#and part of me suspects it’s because they literally don’t know what to focus on without that if they’d even care to

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

candlelight 🕯️

hii it’s me again! congratulations on 1k!! i’ve thinking about this recently (a lot) because im seriously in my miguel ohara kick🥰

but can you do shy & nerdy reader with popular miguel who are dating?? he adores making her flustered and how shy she is.

he makes her ask for his help because he knows how badly she needs him? because she’s just so stressed out about school and stuff? as always if you’re not comfortable writing totally ignore this! this is my first time requesting smut so i don’t know if it’s silly or not! but if you write it i know you’ll do good by it bc ur such an amazing writer😌

-🎀

hiiii, thank you so much!! and thank you for requesting! ahhh, i'm so thrilled you asked for miguel; i was dying to write him and probably will more, especially if people want; i hope you like it! i hope i got enough of the request in here

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader word count: 2.2k notes: modern au, established relationship, fluff, smut (i'm going to keep with marking where it gets smutty, though, bc it's like a full fluff fic before any smut, for those who only want the fluff; MDNI!) part of my 1k celebration!

for anyone who doesn’t speak spanish, i don't want translations to be annoying in the middle or for you to have to scroll to the end, so thought putting them here was best: mi amor / amor mío: my love / literally something like love of mine but works more like emphasis cariño: term of endearment kind of like dear, literally affection mami: another term of endearment, more often cheeky or sexier descansa: rest dime: tell me que maravilla: a joke from the movie, literally what a marvel / wonder, kind of like how wonderful or even just amazing hope i didn't miss any others

The phone buzzing beside you startles you almost completely out of your chair. Coffee makes you jumpy. An entire pot in one night makes you… suspect what you’d be like on cocaine. You’d thought you’d put it on silent. No phone till at least one paper is done, you’d told yourself. Finals had you reeling, and you were desperate to make some progress. When you grab your phone, you see a text from Miguel:

You take your headphones off, and sure enough, a moment later hear a knock at the door. You open it to a Miguel in loose sweatpants and hoodie, dark hair messy, gym bag slung over one shoulder. Even these clothes could do nothing to hide the impressive broadness of his shoulders. 

“Hey, baby,” he says through a bright smile. He kisses your cheek and steps into the apartment. “I know you were trying to focus, but I was getting worried.” “Sorry, I had my headphones on; the neighbors were being too loud again, and I really needed to focus.” “No, not the waiting at your door, mi amor. I’m talking about all of… this,” he gestures wildly around the apartment then his gaze lands on you. “Those dishes were there when I was here days ago, and even though I’m pretty sure adding anything to that tower would topple it, you haven’t. When’s the last time you ate?” “I ha—“ you begin to retort, but he cuts you off. “And I mean real food.” You start again but just give up and shrug. “And you.” He steps close to you and frames your face with his hands. You lean into his touch as he caresses your face. “Baby, you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, right?” You blush and look down immediately. 

It used to be worse, before you got together. When you were confused about his even noticing you, and instead he’d flirted with you. Even now that he was your boyfriend, it took very little from him to fluster you.

He can’t help but chuckle at your reaction. He always does.

“Don’t you? My gorgeous,” he kisses one warm cheek, “gorgeous,” he kisses the other, “girl,” he gives your nose a concluding peck. 

You nod shyly. “C’mon, cariño. Tell me,” he encourages, his tone still teasing but ever adoring. “I want to hear it." “I know you think I’m pretty,” you whisper. “Pretty? No, amor mío, I think flowers and bright colors are pretty; the ocean or a view of the mountains, too. But you, you are beauty personified.” “Miguel, stop,” you whisper through the smile you can’t help, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs lightly. His hand comes to your hair and scratches lovingly.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He gives your forehead a kiss. “Before I told you you look terrible, baby.” He starts laughing loudly and holds you closer into his hug when you smack his chest and try to pull away. 

“That’s so mean!” gets muffled into his sweatshirt. “It’s not mean; it’s true. You’re still beautiful, but you need a break.” “I can’t, Miguel. I’m drowning in work still, and you know being sick last week really got me behind, and it feels like no matter how long I sit there, I’m no closer to finishing anything, and you’re right my apartment is falling apart, but every time I do something else I feel guilty for stalling on work, and, and —“

Before you can find another overwhelming thing to list, Miguel is hushing you and stroking your back in his warm embrace.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He sways you lightly then pulls back a bit to look into your eyes. His hands are caressing your face again, and his fingers brush lightly under your eyes, where you know there are dark circles, as he whispers, “You haven’t slept.” He sounds sad rather than accusatory. 

“Okay,” he starts softly. “Look, I know how much you have on your plate, and I’m not telling you you’re wrong to be stressed. I get it. But you can’t get it done like this, running on fumes and caffeine. How about this? I’m going to help you relax tonight, you’re going to forget about everything you have to do, you’re going to sleep well, and then tomorrow morning you’ll get back to it all.” “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me. And I’ll rest after finals.” Just then a car horn blares near your window, making you jump cartoonishly. “Yeah, you seem totally fine,” Miguel deadpans teasingly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some time, Y/N… And accepting a little a help, okay?”

You nod lightly. “Great,” he gives you a quick peck and moves toward your kitchen, hunting around your barren fridge and cabinets. “Here’s the game plan then. You are going to put on your favorite playlist then go take a warm shower for as long as you like. Your kitchen is as empty as your stomach, so I am going to run down the street to pick up some empanadas then I’ll work on cleaning up this war zone a little bit when I get back.”

“You don’t have to clean.” “Stop fighting me,” he tsks. “Besides you know I don’t mind cleaning. I’m glad I’m not hearing complaints about the food at least,” he laughs. “I love empanadas,” you whisper defeatedly. He cackles. “Who doesn’t?” He kisses you as he moves past you toward the door. “Be back soon. No working! I expect you in the shower when I get back.” You quirk an eyebrow teasingly at him. You were still too shy to say anything teasing, but he’d been working you out of your shell during your time together. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t really like that aspect of being with Miguel. 

His eyebrows mimic yours, and he chuckles lowly. “Don’t give me that look, mami, or you’re not getting me out the door, and you’ll miss out on the empanadas.”

You pull the neck of your shirt up to cover your face, making him laugh. You hear him bound back over to you from the door. He pulls your shirt back down, gives you a short but intense kiss, then heads out. 

Miguel is back before you know it. You are in fact in the shower when you hear him return. You’re already rinsing, but you linger a little longer, enjoying the feeling of the warm water easing the stresses off your tense body. 

When you leave your room to join him again, you’re immediately hit with the delicious smell of food. You see it resting on the counter and find Miguel washing your dishes. 

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his firm torso, resting your head on his back. “Hola, cariño,” he coos. “I’m almost done.” You nod into him, humming.

When he finishes up, he turns in your arms, bringing his own large ones around you. He leans down and kisses you softly. “Hungry?” 

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles. 

You opt to eat on the sofa, getting comfy. Miguel does most of the talking. Between how tired and how hungry you are, you don’t have the energy or available mouth to talk much. He doesn’t seem to mind, happy to regale you with his silly stories.

When you finish, Miguel cleans up, holding you down and giving you a faux menacing look when you try to get up to help. 

When he comes back, he settles much closer to you than he had been before. You relish his warmth, physical and emotional, and lean into him. 

“Turn around,” he whispers.

“Hm?” “Like this.” He adjusts your body so you’re facing away from him and starts massaging your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how tense you were until the amazing feeling of its being relieved somewhat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miguel,” you exhale approvingly, earning a chuckle.

“I like it when you say my name like that.” He leans in and whispers into your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck deliciously, “Reminds me of other times you end up whining my name.”

It’s shocking how quickly he works you up. You turn to look at him, and when you do, his expression shifts from teasing to intrigued.

“Oh?” he asks. He smirks. “I know that look.” He leans in and kisses your neck sloppily, and you whimper. You’re embarrassed at the sound, but he seems to like it. You feel him smile against the skin under your jaw. “I’m more than happy to give you what you want, but I need to know what that is to give it to you.” His voice is much lower but just as mischievous.

“Miguel,” you complain. “Dime, mi amor.” 

“I —“ Any other words get caught in your throat. Your throat he’s busy sucking on.

“Please, baby. C’mon, I know you can. Tell me what you want.” He runs his teeth along your neck like he knows you like. You often joke he feels like he has fangs when he does. “I want you,” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” “Mhm…”

“I’m yours, mami. How do you want me?”

“I want you to make me feel good.” “Oh, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so, so good.” He punctuates his words with kisses, working his way up your neck, your jaw, your mouth. “Tell me how,” he whispers, and you feel his lips grazing yours with each word.

You want to relax, and you know exactly what relaxes you the most. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyebrows jump in surprise. Such directness was unlike you. Your exhaustion was probably weakening your filter, and the way he was already making you feel certainly wasn’t helping it. You almost get shy about it, but when you see just how dark his eyes have gotten, see his Adam’s apple bob and his bottom lip come between his teeth, you keep yourself from shrinking away. He nods slowly, staring deeply into your eyes, then kisses you hard. “Get naked,” he says gruffly. 

Already starting to do as he says, you weakly whisper, “You too?” He chuckles lightly but obliges quickly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. He’s so beautiful. His broad chest and toned abs; his caramel skin and dark hair.

You look back at his face and find he’s noticed you staring at his body. He’s so confident, you think he’s going to tease you about it. Instead, with an adoring smile, he tells you, “That’s how I feel when I see you, too.” You lean up and kiss him, pouring all the emotions you can’t articulate in words into it. 

Without disconnecting your lips, his body guides yours back down until you’re completely prone. He keeps kissing you until you’re breathless, lovingly attends to your neck and down your chest. He lingers there, his tongue making you arch your back, pushing your body up into the sensations he’s delivering. He sucks harder at your visceral reaction then hotly finishes his path down, his face now aligned between your thighs.

He looks at you intently and whispers, “Que maravilla.”

He looks up at you, eyes black storms you lose yourself in as his mouth connects with your body. 

From your delightful vantage point, you watch his muscular shoulders contort as he moves to pleasure you. He looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying it, and seeing him so into it gives you confidence. You start subtly moving your hips in rhythm with his motions. His hands tighten where they hold your thighs, and, mortified, you interpret this as his telling you to stay still, so you do. 

Then Miguel shakes his head hard — the vibrations of which shoot shocking pleasure into you — and he pants, “Keep doing that. Show me how you want it.” His strong grip pushes and pulls you in a movement close to what you were just doing. You take over and move faster. He’s nodding now, and the shake of it has your thighs shaking on either side of his head. 

You’re making loud whimpering sounds when you yell, “Mi — ahh — Migueeell.” He doubles his efforts, picking up his pace and pressing hard against you. You come on his face, and he looks feral as he eats you through it. When you’re done, he licks up your entire slit before shuffling his body back over yours. You’re chest to chest, and his hand comes up to stroke your head. “Good?” 

Your cheeks warm, and you nod shyly. He giggles and gives you a peck. “You’re adorable, mi amor.”

Your legs feel delightfully like jelly as you move them, wrapping them around his waist. He hums approvingly and gives one thigh a tight squeeze, pulling it impossibly closer to his body. He begins stroking it as he kisses you lazily. Your hands entwine in his thick hair, stroke his strong back, hold him close.

When he shifts his weight slightly on top of you, you notice his hardness against your body.

“You want me to…” you whisper, thrusting your hips up into his in place of words.

“Uh-uh, maybe in a little bit, baby, but for right now, I just want you to relax.” 

He continues kisses you languidly, enveloping you in his body heat, and as you close your eyes and melt into the sensations, you’re sure you’re going to have no trouble sleeping soundly tonight. 

[falloutrebellion]

Say Yes to Heaven Part VIII

Soulmark Fluff/Smut request from @hoohamaru 🫶🏼

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summary: Your skills have secured you a job as a chef for Lady Tsunade's inauguration, providing you with a chance to finally leave your village and explore the world. Unfortunately, you unlock your clan's mysterious Soulmate Kekkei Genkai when you encounter a certain white-haired Jonin. In denial, you attempt to ignore it, only to drive him absolutely mad. How long can you resist before fate intervenes?

*Now edited with new cover image*

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII. Part VIII. Part IX. Part X.

CW: Adult Language & Adult Themes

Now on AO3!

I want to apologize in advance... 😬

Kakashi was engulfed in a storm of torment, dreading the impending summit he was required to attend, especially knowing you would be there too. After your conversation, he felt like he had been cast further into chaos, with even more questions clawing at his mind. You played the cliche ‘It’s not you, it’s me card’ and that left him feeling utterly devastated. But what he was really hung up on was what you said.

You blamed your decision on your Kekkei Genkai, something that left him reeling in confusion.

What on earth were you talking about?

He stands in the shower with his head buried in his hands, desperately trying to banish thoughts of you. If you didn’t want him, who was he to try and force something that was slipping through his fingers like sand? Your actions were clearer than your words, and he suspects that’s what really stung the most. Even so, you’re still stuck on his mind. Your name, your face, your body….

As the water washed over him, his resolve for you faltered, having tasted you on the tip of his tongue since the night you kissed. It was haunting him, souring his mood. But he would push through it, like he always did.

Because he is accustomed to loss.

And you would be no different.

. . . . . . .

The summit was a blur of diplomatic faces and practiced pleasantries. Kakashi moved through the motions, his visible eye devoid of its usual lazy intelligence. He couldn't focus on the political discussions or security protocols—not when his mind kept replaying your words over and over. Even as he approached his friends, he felt no comfort.

"Kakashi!" Guy's boisterous voice cut through his thoughts as he approached his trio of friends. "You look awfully troubled today."

Kakashi forced his eye to crinkle in a fake smile. "Maa, just tired from the journey back."

"Cut the crap," Asuma said, cigarette dangling from his lips. "You've been walking around like someone killed your ninken. What's going on?"

Kurenai's crimson eyes studied him with concern. "We're just worried about you, Kakashi. You’re not yourself."

"It's nothing," Kakashi insisted, leaning against the wall with practiced nonchalance. But his posture was too rigid, his shoulders too tense.

"Bullshit," Asuma muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Is it about that chef you won’t shut up about? The one that worked Lady Tsunade's inauguration?"

Kakashi's visible eye widened slightly—enough for his friends to notice.

"So it is!" Guy exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "Matters of the heart are treacherous, my friend!"

"I don’t think she likes me," Kakashi admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter. "I thought we had a great night, so maybe I just came on too strong. But… that's not what's really bothering me. She said something about her Kekkei Genkai being the reason."

"A Kekkei Genkai?" Kurenai raised an eyebrow. "That's strange. What could she possibly mean by that?"

Kakashi ran a hand through his silver hair. "That's just it—I have no idea. She didn't elaborate, just threw it at me and literally ran away."

“Wait, you said you came on too strong—what exactly happened?” Kurenai prodded, voice smooth but insistent, as though unraveling his problem were second nature.

Kakashi looked up anxiously, unsure if he wanted to go into detail. “I don’t really know how to explain it…” He trailed off.

“Give it your best shot!” Guy encouraged with a smile.

Kakashi’s jaw clenched. He glanced between them, heart hammering. “It’s like something inside me snapped the moment I saw her. I can’t stop thinking about her—day, night, even in my dreams, she’s there. Then a few nights ago we, uh…” He swallowed instinctively, thinking of how to continue.

Asuma leaned back, flicking ash from his cigarette, lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “You don’t have to spell it out, Kakashi.”

Heat flared on Kakashi’s cheeks as he rolled his eyes. “Well, you can imagine. After that, everything began to spiral out of control. I swear I can sense her, more so than I can normally. It’s not her chakra, it’s just her. She lives right next door, and I can tell you everything she does behind those walls. It seems to weaken with distance, which I noticed during my most recent mission. On top of that, every time I’m away from her, I get sick. It’s this never-ending headache until I’m back in the village. And hear me out on this one—” He rambled, his hands clenching in his pockets. “After we… You know,

A thought entered my mind that didn't belong to me—it was hers. I'm fairly certain she experienced some of my thoughts as well," he added with a grimace.

The room fell silent. Even Guy’s usually brash grin faded, replaced by something near concern. Kakashi’s voice cracked as he went on. “I sound insane, I know. But it’s real. When she was with me, it was… ecstasy. Now, it’s torture.”

“Hm. Something must have happened, but it’s strange to blame it on a Kekkei Genkei, one she didn’t tell you about. It seems like something is up, Kakashi.” Kurenai says slowly with a serious expression.

Guy’s playful tone vanished. “Maybe it’s dangerous—some Kekkei Genkai are secrets for a reason.”

Asuma flicked ash from his cigarette with a shrug. "Or maybe she's just not interested and needed an excuse."

Kakashi’s throat tightened. “I thought of that, too. But she looked…horrified. Like she wanted to say yes, but was scared to. Maybe it was just me, but she seemed conflicted.”

Kurenai leaned back as she crossed her arms. “Which clan is she from?”

Kakashi exhaled, gaze distant. “She’s from the Land of Lilies. That’s all I know, we didn’t really get into that stuff.”

“Got into other kinds of stuff, huh?” Asuma jokes with a chuckle.

Kakashi’s eye goes wide before he rubs the back of his neck as he looks away. “I guess you could say that.”

“Wait,” Kurnai interjects, lost in her own trailing thoughts. “Land of Lilies, that’s the honeymoon town, right?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Asuma nods. “It’s a popular vacation spot that was built over a natural spring, I believe. Man, that place is far away. She sure came a long way to be a cook.”

Kurenai lit up like she had a revelation, and a massive, knowing smile graced her face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Kakashi questioned her with a narrowed eye.

“Oh my god, really? Have none of you seen those commercials?”

“We don’t have time for senseless TV, Kurenai!” Guy boomed with exaggerated brows.

She clicks her tongue, but her smile doesn’t falter. “Come find your soulmate, in the Land of Lilies,” she sings the jingle entirely out of tune, causing an estranged look to fall across their faces. “Does that ring a bell?”

Guy and Kakashi just stare at her, confused as ever, but the lightbulb clicks on for Asuma. “Wait, do you think—”

“Yes!” Asuma is cut off by Kurenai’s giddy outburst, earning a deeper look of confusion from the other two. “Kakashi, the Land of Lilies is— kind of famously— known for the Un Mei No Hito, or the Soulmate Kekkei Genkai. Last I heard, no one in the last several decades has unlocked it; their Kekkei Genkai is incredibly rare and is said to be dictated by fate itself.”

"W-wait, I’m confused. Can we go back a minute?” Kakashi asks with a furrowed brow.

“What Kurenai is trying to say is that you probably triggered her Kekkei Genkai, which can only happen when the wielder meets their supposed soulmate,” Asuma interjects. “Looks like it doesn’t affect just the person who holds it, though.” He eyes Kakashi with concern, unsure of what this could mean for him.

Kakashi falls into a heavy silence, feeling the weight of his comrades' intense gazes as he struggles to comprehend this revelation. "But wouldn't that be a good thing?"

Asuma shrugs again. “I don’t know, man, girls are weird.”

Kurenai throws him a sharp look before placing a reassuring hand on Kakashi's shoulder. "Listen, the details of their dojutsu are elusive because it's incredibly rare, and we can't fathom what she's experiencing. But trust me, she must have her reasons. Just speak to her; it's probably just a big misunderstanding. I’m sure it’s just as scary for her as it is for you."

Hope sparked back in Kakashi’s eye at her words, and Kurenai’s kind smile stretched bigger.

“I would listen to her,” Asuma says with a smirk. “She tends to be right about these kinds of things.”

Guy’s eyes widened, his thick eyebrows shooting up nearly to his hairline as if everything just dawned on him.

"A soulmate?" Guy bellowed, loud enough to cause several heads to turn and stare as Kakashi winced. He clutched Kakashi's shoulders with surprising strength. "My eternal rival! This is the most incredible development imaginable!"

Kakashi tried to shrug away from Guy's grip, but the green-clad jonin only tightened his hold, tears already streaming down his face.

"To think that the power of love has found you at last! This explains everything! Your distraction during training, your lack of punctuality—even more so than usual—and that distant look in your eye!" Guy struck his signature pose, teeth gleaming impossibly bright in the sunlight. "The springtime of youth waits for no one, Kakashi! You must seize this opportunity!"

Asuma chuckled, tapping ash from his cigarette. "He's not wrong, you know."

"For once," Kurenai added with a small smile.

Something shifted in Kakashi's chest—a lightness he hadn't felt in years. Hope had been reignited in his heart, having found solace in Kurenai’s words. Maybe they were right. Perhaps this wasn't just another complication, but an opportunity.

"Fine," Kakashi said, steeling himself to prepare for the encounter mentally. "I'll talk to her."

"That’s the spirit!" Guy gave him a thumbs up before wiping his tears away. "Go forth and claim your destiny!"

Asuma studied him for a moment. "You really like this one, don't you? You sure it’s not just her Kekkai Genkai playing tricks with your head?”

Kakashi sighed, unsure of how to answer that. He didn’t really know what the answer truly was. “I do like her, more than I can put into words. And I would feel like this regardless of her dojutsu.” As he said the words, he felt them true in his heart, knowing inside that it wasn’t just the Un Mei No Hito making him feel this way.

“That’s so sweet to hear, Kakashi.” Kurenai gives him a gentle smile and a nod of encouragement.

“Well, you know what to do. Go get ‘em, tiger,” Asuma winks.

With a deep breath, Kakashi departs from his friends to track you down, which wasn’t difficult, because in truth, he knew exactly where you’d been this entire time.

Whether you were actively avoiding him again, or if you were keeping up appearances for the summit, he saw you hovering around the main table that sat all the Kages and Advisors. Though several seats were empty, he watched as you catered to them, pouring drinks and taking their praises. Kakashi stood there in plain view for a moment, taking the time to witness how the setting sun reflected off your hair, and the way your kimono exposed your bare legs with each step. It was like he was caught in a trance, taking you in from afar.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Copy Cat Ninja,” someone purrs from behind him.

Kakashi turned, finding himself face-to-face with the Fifth Mizukage. Mei Terumi stood before him in her elegant blue dress, auburn hair cascading down her back, lips curved into a seductive smile.

"Lady Mizukage," he greeted with a polite bow, "It’s nice to meet you."

"Please, call me Mei," she said, stepping closer than was strictly necessary for conversation. "I've been hoping to run into you, Kakashi. Your reputation precedes you, but they never mentioned how handsome you are, even with that mask."

Her fingers lightly brushed his arm as she spoke, her green eyes sparkling with intent. Kakashi nodded mechanically, his gaze drifting back to where you stood, pouring fresh tea for the Hokage.

"That's very kind of you to say," he replied absently, watching as you laughed at something she said, the sound carrying across the room and making his heart clench.

Mei followed his line of sight, her expression faltering momentarily before she stepped directly into his field of vision.

"I've been thinking," she said, voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "the alliance between our villages could use some... personal strengthening. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner tomorrow night? Just the two of us?"

She reached up to adjust his collar, her touch lingering. Kakashi barely registered the contact, his visible eye still tracking your movements around the room. You hadn't noticed him yet, or perhaps you were deliberately avoiding looking his way.

"Hmm?" He murmured, finally processing that she'd asked him something. "I'm sorry, Lady Mizukage, I was distracted."

Mei's smile tightened. "So I see." She followed his gaze again, this time her eyes narrowing when they landed on you. "The chef? Really, Kakashi? I would have thought a man of your caliber would aim higher."

The dismissive tone in her voice snapped Kakashi's attention back to her, his eye narrowing slightly. Before he could respond, Mei laughed melodically, drawing the attention of several nearby patrons.

"Oh, Kakashi, you're adorable when you're flustered," she said loudly, placing her hand on his chest. "I've heard so much about your prowess on the battlefield. I wonder if those skills translate to other areas as well?"

Her hand slid down his arm, fingers intertwining with his as she leaned close enough that her perfume—something floral and overwhelming—clouded his senses.

Kakashi tried to subtly disentangle his fingers from Mei's grip, but she tightened her hold, stepping impossibly closer. Her free hand found his chest again, this time tracing slow circles against the fabric of his flak jacket.

"You know," she murmured, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "I have a private suite here with the most magnificent view of Konoha. Perhaps you could... escort me there later? I'd feel so much safer with Konoha's strongest jonin by my side."

Her body pressed against his arm, soft and warm, her curves unmistakable through the thin fabric of her dress. Kakashi stiffened, uncomfortable with the public display but unwilling to create a diplomatic incident by shoving the Mizukage away.

"Lady Mizukage, I—"

"Mei," she corrected, her hand sliding up to his collar again, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask. "I insist."

The heat of her body against his felt wrong, invasive—nothing like the electric connection he felt with you. It churned his gut, searing ice through his veins. His eye darted desperately back to where you stood, hoping to extricate himself from this situation without offending one of the Five Kage.

Kakashi's gaze flicked anxiously back to where you stood, only to find your eyes locked directly on his. The teapot in your hand hovered mid-pour, forgotten as you stared at the scene before you—Mei pressed against him, her hands in his hair, his fingers seemingly entwined with hers.

The color drained from your face. Even from across the room, Kakashi could see the hurt flash in your eyes, quickly replaced by something colder. You set down the teapot with deliberate care, murmured something to the Raikage, and turned away.

"Excuse me," Kakashi said abruptly, pulling away from Mei with enough force that she had no choice but to release him. "I need to attend to something urgent."

Mei's face darkened, her sweet smile fading to a slight frown. "Of course you do," she said coolly. "How disappointing. I'd heard the Copy Ninja never abandons a mission."

"This isn't a mission," Kakashi replied, already backing away. "And I'm not abandoning anything that was ever mine to claim."

He left her standing there with a shocked expression as he rushed towards the kitchen, where you had retreated.

Kakashi's heart hammered against his ribs as he weaved through the patrons and diplomats, ignoring the curious glances following him. Everything was slipping through his fingers again—just when he'd found answers, just when hope had sparked. The universe seemed determined to make him face yet another obstacle.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, quickening his pace as he saw you disappear through the swinging kitchen doors.

He burst through after you, the bustling noise of the kitchen staff hitting him along with the heat and aromas of food preparation. Sous chefs called orders, knives chopped rapidly against cutting boards, and steam billowed from massive pots—but Kakashi is on your scent like a hound.

You were moving with purpose toward the back exit, shoulders rigid, not looking back.

"Wait!" Kakashi called out, dodging a server carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. "It's not what you think!"

A cook stepped between you, forcing Kakashi to sidestep awkwardly. The movement knocked a stack of plates, sending them clattering to the floor. The kitchen fell momentarily silent, all eyes turning to him—the elite jonin who looked anything but composed as he stood amid broken porcelain.

"Sorry," he mumbled to the nearest chef before continuing his pursuit.

You had reached the back door, your hand on the handle when he called your name again, desperation edging his voice.

"Please, just give me one minute," he said, closing the distance between you. "What you saw out there—"

🫣 Tag List * @phantomvlood @hoohamaru

[heyclickadee]

The reasons why I don’t consider the end of the bad batch to be an out and out happy ending don’t just have to do with Tech. It’s also because, as far as endings go, TBB doesn’t really…have one. At least, not any more of one than The Empire Strikes Back.

TBB has so many plots, subplots, and character arcs, some of which were introduced within the runtime of the show and some of which were introduced back in that last season of the clone wars. The only main one of these that gets a real ending is Omega’s childhood arc / Omega coming into her own, and arc that really kicks off in “Cut and Run,” not “Aftermath.” And if we really want to cut this arc into its separate parts, then what you’ve got is Omega learning both how to handle herself and how to even be a kid on the one hand, and Hunter doing his best Cut Lawquane impersonation and trying to provide Omega with a childhood on the other.

And the thing is, despite being fairly under-discussed in the fandom, that Omega arc is pretty well done. (Yes, there’s a couple of questions about her still open—the show somewhat implicitly confirms her as force sensitive in Harbinger, but we don’t find out why we need to know that because that isn’t why Hemlock wants her—but she can show up later without being the main focus or the POV character, and I think she will). Omega going from this little kid who spends her whole life cooped up in a lab, created as an experiment to be exploited and used, waiting for some—her brothers, she hopes—to set her free to becoming this confident little adventure free to live the life she wants to live, to be a kid for the first time in her life, and who is capable of not only saving herself, but also saving other kids stuck in similar situations. It’s very well done and even very well paced. The epilogue is a bookend to that arc of Omega’s, and to Hunter’s relationship with her. She and he get a happy ending, or at least, Omega gets a happy ending, and Hunter achieves the goal he had that revolved around her. That arc is done.

Everything else, though? It’s open-ended. The only recurring characters besides Omega (and marginally Hunter) who get actual exits/resolutions are:

Hemlock, who is the main antagonist for Omega’s arc (we know project necromancer continues from other Star Wars though, and Tarkin may have pulled the funding as far as he knows but he doesn’t actually ever learn what project necromancer is, and neither do we in full, so I suspect that is still ongoing even if Hemlock’s part of it is not.

Emerie, who I’d love to learn more about because she’s interesting and the emotionally abusive implied father-daughter type relationship she has with Hemlock is fascinating, and I hope we see her in some capacity later, but she largely exists to be a dark foil to Omega/give Omega someone to bounce off of in Tantiss/give us a glimpse of what Omega would have been if she’d had someone like Hemlock as her parental figure, rather than Hunter. She’s the version of the little girl who never got out/who Omega likely was back in Nala Se’s lab being given a chance to get out. And it’s her, not any of our non-Omega leads, who gives a whole speech about what she learned on her journey and what her five year plan is. It’s a whole bow to the audience.

Rampart, who screws himself over in his dedication to being a jackass.

And Nala Se, who never really redeems herself, but who passes the Kaminoan torch to Omega in some ways and then gets to take out the man who slaughtered her people.

