless times myself and a dozen more once I was tossed into this place. All I can say is…it doesn’t make any sense to me either.

I mean because, well, homeless people are always asking for something, you know? They're homeless so all they can really do is take because what could they even give besides a possible disease or drug addiction? But, this man wasn’t like the others. You see, written on the sign were two words ‘Take One’ and placed in front of the sign were a few purple papers. Judging by the amount, I assumed I wasn’t the only one who was confused by….everything. Several people passed by, they stopped briefly with that same look of confusion I had and then proceeded into the mall. Jane tried grabbing my arm and pulling me away, urging me to ignore the man but I just wanted to ease my mind. Or more like, I had to ease my mind.

I took a flyer and—spare me the idiotic look would you?! Had I known what I do now, I wouldn’t have even glanced at that guy! All this woulda, coulda, shoulda shit is pointless. What happened….happened. I can’t change anything. But I did get a look at the man though, for a just quick second. H-he was filthy, his facial hair was a madhouse of food crumbs and dried up beverages. His lips were chapped and his eyes were so low, if he hadn't grinned at me--exposing a dentist’s worst nightmare--I wouldn't have been able to tell if he were awake or not. I’m not sure if that’s even important to share, it’s not much of a description but it’s the best I can do.

After that, I folded up the paper and stuffed it into my purse. The experience alone was enough for one day, I decided I’d look over it later on when I got home and used the short time I had with Jane as an opportunity to ignore the situation. However, I did a lot more than just ignore what happened, I actually managed to forget about it.  And Jane never brought it up again so part of me felt as though the encounter never really took place at all. I couldn't tell you if we spotted the man again either, I'm positive we took a different exit so there's literally no way.

But you know, m-maybe Jane was just as uncomfortable with what happened as I was, and talking about it just didn't sit well with her. I mean, I never brought it up either, right? Once we were inside the mall, we both pretty much just stuffed the homeless man in the back of our minds….and I wish he had stayed there.

Um, anyway, it had to be about a month since the incident, no more no less. I was uh, I was in my room talking on the phone with Jane about an exam that was coming up. Well, more like talking about her crush, Jason, rather than studying but whatever. I was circling my room when my phone notified me that the battery was only on 5%. My charger was in my purse but you know once something goes in there it’s kinda impossible to find it without dumping everything out, so that’s what I did.

(Brief silence)

I noticed the paper before anything else. It’s impossible to miss a purple that bright. I immediately brought it up to Jane and she groaned and called me an idiot for actually keeping something so stupid. There was some cheesy slogan written in bold letters at the center of the paper, it went something like ‘Give a little. Get a little.’ ….Yeah, I thought it was stupid too. The only other details on the paper were a phone number and the name “Exeter Inc.”

(Crystal begins laughing uncontrollably.)

You should see the look on your face. Let me guess, it must say I’m delusional somewhere in that useless folder you got there. Right? That’s fine with me. Whenever I think back to how this all began I sometimes find myself believing that little cover up too. All the same, after skimming over the paper I came to the conclusion that there was no way in hell this had a meaning to it. I was in the same boat as you are, funny isn’t it? How simple minded I used to be…. I mean, the homeless man had to have been on drugs or something because what could he possibly need this for? And what kind of advertisement had such a…. dull slogan? Not even just that but the entire thing was dull, all except the bright color of the paper, of course.

Jane was still on the phone, laughing because she knew I had gotten lost in my thoughts once again over the stupid flyer. “Call the number Crystal, I know you want to.” She said teasingly.

I did want to. I couldn’t deny it. I was betting that once I called I’d hear the funniest automated machine on the other end because this was all supposed to be a joke. This was clearly just a big joke. I had to keep telling myself that… it was comforting to think this way. So, I told Jane I would call her back right after I called the number on the flyer, and hung up. I hurried and dialed the number into my phone and started the call, on the second ring a man answered the phone. His was voice was casual and welcoming but it wasn’t pre recorded as I had predicted. Instead, I was actually speaking with someone. He sounded pretty young too, I’d guess that he was probably in his late twenties.

“It’s great to see you’ve finally decided to call,” He said, “We were beginning to think you forgot about us.”

I remained quiet. I mean, what could I have said anyway? My heart was knocking at my chest, I feared that if the silence dragged on a minute longer perhaps the man would have been able to hear it. I wondered who were “they” and had they really been waiting? No, there’s no way. This was probably just dialogue used on all callers to make them feel valued.

“Oh right, how rude of me.” The man on the other end laughed timidly and cleared his throat. “My name is Jasper and I will be assisting you today. Thank you for calling Exeter Inc. A company that was founded just two years ago and has been skyrocketing ever since! An email has just been sent to you with more information on us. Feel free to check it out at your leisure. If you’re wondering how we got your e-mail, our database is setup so that all information i.e. name, address, e-mail, etc. are displayed during an incoming call. Just in advance I must inform you that this call is being monitored. So, with all that being said, am I speaking to Crystal Sullivan?”

I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder. How stupid did this person think I was? Using a homeless man to advertise a company wasn’t the best way to prove it’s so-called “skyrocketing” existence.

“Crystal, this is as real as it gets. Our policy is very simple, give a little to get a little. Now, the terms and conditions of said policy can be quite….unnerving however I assure you after thoroughly checking through our website, your worries will be put at ease. Now, would you like further details on our policy?”

I shrugged my shoulders knowing he couldn’t see me. Jane was definitely right for laughing at me as hard as she did, I was clearly an idiot.

“Very well. Here at Exeter Inc. we dedicate our work to bettering the lives of others. How do we do this? Through donations of all sorts! We want you to give us something of yours that could be useful for someone else in need, and in exchange we will send you money. The amount of money you get all depends on what you’re willing to give and how much of it. If you’re feeling unsure about this, please be sure to review the testimonials on our website. We also have a page which lists the types of donations we accept and they’re worth.”

“So, you want some of my clothes?” I mocked. “Isn’t that what the salvation army is for?”

“No, I’m afraid clothes aren’t the type of donations we are searching for. Donations must come from a part of you, for example; you have quite a full head of hair don’t you, Crystal? Have you ever contemplated donating it to help those with cancer? Doesn’t your mother currently have cancer?”

(Crystal pauses)

I...I uh, I don’t talk much about this. I don’t feel like it’s really anyone’s business but for the sake of this “story” and the truth, I’ll get a little personal. My mother found out she had cancer in January of last year. And just like any struggling family, once the news hit home we had no idea what to do. Neither of my parents had the kind of money to cover chemotherapy. College was completely out of the question for me unless I won a scholarship or attended community. I didn’t care about that though, I was so afraid all of sudden. My mom was going to die because we didn’t have the money to help her survive...I didn’t know how much her treatment costs, all I knew was that we just didn’t have it.  

“How do you know that? I’ve never told anyone, not even my best friend.”

“As I stated before our database has logged in quite an amount of information about you. I see that you are also from a family who is currently struggling financially. Your father’s a drunk and your mother’s time is growing shorter every day. Working with us could change your life for the better.”

“Isn’t this against the law or something? What kind of business is this what the hell?”

I hung up the phone and took a breath. There was no way I was going to sit there and listen to anything else he had to say. This was just another organization like Red Cross or something, only different in all kinds of ways. So maybe, it wasn’t a joke and I guess the homeless man was simply trying to help others and maybe he just didn't know all that much about this organization. I don’t know, honestly.

I didn’t call Jane back like I promised, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was too busy staring at the notification on my phone. I really did get an email and even though Jasper said I would be receiving one it still was a bit surprising. If they really had my email then they most certainly had my address as well...and if they had my address did that mean that I was possibly being watched? The hairs on my arms stood on end as I tapped the email and tapped once more on the link which directed me to the official Exeter Inc. website.

I couldn’t find anything on the website that appeared out of the ordinary. If anything, I felt like I was just skimming through a brochure of some ordinary health facility. If that makes sense…it’s the best way I can describe it, alright? Cut me some slack. I’m “insane” remember?

I didn’t call back...right away. Even if the website was real how the hell did that guy know so much about me? I contemplated calling the police but I knew it’d get my father involved and his alcohol addiction would take the focus off of this. I’d probably be taken away by child protective services or something. I didn’t know what to do. I sat in my bed and continued eyeing my phone until it locked. My brain practically split in two; one half considering the donation and the other half completely disregarding it.

If I donated my hair, I could put that money towards helping my mother. That’s if this organization is as reliable as they say. Even as I reviewed the testimonials of other people  supposedly making donations how could I really be certain? I’d probably get scammed and end up bald for however long although I think being bald would be the least of my worries if some random corporation had my hair.

This became a game of tug-o-war in my mind. Should I risk it and at least try to do something for my mom, especially since there was no way my father was going to get anything done. Or, did I just put this entire thing behind me? I think the decision I made is pretty obvious.

 On Sunday, I called back after doing another good half-hour of research. I also made sure to call once I was home alone, even though my father never paid much attention to me I still didn’t want to risk any questions. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it on my own for my own reasons.

“Hello again, Crystal.” It was the same man from before. Jasper. I don’t know why I expected someone else to answer, I guess I figured maybe they had multiple people waiting to take calls.

“How many inches of my hair do I have to cut?” I asked immediately.

“So you’ve considered it! Wonderful, I’m sure your mother will greatly appreciate this. 8 inches is preferred but we’ve allowed a few women and men, to donate up to 7 in the past, anything below that is not acceptable. In the e-mail there is an attachment with our shipping address. We’re aware that our building is quite distant from your location so that should make it  a bit easier. You will receive your money back in the form of a check mailed to the address our database has filed you under. Is your current location your home?”

“Yes but...how much will I get for this?” This was what I really wanted to know.

“Hair is worth five hundred. We also take fingernails and toenails as donation, those are worth twenty-five for simple clippings. Once again, on our website there is a section which lists all the possible donations which can be made.”

I gagged at the image my mind created, one filled with toenail clippings scattered all over the place. It caused my entire body to shiver,  “what does anyone need that for?”

