#(( like both have aspects of like. letting loose and letting her anger take over ))

[moonspirit]

Do u think Mr Leonhart will ever do something to Annie again? And if he did how would people react.

Idk why but I can see Annie post cannon trusting her farther again completely, possibly to the point of living with him straight away,and getting hurt. Going to the shared house one day late at night, visibly hurt badly bruised eye. They take her in ask her what happened and she doesn’t say anything.

How would they react if her farther starts shouting at her in front of them? Or even raises his hand at her? Who will be the one to step in front of her, who will she go to when scared?

(Please go into detail I love your writing)

Hello anon! Sorry I've taken a little while to answer :3

I think the question of whether Mr. Leonhardt will "physically" hurt Annie again is one that depends on the facts and circumstances of their relationship post-rumbling. If we assume, as in common interpretation, that Mr. Leonhardt is a changed man after losing Annie for so many years, then it would certainly be blood-curdling if he reverts to using violence on her again. However, not entirely shocking, given his past.

So let's entertain this idea. You know, it may not be that Annie "trusts" her father completely now that they're united, but more that she's so happy to have him alive and return to him at all, considering that was her only (and initial) goal. (Whether what she gets out of this father-daughter relationship actually makes her happy is a whole other matter). This could see her not expecting to be at the receiving end of his anger and physical rage anymore - so when it happens, she takes the full blow, caught unaware and too shocked to block him out of fear that she'll hurt him again like she hurt his knee.

Because he's her father and they're both alive - she can't possibly do anything to hurt him anymore.

Although, abusive parental relationships are quite hard to get out of; they tend to keep a vice grip on you because of that very aspect of it - it's a parental relationship. A parent. Your very own parent. Not just anybody, your parent.

Although, when shit hits the fan and it happens that the others witness Annie either being physically hurt, or returning home carrying the signs of it, or being yelled at with shaking fists - it's not going to be pleasant.

See, post-canon Annie lives with a family of five, not including her father. These are Armin, Pieck, Reiner, Jean and Connie, the latter four of whom grow to see Annie as a sister-figure, however much she scowls at them. I like to think the Alliance six are fiercely protective of one another.

For them to see someone like Annie, who they knew in the past for being fearsome, strong and unyielding, actively letting herself get hurt and beaten and injured... by the hands of somebody she only wanted to seek some love from...

Guaranteed, there's not a person that won't see red.

As for who will step to shield her from incoming attacks, I think Reiner or Jean (or both). They have good reflexes, both capable of overpowering any man, even if that man is just crippled, like Mr. Leonhardt now. Not to say Armin can't overpower him. Just that I don't see him being the one to push back; he's more likely to rush to Annie's aid along with Pieck & Connie.

Pieck is the one to take Annie in and help her out of her clothes and into clean pyjamas or big, loose shirts. She'll help her wash her face and hold ice to her swollen cheek.

And lastly, Armin will be the one to put his gentle hands over a decade's worth of trauma and pain, being Annie's rock henceforth, going to work in pulling out the needles stuck all over her body and replacing them with soft, red, threads soaked with his love.

[reviewdiaries]

Nan-spreading: an exploration of Bro!Nancy

I want to look a little bit closer at Bro!Nancy because it was a really fun and fascinating device from the writers to explore a lot of the emotions that Nancy would normally not allow herself to express. Do not misread this, I’m not saying she behaved appropriately, I think how she treats Ace (and to a lesser extent the others but the brunt of her attitude is levelled at Ace) is awful and quickly unravels from “banter” to verbal and physical abuse. But I do think that allowing Nancy these opportunities to explore her emotions (or lack thereof) was a fun choice by the writers.

Nancy has spent the last weeks by both necessity and choice repressing her feelings and emotions. There have been odd outbursts when she’s felt truly comfortable with the people she’s expressing them to (her dads), but on the whole she’s felt that she cannot safely express herself so it’s safest not to. She is at least acknowledging most of what she’s feeling to herself, which is huge progress from where her character began - baby steps. We’ve seen this from Nancy before though, and her not acknowledging how she’s feeling and pretending she’s fine never ends well. 

She’s been through so much over the course of the show and before - she’s lost parents and lovers and dealt with trauma after trauma. And whilst she has talked about the alternate timeline with her dads, we’re not made aware of how much she actually disclosed to them of what happened (for example does Ryan know that he died too?) and she’s not told any of the others. She’s almost certainly suffering from PTSD and has a PhD in repression at this stage. Grief on top of trauma on top of more grief.

And suddenly she can’t access it. She knows it’s there, but she can’t feel it in the same way, like pushing up against a glass window unable to break through. Having her own emotions removed from her is a violation, and she understandably lashes out over it. But without a big bad directly responsible for her predicament it comes out at Ace for a variety of reasons - he’s the one with her the most throughout the episode, a lot of her emotions have been focussed on him over the preceding weeks, and to a certain degree this is his fault. He is after all the one who knocked the water into her face…

It’s a fascinating window into the idea of what happens when Nancy gets angry. Too often women aren’t allowed to get angry - told they’re overreacting, that they’re being ridiculous - and finally Nancy is given permission to. She gives herself permission to. Anger is one of the only things available to her, but it’s not the only thing. Fury, rage, want and need, all the physical aspects that she has crammed down into a tiny box are let loose at once in a messy and uncontrolled fire that burns everyone it comes into contact with. She allows herself to take up space, to get in people’s faces, to furiously spew whatever she thinks, to aggressively flirt with Ace, to try and needle him to make him feel the same anger she feels. Because she’s so angry about the curse, furious that she had a chance at happiness and Temperance stole it from her, left her alone in this. (She’s not alone, but she’s not allowing herself to see that yet.) Because she’s allowed her hope to be crushed and it makes her furious that Ace hasn’t and he keeps pushing and pushing and pushing her to have hope again. 

She can’t, every time she allows herself to, someone else is taken from her, the other shoe drops and everything just keeps hurting. The water forces her to understand how it feels to have things withheld from you, to keep slamming herself futilely against a wall separating her from what she needs. She finally gets a glimpse of how Ace is feeling being kept from certain key details that she’s chosen he doesn’t need to know. And on the flip side Ace gets a glimpse of (a very heightened and overblown version) how Nancy has felt to continually be pushed and pressured. No Ace has never made her feel like eye candy or a piece of meat, but he has over the last twelve hours (the end of 4x01 and the start of 4x02) pushed over and over and over and not truly  listened to her saying no when pressed for details. They’re neither of them managing to communicate effectively or listen to what the other one is truly saying, and the supernatural hijinks in this episode offer them a small (ridiculously overdramatic) peek at how the other is feeling. 

Nancy hasn’t allowed herself to think about those days with Ace before he died, before she ended up back here torn up by grief and alone. If she thinks about it she unravels - the choke hold she has on herself is the only way she thinks she can get through this. It is a small, guarded piece of her heart that she has protected by any means necessary, and Ace (understandably, how could he know without knowing what he’s asking) has no idea what he’s asking her to divulge. He is consumed by the need to know because it’s a problem he can’t fix without all the facts and he is so done with Nancy lying and withholding information from him. It’s the kind of story that needs quiet and understanding and a slow gentle approach to show Nancy she isn’t alone, that he will protect her and hold these most intimate precious parts of her. Instead he effectively uses a crowbar once he sees there’s something she’s hiding. All Ace can see is Nancy has given up on them, but whenever anyone else comes to her with a problem she reassures them they’ll find a way to fix it because that’s what they do.

By breaking out the supernatural BroJuice (and honestly I am fascinated to see how that unfolds with each individual drinking it because it clearly doesn’t affect everyone the same way) the writers gave Nancy a way to express some of what she was feeling and experiencing and to work through her anger and fear and some of the nastier feelings she was keeping bottled up. Without her suddenly feeling blocked from the emotions she’s been feeling (the ones she’s been allowing herself to feel, the ones that make Nancy Nancy) we wouldn’t have the realisations, the understanding that she cannot hold this information away from Ace, or that last gorgeous scene with her opening up to him finally. Sure I would love it if she could have reached that point in another way, but as supernatural hijinks go this one was a fascinating spin.