(I am not including Scorch, because he isn’t really a character as much as he is a cameo of a neat set of armor; or CX-2, because we actually don’t get any kind of resolution with him one way or the other, he’s left dangling (figuratively and literally), and come on you cannot kill a character twice in his first outing and then expect me to believe he’s actually dead the third time. Be real.)

Everyone and everything else, however, is left open. Wrecker, Echo, Crosshair*—listen, Crosshair’s redemption arc is magnificent, but what the finale showed us is that he’s still very much where he was at the very beginning of the season, and has only come so far as knowing the batch will always have a place for him but unable to believe he deserves it or anything besides being tortured to death—the other bit of Hunter’s character arc, Tech (he had, or has, an ongoing arc that wasn’t resolved), Phee, some stuff with Cid, a lot of the criminal network stuff we set up in this series, the rumblings of a clone uprising and the proto-rebellion stuff going on with Riyo and Avi Singh, Rex’s whole deal, the clone agency arc, clone force 99 as a family and not as a squad, and so on and so forth don’t really have endings. And I don’t mean that the resolutions are rushed or bad, I mean that they aren’t there at all and that the end of TBB isn’t even trying to get to them**.

*I think it’s worth noting that Wrecker and Crosshair not only get no lines after Tantiss, they aren’t even there for Hunter’s, “Whatever we want,” line. That line is really for Hunter and Omega, because we know what they want; Crosshair and Wrecker, who have yet to find their purpose outside being soldiers even though they’ve been given a safe haven in which to find it, are off talking to Echo about something we don’t get to hear. Biting.

**One of the current, though I hope not permanent, weaknesses of season three from my point of view is that the time it isn’t spending doubling down on Omega’s arc is spent setting up stuff that hasn’t actually happened yet. Which, given that that other stuff is what the fandom is generally more invested in because, to be fair, it’s really compelling…. It’s great setup. It’s just that I want the payoff. That I believe is coming. I’m just impatient.

So, basically, I guess what I’m saying is that the reason I don’t view the end of TBB as a happy ending isn’t just because Tech isn’t with everyone (though I still think it’s just that he’s not with them yet), it’s because I don’t really think it’s an ending. I’m sort of viewing everything from Clone Wars season seven onwards as sort of part of the same thing, and I’m not expecting a full and complete resolution for the Maul show either. I suspect there are arcs and plot lines that will carry from TBB into the Maul series, and that there are arcs and plot lines from the Maul series that will carry over into whatever’s next, and that what we’re kind of in for is this combination of Rebels style storytelling (heavily serialized storytelling with a focus on a limited cast of characters and an contiguous overarching set of plots and themes) and Clone Wars arcs (POV shifts that allow for far deeper focus on certain characters and seeing the overarching storyline from different angles).

At least, that’s what I’m hoping, and my sort of weird way of looking at it.

(And I do think carrying a story over multiple shows is a somewhat bonkers way to handle things if you want to do a whole plot over the course of many seasons but don’t want to be restricted by shorter streaming shows, buuuuut I also don’t hate the idea. In theory. Time will tell!)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 23

Read on AO3. Part 22 here. Part 24 here.

Summary: You're like a tiger pacing around your cage.

Words: 7600

Warnings: sexually tense chess game (literally)

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Cowritten with @bastillia.

This is easily one of the most challenging and exciting fics we've written so we're hoping y'all are enjoying it hehehe. We're trying out a whole host of new things, trying to expand our skills as writers and it's really just a delight to be able to share it with people who enjoy it too.

For those who know us, you know it isn't likely we'd include pregnancy or babies in a story so I'm sorry to disappoint everyone else!! (says the person who wrote a Handmaid's Tale AU... but that's different okay it's like connected to the universe it's like the entire plot of the source material OKAY🧍🏻‍♀️)

ANYWAY. Love y'all so very much, your participation and engagement and excitement and discussion is so loved and appreciated. <3 HAPPY MARCH <3

The world gathered like clouds.

A puff of light. The rumble of voices on the horizon. Darkness, deep as the sky. Softer than air. You were suspended. Floating, sinking, floating again. The surface, miles above. Or was it below? Flickering. Calling.

Calling your name.

A groan rumbled somewhere in the enigmatic mass of your body. Breath—yours—escaped. Drew in. Escaped. Every nodule of awareness blinked to life with an agonizing ache. Another breath, the earth shifting like mountains around you. Like flaying the skin of a rotten apple, your eyes finally opened.

“She’s awake!” said a blob in a sea of blur. “Dr. Moore!”

Details drew into focus like a watercolor coming to life. In front of you, Lottie, her hand clasped around yours. Beneath you, a bed. Above you, the ceiling of the hospital, where you for some reason were lying down instead of working.

Footsteps approached, and Dr. Moore breached your awareness, his attention trained on adding to the collection of notes in his hand. He met your eyes over his spectacles, then returned to writing.

“I seem to recall asking you to rest,” he said, as if being here was the greatest strain on his time he could possibly envision. “So imagine my surprise when you’re carted in here half-conscious.” Before you could protest, or even respond, he continued, “I would suggest you heed my orders next time, though I suspect I am wasting my breath in saying it.”

“What orders?” Lottie asked. “Do you know what ails her?”

He paused, eyeing you. “Your last menstruation?”

Lottie gaped at how blatantly he’d used the word. “Dr. Moore!” She glanced around the hospital, and back to him, “Her… she was last indisposed not more than a week ago.”

“I can speak for myself,” you replied, your voice peeling from your throat like old wallpaper.

Dr. Moore looked at you expectantly. You shrugged.

“But she’s correct.”

He sighed, continued scribbling. “Then it may be a number of maladies,” he said. “You need rest and fluids.”

You grumbled. “Not necessary. I’m already feeling better,” you said, moving to sit up. “I hardly—ah—”

Every joint, every muscle in your body throbbed and pulled you back to the bed.

Lottie squeezed your hand. “You are incorrigible,” she murmured affectionately.

Glancing at the ceiling, you replied, “So I’ve been told.”

“I can always bleed you,” Dr. Moore said.

“No.” You glared at him, then winced as a beat of pain pulsed through your eyes. “You can let me die first.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lottie said.

“Then stay put. Or I’ll order one of the privates to tie you to the bed. And I know you don’t want that.” He looked to Lottie. “Ensure she doesn’t move.”

Lottie nodded, chin sticking in the air. “Of course, Dr. Moore. Thank you so much.”

She glanced at you, prompting you to offer your gratitude. Gratitude you didn’t have and wouldn’t admit to, because why would you be grateful for being ordered to lie down and do nothing like some helpless child?

So you turned your head to the wall, pouting like a regular child.

The next couple of days passed with little memory and littler excitement. The volume of water you’d been forced to swallow rivaled a lake, and the hours you’d slept nearly consumed each day. You spent more time unconscious than conscious, spent more time seeing the sun from behind your eyelids than feeling it on your skin. And by the third day, despite the fact you felt no better in condition from the previous two, you felt sicker of boredom than you did your actual illness.

You needed a rest from all of this rest. Just a moment.

Lottie spotted your movement and bustled over to your bed from the other side of the hospital. She’d been irritatingly adherent to Dr. Moore’s instructions. During the times when you’d been awake, she’d ensured you wanted for nothing. Least of all privacy.

“Good afternoon,” she said sweetly. She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, your cheeks. “Your fever has yet to break.”

You swiped at the sheen of sweat on your upper lip. “So it would seem.”

Lottie’s brows pinched up in concern, and she dabbed your temples with a cool cloth that smelled of lemon and vinegar. A sigh leaked from your nose.There was no way you’d be getting out of bed as long as she was being so attentive. Grimacing, you rolled onto your side and picked up the cup by your bedside, lifting and dropping it to demonstrate its emptiness.

“Ah. Out of water.”

“Oh!” She frowned, picking up your cup. “I’ll fetch you more. Our barrel’s just run dry, so I’ll have to pop over to the main house to get some.”

“Really?” you asked, as if you hadn’t heard the ladle scraping the bottom of the water barrel minutes earlier. “Well, don’t trouble yourself…”

“It’s no trouble!” Lottie clapped your cup decisively on the bedside table. “I’ll go right now. I’ve just completed my rounds anyway.” She patted the top of your hand. “I’ll return shortly.”

With the most reluctant smile you could conjure, you replied, “All right. Thank you, Lottie.”

The moment she disappeared from your sight, you threw the sheets from your body.

The swollen throb of pain that every movement created had now fallen into the background of your perception. Though the room swirled in your skull, you drew deep from the air to steady yourself, breathing through your nose and out your mouth. You stumbled to your feet, waddled over to the robe hung by your bedside, threw it on, and stuffed your feet into the wool slippers underneath it.

Placing your hand against the wall, you waited for your head to stop pounding before you turned and listened. You heard nothing aside from the faint, ever-present rustle of Dr. Moore in the supply room. With freedom in sight, you crept your way out of the hospital.

You winced against a sky anemic with clouds, the sun a cracked yolk spilling through. A breeze buffeted you. It was mild, but it pierced your robe to the sweat-soaked shift beneath, turning it to ice. Your teeth chattered, and you clenched your jaw, grumbling as you bustled along.

A passing soldier cast you a frown. You responded with a leer.

You had left with the hope that a destination might present itself to you as you wandered, but as your shivering deepened, the clearer it became that you’d need to seek warmth. You’d be damned if you’d turn back to the hospital just yet, but your surroundings offered no tempting respite either. Only scattered cabin barracks, some supply tents, and a laundry station. You kept your head down, avoiding meandering soldiers’ gazes and skirting sparse clusters of women and children. Then, as your path led toward the edge of the fort’s main grounds, you spied the stables.

A sigh escaped you. Dry straw, warmth, and some non-human company sounded akin to heaven after the past several days.

You trundled down to the wooden structure, where a redcoat sat slumped outside the main door, chin on his chest, snoring softly. Breath held, you tiptoed past him and slipped inside.

Warm air draped you like a blanket, filled your lungs with the sweet, earthy scents of hay and horses. Your whole body relaxed as you made your way along the row of stalls, stabilizing yourself once against a wave of vertigo. As you passed war horse after gleaming war horse, you spied one set of withers that stood at least a hand shorter than the rest. You smiled.

“Hello, Puck.”

You folded your arms over the top of his stall. The stout little bay raised his head, ears pricking toward you. You held out a hand and he snuffled it, wiggled his lip against your palm, making you grin wider.

“I’ve missed you, friend.”

He gave a soft snort and lowered his head back to his hay. Peering around, you spied some assorted tack and grooming supplies along the opposite wall. You teetered over and grabbed a dandy brush, then ducked into Puck’s stall, latching it behind you.

His ear gave a relaxed flick in acceptance of your approach, and you stroked a hand down his shoulder, his neck, admiring the faint ridges of muscle along his topline.

“They’re making a soldier of you yet,” you murmured, drawing the brush over his coat. “Of us all, it would seem.”

You paused with a sigh, draping your arms over his back and laying your head on him. He radiated warmth, and your eyes fell closed, letting the chill seep from your body. After a few moments, Puck swung his head around to nuzzle curiously at your robe pocket.

“Wish I had a sugar plum for you,” you told him, cracking an eye open to scratch his forehead in apology. “And a great green field where we could run together.” You hummed at the idea. “Where not a soul could order me to waste away in bed.”

Letting out a huff, you straightened, and began to brush him again.

You brushed him, and you cursed your mortal body for harboring something so tedious as a fever. You brushed him, and you cursed your fledgling country for its indefatigable mettle, for drawing this war—and the peril it brought your father—to intolerable lengths. You brushed him, and an ache yawned in your chest for your broken family. You brushed him, and you brushed him, until he shone like burnished bronze, and you longed…

To see William.

“Ugh!”

You dropped the dandy brush and sank onto a pile of straw, face buried in your hands. Puck nuzzled your ear, blew sweet breath across your fingers. It helped you resist sinking them into your hair and ripping it out.

“Has illness weakened me, Puck?” you mumbled into your hands. “Have I gone completely mad?”

You dragged your palms down your face and let your head thump back against the stall wall. In answer, Puck flicked his tail at a bug on his belly.

“Easy for you to say,” you said with a rueful smile. “Would that I had a tail to banish all that afflicts me.”

It was then that you heard the stable doors grind open. Puck’s head shot up, and a chorus of whickers echoed from one end of the barn to the other. Then a cacophony of boots and hooves trampled up the aisle, scattered through with male voices.

Soldiers.

You drew your knees to your chest and wriggled toward the stall’s front corner, keeping out of sight. Around you, activity whirled—commands rang, tack was stripped, horses were shut into vacant stalls.

“The equipment, sir?” said a voice directly on the other side of the wall that hid you.

“Leave it,” said another. “Sort it in the morning. Get that wound seen to.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back from Charlotte, then, there was no doubt. Your chest squeezed. Presumably, that meant William was back, too. Would he seek you out? What would he think of you in your state? Perhaps he had simply died in the field, and half your problems with him.

The idea was more instinct than hope. It did not comfort you.

The voices gradually dispersed, and only after calm had settled in the air once more did you ease to your feet, peeking over the stall door.

The stable aisle was a shambles, streaked with mud and grass, strewn with discarded equipment. But mercifully empty. Picking up the dandy brush, you slipped out of Puck’s stall. From the sound of it, there was little point in showing back up at the hospital now and making a further burden of yourself, as much as you craved an opportunity to lose yourself in work.

Heaving a sigh, you picked up a tangled bridle. Perhaps Dr. Moore’s method was worth a try after all. You set to organizing.

“Won't do to have all this out of sorts,” you said, looping the bridle’s crownpiece over a hook on the wall and picking up an abandoned hoof pick, “will it, Puck?”

“Who’s Puck?”

You flinched with a yelp, whirled around and hurled the pick at the intruder. His hand caught it mid-air.

William Tavington stood at the entrance to the barn, his brows raised as he glanced at the pick, then at you. Beside him stood his chestnut mare, her reins in his other fist.

“Will—Colonel,” you gasped. “I—”

“Who is Puck?” he said again, placing the pick on a shelf as he crossed toward you. “And why have you abdicated your post at the hospital?”

“Puck…” Ache slammed the inside of your skull. You tried to shake it away. It worsened. “The horse,” you said, gesturing to the pony. “Puck is the horse. And Dr. Moore won't allow me to work.” You straightened. “He says I'm too ill, for whatever reason.”

William scanned your attire, your unkempt hair, the veil of perspiration across your collarbones. “Are you ill?”

“Absolutely not.” You snorted. “He's making a fuss over nothing. I'm completely fine.”

William came closer, and you met his stare, unwilling to cede ground and expose your pained muscles or the unabating chill racking them. He gripped your chin, tilted your head one way, then the other, scrutinizing your face. You hoped your skin didn't appear as sallow as you felt.

“Hm.” He dropped you, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed, warmth tingling in your belly. “You named the horse?”

A confused grin broke your lips. “You don't name yours?” you asked, gesturing to the mare.

“There's never been a need.” He grabbed her reins and led her to the stall behind you. “You find that utterly abominable, I imagine.”

“Not as abominable as riding your animal to lameness,” you replied as he stripped the nameless mare’s tack and shut her inside, “but I suppose it would be foolish to expect that you limit your cruelty to a single species.”

He hummed, depositing his saddle, bridle, and saddle bags onto a rack. “Perhaps I should take Dr. Moore’s suggestion under advisement and tie you to the bed.”

Your throat thickened. “He—what?” You glared at him. “Why were you speaking to Dr. Moore about me?”

William shrugged, tugged up the leg of his breeches to reveal a bandaged wound on the inside of his knee. “Your absence was noted.”

Your jaw dropped. “You're…” Having been banished from work was now doubly, triply antagonizing. “Who treated you?”

You took a step toward him, only for the ground to flip around you. Seething, you balanced against the wall, your stomach rolling into your throat. You drew in a breath.

“You’re not ill?” William said, his tone indicating a completely unearned degree of disbelief.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t care if Dr. Moore himself had tended to it. You needed to ensure it had been done correctly. “Let me see.”

He stared at you like you were insisting that he grow himself another set of limbs rather than let you examine the ones he had now.

“Don’t be—don’t be difficult.” You scowled at him, swallowed your nausea, and took another step. “I’ve been stuck in bed for days—”

He swept into your space, captured your waist, and pressed you back against his mare’s stall. You winced, your mind spinning faster than your head, your feeble resistance meeting steeled strength. William’s eyes flicked over your face, and for the first time in your life, you worried a man might assess your appearance and find you wanting.

You met his gaze. He held it, jaw shifting, and exhaled.

“Get yourself dressed,” he murmured, “and meet me in the main house drawing room in twenty minutes.”

He lingered there for just a moment before pulling away, leaving you dizzied and clutching the wooden planks behind you. After a few steadying breaths, you straightened, cleared your throat. William was halfway down the barn aisle.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” you called after him, “I am not among the soldiers obliged to follow your every order.”

He paused, turning halfway back. “If it is your preference, I shall order one such soldier to bind you to your bed.”

With a lift of his brows, he turned and departed the stable.

Huffing, you turned and plopped your chin on your folded arms, looking into the chestnut’s stall.

“Next time you’re out,” you said to her, “dump him into a thornbush, won’t you?”

She snorted softly, and you took that as agreement.

Activity in the hospital had reached a low thrum when you teetered back through the door, just enough to allow you to slip back to your cot, chin aloft, and begin to snatch pieces of your clothing from the basket beneath it. With your outfit bundled in your arms, you waddled behind a screen in the corner to change. You’d barely finished pulling one set of petticoats up over your shift when you heard a tiny, indignant throat clear itself behind you.

You turned to see Lottie, arms crossed, a frown on her freckled brow, blocking the narrow gap between the screen and the wall.

“And just where have you been?” she asked, then examined your gathered clothing. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Lottie, I—”

“You’re fortunate these men returned when they did,” she gestured to the hospital, now markedly fuller than when you’d left, “or I’d have gathered another search party, and this time I’d have left an armed post at your bed!”

“I just needed some air.”

You tied your outer petticoats and shrugged your bodice on, buttoning it as deftly as you could with trembling fingers.

“Oh, and one daring escape wasn’t sufficient?” She gestured to your attire. “Go on then, try and trick me again, I won’t have it.”

She drew up to her full height, as if to fill her petite frame with every ounce of authority it could harbor.

“You would never have let me leave otherwise,” you countered.

“I might have, for a minute or two,” she said, lifting her chin. “If you’d just asked nicely. But not any more. I’ll not allow it.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little proud of how firmly she was standing her ground. And of the state of the hospital—orderly, every soldier already attended and either dismissed or resting peacefully.

“You’ve handled things well today,” you told her, draping your kerchief around your shoulders and stuffing the tails beneath your collar. “I know it wasn’t easy to get all of those soldiers treated so quickly.”

“Oh,” she said, shoulders relaxing a fraction as she glanced down. “Yes, well, Dr. Moore handled most of the bandaging and such, but I did my best to—” She stiffened again, eyes snapping to yours, and pointed a finger at you. “No. No, no. You can’t heap praise upon me and expect to get out of this.”

“Just let me be one less person to fuss over for the evening,” you said, clawing your hair into some semblance of presentability despite the sweat at your nape and the vicious ache in your arms. “I’ll even tell you where I’ll be this time, if it will appease you.”

She eyed you, searching up and down for deceit. “And where might you be, then, if I permit it?”

You sighed. No use in hiding the truth from her. “Colonel Tavington has invited me to the main house drawing room.”

Her brows shot up, all sternness evaporating as a grin quavered around the corners of her mouth.

“Oh!” She pinched her lip between her teeth. “What ever for?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Her grin won out, and she shuffled closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “He did ask about you earlier.”

“Did he now,” you grumbled, blotting your brow on a sleeve of the robe you’d discarded. You still weren’t sure what discretion meant to him, but you were starting to think perhaps you’d learned the wrong definition of the word. “Fascinating.”

“I thought so,” Lottie said, far more excited than you wanted anyone to be regarding your relationship with a man. “And now he’s surprising you,” she mused dreamily. “How romantic.”

You grimaced. “I doubt that’s the intention.”

“I suppose I can allow this one outing.” She giggled, reaching out to smooth a crease in your kerchief. “On one condition.”

“What would that be?” you sighed.

Lottie gingerly took your hand and led you, now appropriately clothed, back out to your bedside. She grabbed something from the side table and turned, presenting you with your full water cup.

“Drink.” When you didn’t take it, she insisted. “Please.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed it and quaffed the entire thing in a painful gulp, shaking off the grotesque shudder it brought your bones. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think I won’t be collecting you at sunset,” she whispered, taking the empty cup from you. “You’re not to be engaging in any vigorous activities.”

“Lottie!” you hissed, glancing around. “I have no intention of such anyway.”

Lottie pinched a grin between her teeth, nodding as if to say sure you don’t.

With a huff, you smoothed your hands down your skirts, hoping you didn’t look half as clammy as you felt.

“All right,” you said. “See you later this evening.” You turned for the door.

“Yes, you will,” Lottie sang after you.

Your feet carried you to the main house with an urgency you resented. To meet him in the main room was such an odd request—there was little for you to do in a room without a bed. Perhaps he was inviting you to a scolding. Perhaps the general would be seated and ready to serve you with punishment for insubordination. Perhaps it was neither.

That thought was more terrifying than either of the previous two combined.

When you entered the house, a handful of officers rapt in conversation turned to look at you, their faces paling at your appearance. You sneered, gathered up your petticoats and pushed beyond them to the drawing room, whispers bubbling as you passed.

The room itself was empty but for furniture. The lit candles and a warm glow from the sleepy sun falling toward the horizon joined the fireplace to your left, which had been stoked to dispel the incoming chill. At the hearth, you spotted two chairs tucked under a small table, and on the table was a checkerboard furnished with wooden chess pieces.

Your heart skipped. You gripped the frame of the entrance and cast about for William, your ears catching footsteps behind you, and turned to greet them.

William met your eyes and continued into the room, back straight, his outer jacket removed, leaving him in his waistcoat. You tried not to linger on the curve of his backside.

“I assume you know how to play,” he said, taking a seat at the black.

You blinked, feet hesitating at the threshold. “Have caution, Colonel, lest your assumptions betray a favorable perception of my intellect,” you replied. “But yes, the owls did teach me.”

He allowed himself to smirk, then nodded toward the chair opposite him. You inched into the room, clinging to the wall as long as possible before skittering across the floor and sitting down. Blood pulsed in your toes, in your ears.

You had never imagined a scenario where you would sit across from William Tavington without a barrier of authority between you. Even your fantasies had involved him eschewing the arrangement altogether, whether that meant taking you behind his desk or on top of it. Now you both observed the same table, neither side superior to the other.

Perhaps your father's notions of liberty and equality weren't so quixotic after all.

Nausea gripped you, and you groaned, rubbing your brow as you stared at the board. Chess. You knew the rules. But you hadn't played in a few years. Once war had broken out, Papa had been riveted by its development, and he was the only one to ever play with you. Grace hated the game.

“White moves first,” William said.

“I'm aware,” you replied, frowning at him. “Just give me a moment.”

You sighed. This felt like the most important chess move you'd ever make. But there was no point in stalling. You weren't stupid. You might even win.

Using the only opening you remembered, you pushed a pawn forward. He responded immediately with his own pawn, mirroring yours with a confidence that perturbed you. Defense, you thought, would be the best strategy, until you could discern his style of play. So you moved a knight onto the field as sentinel.

As you fell into the rhythm of the opening moves, you felt yourself leaning towards the hearth. Its warmth suffused the ceaseless ache that had wrapped itself around your bones, loosened it just enough to coax a sigh from you. William’s focus jumped to you, then back to the game, where he launched his bishop on an early offensive charge.

Your eyes narrowed, swept over the rank and file of the board. A memory nagged you from somewhere deep—that same set of moves, met by your logical counters. Then heat in your face, anger, incredulity. Your father had tricked you. William was performing the same trick.

Your gaze speared him. He blinked, impassive.

In any other case, you’d have wanted to punish his aggression with your own. In any other case, you’d have thrown your father’s lessons on patience to the wind. Right now, though, you didn’t particularly care to be ill and humiliated.

You scanned the board. Considered. Then nudged a pawn forward as sacrifice.

William’s lip quirked, and without hesitation, he captured your offering with his bishop.

“Who is really responsible for teaching you?” he asked.

Now, it was your turn to smirk.

“My father,” you replied, and your knight sprung from its ambush to take his bishop. “Who was your teacher?”

He gave a soft snort in concession to your maneuver. “Hardly a matter of consequence, is it?”

“That isn’t fair.”

He sighed. “Now you find winning to be unfair?”

“No.” You frowned, gesturing to your pawn in his possession. “You captured my piece and asked me a question. I captured your piece,” you said, holding up his bishop, “now you must answer mine.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Heat prickled your skin, no longer only from the fire’s glow. Then his attention snapped back to the board, and he advanced a pawn.

“My father.”

You gasped, affecting disbelief. “You have parents? You weren't belched forth from fumes of sulfur and coal?” When he said nothing in response, you shrugged and moved your queen into play. “Do you write them?”

William leaned forward to swipe another of your pawns. “I don't believe it's your turn to ask a question.” His eyes met yours. “How much did your father teach you, exactly?”

You sighed. “Everything he could.” Your focus darted over your pieces, then his. “Nothing at all like your elite schooling, I’m sure. He isn’t a worldly man.” An immediate strategy wasn’t revealing itself to you, so you shifted a bishop defensively. “Though he does have a penchant for the classics. Greek epics in particular.”

William hummed and advanced a knight. You responded with a pawn push, brightening as you saw a path to a potential capture and opportunity to question him. But he snagged your own knight with his, and you slumped back, pouting.

“What of your mother?” he asked. “How old were you when she passed?”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Barely eight. Perhaps seven. She died of fever. Grace was still an infant.” Leaning in again, you took his central pawn with the maneuver you’d set up last turn. “Ha!” You plunked it into your growing pile of captured pieces. “Now answer me. What of your family, hm?”

“What of them?” William shrugged. “My father is dead. My mother failed to respond to my last letters. I’ve no current knowledge of my brothers–-be they living or not.” He flicked a piece forward. “There's little to say of them.”

“But what—” You paused. Glanced over the board. There were no captures you could reasonably make on this turn, so you huffed and moved a bishop into position. Still, there was nothing precluding you from making a statement. “I…” You swallowed. “I'm sorry to hear of your father.”

At that, William snorted. “His death is not one worthy of your sympathy.”

You frowned. “That’s awful.”

“What is?”

“To feel that way about your father.”

William leaned back, his mouth cocking in derision. “If your father had spent all of his time pissing away every second and cent you possessed on gambling and wine, I imagine you might feel the same way.”

Your lips pressed together. His brows raised.

“But you haven’t asked a question, have you?” He leaned forward and swept your other knight from the board with his queen. “What do you remember of your mother?”

You stared at him, then blinked down at your fingers. It had been a long time since you’d thought of her in any detail. It felt strange to do so now.

“Her name was Eleanor. She had strong hands,” you mused, gaze picking over the game. “Tired eyes. A soft voice.” You nudged a pawn. “She spoke of missing home often.”

“Catawba?” He pushed his own pawn to meet yours.

A laugh puffed through your nose. “No,” you said, stealing his piece with your waiting bishop. “But you’ll have to earn that.” You grinned, and he tilted his head in acceptance. “Why do you want to know so much about my mother?”

“Curious,” he said. “Who you favor.”

You sat back, feeling aware of yourself for some reason. “Well, I hope I’ve given you enough information for a conclusion.”

“‘Soft voice’?” he replied. “Certainly not your mother.”

A smirk tugged at your lips. “And with your disposition, I imagine you must favor your father.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to make such an assertion.” He stole a pawn. “Where was the home your mother so missed?”

“Outside of Philadelphia,” you replied, irritated at how much larger his pile was growing than yours. “My father moved us here when I was too young to remember. He wanted to demonstrate slave labor wasn’t necessary to run a farm.” You shrugged. “I’d say he’s proven his point out.”

“Further proving my own, as it were.”

This time you barked a real laugh. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Taking on immense hardship to demonstrate a principle?” His brows lifted. “A resemblance might be struck.”

“Immense hardship?” You snorted. “Do I appear to be suffering under a great burden?”

“You wish for me to judge how burdened you are based on your current appearance?”

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled. Leaned forward. Saw that his knight was vulnerable, and toppled it with your queen. “Serves you.” You shot him a grin. A corner of his mouth lifted. “What about your burdens?” you asked. “Did you not join the war because your father pissed away everything your family had before riding the pale horse?”

“One reason,” he sighed, “among several.”

“And the others?”

“I answered your question.” He shifted a piece, then settled back in his chair.

“Pedant.”

He shrugged. “Your rules.”

Scowling, you considered your next move. Your only opportunity for capture would leave your queen vulnerable, casting the entire game in his favor. But one thousand questions were jammed behind your tongue and you wanted nothing more than to undam them, to toss them like logs into the flowing river between you and dive in after.

To hell with your queen. You reached across, plucked up your piece, and took his.

William blinked, looking from the board to you. No doubt wondering if he had misjudged your intellect after all. You didn’t care.

“Who’s your one friend?”

His head jerked back a fraction, as if you’d slapped him with the question. “What?”

“At Middleton Place,” you explained, “I asked if you had any friends. You said you had one. Who is it?”

A flutter passed through his jaw, then released. He blinked. “An officer,” he said, brow creasing in thought as his shoulders dropped fractionally. “Stationed up north.”

“What’s his name?”

“John André.”

He stiffened, glancing at the board, then at you. The freely given answer hung in the air, delightful to you as the first firefly of spring. You hardly breathed for fear of chasing it away. William leaned an elbow on the table and slid a rook toward your exposed queen.

“Does that satisfy you?”