He said something about how our nails can be used to study cell growth. Then he went on saying a bunch of scientific bullshit that I’d never heard before. My mind completely blanked out, I was simply thinking of the amount of money I would possibly be making….

If it wasn’t obvious enough, I cut my hair off and mailed it. I didn’t have to think twice about it. The website appeared okay to me and after we went over details on my location and the time frame of shipping, I felt….good. I felt like I was doing the right thing. I even clipped my nails too because why not? That’s more money in my pocket. The more money the better and once I had at least five-thousand or maybe...maybe ten-thousand, then I could...do something I never thought I’d be able to.

Bottom line is, cutting my hair off in order to get money was not something I had to think twice about. Yes, I was aware that I could have donated my hair a long time ago but the hospital looking after my mother only took hair donations to create wigs--which I still would have done but my mother told me to not even think about.

I could do this though. It was okay now!

(Crystal speaks cheerfully through tears)

The money came! Within two weeks, right on schedule. One thousand dollars...I had one thousand dollars! I didn’t have to worry about my father getting to the mail first because he normally slept through his never ending hangovers and didn’t get to the mail until somewhere around the evening. Without a second thought I went straight to bank to put this away into my savings. Only problems I faced were the looks people gave me now that all my hair was gone. The odd looks came from classmates that I happened to run into, everyone was still kinda shocked by the new look. I can’t even begin to tell you how horrible Jane’s reaction was.

I still hadn’t told her about Exeter yet, I wanted to wait until I finally had all the money together. Until then, I was going to make sure to keep this hidden from everyone.

(Crystal chuckles)

You know, when I first came to this place and went through the whole screening routine...I was told that I had schizophrenia. When my dad found out, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. He said it was something that ran in his family and he had hoped it’d skip over me but I just wasn’t lucky enough. Funny right? I think it’s hilarious. It’s funny to think that someone can ask you a few silly questions and pronounce you as clinically ill. Is it really possible to know when you’ve gone insane? I mean like, if some random lady in a coat stares at me for thirty minutes and declared me insane then couldn’t I just do that to myself? Shouldn’t I know myself better than anyone? So how would I know? It’s been...I don’t even know how long and I still don’t feel the way I’d imagine an insane person to feel. Maybe you can help me piece that together after I get into this next part….

Let me tell you, fingernails are pretty tough to remove entirely. There’s a lot of blood involved and the pain is….I don’t even know the word. I still remember ripping the first one off. I took the pliers I stole from my dad’s tool box and dug underneath the edge of my nail, where I had previously clipped off. A few deep breaths later, I squeezed the handles as close together as possible and yanked back with force. I didn’t even give myself a chance to hesitate.

The pain was...unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Sure, I’ve fallen and scraped a knee, I probably stubbed my toe on furniture billions of times but nothing was quite as excruciating as this. I remember the screaming, the way my voice cracked. I felt like I knocked my own breath right out of my lungs. My hand felt warm all of sudden, then I noticed it was just the blood oozing down my index finger. It was a constant pain, like a bee stinging you over and over again, reminding you of it’s existence. I..I looked at my finger and remember thinking….wow I really did it. The entire nail was gone and I held it in my other hand as proof. But then I went into panic, there was so much blood and it just kept coming, this wasn’t something I could just pop into my mouth for a few minutes and be done with it. Never, in my life had I seen a red so dark it was practically garnet.

I hadn’t noticed I was crying until my tears trailed down to my lips and I tasted them—and like the dumbass that I am, I wiped my face with my blood covered hand. Once I finally got a hold of myself I bandaged up my finger with the first-aid kit, I had ready beside me.

But I had done it! I removed an entire nail and now I could send it away and I knew, I knew I was going to get a lot for this. This was big, this wasn’t like a regular clipping you know? I-it was the entire fucking nail…….and then a thought ran through my head. What if...I took off all of them? Imagine the amount I’d be receiving for ten nails! Like, after that I would definitely have enough for myse-

(Crystal catches herself mid-sentence. Gasping. Her legs begins swinging back and forth and she lets out a shaky laugh.)

F-for my mother....I’d have enough money to make sure that my mother would survive through her cancer. Once I was certain that she would make it, I’d start using the rest of the money to better my own life. I know I’m only sixteen but I figured with the right amount of money I would be fine on my own. I’d get my own house because I was so sick of staying with my father. He never cooked, he never cleaned all he did was wallow in the sheer sadness of losing my mother. Each and every night he came home from work it was the same routine, he’d drag himself over to the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator and then disappear into his room. For the rest of the night I’d hear nothing but the T.V. at it’s maximum volume. I now had the power to remove myself from that though, I’d just do few more donations and leave without a word.

Unfortunately for me, that was easier said than done. The wait in between donations was always the most difficult. I always feared that maybe the money would just never show up and now this company had my DNA circulating through their building.

A couple weeks past, I was in my room listening to music and changing the bandages on all of my fingers. You probably thought I was kidding about ripping off each and every one of them, didn’t you? Do you want me to describe the pain I felt in each? How each one bled a little differently than the other? Sometimes the blood just came gushing out, like an endless river just enveloping my hand in a crimson pool. Other times, it came slow...I almost thought it wouldn’t bleed at all. I bet my father hasn’t gotten around to cleaning the blood stains in my room yet…

(another pause)

One night at around one, I received a notification. It was an email from Exeter Inc. There were no links to anything or attachments, nothing. Instead, it read a single message.

“It’s going to take some time waiting for your hair and nails to grow back. Does your mother have much time left? You have much more to give Crystal, consider it.”

My eyes squinted as I reread the message over.

How long would it take until my hair reached my waist again? How long for all of my nails to be healed? Would my mom still be alive then? I wasn’t even sure if the hospital had plans on keeping her there. It’s not like she was earning them any money, if anything she was nothing but a burden to them...they’d remove her soon. Then what? What could me and my dad possibly do once she’s out of the hospital?

I had to give something else, but what? What more did I have? What else was there?

My reflection stared back at me through the mirror for a good ten minutes before my brain finally pieced together what was so blatantly obvious. My hands were on my face with my fingers touching my cheeks so delicately. My fingers….touching….my cheeks. My fingers. My fucking fingers. I….I could give them away, just one or two of them. I’m sure I…..No. No, that was insane. That was pure insanity. How could I possibly cut off my fingers? With what?! No, I wasn’t thinking straight.

I ignored the email and went to bed. I couldn’t let those kind of thoughts get to me. I needed to wait  and that was the only logical choice. While I waited I would just go back to a semi-normal life.

Two days later I received another email as I was using the bathroom in school (and yes, if you’re wondering, Jane questioned me for hours about my fingers). I’ve always been a great liar though so setting her mind at ease was a piece of cake.

“Are you really going to let your mother die? It’ll be your fault.”

Another came after an additional two days.

“You are the only one who can save her Crystal, you can’t afford to waste anymore time.”

Then another.

“How are you going to attend your mother’s funeral knowing you’re the reason for it all?”

And the final one came in at the end of another school day.

“This won’t stop. You could try calling the police Crystal but when you do how will you help your mom then?”

I reported all the emails as spam and went straight home. I couldn’t let Jane see me balling my eyes out. Not her and not anyone else. I ran home and locked myself in my room. There I cried my eyes out on the floor and it felt as though time stopped all around me. It was just me, by myself, crying.

At this point I thought I’d have to involve the police in this. This was no longer just simple business, I was being harassed! I’d call the police and report every--

No, that was stupid. If I called the police they’d question me about my injuries and I couldn’t lie and say that I was forced. I gave my nails and hair away willingly so what was I really reporting? I didn’t know anymore, all I knew was my mom was going to die. I had to make money so that my mom could live. I had to make money so that I could get the hell out of here. I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the fucking money.

(Crystal shakes her head violently)

I snapped. I...I don’t know how, i-it just happened. It’s not really something I can sit here and explain to you, because I can’t even explain it to myself.

(Crystal grins)

You’re curious now, I see it all over your face. It’s hard to believe I did this to myself isn’t it? Hard to believe that I not only did it but I survived it too. I cut off my fingers, hand, and forearm. In that order. Not all at once, are you crazy? I did it in….sessions, for lack of a better word. I wasn’t about to stop their too believe it or not I was somewhat addicted to this. Crazy, isn’t it?

Huh? Why? Because I needed the money…

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have superhuman strength or anything. I feel pain just as much as the next person but I….I wasn’t about to let it interfere. I couldn’t allow it and I couldn’t allow myself to wait any longer. Not while my mother’s life was at stake and mine too! I got rid of the fingers first….j-just two of them. I did it in the kitchen while my father was out for the night visiting my mother at the hospital. He told her about me cutting my hair and she was a bit worried but...neither of them knew what I had done with it so I didn’t expect them to understand. Also, with my father being the way that he is I’m sure he chalked it off as some sort of teen phase. Yeah dad, very spot on.

In the kitchen I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and stood at the counter, where I then placed my hand on top of. The breaths began to come in rapidly, my eyes flickered from the knife to my hand, knife, hand, knife, hand, over and over. Doubt crept on me and a tingle went down my spine, one that I’ve only felt when Jane would drop an ice cube down my shirt. Deep down, I knew I had absolutely no idea how I was going to go about this but there wasn’t time to plan anything out. I was running so short on time, I had to get the money now or my mother...was going….to die and it would my fault. I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

I brought the knife up...and slammed it down on my index and middle finger. Blood was everywhere in an instant and I hadn’t even realized I was screaming because my ears were ringing. I messed up, I didn’t cut all the way through so my fingers were still attached, barely but still h-hanging, t-they were just hanging and touching my palm. I was sobbing uncontrollably, choking on my own saliva and watching as the blood just poured down my arm and dripped onto the tiles. The counter was splattered with blood and so was the knife, my shirt and pants stained as well. I held my hand up to my face and cried out, the pain was unbearable and this time it wasn’t like a bee stinging me over and over again. It was like the knife was still slamming down again and again and again onto to my fingers.