[mushangaa]

Hey you wonderful person. Calling you out because you are my favorite type of tagger a true godsend for any artist ever because not only do you make me do happy wiggles anytime I see you in my notifs but also you are the kind of person who engages and looks deeper and I appreciate this so damn much about you.

Especially since you also cottoned in on the whole thing with bismuth needing heat and pressure to form. This connection is so important because look. Frida is the oldest. She is the oldest oldest, Raph is second oldest in this story, they both share the oldest sibling title / responsibilities though, they both take care of their siblings, they both share that burden of sometimes being the adults in the house when their dad struggles with his mental health. They both sometimes feel the strain. And were is the heat connection there? Well... Raphs element is fire. He couldn't be anything else. A raging inferno that could devastate anything in his path if he let himself. Anger issues have always been a huge part of Raphaels characterization across the different versions of TMNT but Rise is precious to me specifically because of how different they play it, how he deals with it. How he reigns himself in very purporsefully because he is big and strong and he does not wanna hurt his siblings even on accident so he deals and learns and shit and this is so HHHH my jam. But Fire is not only destructive. It is also nurturing, a source of warmth, a source of safety out in the wilderness. A warm hearth to curl up in front of. Raph is both loving and caring and angry and impulsive but he will not let himself be consumed and become a danger to his family. But yeah okay so Frida and Raph are very close and play off each other and all that jazz... and if the pressure becomes to much for one, the other will step to their side and shoulder the load together and yeah... hence Bismuth (Metal) and Fire.

And yeah i know the interactions between fire and metal in the five element system are not exactly this wholesome but since I deal with 6 elements and play this a bitt more loose you can bet your ass i make Fire (Raph) and Metal (Frida) be fucking wholesome. Tho the whole fire could melt metal and metal weakens fire by conducting heat away from it could also be like.. them reigning each other in when their more destructive tendencies take hold. Frida might not be as buff as Raph but she can pin him down if she needs to, likewise he can subdue her as well. Nevermind this works too, but in a wholesome way of them checking each other if they go too far or loose control and that way they do not have to worry too much about their destructive aspects because they know they have each others back. The one person they can trust not to accidentally hurt because they are on the same level of strength, care deeply about their families and would never let harm come over their little siblings, even if that means catching an errant fist before it flies or what have you. I love them so much okay.

And I do love you as well, platonically of course, but you bring me joy and I feel seen and understood when you pick up on the little things I play around with, like the shawl thing in the picture with the younger future Leo were it is just a thin band that cannot protect him like... fuck yeah you got it knocked it out of the park your words are precious to me.

just thought i let you know

[waitlifted]

(( also and this might be because of the new sims pack but I really wanna write a werewolf cass au right now tbh. perhaps a spinoff of my “cass doesn’t take the moonstone” AU where her simmering anger eclipses cat’s entirely and the wolf curse selects her instead ))

[acapelladitty]

Heisenberg/Reader fic (nsfw)

Summary: After a short meeting with Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters barely escapes ending in bloodshed, Heisenberg is keen to show you just how much he appreciates your loyalty towards him. (Warnings includes rough sex, mild knifeplay, vandalism and restraints).

Karl Heisenberg was a selfish man.

He was selfish in almost every aspect of his life, and that selfishness also extended to you and your company. It was uncommon for him to allow you to join him when meeting others on his business outside the factory, with the only exception being your regular meetings with the Duke to acquire much needed parts for his equipment and experimentations.

However, a meeting with the Duke was necessary and the only available slot he had happened to directly follow a meeting Heisenberg had already planned with fellow Lord, Lady Dimitrescu. Due to this, options were limited, and the most sensible course of action was for you to accompany him for the meeting and then for you both to attend business discussions with the Duke within his room in the castle.

Which is how you ended up seated within the grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu with Heisenberg glued by your side as you both faced down the Lady of the castle and her three adopted daughters.

“And why should I listen to you?” Dimitrescu asks, her tone haughty as she ran a hand along the hem of her closest daughters’ dress in a loving manner. Cassandra, if the hair colour was anything to go by. Her lack of attention towards yourself and Heisenberg was intentional, a mark of disrespect, and a flare of irritation ignited within your gut at the pettiness.

“Miranda’s rules, not mine.” Heisenberg shrugged, delivering the message he had been requested to, “If you’ve got a problem then take it up with her. I don’t give a shit.”

Enjoying her mothers’ attentions, Cassandra tilted her head at her sisters as she shared a contemptuous look with them at Heisenberg’s words. Their attitude was just as rotten as their creators and it did nothing to dissuade your anger as Dimitrescu responded.

“Mother Miranda should have known better than to send a child to deliver a message to me. A true Lady should not have to deal with a foolish infant who can barely lay claim to the title of Lord.”

Against your better judgement, you can’t hold back a slight snort as Dimitrescu referred to herself as a true lady. Her hate for Heisenberg was without question and that hatred had long since leaked over to yourself and while Heisenberg was somewhat protected by his status as one of Miranda’s children, you were considered lower than dirt and she had made that opinion quite clear across your shared interactions.

She didn’t like you as you didn’t like her, and that was fine.

“Keep your filthy pet under control,” Dimitrescu snarled fixing you with a pointed glare, her hand flexing almost subconsciously against her white dress, “or I will personally put it down.”

“Is she talking to me?” You ask, glancing sideways at Heisenberg and ignoring Dimitrescu as you cut off her insult, “I’m your pet? While she’s sitting there with three bags of flies she dares to call her daughters?”

A loud chuckle escaped Heisenberg’s chest as low growls from the women ricocheted throughout the room at the brazen derision.

“You DARE insult House Dimitrescu?” Dimitrescu bellowed as she stood to her full height, the looming form admittedly very intimidating, “You dare open your common mouth against us while you sit by the side of scum like him?”

“At least he has a sense of humour,” you hold her furious gaze with a steeled spine, confident that you would be protected from harm, “and isn’t a frigid bitch living in a gifted castle.”

A lot of things happened at once as the daughter closest to your position, Bela, seemingly unable to restrain her anger any longer as her mother was insulted, leapt to her feet and withdrew her scythe from within her robes.

“I’ll bleed you dry!” The rage in her eyes was clear and her sharp blood-stained teeth were on full display as she darted quickly towards the couch you occupied, swerving across a small side-table as she advanced.

She had barely crossed the empty space between you when a pained cry escaped her throat as the scythe in her hand was wrenched free of her grip, finding a new home against her throat as the sharp tip of the blade dipped into the flesh there in warning as it froze her in place. The same went for the scythes which were hidden within the robes of Cassandra and Daniela, the weapons no longer beholden to their mistresses wishes as they bowed to Heisenberg’s influence and power and assumed a betraying position against their necks.

Along the edges of the grand hall, the armoured knights rattled as the very air in the room seemed to expand and contract in anticipation. High above, the metal grating which held the windows in place flexed and shook; a clear warning which dared any of them to move.

“Back the fuck off.” Heisenberg snarled into the room, his voice easily carrying above the feral hissing of the three daughters. Having only moved his head forward slightly, his expression was mostly hidden by his positioning and wide-brimmed hat but from your place at his side you can see the rage that is simmering behind his glasses, “Get control of your bitches before I carve them into a million pieces and leave you to clean up the mess.”

The rage that radiated from Dimitrescu’s form seemed to pulse for a moment as she flexed her long claws before a hint of uncertainty crossed her expression as her eyes darted between her three daughters. Unlike herself, they were more vulnerable to attack and it was no secret that Heisenberg’s life was worth more to Mother Miranda then their own.

There was no doubt within the room that Heisenberg would kill them, consequences be damned, and Dimitrescu could not take the risk, no matter how satisfying the reward.

Sheathing her claws, Dimitrescu straightened her back and faced Heisenberg directly.

“You come into my house, brother, and threaten my daughters with violence.” Her tone was measured, the anger buried beneath cold accusation, “Bela!” She indicated to her still body with a loose hand, “Come sit by my side, daughter. This fool and his plaything are beneath us and not worth the effort it would take to drain them.”

“Yes, mother.” Bela bit out, having no interest in peace but submissive to her mothers’ wishes as always.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as the rattling of the metal within the room subsided and the tension eased off slightly. The three scythes clatter to the ground with dramatic flair as they are released and Heisenberg rises to stand at your side, indicating you to do the same.