“It may.” A smile played at the corners of your lips as you considered his move. There wasn’t a single counter you could think of that would save you now, but it hardly mattered. “Does John André know that he’s your only friend?”

William’s brow twitched. “It was he who informed me of the fact.”

At that you laughed, leaning back in your chair to cover your lips with your fingers. His attention flicked over your face.

“A man of eminent wisdom, this John André,” you said.

A half-smile touched his cheeks, and his gaze shifted to the fire. “A man of eminent frivolity, mostly.”

“Come now,” you chided, “do not speak ill of your friend while he is not here to defend himself.” Grinning, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Surely such ‘frivolity’ mustn't have evaded your own participation, or you would not so readily deem him a friend.”

“The facets of our friendship extend beyond trivial amusements.” William’s head dipped to the side in consideration. “But he certainly threw a devil of a party.”

“Indeed?” It was impossible to keep your delight from your voice. “Grander than the one at Middleton Place?”

“Much.”

Your smile widened. “How grand?”

William tipped his head this way and that, as if imagining the scale.

“As grand as befits the sending off of our esteemed General Howe,” he said, smirking as his eyes landed upon you.

Your jaw plummeted. “You attended the Mischianza?”

He hummed, expression awash with amusement. “Heard of it?”

“Myself and every other literate soul in the colonies,” you said, head wagging in disbelief. Three months must have gone by before you’d stopped seeing weekly condemnations of the debauchery committed there in the papers.

His brow arched. “Is it so inconceivable that I was in attendance?”

Yes, you thought. It absolutely was. The idea of William Tavington strutting about a massive gala against a backdrop of festooned ships, jousting tournaments, extravagant and scandalous costumes, and every other Lucullian detail you’d read about—it was absurd enough to be, in a word, utterly inconceivable.

“I’d sooner believe you took the stage to recite Cato,” you said.

He shrugged. “That I did as well.”

You beheld him for a few seconds, then snorted out a laugh. “Perhaps I should have stipulated that answers be given honestly, for now you surely jest.”

William placed a hand over his breast, as if swearing an oath. “I wouldn’t dare.”

You leaned forward, searching him for deception. “You really trod the boards of a stage?”

He gave a single nod.

“Where?” you demanded. “When?”

“New York,” he said. “At Major André’s behest.”

“Well,” you said, giggling through your own disbelief. “How obliging a friend you are. A man of the arts, is he?”

“Very much so,” William replied, his half-smile unfading. “But with meager talent for acting.”

“And where do his talents lie, then?”

“Music,” he answered. “Poetry, painting. His set pieces were extraordinary.”

You covered another giggle with your fingers, studying him across the table. “You on a stage,” you murmured. “I simply cannot imagine it.”

His smile widened, softening his face, and your heart suspended in time.

“Pray,” he said, “how do you imagine me to have passed the cold and dark months in New York?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, leaning back. “Such a rousing city as York mustn’t have left you wanting for diversions, least of all the type to keep you warm.”

Your cheeks grew hot. It hadn’t really been your intention to suggest he divulge the history of his sexual exploits, though now that you’d spoken the words, you couldn’t quell your curiosity. You wondered if he had interpreted the same meaning from the statement.

William paused, his eyes searching yours.

“They grew wearisome,” he finally said. “Did you never tire of your own diversions?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “Never.”

“What were they?”

“Well.” You pinched your lower lip between your teeth. “Papa kept us busy with our lessons when we weren’t tending the farm. But I got to make my rounds in the village for illness or injury.”

“That is schooling and work,” said William witheringly, “not diversion.”

“But it was diverting!” you said, crossing your arms in your own defense. “Particularly when men would shriek like babes from the smallest needle prick.”

“And had you soaked said needles in whiskey?” he asked, eyes glinting.

“Gin.”

He smiled again, and another flush suffused your cheeks. You cleared your throat.

“In the summers, our village made great sport of racing young horses over obstacles,” you said. “Then the breeders would go on to sell their winners for extraordinary prices.”

“And you participated?”

“Of course.”

William gave you a curious look. “An unorthodox pastime for a lady, some might say.”

There was no criticism in the statement. All you could detect was curiosity.

“Some might. But only because ladies are unfairly discouraged,” you retorted. “My father always said I was a hundred times better with a horse than any young man in Catawba.”

“Perhaps because they are the only creatures on earth to receive from you a soft voice.”

You grinned. “Perhaps they are the only creatures on earth deserving of it.”

To this, he seemed to have no argument. Your focus drifted down his collar, his waistcoat, to the game left abandoned between you. Recalling that it had been your turn, you batted at a piece, not much caring where it ended up.

“It makes sense, you know,” you murmured.

“What does?” He made an idle move of his own.

“Your talent for acting.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn’t call it a talent.”

“Oh, I would.”

He looked up to meet your impish smile.

“And what makes you say this?” he asked.

You leaned forward, examining him. “You keep your expressions under such discipline. Very austere.” You hummed. “But your eyes betray you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said. “They speak so clearly what is on your mind.”

“Mhm.” He raised a skeptical brow. “And what is it that my eyes say?”

You studied him. He held your attention, unblinking.

Lifting your chin, you adopted your best William Tavington impression, and said: “Stop making observations about me that bear uncomfortable veracity.”

His shoulders jumped in the closest thing to a true laugh you’d ever seen him produce.

“Very precise.”

“Accurate, too, I assume.” You flashed a grin, plunked a piece across the board.

“And what are they saying now?” he asked.

You met his eyes again. Fire glittered in them like sunset through a waterfall. As they engulfed you, your stomach flipped—certainly a symptom of your illness, and not because these long seconds of eye contact made you feel more naked before him than any of the times he’d been inside your body. You swallowed the thickness in your throat.

“Nothing repeatable aloud, I'm sure.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Astute.”

You chewed the inside of your lip, your fingers curling in your petticoats, feeling a suffocating urge to scoot closer in your chair, to bump your knee against his, to rest your feet along his own. Yet the imbalance between you gave you pause.

Certainly this urge was so tempting because he was the only man you’d ever wanted any form of intimacy with, physical or otherwise. But how many women had inspired this same feeling in him?

Exactly how vulnerable did your lack of experience make you?

“William?”

His gaze held to yours. “Hm?”

“How many?” you asked. “Before me?”

“How many what?” He cocked his head. “Assaults have I received from swamp witches?”

You rolled your eyes. Typical. “No,” you replied, lowering your voice. “You know very well what I mean.” You cleared your throat, enunciating carefully. “How many women have shared your bed?”

William stared, considering you. “Before you?” Glancing down, he absently rolled a piece across the board with no concern for its fate. “One.”

You balked. “You've only had intercourse with one other woman?” you hissed between your teeth. “You said you'd seen plenty!”

“I have.” His stare locked to you again. “That’s not the question you asked.”

No muscle in his face twitched. Only his eyes informed you that this was the truth.

You settled in your chair, blinking the realization into life. He’d had a serious partner before you, then. The fact of it made you want to squirm, made an unfamiliar emotion writhe in your chest like a colony of worms. It had probably been some high society woman, someone with some semblance of formal education, someone who arose wearing a dress made of ruffled silk to powder her hair and face and then went to sleep on a bed of shillings.

Not that it mattered. Obviously.

Nodding, you shuffled your claimed chessmen around on the table. “What… ah, what was her name?” you asked, as if it was a question of little consequence. “What was she like?”

“I don’t recall,” he replied with a lift of his brow. “It was a single night, years ago.”

Your jaw dropped, and you snapped it shut with a clack. You gazed at him, recognizing the implicit admission that the person he’d shared his bed with most—as two was greater than one—was you.

The gap in experience felt at once like a crevice and canyon. Perhaps his exposure to intimacy in its alternative forms was as limited as yours. But his singular mention of discretion contrasted against what you’d learned earlier today gave you no comfort or reassurance as to what on God’s emerald fields was happening to you.

William eased back in his chair. “Curiosity sated?”

“Not quite.”

He held out a palm, inviting your query forth. You worried your lip before looking up at him.

“I thought you requested my discretion,” you said. “So why have you been asking about me?”

Footsteps approached the drawing room, and you peered over your shoulder to spot Lottie peeking around the wall.

“Good evening, Colonel,” she said, nodding toward him. “I’m afraid I must collect our esteemed nurse for the night so she may rest.” A terribly playful grin broke her face. “Dr. Moore’s orders.”

You turned, meeting his gaze, finding the same reluctance there that you felt in your bones. The both of you exhaled simultaneously, a shared ache seeping with your breath into the room. He glanced at Lottie and nodded, but said nothing.

“All right, Lottie,” you said, offering her a tight smile. “I’ll be along.”

She looked between you with mischief in her eyes and dipped into the hallway to wait.

You took a breath and made to stand, the planet itself spiraling underneath you with a pounding against your skull. The pain of illness that you’d somehow relegated to the perimeter of your awareness pounced every muscle at once. Groaning, you held your hand against your forehead as if that would affix the world’s axis beneath you. Another deep breath, and you prepared to rise again. Your eyes focused and found William standing in front of you, his hand proffered.

Something tightened in your chest. Jaw tense, you curled your trembling fingers around his, found them soothed in the bedrock of his grip. He helped you to your feet, and your head spun again, your hand squeezing his instinctually—and he squeezed back, ensuring you remained standing.

Now stable, you looked up at him, your hand still clutching his. He made no indication of moving. He only stared at you.

“Goodnight, William,” you breathed.

You leaned in, brushed your lips across his cheek, grazed the growing stubble. Easing back, you began to pull away, and his grip tightened. You blinked, your attention falling to where he held you, only to watch as he raised your knuckles to his lips.

If his eyes before had been sunset through a waterfall, they were now stars through stained glass, a refraction of feeling you had no capacity to identify. Your breath left you. You held onto him, your vision fuzzing.

William lowered your hand and released it, and you stepped away, still unable to break his gaze.

“I expect to find you following the doctor’s directives tomorrow,” he said.

You finally averted your attention to study the floor before looking to him again. “If I must.”

William was still as a lake. His fingers twitched at his side.

With a nod, you fled the room, finding Lottie in the hallway, head and heart slamming against the boundaries of your body. Her smile exploded from her face, her arm curling around yours as she guided you from the house.

“Time for bed, lovebird,” she giggled.

You glanced at her, then at the door, unable to escape the memory of William’s eyes, the encroaching dawn within them, how it devoured you like the shivering dew of morning.

[jaxteller87]

Sex Genie II

Amber POV

One night, as I lay in bed, Jax told me he had a surprise for me. He disappeared into the bathroom with a mischievous grin, leaving me in a silent bedroom, pondering what it could possibly be. Knowing him, I suspected he might emerge in nothing but his work shirt or his cut. Or— better yet, a clown costume because of the conversation we had a few nights ago about him doing whatever I want in the bedroom. As I was about to find out, his surprise was actually closer to my second guess than the first.

“Surprise!” he shouted, jumpng out of the bathroom in a full genie costume; both of his arms extended like he just pulled off a mindblowing magic trick at a five-year-olds birthday party. He even tried to twitch his nose like in the show I Dream of Jeannie.

I didn’t say shit. I just stared at him, wide-eyed. I could feel my cheeks turning red, but I couldn’t look away. I’ve seen a lot of things in my day, but this was one sight I can honestly say I never laid eyes upon, nor did I think I was ever going to. Hell, the thought of Jax in a genie costume never once even crossed my mind. Unfortunately, the clown idea had popped in a time or two since our last conversation, but this was taking the proverbial ball and literally running in the other direction with it.

“Well?” He said. He didn’t move an inch. He just stood there with his legs parted and his arms spread, wearing the dopiest of dopy smiles.

“Oh my word,” I giggled into my hands as he walked over to the bed with his infectious smile.

Jax furrowed his brow and started to crawl up to me from the foot of the bed. “What’s your first wish, Master?”

“I wish I never saw you in this goofy-ass costume,” I joked, unable to contain my laughter.

“Wish denied,” he said, kissing me up my legs to my neck.

“I’m just kidding, babe. This is wonderful.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we kissed passionately.

What started as a cute joke quickly became something bigger, adding a playful spark to our bedroom activities and beyond.

“I love it, baby. More importantly, I love you,” I chuckled, staring into his eyes.

“I’m happy I could put a smile on that pretty face,” he said softly.

“So, my lady, what wishes can I grant for you this wonderful evening?” he asked. He got off of me and sat on his side of the bed,criss-cross-applesauce style.

“Umm, well, what kind of choices am I working with?” I asked.

“Anything your pretty little heart desires,” Jax nodded.

“Okay, in that case— let’s go with genie’s choice; that way, I have a little time to figure out what’s next. I’m still flabbergasted by your uniform, Mr. Genie; my apologies,” I didn’t want to kill the mood, but he did look rather comical.

“Genie’s choice, you say?”

I nodded, “For starters— yep, that’s right.”

“Then it shall be done!” Jax bellowed, jumping up to his knees and thrusting his finger into the air.

“Oh, Jesus,” I put my hand over my mouth to try and stop from giggling. I had to get my mind off the costume and focus on our sexy time. I cleared my throat and took a second to contain myself. “So, uh— what will it be?”

“Well, my lady, Making you cum and hearing you say my name, of course,” he said, jumping back on top of me and kissing my neck.

“Okay,” I breathed as he started nibbling on my ear. Once our clothes were off, he eased himself on top of me, and I sighed happily, feeling his comforting weight.

“Slow and easy tonight?” he asked as he felt my body tense up. “Or just cuddles? We don’t have to rush.”

“No, we can. But yeah, can we start with slow and easy? We can see where it goes from there, ” I suggested. I didn’t want to let my body ruin this moment, especially after Jax had put in so much effort.

We moved in slow, sensual rhythms, the moonlight casting a soft glow over Jax’s face. I couldn’t help but marvel at how I ended up with a man like him.

“Papa,” I moaned against his neck, my hands sliding down his back before giving his butt a playful smack.

“My naughty little angel,” he growled in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

We lay beside each other, grinning as we came down from our incredible high.

“Hopefully, you can turn me into a screen door tomorrow,” I chuckled, gently scratching his beard.

“Whatever the lady wishes,” he grinned, kissing my forehead.

“So, you enjoyed this? Wasn’t too cheesy?” he laughed, kissing the top of my head again.

“No, not at all,” I giggled. “I thought you were gonna walk in with your cut or something,” I chuckled, kissing his chest.

“Tell me you’re not going to ruin the mood,” he said, noticing I wanted to say something but seemed nervous.

“This whole genie thing, as dumb as it sounds, has helped me not be so nervous about asking for things bedroom-wise,” I admitted, laughing a little.

“I’ve known, and that’s why I’ve kept with it.”

“I mean, as we talked about before, if someone told me I’d like being spanked while being called ‘your good girl’ or ‘your naughty little beauty,’ I would have said they were nuts.”

“I think, too, that I’m nervous to ask for things because if we can’t do something because of my disability, I’m going to be disappointed or, worse, disappoint you.”

“Hey, what have I told you about that? That will never happen. I mean it,” Jax said, kissing me gently. “As long as you get off and call me Big Papa or Orgasmo, the sex genie, I’m good.”

I burst out laughing, “For the record, I’ll never call you Orgasmo the sex genie— but Big Papa, that one’s a given.”

“Fair enough.”

“So,” I began, “what are the chances of Mr. Orgasmo wearing his cut with the parachute pants and turban?”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to call me that?”

“Shit—” I did just say that.

“I’ll see what I can do, but Orgasmo, the sex genie, didn’t even prospect for the club yet, so I don’t know if he can put on the vest.”

“Okay, so...” I teased as my hand started to wander down, wrapping around his cock. “How about now?”

“I uh—” his eyes rolled into the back of his head while I started to go down on him.

“Okay, fine! You win, I’ll get the cut,” he mumbled enjoyably.

“That’s what I thought,” I whispered, and the night continued.

Jax POV

I was in the bedroom, waiting anxiously for Amber. She was taking a pregnancy test—yeah, she was seven days late. The seconds felt like hours as I sat on the edge of the bed, tapping my foot on the hardwood floor. My mind raced with a hundred different scenarios.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Each tick seemed louder than the last, amplifying the silence of the room. The muted colors of the evening light seeped through the curtains, and all I could hear was the faint hum of the bathroom fan. Amber had been in there for what felt like an eternity. The door was partially open, but not enough to see inside. 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Well?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you need help? Anything— just name it, darlin’.”

“Teller, I love you, but I’m fine,” she chuckled. 

“You sure?” I asked, but she didn’t answer. 

A few seconds later, she popped her head out of the bathroom door. “Okay, the stick is in the cup. We have to wait three minutes.”

I stood up, my legs feeling slightly wobbly from sitting for so long. We waited some more, and then she went back into the bathroom again. When Amber re-emerged, she was holding the test in her hand. Her expression was unreadable. Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The answer was there, written in her eyes even before she spoke a word. She shook her head, and tears filled up in the corners of her eyes as I ran to embrace her.

 “I know this isn’t ideal timing, but if you are pregnant, I’ll be over the moon. We’ll make it work, darlin’, no problem— I promise.”

“You say that now. Wait until I’m as big as a whale, having hormonal crying fits every day, maybe a few times a day,” she smirked. She had been late getting her prescription filled, and we had been so caught up in the moment the past few weeks that I hadn’t always wrapped Jax Jr.

“So…You are then?” I asked. She shook her head, handing me the test. 

“Not this time, Big Papa; just one blue line, not two.”

We both breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, I can’t wait to be a dad, but we just weren’t in the right place in our relationship for a little Teller.

Later that night, we were snuggled up in bed.

“My prescription is filled. I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Amber said.

“And I’ll pick up another box of rubbers tomorrow, too,” I responded, kissing her forehead.

“You know,” Amber began, “I think why our sex life has been so good the past few months, even before the genie thing… I’m not using sex anymore to escape like I was last year. Yes, it was still good, and I got fulfillment from it, but I wasn’t doing it for the wrong reasons.”

“I know, it doesn't make sense,” she chuckled, looking up at me.

“No, it does, because like we talked about, at one point, that was the only time your demons weren’t screaming at you,” I whispered, running my fingers down her arm.

“Stress—that would be why I’m late. Work has been stressful.”

“Ah, so that’s why you asked me to treat you like a screen door when you got home yesterday.”

“Yes,” she laughed, her face turning a little red. “Being spanked while being called your good girl took the stress away,” Amber said with blushed cheeks.

“What, you still can’t believe you like being spanked?” I laughed.

She nodded, her face still red. “Hey, if it gets the job done, I’ll do it every time if you like.”

“I mean… I could get a paddle.”

She shook her head and laughed. “It’s the skin-on-skin contact for me.”

[hannabanana-6]

Casual

Bryce and Casey are keeping things casual, for now.

Bryce smiled down at Casey, tucking a strand of her light blond hair behind her ear. She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling.

“Dinner at mine later?” he asked, trying his best to seem detached and casual.

“Since when could you cook?” Casey smirked, one eyebrow raised pointedly.

“Frozen pizza at mine later?”, Bryce amended, smiling bashfully.

“It’s a-”, Casey cut herself off, a subtle blush coating her cheeks “Yeah, I finish work at 7, so I’ll be at yours by 8.” She replied.

“Alright, well I have to go scrub in. I’d say wish me luck, but we both know I don’t need it.” Bryce smirked cockily, and gave Casey a wink, while she rolled her eyes and tried to act as though his seemingly unshakable confidence thoroughly annoyed her, rather than acting as a turn on.

“I won’t give you a good luck kiss then.” Casey laughed, turning and beginning to walk away, before Bryce grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him, tugging her close to him gently. He smiled lazily at her through hooded eyes.

“A little extra luck never hurt anyone.” He murmured, brushing his lips against hers.

Casey leaned into Bryce momentarily, before she remembered her surroundings and pulled back.

“That’s all I get?” Bryce teased, “This is a major surgery, just so you know.”

Interlinking their pinkes, Casey blushed again, muttering “we are at work.”

“I think we’ve done much worse here. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what we did in that supply cupboard.” Bryce laughed as he gestured to the nearest supply cupboard.

“Ace this surgery, and we can do it again.” Casey breathed, not bothering to act like Bryce simply mentioning the last time they were in there didn’t make her heart begin racing.

Bryce smirked again, and pressed one more quick kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you later. I’m looking forward to my reward.” He said, turning and walking down the corridor.

Casey checked her chart, ready to get back to her rounds, but before she could, Sienna bounded over, grinning widely.

“You really like him, don’t you?” She questioned.

Casey shrugged. “We’re friends.” She said, trying to sound casual.

Her and Bryce were casual. They spent every minute possible together including lunch breaks and night time naps in the on call rooms (both literal naps and ‘naps’), she slept at his five times a week, and they both sought comfort in each other after losing patients or having shitty days at the hospital. Casual.

Bryce was holding a part of himself back, Casey had always known that. Casey had to focus on residency anyway, on being the best doctor she could be, on earning that spot on the diagnostics team. She wanted to earn it fairly, rather than because of a bias Ethan has towards her which Casey, alongside other residents, was beginning to suspect was less to do with her skills as a doctor and more to do with the way she looked. She knew there were rumours about her sleeping her way to the top intern position, especially after Miami. What hurt the most was the way Landry and Jackie were beginning to look at her, like they believed them too. Casey supposed she couldn’t blame them; she knew what it looked like. She had a sinking feeling that Ethan would have kissed her in Miami if she hadn’t excused herself for bed. She had spent the night tossing and turning; did Ethan really see her for her potential as a doctor as she initially believed, or was sit all just an act to charm her and get her in bed?

So really, Casey couldn’t afford anything other than casual, not when she had so much at stake with her career. And Bryce was a casual type of guy, Casey knew that. Residency was only temporary, so why get feelings involved in something that couldn’t last, with someone who didn’t seem to want to fall in love anyway?

“I like him for you. Bryce, I mean.” Sienna stated, snapping Casey out of her thought.

“We’re just friends with benefits, Si.” Casey said, more firmly this time.

“I know. But I think he really likes you Case. He’s always looking at you. And I heard he called in loads of favours amongst the surgical residents to swap his day off tomorrow so he could have it with you.”

“Our schedules just happened to match.” Casey frowned.

Sienna simply smiled, not bothering to push Casey any more.

The next morning, Bryce and Casey lay curled up on his sofa.

“What do you want to do today?” Bryce asked, “Go-karting, check out a new lunch spot, maybe see if there’s anything on in the evening?” He listed suggestions.

“I just want to lie here all day.” Casey sighed, humming contentedly as Bryce smiled, and wrapped his arms around her tighter.

“Bryce?” Casey said hesitantly, after a few moments had passed.

“Casey?” Bryce replied.

“How many favours did you call in to get this day off?” Casey asked.

Bryce blushed, caught off guard.

“I just said I’d work Lola’s New Years night shift for her.” He replied, unusually embarrassed.

“You gave up New Years?” Casey breathed.

Bryce’s eyes fluttered closed. This was too much. Taking a new years shift just to score a day with Casey. They spent as much time as they could together anyway, but with their hectic schedules they barely managed to have a full day together. Still, this was too much. She was probably horrified. They were casual; she wanted to focus on her residency. He wasn’t good at being anyone’s boyfriend anyway, and Casey deserved a great boyfriend, certainly a boyfriend who wasn’t hiding entire parts of his life from her. Bryce knew she could do better. He saw how Raf looked at her. Hell, he saw how half the hospital looked at her, even Ramsey, which bothered him. Casey deserved better than a boss who saw her as anything other than the incredibly talented doctor she was; hospital rumours weren’t always kind to young, successful and gorgeous women.

He opened his eyes, and realised Casey was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He wanted to say it wasn’t a big deal, that New Years was just a night and that it didn’t mean anything that he gave it up to spend time with her, but the lie caught in his throat.

Still, they were just casual. Casey was easily becoming the best thing in his life right now and Bryce didn’t want to scare her off by being too much too soon. He didn’t know how to handle these feelings, as usually Bryce was the one enforcing the no-strings-attached rule, not the girls he was seeing. Something about Casey made Bryce want to break all his rules.

“Yeah, I gave up New Years to spend time with you.” He responded finally, so softly it was practically a whisper.

Casey smiled softly, and her eyes lit up. She pulled him in for a slow, tender kiss, laced with emotion. It’s casual, they both reminded themselves.

[idealisticrealism]

TCL 3x08 thoughts

The main things:

I’ve lost track of the timeline here a bit, but Ramona mentions to Nadia that it’s been ‘a hard few days’, which I’m assuming means the few days including/after the wake? Normally it would take at least a few days (often several) just to arrange for cremation, and I would have thought that the FBI situation would have also delayed that, but maybe Jorge and Ramona were able to pull some strings and speed it up? Or maybe Russo pushed it all through quickly because the FBI wanted to see if his Velorio would lead to any new information/suspects? Who knows. On the day of the wake Jeremy refers to the chase as happening ‘the other day’ which makes it sound like less than a week had passed since the car chase/Arman’s death. Also given the fact that Ramona and Jorge only go to the apartment for the first time in this ep, it can’t be more than a couple of days since the Velorio/the reveal of Dante’s involvement. So based off all that, I’m gonna go with the assumption that it’s been about a week (or even slightly less) since Arman’s death, meaning the entire season has covered about 2 weeks thus far.

Well, I definitely feel validated as hell by the reveals in this ep lol. Dying Ramona? Called it in ep 5, though tbh it still surprises me a little that the writers would go with a plotline like that, after everything that happened with Adan. But I guess they needed a reason for Ramona to decide not to kill Thony after she no longer has Arman’s protection, and this is just the most straightforward way to do it. Not to mention it will probably mean that Ramona dies off by the end of the season, getting her out of the way like all the previous villains haha. (Please kill her, Thony. Do it for Arman, and for me). But of course, even more satisfying was getting the long-awaited confirmation about FBI Agent Jeremy– though given that I called that one literally the moment he showed his face in 3x03, his big reveal at the end with Russo wasn’t so much an ‘omg I was right!!’ moment but more of a ‘yeah duh guys we already knew he was a Fed’ haha

Thony’s dream where she is Sin Cara…. Please please pleaaase let this be foreshadowing haha. Like seriously c’mon writers, make my Mob Queen Thony dream come true! And that visual was also just really cool, with Thony stripping away layer after layer of masks only to find herself underneath… like all her efforts to find Arman, and to find who was responsible for taking him, peeling back all the layers until she finds herself?? Damn. I think that’s part of why she’s so determined to go after Ramona, because she needs to focus on Ramona’s role in his death so she won’t be torn apart by her own guilt (because lbr, she knows that if he’d never met her, none of this would have happened and he’d almost certainly still be alive). But honestly, while she did play a part in the events that led to his death, it was Ramona proceeding with the kidnapping plan and Jeremy involving his FBI buddies that were the true causes of Arman’s death. But anyway ugh, Thony’s teary eyes and damp collar when she wakes from that nightmare… her getting up for water then immediately trading her water for a beer… her almost crying as she tells Fi that her hallucination of Arman in the apartment felt so real… her saying that she can’t let his death go… help it’s raining on my face

Honestly, it was fair enough for Fi to go to Russo. Thony keeps making all these promises that nothing else is going to happen to their family, but let’s be real here (and I say this with love lol), Thony’s promises don’t mean shit haha. She truly means them when she says them, but she’s just up against far too much to be able to handle it all on her own. It was so brave of Fi to go to Russo, especially given her deportation situation, and I love that Russo is basically like ‘thanks for meeting with me. what info have you got? btw nice job sneaking back into the country’ lol. Fi’s shocked response is hilarious– I mean c’mon Fi, did you really think that that topic wasn’t gonna come up??? But ugh Russo’s ‘if you help me maybe I can help you’ offer sounds a lot like the one Nadia got, only for Russo to then screw her over… don’t trust her Fi! Loved Fi’s “I’m not a victim” though. Hell yeah sister. Reminds me of how Thony also started off as a victim (witnessing Theo’s murder and being forced into the criminal underworld to survive) but found her own power and used her new environment and connections to her advantage. Things have gotten a little rocky again though with the loss of Arman and his support, and I think Fi calling Thony out on her precarious situation was really important (“If you really wanna keep us safe, stop making things worse”) because she does need that reality check… bc while every single thing Thony does is always with the aim of fixing things, her actions do often unintentionally end up having the opposite effect, and she needs to face that and figure her shit out now that she doesn’t have Arman or Garrett to clean up her messes. Anyway, sigh, so much for my hopes of Fi deciding to go rogue with Thony though haha… I guess she just made an exception for the day of the Velorio for Thony’s sake and now she’s back to her old ‘hanging out with criminals is a bad idea’ self lol

Okay sooo… do we actually believe Ramona when she says she didn’t know about the kidnapping at the start, and that Dante took Arman for using their routes, not knowing who he actually was? Because I find that very hard to believe haha. Especially given that Thony came to Sin Cara literally like the day after Arman was taken, and would have told them exactly how and where he was abducted… and so Ramona should have immediately put it together then that the man Dante abducted was Arman. But according to Ramona, she found out ‘too late’ (too late for what? Even if she didn’t find out the truth until right before the exchange, she could have called it off, but didn’t), and so I’m calling bullshit on that haha. She’s still just covering her ass, telling another lie to cover up the much worse truth, which is that she planned this from the beginning to bring Arman back into the family while also scoring a bunch of cash. I do find it really clever how we started the season thinking Ramona was going to be the villain, and then we met her and learned she was Arman’s family and that she was gonna help Thony, which had us thinking we’d been wrong and she wasn’t a villain after all, and now we’ve circled back to her being the villain again lol

Huh, I did not expect Nadia to be staying at the Sin Cara Casita, but I can see how being at home alone with all the memories of Arman would have just been too hard. She has no-one now, and Ramona was so welcoming and kind and acted like she was family, so I guess she thought that maybe this was her path forward and she could belong with them… only for Ramona to betray her in the worst way. I hope that this leads Nadia to realise that Thony was right all along, and Thony is the only one she can really trust. It was nice to see her go back to La Habana, back to her old self again. Though omg that staff member (Charmaine?) asking her what they’re celebrating… like maybe don’t ask that of a person who just lost their husband??? Lol. But daaamn Russo showing up and arresting her… I appreciate that Russo didn’t seem to take any satisfaction in the arrest (I think she does actually feel for Nadia and her situation, especially after having also recently lost someone she loved) but she’s clearly angling to get Nadia to turn on whoever she’s working with. Which is why it seems like a terrible idea for both Ramona and Jorge to come visit her in lockup? Her scene with Ramona was so good though ugh, like she was looking at Ramona and seeing what her future could be if she doesn’t make changes and start letting people in. Which, like I said, will hopefully begin with Thony! And maybe Jorge too, since Ramona betrayed him as well (multiple times now!) and because he genuinely did love Arman too. Though ngl, him asking for 50mil to help her is a bit sketchy haha.. But maybe she wouldn’t have trusted him otherwise, if it seemed like there was nothing in this partnership for him? Making it a business transaction is more like something she can understand.