….When I came to my senses I took care of the damage. I managed to stop the bleeding after what felt like forever, bandage myself up and for the rest of the night I was in the kitchen cleaning up my torment.

Three weeks later, I removed my hand.  It was useless now with only three fingers. Still, maybe it would be useful to someone else and I was closing in on five-thousand. So close, I was so close and then I could help the way I’ve been wanting to. And then we wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. I took myself shopping--online mostly--and told myself that I’d make the money back up as soon as possible. I did it in my room early in the morning. It took forever and the amount of blood nearly caused me to vomit. I was driving the knife back and forth, back and forth against my skin for so long no amount of pain killers could hold back the cries I let out. My dad wouldn’t hear me though, he had the T.V. blasting. H-he had the T.V. just blaring and I was nearly killing myself to save someone that we both loved. I guess I just loved her a little more.

Just a few more bandages. The bleeding wasn’t as bad even it was a lot, but I managed to control it. I managed to make a clean cut the first try. I’m no doctor but I seen a lot of horror movies and they couldn’t all be just a load of bullshit.

Jane was a wreck worrying about me, she expressed it in her texts and every time I saw her, which wasn’t as often as it used to be. I was missing school alot to avoid having to deal with explaining myself. My father mentioned a call from the principal I think maybe one time and then continued with his sulking. He was never going to save my mom, I was the only one who could do it. Only me.

(laughter)

I began to look like one of those old greek sculptures of a person with a missing arm or forearm or leg. You know, the old ones that someone probably broke by accident and they just labeled the damage as art. That was me. I was art. What I was doing was okay, I could always buy a mechanical arm with the money, right? I had to do this, I had to.

I never got around to getting that arm though. At least not while I’m cooped up in this shit hole.

Removing it was something no amount of amnesia or dementia or anything would be able to erase.. and this is when my father finally caught me. It’s strange how I look back and wonder….how hadn’t he noticed before? Had he really not heard my cries? Did he really not ever notice the blood or that little by little, there was beginning to be less and less of me? I had no fucking hand! For two weeks! And not once did he say a fucking thing to me. Did he even care? I’ll answer that for you, no.

(Deep sigh)

Early Saturday morning, my father got a call. It was from the hospital where my mother was being treated. They told him that… that she passed away in her sleep last night and that they were sorry for the loss. They had done everything in their power, is what they said to him. I guess everything just wasn’t enough. I guess nothing I had done was enough either. I had done all of this and for what? I was too late, I couldn’t help her and now I was being sent off like an unwanted pet. That was the first time I saw my dad become animate. The minute he caught me in my room I tried explaining, I told him about Exeter Inc. and I told him that I had just made enough money to help mom...but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t understand that I was just trying to help and I was willing to give up anything….

For money? Or for my mother….?

I know this all sounds like one big made up story but you have to believe me. I don’t know why you can’t find any evidence, isn’t the FBI supposed to be good at their fucking job? I was on their website before, I even googled Exeter Inc. and multiple links appeared so how can you possibly be saying to me that there’s not a single trace of them anywhere? How do you explain all the money I was receiving? I don’t come from a wealthy family so my mother wouldn’t have--she wouldn’t have died! Please, I’m not lying. I...I can show you this is real. Just...just let me make another donation. How about that? Will that work? I’ll c-cut off my foot this time and show you the shipping process. Then you’ll believe me, won’t you?

(Crystal sighs defeatedly)

I’ve explained myself so many times. I’ve gone over this story over and over and not once do I change the words or add something new. I don’t take anything out, I don’t change anything. If I were lying, wouldn’t I make a mistake somewhere throughout telling you all of this? I’m starting to think that this isn’t about me, you guys just want a story to pass on, rumors to spread or something. Everything I said is true and in ten years this story will still be true.

I’m done now…..just leave me the fuck alone.

*******************************************************************************************

Extended notes/analysis written by Dr. Griffin. A psychiatrist at Friends Hospital:

Patient #7

Diagnostics: Schizophrenia and Apotemnophilia.

We have come to the conclusion that the fear of losing her mother is what triggered the first symptoms of schizophrenia. To amend for the upcoming loss, the patient created a fictitious setting in which she would be put in the position to conquer her fears. She also claims that a student, known as Jane, was a good friend. Interrogation shows that Jane and the patient were not as close as she had described. Therefore leading to the belief that many moments where “Jane” is spoken of, really are just delusions and proof of a possible personality disorder.

The patient continuously speaks of shipping away “donations” however fails to describe how and where. The patient also claims to have spoken on the phone with this particular corporation yet the number provided is not and has never been in service. It’s possible that, if such a thing exists, they could have simply disconnected the phone however they would still be quite easy to track. As of now we are still finding nothing.

Further FBI research tells us that this made up corporation known as “Exeter Inc.”simply held no existence. The money, in which the patient still believes to possess, was cleared from her bank. The traces have yet to be uncovered however, detectives have suggested that the patient could have hidden the money somewhere beforehand.

If the money did previously exist in her account, that would lead to reason that perhaps this corporation could be real. Other suggestions show that the patient could have also been borrowing large amounts of money on each trip to the bank and her mental instability hid the truth.

The patient’s sudden desire for amputation leads suspicions towards the father. Although all doctors have stated every wound was, in fact, self inflicted there still is reason to believe another may have been involved. Considering the weight, age, mental and physical factors of said patient, removing something such as a hand, on her own, would result in dizziness and an potential blackout.

This theory is denied by the patient who claims to have had no help at all.

As for the father, for the relentless negligence in his child’s life he is being faced with separate charges. It should also be noted that he was found unconscious and surrounded by large amount of drugs to which he claims to have never used. His blood work however proves the opposite.

Though the mother of the patient has passed away, the girl still asks to speak with her occasionally. She also seems to believe that this Exeter Inc may still be watching her. A straight jacket has been provided to keep the patient from any further attempts to scratch and harm herself in order to make a final “donation.”

This case is still open to detectives who wish to uncover what they believe to be the truth.

-- Story 1 of 7

[hamiltrashitty]

Little Ham Man *Alternate Ending + Continuation* Chapter 4 (Poly!Hamilsquad x Reader)

Okay so YES this is a new chapter, I changed the last one into a continuation of chapter 3 because it was just really short!

Make sure to follow @midnightokieriete and read Little Ham Man (Small!Hamilsquad x Reader) before reading the continuation! 

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Masterlist

John’s POV

My eyes widened as Y/n watched the carriag- I mean car with Lafayette in it drove away. As soon as Y/n got in the car, I started asking a bunch of questions.

“Why would you let them take Laf? What’s going to happen to him; where are the even taking him? What-”

“John, he’ll be fine,” she let out a sigh. “They won’t hurt him, but he can’t leave until we get him out.”

“Then lets go get him out!”

“We can’t, John,”

“Why?” “When Laf jumped into the mirror, he ended up at the pizza place. The place was closed when he got there so when he left the officers must have thought that he broke in.” I shrugged.

“And? We’ll just tell them what happened.” Y/n gave me a look before I realized what I had just said. I flashed her an apologetic look and she just nodded before we drove off.

-

When we were back at Y/n’s place, I kicked my shoes off and flopped down onto the couch beside her while she scrolled through her phone. Neither of us had anything to say, I was too lost in my thoughts worrying about Laf and the others. At least we knew where Laf was, but the rest of our friends could be anywhere. I knew Y/n was worried; after what happened to me that night she and Laf went to the pizza place. I regretted that night, having to watch her be in so much pain because of me and not being able to do anything to help. After her losing Jenny, I don't think that she would be able to handle another loss so we needed to find the others asap.

“J-John!” Y/n’s voice broke my thoughts. I turned to her with a concerned look.

“What’s wrong?” She basically shoved the phone into my face. I looked at it and my eyes widened. Jenny was FaceTiming Y/n.

“Answer it!” I encouraged her. She shook her head.

“I can’t John. I don’t know what to say!” I could see the frantic look in her eye and I know that she wasn’t going to answer it, so I took the phone from her and answered it before shoving it back into Y/n’s hands. She gave me a look before looking down at the phone.

“H-Hello?”

“Yo, yo, yo! How ya doing?” The person on the other end said. I raised a brow. The voice sounded very masculine and not like Jenny at all. I looked at the screen and saw a man in a car; from the looks of it he had his phone on his lap. Y/n was confused as well.

“Who is this?”

“What do you mean? It’s Jimmy!” Y/n and I looked at each other, eyes wide and in complete shock. 

“Oh, hey Jim.” I looked at her, still very confused. 

“Hey,” he responded with a laugh. “Listen, I got some guys saying that they are trying to get back to a Y/n and I realized that I knew a Y/n so I called. Do you know a uh-” he turned his head around. “What’s your name again? Alexander?” He turned back to us. “Yeah do you know an Alexander?” 

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes I do, do you have anyone else with you?”

“Yep,” we heard Thomas say. “It’s me Thomas, Phillip, Aaron, Herc and James are here as well.” Y/n let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can you bring them over?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty.”

-

-

Your POV

When Jimmy pulled up, the boys jumped out of the car immediately (Aaron and James not as fast). I couldn’t help but run into Thomas’ arms. I smiled up at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay!” I heard Herc clear his throat and let out a laugh before hugging him too. When Jimmy got out of the car, it was hard to act normal. I wanted to confront him about it, but it was already pretty late and I needed sleep so I decided to bring it up another time.

“Thanks for bringing them,” I said as I gave Jimmy a friendly side hug.

“No problemo, but mind telling me who they are?” I shifted uncomfortably as he leaned in closer to my ear. “Especially that James guy?”

“Maybe if we meet up tomorrow for coffee or something I can explain everything.” Jimmy stuck his tongue out. 

“Ew, no. That sounds formal. Just come over to my place and I’ll hook us up with some snacks.” I rolled my eyes.

“K, that’s fine.” Jimmy smiled and walked back into his car. 