“You have your message,” facing Dimitrescu, he inclined the rim of his hat at her with a twisted smirk, “now do as your mother asks and make sure that it’s done in time. This meeting is over.”

Calling his hammer from the floor, it flies into his hand with ease as his free hand comes to rest on your elbow, guiding you towards the stairs in a firm grip.

“See you next week, sister.”

He calls the words over his shoulder, not bothering to spare the lady of the house a glance.

One final insult.

Passing down the stairs of the great hall, a subdued cry of rage followed by hurried footsteps and hushed voices can be heard from the space you recently vacated, and the direction of the disappearing noise suggests that Dimitrescu was retiring to her quarters.

No doubt to complain of the day’s events to her disgusting spawn.

To your side, you can sense a restless energy radiating off Heisenberg as he marches you down the stairs but before you can question him, you find your arm seized in a vice-like grasp as he pulls you into a nearby room which lies opposite the room in which you are due to attend your meeting with the Duke.

Glancing around the room, you take in the space.

It is a small bedroom, mostly consisting of one large four-poster bed which was decked out in the same extravagant nature as the rest of the castle. Overhead, a large skylight made up the centre of the ceiling with its domed shape letting in a vast amount of light while also keeping out the cold. Two sets of drawers and a vanity table make up the rest of the furniture and you turn back to Heisenberg once more to question his actions.

You open your mouth to speak but are immediately cut off by his lips on yours as his hands move to his head to pull free his hat and drop it to the floor atop his freshly discarded hammer. Pulling away for a moment, he does the same with the glasses, dropping them into the same pile before returning to your lips; his mouth insistent against yours as he bites as your lower lip demanding entrance.

“What’s this about?” You ask and a grunt escapes you as he backs you up against the wall, your shoulders connecting with the hard surface roughly as he presses a leg between your thighs.

“It makes me so fucking hard to see you stand up to that bitch,” he grunts, nuzzling his head against your neck as he inhales your smell, “a little warrior, ready to go to war with nothing but your wits.”

“I have you.” You whine back as he bites into the skin of your neck, the force enough to guarantee a mark but not enough to break skin, “I don’t need anything else. You could tear that bitch and her infested little spawn to shreds without breaking a sweat.”

At the praise he presses his body against you and you can feel the hardness against your hip.

Ah.

“So loyal,” he purrs against you, rubbing himself on your hip, “and it doesn’t go unrewarded.”

“We can’t here,” you mutter with great regret even as arousal curls low in your belly, “my biggest fan or her daughters could appear at any time and I’d rather not deal with them while you’re inside me.”

His smirk is almost feral as he pulls free his blade from the inner pocket of his coat; the same blade which never left his person as a final line of defence against possible attack. Running the blade along the hem of your shirt, you suck in a soft breath and meet his eyes, seeing your arousal reflected in his own. He had tried to get you to learn to use one for your own defence but any attempts at training barely got underway before they were lost to more carnal pursuits.

Extending his hand with a flourish, the blade sliced through the air with great force, arcing upwards as it reached its target and smashed through the skylight. The shattering of the glass was loud and you instinctively duck to avoid any of the shards as they litter the canopy of the bed and fall to the floor.

“The fly-bitches can’t stand the cold.” He explains away the act of petty vandalism, shielding your body from the glass with his own as his hand summons his knife back within his grasp, “Now, where were we…”

His hands grip at your wrists, pinning them above your head as his knife works independently at his will; the sharp blade running along the buttons of your shirt with surgical precision as it slices them off, the small buttons bouncing along the floor as they fall free to expose more of your body.

A shiver rattles through your body, a result of both the low temperature of the room as the winter winds enter through the fresh hole in the ceiling and the anticipation of events as you watch his knife slowly remove your barriers. A soft creaking from a nearby lamp holder catches your attention and you jump in surprise as the metal features flies free of the wall, coming to imbed itself around your wrists as he releases them, pinning you into place against the wall.

His knife drops to the ground as his free hands come to rest on your shirt, spreading the fabric open to fully expose your chest and his mouth is immediately drawn to your nipple as he worries the sensitive nub there between his teeth gently. It ignites a warmth in your chest that draws a low moan from your throat as you push out to meet him, encouraging him as your other nipple is rolled between his fingers to the same effect.

“Just one quick fuck,” he grunts against your chest, his hands fumbling at his slacks as he frees himself, his cock twitching in the chilled air of the room, “and then we’ll continue with our business.”

You pant as his hands grip at your slacks, carelessly thrown on before you left, and he pulls them free of you, slipping them down past your knees and allowing them to fall to the floor carelessly as he exposes your clear arousal to his sight.

Lining himself up against your entrance, he pushes in with one swift thrust and the torrid mixture of pain and pleasure rips the breath from you as you clench around him, unable to do much else. The friction is almost too much as he sets a quick pace within you, the burn spurring you on to snap your hips back to meet him as he supports your weight, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as he sheathes himself within you.

Wriggling against him as he pins you to the wall, you almost feel as though he is trying to fuck you through the stone and the rough growling of his throat as he does so is almost hypnotic as you whine and moan around him. Your fingers grip at their restraints as they are held in place by his power and your heels dig in to the soft of his back as you encourage him on.

As you cry out your pleasure, a rough hand comes to sit over your mouth as it muffles the cries. His fingers taste of oil and metal as your tongue meets them and the familiarity of it is pleasant as you moan around his hand. His cock stretches you as always and the brutal pace seems to be hitting every nerve inside of you as arousal curls your toes and tightens within your gut.

A grunt of surprise escapes you as he lifts you free of the wall, hurling you around with ease and dropping you on the bed as he continues to rut within you. It’s almost animalistic and you can do little but wrap your legs around his hips and meet every punishing thrust as your fingers dig into the flesh of his back.

Even as you whine below him, your orgasm still manages to catch you off guard as the tight band of tension within your gut snaps as your thighs tighten around him and your feet press against his spine, sheathing him within you as you clench around him and milk him for everything he’s worth. You can feel your mess but you ignore it as you focus on finishing him but he’s not far behind and, with a savage growl, you feel his cock jerk and the warmth of his release as it burns through you.

“So fucking loyal,” he snarls against your neck while his cock continues to twitch within you, each word punctuated by a lazy thrust as his pace slows, “so willing and warm and for nothing. Just for me and no one else. Mine.”

The final word is little more than a growl and, sensing that the words didn’t require an answer, you give a low grunt of acknowledgement as you release your grip of his back and allow yourself to relax into the sheets.

The bed is soft against your back as you continue to writhe against him, ignoring the mess that you’ve just made as you both enjoy the other. The chill of the room is offset by the heat of his body as he remains atop you and you focus on the strange duality as you try to steady your heaving chest.

Finally slipping free of you, Heisenberg pauses before pulling his slacks back up to wipe the mess from his cock off on to the soft bedding; leaving a noticeable stain against the expensive fabric with a satisfied smirk as he tucked himself back in.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the immature display, you focus on righting yourself even as your knees lock into place to keep you steady. Your hand dips to the floor to grasp at your underwear and slacks and you pull them on quickly, ignoring the mess which you both made as you cover it with fabric.

Your eyes settle on your poor discarded shirt.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to wear?” You ask, indicating the slashed-up fabric with an open palm. In the cold air, your nipples were peaked and walking about shirtless in the middle of winter was not an appealing thought.

His laughter is open and genuine as he considers his actions, “Oops, maybe should have thought about that. If you weren’t such a fucking tease then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Remaining silent, you stare him down.

“Fine,” he grunts as he shuffles his shoulders out of his coat, “wear this.” He tosses the coat in your direction and you grasp it between your fingers, the fabric still warm as it clung on to his body heat.

Slipping your arms within the coat, the first thought to grab you is that it smells like him; that is, it smells like copper and oil with a hint of spice that you are never quite able to place. The second thought is that it is very heavy against your shoulders and you straighten up fully to balance it correctly as you easily close it over your exposed chest.

As you go to leave the room, his presence fills the space behind you and you can feel him pressed against your back.