Tbh that’s actually something that’s been really cool about this season: the way the partnerships and alliances have been steadily shifting and changing between these four central characters as the show progresses– first there was Thony and Nadia as a team, plus Ramona and Jorge. Then there was Thony and Jorge, plus Ramona and Nadia. Now it might be becoming Jorge and Nadia, plus Ramona and Thony. Though Jorge likely expects his new team-up with Nadia to include Thony as well, given the trust that they’ve formed (which would also help bridge the divide between Thony and Nadia again, which would be nice). And that scenario certainly could still happen, with the three of them forming a plan together to manage Ramona– but it’s also possible that the alliance that Thony offers Ramona in the gallery scene may damage her own connection with Jorge and Nadia, as they might see it as her selling out both Arman and them to save herself.  But what Jorge and Nadia don’t know is that Thony is on a mission to make Ramona pay, and is following Jeremy’s advice: find your enemy’s weakness, and exploit it. 

Honestly, Thony’s visit to Ramona in the gallery was so badass; the way she spoke to Ramona reminded me of what she was like when they had the motel manager guy tied up in the bathtub and were pretending to threaten him with organ harvesting. Back then, it was Arman who gave her that confidence, and it was the same now in a way; this time, it’s her love for him and her desire to honour his memory that helps her be bold enough to face Ramona, and she does it wearing the dress that she last wore on a night when Arman made a huge personal sacrifice for her and took an innocent life to protect hers. At this stage, I expect her plan is to make herself essential to Ramona as her doctor, either to earn enough gratitude from healing her that Ramona spares her and her family, or to gather enough incriminating info about Ramona that she can take to Russo to make a deal (though I have trouble seeing her doing that given Jorge’s warnings, and her not wanting to betray him). From the trailer for next week it does look like she’s going to be trying hard to fix whatever is killing Ramona… but tbh what I really wanna see is for Thony to go real dark and not just use her new position of power over Ramona to ensure her own safety, but to actually use that power to end Ramona’s life. Like imagine if Ramona agrees to what she thinks is a treatment from Thony, only for Thony to give her something that will kill her instead??? Or maybe a situation arises where Thony is genuinely trying to fix her, but then something goes wrong and Ramona starts to crash, and Thony realises that if she just lets it happen, Ramona will die and no one would know that Thony could have stopped it. Like damn that would be absolutely ice cold on Thony’s part, but could be a fascinating step in her character development, especially as she moves further away from that ‘victim’ that she was at the start of the series, and closer to being the person who controls the power. Not to mention how I’ve talked before about how central it is to Thony’s character that she always has to save the person in front of her who asks for her help, even when it endangers herself or those she cares about… and so it would be a significant moment for her to actively choose not to help that person. But anyhow seriously, if I get my wish and she does kill Ramona, she better not get any hate for it, not when Arman and Jorge have both killed many people, and even Nadia has murdered someone. Thony has been through so much shit that honestly she’s earned the right to kill the person (or rather, people– take out Jeremy next, girl!) responsible for the death of the man she loved, and not to get demonised for it when other characters wouldn’t. (Basically what I’m saying is she deserves a little cold-blooded murder, as a treat lol)

Pro tip: when the building you’re in is filling with a deadly gas, fixing a barely-bleeding scalp laceration is not a priority!! Like sure it was fun to watch Thony McGyvering a solution to close the wound, but omg if that situation was real, a doctor like her would have never bothered with the stupid lac, because of a little thing called TRIAGE, aka dealing with the most life-threatening problem first! And like I said, the deadly gas is just a little higher on the priority list!! But hey, if they both died of chloride gas poisoning, at least he would have died with a nicely closed wound on his head lol. Sigh. But ngl I very much did enjoy that her solution to save their lives was to blow up the building that they were currently inside of lol. But again, triage– the likelihood of dying from the explosion was less than the likelihood of dying from the gas if they did nothing, so she makes the tough call and takes the lesser of two evils. I really do love the moments when we get to see her resourcefulness, intelligence, and bravery all at once, and Jeremy better be goddamn grateful to her for saving his ass lol. Although it doesn’t really seem like it, because the moment they get outside he uses her distraction and distress to pump her for information, and then basically tells her to go even deeper in the cartel? (Which, granted, is exactly what I also want her to do, but he’s endangering her for his own gain and that’s fucking shitty.) At least when Garrett forced her into being a CI, he was clear about what she was getting into, and made sure to support her and check in with her. Jeremy is just shoving her deeper into the lion’s den and waiting to see who walks out alive, and I can’t wait for the moment when this dark new Thony emerges and tears him to pieces.

Other stuff:

The tunnel/hallway thing that Thony walks down in her dream is the same one Jorge took her along to meet Sin Cara for the first time in 3x01… but she was blindfolded then and never actually saw it. Spooky. Also I’m pretty sure they used that same tunnel for the scene of Fi and Chris’ underground border crossing in 3x03, just with different lights lol

Violeta is such a precious little thing omg, and I appreciate the depth that she adds to Jorge with his Soft Dad Mode. Like seriously, them snuggling by the fire? Her waking and saying something with that tiny, sleepy, adorable voice, and him soothing her back to sleep? Help it’s too sweet ugh. And look I’m not gonna lie, I’m absolutely picturing how cute it would be if it was some future moment with Thony sitting across from him instead of Ramona, and with Luca asleep with his head in her lap because he and Violeta are both totally tired out after a really fun playdate. I’m not even saying it’s a romantic moment or anything, just two single parents sharing a really sweet moment of friendship and bonding over their kids, and ugh it would be nice if Thony got to have that someday. 

Lol Chris and Jaz were totally grade-A sibling material in this ep. As a youngest sister with two big brothers, all the teasing about his crush felt very relatable haha. And it was nice to see a return of the playful embarrassing mum side of Fi too. All of them just having normal innocent fun together was so sweet ugh, I want more of that

Super convenient that the door to the sketchy apartment was just open lol. What was Thony’s plan otherwise?? Break it down?? Honestly with the state she’s been in since Arman’s death, I wouldn’t put it past her. It’s a shame that the threat of Ramona meant she had to pretty much race straight out of there, though, because I think it might have been good for her if she’d had a chance to just go and be there, to sit in the chair he’d sat in and look at the surroundings that he’d spent his last days in, and just actually acknowledge her grief for a while…

Jorge blindly pointing the gun in the direction of his sister while he demands answers from Thony in the apartment… dude where’s your basic firearm safety?? Don’t point guns at people unless you’re fine with them getting shot!

Ugh when Thony asks Fi if she was the one who tipped off the FBI to the location of the exchange… the utter panic in her eyes, not only because of the danger that that act would put them in from Ramona, but also at the thought that if Fi had been the one to give the tip, she would have been as responsible for Arman’s death as Ramona is… and how would Thony have lived with that? How could she still live and work with her, still look at her every day knowing that the man she loved was dead because of Fi’s actions? Honestly thank god that none of us had to find out.

Poor Camila needs rescuing! And so Fi turns to Thony to fix it, which means continuing her involvement with the cartel, aka the opposite of what Fi asked  her to do just hours ago… I wonder if this situation will make Fi see that Thony existing in that criminal world and having some power within the cartel actually has more benefits than she realised, and that not everything is so black and white when it comes to keeping their family safe…

Okay I desperately wanna see more of the FBI’s case board lol… so funny that the FBI’s understanding of Thony went from ‘she’s a cleaning lady for the Barsamians’ to ‘she’s somehow personally connected to Arman Morales’ to ‘she’s business partners with Arman in importing medications from Mexico, and also maybe his romantic partner as well??’ to ‘she got tied up with Kamdar and supposedly accidentally imported Fentanyl from the Philippines’ to ‘she’s the key to finding Arman’ to ‘she somehow got her sister and nephew back into the country illegally’ to ‘she’s the key to taking down the Sin Cara cartel’.... Like honestly I’m a little worried about what happens once she’s no longer useful to the Feds… given everything that’s happened, I find it hard to see how she’s going to escape the FBI’s clutches this time? And most importantly, with them watching her so closely, how am I gonna get the Mob Queen Thony that I want so badly haha? But I guess the next few eps will answer that…

[f0point5]

There are so many layers to this story, I love it!

In that last part, when you started with y/n taking horse riding lessons, I somehow really thought she might have taking Metaphor.

Like it's a part of her past and we didn't have the information on whether she's still into it or doing it or whatever. So it felt like she's taking a step away from her f1 world and into "another life", "her old life", whatever you wanna call it. And the idea that it's her letting Metaphor somewhat in, giving sth away and letting him see that side to her would have fit.

And yet again - it's Max sticking by her side, all supportive, focus on her and her only!

You said he's consciously "only" worried about her not talking to him, so any other feelings are rather unconsciously. And that's how I felt about it rather early in the story. I do believe she's so much more to him than a friend, but he still doesn't know it, or rather consciously agrees to that. However, him talking to Daniel about it and Daniel nagging on about what everyone seems to see there other than Max and y/n, does seem to unravel things for Max. And I'm here for that! #teammax

The y/n part is even more interesting... like she realizes there might be something off with Max, he's acting different, but yet she can't bring herself to talk to him, even though she suspects he knows sth. So if she believes he might know, why does she believe he acts the way he does with her? Like what is she afraid of? If both have dated and it's always been fine with them, why hide it now? Why make it bigger than it has to be?

I'm fully convinced that it should not be a problem to talk to Max like she talks to Lando, if it wasn't for there being sth more. So either she's worried about his reaction, which makes me wonder if she feels like there's more feelings there on his side...

Or she might be worried about her own feelings towards a certain Dutchman, even if so unconsciously... to me it really sticks out, how she's clinging to Max herself.

Like Max is behaving differently, she immediately asked Lando if he spilled the guts. She makes it about herself. What other reason could there be? Metaphor asked her out to dinner when she was still in the UK. She held back the answer, checking in with Max first, then declined Metaphors offer. The guy is always massaging like how she is, what's she doing, adding the little x's. She's doing none of that. Answering when questioned, keeping it short and rather impersonal. Like she's not even trying.

So really to her it probably doesn't seem to be important enough to talk about it with Max.

It doesn't feel like she thinks it's the big deal with Metaphor and that's why she won't say a thing. It's not a big thing to her, because as soon as there's something weird about Max' behavior that's the big deal for her. That's her main focus.

Max literally holding on to her finger tips cause he doesn't want to lose her is only one side of the picture. She might not be doing it quite literally, but she's still doing it all on her own.

And when you told that you believe if things were the other way around and Max was seeing someone without telling her, that she wouldn't take it well... I can fully see that. Absolutely. She'd probs go nuts.

And that really makes me wonder how she'd deal if Max won't react all too well to a new guy in her life. Then again it's Max. He'd probably rather cope than lose her completely...

I'm rambling. And I'm really curious where you'll go with the story. I guess I just really don't see the spark with y/n and Metaphor. 🤣

Awww no now I almost wish she had gone riding with Metaphor haha, because you’re right it would have fit. But then I think it also wouldn’t have fit for their comfort level atm, like she’s still scheduling dinners I don’t think she’d let him drive her to Nice to watch her riding lesson. I also think after Max’s weird turn they were looking for something fun to do together.

I also think Max is such a supportive person, like she spends so much time cheering him on I think he relished the opportunity to do that for her even if it was just an hour. I’m so sad they weren’t close when she was competing with horses because Max has always said his family lived for him because of all he was doing l, I think he almost would have enjoyed being supportive of someone else’s pursuits.

Lol poor Max, no one wants to meet him at his level to talk to him. I understand his frustration because it’s hard when you think one thing and you want help with the problem you think you have, and other people are so intent on telling you you have a different problem that you don’t feel you do. I can’t wait to get more into Max’s headspace on this because it’s really illuminating.

I think with Y/N, she’s never really been in this situation. Anyone she’s dated in the last 7-8 years has been someone Max knows it knows of, so he would know about her dating them, and she wouldn’t not tell him because she wouldn’t want it to blindside him. Whereas Metaphor is a whole new person that she’d have to introduce into their world, and she’s not ready to commit to him being in her life yet let alone him being a character in her wider circle. I mean, they’ve been on one coffee date. I think she knows that once it’s out there it’s going to have some kind of consequence so she thinks, why start that if he’s going to be gone in a few weeks.

Max is definitely someone who just copes, if it’s outside his control he just sucks it up and gets on with it. I don’t think she’s worried he will react badly, more that there will be a natural shift once there’s another man in her life.

I don’t think there’s necessarily a spark with Y/N and Metaphor but she definitely doesn’t see that as a negative…more on that to come.

Don’t apologise. There’s NOTHING I love more than a ramble :D

[dearluigi]

Dear Luigi,

How is it possible to miss someone so much that you never really knew to begin with? For a minute, I felt that way about you, waiting for your next court appearance. And it’s not like I stopped caring, but that feeling eventually fell by the wayside, so I assume this new one will too. But it’s absolutely maddening. Every moment that I would’ve glanced and had the chance of seeing this person, it’s gone. It was rare I saw them anyway, rare that we even talked, but my mind can’t help but be hung up. Especially in this given situation, I can’t imagine what they’re going through, and not having known them well, I will likely never know now. I really can’t explain why I care about this without sounding like a stalker or an insane person, I think the closest categorization is limerence, but by textbook standards even that is not correct. I did not at all realistically wish for this person to feel any type of way about me, because if they did it would’ve changed my entire perspective on them. I don’t know, I can’t describe it. But now that this person is gone, it consumes my every thought. I had to make a concerted effort to not mention this person today, so that I could appear like a normal person and move on just the same as anyone else would be. Therefore, the thoughts are worse because I have to keep them inside. One thing about my brain is that it gets obsessive. If I find something to focus on or to distract me, I let it consume me. Everything becomes about that. I write stories in my head about that. I work it into conversations even when I probably shouldn’t. No matter what you believe about the zodiac, I am an insufferable Virgo to my core (and to prove it I could literally relate that fact to said person, but I won’t). It’s kind of amazing that I ever got a marriage license rather than a restraining order against me. But I also find when the stakes are based in reality, I can recognize that and act right. It’s when I let my imagination take hold that I run into issues. And the issues generally stay in my head, but it gets exhausting having these many storylines and thought lines all running concurrently in the background of my life on TOP of all the stress and anxiety of living every day in this oligarchal capitalistic hellscape we’ve come to know as our daily lives. And to further prove myself right, unfortunately, I’m going to say that I think that is part of the reason this person disappeared. Everything was all too much for them, yes a lot of it seemed to be personal, but I have to wonder if the added weight of this world maybe contributed as well. They are not dead, to be clear, they are just gone from the capacity in which I knew them and it would be too weird to reach out so I have no choice but to let them fade away. I don’t know, if you see more cryptic writing come your way, just know this is my only outlet to purge this person from my brain. I don’t necessarily want to do that, but I need to be released from them because this isn’t healthy. What’s scarier is this always leads me to wonder…because I know this person does not feel this way about me because they barely knew me…but that hasn’t stopped me from feeling it, so is it possible anyone has ever felt that way about me? There was one that I suspected could’ve gotten to that point but I know damn well it could’ve never been as nuanced as my feelings are now. Have you ever felt this way about anyone? I know plenty of people feel it for you…how odd that must be for you. But I don’t want to know how you truly feel, because knowing would mean I have to recognize how I could possibly make someone feel too. My eyes are crossing. I’ve purged myself to sleep.

— C

[shelbysdevil]

link, from hermione

Actions speak louder than words from here @mccnlies

link, sender links arms with receiver while walking.

“What…” As soon as Tommy felt her arm linking with his own his eyes fell down to his side where Hermione had that pretty smile on her face, looking like she was owning the world. Usually he would have pulled his arm away right away cause this shouldn’t look too intimate, but in that moment he caught her smile it was too hard to break apart so he swallowed his reaction and cleared his throat while they kept walking. “Listen, Granger. Only because I allowed you to take part of this I don’t want you to forget why I actually agreed on this.” Yes, it felt good to have her by his side. To know where she was. To keep her close and safe. But that didn’t change the fact that they were meeting some dubious people in here. People who might have a connection to the next horcrux he was searching.

“I want you to focus on what I told you, alright? Only because I took you doesn’t mean I will spend… the night with you or something.” In fact he would wish to and a part of him maybe even hoped that they would return totally exhausted so he could bring her to his bed and let her stay there, but that was nothing he would ever admit. Tommy had chosen that dark and long green dress for her to make her look taller. To make her seem more like a grown woman than a student he was still teaching, but the most important was that no one knew her here. If he would have brought one of the ladies from the former death eaters, people would suspect what he was after and maybe like this Hermione could actually find out more where this collector hid his precious stuff. They just had to stay calm and focus on talking to the right people not on each other which was hard considering her nearness in this moment.

“Listen.” Softly he placed his opposite hand on hers linked around his arm and stopped his steps for a moment. “I’ll be right here. Nothing will happen to you but you gotta trust me with this. It was your idea to help so… please do what I told you to. Don’t focus on me and what I do cause I need to bring these other people away from you and distract them okay?” Just to make sure she would follow his lead no matter how deeply her eyes sunk in his in that moment, he send her a short and rare smile before adding “You’ll get your reward. But the outcome is my decision. This doesn’t mean anything for… whatever you intend this to be, you hear me?”

His hand let go of hers and slowly he slipped out of her grip to take a cigarette out of his inner pocket and light it, the smoke filling the air before he looked back at her and reached for her hand lightly. “If there’s anything going wrong, come back to me. I’ll always keep an eye on you.” Tommy squeezed her hand for a moment and then let go, disappearing into the crowd to find the ones he needed to distract from their real target and to give Hermione the space she needed to act, but the focus of his attention still never moved away from her even if he knew that they were trapped in a hall of bloodhounds that could literally smell a mud blood from thousand yards away, ready to tear her apart. She was safe though. As long as he was with her she was safe.

[wincore]

romeo roulette | jung yoonoh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader

summary: if finding your soulmate is the same as a damn game of russian roulette, you are determined to not pull the trigger at all. except, you know who your soulmate is and he doesn’t—and given a choice to pretend, you find that jaehyun is the lesser of the two burdens to bear.

genre: soulmate au, office au, fake dating, fluff (a lot), angst (a little), romcom, magical realism (??)

words: 21.2k

warnings: language

song recs: playlist here !

a/n: behold ! a kdrama compressed in a fic ! ok i was lying there was more than a little angst but all in good fun <3 i have never experienced working in an office (thanks to the panny) but i tried making it as accurate as i could !! hope you have fun with this <3

It’s not that you’ve never been looked at with a lover’s gaze, it’s just that whatever look Jaehyun has been giving you is mildly uncomfortable. It’s not supposed to be that way. Hell, even his hand clasping yours are a little too clammy for your liking.

Jung Yoonoh. Get your act together.

You wish he were a better actor than this. For someone used to eyes on him in each and every room he’s in, he’s not very good at making eye contact. You’ll be saving this performance. Not to stroke your own ego but at least you know how to behave under strong gazes.

There are three people staring at the two of you and your fingers intertwined, scrutinizing your postures and the expressions on your faces. Maybe Jaehyun should face them instead of glancing at you wordlessly. He’s a terrible liar for someone who acts so smooth. 

You look up with a short smile. The aforementioned three are your coworkers—former class rep at uni and your current boss Doyoung, your friend Soojin and Jaehyun’s friend Sicheng from IT. None of them look happy—like it concerns them. If there was a competition for nosy coworkers, this entire group would be winning awards left and right (and that’s including you). 

They’re going to find out, an annoying voice giggles inside the quiet corner of your brain. Like hell, they will. You didn’t take up acting lessons in college for nothing. You just need to focus on the details.

This whole charade dates its beginning to a week ago. 

If someone were to tell you Jung Yoonoh from marketing is your soulmate, you would most certainly either laugh or take it as a genuine insult. Hence, you were glad when you found that he isn’t. 

It was an accident. You had glimpsed at his soulmark, right below his collarbone, at a particularly wild office afterparty—and somehow, you thought it was fitting that his tattoo was a little red heart. For someone born on Valentine’s day (which you know from a night out with coworkers, not because you’re remotely interested), if his soulmark was not something as disgusting as a heart, it would be the textbook definition of irony. But then again, fate is a funny thing. Your soulmark is a heart roughly the same size, with a little more intricacy in the form of a piercing arrow.

Despite all, however, if someone were to ask you if Jung Yoonoh is the worst person to be your soulmate, the answer is no. You can name at least five coworkers off the top of your head that you’d choose him over. You would choose him over Doyoung (and especially his nagging), you would choose him over Taeyong because he’s too hot and you also don’t like men in a higher position than you are, you would choose him over Jungwoo because you suspect he’s secretly a furry. Jaehyun is certainly better than your deskmate Dongmin who, despite an angelic smile, is: a) too distant to make actual conversation with, and b) in a relationship despite being your soulmate. Sweet-tempered Dongmin doesn’t even know it’s you. You’d love to be the bearer of bad news but this one—you’re not exactly ready for it yourself.

So that’s the explanation for why you hunted down Jaehyun and in a desperate attempt to not seem pathetic, coerced him into a role that has carefully picked benefits for either of you. You just have to bite the bullet sometimes.

“And I get what out of this?”

“Me? Temporarily, that is.”

Jaehyun laughs in amusement and you drop your smile, almost offended. If you were a gift, you’d certainly be an attractive, spicy, hot one—he doesn’t have to look at you so incredulously. In a neat business suit, Jaehyun is as kempt as ever though his tie could do with some more work.  As an HR assistant, his appearance pleases you. However as a person, the perfection annoys the hell out of you. He could show himself to be more human. It would make your job (both the actual and the metaphorical) easier.

“I’m leaving,” he announces with a nonchalant exhale. “You keep messing around during work hours like this and people are going to think you’re jobless.”

“Wait!” 

You jog up to him and block his path, crossing your arms as you huff at his indignance. 

“I said no,” he repeats, and when he tries to evade you, you push him back with your palm flat against his chest. Jaehyun doesn’t show any more discomfort than usual, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You haven’t found your soulmate, right?” you say, taking a deep breath. If you have to resort to psychological warfare, so be it.

His smile wavers and he straightens, no longer leaning against the printer desk. “No. How does that matter?”

“It matters because you’re going to be my pretend-soulmate. Now, don’t be a pussy.”

He opens his mouth and closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “You can’t always trick me into doing what you want.”

“I’ll ask Doyoung if you say no.”

“See—enough with the tricks, they don’t work anymore. I’ve known you for two years.”

“I really will ask him.”

“Not convincing enough. You don’t even talk to Doyoung outside work.”

You groan into your hand, taking a few moments to come up with another plan. How is your obvious charisma not enough? You certainly can’t tell him how rejected you feel with the whole Dongmin situation even if his rejection hasn’t officially come yet. It’s too embarrassing for a grown adult to go through. You don’t mind being lonely for the rest of your life if you’re successful. There’s a price tag on each decision you make anyway.

“I’ll treat you to lunch every day. I’ll pay.”

You cross your arms, tapping your foot in anticipation. They say the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Besides, Jaehyun hates spending his lunch money on himself. This ought to do something.

Jaehyun places his hand in front of his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh no, out of your beloved paycheck? That’s kind of scary, honestly.”

“Jaehyun. Stop messing around. I’m being serious.”

He purses his lips, hesitation across his face. You don’t like the way he thinks, with quiet, lost eyes and no clear giveaways on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

You smile in relief though you try somewhat to not let it show on your face. 

“On one condition.”

Your eyes dart across his face, nothing that tells what he might suggest next. You hate when you don’t get to decide on things.

“You have to come visit my family next month and pose as my soulmate—”

“No way.”

“—and when this whole game you’re playing is over, you’re going to say I rejected you.”

You stare at him, weighing the odds. 

“Fine,” you say finally, voice pitched in slight annoyance.

Jaehyun shrugs.

“But I tell my parents that I rejected you. Or they’ll come after you with a task force or something.”

You mutter the last part.

He grimaces, holding his breath for a good few seconds and then letting it go.

“Alright. It’s not like mine and your parents know each other—or will ever meet.”

“Fine then,” you say. “We have an agreement.”

“We have an agreement,” he repeats.

Now, back to more pressing matters. The people in front of you aren’t a stupid lot—even if you've seen Doyoung spend $500 on plush toys, seen Sicheng absentmindedly walk into a desk and pretend to not be in pain for the next five minutes and Soojin somehow convinced a senior to get her coffee because she thought he was an intern (in her defence, it worked). 

The only way is to act through. You clear your throat.

"We… we discovered it last week. Our signs match."

Technically, you drew an arrow with a permanent marker over Jaehyun's tattoo in an attempt to resemble yours. It's not awful, but perhaps not perfect. 

“Discovered? Like just happened to find out?” Doyoung asks.

“Isn’t Jaehyun’s on…” Soojin leans in to whisper hurriedly in your ear. “On his butt? Did you guys sleep together?”

You contort your face in disgust. “The what? What? Who told you that? And no.”

Soojin makes an ‘ah’ sound and leans back. “I should stop listening to office rumours then.”

"You should." You glare at her.

Sicheng is the only one without questions at the tip of his tongue but the look on his face worries you most. 

“I’ve never seen your tattoo, now that I think about it,” he muses, turning to Jaehyun. “Although we’re roommates.”

Jaehyun clears his throat, looking around with shifty eyes. "Why is… why is everyone looking so suspicious?"

"It's just… so sudden," Soojin says, looking around at the others.

"Yeah," Sicheng mutters.

"Soulmate fraud is a big deal too, you know that right?" Doyoung informs. "You could get put in jail."

You throw up your hands in exasperation. "Why would we pretend? We don't have any reason to. And, uh, you're sure about the jail thing?"

You look at Doyoung, hoping your question didn’t come off too squeaky. 

"You’re right,” he says, sighing. “It’s so unlikely for soulmates to work in the same company, let alone the same building.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so lucky,” you mutter under your breath.

Doyoung sighs. "Look, we're happy for you. It's just that… it's a little sudden."

"Literally what I just said," Soojin says.

"Literally what she just said," Doyoung agrees quickly, not wanting to pick a fight. Sometimes you wonder who the real boss is.

"Look, just because we don't even acknowledge each other or find each other remotely attractive or wouldn't even be each other's office Christmas card candidate—"

Jaehyun nudges your side with his elbow and gives you a look that seems a lot like "You're making it worse".

You clear your throat. "That's what happens to most soulmates! You think you're going to land the perfect one and boom. You get a chump from marketing."

Jaehyun makes a sound of protest. "I didn't want a snob from HR either."

The two of you glare at each other, and you find that clenching his jaw makes Jaehyun slightly (around 0.05%) more attractive, or at the very least more bearable to look at.

Doyoung gasps. "Okay, I get it. You're having adjustment issues. I know a guy for that. He's helped every newly found soulmate couple adjust with each other."

"We don't need that," you interrupt, offering your fakest smile.

"You do," Doyoung responds, his smile equally fake. "I'll drive you this weekend if you're free. He’ll give you one free session. No more, because we all know how capitalism works."

People have got to stop copying your fake smile. You wish you could have it copyrighted because after all, it’s the same smile that tricks interviewees into thinking they got the job. It’s not evil if you say it isn’t. You open your mouth, look at Jaehyun doing the same and when you can't come up with an excuse, give up and nod. 

"Don't look so resentful," Doyoung says, tone slightly complaining. "I'm not doing this as your boss. We were friends in college and I'm just doing you a favour. A friendly favour."

Soojin hums in deep thought. "I feel like this is some sort of nepotism."

"I feel like you should open a dictionary once in a while," Doyoung mutters, only to get a vaguely threatening look from Soojin.

"Anyway," Sicheng diverts, eyes curious when he turns to Doyoung. "Why did you call us here?"

"Ah." Doyoung's eyes widen. "I heard promotion rumours."

Sicheng lets out a loud huff of annoyance. "You summoned us here for company gossip?"

Doyoung crosses his arms. “So, you’re not interested?”

“Who said that?” Sicheng responds quickly, leaning in.

The five of you huddle closer in a circle, looking as conspicuous as a cult. 

“You guys know that Jinyoung’s leaving, right?” Doyoung starts.

Soojin gasps audibly only to get a smack on the arm from Doyoung. “Why’s he leaving? He's like employee of the month every month. ”

A few chuckles pass through the group at her discontentment from months of losing out on the title.

“I heard he found his soulmate. Lucky ass gets tax benefits too now,” Sicheng complains. “Why is he leaving?”

“Oh, look who’s interested in gossip now,” Soojin coos.

Sichengs turns red in the face and looks away, clearing his throat. “You’re gonna answer my question, Doyoung?”