“Bye guys! Nice meeting all of you!” He waved. The guys waved back as he drove off. We all turned to Laurens as his stomach let out a loud growl. He let out a nervous laugh.

“Anyone up for pizza?”

-

Instead of going out for pizza, we had them deliver to us. It took a little longer because this pizza place was farther away than the one that Laf appeared in (I’m trying so hard not to use the word spawn lmfao). We all sat in the living room with the lights off and watched a movie. No one brought up the fact that we had jumped into a mirror and ended up in a different time zone, no one even mentioned Laf’s absence. John probably told them anyway. 

One by one, the boys started to fall asleep and by the time the movie ended, they were all knocked out. All of them except for John. As I got up to tiptoe out of the room, I felt something grab my arm to my surprise.

“Y/n, can we talk?” I recognized John’s voice.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow John?” Even though it was still dark, I could see John shake his head.

“No Y/n, its really bothering me.” I sighed before leading him into my room. I turned to him as I flicked the lights on. 

“What is it?” John sighed and took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. I gave him a questioning look as I opened it and started to read.

Disclaimer: This next part was written by @midnightokieriete. I repeat, I DID NOT WRITE THIS PART! After the line is my writing.

When you’re in this constant state of, i don’t know what’s going to happen to me, it’s hard, it’s terrifying to try and stop thinking that way. I mean, we’re here. Under the most extreme and strange circumstances, we are here. We are here, with you, Y/N. And you are taking care of us. You are making sure we are fine, we are able to live another day. You are making sure that I’m okay. Every time you look at me, I, I don’t know how to react. Do I pretend like I’m fine?

Or do I tell you, that I get this unknown feeling in my chest, and every time i look into your eyes, I see the stars align? The world is whispering to me, and it’s telling me your name. It’s telling me that you are the one, the one I’ve been looking for all along. Is that why I’m here? Is that why we came three hundred years in the future, to meet you? My first instinct was to run away, to ignore the thumping in my chest cavity and live life without you knowing how I feel.

That’s why I’m writing this down. You, Y/N, you made me into this. I’m a complete mess. When you smile at me, I am undone. I am attached to your every breath, to your every gaze. But the others, the others, I see what’s happening. They are realizing that they care for you too. It hurts, to see them hold your hand, or touch you. Do they value you as much as I? DO they think of your smile, hours after it’s gone?

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t send this letter to you. In fact, I will hide it. This is the only way I can express how I feel about you, to let it out.

I love you. I love you with every fiber of my being. With every grin, with every word, with every breath, with every blink, with every movement of mine, I am yours.

Oh how in every waking moment of mine, I wish for you to be mine. To wake up next to you, to drink that coffee with you, to walk you to your school, to meet everyone who has had the pleasure to meet you. I want to know you, I want to see you at your most vulnerable, to see you at your best and worst. I want to experience life. With you.

But now, I have this question ringing in my head. Do you consider me yours? Or am I just a nuisance, a man that you treat like a child? Is John Laurens, the man far from his time, worth the time of day?

As I am writing this, I think I know the answer. But I still need to know. I need to hear it from you.

Am I, Miss Y/N, a man you could love? Someone that you could see a future with, someone that is desperately in love with you? Could, you possibly…

Sorry, I am rambling on. You were gone for a while, and I am on my way to see you outside. I hope Lafayette and you had a nice time together.

Why am I still writing?

Lafayette loves you, you know. I’m not quite sure if he knows it yet, but I see the way he looks at you. The way his smile widens every time you waltz into the room, gracing us with your presence. It hurts, because, you smile. Oh, your smile to him, it’s different. It’s more special. More intimate.

Why can’t you see me? I am right here, I am waiting for you. Just look at me, see me for who I am, see me.

See me.

Ah, it is my time to place down this pen. I will see you soon.

Time to eat that deadly slice of pizza.

“Y/n, are you okay? Y-You’re crying.” I felt my face. It was soaked in tears. John wrapped his arms around me as I stood there in shock. That’s when it hit me. I loved John. Why was I so hurt over his death? Sure, he was my friend and all but the grief hit me on another level. I love him. I also loved Laf, Alex, Herc, and Thomas. How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to make you upset. Please ba- Y/n, don’t cry.” I looked up at his worried face. He looked hurt and it killed me.

“John, you didn’t make me upset. It’s just I can’t believe..” I trailed off.

“That I feel this way?” 

“Yeah,” was all I could say.

“Why is it so surprising?” 

“The fact that you could love someone like me. The fact that there are so many people out there, and you choose me. The fact that I was so oblivious,” I rambled. John took a step closer.

“Y/n, I know you love Laf and Thomas. I also know that you love Herc and Alex. I see the way you look at them,” he took another step closer. “But if you give me a chance, I could prove to you tha-” I cut him off by smashing my lips with his. He didn’t hesitate to kiss back.

Y’all I’ve been so inactive and I hate it, I’ve been mad lazy lately. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.

Also thinking about making Jimmy and James a thing? 

Also also this is not proofread because its 2 in the morning and I have no patience lmao. I’ll try to come back and fix any mistakes when its not an ungodly hour to be awake.

- A-a-ron (aka hamiltrashitty)

[makikoigami]

[Fic] Final Fantasy XV - Noctis Week Day 1

Title: “Loose your breath” Day 1: Favorite Scene / On the road / To my younger self Rating: PG Wordcount: 5094 Spoilers: Spoilers for about everything Warnings: Character death is a big one. Suicidal thoughts happen within here too. But I swear this sounds worse than it is. Unbetaed because no time. I might go over this again when I’m over writing this. As Promptis as the game is. Maybe a tad more. But all just best friends. Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never played the game. Still, these guys happen to occupy my mind. Not my fault Summary: Noctis finds out the afterlife has some nice features that he hadn’t counted on. Luna is there to guide him along, but he is more worried about his best friend. Notes&Comments: Okay, so. I saw the prompts for @noctisweek and I immediately had this idea for Day 1: To my younger self. It now happes quite at the end of this story, and the rest is pretty... fantastic. I hope this idea isn’t as bad as I feel it is right now. Or as confusing as I fear it is.

The afterlife turned out to be a funny thing for Noctis. It was much like his time in the crystal, floating around aimlessly, remembering moments of his life, dreaming up new memories and finding his peace with Luna. He 'dreamed' being king, sitting on the throne with her next to him, but it was just two of them and it felt like something was missing. He had the picture with him, taken during happier times and after showing it to Luna, he found himself staring at it more often than not.

He missed his friends, he hoped they were well, hoped that the light reached them, warmed their faces after that long time of darkness. While he didn't remember them well, he could picture their faces perfectly, using the photograph to her him jog his memory.

After a while, he didn't know how long, days, weeks, maybe years, he could feel Luna look at him with a mixture of curiosity and pity. He looked up into her pale blue eyes and tilted his head curiously, knowing she wanted to tell him something that he didn't know.

'You can visit them, you know?' She said, her voice like a memory in his head. 'You can be wherever, whenever you want to be... Just think about it.'

He stared at her with a mixture of a frown and disbelief, so she took his hand and told him to trust her. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were in Hammerhead, standing right in front of the station. It was dark outside, but not in a weird way, just because it was still night, but closing in on dawn.

Eyes wide, he turned to Luna, who just smiled mysteriously at him and let go of his hand as she stepped backwards.

'You know where to find me,' he heard her voice in his head again, and as he blinked, she had disappeared, only to be replaced by an approaching figure coming fast to the station. Noctis blinked, squinted and was surprised to see that it was Prompto, who had apparently been on an early morning run. He was still sporting his goatee, so Noctis knew that he was in the present, or at least in what he thought was the present.

Prompto arrived, but didn't return to the station. He ran past it and Noctis decided to follow him. A few moments later they were perched on top of the windmill powering parts of Hammerhead Station, looking towards what Noctis remembered to the direction of Insomnia. Sitting side-by-side, it didn't feel like any time had passed. Just that Prompto didn't take any notice of him at all.

Glancing over more often than not, Noctis wondered if he was simply invisible or just in another dimension that Prompto couldn't see him. He shuddered thinking that he was a ghost, although, well, he was just that. A soul in the afterlife roaming among the living. And boy was he glad that Prompto was still alive. He would never forgive himself if any of his friends grieved so much over him that they'd end their life prematurely.

Prompto had worried him the most, but he was glad to see that his best friend seemed to be okay.

Noctis smiled, feeling a wave of relief coming over him and he hadn't been aware just how much he had been worried about the man sitting next him.

"Hey buddy," he heard Prompto say and he whipped his head around, wondering of Prompto could see him after all. The sky had turned orange already, promising a spectacular sunrise in the next few seconds.

That was what Prompto was looking at now, violet blue eyes trained on the horizon and within the next breath, the first rays of the sun fell on Eos. Noctis held his breath, turning quickly to look at Prompto.

His best friend was smiling, his gaze tender and intense. "Glad to see you again," he said, taking a deep breath that turned into a sigh, Prompto closing his eyes to feel the rays of sunshine on his already sun-kissed skin.

Noctis looked from the sunrise to Prompto and back a few times, waved his hand in front of Prompto's face just to make sure that the other really couldn't see him and then snorted a laugh.

Prompto thought he was the sun.

It was amusing, really, seeing the blond greet the sun in his stead, as if it was able to replace him. Sure, Prompto had told him how he felt inferior to all of them, but comparing Noctis to the sun? Really, it was ridiculous.

After watching the sun for a while, Prompto got up and returned to the station, got dressed in a work overall and set upon repairing cars, machines and whatnot.

Noctis closed his eyes for a moment and then it was evening, the sun just setting. He found himself sitting next to Prompto on the windmill again, telling the sun about his day, little anecdotes that had happened. Noctis listened intently, since he hadn't been there, and watched Prompto saying good night to the sun as if it was really him.