“I think I like you in my clothes.” You can feel his grin against your neck, “It makes it clear who you belong to and it makes me want to fuck you again right here and now.”

“Business before pleasure.” You purr, tightening the coat around you as you move through the doorway as you guide him to your meeting, “We can negotiate terms later.”

As fun as it would be, you had both kept the Duke waiting too long and you would rather not be around when Lady Dimitrescu discovered her vandalised ceiling and come-stained bedding.

Fic also available on AO3 @ DittyWrites

[zet-sway]

I wrote something angsty and spicy.

Rated: "E" for "Extremely Spicy" [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Vantablack" Pairing: Thane / FemShep (Unrequited?) Pairing: Garrus / Femshep (Mentioned) Summary: Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing.

THIS IS NOT HAPPY SHRIOS. Most of my recent work has been very soft and warm feeling - this is not that. But I want ya'll to know I have some soft happy shrios in the pipeline to make it up to you <3

Inspired by @shut-up-alexa's fic Weightless, I drew upon the moment where Thane takes a sip from a glass Shepard had just been drinking from - as was her intention. The fic itself says he tastes her lip print and sets the memory aside for when he is "alone with himself in the darkest part of the night." It was then I knew I had been visited by the smut fairy. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME WRITE FANFIC OF YOUR FANFIC :D

Sleep was difficult enough to claim, most nights.

Thane, ever a man of routine, kept to his nightly rituals like an acolyte. He began with prayer. Verses carved into his mind since his youth, silent and still as he bargained with the gods to mull the chaos of his memories, to forgive his misgivings. Meditation lasted as long as it needed to. Sleep was, after all, fruitless without a quiet mind.

Aboard the Normandy, however, nightly meditation felt like a fool’s pursuit. Shepard, returned from the waves of Kalahira’s ocean, demanded much of a man like him. In her hands, the carefully constructed fortress of his mind was like a house of cards. Reborn into the hands of the enemy, she raged, unable to trust the unfamiliar construct that was her body and searching with grief and heartache for a lover she couldn’t locate. She prodded him with questions, seared him with her gaze and her relentless upset.

Raw, heart-stricken, and reckless, her anger was justified - even if she flung it at him underhandedly. He forgave her always. To be her target was to bear her trust. He could see it clearly; she knew no other way to soothe the guilt and isolation that tore openly at both her body and her mind. In time, he was confident she would heal. Until then, Cerberus was no friend to her.

And thus tonight, like most nights, she haunted him.

At 0300, he decided on a compromise. Troubled sleep was better than none at all. After a calming herbal tea and having tended to his hygiene, he settled into his cot, nude as he so preferred to sleep. If he could sleep at all.

The minutes, and the memories, began to tick by.

"The most important aspect is intent," he’d said to her, watching her eyes follow him while he circled behind her. "A breath of hesitation will get you killed, or worse." Hands alighted on her shoulders - a companionable gesture before they both endeavored to threaten her life.

Shepard didn't flinch when he began the demonstration. Thane flattened himself against her back, one arm winding wide around her shoulders. Pressed into the curves of her body, his sweet torture began. She arched her neck - calm, trusting - offering her throat into the curl of his elbow as he tucked his arm under her chin and sealed his hand on her opposite shoulder. He steeled himself against his lust, breathing in unison with her, taking advantage of his proximity to inhale her scent as he demonstrated the headlock. Carmine hair brushed across his fingers where they were clamped on the nape of her neck, his breath washing over vulnerable, prickling skin.

Thane let the silence linger, writing the lush warmth of her body into his memory, caught in the lethal intimacy of his embrace.

"Weaken the spine by twisting," he murmured, his lips nearly brushing her ear, each word sending strands of hair ruffling on his breath. Thane closed his eyes, enflamed by her closeness, praying for mercy as she tilted back into him - a wordless exchange of scorching intent, however convinced she was to not act upon it.

His voice, barely a whisper, poured forth from intangible parts of him that hadn't known a lover's touch in over a decade.

"Apply pressure in the opposite direction."

Careful, controlled, he flexed the arm around her throat and wristed the palm at her neck. Painful to her, as he knew it would be, but not enough to truly hurt her. Nevertheless, she tensed in his arms, a kinetic shiver flowing from her body into his like the sinful call of a siren. Willing herself to trust a killer's restrained tactile intimacy, a hair-trigger away from dropping her where they stood.

"And snap."

Innate human vulnerability gave voice to her wanting. A single breath escaped her lips when she failed to contain it behind clenched teeth, her carotid artery pounding beneath smooth scales. Thane answered with his own hot rush of air against the back of her neck, a contorted gasp he hadn’t realized he was holding, torn from his throat almost against his will.

He allowed himself a blinding second more before releasing her, but not before stealing a brush of delicate skin across his lips as he pulled away. A parting gift to himself - one he paid for just hours later, when she laid her poisoned trap before him.

With the skin of her neck still irritated from their training, Shepard, mildly intoxicated herself and wrapped in a dark silk robe, presented him with a glass of her own venom. Tequila - amber and potent, an indulgence she knew full well he’d deny -- unless it was laced with his drug of choice. Her.

There upon the rim of the glass was the rosy imprint of her pigmented lips. A well of temptation, spiked with her essence. If this was a test, he'd failed spectacularly. Gods forgive him, he raised the glass to his lips under the pretense of drinking and lost himself to the faintest tastes of her mouth, entranced, savoring the traces of her beneath the mask she painted on every morning to reclaim what little of herself she believed was left. Shepard watched him with a carnivore's eyes, drawn over with night-black daggers as if to warn him. Like a rose garden, she was beautiful and wreathed in thorns. He knew better than to stray too close, but he would gladly take what meager offerings she presented - venomous or not.

This was his penance for opportunity’s kiss, stolen behind her back. A petty theft, to be sure. But even petty sins were still sins.

True to her reputation, Shepard was a fast learner. She played his game, abided by his rules, allowed him to touch her under the guise of training. She wasn’t blind to her effect on him - no. She would use him to find her turian lover. And he would let her. Selfishly, begrudgingly - willingly. What she desired would be hers for however long she allowed him to remain in her orbit.

The temptation of her lingered in his mouth and still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be until he could taste it directly from her lips, sealing his arms around her, a serpent beckoning her to taste of her own forbidden desires.

“What does it taste like?” She’d asked, as he sampled her forbidden offering.

The moment played over in his mind as he savored what little he had of her. Wax and pigment woven through with the fire of her essence. The rubicund flavors of her mouth, lit from within by the burn of tequila. The leash of his desire held firm in her little human hands, ever reminding him that she was not his to hold.

Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing. Filched moments clutched around and within him, lust coiled like a snake in his gut, rearing its head between his legs. A call of arousal demanding to be answered - painfully, without another to share in his release.

He shifted on his cot, loosely draped in the delicate, tight-woven sheets that slipped over his scales as he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm behind his head in frustration. All the meditation and control in the galaxy would not be enough tonight. Like that sinful sip of tequila, his blood was on fire in a way he could not ignore.

Cool air met his scales as he pulled the sheets back, uncaring when his calves tangled within them. Alone and aroused, he would do as his body willed.

Memories welding together behind closed eyes, conjuring visions to answer his need. A slick tongue traced over his - a kiss. A common intimacy that he burned so brightly for, and had been denied to him for what felt like a lifetime. She might hesitate at the first touch, a breath of uncertainty when she met the split of his tongue, unknowing how much he ached to spoil her with that small perk of interspecies diversity. He drank of her mouth, absorbing her heat as he glided one palm over his length in teasing strokes.

As she so often was on the battlefield, the woman he imagined was demanding. Soft, unblemished hands pushed him back, fisting in his clothes as she, lost in her burdened reality, both pushed and pulled them together. Would she think of her lover? Of endless nights entangled in the long limbs of the famously obstinate Vakarian? In truth, Thane did not care. In his selfishness, it mattered not whose hands she thought of when he finally drew back the long elegant robe she so loved to taunt him with. Watching the fabric slip past her shoulders to reveal skin so bright it was nearly blinding in the dim light of his quarters. She was untarnished, even by the freckles that once dusted the high points of her features. The way she hated her body was something he understood all too well. A product of another's vision, a construct and tool to be used by others, with little regard for her dispositions. A weapon financed and fabricated by Cerberus. She obsessed over her body not out of vanity, but in rage. Such had begun their training.