“Oh! Right.” Doyoung looks up from a text. “He got rejected by his soulmate.”

Soojin covers her mouth this time when she gasps and you can’t say your jaw doesn’t drop as well. 

“Rejected? Like our picture-perfect Jinyoung got rejected?” you repeat, trying to process the information. “Please don’t tell me he decided to be an idiot and sign a mutual rejection.”

“No, he didn’t lose his senses,” Doyoung responds with a duh undertone. “He’s getting the compensation money.”

You sigh. “Man, I feel bad for him.”

Jaehyun hums in agreement. There’s a hush over the group and you feel fear rise in your chest. You don’t want to be rejected. You’ve seen how happy Dongmin looks with his girlfriend—he’d reject you in a heartbeat. Of course, you could just receive the compensation money from the one-sided rejection and get it over with but you refuse to. It hurts to not be wanted. It hurts to not be wanted by someone who’s supposed to want you. To be specific, it hurts your pride. Every time you see the damn arrowed heart on Dongmin’s wrist, which he tries so hard to cover with his watch, you feel like throwing up. You’re glad yours isn’t as easy to spot—resting right above your hip bone.

“Anyway, someone’s getting promoted to that HR specialist position.”

You gasp. “Is it me? It’s me, right?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes and you elbow him. “What’s with you?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he says, shrugging. “Isn’t it stupid to get your hopes up over a rumour?”

Doyoung breathes out. “Wow, (name) really sucked the life out of you, Jaehyun.”

You glare at him when Soojin breaks into a fit of laughter. “You- you know what that- you know what that sounds like, right?”

Your face contorts into disgust and you shake your head. “Let’s be more professional, alright, Soojin?”

She clears her throat and straightens her clothes, like a teenager being reprimanded. “I’m your senior. It’s embarrassing when you say that to me.”

Jaehyun speaks up and turns to you. “I think lunch break is almost over.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So?”

“You’re forgetting something.” He smiles, dimples showing, but his eyes come off menacing.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You forgot about that stupid lunch promise. 

“Hey. Professional,” Soojin warns.

You groan and link your arm through Jaehyun’s, making him bite back a smile. What is it with men and getting weirdly happy about lunch?

“We’re gonna go get lunch,” you announce.

“Ooh, (name)’s ditching quality time with coworkers for dates now,” Soojin coos.

You roll your eyes and exit the office, stopping to wait in front of the elevator.

“I think that went well,” Jaehyun says, shrugging lightly.

“Shh. What if they hear us?”

“Do you think they’re X-men? We’re a long corridor and closed doors away.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Still…”

Jaehyun’s smug smile makes you want to smack it right off and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way with him. You swear he’s not as bad as some of the guys you’ve met but Jaehyun is simply annoying. An A grade nuisance. You can trust him though. If Soojin says he’s a reliable guy, you’ll believe her—she doesn’t bluff when it comes to seeing right through men, though she does have a tendency to believe stupid rumours.

“Your acting was shit though,” you snipe.

Jaehyun lets out a low sardonic laugh. “At least I was subtle when I was messing up.”

You cross your arms and huff. “You know what? You can take the next elevator ride.”

“Huh?”

You step into the elevator just as the doors open and quickly jam your finger to the close doors button. The look of betrayal on Jaehyun’s face is subtle but it’s enough to satisfy you. As the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens—it’s very applicable to elevators. He can take the other one.

However, almost immediately after, the elevator doors open and you groan, opening your mouth to send a sarcastic congratulations to Jaehyun for pressing the button on time.

Your words hitch on your tongue. Dongmin greets the two of you with a smile, standing beside Jaehyun, who has his eyes averted from you.

“Hey,” Dongmin greets. “Congratulations. I heard the news.”

“Thanks,” you croak, clearing your throat with a bit of heat on your cheeks. Jaehyun looks like he might burst into a fit of laughter any moment and you shoot him a subtle glare.

“Where are you headed to?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m going to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria.”

“We’re also headed to the cafeteria,” Jaehyun declares, with a smile that’s almost devilish.

“No, we’re not,” you say quickly, making Dongmin raise an eyebrow. You hold back a groan. If only Dongmin weren’t raised to be the politest man you know and a little bit more of an asshole. 

You hum and turn to Jaehyun. “I told you about that new cafe. Remember, honey?”

Dongmin makes an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Nicknames, already? Ah, I’m so jealous. It must be great to get along with your soulmate.”

Oh, the sweet summer child that Dongmin is.

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “Oh, won’t it take too long, darling? We have—”

He makes a show of checking his Rolex, a gift he received from his superior that he spares no chance to flex.

“—Around ten minutes left.”

You hold back a groan and plaster on your smile. “Come on. Now is the best time.”

“That sounds like a load of—”

You elbow Jaehyun hard in the gut and a restrained sound dies in his throat, eyes widening in the sweet look of discomfort taking over his features. You smile triumphantly and turn to Dongmin with an immediate change of expression.

“I’ll see you in office later,” you say, bowing slightly.

Dongmin nods and gets off on the fifth floor. You watch in quiet relief as the elevator door closes and turn to your dear companion, irked.

“Did you have to do that?” Jaehyun asks, voice raspy with pain.

“You deserved it. Don’t you dare make this a bigger mess than it already is.”

“You came up with it.” Jaehyun straightens, finally. Apart from the few loose strands of his neatly parted hair, he doesn’t seem all that disgruntled.

“And we’re going to set some ground rules,” you declare, closing your arms.

Jaehyun straightens to his full height, the space between the two of you diminishing. 

"Okay," he agrees. "Then we both get a say in it. It's a contract, after all."

"Fine. First rule, no being weird around Dongmin."

Jaehyun chuckles. "I think you need to be more careful about that than I do."

You pat his cheek. "Focus. Just don't- don't be around him for too long."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "Why are you so uncomfortable around him? I thought you were doing this because you didn't want to reject him."

You glance away, feeling uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter. I just don't want him to know."

Jaehyun hums. "Fine. My turn. No calling me a chump."

Your cheeks puff up as you try to contain your laughter. "It bothered you that much, huh?"

Jaehyun furrows his brows. "No one's ever called me that before. It's always 'oh my god, he's so handsome, who is he?' or 'ooh, I might faint from how hot he is'."

You giggle. "Alright, handsome."

Jaehyun exhales, his puffed cheeks making him look like a resentful five year old instead of a grown man with a professional job. You pause before you get back on track.

“No nicknames,” you blurt. “It’s weird when you call me something endearing. And your flirting feels kind of threatening.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

“See! You’re doing it again.” You cross your arms at the look on his face; anything close to victorious over Jaehyun’s features is unbearable to you.

He raises his arms in exasperation. “How are we supposed to make this work if we act like we don’t care about each other. Guess why Doyoung’s taking us to couple therapy?”

You huff, slightly pissed off. “You’re saying it was my fault?”

“I’m saying we could have avoided that with better acting.”

“You think you’re so—”

The elevator door opens with a ding on the first floor and you turn to find a bunch of interns back from their lunch break. It would be much less of an awkward affair if you and Jaehyun weren’t well into each other’s personal spaces, noses almost touching and with a mutual glare which could be easily mistaken for a look of something more sensual. You jump away from Jaehyun and leave the elevator as fast as you can, feeling far too conscious of yourself. With long strides, you exit the corporate airs of the building to a sunny, fairly populous sidewalk. 

Jaehyun catches up to you, bending and trying to catch a glimpse of your face with an incredulous smile over his.

“Don’t say a word, Yoonoh.”

“Ooh, you’re saying my name now.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I find it plenty funny.”

“That’s because of your trash sense of humour.”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

Mondays are the days that make you want to scream in agony, not Thursdays—though they are pretty high up on the worst days of the week list. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe pretending to be in love with someone you simply cannot be in love with is an awful idea. 

Soulmates don’t need to be in love with each other, you think to yourself. There’s plenty of soulmates who are just in it for the financial benefits; you can just pretend to be one of them. This dilemma is starting to fray your nerves and Jung Yoonoh, with his lax disposition and dimpled cheeks, is making it worse. And to top it off, you now have to take him to your favourite (kind of secret) cafe in the name of the lies that slipped your tongue. It was supposed to be a quiet comfort spot for you.

You blow a puff of air out and dismiss the thought. Comfort spots aren’t real anyway when you’re all grown. There’s bound to be a breach. 

However, you will not let the (lacking) romance department of your life get sorted out by someone who doesn’t even know you. Lady luck would be an acquaintance to you at most. If fate is a game of chance after all, you might as well be the one spinning the roulette. You look at Jaehyun, piecing together the perfect plan for this seemingly frivolous play-pretend. The game is in your hands now. 

You blink at the figure of Jung Yoonoh under February sunlight on a modestly busy sidewalk. It’s not something to be surprised at—however, the stark contrast in attire makes you stare longer than you intend to. Wearing a black graphic hoodie and pair of worn out jeans, Jaehyun looks about as casual as you can bear. It’s always weird to see coworkers out of formal clothing.

“Are you just going to stare at me till Doyoung comes and picks us up?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. 

“You look nice,” he says, and you glance down at your outfit with a flush of heat over your cheeks. It’s just a short A-line skirt, stockings and a sweatshirt. This is as basic as you get. What’s worse is that his comment didn’t sound sarcastic.

“You- You look nice too. I guess.” Once in a while, you will say something extremely stupid and pretend it never happened. The frequency increases around Jaehyun for some damn reason.

“You guess? I’m pretty sure I look more than nice.”

“And how long did you look at yourself in the mirror and practise catchphrases this time?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn the shade of cherries and you press down your smile. You knew that time you caught him talking to himself in front of a car window would play to your advantage. 

“What’s that you’re holding?” you ask, eyeing the plastic bag he’s holding.

“Ginseng,” he answers, staring blankly at the cars passing by. “I heard the couples therapist is in his sixties so he might find it useful.”

“Oh, old people stuff,” you muse quietly. “That’s quite thoughtful of you.”

You should’ve brought something, you think for a moment before realizing that couples probably don’t give separate gifts. 

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

You shake your head. “Anyway, we might as well kill some time. Twenty questions. Let’s go.”

He laughs. “What are we, in college?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Don’t make us sound like we’re thirty. I bet you’re the kind of guy who has his retirement plan figured out.”

“Wrong,” he emphasizes, face leaning closer. 

“Fine. I’ll start the questions, you unsalted block of butter. How many relationships have you been in?”

Jaehyun opens his mouth and closes it, ears turning red. “That’s your first question?”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m guessing it’s single digit and on the lower side.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many relationships have you been in?”

You shut your mouth. There’s a moment of silence, a breeze passing you by, carrying winter away in its arms to make room for spring. 

“Never found a relationship worth it,” you mutter, glancing away. 

Jaehyun hesitates before opening his mouth. “Me neither.”

“Good thing for us, eh? Love makes people crazy.”

Jaehyun faces you with a clipped smile. Never did you think Jaehyun from marketing would be relating to you on a personal matter.

“Oh, but I’ve had enough hookups and I can bet you’re mediocre at best in bed.” 

Jaehyun glares at you. “I am not and I can prove it to you.”

“Is that an invitation into your bed? No, thanks.”

He opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by the Hyundai Grandeur pulling up to the sidewalk and rolling down the driver window to reveal Doyoung. He looks as overworked as usual, but his eyes are more tired, a bit of makeup covering the dark circles. You’ve heard his soulmate is a makeup artist for an idol group and wonder how they even came to be. Does fate throw darts randomly and pick its choice?

“Get in. Quick,” Doyoung instructs. “I have to drop you off and head home. My family is visiting. I didn’t even get a warning and they think I’m in a gay relationship with Taeyong because we still have our friendship rings from college.”

You want to laugh and agree but Doyoung looks rather pissed off so you hold it in. The two of you do as told, getting in the backseat and shutting the doors in sync. The car smells rather leafy mingling with the scent of fresh clothes and you eye the jar dangling from the rear-view mirror. You open your mouth to ask what scent that is when Doyoung’s voice rings out.

“What’s that?” Doyoung signals to the bag with Jaehyun.

Jaehyun looks down. “Ginseng extract.”

“Oh, the gift pack?” Doyoung asks. 

Jaehyun nods and Doyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “If that’s for Mr. Lee, forget it. He hates gifts. Something about inward appreciation and shit.”

Jaehyun groans, massaging his forehead. “What do I do with this then? Is this guy a priest?”

“Give it to Doyoung,” you suggest. “His family’s visiting.”

You hear an audible hum of approval from the driver seat and turn to Jaehyun making a face of reluctance. Maybe he isn’t so magnanimous after all, you think smiling.

“You’re both quite tame today,” Doyoung remarks, just when the silence is starting to swallow the inside of the car. “Makes me wonder if you need Mr. Lee after all.”

“We actually don’t…” You shake your head. “We’re here and it’s free so why not?”

Jaehyun shoots you a questioning look. It’s not like you can cancel when you’re in Doyoung’s car and already on the way. You’ve known your boss long enough to know the wrong answer to his questions. You look outside at Seoul streets and sigh. 

Jaehyun looks at you, your focus elsewhere and wishes this would end already. He has no idea what overcame him to accept your ridiculous offer but he must be just as ridiculous. At the very least, he finds you quite lovely to look at—not that he’d ever admit it to you. The foundation to this weird bickering friendship (if he can call it that) would be ruined by that. His ego, however, has been boosted up a few notches from the fact that you called him for help. He looks outside the window, holding back a smile. It’s a sunny day.

The therapist, Mr. Lee’s office building is a fancy one with an even fancier lobby. Baby pink leather couches cushion your bum nicely as you wait for your appointment. The architecture is that of a corporate firm and you feel quite at home with the large glass walls by the revolving door. This therapist guy must be rich as hell. The receptionist wears a formal uniform; her blouse is light pink with a grey pencil skirt and you like the look of it. You wonder if asking her where she bought it is time-appropriate. More couples sit around you and you, unfortunately, have to scoot closer to Jaehyun as a result. You do not want to catch that disease they all have. Why are they even here for therapy if they’re smiling at each other in that sickly enamored way? 

Now that you’re here, you’re starting to feel that this arrangement was ill-decisive. You should’ve done a better job of acting. You wonder if you can get a refund for that college course on acting, pouting as the ticking wall clock gets on your nerves. Even the marble floors are pink; the walls are mahogany red and there’s a heart-shaped wall clock, and should you glance around more, you’re going to nauseate yourself. This guy certainly takes his job seriously—or just really likes pink-red themes.

A woman in her early thirties exits the elevator and announces your names, and you click your tongue at the fact that she used Jung for your surname. It sounds distasteful. 

You follow her, starting to get nervous. You really hope this Mr. Lee isn’t as good as Doyoung says he is. Your fraud falling apart within three days is too embarrassing a defeat, not to mention bordering on illegal if found out. What the fuck does the government care about broken hearts and beneficial relationships? It’s so nosy. You understand the financial situation in case of happily bonded soulmates but apart from that, there really shouldn’t be this much discrepancy in the name of love.

Love drives people crazy. You’d rather not lose your good sense in the name of something so inane. After all, money makes the world go around, not love. 

Restricting a gag at the deep red heart on the door, you push them open with Jaehyun to find an old man sitting on a similar baby pink couch as in the lobby. He gets up to greet the two of you, the wrinkles on his face deepening when he smiles. Despite everything, he has a sort of grace to him, the one that comes with growing old elegantly. An upbeat song plays on a record player attached to the wall, although at a very low volume, and the tune reminds you of Animal Crossing. 

“Doyoung told me about the two of you,” Mr. Lee says, gesturing at the two of you to sit down. “How long has it been since you found out?”

“Six days,” you answer at the same time Jaehyun answers, “Four days”.

The two of you look at each other.

“Four-Six days. We didn’t keep track.”

“Ah,” Mr. Lee says. “How do you propose to celebrate your anniversary?”

You hesitate opening your mouth and declaring that you don’t really need to do that crap. Mr. Lee notices your expression and breaks into gentle laughter. 

“I’m kidding. Anniversary dates don’t matter,” he laughs. “It’s okay to celebrate your 100-day on the wrong day. Don’t worry.”

You purse your lips. To your dismay, Jaehyun isn’t as bothered by the sickly pink environment and Mr. Lee’s relaxed demeanour.

“I have a hundred percent success rate,” Mr. Lee assures the two of you, looking directly at you.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you mutter under your breath and get a nudge from Jaehyun, who has his politest smile on.

You can’t believe Jaehyun has a better customer service mode than you do. If you didn’t know him, you’d be fooled into thinking he’s the nice guy character every office has. Unfortunately, that one goes to Dongmin. You hate getting stuck with nice guys (unless they offer financial stability).

“I think Doyoung might have been exaggerating,” Jaehyun explains calmly. “Whatever he told you.”

“He told me the two of you have a bickering problem. And staring at each other when the other isn’t looking.”

You cough. “That is not true. The staring part.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes at you. “I knew you were checking me out,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming, Jaehyun.”

Mr. Lee laughs. “Your bickering seems to be quite affectionate. I don’t know what that boy was worried about.”

You press your lips together into a thin smile, annoyed that anyone would ever describe your interaction with a man as affectionate. It makes you feel like an idiot. You were always better off alone—the universe was wrong to assign Dongmin to you. Maybe you needed to see the apparent love of your life clearly in love with someone else to snap you to reality.

“However, what is a playful lover’s fight in the beginning can turn into real fights.”

“Right,” you mutter. “It’s all fun and games in the beginning.”

“The two of you have almost no animosity—you’ve known each other before you discovered the soulmark, right?”

The two of you nod, having already reconciled yourselves to this session. It’s a one-time thing, you tell yourself. It will be over soon.

“The soulmate information shouldn’t influence the relationship you already had. If anything, it should be drawing you closer. First time awkwardness is common.”

He’s starting to sound a lot like your high school sex ed teacher. You get the idea to pretend to be sick and get out of this early.

“Company policy too,” Jaehyun mutters. “Unofficial company policy makes office romance out to be some sort of sacrilege.”

“You know, I was the CEO of your company so I do know the policies,” Mr. Lee says, smiling in the confident, reserved way senior citizens offering wisdom do. 

You choke on the water you were taking a sip of, a coughing fit overcoming you and Jaehyun hesitates before awkwardly patting your back.

“Huh? CEO? I’m sorry?” you manage. 

Mr. Lee lets out a loud, hearty laugh. “I stepped down two years ago.”

“That’s when I joined,” you and Jaehyun say at the same time.

Mr. Lee smiles at the two of you wordlessly. “I have an idea for the two of you. Why don’t you try turning your ‘I’s into ‘we’s? Do some activities together and when you talk about it, you’ll find yourself much closer.”

You narrow your eyes. “You know, Mr. Lee, I’m a little curious about your relation with the company—”

“My recommendations won’t help you get promotions faster.”

“Dammit.”

Jaehyun chuckles beside you but a glare from you turns it into a suppressed smile. The one thing that wouldn’t be a waste of time opened its door and closed it right back. 

“But you know how promotions work,” you press, leaning forward.

An alarm rings, so pleasant in tone that you know it’s a Samsung. Unfortunately, it’s the ugly flip model and you question Mr. Lee’s taste (and wealth).

“Oh, look, time’s up,” Mr. Lee announces, and you think you catch a hint of nervousness in his voice. 

Jaehyun springs up before his ears turn red, embarrassed by the gusto with which he himself got up and looks at you expectantly. You get up, sighing.

“Next time, Mr. Lee,” you warn. “I will get those details.”

“I charge by the hour.” He smiles.

“Stop threatening the therapist,” Jaehyun mutters to you, taking your arm and turning to leave.

“Oh, and,” Mr. Lee calls. “It’s always better to be honest than to pretend.”

You blink in surprise when Jaehyun tugs at your arm, bowing in thanks and leaving the room with you.

“Was it just me or did he see through us?” you whisper to Jaehyun.

He shakes his head, whispering back, “There’s no way he could tell. He’s probably referring to something else.”

“Like what?”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer.

“Tell me, are you always so domineering towards strangers even?” he asks. “I just thought you liked to press my buttons because I’m easygoing.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not as cool as you think you are, especially since you get so hot and bothered by me.”

“It’s just you,” he whispers earnestly and your pulse rises. “No one else.”

You cough to kill the awkward silence and walk faster to the elevator. Jaehyun follows at a leisurely pace and it’s never occurred to you before but the sound of someone’s footsteps can also be annoying, proof currently standing beside you.

The elevator doors open, and much to your appallment, a young couple happens to be full blown making out inside the elevator, hands where there certainly shouldn’t be in broad daylight. Jaehyun whips his face away, clearing his throat loud enough for the couple to detach themselves from each other and hurriedly exit, fixing their clothes on the way.

“So he wasn’t lying about the success rate,” Jaehyun states quietly, a look of resigned horror on his face.

You can’t even respond for a few moments, following him into the elevator and shaking your head to get rid of the thought that inevitably jams itself inside your head. It might have a point, however.

"Maybe we should kiss too," you think out loud.

Jaehyun stiffens, looking at you with wide, fearful eyes. "No."

"We have to kiss, we're dating!" You exclaim, hands on your hips.

"We're not actually—ah, whatever. It’s not worth bickering with you."

"Why? Afraid you'll fall in love with me?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, and you’re suddenly aware that your bickering keeps drawing you closer to each other, your faces nearer than you’d realized.

"If anything," he starts with a confident smile. "You better not fall in love with me."

"Oh, please. You're taking this way too seriously."

"You're the one that wants to kiss me."

Your cheeks heat up. "You're- I- That's not—argh, fuck you."

Jaehyun looks smug, and you have the unstoppable urge to punch it off his face. You take a deep breath. Violence is not the way, (name).

“If we were a few years younger, you’d be begging for mercy under me,” you seethe.

Jaehyun’s eyes shift over your face in confusion, ears burning bright red with each passing second. Before he can open his mouth, you let out a short yell.

“Not like that, you pervert,” you say, leaning away from him. 

“I didn’t even say anything. On an unrelated note, were you a delinquent in school?”

You roll your eyes. “Kind of. I had a temper and a sharp tongue.”

“And now you’re a people pleaser. That’s quite the development.”

You smack his shoulder. “You’re getting on my nerves, punk.”

He makes an ‘oh’ with his mouth before smiling. “You totally did the delinquent accent.”

“I’m guessing you were the shy, little boy who flushed red at conversations about kissing.”

Jaehyun clears his throat in annoyance. “I was not. I was quite popular in high school and college, you know?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s that face of yours.”

“Sorry, what? I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh, look, we’re on the first floor.” You exit the elevator, leaving a puzzled Jaehyun to follow in stumbling steps.

“I don’t think Doyoung’s picking us up,” you state. “You take the bus? Or do you have a car to flex? I don’t ride in anything below a Tesla, unless it’s Doyoung because he’s technically my boss.”

“You’ll have to do with good old rented Hyundais,” he answers.

You exhale. Maybe he’s getting used to you. The bus stop is opposite the building, the structure squeaky clean and a bunch of people waiting on the seats. It’s a busy place and you wonder if the scammy-therapist-slash-your-former-ceo’s business has anything to do with that. You sit the first chance you get, shoulders pressed against Jaehyun’s for the lack of space and admiring the passing traffic. Seoul really just depends on the lenses you see through. Work days make the screen tinted grey and blue and you hate them often but some days, it’s good to experience those. Weekends are brighter, sunny and usually not with Jaehyun but he doesn’t really put a damper on them either.

You scan his side profile, a little envious when you realize that his confidence isn’t misplaced. You might have trained yourself to be more of a pleaser over the years but he’s the sort of person people come to like naturally. Moreover, his skin is perfect and his hair is always looking styled even in a mess. Fate and Life are partners in crime when it comes to being unfair.

Jaehyun turns to look at you and you snap your head to your lap, turning on your phone and staring at the homescreen for a good few seconds.

“Twenty questions,” Jaehyun announces. “Let’s play again. I’ll go first. Do you check me out when I walk away?”

“What is this, playing my own cards against me?” You scoff. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“So, yes or no?”

“Sometimes,” you mutter. “But it’s not the good kind of checking out. I’m checking out how terrible you look with your mess of a tie.”

Jaehyun laughs, the sound a hearty rumbling sort and you can’t help but smile back at that. It’s kind of cute when he laughs—the sound of it and the way his cheeks are dusted pink.

“My turn,” you say with a cheeky smile as you lean in to whisper. “Have you ever had a wet dream about me?”

Jaehyun chokes on air, coughing out the surprise as he stares at you dumfound. You stick the tip of your tongue out and throw him a wink, thoroughly enjoying this victory against him. It feels great to fluster someone like Jaehyun.

“No,” he says with clear emphasis. 

“Even the night you said I was so unbearably hot very loudly to Sicheng?”

Jaehyun leans back sighing, covering his face with his hand. “I was tipsy. And it was my first night out with coworkers. Give me a break.”

You giggle. “Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. There were worse incidents that night. An intern threw up on Doyoung’s shoes—I can’t even imagine the horror the poor girl experienced.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, smiling through his hand. 

“Have you ever sent nudes?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

He sighs. “Maybe. Have you?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He curls his lips. The answer seems to be no but you’re at least seventy percent sure he would be attracted to you in a world where your personality traits weren’t being nosy and annoying.

“Do you think you’re a good kisser?” Jaehyun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Definitely.”

He scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms.

He shrugs, leaning in slightly as though flirting (if he had the audacity). “We could test that.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “What happened to no kissing in the contract?”

“It’s not officially there.”

You roll your eyes, glancing away. “You know, I’m starting to believe you were some sort of desperate fuckboy in college.”

“I- I was the hottest dude on campus and if we went to the same college, you would be pining after me. I literally had the Campus Prince title and girls would follow me to see me in class.”

He crosses his arms, a frown tugging down his lips.

“Ooh, Jung Yoonoh’s getting fired up,” you say in a monotonous voice. “Wonder how many girls you pulled with your chewed up fuckboy dialogue.”

Jaehyun scoffs but he clearly finds your accusations amusing, as hinted by his unbothered smile. He asks a question again.

“What’s more important to you—truth or happiness?” 

The question catches you off-guard. Jaehyun’s eyes are delicately curious, nothing too strong and even so, you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze.

“Huh?”

“Twenty questions. We were playing?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” You clear your throat, rubbing the back of your hand. “I… I’d choose happiness, I think. I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Really?” He doesn’t look too hellbent on taking apart your answer so you breathe out. He’s starting to pry into you finally. “I think the truth will make you happier.”

“That’s not- that’s not always true.” You look away, hoping the quietness of your voice ends the conversation there. You don’t know how to talk about it—you never really have. You’ve ugly cried over the lack of your love life to a stranger after five shots of whiskey but you don’t think you can talk about things like this sober. You don’t even know why you answered. Jaehyun makes you feel oddly comfortable.

Jaehyun shrugs, getting up when the next bus halts in front. 

“What did you major in?” you ask, following him.

“Business,” he answers before thinking. “Kind of hated it. But I started out with IT and that was somehow worse.”

You gasp, taking a seat beside him on the bus. “I started with IT too! It was a nightmare. You took that Database Management course?”

Jaehyun smiles. “It was like the course equivalent of reading the back of a Wi-Fi Router.”

You laugh. Maybe he isn’t so different after all. 

“You know, you do look like a business major,” you hum, furrowing your brows as you pretend to scrutinise him.

“So, you’re indirectly saying I either look like a rich kid or a jackass.” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“They’re both the same thing.”

The laughter from the two of you makes an old woman behind you grunt in displeasure and the two of you apologize. It’s nice to talk like college kids again. The Seoul sunlight shines on Jaehyun’s face and you bite back a smile when his dimples appear. They aren’t all that bad. If you get along like this, there’s no reason to worry about fate and the universe and other superfluous things offered to you on a boring old ceramic plate. It’s a smooth ride.

Your eyes drift to Dongmin’s workspace instinctively and you shake your head. This is exactly why you were avoiding him and even started the entire fake relationship with Jaehyun. You’d choose fake dating a (good-looking) chump from management over embarrassment and possible heartbreak any day.

You groan internally before glancing again and find the desk empty. Surprised, you blink and turn only to scream at Dongmin’s figure behind you.

“Shh!” he says urgently. “Don’t move. And don’t panic when I say this but there’s a bug on your shoulder.”

“What the fuck? Get it off, please,” you say, voice choking up.

Dongmin rolls up a stack of papers and you let out a low screech. “Don’t kill it on my shoulder!”

“Sorry,” he says and your eyes soften as he gently pushes the paper against your shoulder and takes it away. You breathe a sigh of relief and he signs you a thumbs up as he wiggles the paper in the air outside the window. 

“You saved me,” you say, smiling.

He returns it, his most beloved eye smile making you wonder if you made the right choice. Wouldn’t it be fun to just crash everything and watch it burn? You know you want to. Benevolence and grace were never your style. However, it’s his smile again that stops you. Maybe you don’t really want to be the bad guy after all. You’re sparing him from confusion and dread.

You’re sparing yourself from rejection and inevitable loneliness (yay).

It’s been a week, discussing details with Jaehyun before the both of you collectively decided to just wing it and hope you’re not caught. After all, there’s no real way to prove you’re not soulmates if you’re careful enough (the same way you can’t prove someone’s cheating if they’re careful enough but that’s quite a depressing analogy). Perhaps if you renounce the soulmate benefits (and Dongmin didn’t smile as often at you), it would be less morally taxing. You, however, are greedy. When you want something, you’ll do anything to get it.

You stare at the computer screen and sigh, cross checking the employee records for incorrect data and your eyelids start to droop. Of all the days, you just had to be assigned the most boring task on a Friday. You also should’ve gotten sleep instead of getting mad at Jaehyun’s dry responses to your plan of action. It was perfectly viable; unnecessary, but perfect nonetheless.