For a few days, Noctis continued to watch his best friend's ritual and the more he watched, the more it grew on him. He promised silently that he would listen to everything Prompto wanted to tell him, since had all the time in the world anyway. Eventually, Prompto would pass over in the afterlife and Noctis vowed to wait for him and welcome him with open arms, patiently waiting until he could all these stories directly.

As he got more of a hang of traveling through the world of living - it was pretty much the same as warping around, just that he could move greater distances and didn't need a dagger or sword - Noctis was surprised to find out that both Gladio and Ignis in Lestallum and new Insomnia had similar rituals. They weren't as intense as Prompto's, but they always took a moment each morning to greet the sun properly.

Huh.

It was nighttime again and it seemed like a few years had passed as the wrinkles around Prompto's eyes had multiplied, their number rivaling that of his countless freckles.

"It's been ten years now... Another ten years without you, Noct," he heard the other say, holding his breath as if he could suddenly feel his friend's loneliness.

"That's... Twice as much as twice the time that we've been best friends," he chuckled. "Glad I could to that much math, huh?"

He fell silent again and Noctis wished so badly that he could reach out and talk to his friend, give him just a little bit of reassurance that he was fine and that he was watching over him.

"But you know what? Sometimes... Sometimes it's like you're sitting here next to me and I feel like you're here with me when I'm... At my worst and it makes me happy to think that with every year that passes, I'm closer to seeing you again."

Holding his breath, Noctis was shocked to understand that Prompto looked forward to seeing him again in the afterlife just as much as he did.

"I can't wait to see you and Lady Lunafreya again. There's so much to tell! What you've left us behind with, it's grown, it's taken a turn for the better and everyone is happy. We've ventured out to Nifelheim as well, found some people who were still alive and made peace with them. We've... We've elected a council, and Ignis has been doing his best as a chancellor, holding your name high, making sure that everyone's needs are fulfilled... Not everyone's happy, you can't do that, but in general... People are content. It makes me happy..."

He trailed off and Noctis found himself swallowing around a thick lump in his throat, moved by how far everyone had come.

"I just wished we had had more time together. As friends. I mean, I'm happy with the way things happened, but... Five years in the face of twenty... Don't really seem all that much, you know? It's been... It's been such an intense time and I loved every moment of it, but just... I wish I had had the courage to approach you properly sooner. Talk to you, become your friend, grow up together. But I couldn't because I was shy and heavy and clumsy and an idiot... You were such an amazing friend, I know that now, but I was so scared... So scared you'd make fun of me or didn't want my company..."

'Idiot,' Noctis thought. 'I've been waiting for you ever since that day to approach me again. I've been waiting for you to be my best friend...'

His eyes widened and he stared unseeingly at his knees realizing that he had but one regret in his life. One regret that made him sit here, alone, as a ghost, with his best friend, ten years after his death, listening to him reminiscing.

He regretted being passive, waiting on Prompto to come at him as a child, when he had needed a friend so badly. His injury and the long sleep had taken such a big toll on him that he didn't feel like talking to people at all.

That was another thing he regretted, but mostly he regretted not having friends but those he was told to have. Ignis, Luna, Gladio, they all had been more or less assigned to him, they all were older and while he learned a great deal from them, he only realized belatedly how much he missed a friend of his own age. Maybe that was why he had lingered behind, waiting for Prompto to be ready to talk to him.

Noctis was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the days passing into weeks, and then months. He blinked and when he looked up he saw that the sun had set and a full moon was shining. He looked around, but Prompto was nowhere to be found, so he tried to sense where he was.

Suddenly, he found himself in Altissia, but something felt wrong. He frowned, but as he looked around, he realized that the people around him didn't have distinct faces. Some were male, some were female, but other than that, he couldn't tell much more. He walked around a little, finding a Kenny Crow's and he smiled at the memory. However, he blinked when he saw who was sitting on a table near the window.

There was Prompto, but his younger self, 20 years old, and he was talking animatedly with his own younger self, who was eating fries and smiling at Prompto with the dreamiest look Noctis had ever seen.

'Did I ever look at him like that?' Noctis wondered with a fond smile at the scene before him.

All of a sudden, the scene changed, the view seemed to blur and Noctis found himself sitting in his younger self's position. He blinked and stared wide-eyed at Prompto, who then seemed to blur and turn into his older self himself. Not the 40-year-old man, but the one he had last seen when he was still alive.

"Why are you here," Prompto demanded, obviously miffed that the scene had changed from happier times to the time of great regret.

"...because you wanted me to be," Noctis said calmly, feeling a little weird to hear his own voice outside of his head. Somehow, he had not spoken out aloud ever since that fight with Ardyn and using his vocal chords now was kind of weird.

Prompto scoffed and looked to the side, covering his pout with a propped up hand. "It's not how I usually like it," he huffed, glancing outside. The scene had changed from a bright sunny day to eternal night, the only illumination coming from an eerie blue lantern that floated in front of the window, making the lines on Prompto's face even more visible. The scene changed again and by then, Noctis was sure that he was taking a lead role in one of Prompto's dreams without the blond realizing that he was dealing with the real thing.

"My bad," Noctis sighed, unable to hide a chuckle being faced with the older man's pout. He looked almost boyish now, and it was adorable to see the young boy beneath the older man's skin.

"Do you know how useless I feel? 'Ever at your side,' and now I'm here alone, only able to see my memory of you in my dreams. Noct... The time we had together was so short and now I've been waiting so long to go and find you again... But it's seems as if the Six want me to lead a long, empty life."

He scoffed again, obviously frustrated with himself. Noctis tilted his head and reached out to touch his hand, hoping to convey his sympathy. "I'll be waiting for you," he promised, "No matter how long it takes."

Prompto started crying then, the scene around them breaking and Noctis did the only thing he could think of as they started to fall into a void. He pulled his friend closer and hugged him, let him cry until his tears had run dry and he had fallen asleep again.

After that, Noctis found himself standing next to the tiny bed in Prompto's room at Hammerhead and watched him sleep peacefully until morning. The blond then got up and went on a morning run, greeted the sun like his best friend as he had done every day and continued to live his life.

That was how Noctis learned that he could communicate with some people in their dreams. Not everyone, but those whom he had been close to, who dreamed of him regularly.

He told Ignis that he was proud of him, listened to his fears and worries about the united Eos, told him exactly how to make that Tenebraen pastry and Ignis got it right every time from then on. He watched him send the pastry to Prompto and Gladio, the former starting to cry after the first bite.

He watched Gladio grow plants and vegetables and even tried them in the Shields dreams. They were better than he remembered them, sweet and soft, not bitter and hard to chew. He told him accordingly and Gladio laughed and patted his shoulders, telling him how he knew that he was dreaming now because 'good old Noct' would never talk about greens like that.

It was nice and it made Noctis feel... Not so dead anymore. He thought about what it must have been like to have had this power during the time he was harvesting the Crystal's magic, being able to visit his friends in their dreams. They certainly would have been less lonely, knowing he was still there.

He hadn't even finished that thought and found himself standing near Hammerhead again, this time at night. He looked up to see no moon, no stars, no light whatsoever. All that he could see was Prompto, running fast along the track he usually chose for his morning run, shooting his guns left and right, killing daemons as if it was part of his daily routine. He looked younger, but not as young as the first time he had visited him in his dreams.

'Prompto, hey, it's me,' Noctis said, surprised to find himself speaking only in his mind again.

This... Wasn't a dream?

That thought was confirmed when Prompto ran right through him without even acknowledging him in the slightest.

He was a ghost.

This was reality.

He frowned, concentrated and the scene changed. For a second he was blinded by bright light that was reflected by pristine white snow, finding a figure dressed in black zooming by on a snow bike, a second figure behind him shooting a really big daemon.

'This... The time when Prompto was fighting alone in Nifelheim...'

They had talked about it briefly, what had happened to Prompto after Noctis had pushed him off the train, thinking it had been Ardyn. But to see it happen live and in technicolor...

He continued to watch Prompto fight, kicking ass quite literally and his respect for his best friend grew with every MT that found his unsightly end. Watched him sit at a small campfire, hugging his gun goodnight. He refrained to visit his dreams then, afraid of what he might see. Instead, he went to see how his own group was doing, just to find himself moping and being a brat to Ignis and Gladio, who really hadn't deserved to be treated like that. He wondered if he could visit  himself at that time and was delighted to find out that he could.

His younger self was moping even in his dreams, blaming himself for being a bad friend, wishing he had never met Prompto because he would have been so much better off without him. At least he wouldn't have pushed him of a train.

It hurt Noctis to see himself like that, so he reached out and tried to encourage himself to keep looking for Prompto. He would surely find him, he was his best friend after all. Ignis and Gladio were there to help him too and when had they ever not been helpful?

His younger self calmed down then and on the next morning, they finally found a crucial clue to Prompto's whereabouts.

Noctis watched them reunite, smiled, and then continued to watch how they crumbled apart after the Crystal had absorbed him without a chance to say goodbye. He found Luna there, floating much like he did and within a blink, he was transported back to Altissia, right into the middle of the battle with Leviathan. He watched Ardyn stab Luna, watched his younger self fight the God, and then he watched Luna visit his younger self in his dreams, much like he had visited his friends. He remembered dreaming of her then, passing on the ring of Lucii. He looked at her floating next to him in the hotel room where he woke up, learning of her death and seeing a blind Ignis for the first time and they looked at each other.

'No matter how often I come here,' Luna said in his mind, 'it's always the same. It is as if I'm destined to die here in any scenario I could think of...'

'Luna...'

'It's okay. I've come to terms with this. I've.. Had. For a long time,' She added, giving him a long and meaningful look.

'You mean...'

'Mhm, I knew what was coming. I told myself in my dreams. Back then. Every night, I, the oracle told myself what I had to do to end this malicious circle. To bring peace to Eos. I'm sorry it had to be you and me, at that time... I'm sorry you couldn't spend more time with-'

'You told him to become my friend,' Noctis said, eyes wide with shock. 'He told me you wrote him a letter once...'