He wanted fiercely to call upon any memory of her hands on him, but he had precious few. As yet, she hadn't managed to land a single blow on him in all of their sparrings. But little by little, she was getting stronger. Almost imperceptibly so. His grip tightened around his length at the thought - hovering over the phantom taste of her on his tongue, the beguiling wrap of her fingers around the neck of a glass bottle. She knew her strength, knew exactly what she was doing. The way she toyed with him, oh, it made his breath catch. Tempt me, touch me.

He wanted her to overpower him, to trail those supple human fingers over the hard planes of his body as she took her pleasure from him any wretched way she chose. Her soft hand coiling around his shaft, a thumb smoothing his own weeping seed over the head of his length. He gripped himself harder, scales beginning their familiar bite into his flesh.

It wasn't enough. No. He wanted more.

Alone, yet weighted down with the shame of indulgence, he paused and reached beneath his cot, searching the small compartment that contained his personal effects. From it, he produced a single leather glove, turning it over in consideration. He disliked wearing gloves, the material impeding finer sensations he preferred to feel through his bare hands when striking for another's life. But they were a tool like any other in his arsenal. Useful for eliminating evidence and now, apparently, for self-gratification.

He couldn't have her hands on him, but he could have this. Soft and worn from wear, the material slid over his palm and fingers and he reached back into the darkness for himself.

It was different. Not quite what he imagined of her hands, but different enough from the texture of his own scales. He squeezed, a quiet sigh drifting from his throat as he tested his grip, repositioning his fingers, letting the sparse fluid of his sheath accumulate in his palm. Touch me, he willed her. Take from me what you please.

In the long years after he'd failed as a husband and a father, the pull of guilt and desire was but an old companion to him. He bore his sin on strong shoulders, praying to his gods, to his wife, to Shepard, for patience and the gentle hand of forgiveness. But even he, merely a man, could succumb to the base desires of sentience. She was imperfect and wracked with loneliness just as he was.

In the maelstrom of his thoughts, her beautiful, terrible wrath and desire descended on him like a drug.

He found it to be true that Shepard did, as he had heard, “fight like a krogan in a bar fight." That tactic had carried her this far, but there was much more to learn. With each day spent in rigor and training, he showed her how to control her fury. It wouldn't be long before she would learn to recognize an opening when he gave it to her. Beneath the lust of his own touch, he could think of little else than to tempt her with feigned vulnerability, if only just to see how far she would go. To let her catch his feet with a sweep of her leg and knock him flat on his back, all for the opportunity to peel him out of his training leathers and shatter the last barriers between them.

Such a union would destroy their delicate alliance. But here in his thoughts, any perceived fragility was his alone to endure. His mind raced with the thought of her entrapping him on the sparring mat, giving himself over in sweet surrender just as he’d done with her lipstick-imprinted well of liquor. How eagerly he would be her captive, submitting his pounding heart and body to her exploitations until she arrived at the manifestation of his need, screaming for her touch, twitching beneath her hands.

He cared little for how she took him. In his heart of hearts, he wanted to worship her, to show her how even reborn into a frighteningly reconstructed body she was still everything he ever saw in her and more. He wanted to taste her lips, her flesh, to map the broad expanses of her with his hands and tongue, to see her skin darken with the distinct human blood-flush of wanting…

But she would never let him. That privilege was for her lover alone, the handsome turian with indigo clan markings the same color as Shepard's lacquered fingernails. Thane's place was beneath her, and even that very thought lit his nerves afire with wanting as he drew out his pleasure with his gloved hand, aching for her to make him dance in her palm as she did when he bested her in combat drills.

If he couldn't worship her, he would more than willingly submit to her control. How he wanted to be the one to satiate the desperate woman within her. To see the visceral spread of her thighs around him, luscious hips rolling like waves over him as she shook loose her robe, and with it, the shackles of her desolation. His eidetic memory pulled forth every gasp and cry she had unwittingly fed him as they trained together. Her sonorous human voice played over his nerves, singing into his blood with every pump of his hand, a soundtrack to the Shepard he'd constructed in his fantasy. Her wide-shut eyes, wanton in the throes of pleasure, drawing him into her depths to answer the sanguine howl in her blood. The feral woman he knew, unleashed and longing to fill the void of two missing years with just a single shred of affection as she held out for her chosen lover.

Even if she overlaid him with vivid imaginings of turian plates and talons, Thane trembled to be the vessel of her desperate need. How badly he wanted to give her this. Heart pounding, he painted her in his mind with too-smooth skin the color of sun-soaked Rakhana sands. Speckled with tiny beads of sweat that carved trails down the valley between her unbound breasts with every rise and fall of her body. Her hair stuck to her dampened, vulnerable throat, still wrapped in a delicate lace of scale-borne irritation from their training. Her eyes fell closed, darkened lashes sweeping across flushed cheeks as she reached between her legs to galvanize her pleasure.

He lost himself to the vision of her face as she used his body to reach her peak of ecstasy. She was wild, clawing back her humanity through animalistic impulse that shredded her reality for what few blissful seconds her biology would allow - and it finished him. Buried to the hilt inside her, he surrendered with every nerve in his body. He choked back a shout, neck pitched back, vicious sparks of need pouring through the conduit of his lust and claiming her in a torrent of screaming, feral possession. For a split second of eternity, he was lost, trembling before the avatar of his own carnal lust, wondering if he could ever be forgiven for wanting her so savagely.

And then it was over.

Minutes drifted by as he laid still, assuaged yet afflicted with the sin of indulgence. Gods forgive him, he wanted her. And perhaps even more forbidden than the pleasures of her body was the thought of holding her.

Indeed, the simple intimacies of loving someone seemed by far the most out of his reach. To stroke the sweat-slicked skin of her back, nudging his face into her damp hair as she laid atop him panting, satisfied, permeated with his essence and high on his venom. The rosy, burning flavor of her venomous gift lingered in his mouth. So close and yet nearly further away than she had ever been, pushing and pulling him in heartache.

Slowly, as he tidied himself, his phantom lover evaporated. Away she wisped, searching for the embrace of her wayward lover, wherever he might be.

His heart rate slowed as the seconds slipped by. 0400. Training in two hours.

[pradaksj]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored (m.)

♤ pairing: jungkook/reader

♤ genre: 1920′s au, burlesque/clubsinger!reader, infidelity au , angst, smut.

♤ rating: mature

♤ word count: 17,000+

♤ warnings: infidelity/affair [plays a big role in story so please do not read if the topic makes you feel uncomfortable, hint: y/n is not the one getting cheated on LOL], A LOT of angst lol the smut is just an add on to the story basically, explicit language, cigar smoking, degradation, pet names, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (2), dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, sub!reader, teasing dom!jungkook, slight dry humping, mirror sex, fingering, hair pulling, cockwarming, marking, edging, nipple/breast worship, pussy eating, spanking, light choking, possession kink.

♤ summary: Once you were on that stage you were someone completely different, the manifestation of someone’s secret desire, becoming whatever image had of you in their head. Some days you were the innocent girl next door, other days the good girl gone wild, but the days he came you became what you had been for the past year, the other woman.

━ ❝  You got me some type of way, ain’t used to feelin’ this way. I do not know what to say, but I know I shouldn’t think about it. Took one fuckin’ look at your face, now I wanna know how you taste… You can say I’m hatin’ if you want to, but I only hate on her 'cause I want you. .❞

♤ thank u next series masterlist

♤ author’s note: i got the idea to make this story 20’s themed after rewatching 2 Chainz ft Ariana Grande’s which you can watch ☞ here, while the storyline itself is loosely inspired by her song break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored. You can also reference this video ☞ here to see what I reference in terms of style when I say burlesque dancer and what y/n and her coworkers encapsulate because I personally hate the flapper era style LOL, i’m more of a hollywood glam person, so finding this video was a godsend.  