Soojin rolls her chair backwards into yours. “We’re going drinking tonight. Wanna come? You can bring your boy-toy too.”

You roll your eyes. “As much as I’d love to call him that, he’s still the chump from marketing for me.”

“Or,” Soojin emphasizes. “Your actual soulmate. How lucky is it that you work in the same building, in the same company?”

“I’m not sure if you’re being ironic.” You scroll through the database with trained eyes.

“I’m not. A lot of soulmates don’t even get to see each other because of their line of work. It’s so tragic.”

You’d be glad if you didn’t get to see Dongmin ever too. But you’ll keep that to yourself. You hum in response and hear a sigh from behind you.

“Let’s have fun,” she whines. “Is Jaehyun that much of a downer? He’s one of the hottest dudes in the building. I thought you’d be cheery.”

You pause and think to yourself. She does have a point. You’re definitely supposed to look happier. Your soulmate has the looks of a model and fifteen year old you would fawn over him no doubt.

“It’s the work,” you answer. “I’m working overtime to compensate for my rent.”

You work overtime anyway because you hate heading home to an empty apartment. 

“Ah, you signed a new lease, right? Near Songpa?” Soojin looks at you with pity and pats your shoulder. “You know what? I’ll treat you to drinks tonight. You deserve a day off, missy.”

You smile. “Thanks, Soojin.”

“And,” she adds in a singsong voice. “The love of your life is here.”

You furrow your eyebrows before tilting your head and almost sighing in exasperation at the figure of Jung Yoonoh outside the glass door. He may not show it, but you know distress when you see it. You’ve seen enough squirming undergraduates at company interviews. 

You quickly get up from your seat, praying that he didn’t mess something up. However, you find it cute when he looks like this, the urge to fluster him even more presenting itself to be rather tempting.

“I think you have a sick obsession with me, Jaehyun.” You cross your arms after closing the door behind you.

He exhales, closing his eyes for a moment before taking your arm and pulling you away from the door. 

“Woah, this isn’t high school. You can’t just pull me into a corner to make out.”

Jaehyun’s ears flare hot red and he clears his throat. “You’re in high spirits today.”

You weren’t, actually. Somehow, teasing Jaehyun gives you the same rush as caffeine. You just love when the nonchalance on his face turns into discomposure.

“I came to give Doyoung these files. Or you, since you’re practically his assistant.”

You ignore his comment. “There’s clearly something else.”

“The team sports event is coming up,” Jaehyun starts, hesitating. “I’m not managing it this year. I have to participate.”

“So?”

“So Dongmin has a higher chance of finding us out. What if he sees my mark in the changing room and it all goes to shit?”

“Great! He’ll think you’re his soulmate and I’ll be spared from this nonsense.”

“I’m being serious. It’s already difficult living with Sicheng and having to change with my doors locked. It’s kind of suspicious.”

“Do you guys sleep naked with each other or what?”

“No, but I do sleep with my shirt off.”

“Ugh. Why would you give me that image?” you complain. The image isn’t bad per se but it’s not what you need right now.

“You clearly liked it,” he mutters. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “You’re not doing this just to give me a load of unnecessary anxiety, are you? Do you know how swamped with work I am?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, no indication of which question he answered. “Also, is there a reason Soojin’s glaring at me?”

You wave your hand in dismissal. “It’s just the haven’t-warmed-up-to-coworker’s-new-boyfriend glare. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t seem too relieved but you have more anxious thoughts invading the privacy of your Friday evening. You have to keep up your composure. It could happen one way or another, perhaps in a situation better than a team sports activity, but you have to figure it out. You reject your soulmate anyway—the same way he would.

Glaring at Jaehyun one last time, you get back to your desk. Jaehyun looks at your receding figure and finds himself checking you out, the largest blow he’s taken to his dignity. He shakes his head, breathing in and out. This is so not like him. He’s supposed to be the suave, handsome guy who people can’t seem to get to and yet—yet, you do it so easily. It’s unfair. He swallows his heart and tells himself he’s too old to feel this way. He’ll just drown himself in work and pretend love is a commodity like everyone else with a corporate job is supposed to. 

“You know,” Soojin starts when you get back. “Jaehyun kind of looks high if you look at him long enough. Weed is illegal though but who knows? Maybe he’s a bad boy deep down after all.”

“Which rumour have you been paying attention to now?” You sigh deeply.

Soojin laughs. “It’s funny to hear everyone’s opinions. Even if most of them turn into scandalous tall tales.”

“Anyway,” she continues. “I’m clocking out. I’ll get Jaehyun to take you to the sake bar.”

You look at her, puzzled.

“You’re a matching set now,” she follows up and you groan.

“Don’t give me that cr—”

“Toodle-oo! Let’s have some fun before we’re grey and old, eh?”

You sigh and nod. Maybe you should look into a caffeine fix, even if it costs you a mental power outage at the end of the rush. It’s not like you to be so down on a Friday but alas, Fate is as miserable a woman as you are. The sake bar is starting to sound good.

Or, you could always watch a few ASMR cooking videos instead of staring blankly at the employee records. Either way, this Friday better improve by tonight.

“This is going great,” Soojin says, louder than she probably intended after her fourth shot.

“Of course it is,” you mutter. 

You haven’t yet had a chance to drink more because of two reasons: one) Soojin is hogging the alcohol and two) it would be embarrassing to get drunk in front of Jaehyun. Adding to your misery, Soojin has been gushing over her soulmate and the way she always makes breakfast for Soojin, listing off every single recipe she’s made. You would love to listen but you’re a tiny bit past your limit.

“Wooh, Jaehyun, you look hot,” Soojin whistles, in more of an older sister manner. “I can almost see your tattoo. Why don’t the two of you show us at the same time and we can take a commemorative picture?”

You cough loudly. “Mine’s on my waist, Soojin. I’m not ready to expose skin.”

“Right. Sorry.” She turns back at lightning speed to bother Dongmin with her stories, who smiles at her politely. It seems so genuine that you’re slightly enamored with it for a moment. There’s Jungwoo from marketing beside him, some more HR employees and thankfully, no interns. Doyoung is the only one partly miserable in the lot, talking into the phone for half an hour now. 

“Shit.” Jaehyun nudges you and whispers, “I forgot about the tattoo. This T-shirt makes it very visible.”

You look at him, alarmed. You fix his jacket, startling him, and pull the zipper all the way to his neck, making sure to backhand him on the chin.

“There.”

“It’s hot in here.”

“What do you want me to do about it? God, you’re like a child.”

“I’m like a—okay. Just cover my tattoo with foundation or something.”

“You think I carry around a whole bottle of foundation?”

Jaehyun blinks, deeming it safer to keep his mouth shut. 

“Okay. Fine. I have an idea. Come to the washroom with me.”

“Oh my, this isn’t your making out in the corner type of thing, right?”

You glare at him and he shuts up, following you quietly to the surprisingly clean restroom. The fact that it isn’t gendered makes you very glad. You make Jaehyun sit on the low enough basin counter and push your knee against it to balance yourself as you take out a permanent marker from your bag.

“I hope Doyoung doesn’t fire me for sneaking away,” you mutter angrily. “He didn’t even make me receive his calls all day.”

Jaehyun scoffs lightly. “Please, Doyoung adores you and your work ethic. He talks about it more than what I need to overhear. That and Taeyong’s detailed aquarium maintenance rules.”

“He does?”

Jaehyun clears his throat and you hold back bombing him with more questions till you’re done with painting an arrow into his tattoo.

“Isn’t it weird?” He looks at you with round, curious eyes. “Yours is a heart. Mine’s a pierced heart.”

“Hm. Funny coincidence.”

“Do you have to sit on my lap for this?”

“I’m not sitting on your lap,” you hiss. You are kind of close. You train your eyes on his collarbone as you pull his neckline down. 

It would be so embarrassing to be caught like this. You’d rather be caught making out with someone in the broom closet. You hold back a pained sigh. Jaehyun has some nerve speaking to you when you’re already annoyed with him. Couldn’t he just have worn his business attire? Why does he get to go home early? Taeyong is far too lenient a boss. You start swearing internally, getting nervous when you think about the consequences of your actions.

“Has anyone ever filed a complaint against you?” Jaehyun asks, and you nudge his chin upwards to draw the line on his tattoo.

“For what? Being perfect and successful?”

“For that attitude. The ‘take what I want’ attitude.”

You roll your eyes. “No. You’re saying it like I’m awful to the core for trying to take what I want. I haven’t got such a bad soul, you know, as souls go. You wouldn't write articles about how good a soul it is but… it’s well enough.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow and you avert your gaze from his eyes. This sort of proximity shouldn’t be bothering you, you shouldn’t be rambling.

The door opens right then and in a fit of panic, you do the unthinkable. You press your lips to Jaehyun’s and pray that whoever walked in has no idea who you are and more importantly, can’t see the permanent marker in your hand. 

“I’m so sorry!”

You know that voice. You half regret it when you hear it. Dongmin exits the bathroom as quickly as he entered and you pull away to look at the empty space. Beside you, Jaehyun stays so still that you forget he’s there for a moment. You breathe out in relief though part of you still feels a heavy ounce of regret.

You turn back to Jaehyun and find his doe eyes soft and lost in thought.

“I get it now,” Jaehyun whispers. “It must hurt. That he doesn’t care about the system.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That he’s so reckless about discarding you.”

You separate yourself from him further, standing up and brushing your clothes. “You’re overstepping.”

“Sorry,” he responds quietly. 

There’s a pause.

“Did you just kiss me right now?”

“Shut up. I didn’t want him to see us and especially this.” You wave the marker in front of his face.

“You just kissed me in a fit of panic. That’s the first time I’ve seen someone respond to panic this way.” Jaehyun looks a little too smug.

“What are you implying?” 

“You wanted to kiss me.”

You scoff. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” 

You want to knock the smile right off his face but you stick to flicking his forehead, his yell of surprise satisfying. This Friday night was supposed to get better. In fact, you are going to make it better if life won’t. The soju won’t drink itself and you deem that Soojin has had enough. 

Ignoring Dongmin’s confused look, you order far too many soju shots to be considered healthy. As you promised yourself, you are going to make this Friday better.

//

You just had to go and get drunk. Jaehyun stares at you, blinking slowly and wondering just how much you can embarrass yourself before it becomes a burden for him. He has to get you home; you’re practically a matching set now. But are the halves of a pair supposed to take care of the other when they get drunk?

“You know what, guys?” You announce, standing up abruptly and immediately getting pulled back to your seat by Jaehyun. It doesn’t stop your mouth however.

“I hate the stupid system,” you continue. “To tell the truth—”

He smacks his hand over your mouth. Jaehyun has had enough of the silent mini heart attacks you give him. The rest look at him with puzzled looks and he can’t even bring himself to give them a polite smile before dragging you out of the bar. The night breeze is cold enough—maybe it’ll sober you up.

"You're so annoying, Jaehyun," you mutter, massaging your forehead. "Did you know that?"

Or maybe it won’t.

"Never heard that before."

"How do you always keep to yourself and still be the center of attention?" You cling to his arm for balance. 

"Have you considered that maybe a polite man isn't as scheming as you think he is?"

You curl your lips. "Stop using big sentences. I hate that I barely know you, and I know everyone."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "You just enjoy the power that comes with figuring people out. Don't you?"

"Whatever you say. I want life to be a nice and smooth ride but then again, I can't even face my soulmate." You let out an airy laugh. "I didn't really need one though."

Jaehyun laughs in disbelief. "You look like you're dying of loneliness."

"Ooh, that's a big claim, Yoonoh."

"You say I keep to myself but what about you? You like hiding, don't you?"

You laugh. "Is this the part where I say we're nothing alike?"

He purses his lips, shaking his head in dismissal. He's just tired of chit-chat with someone who smells like she robbed a liquor store in Itaewon.

“You must think I’m some sort of selfish, vapid, work-obsessed overachiever,” you continue, tilting your head with a blank look in your eyes.

“Well, not exac—”

“But guess what? Your opinions are invalid, Jung Yoonoh. You’re just some chump from marketing. A very good-looking chump but still.”

Jaehyun swears under his breath as you fling your arms open in the same manner a speech-giving patriot fighting for freedom would. Unfortunately, the freedom struggle is private in this day and age, and you just smacked him in the nose instead.

You sigh deeply and he looks at you again, warily now as he holds his nose.

“You’re not exactly wrong either. I’m so empty. Like a bottle of soju with no soju. Could you bring me some?”

Jaehyun massages his temples and solidifies his resolve. He’s had enough stares from people on the sidewalk. With delicate concern, he holds you up with one arm around your waist, balancing your weight evenly so you can stand. Promptly, you bury your face into his neck and an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak evades the filter of his mouth. You’re just so adept at making his days (and nights) worse.

Jaehyun tries his best to carry you to the parking lot without any signs of struggle but good lord, are you uncooperative. Once he’s down lugging you to the passenger seat, he breathes out in relief at long last and makes sure you don’t fold in over yourself dozing off the seat. Getting you to sit up, he finds himself smiling the slightest bit at your smudged lipstick. Even like this, you’re quite pretty. 

Realizing what thought came over him, he shakes his head vigorously as if he’s committing a horrible crime. He just has to get you home—Soojin had texted him the address prior to the outing just in case—and then he can go back to pretending whatever he even is supposed to.

The sports event is really just HR and Management trying to one-up the other in a more quantitative way. You’re not really fond of the sweat and heavy breathing that comes with physical exertion if it’s for the sake of competition. Competition is such a childish, masculine way of handling things, especially emotions.

HR is leading in wins, however and that means you have something to rub in Jaehyun’s face. You hate participating but you’re not allowed to opt out without a medical certificate. At least one competition, and you had to choose the three-legged race. All these potential partners, and Dongmin had to choose you.

“I’ll win,” you tell Jaehyun, stopping by him once you exit the changing room. The indoor stadium is usually a recreational facility for senior employees but on sports day, it’s closer to a gladiator arena. The seats are green and occupied by grinning employees, most of them glad for a day off but also upset they don’t get to attend their personal affairs in it.

Jaehyun stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Shouldn’t it be a ‘we’? You need a partner. Oh, are you sad you can’t pick me?”

“Not at all.” You cross your arms, annoyed at his mock pity. 

Right then, Dongmin jogs up to you in a blue tracksuit. His hair sticks to his forehead because unlike you, he takes sports very seriously. Jaehyun, on the other hand, just seems to enjoy the competition. As a guilty pleasure, you’d like to see the two of them compete one day. That would be a competition worth betting on.

“I’ll have to borrow your soulmate.” Dongmin laughs. “The race is starting.”

Life strikes again with its poorly timed irony.

“Don’t mind me,” Jaehyun says politely.

The race is easier than you thought it would be considering most of the other employees struggle with teamwork. You’re the HR team for a reason. But then again, you feel a certain hollowness pervade you while you’re pressed to Dongmin’s side. Wouldn’t it be nice?

All you can think is that Dongmin and you are perfectly in sync. The realization comes off as sad despite your victory and the wide grins on both of your faces. 

Jaehyun purses his lips and gives the two of you a nonchalant look. He’s avoided getting caught in the changing room quite well. For some reason, he’s glad that you’re winning but also dissatisfied about it. He would certainly feel different if he were participating in that race, wouldn’t he? He would win. Losing a competition is a huge blow to his ego. Lately, he seems to be losing a lot of races. The two of you have been growing closer and he doesn’t mind late night discussions about flawed systems and childhood memories; but the fact that you’re growing on him is something for him to be on edge about. He’s never felt so close to someone, and still so far.

“Oh, they have good chemistry, don’t they?” Doyoung comments beside Jaehyun, before taking a sip from his bottle.

“What chemistry?” Jaehyun snaps and Doyoung almost chokes on the water.

“Chill out, man.” Doyoung eyes Jaehyun’s figure in concern. “She’s like officially yours.”

Jaehyun refuses in a series of sputtering responses. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not jealous. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I didn’t paint you as that kind of man either,” Doyoung mutters before speaking up. “But love, Jaehyun. Love’s a weird thing.”

Jaehyunn ignores his comment and walks down to the grounds, jogging up to you. He immediately forgets to say anything at all. Smooth move, Yoonoh.

You just stick out your tongue at him subtly.

“I told you we’d win,” you say.

Jaehyun crosses his arms. “Congratulations. I thought you, quote, hate this stupid competition for dunces.”

You clear your throat and Dongmin laughs beside you. Before he can offer his bottle, Jaehyun offers his own in a rush. You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it.

“You guys really are a perfect pair.” Dongmin laughs. “Sometimes I wish Mijoo was my soulmate.”

You give him a pitiful smile. There go your happy feelings of victory.

“But I’m happy this way.” Dongmin nudges your shoulder with his. “Don’t give me that look.”

That is not the look he thinks you were giving. You smile. 

“What about this? We can go on a double date! Those are fun, right?” Dongmin muses, crossing his arms.

“No,” you and Jaehyun refuse in a panic, and Dongmin blinks in confusion at the overwhelming response.

“I'm more of a homebody,” you explain.

“Yeah, me too,” Jaehyun agrees.

It makes Dongmin laugh aloud. “Oh, fate didn’t go wrong with the two of you.”

Your smile wavers. Did it go so wrong with you and Dongmin? Jaehyun’s hand brushes yours and you look at him. A perfect side profile and flushed hot cheeks with dimples to die for. You wouldn’t mind being in love with him. You don’t mind love much at all. 

Shaking off the thought, you watch as Dongmin leaves the two of you to run to the changing rooms. Eyeing Jaehyun’s red team sweatshirt with “Management” in big typography over the chest, you look back up to his face. 

“Why did you jog over here so desperately?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“Yes. I am irreparably in love with you.”

He leans in quickly and you flinch, making his dimples show up.

“Asshole,” you curse. “I’ll file you for harassment. Don’t do that again.”

“Isn’t it harassment when you feel me up while you draw—” Jaehyun leans in to whisper. “—the soulmark?” 

“I would never have my hands near your greasy existence if I could,” you huff, scandalized. 

But the thing is, Jaehyun is getting better at this game of flustering each other and you don’t like it one bit.

“Hey, you know Dongmin’s girlfriend?” he asks suddenly. 

You nod. “Kind of. I’ve seen her pictures on Instagram.”

Jaehyun pauses before humming in realization.

You cough. “Not that I was stalking them or something. Obviously.”

Jaehyun gives you a knowing smile but doesn’t question anything, much to your aggravation. It would’ve been better if you had a chance to prove you weren’t stalking them but then again, that is exactly what you were doing.

“Well, we went to the same college. Same major too.”

“Are you serious? Wait, how do you know? Does this mean you stalked their Instagram too?”

“Too?”

“Shut up.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“She’s not exactly the evil homewrecker type,” he says.

“I know that,” you snap. If anything, you feel like the evil homewrecker even if Dongmin’s supposed to be your soulmate.

They’re so reckless. Jaehyun was right—you do blame them in a way. They don’t care who they trample under their nauseating parade of romance. But then again, that parade is better than a personal rejection.

“I’m just saying… don't hold it against them.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice, Jung Yoonoh.”

Jaehyun shrugs, dropping the issue. The preparations for the next race is starting and it has something to do with passing balls from basket to basket—you get bored already when you see Doyoung stretch before shaking hands with Taeyong.

“Wanna get ice-cream? We funded the food truck this year.” Jaehyun looks expectantly at you.

“Sure.” 

You contemplate holding his hand for a moment but let that thought bury itself. You don’t have to pretend right now. 

Much to your despair (or delight) however, Jaehyun takes your hand absentmindedly as he walks towards the exit. It’s not that you’ve never held hands before, it’s just that Jaehyun’s skin is soft against yours.

“I can’t believe you and Mijoo were in the same course.”

It seems she’s ahead of you in every direction you look to tread on. Of course, you will not be telling Jaehyun that. You don’t exactly feel jealousy—can’t feel jealousy when your life is perfect as it is. And for Jaehyun? You hate to admit it but you’d trade places with Mijoo any day.

“Well, she didn’t really like socializing back then so I didn’t know we were in the same program either.”

You chuckle, glancing down at your intertwined fingers despite your best efforts. It feels nice like this. It feels nice to be wanted by someone—even if it’s a lie.

“Do you think- Do you think they’re brave?” You ask. “They didn’t even hesitate to disregard the system.”

“I think people in love are always brave.”

You hum, looking down at your feet. All the more reason the system fucked up. You were never even supposed to be partnered up. You’re not brave—the face you put on is. The idea of love seems to get further and further away from you.

Just then, Jaehyun tugs at your hand, walking slightly faster and making you complain as you jog to catch up with his long strides. The food truck is fairly large, on the street outside to the stadium entrance. February is catching up with its heat and you curse at global warming for this hot winter day.

“You can take up to five scoops of different flavours,” he informs you, grinning sheepishly. “I guess the cups aren’t large enough for beyond that.”

“I didn’t know you were this passionate about ice-cream,” you say.

“Sicheng rubbed off on me.”

You laugh. IT must have given Sicheng enough stress to develop a sweet tooth. You love the HR Department when you look at the others in your company.

Jaehyun has a nice smile. You don’t know why you think that but you do and now you can’t focus on anything apart from the pink dust sprinkled over his cheeks and the handsome dimples that accompany. You don’t want to stare but clearly, Jaehyun must have been blessed by some divide being if not for fate. Maybe he’s a mess up like you. As far as you know, his soulmate doesn’t exist. That little red heart is so simple that none of the soulmate designs match it.

A rather repulsing part of you is happy about it. You like the feel of Jaehyun’s hands. You like the way he looks at you. You wouldn’t mind it if he were yours.  

Jaehyun’s house is as cosy as his mother makes you feel. It’s been a while since you’ve been home and if you were perhaps less emotionally constipated, you would have tears welling up in your eyes. There’s quite a few relatives too but then again, every Asian family jumps at the chance to celebrate something as mediocre as engagements and marriage and soulmate findings. Apparently, hormones are perfectly fine to them once you’re not teenagers anymore.

This isn’t so bad. What was so scary about meeting parents again? Jaehyun’s dad did challenge you with a questionnaire but lucky for you, you know exactly how interviews work. You’ve got enough information on Jaehyun from the man himself for this visit. The briefing he gave you was boring though; you already know what you need to know about Jaehyun.

You sit at the table, while most of the other guests work in the kitchen. Jaehyun’s mother asks you questions about your life, friendly and welcoming in every way possible. Mothers are truly god-sent. You wonder how she produced someone as far from divine as Jaehyun. (Except in looks, perhaps.)

You say that out loud and get a sharp quip from Jaehyun, his mother’s eyes lighting up at your childish interaction.

“Oh my, fate is never wrong!” She remarks with a wide smile. “I’ve never seen Jaehyun open up so much with anyone before. He was such a shy boy in school, you know? All the girls would send letters and confessions and he would just turn red in the face.”

“Mom.” He smiles all too sweet at her but you can see the panic in his eyes.

She rolls her eyes before turning to you. “Darling, you have no idea how proud I feel to see him this at ease. I was honestly getting tired of all the ‘your son is so polite and well-mannered’ comments. Some bickering ought to do him good.”

“Mom,” he repeats, straightening. “I think auntie needs some help setting up the table.”

“Don’t shoo me away yet. I have to tell (name) about the time you were elected class representative in middle school. And all those sports and acting awards.”

“You don’t have to advertise me, Mom,” he says, dropping his face into his hands to rub at his eyes, already growing tired. “I’m already- I’m already hers.”

His mother coos and apart from the expected deep red flush on Jaehyun’s skin, you find yourself feeling hot in the face too. Jaehyun’s aunt calls for his mother right then and you watch as she makes her way to the kitchen entrance, the two women glancing at you and giggling to each other over some shared words.

Jaehyun takes the opportunity to grab your hand and walk away to a more obscure part of the house upstairs. With significantly less relatives, it should be a good hiding spot unless discovered by his giggling cousins that he refuses to introduce you to. 

“Aw, what a shy baby,” you coo, smiling at the thought of a younger, easily-flustered Jaehyun.

His ears are bright red and you think that he’s still easily flustered. He just doesn’t show it much anymore—there’s only one dead giveaway.

“Forget everything my mom said,” he instructs. “It’s not important information.”

“Oh, no, darling. Your mother is a gold mine of vital information. You know what? I’m going to go chat her up right now. I’m sure you were quite the teenage dream I should know about.”

Jaehyun grips your wrist before you can escape, pulling your closer.

“Don’t.”

You don’t know if it’s the proximity or the fact that there are most definitely a few family members that could walk in right now—but you find yourself embarrassed as you look at his face. It’s very pleasant, handsome even, and the strands of his hair look irresistibly soft from this distance. You reach your hand out and brush the hair out of his eyes, almost instinctively. 

“You have nice eyes, Jaehyun,” you say out loud, not sure why. He doesn’t fluster this time but it makes you all the more aware of your nearness.

Your eyes glance at the bottom of the staircase to see a little girl, around nine, hiding from behind the wall that separates the dining room and the kitchen. You return your gaze to Jaehyun with a smirk.

"We should kiss right now. Your little cousin's watching."

Jaehyun looks mildly disgusted. "Why would I want to kiss you in front of my cousin?"

You roll your eyes. “You don't get it, do you? The fastest way to convince a family is through rumours.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Oh my god, you're an idiot. Nosy cousins are the most effective way to spread rumours."

"Ah." Jaehyun looks enlightened enough for you to continue.

"Okay, but first you need to have these mints." You take out the emergency mints from your purse.

"What? I don't need mints. I have nice smelling breath.”

"Everyone needs mints, Jaehyun. Especially men."

Jaehyun sighs heavily. You take the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him into a corner. 

"Have this mint or else."

You hold his face between your thumb and forefingers, cheeks squishing under the pressure as you force a mint in. He lets you do it for some reason, looking lost as he gazes at you. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh my, you're enjoying this. Pervert."

"Wha—what? You have to stop thinking you're hot shit, oh my god. I just got distracted for a bit."

"By me, right?"

"No! I just zoned ou—you're enjoying this."

You bite down your smile but a giggle escapes you anyway. Jaehyun rolls his eyes though he smiles, looking far too close to irresistible when his dimples show.

"You can't keep teasing me," he says, voice low.

"I've been doing it for two years. I'm pretty sure I can do it for at least two more."

Jaehyun scoffs, laughing at your statement. "You know what? I'm going to get back at you from now on. I've been so lenient."

You snort before pressing the back of your fingers to your nose. "You? You're going to get back at me? You’re good at lip service, Jaehyun."

“Huh. You might be right about that.”

There's a beat of silence and you look at him expectantly. In the next beat of your heart (or lack thereof), he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours, surprising the life out of you as your back hits the wall. It's not just a touch either, his mouth moves over yours and when your knees feel weak, you reluctantly admit that the rumour about Jung Yoonoh being a good kisser is true. Maybe his body count isn't a lower-end single digit after all.

He pulls apart with a short smile tugging at his lips. "Satisfied?"

You sputter out a response before clearing your throat. “I- I don’t think anyone really saw us in this corner.”

Jaehyun makes a low humming sound. “Or you could just say you want me to kiss you again? I know I’m a good kisser.”

“Fuck off.” You punch his chest, eliciting a quiet grunt from him.

You move away from him, peeking from behind the wall. Oh, she saw it alright. The giggling gives it away and the fact that a few more younger cousins have gathered. This is ridiculous. The fact that you wouldn’t mind more is even worse.

You turn back to Jaehyun with steel-set eyes. “No more kissing. Ever. Never again. Kissing is officially banned.”

Jaehyun looks perplexed. “I thought that was a good kiss. Did you not enjoy it? What do you mean no kissing?”

“And I take it back.” The heat on your face is still burning steadily. 

“Oh, I see. You liked it so much that you’re embarrassed.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“So I’m right?”

You roll your eyes and quickly walk down the stairs, a few words of complaint left hanging in the air as Jaehyun follows behind, stumbling over the steps.

Jaehyun likes how comfortable this is. He doesn’t mind glaring daggers at each other but this is fun too. It’s like he doesn’t have to be careful about the lines he might be crossing—there aren’t any damn lines at all. He can’t call it love, at least not by definition, but something is there. Something that is solid enough and heavy enough. Something he would be ready to hold on to.

You laugh at a joke Jaehyun’s dad makes. A family is the only place to feel at home. It might not be yours but maybe at the end of the night, you can convince them to disown Jaehyun and adopt you as their child instead. His cousins seem to be interested in the same things you were as a high schooler and it surprised you. Your job lets you advise the older cousins in a fairly friendly fashion. The little ones seem to like your dress and you find them far too adorable with their pink cheeks and dimples, much like Jaehyun’s. Speaking of which, he definitely got them from his dad. You look around and wonder how Jaehyun has so many female cousins and not an inkling about how women work. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore that Dongmin discarded you so recklessly.

He’s wrong. Jaehyun’s wrong. It doesn’t hurt—didn’t hurt right now at the very least. When Jaehyun kissed you, you didn’t think of Dongmin or his girlfriend or anyone else. You thought that Jaehyun’s skin is somehow always the right temperature. 

You shake your head. Jaehyun drives your getaway car and you shouldn’t get too comfortable in its worn-out leather seats. This shouldn’t be any different to you; you aren’t supposed to find love in every corner. This was all a survival instinct. 

The more stories Jaehyun’s mother shares with you over dinner, the more you find it comfortable to be here. You don’t feel this welcome in your own apartment (although, there isn’t exactly anyone else living there but you and the goddamn pigeon that wakes you up at six in the morning). The more the night progresses, the more you want to believe in this lie. Jaehyun glances at you from time to time, his gaze neither uncomfortable nor harsh and you smile at him when he does. Right now, there is no loneliness and the air is warm and smells of freshly cooked food; the way familial love works is such a mystery. You feel content.

“Why are we doing this again?” you lean in and ask Jaehyun, eyes focused on the TV as he tries to fix it.