'Mhm. I knew you needed a friend. I'm sorry it didn't quite work out from the start, that was beyond my control, since I couldn't talk to either of you in your dreams back then,' Luna explained.

Noctis was thinking a mile a minute. Luna said she had been talking to her younger self in her dreams. Told herself to tell Prompto to become his friend, knowing how important they would be to each other in the future. And now that time and space meant nothing to him anymore, Noctis could to the same to...

He grabbed Lunas shoulders and planted a heavy kiss to her lips. 'Thank you,' he grinned and started to run. In the distance she was sure to hear Luna wish him luck.

Running through the times was perhaps stupid when he could move with his thoughts alone. But this was important and he couldn't think, felt like he had unlearned everything that he knew about this dimension. Nut he had to find it, had to find the time and place...

He almost ran into Carbuncle on his way, but at least he knew that he was right on track then. Together with him he found his young self who had just survived the attack by the Naga, who had slipped into a deep sleep.

There, he found himself in an adventure, fighting much like he did later on in real life, using magic like a child would. Noctis smiled, it had been easier then, not tinted with the fatal feeling that the end of the world was near.

Once the adventure was over and little Noctis lay back in his bed, ghost Noctis sat down next to him  and took his hand gently.

"...Dad?" He asked and Noctis chuckled.

"I'm not our father," he said softly, brushing the boy's hair out of his face. "I'm you, from the future."

"Huh... Will I be strong like my dad then?"

"Mhm... And you will have good friends. Ignis and Gladio-"

Young Noctis scoffed at that, turning his gaze from his older self. "Gladio hates me."

"Hm... Maybe he does, but be a good boy and he'll see what your worth. Try to make Ignis happy and eat your greens sometimes, okay? They might look bad... Forget what I said, greens are bad."

He laughed with his younger self, who relaxed then and sighed softly, sleep already tugging on his consciousness to pull him away from even this realm.

"Are you really me?" Young Noctis asked, stifling a yawn.

"Mhm, I really am. Now listen to me, this is important. When you get into school - a public school, not Ignis's tutoring - There will be a boy. He's blond and wears glasses, he has a camera and is a little clumsy... He will be your best friend, but he will take a very long time to realize that he doesn't have to be embarrassed to talk to you... Talk to him. Go to him. Run with him and don't let him out of your sight," older Noctis pressed. "There will be a time when you can't be together, seize every moment you can!"

"Huh, if you say so... But what if he's an idiot?" Young, sleepy Noctis said, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to stay awake and listen.

"Well, he is. But he's a good boy. A very good boy with a big heart for animals. He loves dogs and chocobos-"

"Chocobos are cute," his young self smiled, making Noctis smile in return. "Yes... Very much so. You'll like him, but he needs your courage to be able to talk to you..."

Noctis could feel himself fading away as his younger self drifted off to sleep, soon  to wake up in his own time and reality before he would travel to Tenebrae and meet Luna for the first time.

Noctis watched as his father came to carry him to the car, to go there with him and all he could do was pray that his message had come across.

Finally a moment of peace. No annoying classmates who asked him how many servants he had, who was more interested in his status as the prince than himself as the person. Standing here, behind this shack next to the garbage where he wasn't even allowed to be, he was alone and no one would bother him.

Heaving a sigh he stared at his feet. He had been at this school for a week now and no one fitting into the description of his old self in his dream had come along. Maybe it was all just that, a dream. Nothing of that was the truth and he should just ignore the nagging feeling of loneliness, the emptiness that was eating him up from the inside.

"H-hello, prince," he heard a voice and looked up, surprised to see a fat kid approaching him. He was blond, wore glasses and had a camera, everything his older self had told him he would have.

Could it be...?

"Um, Hey would you like to be my- Uwah!"

The boy's foot got caught on the barrier and he fell facedown on the ground.

Ouch, that must have hurt!

Noctis came running, intending to help up the other boy.

"Everything alright?" He asked, looking down where the boy was still lying on the ground. Hopefully he didn't get a concussion or anything worse.

"Y-yes, the camera looks fine..." The boy said as if that was all that he was concerned about.

Noctis stared at him in disbelief, doing the only thing that he could think of doing before he said something he might regret. He reached out to the boy to help him up, but it seemed like he had misunderstood the gesture, so he held up his camera for Noctis to take.

"Ah, here..."

Boy, his old self had not been lying when  he said this guy was an idiot.

"Not that," he laughed, holding out his hand still as the other boy pushed himself up on his knees before he finally reached out to take his hand.

Noctis tugged and pulled, but man, this guy was heavy!

He found himself uttering the word as he exerted himself, but managed to pull the other to his feet just as the bell at the end of the break sounded.

So Noctis, being the good boy he promised his father to be, got up and hurried back into the school building, jumping over the barrier as if it was nothing.

"Well... See ya!" He said on his way, leaving the other boy behind.

He looked shocked somehow, as if he hadn't heard Noctis's words at all, lost in his mind as he was clutching his camera to his chest.

Noctis did slow down to wonder when the other was coming back to school but the bells stopped, so he hurried a little faster. He thought he had heard another thud of the other boy falling to ground, but surely he wouldn't make the smell mistake twice, right?

He didn't see much more of the boy the following days. It was about a week later when he caught glimpse of him again, hiding behind a pole that did nothing to hide his body at all. Noctis turned when he thought he heard the other boy's voice only to see him retreat with hunched shoulders.

In that moment he thought to take his older self's advice and just go and talk to him, if not for the car with Ignis pulling up at the gate of the school to pick him up.

That happened a few times, and Noctis even waited where they had met for the first time in hopes that they could meet again.

He could sense that the other boy was there. Over the past three months it had taken him quite some time to find out that his name was Prompto and that he was in another class but that he had no friends, really.

Just like me...

Around winter time he had enough. Ignis had arrived with the car, but Noctis didn't want to leave without talking to this guy again, so he waited. His teeth were clattering from the cold and Ignis had asked him three times already to get into the car, but Noctis knew that Prompto was there.

Just when he had almost given up hope and turned to join Ignis in the warm car, he heard the heavy sound of footsteps on the freshly fallen snow.

"Hey, you!" He said and ran over to where Prompto tried to hide in vain behind a bush.

"A-ah!"

"Would you like to come and eat dinner at my place? I have some games we could play," he invited the boy, because what did he have to lose? His older self had said this guy would be his best friend forever, so it was definitely worth a shot.

"Ah, but I have training, too, um, so if you don't mind watching-"

"Do you think I could join?" Prompto asked, looking at him with wide eyes, seemingly more excited about a workout than the video games Noctis had to offer.

"If... If you really want to, but it's pretty exhausting-"

"I don't mind!"

"Huh?"

"Y-you know, I'm trying to lose weight and I've been running every day since we first met and I'm not good at this and I've read that working out helps a lot -"

"And eating right," Ignis cut in with a hand on Noctis's shoulders. "I'll make a nice, healthy meal... With lots of greens, it will do you both good."

Noctis pulled a face which in turn pulled a chuckle from the other boy.

"I started making my own salads and I like them! But I'm not good, so I would like to learn from you, please!" Prompto grinned and bowed low, surprising both the prince and his adviser.

"Well then. Come on in. What's your name?"

"Prompto. His name's Prompto and he's my friend," Noctis said, a happiness he hadn't known flowing through him that warmed his cold cheeks until they were pink with glee.

Noctis watched the scene unfold, so different than what he remembered and he smiled. He closed his eyes and in the next moment he found himself in a far away future, watching an old Prompto lying on his bed in New Insomnia, old and gray but no less his friend. He knew it was the end and a part of him couldn't wait for it to happen.

One breath. Another, slower, and one more.

Prompto looked so peaceful, asleep but alone.

Noctis held his breath and started counting the other's freckles. However, before he could reach double digits, he found that the breathing had stopped and he turned to look to his side.

'It's been a while,' he smiled as he turned to his friend, who stared at him with an open mouth, looking no older than thirty.

'Noct!'

They hugged, they cried and the only thing on Noctis's mind was that he was going to make it up to Prompto for leaving him alone for such a long time. He owed him that much, leaving him alone, watching him grow old without him. And then maybe one day, they would go back together and make their first meeting even better.

'I saw you in my dreams!'

'That's because I was there.'

'Really?'

'Come on, there's a lot you need to know...'

[artificialqueens]

Bees and Butterflies (Katya-centric Katlaska) - Cactus

A/N – WARNING: Super-long author’s note. Can’t be bothered to read? Just get the bit in bold to see the warnings.

Hi guys! My name is Cactus – new writer, long-time reader. This is just a one-shot to get me started, for now.

In this universe, Katya and Alaska are both boys – Brian and Justin. Brian is a trans man (FTM), and Justin is cis – I’m a trans guy myself, and a lot of the feelings/experiences Brian has here are things I or people I’m close to have dealt with –disclaimer that this isn’t everyone’s experience of being trans; I don’t speak for everyone. The boys are both in college and for the context of this fic, Brian is younger than Justin, which I know isn’t reality but meh, that’s what ended up happening.

Pronouns: He/him for Justin throughout. Brian is he/him, but she/her is sometimes used in his own internal monologues. You’ll see what I mean – I hope it makes sense.

This one isn’t the most cheerful – a fair bit of angst / hurt/comfort, although there’s some fluff in the middle to keep everyone going. So in the spirit of that - CONTENT WARNINGS: Gender dysphoria / misgendering (this is the big one, that’s a theme throughout), mention of self-harm/suicidal ideation (very very brief), drug/alcohol use mention, mention of death (very brief), transphobia. I’ve tagged these, and I’m being conservative with them because I don’t want to trigger/upset anyone, so even the slightest mention earns itself a tag.

This one is super Katya-centric, but let me know what you think, especially RE: Characterisation because it’s my first time writing these characters. I’m keen to continue with this universe and write fluffier/happier things within it as well, and I’m keen to explore Justin’s perspective more if people would be interested.