Also fun fact, the Hollywood sign was originally built reading “Hollywoodland” in 1923, which is why it’s referred to as that in this story, it wasn’t until 1949 that “land” was removed. and because i’m setting this story in the mid to late 1920’s, Hollywood is barely establishing its reputation as the land of dreams and heartbreak & alcohol was illegal in the 20’s which is why i refer to Joon’s job as “illegal” lol .

comment, send an anon, like, reblog, and most importantly enjoy! 🤍 

“She’s the girl of your dreams, the sugar to your spice, give a warm welcome to Miss Lola de Ville,” Al’s voice booms across the club. Peeping your head out the curtains, you try your best not to be seen as you scan the audience, until finally you spot what you’re looking for. Immediately you feel your heart skip a beat.

Quickly giddying your way back to Mina’s dressing room, you could feel the anticipation and joy bubbling in your stomach, “He’s here tonight,” you sing, leaning against her door frame, watching her as she did her makeup.

She’s quick to roll her eyes, “Oh when isn’t he,” she says, fixing her lipstick, “he sure does awfully love your performances it seems,” a blush appears on your cheeks, “Is she with him tonight?” she queries, you quietly nod your head no. “And what song are you performing tonight little miss Y/N?” she asks, changing the topic once she sees your face of uncomfort.  

Immediately your eyes light up, “Al’s been playing these songs by some man named Louis Armstrong on the record player all week, and oh how I love his voice, and the lyrics he sings!” you gush.

“Oh tell me about it, he’s going to have to buy himself another vinyl if he keeps playing it the amount of times he does already, it’ll be all scratched up by the end of the week,” she pessimistically says, causing you to shrug. It wasn’t like Al didn’t have the money to buy as many as he’d like, this club of his was bringing him bank.  

“God am I ready to go home,” she complains, taking off the shiny silver ring on her left ring finger and placing it in its case, as men didn’t like giving tips to a woman with a ring on stage.

“How’s the wedding planning going along?” you ask, Mina lets out a dramatic sigh in response.

“Oh you know Joon, he doesn’t like the whole planning aspect of it, so most of it has been in my hands,” she chuckles, “but I know he’s excited, he’s just as much of a romantic as me.”

Namjoon, Mina’s long time fiancé, was not only the illegal bartender of the club you two worked in, but a long time friend of yours, the two of you going back long before he had ever met Mina. In fact it was he who got you this job to begin with, something you’d forever be in his debt for.

Namjoon of course didn’t mind that Mina had to take off her ring because he not only trusted, but respected Mina’s job. Honestly it would’ve been hypocritical for him to be anything but supportive, considering he met her here when he first started working at the club a couple of years ago. At the end of the day he was secure about his relationship, and the person she was coming home to after a night of performing was him and only him.

“Y/N what are you doing here, you go on in five!” a voice interrupts, you turn to see Al with his hands on his hips in a dramatized fashion.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be out there right now,” you gulp, grabbing some perfume from Mina’s desk and quickly spritzing it on yourself., “How do I look?” you ask.

“You look good as always,” Mina reassures, despite only glancing at you for no less than a second, “hey and once you’re done tell Joon to have a cocktail ready for me by the time I’m done performing,” you nod, making your way out to the main stage.

“She’s got a voice sent from the heavens above, almost as smooth as a Friday’s glass of whiskey, she can sing, she can dance, she can act, she’s a triple threat of course! And to add to it all, she’s got the face of a doll, give a warm welcome for little miss y/n!”

Slowly, the curtains are pulled open, as you signal to the jazz band to start, another day, another dollar to make. You hear the cheers of men as you slowly take off your fur-made shoulder wrap, teasing the audience in what was hidden underneath. With every holler your ego only grows, knowing that all eyes were on you, including his.

Glancing in his direction, you find him staring at you in the same concentrated, sultry gaze he always did, purposely pouting your lips as you sang. You knew the power you held, the effect you had on those around you. Once you were on that stage you were someone completely different, the manifestation of someone’s secret desire, becoming whatever image they wanted you to be in their head, a figment of their imagination come to life so to speak.

Some days you were the innocent girl next door, other days the good girl gone wild, but the days he came you became what you had been for the past year, the other woman.

Unstrapping the leather of your heel, your feet immediately feel relief, as you kick off the black t-strap heels you had been wearing all night under your vanity desk. Though you loved wearing heels, the constant foot blisters caused by the cheap leather were definitely a downside.

Making yourself comfortable in your seat, you dump out the money from your tip jar, a smile appearing on your lips as you noticed the twenty dollar bill in the pile. Eagerly you grab it, excitedly crisping the sturdy green bill.

“They must've really liked that performance today,” a voice whispers to your ear from behind, catching you by surprise. You were used to him making a knock of some sort. Immediately you feel the tingle of goosebumps now prickling onto your skin, the giddy feeling in your stomach never getting old.

Slowly, he begins to give small pecks on your neck, every kiss lingering longer than the last. His lips then begin to softly suckle on your neck, causing you to push your head back in pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you complain, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Too bad that tip wasn’t from me,” he shades, clear annoyance coming from his tone. In your distracted state, he snatches the bill from your hands, causing you to immediately get up from your seat in an effort to get it back.

“Hey,” you childishly groan, trying to reach his arm which was now lifted in the air. Seeing that there was no use in trying, you give up. He then relaxes his arm, and begins to inspect the bill, your eyebrow raising at his action.

“What are you—”

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and suddenly rips the bill into shreds. Eyes widening in shock, you  place a hand over your mouth. But as quick as the shock came, it was replaced by anger even quicker, “What the hell is wrong with you!” you shout, eyebrows now furrowed.

“It was a counterfeit, a fake,” he reiterates, leaving you slightly taken aback, but you try your best not to give a reaction.

“And,” you stutter, “And how are you so sure about that, huh?” you cross your arms, still upset at how sudden his actions were.

“Because this,” he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, “is a real one,” he attempts to hand the bill to you, but is met with resistance on your side.

Pushing his hand away, you scowl, “I don’t want your money, I’ve told you that already,” you huff, feeling a slight tug at your heartstrings, your ego now bruised at both the fact that the bill was fake and that Jungkook felt compelled to replace it for you.

He hugs you from behind, rocking both you and him back and forth, “I know, I know,” he chuckles, “but seeing the way those men kept looking at you,” he pauses, now scowling, “I guess you can say I don’t like what’s mine being spoiled by others,” he ponders causing you to roll your eyes, still in his embrace nonetheless.

“It’s my job,” you jest, “not like I’m sleeping with them,” you shade, a sly smirk now on your face, as you feel his hardened member now rubbing against your ass, a clear sign that you weren’t the only feeling aroused.

“Feisty, huh?” he laughs, his right hand from behind slowly making its way around your neck, softly gripping your smooth skin. Soon enough, he begins to kiss you, your lips parting to let his tongue slowly go down further, the grip on your neck becoming tighter as the kiss deepens.

With his other free hand, he maneuvers under your robe, teasingly grazing over your thigh, almost as if waiting for the green light, “Just say the words,” he whispers into your ear, his fingers now tugging at the hem of your robe.

Without saying anything, you begin to untie it, the silk material dropping to the floor in a matter of seconds, now only in your bra and underwear, you whisper in return, “Fuck me,” and with that he’s quick to release the grip on your neck, turning you to face him. His kisses become sloppy as he signals for you to jump.

Now holding you up by the thighs, you link your arms around his neck as he places you on top of the vanity desk, careful to not push any of your perfume bottles, “I bet those men could only dream of having you like this,” he growls in between kisses, “Take off the bra,” he demands, his fingers now playing with the lace of your underwear.

With no second thought, you unclip the back of your bra, throwing it somewhere across your dressing room, desperate to have him inside you already. With one hand rubbing circles over the lace, the other rolls your hardened nipples in between his fingers, a smirk now plastered onto his face as he hears you trying to suppress your moans.

“Please Jungkook,” you whine, your thighs tightly wrapped against his waist, grinding yourself against his pants. Ignoring you, he sucks on the underside of your jaw, then to your neck, slowly making his way downward, until finally he’s softly sucking on your nipple.

“God that feels so good,” you pant, throwing your head back in complete utter bliss as he marks you, your hand gently tugging at his hair as he elicits the sweetest moans out of your mouth.