“Because I need to get out of work, and fulfilled soulmates get a day off on Valentine’s day.”

You nod. “Your apartment kind of stinks. I feel sorry for Sicheng.”

“This is clean,” he defends, pointing at the lack of any visible mess in his room. His work table, however, has too many items scattered over it to be called neat. There’s a fairly large TV attached to the wall and you’re a little jealous about it. You only ever watch shows on your (quite beloved albeit small) laptop. The blinds aren’t fully closed, the evening city lights trying their best to pry their pervasive fingers in and add something more to the peach hue of Jaehyun’s room.

The doorbell rings just in estimated time for food delivery, a sigh leaving your mouth along with a ‘finally’. His place is strangely comfortable and much less of the war zone that you expected. There’s no reason to feel awkward, really, or even the bubbling in your stomach. You’re not seventeen, in your crush’s house. Jaehyun isn’t even someone you like that way.

It’s just two friends hanging out and watching a movie and doing other friendly activities. Two friends hanging out on Valentine's day. Two friends who have kissed more than once.

What do lovers do anyway?

This thing with Jaehyun has turned into clandestine smiles at the office building, subtle texts of ‘did you eat?’ and ‘good morning, idiot’, racing hearts at brushing hands on the occasional off-work hangouts (you refuse to call them “dates”) and overall, a lot more pink hearts floating over his head when you see him. It’s positively appalling. 

You don’t mind it one bit.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” The delivery man wishes as he leaves and you feel a sudden rage bubble up in you. 

“Ah, does he think every couple celebrates Valentine’s day? And just because we’re in the same apartment means we’re a couple? Wow.” You cross your arms, scoffing. “Who’s he to wish me?”

“Why… Why are you getting mad?” Jaehyun asks quietly, slightly confused.

You glare at him, your anger not quite dissipated and walk back into his room, placing the box of confectionaries on the bedside table with a loud thud. Jaehyun follows, placing the drinks rather clumsily beside it. He gives you one last look of concern before settling down on his bed.

You let out another huff of complaint.

"Does everything have to be heart-shaped?"

You stare at the nauseating display of baked goods delivered in a pretty heart-shaped box. The brownie is in a clear plastic box that has a tiny bouquet of hearts atop it, the coffee cups have heart stickers around the rim, and the pastry itself is heart-shaped or rather, two halves of a heart. One of them is strawberry pink and the other chocolate brown.

“You seem… suddenly fired up,” Jaehyun comments quietly.

You don’t really care if you look crazy to him right now; he’s already seen the worse parts of you. You’re just so annoyed at all this red and pink that was delivered. Aren’t cafes supposed to stick with that beige-cream palette? 

While you contemplate, Jaehyun tears the little sugar packet and attempts to open the lid of the cup at the same time, your blood pressure rising at the sight because you were half sure he’d spill the drink. After much difficulty, he shakes the packet trying to get just enough sugar but of course, like the clumsy oaf he is, he misses almost entirely, spilling sugar over his coffee table. It’s oddly endearing but that’s a thought you’ll keep to yourself.

He turns to you with a sheepish grin and you give him a look of distaste.

“You are a sorry excuse of a person, Jaehyun.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t mess this up.”

You turn to look him in the eyes, the honey shade alluring under warm apartment lights. They really are pretty. 

“I, and every other sane human being, would not mess up adding sugar to a cup of coffee.”

“You faltered for a moment there.”

That was not the reason you faltered. You roll your eyes and look away, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste.

“How do you even like Americanos? Don’t you like a bit of cream and sweetness?”

 “I don’t really care for bitterness,” he answers.

“Wow, you must be a masochist.”

“And it’s quite obvious you’re a sadist.”

You snicker. “That makes us quite the pair.”

“I would like that sentence in a non-BDSM context, thank you.”

Jaehyun turns on the TV and the Netflix logo animation pops up. You raise an eyebrow at his ‘Continue Watching’ list, eyeing Bridegerton and Sweet Home, and wondering if he could be any more of an enigma. You can’t possibly figure him out at this point. You groan when he picks a title.

“Ugh. Do we have to watch a romantic comedy?”

“What? They’re funny. And I thought you liked those 2000’s movies.”

You believed in unicorns and sock goblins and love back then too. These days, you hate to see other people in love, especially when it’s fake. The movies you loved are now the movies you hate. The couples you eyed with delight at parks and cafes are now the bane of your existence. In fact, you’d go as far as to say that you enjoy the digital fireworks from a couple having a massive online breakup. Things falling apart are entertaining when it’s not happening to you.

You purse your lips. Can't you see other people happy without wanting to tear it down for yourself?

“Fine. But I’ll pick the 2000’s romcom.”

Jaehyun shrugs and hands over the remote. You see Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds on the poster and click on it immediately. The Proposal has a good enough comedy to romance ratio, in your opinion.

“I’m kind of surprised you came,” he says quietly.

“Why?” You raise an eyebrow. “Is it because of the suggestive nature of visiting someone’s apartment on Valentine’s day? Did you think we’d be doing something… more fun?”

You lean in and bat your eyelashes suggestively, although you’re clearly joking.

“I think you should know better than to get mouthy with me,” he answers as he leans in further, making your heartbeat hike at the proximity. Maybe he’s figured you out. Wouldn’t it be so nice to figure each other out at the same time—like puzzle pieces fitting together?

You move away from him. “Well, it’s not like I can go anywhere else. And I didn’t want to stay in my own apartment.”

“Maybe you enjoy my company?”

“Look, I would be sipping my coffee at a perfectly aesthetic cafe if it weren’t Valentine’s day.”

He raises an eyebrow at your nonsensical declaration and you sigh, trying to explain yourself.

“Cafes just terrorize the single folk on Valentine’s day. You should always go with Netflix,” you say.

“And chill?”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“As I’ve told you so many times, I am not stupid.”

You inhale, an idea presenting itself.  

“Hey, since we’re technically a couple, shouldn’t you be sharing your Netflix password with me?” you ask, pressing your lips into your cutest smile.

“No.”

“You’re so stingy,” you mutter. It was worth a shot.

Jaehyun laughs, your hand reaching out to poke his dimples but you stop yourself. You weren’t supposed to get this comfortable. This wasn’t your place to be. Lost in thought, the moving screen leaves you unfazed and you can’t look at him anymore. However, Jaehyun reaches out right then and wipes at the space beside your lips, your focus lifting from the beginning scenes of The Proposal and latching onto Jaehyun’s lips.

There’s a pause, your head clearing itself of thoughts when you make eye contact with him. Soft hair, doe eyes, full lips and dimples—he’s so damn attractive, it hurts your existence. Does he have to be this close to you? You have mixed feelings about that look in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers suddenly.

“Yes,” you answer.

If you look from a rational point of view, you should not have said that. You should have said anything but that. But you don’t want to think right now. Jaehyun’s touch is warm over your skin as his hand rests under your jaw and the other on your waist.

You should not have said that. But you feel loved.

Somewhere along, you find yourself parting only to kiss again, the feeling of skin so delightful in a way you’ve never experienced. Your shirt hikes up and you see Jaehyun eye the little heart with the arrow—the sign you so despised with a gentle smile.

“It’s pretty,” he whispers.

It’s pretty but it isn’t his. He doesn’t have to look at you like that—he’s come a long way from nervous glances and now he’s the one making you nervous. Just say it isn’t love and it will be alright.

You part, sobering up for a moment and you disentangle your limbs to sit at the side of his bed.

“What’s- What’s wrong?” Jaehyun whispers.

You exhale.

“All my life, I wait and when it comes, it’s all wrong,” you say, staring at your lap. Self-pity is the most disgusting kind of pity to feel. You’re past crying at things like this. You’re past crying for an ounce of romance, every time you listen to a love song on the radio or look at an Instagram post of a couple or pass by lovers on the sidewalk content with each other. You don’t even have cats to return home to. Modern loneliness is wearing you down but you can’t believe in fairytales anymore.

He scoffs, smiling bitterly. “I don’t even know if this is worth losing my dignity over.”

“Jaehyun—”

“We can’t pretend anymore—I can’t pretend anymore,” Jaehyun exhales. “I want you enough to forget the system. Give me an answer. Please.”

You don’t mind forgetting the system right now. Jaehyun’s lips are always the right temperature; the warmth of his body seeps through his shirt as you press yourself to him in a hug. He’s perfect and right now, you want to believe he’s perfect for you—even if he isn’t, you want to believe it into existence.

You cup Jaehyun’s cheeks, unsaid emotion in his doe eyes, and kiss him. This time, you mean it with every ounce of your being. There’s no more flustering each other, just the hot flush of intimacy when you feel skin that doesn’t burn you. It’s just the right feeling. There’s no way this can be wrong. 

Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? You wish the voice would pipe down. It’s a coward, fearing fate just as everyone else does. But you are better than that, and this feeling is too enjoyable to let go. You don’t want this to fade.

Just then, Dongmin’s face comes to mind and you think that maybe if you kiss someone else with all you have, you don’t have to think of your shortcomings ever again.

Jaehyun pulls apart and you miss the warmth.

“You’re not… You’re not thinking of me, are you?” he asks. 

You don’t answer, even if the silence is overwhelming.

“I’d rather not have you close your eyes and think of someone else when I’m in front of you.”

“I’m sorry” is all you can say.

“You can at least pretend to love me.” His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Could. It’s not like this was ever supposed to work out.”

You gulp, looking away. “Jaehyun, come on. That’s not like you. We were- we were just… having fun.”

He takes a deep breath. “It hurts to not be wanted by someone you want. You know that. So why are you doing this to me?”

Because misery likes company.

“I’m sorry.”

It seems the phrase you barely uttered when you were younger is tumbling out of your lips in a mixture of grief and pity. Perhaps it’s karma. Perhaps it’s fate. Perhaps it’s just the consequences of your mistakes.

Jaehyun parts his lips, a sigh departing. He leans in again, pushing away all of his thoughts. A little more hurt won't kill him tonight. How and when did you bring him down to his knees?

However, he's stopped by your hands against his shoulders, his lips hovering over yours.

"Let's stop," you say. "You're right."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

“I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

You wish you could be brave enough to burn the instruction pamphlet from destiny. But right now, you need to get away from Jaehyun, away from any more misery business.

“I’ll get going,” you say, gathering your stuff. 

Jaehyun hesitates but doesn’t stop you. He would never stop you, can’t stop so how could he even dream of stopping fate? This can never work out. It felt right in the moment but you don’t know anything more than that. You can’t close your eyes and pray everything disappears. No one else will solve your problems for you, you know that.

It’s time you start fixing the mess you made. You leave with a polite goodbye and hear a loud sigh behind you once the door is closed. Blinking away the urge to walk back in, you take long and quick strides to the elevator. You’re going to fix this.

Maybe if Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’ wasn’t blasting at full volume at this stupid office party, you could be thinking a little straighter.

He was right. You can’t pretend anymore. There were thousands of ways this could have gone better. You didn’t have to pretend to be soulmates when you’re not. You could’ve discarded your belief in the whole system like Dongmin and Mijoo and dated someone out of spite. You didn’t have to drag Jaehyun into your sorry mess. You need to take out the nail you hammered into your own foot.

It’s the first time you’ve visited the rooftop restaurant from the company’s subsidiary chain of high-end restaurants but you imagined it would be bigger. It’s the news’ fault for making this place seem like a football field. However, you might be feeling that way because the distance between you and Jaehyun is suffocatingly small as is the distance with Dongmin. You don’t need to see Jaehyun tonight.

You don’t intend to make your confession a public affair and you certainly don’t believe in tack things like atonement. However, improvement begins with a step in the right direction. Maybe you’ll be a better person after this. Maybe you’ll still be as annoying and pushy as ever. You need to get it off your chest so you can proceed with the already tedious journey that comes with a soulmate rejection. You wonder why there’s so many man-made laws about soulmates when fate has made it complicated enough as it is. Love is the same as legalese when it comes to this system.

You flit about the crowds, smiling and greeting people and swerving away from Jaehyun every time he tries to approach you. You’re trying to make a good decision for once. He better not intrude. You’re wearing pink too, for the first time in a while: a satin shirt, pants and blazer set in dull pink.

“Dongmin,” you say, pulling him by the sleeve of his blue tux, and away from the rest of the HR team. “I have to show you something.”

“Hm? Show me?” He blinks at you. 

You get him to follow you to the inside the premises, stopping when you’re far into a 

“Uh?” Dongmin looks around before leaning in to whisper. “You’re not plotting to murder me, are you?”

You blink, and he laughs at you incredulously. “Why are you so serious?”

“I was lying,” you rush. “With Jaehyun. He’s not my soulmate. You are.”

Dongmin blinks in confusion. “Are… you joking? That was a weird joke but it could pass as funny—”

“Dongmin.”

You pull out your shirt from your pants, exposing the tattoo on your hip. It’s the little arrowed heart that has been plaguing you for years but now when you look at it, you feel no animosity. After all, it’s been through the same things you have. 

Dongmin’s face falls into stunned silence, eyes fixated on your waist.

“That’s- That’s my—what is this?”

Russian roulette is certainly not the same without a gun.

“I lied, Dongmin,” you answer, fixing your shirt back in. “I was so afraid of your rejection that I made an even larger fool of myself.”

His initial shock seems to have partly subsided.

“You… Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks momentarily hurt.

“You have Mijoo, Dongmin. I can’t ruin something like that.”

A love that doesn’t need fate to fix it.

Dongmin glances away in guilt and sighs, though the sound is croaky. This must be more than what he can take.

“I’m sorry,” he says, haltingly. “I hurt you, didn’t I? When I thought I was being brave, I hurt you instead.”

You smile bitterly. “We all hurt someone, Dongmin. I still have to fix that one for myself.”

He scans your face, lips trembling slightly as unspoken words die on them.

“We’ll tend to the legal stuff later, hm? No compensation. We can file a mutual rejection.”

“But—”

“Shh. I’m happy enough as coworkers and I get paid more than enough for this job. Might get a promotion soon too.”

You wink at him with an added finger gun, trying to play it cool. Despite everything, a weight feels lifted from your shoulders. Now that you are truly alone, you might as well embrace this growing loneliness crawling under your skin. Discomfort could be something you can get used to. 

When you get back to the warmly lit rooftop, the HR team looks at you curiously. You have the most self-destructive thought you’ve had in a while and tell yourself, you might as well if you've come this far. This is it. This is your social death. Honesty is the best policy, unfortunately.

“Dongmin and I have the same soulmate mark,” you announce. “We’re soulmates but we’ll sign a mutual rejection.”

Doyoung looks almost like he’ll faint and Soojin’s mouth is so wide open, you could practice throwing some mini basketballs in. This is your team—almost a second family, and it’s time you stop trying to hide yourself or disguise your feelings as something they’re not. They’ll get over it, as will you.

“J-Jaehyun?” Soojin looks to your side and you turn to find Jaehyun frowning.

“You could’ve discussed this with me,” he says, an odd sound of relief in his laugh. 

It hurts to look at him but you muster up your strength.

“I’m sorry,” you say, facing him. “I didn’t want to drag you into this hell with me.”

Into this loveless hell made for you.

“(name).”

It’s so painfully quiet in this corner; there are so many eyes on you and only the hurt taking shape in Jaehyun’s eyes knock some sense into you. 

“I’ll leave first,” you say, bowing as you take your leave.

You brisk up your pace and exit the venue as quickly as you can and into the building corridor.

Unfortunately for you, you recognize the pair of footsteps that follow you—both of them having their timings wrong. Boys don’t chase after the girl when she’s walking away. Boys should leave a girl alone when she feels like she’s about to cry.

You turn to face two men and groan internally. This is the worst possible situation—you’d rather crawl into a hole than look at either of them. The corporate light shines harshly on either of their faces but the look on them is so earnest, you want to close your eyes and scream. You don’t mind being alone. You were overstepping when you wished you weren’t.

“(name),” Dongmin starts. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. If you’d told me, we could have talked this out.”

A light scoff leaves Jaehyun and Dongmin purses his lips. It’s kind of funny watching both of their tall frames in hesitant postures and you cross your arms. You’re going to deal with this quickly like you always should have. If you’re dealing with fate, you need to have a clear head—and fortune doesn’t favour fools. Being with Jaehyun was nice but he is not yours. Dongmin may have been assigned to you but you’d rather not ruin someone’s relationship.

“What would we have talked about?” you ask. “Compensation charges? Apologies?”

You see a hint of positivity on Jaehyun’s face and turn to face him, frowning.

“And you. Don’t look so smug. You’re the reason I realized this crap. It hurts. Like hell.”

He opens his mouth but no words come when he’s far too taken aback. He can’t offer consolation now, not after everything. You knew this would happen. You would undoubtedly end up wishing you didn’t fall in love with him on the day you leave.

“(name). Listen to me,” Dongmin calls again, voice gentle.

Jaehyun sighs. “We’re both fucking this up, dude.”

Dongmin takes a sharp breath.

“You know, soulmates can be platonic,” he reasons, looking only at you. “People are made for each other differently and maybe you and I—”

“You’re just making her feel worse,” Jaehyun cuts him off.

“How do you know that?” Dongmin asks, finally turning to him. “Because you’ve spent a month or two with her? I’m her soulmate.”

“I think a month or two is much better than a stranger with the same damn birthmark.”

“Oh come on,” Dongmin scoffs. “The system exists for a reason.”

“I don’t give a shit about the system. The same as your girlfriend—oh, sorry, did you forget about her already?”

“It’s not like that.” Dongmin quietens. “We’ll figure something out.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. They’re worse than you are—honestly, you don’t know what you expected from the timid emotional maturity of men. Both of their polite facades have melted and you’re starting to miss their sweet-tempered work demeanour.

“Come with me,” Dongmin tells you.

He wraps his hand around your wrist and tugs, Jaehyun visibly tensing up at the gesture. He presses his tongue against his cheek in annoyance but refrains from doing anything rash. You feel sorry when you look at him.

“Dongmin,” you whisper. “Can we- can we have a moment?”

Dongmin nods in understanding and exits the hallway to cool off with a few splashes of water in the washroom.

“Would you go with him?” Jaehyun asks, jaw clenched. “An acquaintance as most? Are you willing to run into the arms of fate that you hated so much?”

He looks bitter and you can’t think of a sugar-coated response. You’ll just have to tell him how you feel.

“I need to sort things out, Jaehyun. This—”

You point from him to yourself.

“Couldn’t work out thanks to fate. Dongmin and I will never work out because he’s braver than I am. You know he’s doing all of that just so I don’t get hurt, right? He’s not suddenly in love with me.”

Jaehyun purses his lips, looking down to his feet. Is it so bad that he let jealousy get the best of his mouth? Envy isn’t so awful. He looks from your eyes to lips and wishes he were young enough to believe in fairytales.

“You don’t have to be brave,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be so brave to fall in love. You don’t have to be brave to stay with me.”

“We tried, Jaehyun. And we can’t cheat fate. That, at the very least, requires bravery.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. It hurts. It hurts so bad to look at him and face the consequences of this flawed design. It’s unfair. It’s unfair that you have to follow the rules even after trying your best to break them. 

“You wish you never met me, don’t you?” you whisper. “I made a mess.”

Before he responds, you bow in a short goodbye and walk towards the elevator. There’s no footsteps behind you, no Prince Charming. It’s just you and your high heels clacking against the cold marble as you head back to an empty home. You always thought freedom would feel different, that distance would give you perspective. It just feels awful when no one is around you at all. When you have no one to pick up morning calls from, receive texts from asking if you ate, spend time in peace without uttering a single word—are you free or are you lonely?

The rules state that the two of you are different. It is true. You are as different as love in real life and love in the movies; and neither of them have happy endings now.

You wish you drank some more last night if you were going to embarrass yourself like that. Thankfully, it’s the weekend and you have two more days to figure out how to face your coworkers. You frown when you think of Jaehyun. Were you wrong to tell him that you simply couldn’t choose him? What if fate is right and it falls apart? You stir your morning coffee, the will to drink it fading slowly. It’s already fallen apart—and it wasn’t fate who did that, it was you. Should you have taken his stupidly warm hands and asked him to follow you? You don’t understand how it works at all.

Centuries of questioning what love is, poking and prodding at it like a lab sample, and there’s still no perfect answer. Love is blind. Love is cruel. Love is a fever. Love is temporary insanity. Love is acceptance. Love will set you free. There’s just too many variations. You can never tell if fate is meant to make it easier or worse. 

No one questions you at the office and you're not sure if you’re glad or aggravated. Only Doyoung shoots you a pitiful look which you brush off and immediately get into work. Embarrassment is only real if you acknowledge it. However, every time Dongmin tries to talk to you, you ask for space and even alone in your thoughts, you don’t get it. They just have to drift to Jaehyun.

You wonder if what he said was true, that he wanted you enough to forget the system. It’s clearly ruined now. The spiral of thinking has you zoning out during work more often than not and even Doyoung ends up reprimanding you for your lack of focus. Sometimes you want to snap but other times, you’re just hopelessly reciting the events over and over in your head. This was supposed to happen, wasn’t it? You don’t even have the strength left in you to blame it all on Jaehyun.

You pace in the corridors after work, contemplating popping by the Marketing Department. What could go wrong? Sure, it was a little dramatic of you to leave like that but everything can be fixed, right? You groan. What you were supposed to be fixing, you made worse. Are your hands cursed or something? You shake your head, returning to your desk to gather your belongings and head home.

Unfortunately, the sight of Doyoung sitting in your chair alarms you and you stop a foot away. 

“If you’re going to reprimand me for watching cat videos instead of checking the employee records, I can assure you my efficiency is still top-notch.” 

“You’re—what? Never mind.” Doyoung shakes his head. “Can you give this ginseng pack to Jaehyun? I owe him.” 

Oh no. You know where this is going.

“You know I’m going to keep that for myself, right?” You make a face. “I’d rather die than face Jaehyun right now.”

Doyoung shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the one running to you. This is in case of an emergency.”

You give him a fake smile and Doyoung shakes his head. “Good to see you’re still great at pretending to be fine.”

You sigh. “Thanks for looking out for me, bossman.”

Doyoung blinks, hand covering his mouth when an audible gasp leaves him. “Woah. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you thank me. But don’t call me bossman ever again.”

“Noted,” you say, taking your bag and leaving with a short goodbye. You’re lucky he lets you off work early, even if you never took it. Employees usually can’t leave until their superiors does and if you were a senior employee, you’d be giving your juniors quite the hell.

You seem to be good at concocting hellscapes. Perhaps, you should look for job openings in the underworld. One last thought of Jaehyun exits your head and you take the bus home, admiring the city you live in and the warmth of people and their relationships. You don’t feel jealous; you just bask in them for the time—be it a mother and her son or two bickering sisters or a lovely old couple. That’s how it’s meant to be, then. That’s how love works.

Jaehyun smacks his head against the sofa armrest for the fifteenth time in a row.

“Dude. You’re going to permanently ruin the fabric.” Sicheng says, eyes trained on his laptop screen.

“I should’ve said something more.” Jaehyun’s voice is so zombie-like, he thinks he should cast himself in the Train to Busan sequel as an extra.

“I’m glad I’m not you,” Sicheng mutters.

“Can you give me some sort of consolation, at least?”

“That’s not what I’m your friend for.”

Jaehyun sighs and resumes smacking the back of his head against the armrest. He really needs to figure this out. After all, he can’t really Google the solution to this.

“One thing doesn’t make sense,” Sicheng says, finally looking up from his screen. “Why do you have the same mark as (name)’s if you’re not soulmates?”

“You’re so incredibly—but adorably—stupid, Sicheng. She drew it in with a permanent marker. She kissed me too! It was sudden and weird but I didn’t mind it.

“Yikes.” Sicheng makes a face. “So… you didn’t take a shower for how long now?”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“The ink hasn’t washed off. I heard you singing in the shower yesterday, how could you not have washed that off? Ugh. Don’t tell me you miss her.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen as he jumps up and rushes to the washroom. Looking into the mirror, the tattoo poking out from his T-shirt resembles yours a lot more than his. The arrow is still drawn in. Jaehyun’s shoulder slumps. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Turning the tap and letting the water flow, he wets his hand and rubs at his collarbone to remove the arrow.

Except it doesn’t budge. His skin turns painfully red from the rubbing but the ink, which usually washes off in less than five minutes has no intention of leaving. Did you use a different brand of marker the last time? When was it anyway? 

Jaehyun breathes out, firming his resolve. He needs to be with you.

Sicheng blinks in surprise as Jaehyun grabs his car keys, not even bothering to change from an all-black getup of a T-shirt and jeans like some emo teenager, and shuts the front door behind him. Not even a ‘goodbye, I’m leaving!’

Sicheng sighs. Love makes people crazy. He’s not falling into that trap when his soulmate literally doesn’t exist, the same as his soulmark. It seems the contestants in this game are full of exceptions.

You hit your head against your pillow. To visit Jaehyun or not to. You haven’t left your bed since you woke up around seven in the morning, and now it’s ten. Your bedsheets are a mess because you’ve rolled around too much on them (in despair, not with someone unfortunately).

You need the quiet sometimes to let your mind rest, to let your heart rest. You needed time. But maybe it’s been long enough and now you’re just searching for excuses to hold on to your last shred of dignity.

You lift your head up and glare at the box of ginseng on your table. Should you? You reluctantly get up, feeling a sting of pain in your back for lying in that awkward position for so long. Right when you’ve put on your slippers, the doorbell rings and you groan. How did the package you stress-ordered last night arrive so early? These deliveries are getting faster and faster.

You walk to the front door and open it thoughtlessly, freezing up at the sight. Your first reaction is to cover yourself. You’re not exactly your best-looking version at the moment. Jaehyun’s dark circles almost match yours but he’s better dressed than you are—in a black T-shirt and jeans while you’re wearing a Gudetama pajama set.

“We’re not just friends,” he blurts. “We’re not soulmates but we’re not just friends.”

“Huh? Oh my god, this is the most embarrassing I’ve looked.”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows in a question look. 

“That’s not important! Look—”

He pushes you inside, closing the door behind him. His hair is so disheveled and messy, he barely even looks like the same well-maintained marketing employee you know. 

Jaehyun tugs at his T-shirt, pulling down to reveal his tattoo—albeit with your marker-drawn arrow through it. He does have a pretty well-built chest, you note before chiding yourself for getting distracted.

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you, uh, need help scrubbing it off or something?”

“No.” Jaehyun lets out a huff of exasperation. “It won’t wash off. If it’s what I think it is—”

“Miracles don’t happen to people like us, Jaehyun,” you say quietly.

He gulps. “I don’t know about miracles but… I just needed an excuse to see you, I guess.”

You look up, a rose blush over Jaehyun’s bare face, and run your finger over the tattoo, sighing at the warmth of his skin. Your hand travels up to his cheek, resting atop it while you muster enough courage to look Jaehyun in his chocolate brown eyes.

You pull away. This isn’t the time. You still have an internal crisis to sort out. Are you even deserving of love? It makes much more sense if the answer is no. 

However, Jaehyun pulls you in by the waist, his right palm warm against your cheek.

“I don’t care what anyone says.” He runs his thumb over your cheek in a painfully fond manner. “You’re worth more than the price I pay for this.”

He leans in and presses his lips to yours swiftly, your head clearing of thoughts almost immediately. It feels so right, you can feel the spark, the red thread around your skin, hear the bells. This kiss was far more perfect than it was supposed to be.

You part, gasping. Jaehyun blinks at you, breathing heavily.

“Kiss me again.”

Jaehyun does as told and you might just believe in miracles this way. With his hand around your waist and in your hair, his lips over yours and the low rumbling laughter that parts the two of you—you might just believe in miracles. You might just believe that love isn't something you deserve by earning.

“I like this,” Jaehyun comments. “I like the way this is.”

You press your finger to his lips. “I think you should shut up and kiss me some more.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “I know you’re sexually repressed as of now, but that’s no reason to take advantage of me.”

You scowl, punching him on the shoulder and moving away from him.

“Come back,” he complains in a quiet voice.

“I am not going to do that.” You cross your arms.

“Come on,” he mutters, inching closer as you inch away, till your back hits the couch and you tumble backwards onto it, your legs on the headrest. Jaehyun laughs at your position, leaning in to keep his hands on either side of you, a doting look over him.

“Hey, did you know if I kicked my leg up, it would hit you in the balls?”

“Please don’t do that.”

You giggle, Jaehyun’s nose rubbing against yours in a bunny kiss. 

“Is your place usually this much of a mess?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. 

You sigh heavily. “I was having a bad day, okay? Or… a bad weekend.”

“Do you even have food?”

You look away, crossing your arms. Jaehyun sighs and shakes his head.

“We should go grocery shopping. How do you live like this?”

You scoff. “Oh, spare me the lecture. I’ve heard enough horror stories about your room from Sicheng. You can’t hide from me by sweeping your clothes and belongings into his room.”

“Snitch,” he mutters under his breath.

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your mouth and you immediately cover it. Jaehyun smiles at you fondly and you look away, unable to bear that gaze of his.

“It really won’t wash off, by the way,” Jaehyun states, scratching at his collarbone.

You narrow your eyes, smacking his arms away to roll off the couch. Taking his wrist, you walk into your bathroom and turn the tap on. Something’s strange. But also strangely right.

“Look, I already tried—ow! Don’t rub that hard!”

You blink in confusion, trying again despite Jaehyun looking like his soul already left him. It doesn’t work. Your marker isn’t even that permanent. At least his regenerating skin cells should get rid of that arrow. Unless the ink was deep enough to pierce all the layers, as in a soulmark.

You gasp.

“You were right!”

“I told you s—”

"That's the point, isn't it?" you say, realization dawning as your eyes widen. "To see if people will question the system at all."