 Enjoy! Cactus

Eyes up. Head forward. Breathe. 

Eyes up. Head forward. Breathe.

Eyes up. Head forward. Breathe.

You’ve got this.

So goes Brian’s daily shower mantra.

And if the shower edges to the wrong side of scalding, an attempt to burn all the wrong in him and on him away; and if he scrubs at his skin a little too long and a little too hard, some part of him hoping that the she, the her, would slip away down the drain with the swipe of a washcloth; and if a cocktail of shampoo and tears set his eyes on fire each time pruning hands brush over breasts, the lies his body persists in telling protruding from his aching chest –

If these things happen, then nobody is there to see it.

These are the minutes of Brian’s day which make bile burn in the back of his throat – the minutes in which he can’t bind and pack and dress his body into a story that’s his.

No matter what he tries, these minutes are always her’s, and her body echoes with the ripples of everything that he isn’t, and some nights he showers sitting down, tears and water merging through palms pressed to his eyes until he sees stars.

And some nights his eyes linger a moment too long on the razors that his roommate leaves on the bathroom counter, as if he could carve an escape map on his arms and his thighs and leave this lying skeleton behind – but he refuses to die in her body. He can’t stomach the concept of lying under a gravestone dedicated to a phantom that never truly existed.

And some nights he sings, loud and off-key and awful over the drone of the shower, a futile attempt to drown out the voice in his head which slips up and calls him she more often than he’ll own up to (because if he can’t get this pronoun thing down, how the fuck can he expect anyone else to?).

And some nights he thanks every deity he gave up on years ago, that the bathroom mirror fogs over before he steps out of the shower – grateful not a strong enough word when he isn’t confronted with his face on her traitorous body.

But some nights, a hand will reach to wipe away the fog (small, dainty, too much hers and not enough his) and Brian will force himself to take stock of his body – to take inventory of the house he’s grown up in, that he so often dreams of burning to the ground.

(This is invariably a mistake. These nights are the worst nights. These are the nights when sobs threaten to shake his body apart at the joints, to scatter him across the white tile floor).

Some nights, showering is hard, and other nights it’s worse, the skin he’s forced to share with her crawling as he exposes himself, but he clings to the hope of one day it won’t be like this like a life raft.

(And if this is a life raft then someone’s punched some holes in the fucking thing, because it never keeps him buoyant for long.)

On the first day of class, his freshman year of college, there are icebreakers which elicit a unanimous groan rippling around the room as they are asked to share their name, major, and one thing they hate.

 (‘That always provides more interesting answers than ‘something you love’ – I don’t give a damn about your dog, or your grandma, or your favourite TV show’ clips the teacher, face wrinkled and folded and faded like torn edges of a weathered road map).

‘Brian, performance art major, and I hate showering more than anything in the world. If I could, I’d find a way to remain clean indefinitely without ever having to shower’ draws laughter from his classmates for the conviction behind his answer, punctuated with staccato hand movements and an open palm slapped on his desk.

The best jokes bloom from seeds of pain.

******************

Brian gets dressed in the dark.

The irony of this, given his penchant for problem patterns and clashing colours which cause friends and (very fucking rude, thank-you-very-much) strangers alike to jibe that he looked like he was dressed by a colour-blind six-year-old with ADHD, thank you Trixie, is not lost on him.

It isn’t – contrary to popular opinion – that he doesn’t care what he looks like; he is, in fact, pathologically particular about his clothing and general appearance.

He spends eons agonising over what to wear, bony fingers grazing back and forth amongst shirts and pants in his closet which he pulls out in endless combinations, finding fault with each in turn with expert precision.

A teal tank top – No. Won’t hide his binder.

A red plaid shirt that he’d fallen in love with in the store – Won’t make his chest look flat enough. No way.

A green floral jacket, garish and ugly and bright and perfectly him; it had been the first piece of “men’s clothing” he’d ever bought (although last he’d checked, none of his clothes had a penis or a vagina, and therefore gendering of clothing was archaic fucking bullshit), and a smile had itched at the corners of his lips the whole walk home, persisting even through the traitorous I’m sorry, ma’am of the man who’d bumped into him on the pavement.

He aches to wear it – to slip it over too-narrow shoulders and walk out the door with every ounce of the Pride that he sees in others, but can’t seem to dredge out of the gutters of his own veins.

But garish and ugly and bright is certain to elicit stares of strangers – and staring strangers means people who will look through him to find the her he’s choking back, staring strangers means not even Justin’s hand dwarfing his own can quell the rolling of his stomach, staring strangers at best means yes ma’am, means young lady, means the ladies’ bathroom’s that way, aimed at him like needles in the soft skin behind his knees, and at worst –

The blazer joins the pile of discarded clothes on his bed.

One day.

Glancing at his phone and realising he has – motherfucker, he only has twenty minutes before he needs to leave to meet Justin, and absolutely positively in no way can he be late, Barbara – he settles on black skinny jeans and a graphic T shirt that’s both loose and high-necked enough to conceal his binder.

Not what he would choose, necessarily, but the clinging denim and nylon are enough to choke the rattling breath out of her for the evening.

He reaches out and flicks the switch; plunges the room into darkness by the time his towel hits the floor. The dark won’t – can’t – smother her. But at least he won’t have to see it.

Lights off – clothes on.

This will do – for now.

**************

Leaning against the wall of the movie theatre, casual in a way that’s calculated and intentional, Brian waits for Justin. He’d bit the inside of his cheeks to swallow a wry smile and feigned annoyance at the ‘I’m so sorry I’m going to be late – I’ll buy you popcorn to make up for it! 😊” that had popped up on his phone ten minutes previously, honestly expecting nothing less of his boyfriend (and holy shit it felt so good to be able to call Justin that).

Pulling his jacket tighter across his shoulders, bitten fingernails drum residual tension out into the bricks behind him.

Beneath the carefully constructed calm façade, his brain vibrates dully with the bees humming at the edges of his skull, wings beating out a dirge of keep your shoulders back it’ll make them look broader and don’t pop your hip it makes you look feminine, with stand up straighter it’ll make you look taller and that guy at the bus stop has looked over here five times now does this mean I don’t pass?

The bees are something which he can, if not ignore, relegate to the back of his mind on most days; a disquieting, discordant constant that underscore his existence. On some days, the days he doesn’t talk about, the wings beat themselves into a flurry, swarming and swooping and stinging him in places he tries to numb with pills and booze and blunts and Justin.

Justin.

And the sight reaches inside him and pulls laughter out from way down deep, and for once he doesn’t care that it’s too high too feminine too her, because Justin is fifteen minutes late and still walking the pavement like it’s a runway, slow and yet purposeful, all hip and leg and sass like a high-fashion giraffe, and the bees’ wings scratching at his temples slow a little as Brian pushes himself off the wall and crouches, miming taking pictures like a photographer at one of the fashion shows Justin makes them watch together.

And Justin is hamming it up, twirling and pouting and posing, and when he reaches Brian they both glance left right left and behind them for unkind prying eyes before you’re so fucking stupid is breathed from one set of lips against another between quiet chuckles and Justin tastes like vanilla and home.

And “sorry I’m late” and “you owe me popcorn, Brenda” is as good as I love you for both of them.

And a hand clasping his as they walk inside, homophobes be damned, and the casual ‘hey, boyfriend? You look handsome’ said like it’s nothing when it’s everything, turns the bees in Brian’s brain into butterflies for a while.

 *****************

When they’re buying tickets inside, and the young girl behind the desk (fumbling and awkward, smudged glasses slipping down her nose as she prints their tickets) smiles sweetly and asks Justin if he and his girlfriend will be paying for tickets together or separately, it feels like someone’s taken scissors and sliced across every muscle and tendon that holds him upright, he wants to origami himself invisible because she said girlfriend, so he looks like a girl, because who is he kidding he’ll always be a girl, and Justin deserves the type of real man that shots and scalpels and sheer fucking will won’t – can’t – make him, and –

And the pad of Justin’s thumb presses itself in an arch across the back of Brian’s shoulder, firm and there and as reassuring as if the other man had pulled him into an embrace, as he looks the woman in the eye and informs her that yes, he and his boyfriend will pay together.

And the reply is polite, and it’s courteous, and Justin’s smiling as it passes his lips in a Sahara-dry drawl, lips snagging and dragging on every vowel, but it’s laced with conviction and with don’t fucking question this, bitch and the girl’s owl-eyes, impossibly larger behind coke-bottle lenses, widen as she takes their cash, grins an  enjoy the movie, sirs, and watches them walk away.

And Brian exhales, her fingers unfurling as sweating palms wipe against his jeans.

And Justin’s lips are quirked lopsided as he walks beside him taking Snapchat selfies, trying every filter and guffawing unashamedly as they distort his face, showing Brian every one and saving the most wonderfully heinous to his Camera Roll.

(And it will take three kisses and a joint, later that evening, for Justin to convince Brian to take a selfie with him, and when he relents Justin glows enough to make Brian wish he’d agreed an hour ago, and they take about 50 in Brian’s bedroom before there’s one they’re both happy with, and Justin captions it “Effortlessly photogenic boyfriends” with a clown emoji and puts it on Instagram, and 112 people like it.)

There’s a bounce in Brian’s step as they ascend the stairs to the movie theatre, and he’s all wide mouth and crinkling eyes as he turns to Justin, mirth in his voice.

“Did you hear her? She called me sir!”

And the other man laughs, honest and joyful, locks his fingers through Brian’s where they’re clasping his arm in excitement.

“Damn right she did, sweetheart!”

Sometimes it’s the little things.

 ***************

The movie – some saccharine, vapid rom-com, because finals week is approaching like a freight train down a steep hill with broken brakes and neither of them have the mental capacity to cope with anything heavier at this point – is simultaneously fucking terrible and worth every penny.