“All mine,” he groans, “I’m gonna fuck you so good, gonna have creaming all over my fucking cock,” continuing to suck on your nipples, his finger now slips under your underwear, placing them inbetween your folds, “Already this wet, kitten?” he mocks, “Those men out there have no idea how much of a whore you are,” his fingers begin to move up and down your clit, doing nothing but teasing you.

“Please Jungkook,” your voice shakes, the need to feel something, anything, inside you becoming much too overwhelming. Slowly he sinks his index finger into your pussy, pumping it in and out of you until gradually he slips in another, your wetness making it easy to do so. You arch your back against the vanity’s mirror in pleasure, “Mm, faster Jungkook,” you manage to breathe out, his two fingers soaked with your wetness.

“So tight,” he mutters his pace now quickening at your command, “Look at you, already wanting to cum,” he mocks, “How do you expect to take my cock huh?” he mumbles into your neck, ready to add a third finger, “Answer me,” he demands, bringing his other hand to your neck once again.

“Because,” you’re unable to reply, now feeling your release coming to light,  “I’m boutta—” you whimper, with every movement you feel it coming closer and closer until suddenly he slows his pace, very much denying you from your release only causing you to let out a cry in complaint, the pressure that had built up immediately slowing down, “Jungkook,” you whine.

“You didn’t answer me,” he teases, pulling your underwear off, now having you completely undressed. Getting on his knees, he parts your legs wide open, your pussy being nothing but a glorious sight to him. Gently he swipes his finger across your sensitive folds, knowing that your senses were heightened from the denial, “Such a pretty pussy,” he teases, now rubbing circles onto your clit, “I bet you taste so good,” he pulls his finger away, suckling on the wetness that coated his finger, “so it does,” he says.

“Use your tongue,” you needily whisper, not sure at how long you’d be able to handle all the teasing, “please,” you cry, hoping that he’d do something soon. He drops wet, messy, kisses along your thighs, your skin now prickling in anticipation. He was purposely taking his time, finding pleasure at your squirming. A part of you just wants to push his head for your selfish reasons, but you knew that it’d get you nowhere because at the end of the day he was in full control, and you would just have to deal with the pleasurable torture.

With every kiss, suckle, and lick, you could practically feel yourself trembling, “Please Jungkook,” you beg, but he only hums in response, continuing with his wicked game of torture. Unable to control yourself, you let go of his hair, now maneuvering your hand to your pussy in a desperate effort to soothe the ache that had long been built up.

But just as you’re about to begin to pleasure yourself, his own reflexes are quick to grab you by the hand, roughly pushing it down onto the desk in an effort to stop you, “Mm mm mm,” he coos, “A slut like you doesn’t get to be in control, remember that kitten,” he sings, making a nodding motion with his finger.

Soon enough, you feel his warm tongue on your clit, licking and sucking through your folds, his index finger rubbing at your clit all at the same time. “Oh my God, right there,” you moan, the tension you felt immediately being released as he indulged himself further into your folds, pumping his finger back into your pussy once more, this time rubbing at your g-spot, your folds completely soaked with both your fluids and his saliva. Your orgasm once again was building up and as a result your pussy clenched around his fingers, your muscles going limp as you knew it was coming closer.

“You’re gonna cum for me, kitten?” you vigorously nod your head in response, physically squirming at his words, “Cum for me,” he breathes out, the euphoric feeling overcoming you, as you felt the waves of your orgasm hit, leg trembling at the sensation. Immediately he begins to plant soft kisses among your thighs, softly caressing you as you came down from your high.

He gets up from his knees, beginning to gently place kisses onto your cheek, “What a good girl,” he teases, going in to kiss you. You place your hand at the back of his head as you deepen the kiss, transforming the kiss to nothing but tongue and saliva. The two of you now making out on the vanity once again, his hardened cock rubbing against your bare pussy, the fabric of his pants acting as the only barrier in between.

He groans once you playfully you graze your other hand over the fabric, the idea of having his cock filling you up only exciting you, “I need you to fuck me,” you whisper into his ear, arousal dripping from every word as you played with the waistband of his pants.

“Is that what you want, kitten?” he asks, now unbuttoning his pants, and pulling out his thick, large cock, “Such a little whore, singing and dancing for those men,” he seethes, the look of jealousy presently on his face, “if only they could hear the way you squirm for me,” he chuckles, “just how needy and desperate you become for my cock,” you gasp as you feel his head now teasing the slit of your entrance, “How I have you moaning my name,” he whispers, suckling at the nip of your neck.  

“Put it in already,” you whine, ready to have his cock thrusting in and out of you, and so with that he slowly pushes his head which was covered in pre-cum into your hole, your wetness from earlier making it easy for him to slip it in, while your hot walls take him in with ease just as the many nights before, but still the pressure of the stretch was something you’d never get used to.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts, impusivley pulling your hair from the back as his girth pushed it’s way inside of you, taking a moment to allow the two of you to adjust, his cock now buried deep within you, “Tell me when you’re ready Y/N,” he sincerely says, having seen the momentary look of discomfort on your face.

Nodding once you were ready, he begins to slowly thrust, the items you had on the vanity beginning to jump at the sudden movement of the desk. Your moans and the squelching sound from the movement of his cock and your wetness now fill the room, his pace quickening with every deep thrust.

“Oh fuck—” you cry, his own grunts and moans mixing with yours.

“This is my pussy, you got that?” all you can do is nod in response, his thrust getting harder and sloppier, until suddenly he stops, “Turn around and bend over the desk,” he commands, pulling out and pumping his girth with his hand, not wanting to lose momentum.

It was shocking really, the countless number of times you two have fucked in between show sets, prior, and after, and each and every time it felt as good and exciting as the first time.

Eagerly you turn around, laying your stomach flat on top of the vanity’s surface, your dripping soaked pussy in full view for him, the cold air of the room along with the lack of fullfiness in your cunt causing you to let out a small whine, desperate to have Jungkook’s cock warm you up again, “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs to himself, looking at your face from the reflection in the mirror as he began to stuff your pussy with his cock once again.

He begins to thrust again, each one feeling fuller than the last, “Fuck Jungkook,” you cry, his cock now hitting your g-spot in this position, “Faster baby,” the friction from his steady rythym now wasn’t enough, as you felt another orgasm incoming.

“Faster?” he asks, “You said it,” he laughs, now pounding against your walls at a pace that was so overwhelming, you were almost sure that anyone within ten yards could probably hear you. “You nasty little slut, just look at yourself,” he groans, yanking you by the hair and forcing you to look at the reflection of yourself in the mirror in front of you, “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this,” he quickens his his pace, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, “And only me, you got that?” all you could do was moan in response, resulting in a hard spank to your ass, “Answer me!” he groans, as you grip onto the corners of your vanity’s desk, his cock pounding harder and harder within your walls every passing second.  

“Mmhm only you Jungkook!” you cry, placing your hand on the mirror, trying not to lose balance of yourself, “I’m so close,” you manage to breathe out, the tight feeling in your abdomen signaling that you were going to cum any moment, his breathy moans also telling you that he was close to bottoming out as well.

He tilts down, the sounds of his panting now directly behind your ear, “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pushing your hair away from your neck to give you a small kiss. Seconds later, your vision goes white as you feel the final rush of stimulation washing over you, as he quickly pulls out and pumps his own release onto your back. The two of you now catching your breath, completely exhausted.

He buttons his pants back up, grabbing your things from the floor as well as a towel from your rack, gently cleaning you up as you remain in your position, too tired to even stand. “Come on,” he whispers, gently pulling you from behind so that he could pick you up, your body always feeling completely limp post-orgasm, add the fact that this was post-work as well, you had every reason to be tired.

Placing you on the small love-seat couch you had in your dressing room, which was generally used for—nevermind that, he helps dress you, guiding your legs through the underwear holes, laughing at your groans whenever you’d miss. “Come on, stop being lazy,” he teases, only resulting in another groan from you. You cross your arms again and pout like a kid, a huge grin now on his face. Gently, he cups your face, playfully squishing your cheeks in the process, just like he always does, only causing you to roll your eyes.

“Why do you always do that?” you manage to say, his hands still squeezing the life out of your cheeks.