Jaehyun shrugs. “Maybe.”

"Oh, all those unhappy marriages that could have been saved," you say as you exhale. 

Jaehyun chuckles lightly. "I think that the point was, people can be happy without their soulmates. It's whoever you make one out of. Or I Googled too many articles on anti-soulmate propaganda."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek. Watching his ears turn bright red is the cherry on top.

“Okay, fake-boyfriend-turned-real-soulmate.” You give him a cheeky smile. “Did you rethink your decision about sharing that Netflix password with me? I get the girlfriend free pass, right? Right?”

“I didn’t even share it with my mother.”

You whack his arm, him possibly used to it by now, judging from his lack of response. 

“Idiot.” You cross your arms. “We can Netflix… and chill then. God, I can’t believe I said that.”

Jaehyun breaks into a chuckle. “You’re so pushy.”

 “And you like being pushed around, nerd.”

“Who said that?”

Jaehyun wraps his arms around you, spinning you so that your back hits the door. He leans in to kiss you again and you smack your palm over his pouted lips. You laugh at his face, his eyes brimming with confusion.

“You’re in my apartment. I make the rules here. Think twice before you start a game with me, Mister.”

His shoulders droop. “Fine. Can you at least let me kiss you four times a day?”

“Five times, if you ask.”

He laughs before leaning in again. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“You are one hell of a woman. Emphasis on hell.”

You laugh and grab his collar, pulling him in for the kiss that seals this deal.

You realize a few things in the moment: a) You don’t have to play roulette to find love, b) You don’t have to pick your poison to find love, and most importantly c) Love is right where you make something of it. Fate is still not in your good books but if it bends to you this way, you don’t mind at all. If Jaehyun kisses you like this every day, you don’t mind one bit. 

[nevertheless-moving]

Could you talk more about your gumbo jar jar au or the frog one? 🐸

hm on close review the frog promise draft is a now redundant drabble from this au. Here it is in its entirety:

“I will never join you,” Luke said with a sneer of disgust.

Palpatine, as well as the nearby politicians, Jedi masters, and reporters were taken aback. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, Master Jedi,” the Senator said incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you consider yourself separate from the Republic? I know the Jedi Council had disavowed recognizing you but I never could have imagined...” he trailed off, leaving the crowd to murmur in alarm.

“I mean I will never join the Sith,” the rogue master replied calmly. “I imagine you’re responsible for the traces of the dark side I felt amongst the trade federation leaders.”

“The Sith...I see.” Palpatine took a step back, deliberately reassuring tone and alarmed expression clearly indicated that he suspected the man before him of insanity. “It’s been a very long day and you clearly intended to do good by my humble home world. Perhaps your fellow Jedi can take you to the healers so you can-”

“Why are you working alongside a Sith Lord?” Luke cut off the Senator and addressed Grandmaster Yoda directly. 

“A Sith Lord, you say?” Master Yoda replied. “A most serious allegation, this is.”

Basically, Luke derails the Naboo Crisis by absolutely annihilating the trade federation army, only realizing after the fact when and where he is. This means that Padme turns right around from Tatooine and never voices her vote of no-confidence. Now, Palpatine probably had contingency plans in place, but the public accusation by a Jedi of being responsible for the crisis in the first place, despite absolutely no evidence, hurts his image enough that he’s not going to win a vote, because people will think it’s a power grab. 

And it’s funny cause it’s true but Luke only barely knows that! He’s just accusing Palpatine of being behind the first evil thing he sees and he fuckin happens to be right!!!

Anyway Luke doesn’t focus on Palpatine; there are like 10,000 other Jedi around. He commits himself first and foremost to completing his training with Master Yoda because sometime Yoda just dies and fades into thin air so, you know! He’s not going to procrastinate on that again!

He goes before the council and humbly asks to be taken on Yoda’s student (this is right before Qui-Gon can ask about Anakin- literally, Anakin and Qui-Gon are in the waiting room). He gives several extremely vague banthashit explanations of who he is ‘I’m a follower of the Force,’ where he comes from ‘the Force sent me,’ and why they should train him when he’s way too old ‘the Force willed it.’ Yoda is somewhat impressed because those are some real unhelpfully wise answers and- here’s the kicker- Luke actually believes them! 

He is really committed to being a Jedi! Is 110% all about being a luminous being! This is several years after return of the Jedi and Luke has pretty much just been hanging out in force temples meditating with ghosts so he has quintessential Jedi vibes, he just knows jackshit about anything!

What really clinches it for Yoda is the fact that his robe pocket starts squirming and he pulls out a live Nabooian Salt Frog. And hands it to Yoda like, “These are one of your favorites right? :) I saw it and I thought of you :)”

Now Yoda- let’s step back a second. Yoda is old. Yoda, in his youth, was a bit more feral. He’s a top level predator and the order has always celebrated diversity and being true to your origins! He’s hunted with Tortugans on Shili! He’s unhinged his jaw with Besalisks on Ojom! 

But as the Republic’s boundaries caved in on themselves, he was more and more put into contact with Core senators who tend to be unnerved by more, ah, carnivorous tendencies. And the more he was put into high level positions by virtue of being really frickin old, the more restrained he became in his public behavior. 

Decades passed and younglings who only ever knew his more ‘harmless-prank’ feral tendencies were increasingly shocked and scared to see him occasionally unhinge his jaw to eat a scrocodile whole. Some of the prey-origin younglings from that field trip actually avoided him for the rest of the their lives.

So. Yoda is still a carnivore- but- in private. With his padawans and his closest peers. But his closest peers age and die and his padawans get younger and smaller as the decades pass. He took on two herbivorous padawans in a row and as a result restrained himself from openly hunting with another soul for around for 50 years.

And then there’s Dooku. ‘Ah a human,’ he thinks. ‘They hunt sometimes. Well. They’re omnivores at least.’

And Dooku is- and I’m not saying this to shame Dooku- but he’s prissy. He likes...neatness. He’s not afraid of violence but force forbid it’s untidy. So when Yoda, excited to get his ambush predation on, takes 14 year old Dooku who’s barely ever left the sterile confines of Coruscant on a trip to a swamp world- yeaaahh it doesn’t go well. Dooku- he doesn’t mean to, honestly. How would he even know that Yoda might be sensitive about things? He’s Yoda. 

But Dooku sobbing openly and puking a little in a bush and running away from Yoda because his Master is terrifying and gross. It... kind of puts the nail in the coffin for Yoda being open about that side of himself. He doesn’t really have it in him to try again. People’s view of him is too fixed, they can’t handle him also being a flesh creature so he focuses on the luminous side of him which is and always was, genuinely, more important than him.

And that’s been the last 100 years or so. The thrill of a live kill is just a little piece of himself that he meditates away and that’s ok. He has the force. He has the order. He’s old anyway, a real hunt would probably hurt his joints. 

And then in comes Luke, radiating Light and earnestness and Jedi serenity while also holding out a very tasty looking live frog. And Yoda realizes Dooku’s not around, he’s surrounded by a council he trusts and respects and likes, none of whom are 14 year olds, all of whom have seen the galaxy and seen worse. He is almost seizing the moment but there’s a little part of him that shriveled up when Dooku cried that’s having a hard time accepting this.

“Want it for yourself, you do not?” Yoda cackles, playing off the offer.

Luke smiles sheepishly and pulls out another live frog. “I was saving it for later. Forgive me Master, your senses are keen as ever I see.”

And Yoda...it’s not about the bribe, really, so much as the symbolism, and it’s not about the flattery either, but darn is the kid really pulling out the stops to make himself likable. And he is a kid, to Yoda anyway. Everyone is these days. What does he care about numbers when there’s a boy smiling like his third padawan, an adorable Rodian who took great delight in their more amphibious and wild missions?

Yoda snatches one of the frogs and slowly raises it in a parody of a toast. Luke does the same. The rest of the council quietly watches in various shades of bewilderment and bemusement.

They’re not actually going to eat that right? Mace thinks. Ugh I hate frogs the skin is so slimy. Shaak Ti thinks. I cannot believe they’re not even offering me one. Yaddle thinks.

And Yoda bites the head off the frog in a quick snap of his jaws, the rest following rapidly. Luke does the same- a slight assist from the force helping his less specialized mandible tear through skin and bone in a well practiced move. He chews slower, but finishes the frog soon enough, the rest of the council looking on with deep uncertainty and a tiny bit of hunger, but no actual fear. They’re Jedi Masters; they’ve eaten everywhere, it’s just a little weird for a human to be eating a live animal and Yoda as far as anyone knew only ate stew and also they were in the middle of a council meeting.

Yoda belches and Luke smiles genially.

“Take you on as my padawan learner, I will. Much to learn you have, much to teach you, I do.”

Luke beams. The council looks on in shock. 

“Master Yoda,” Mace Windu says hesitantly, “He’s clearly in his late 20s, at the earliest. If this is about the... frog thing-”

“Was a pleasant surprise, the frog. The reason for my decision, it is not. Had some training already, he has. Know each other before this day, we do. Taking over for a Master passed into the force, I am merely. Our custom, this is.”

Luke bows lowly and an initiate is summoned to escort him to the quartermasters and then the long-empty padawan suite next to Yoda’s chambers. 

Qui-Gon and Anakin are brought in and. Well. It’s a little hard for them to simply reject the boy after Yoda just pulled that stunt. He’s sent to the initiates dorm, eventually. Mace Windu has a headache from the shatterpoints blinking in and out of existence. Shaak Ti is delighted to discuss a hunting trip with Master Yoda and his new padawan learner Luke Svader. 

The force dances.

[wisteria-lodge]

lion primary w/ badger morality + badger secondary (snake model)

after some recent life events (that makes them sound dramatic, more just happenings) and i think just generally coming into myself more as a person i've been reevaluating my own sorting. i've previously thought of myself as a snake primary with lion and bird models, and a snake secondary with bird and badger models. i love this system and have that level of interest in hearing your interpretation of it all, as well as giving some structure to my own introspection. this might be a bit long, so read and reply at your own discretion.

I’m interested in that Snake secondary with Bird AND Badger model. Normally Snakes seem to skew to just one (and generally that’s Bird.) 

the whole secondary thing is much simpler, i've become more confident in my own abilities over time and realized that i quite like taking on a delegator/facilitator role in group settings. i'd like to say i'm good at it too, pretty naturally so. it's something i've received compliments on, and those compliments hit in a way that reminds me that it's something i value. i'm not sure how this fits in really to any secondary; there's no prep work involved, it feels much more like seeing the problem/task, seeing the needs and wants of the people involved (feel helpful, accomplish the task, rest, feel comforted), finding ways to match those up in an optimal way, and directing people to enable that. 

So this is a description of a Badger secondary. A *good* description of a *Courtier* badger secondary, specifically. Which is an Automatic secondary just like Snake is (which is probably where that Snake sorting was coming from.)

The reason I feel comfortable calling Courtier Badger a Prep-Work secondary is because the longer you spend with the group (or the person) the more effective your secondary gets. I find that there’s usually a pretty exhausting period of getting-to-you right at the beginning (which I think of as “cold reading”) but then you figure things out and can just kind of... flow. 

it's also something that i hate to see done poorly. 

oooh that Badger secondary focus on things being done *properly.*

leadership (as much as i kind of hate the word. people don't need paternalistic leaders, they need guidance and some organization to get to where they need to be) should be taken on by individuals out of care for others, not a personal need for control to keep oneself comfortable. 

That is very much a Badger secondary’s description of ideal leadership - and Badger secondaries can absolutely be leaders, they just have a very specific way of sort of leading from the middle. 

i know there's some primary in there too, 

Secondaries are often so much a part of you, and so close to your core that they feel like moral imperatives, they feel like primaries - even though they’re not. 

what i value in life now that i trust myself enough to listen. 

I suspect that your primary might have been burned for a little while there. 

what i've thought of as my snake secondary is still there: i'm adaptable, i generally try not to do things that make my own life harder, even if it involves some lying (though generally not to my closest people. those relationships are a priority to me)

To me this sounds like healthy human stuff, or really just *good boundaries* stuff. So far I’m not seeing Snake secondary for you - you’re reading like a Badger with really healthy boundaries. 

i love coming up with things on the fly, and will talk things into going my way. it's how i play my dnd characters, it's fun for me, but i do question whether it is my truest method at my core 

^ This does sound like Snake secondary, but because it’s presented in terms of fun, play, a very specific situation and a literal game... that does make me think it’s a model you’ve built for yourself. 

i've also been somewhat neatly presented with a situation in which my people and my ideals conflict. one of my closest people recently, through actions and explicitly through words has shown that we have quite different ideas of what the limits are on respecting someone's autonomy (in this case, someone else i care about). for him, these limits pop up when he views someone as irrational/mentally ill/unstable. to me, this is ableist, and specifically in a way that does present real danger to me and those i care about when taken to an extreme. after trying to discuss this with the friend in question, i don't think that is likely to come up in our relationship, but it still makes me deeply uncomfortable in a way i'm not sure i can get over.

Hmmm. Well on one hand, this is a conflict about defining communities, and identifying and then protecting the most vulnerable member of that community. And that’s Badger primary. On the other hand... a focus on freedom and “autonomy” (which also shows up in your dislike of “paternalistic leaders”) is REAL Lion primary. And of course Lion primaries can wear Badger morality, and look very Badger from the outside. 

Also that way that the perceived danger is hypothetical at this point... but still makes you deeply uncomfortable and very possibly means you might have to cut ties with this person... THAT makes me think Lion. Badgers and Snakes absolutely have limits, and will absolutely cut ties... but they’re very practical about it. Someone needs to have actually done harm before they feel moral about kicking them out of the community. 

previously, i didn't think there was a line where i would choose my ideals over my closest people in the sense of ending relationships, but now i think there definitely is, though i'm still unsure exactly where it falls.

autonomy is something i value (with limits). i feel that deeply and it is something i consciously name. i value my relationships with my closest people immensely. at the same time, sometimes people are not who you thought they were, and while i am perfectly willing to live with differing priorities in life, i respect my own moral judgement too much to have no limits. there's a mix of gut feeling and schema building in the background. i feel deep in my chest that people deserve to make their own decisions and learn from the natural consequences

I think I’m doubling down on Lion for you. There’s a lot here about ideals, feeling, moral judgement, and autonomy again. Clearly you value your people, and your morality has an intensely Badger flavor to it... but the scaffolding seems Lion. 

perceived "irrationality" or stigmatized diagnosis is an especially vile reason to deny that. i can back this up, i know why i feel this way. people i love dearly have been immensely harmed by involuntary institutionalization and lack of agency due to systemic ableism. i myself am autistic, and while i can be very level-headed, i can assure you that when i'm overstimulated or having a meltdown i do not look rational, reasonable, or sane to your average neurotypical outsider.

You’re hitting me with an intensely Felt Cause. Yes, the Cause revolves around protecting a specific at-risk group, which is a kind of Badger flavor... but I think I recognize that very Lion fire. 

i have yet to decide how to proceed with my relationship with my friend, but as i think about it, and i do regularly, i often consider the shc system, and what it means to choose between someone i love so much it feels as if they've grown into a part of me and some of the ideals i feel most deeply. 

It’s a terrible thing either way. No one *wants* to have to make a decision like that. But there is a choice that will feel more moral, and more justified. 

i ask to know how this sounds to an outside perspective. when i try to take one myself, i think "wow! that sounds awfully idealist of you," but it's never clear whether that's just because of my own goalposts wrt ideals vs people. maybe lion primary, i feel an awful lot, though i take care to put it into words which feels bird-ish, though possibly attributable to my own struggles identifying my feelings and emotions.

That’s honestly just you being a responsible Lion. 

hope you get something out of reading this! i have more peace of mind, if less clarity on the sorting of my snakey liony birdy badgery self after writing it. i'm sure you have your asks open for a reason, so i won't apologize for sending this.

I could go either way for you. Badger IS possible. But I’m leaning Lion. 

[missnight0wl]

So, I talked quite a bit about Peregrine lately, and… You guessed it, I’m gonna talk about him some more. Because there’s one thing in the recent chapter (Y7Ch40) that really made me think, especially after reading the newest datamines (so spoilers for that as well).

Also, this is kind of written in reference to this post by @indigobackfire​. She talked there about two ideas: Peregrine impersonating our real father or selling the siblings to R. And while she talked more about the second possibility, I’m gonna focus on the first one.

Finally, disclaimer for this whole post: I still do not trust vault!Jacob. I will actually talk about it a bit more in another post because there’s the ask about it waiting in my inbox. However, for the sake of this discussion, let’s assume Jacob is genuine and innocent.

Alright, so in Y7Ch40, we have this part when MC and Jacob talk about what they remember about Peregrine:

Their conversation is basically summarised with this sentiment:

And at first, I was like: “Yeah, well, it makes sense because they were so young when Peregrine left”. But then I realised that to have memories even like this, MC would probably have to be like… three or four years old? Which means that Jacob would be about ten. And in that case… shouldn’t he have some more solid memories? I mean, a ten-year-old is not that young. Sure, it’s still a child, and yes, it was said that Peregrine travelled a lot, so he was often absent. But on the other hand, it seems that he was a somewhat decent father once he was there. So, why Jacob’s memories are so hazy?

Well… what if it’s a hint that those memories are not real?

I mean, I have the whole theory about Peregrine controlling Rakepick through false memories. And even if I’m not right about this one, Y7Ch44 basically confirms that Olivia’s memories were tampered with to hide the truth about Duncan’s death. One way or another, there is something going on with memories. It’s also interesting how Peregrine insists on reminiscing while he’s alone with MC:

Again, it’s somewhat understandable, considering that it’s literally all he has, but… maybe he wants to make sure that MC explores properly the memories he planted?

In other words, Peregrine wouldn’t even have to impersonate our real father. He’d simply need to create the right memories. Funnily enough, it’d explain why those memories were never mentioned by MC before. They simply didn’t exist yet. And their real father? Perhaps he died shortly after MC was born or something.

By the way, I really recommend in this place to check the HP wiki page about The Toadstool Tales. Because the part “Reaction by wizarding children” says:

The Toadstool Tales were universally loathed by wizarding children, and were eventually banned, presumably by the Ministry of Magic because they had a tendency to induce uncontrollable retching in the children who read them, as well as an "immediate demand to have the book taken from them and mashed into pulp".

I don’t know if Jam City simply didn’t do their homework while they chose this book instead of The Tales of Beedle the Bard (which is both more popular in-universe and recognisable for players), but… If JC did check information about The Toadstool Tales, and chose it anyway, it’s a little bit odd. And maybe suspicious. Just sayin’.

Of course, we kind of have a problem with Dumbledore here. Because when he talks with Peregrine, he doesn’t even question that he’s our father. However, there are two things to consider. First of all, I suspect that Dumbledore pretends to be oblivious to gain an advantage over Peregrine (more about this idea in this post). And why would Peregrine believe that Dumbledore believes him? I mean, think about it. It turns out that Peregrine and the Mother met while still at Hogwarts. It’s quite possible that they also started dating back then as it seems to be a trend in the wizarding world. So, why wouldn’t Dumbledore assume that they eventually got married and got kids? I imagine that a Headmaster doesn’t necessarily follow the private lives of his former students – or at least that’s what Peregrine could think. And notice that Dumbledore technically talks about him only as a student. I believe we didn’t interact so far with anyone who would actually know Peregrine as our father (before our introduction, at least). 

Also, we can make it extra creepy! Because we can all agree that the siblings are super important for some reason, right? But what if they’re special not because they’re related to Peregrine, but because they’re related to the Mother? What if there’s some prophecy or something that the Mother will bear extraordinary children one day? Peregrine learnt about it somehow as a student already, and that’s why he tried to get together with her. It didn’t work out for some reason, so now, he’s trying to take us by force. Isn’t it delightfully creepy?

I know I’m getting totally carried away, but I’m kind of having fun.

Seriously though, even if Peregrine is our biological father after all… I still feel like we can expect some more memory tampering when it comes to him and MC.

[sepublic]

I honestly barely even remember Maggie even exists. It truly surprises me to learn that a one-note racist bitch who's only purpose was to antagonize Anne is being given so much attention by the fandom.

WAS given attention- Since Seasons 2 and 3 have brought their developments, lore, characters, etc., Maggie is largely forgotten. But as someone who joined shortly after Amphibia’s first season finished airing, there was definitely that period where Maggie had inexplicable popularity. It’s over but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place- I’m bringing it up now because better late than never, since I never saw anyone address this issue. And predictably, I’m pretty sure most of this focus happened on Twitter and Reddit.

Still, that was a dark and annoying time and I can’t help but suspect that Maggie’s cameo in Marcy at the Gates was in response to her popularity, which... I am NOT a fan of whatsoever. I don’t know if Matt himself came up with the idea or allowed it, but like I said- Anne’s experiences as a Thai-American is clearly meant to represent Matt’s from childhood and even now! So to see some parts of the fandom latch onto Maggie, who is clearly representative of the racism Matt went through...

It just feels incredibly disrespectful towards the creator of this show and Amphibia’s very premises as Matt’s love letter to Thai culture, his own wonder visiting Thailand for the first time as a kid! It feels disrespectful to Anne and bordering on white favoritism, with people dismissing Anne’s own suffering from this racism to prioritize talking about Maggie; It’s hilariously tone-deaf. And it really does feel like people completely miss the point- Again the point of the show, which characters matter, that scene, etc. It’s like this meme;

Misplaced priorities and all; It’s not as bad but it reminds me of how some Fallout fans don’t realize that the series is critiquing capitalism and American nationalism, and so ironically praise the ‘aesthetics’ that become hollow as a result. Seeing people crowd around Maggie when that scene and the premise itself critiques what her character stands for is, ugh.

But again, it seems to have chilled down and stopped... Although there IS that one fan-game that recently came out, which of course has Maggie as one of its three playable protagonists. I guess I waited so long to voice my issue because a part of me, alas, didn’t want to ‘ruin people’s fun’? I can understand Maggie being included as a bully and antagonist in fan content, but the disproportionate appreciation for her character (as sometimes sympathetic?!?) felt wrong. Part of the reason I’m choosing just now to bring it up is because it seems the fandom has stopped caring about Maggie and making content for her, now that there are much better characters; So I’m not messing with anyone’s ‘fun’ by addressing the problem, nor inviting backlash from people still passionate about her character.

Needless to say, I was baffled and offended when I first found out people latched onto Maggie as another classmate of Anne’s; Vince and Cheyenne are literally right there.

Maybe this fandom’s obsession with three’s as a result of the show’s compelled people to round out Cheyenne and Vince with a third member to make a trio (with Maggie as the only other named classmate), but still. Besides, Season 3 has brought us Gabby, who is also a white girl with freckles and orange hair -whose name even rhymes with Maggie’s- but isn’t racist and actually cares about Anne;

(In hindsight Gabby now feels like a superior replacement to Maggie, made by the creators so people stop talking about that racist. The Virgin Maggie VS the Chad Gabby amirite.)

[anna-dreamer]

Some things they cut from Finrod

Wanted to discuss some songs in Finrod the Rock Opera that are absent in the current version. Here i will mention Feanorians Fighting and Thingol&Feanorians. And i grabbed a chance to talk about Thingol’s role a bit! 

I will try to explore what exactly the opera lost when those two songs disappeared from it. 

Now, important note. I will be talking about some downfalls of these songs which i do not miss in the current version. Some are relatively objective (Finrod is not perfect after all), some are only a matter of personal taste. If we disagree on some of them it’s perfectly fine! And i swear, I do love Finrod very much. I just also love dissecting it. 

I will review both Feanorians Fighting and Thingol&Feanorians since they go back to back and were both cut in the current version. 

So. What, among other things, was cut from the opera along with Feanorians Fighting? 

С&C interacting with each other and having a conflict! The first show last weekend (23rd October) once again made me realize that in current state С&C tend to turn into this one-minded entity full of spite, stubbornness, and evil-just-because with not a lot of thought behind it. They surely lack a shared number where they would live and breathe on stage a bit more. 

С&C's motivation being more complex than just cease Nargothrond. You guys swore an Oath, remember? Here they at least address the possibility that Finrod and Beren are going to get a silmaril. Their motivation consists not only of power hunger, but also of the Oath driving them. And later there is Luthien, a girl they really want! And there lies a conflict. Then Thingol gives them a choice that ultimately makes them abandon the silmarils and focus on their power and lust. And they know it. And they see what will happen to them in the end for it - Падение. 

Some sweet sweet words. Some of them are as fanon-y and as shitpost-y as they get! And i personally love it. Что стоишь, как пень? Корону подними!, Не копти, как факел!, Это, брат, идея хоть куда! and Это, брат мой, обидно! Overall there is some good writing there (the awkward parts i will address later, there is no Finrod without awkward parts!).

The three-part Oath presence is the opera. Not only C&C reprise their Oath here like good musical characters, they also lay ground for their final Oath-related number, Ненависть. From Древняя клятва ведёт за собою наш род - to Клятву скрепить о cильмарилах мы призывали Древние Силы! - to Клятва дана, и над нами нависла тень её - it used to be a solid structure, a gradual flow of emotion. Now... i can’t say it’s falling apart cause it’s not, but it is clearly not that powerful anymore.  

What else got cut that i personally don’t miss. 

С&C’s seeming obliviousness towards the Oath. Frankly i don’t appreciate the wording Ты забыл в пылу спора / Нашу клятву Феанора. It feels like the Oath is being treated too lightly here by the narrative. It’s not that kind of oath you can just forget for a while, not when there is an expedition, be it a hopeless one, that intends to do just what you have sworn to do. You can resent it, be conflicted about it, but forget? I don’t think so. Remember Darkness Everlasting? 

Finrod’s on brand awkward phrases. That same Нашу клятву Феанора, oh boy. Let it at least be Феанору. Because that possessive pronoun along with Feanor’s name in genitive both possessively relating to клятва just ruin a stylistically smooth stanza, it’s such a bummer! Then, Он на пути нашей клятвы не может стоять! It’s honestly not that offensive, but i strongly suspect here a calque from English He can’t do that, meaning We cannot permit that. At face value, without this calque in mind, there is a possible double reading that implies that Beren is literally incapable of impeding Feanorians, and in this case it’s undesirable. 

What, among other things, was cut from the opera along with Thingol&Feanorians?

Thingol’s continuing role of opera’s comic relief. With Melian’s aria shifted towards the beginning, Thingol’s character loses some of its comedic potential. Я его послал! is cut, for instance (that one i don’t miss though). And with Thingol&Feanorians we also lose many funny moments. Что за шум, а потасовки нет? is a slightly processed Что за шум, а драки нету?, a Russian proverb perfectly describing anyone’s perspective when they walk on Feanorians nearly ripping each other apart. Экий драматический момент! is another thing. Comedic effect is reached here by mashing up different styles together. Экий is a vernacular, драматический момент is a bookish phrase with a pseudo-intellectual flavor to it in this context. Another thing - in 2008 version Thingol’s actor chose to sing Экий драматический момент, not reducing О and with a hint of Э in момент. This is a stylistic choice depicting (along with things mentioned above) Thingol as this want-to-be smart but ultimately not really cultured person, a pretender with recourses but without any proper education (commedia dell'arte vibe). Then there are -ение words, those are more Officialese-sounding, Я ж имею предложенье, чтобы завершенье получил сюжет. And, of course, Thingol is being self-aware here and he is breaking the fourth wall. That’s not all that he does but i think it’s the most important stuff. 

Opera’s take on Feanorians in Nargothrond. As i said, it cuts a great deal of plot and character development. The idea behind that development is another question, and i will address it. 

Melian’s reaction to Thingol’s extended fuckery. 

What else got cut that i personally don’t miss.

Opera’s take on Feanorians in Nargothrond! Which, at least to my mind, is implausible and hands down ridiculous! Thingol giving Luthien away to a Feanorian? Them ruling both Doriath and Nargothrond? Yeah, ok. If we needed to complete the plot, surely there were other ways to do so. @quixoticanarchy​ has a really cool take on this mess though! 

Thingol’s major role of comic relief. This is especially a matter of personal taste. As for me, Thingol’s role as comic relief feeds into Finrod’s tonal problem that is not small. The most jarring thing for me was always Я его послал! and sheer lack of gravity around this decision. He just dropped Doom on his whole family! Honestly, narrative, no time for Pantalone! Then, those same comedy bits that look well on paper just don’t land for me in this narrative. They seem anachronistic, shallow, out of place, much like Sauron being Koschei. It’s like the opera is trying to figure itself out, should it be a crack fanfic or a serious adaptation? I personally think it struggles to do both at once.

Finrod’s on brand awkward phrases. Если вы ко мне вернёте дочь - it’s a hands down mistake. No preposition should be here, it should be Если вы мне вернёте дочь. Кто ее от Берена оттащит прочь is grammatically correct, but stylistically painful. Clearly just used for rhythm sake. At least it stresses Thingol’s treatment of Luthien. And my favorite, Что, ужели есть вакансия? This is a crude lexical misusage. Вакансия, much like a vacancy in English, is an unoccupied position or job. It’s not what Celegorm is trying to ask about. Whether he is referring to one who will rule in Nargothrond (more likely) or one who will marry Luthien - he is asking, have you found the right person yet? He wouldn't ask whether there is an open spot, because he knows there it. Luthien is unmarried, and Nargothrond’s throne is abandoned. The word Celegorm is looking for is кандидатура. Another Officialese word in consistency with the whole song tone. It should be there, not вакансия. It’s such a jarring mistake honestly i’m just sad about it. 

Ok so here we are! I won’t draw any conclusions whether it’s better or worse without these two songs. In my mind there are a lot of strong point for their removal, but upon that there is some void left that i wish was filled.

Thank you for reading! If you’re interested in my nerdy editorial rants, here is my dissection of Amarie.