There isn’t much in the way of plot, and what plot there is they struggle to follow, too busy furnishing elaborate and so-implausible-they-could-come-true backstories for every character on screen. They decide that the heroine is really a Latvian supermodel who teaches disabled cows gymnastics in her spare time, and the hero a retired circus clown now working for MI5, and Justin is laughing so hard he almost chokes on the popcorn that he’s eaten about 97% of despite the fact that he’d bought it for Brian as an apology for being late a-fucking-gain, asshole, and Brian, when he realises, grabs one of the strawberry laces that taste more like a chemical plant than anything resembling strawberries, and feigns choking Justin with it.

And Justin – the fucking drama queen – is so over-enthusiastic in faking his death that he slips off his chair onto the sugar-sticky linoleum floor, then, deciding it’s more comfortable, remains there for the rest of the movie, periodically throwing popcorn kernels at his boyfriend.

And Brian thinks three things simultaneously:

1)      How in the ever-loving hell is this overgrown, beautiful 21-year-old goddamn toddler about to graduate college?

2)      The three other people who’ve got little enough common sense to have actually paid to see this shit, must really hate us by now.

3)      Finals are clearly turning both of our brains into a vat of cold, lumpy mashed potato between our ears, that’s being stamped on by an elderly man with sweat problems comparable to Brian’s. And athlete’s foot.

Then the credits roll, Justin hoists himself back into his chair as the house lights come on, and neither of them could tell you the first thing about what the fuck they just watched because they’re both too far into a spiral of giggles to know why they’re laughing anymore beyond why the fuck not. Because their lips are loose and happy like rubber bands that have been stretched too far and Brian’s fishing popcorn kernels out of his hair as they walk out to dirty looks from other movie-goers, and Justin almost knocks an unsuspecting ten-year-old flying because he’s talking with his whole body about how he could give a tortoise on Benadryl an etch-a-sketch and it would probably be able to write a more captivating storyline than that and Brian’s wheezing because Justin has so many opinions on a movie he just fully didn’t watch.

Brian smokes outside while they wait for the bus, half-slumped against the taller man (and damn, he hates being short sometimes, but it feels so good to be enveloped in Justin), and Justin’s eyeing his cigarette pointedly like he wants a drag, but Brian smirks softly and doesn’t relent, laughing ‘You already took my fucking popcorn, jackass’, and blowing smoke-clouds in his face when the other man flips him off.

They find themselves sitting perched up on the same wall, the buses as consistent in their lateness as they tend to be, silent and soft and feet swinging, stealing glances back and forth and periodically tilting their phones towards one another to share gorgeous makeup on Instagram, or a funny meme on Facebook, breathy chuckles and throaty hums of appreciation the only noises to perforate this bubble in which Brian feels unequivocally himself.  

Then a man comes jogging through the double doors of the movie theatre – leaves them swinging behind him as he spots the pair of them and ambles over.

Excuse me, ma’am? You left your jacket inside.

And Justin’s hand is on Brian’s in a second, tightening imperceptibly as he drawls ‘Oh, Brian, you did forget your jacket’, eyes locked like a sniper on the stranger before them the whole time.

The man stiffens, and the jacket in question discarded quickly – strewn haphazardly over the wall next to them as the man turns sharply on his heel back towards the building.

It’s as he’s walking away that they hear it – thrown under his breath out into the early summer breeze, it turns the air at once stagnant and hot.

Fucking tranny.

And Justin at once makes to stand, to go after the stranger, to – to do what, exactly, Brian has no earthly idea, because Justin Honard is a twig, a high-fashion giraffe, built like Slenderman ready for a runway; he’d (quite possibly literally) be slaughtered.

And Brian may or may not have drunk his own blood in high school (because nobody can prove it and it’s therefore pure hearsay) but he prefers his boyfriend alive, thank-you-very-much, and so with quaking hands he grips Justin’s shirt, a murmured “please – just don’t” breaking past his lips, and he’s inclined to write a personal letter of thanks to whoever the fuck is in charge of public transport in this city when their bus arrives just at that moment.

The funny thing about bees? You don’t notice they’re gone, until they come back.

And when they come back, they come back louder.

 *******************

He feels intangible, like he’s not even really there, as Justin grasps his hand impossibly tight and leads him onto the bus, his long face a paradox of clenched jaw and soft eyes that never leave his boyfriend.

Brian’s aware of the small things – his saliva thick and viscous against his tongue, his pulse throbbing one two one two in the soles of his feet, and before he’s fully aware of anything beyond fucking tranny fucking tranny fucking tranny a soft kiss that says both too much and not enough is pressed to his temple and he’s pulled down into the itchy-scratchy stained seats of the bus.

His face buried in the pale nape of his boyfriend’s neck, Justin’s fingers tracing silent affirmations into his spine, Brian breathes – shudderingly steady.

He doesn’t cry. Wants to, sure. Arguably deserves to.

But doesn’t.

It’s as though whatever part of him can express emotion – can do anything other than breathe right now – has shut itself down, locked itself away, and Brian is stuck in a shell – her shell.

And so he breathes, Justin a buoy that he clings to in a vacuum – Justin’s fingers on his spine, Justin’s scent in every inhale, his soft voice a lighthouse as he speaks aimlessly of nothing much at all as they drive through the city, expecting no response. Asking nothing of Brian at all.

Brian breathes.

Justin lets him.

 ******************

This isn’t blunt-force trauma; no bullets ripping through him, no knife-wound in his chest.

His blood doesn’t stain the seats – doesn’t seep down into the once-red-now-browning-orange fabric.

This won’t kill him.

It’s not a speeding car, 70 miles per hour downhill late at night, blowing her body into the air as a careless breeze carries autumn-burnt leaves.

(And those cars have, and do, and will, come for so many others like him, so many beautiful people whose minds and bodies, like oil and water, couldn’t ever mix, and the thought of all those others, all those graves he uses as stepping stones across this world he doesn’t quite fit into, all the bones of those who come before him that he ties together to build himself bridges, makes his breath catch a little even now.)

This is the bruise that blooms like violet bouquets on dirty elementary-school knees, the child crying more from the shock than the pain of the fall.

This is a papercut across the thumb – the pain greater than the wound, the sort of injury that’s met with rolled eyes and you’ll live, but stinging sweet and sharp.

No sirens; no drama.

He’ll live.

He’ll pull back into place the Jenga-bricks of his soul that shake and scatter themselves loose far too often and far too quickly.

(And some will chip, and some will crack, and more than he’ll own up to are stained and misshapen by now, and he’ll duct-tape them together – until next time.)

He’ll dissolve himself back into his reality; pull himself back to the surface by the thready rope of Justin’s voice.

Justin won’t ask are you okay? – knows this isn’t the sort of thing that is ever okay – and he’ll notice, but won’t mention, the way Brian’s attempt at a smile pulls too tight at reddened lips to be genuine.

As they step back off the bus, into a world whose acceptance of the who and what and why of him – of them – is tempered at every turn with qualifications, Brian watches his ungainly boyfriend swing himself around on a lamppost, singing snippets of showtunes that the other man neither knows nor cares to learn as he wiggles caterpillar brows in time, refusing to stop until he makes his boyfriend laugh.   

It doesn’t take long. It’s not quite natural – not yet – as it bursts forth, scratching against his teeth. But it’s there – piercing the dark.

Refusing laughter only snowballs stigma, so they’ll rub humour on the bee stings till they hurt a little less.

With Justin by his side, this will never kill him.

 **********************

The intent had been for both men to return to their respective dorms for the evening; with finals approaching, and it being Justin’s senior year, both had to study, as well as navigate relationships with roommates whose begrudging acceptance of their impromptu sleepovers could only be stretched so far.

But Justin sends a text, and then he’s firing excuses one then the next at Brian, citing I need you to read over my French paper and You left your sweater at mine last week and It’s getting late, anyway one after another as reasons that Brian should come back to his dorm, barely pausing for breath between them.

Brian doesn’t take much convincing; neither man wants to end this evening with the slur of a stranger and a sombre bus ride, and Justin knows and trusts that Brian is okay, within the relative confines of the term (knows, from what Brian has said, and what he hasn’t, that he has heard, and does hear, so much worse than that), but, just for tonight, would rather his love was okay with him and not without him.

Nobody should have to make themselves okay alone.

A note pinned to the door, as they arrive, written hurriedly in a lazy scrawl, makes Brian crane his neck to pull Justin into a kiss.

JH -

You owe me one, dude – I’ll take beer or pizza as my payment (jk).

Staying with Tuck – back @ 7am to grab my shit.

Hope ur boy is okay.

Lucas

“You exiled your roommate for me? For the third time this week?! No wonder the guy hates me, Justin!”

“He’ll get over it, he’s a big boy. And he does not hate you, I’ve told you this!”

“Lies, mother, it’s all lies…”

 **********************

They share a joint sitting propped up by pillows in Justin’s bed – drag from it what they both need. Brian pulls calm, dispels the low hum of latent anxiety that still nestles itself under the surface of his skin; Justin, peace, to relax the muscles that still pull themselves taut with protective anger at the thought of someone making Bri feel anything less than wonderful perfect amazing beautiful man.

Between episodes of Golden Girls that Brian knows almost as well as Justin by now, ugly selfies, and languid conversation about innocuous topics that somehow feel sacred because it’s them, they build themselves a fortress away from the rest of the world.

Here, nobody can touch them – even she is banished with one word from his lips.

Eventually, with hearts much lighter but eyelids now-too-heavy, lights are turned out and both wait to let sleep claim them.

Between bedsheets too thick for the season (because what self-respecting college student owns more than one set of bedsheets?) Brian clings to Justin.

Clings to him like the other man is the only thing tethering him to earth; pulls him close as though he wants to sink into his bones, crawl inside his skin and feel what it feels like to be born into a body that’s your own.

And Justin presses kisses, smooth like pebbles beaten by waves, into his lover’s shoulders, you are all the man I need you to be caught in a phantom breath between pursed lips.

And in the dark, they dress each other in armour, with closed-mouth kisses and cold feet pressed against another’s legs.

****************

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