“Because it’s cute,” he gives you a peck on the lips before finally letting them go, allowing you to place your robe back on, “You’re cute,” he nuzzles into your neck, the two of you to falling back on the couch, as he then begins to tickle you.

“Stop,” you begin to hysterically laugh, his fingers prancing around the sides of your stomach, “Jun—Jungkook stop,” you breathe out, a toothy grin on his face as he attempted to avoid your playful kicks.

To any other person, this loving moment between you two would cause nothing of the suspicion, hell, they’d probably even mistake the golden band on his finger as the sacrament of your holy matrimony. It was moments like these where you questioned where your relationship with the married man stood, where you’d ask yourself at what point had the line blurred between only doing this for fun and actually having feelings?

Slowly Jungkook stops tickling you once he notices that your laughs had begun to die down, and your face had become serious,“Hey what’s wrong?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

You shake your head, not wanting to dwell on your thoughts too much, “It’s nothing really,” you give him a small smile.  Momentarily he stares at you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“Let’s go home?” you stare at him wide-eyed, home?

“Wait what?”

“I asked if you’d like me to take you home?” he chuckles, though you knew you must’ve heard him wrong, the sinking feeling in your heart hurt just as much, a part of you secretly hoping that you were wrong.

“Oh um,” you respond, “no it’s fine Jungkook, I’ll just um,” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ll just ask Joon, I think he should still be cleaning up, and Mina is probably bored waiting,” you force a laugh. He furrows his eyebrows, unsure about leaving you here, but relents nonetheless.

“Hm, okay then,” he says, giving you a departing kiss on the cheek, “I’ll see you soon, alright?” you nod your head, the forced smile on your face quickly dropping the moment he walks out the door.  

“You sure are loud, Namjoon was complaining about wanting ear muffs while he cleans,” Mina laughs, now entering your dressing room, Jungkook having left several minutes ago. She expects you to laugh like you usually do, or even throw a smart remark in return, but instead you remain silent, staring at your reflection in the vanity’s mirror. Your eyes were puffy from crying, because in those minutes that Jungkook had left, a feeling of shame had washed over you. “Hey, what’s wrong kiddo?” she walks towards you, quickly grabbing a tissue from the tissue box you had on your desk, beginning to wipe the run down mascara from your cheeks, softly running her other hand through your hair in an effort to comfort you.

Sniffling, you shake your head in refusal to talk, “Hey, come on, you know you can tell me anything,” she reassures, “It’s better to let things out, than to have it build up,” she frowns, the sight of seeing you cry breaking her heart.

“I,” you struggle to say what’s on your mind, “I love him,” you whisper, voice breaking as you finally said what you’d long known. For a second she stares at you, her faint gasp quickly hidden as she continues to comfort you.

“Oh Y/N,” she sighs, sad that she is unable to find the words that could make this all better. If only Namjoon was—

“What’s going on he—” Namjoon furrows his eyebrows as he sees the sight of his fianceé comforting his long time friend, who now had her face buried in her hands.

“I love him so much, and everytime he comes here I just wanna tell him,” you pause, “I wanna tell him everytime he walks out that door that he could be with me, that I want him to love me,” you cry, “that the only reason I keep seeing him is because I hope one day he just magically wakes up and walks through that door to tell me that he wants to be with me and only me, not her.”

You push your hair back in distress, “And you have to understand I never meant for things to go this far,” you quietly mumble, “and at first it was just a one time thing, nothing but a tiny sin, I thought I wouldn’t ever see him again, but now it’s become so much more,” you sigh, “And I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t feel anything.”

Namjoon walks over to you, crouching down so that you could face him, “Hey, we’re not here to judge you,” he firmly states, gently pulling your hands away from your face so that you could make eye contact with him, “you have every right to feel the way you do, you hear me?” slowly you nod your head in response as he lets out a chuckle, “Hell, we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t act selfishly here and there,” he pauses, “but what you do need to do is tell him because you’re right, you can’t keep doing this, or else you’ll be stuck in the same old place forever, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he flashes you his famous old dimpled smile, Mina rubbing small circles on your shoulder as an extra layer of comfort.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. It was true, you were, because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he told you that there was no way he’d ever leave her for you? That the feeling of love which had only been growing stronger for the past year would remain as nothing more than a fantasy.

“You’ll never know till you say something,” he gives you a small comforting smile, “Come on let’s get you home little miss Y/N,” he pats your lap, getting up from his crouched position, your Friday night coming to its end.

Jungkook opens the door to his home, genuinely tired from the long week, simply ready to go to bed. “So, where were you?” he hears a voice from behind say. Sighing, he turns around to face his wife of three years, who was currently dressed in her overseas designed silk-purple nightgown, one of the many she owned.

His eyes glance around the room, refusing to make eye contact, “I went out to get drinks with Jimin, you know... the usual for a Friday night,” he wonders how long she’s been waiting for him, honestly it had been a while since she pulled something like this.

“All the bars close at ten, it’s twelve,” she tries to firmly state, but instead her voice cracks, “I have Amelia calling me telling me that Jimin’s gotten hom—”

“Catherine,” he begins, his voice hoarse at how tired he was, “Can we just talk about this some other day? I’m just really tired and,” he shakes his head, combing his hand through his hair, hoping she’d understand.

Catherine momentarily stares at him in silence, an emotionless look on her face before turning and going back upstairs to their bedroom. Jungkook decides to serve himself a glass of whiskey before going to bed in hopes of getting rid of the heavy guilty feeling that weighed over him, and that maybe tonight it’d just be best to sleep on the couch.

“Blue or Red?” you dangle the two outfits from their hangers in front of Jungkook, who was relaxing on your dressing room’s couch, exhausted from the sex you two just had, “I’ve personally been told blue is more of my color, but I feel like red makes me pop out a whole bunch more, and well I need those tips,” you ramble, “So what do you think?”

It had been about two weeks since you last saw him, and since your little breakdown, and though you had taken Namjoon’s words into consideration, the courage to actually go through with it just wasn’t there. Instead you had decided that you needed to wait for the right moment to tell him, and though you weren’t exactly sure when that moment would be, you were definitely sure that when it did happen, maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out how you pictured it to be.

He stretches his arms, releasing a yawn, “Mm,” he hums, “how bout none and you call it a day,” he winks, resulting in a playful hit to the shoulder from you. You gasp as he pulls you to sit on his lap, “And what song are you singing tonight kitten?” he asks.

“Mm I don’t know yet,” you laugh, “might just come up with something last minute,” you joke, but secretly you always did want to venture into composing and writing your own music, weekly newspapers citing that across the country in Hollywoodland, people who could sing, dance, and act, could achieve overnight worldwide fame.

Hollywoodland was a dream, an unrealistic one of course, but a dream nonetheless. Who knows, maybe one day you could make it big out there, but for now you had to focus on where you were locally “famous” : Al’s Melody Noir.

“And become the next Hollywoodland star?” he teases, quickly squishing your cheek before you could knock his hand away.

You shrug, “Hey, you never know,” you smile, “someone in the crowd might just hand me a one way ticket,” you say causing him to roll his eyes and playfully tighten the grip he had on your waist.

“Why not audition for Broadway or something,” he pouts his lips, “they can always use a star like you,” he sings.

“Because I don’t want to be a Broadway star,” you say, “I want to be a Hollywood star,” you grin, “I mean no offense to those Broadway stars, they’re talented and all, but I’m telling you right now that in 50 years from now, the names that are going to be remembered will be the ones who are on that big screen,” Jungkook quietly hums in response, no longer wanting to entertain this topic.

Grabbing his wrist, you glance at his wrist watch, “Ooo, I’m about to go on,” you yelp, quickly getting up from his lap and making any final touch ups to your hair, he gets up as well now getting ready to head out. “Are you sure you can’t stay to see me perform tonight?” you plead, the doe eyed look on your face making it hard for him to say no, but he had to, it was the sole reason why he came to see you before your time slot.

“You know I can’t doll,” he gives you a small kiss on the lips, “I got a whole bunch of paperwork to catch up on tonight,” he sighs, he wasn’t lying either. The stock market was booming as of late, especially because of the newly profound industrial boom, being a stockbroker right now was not only a stressful job but one where any little mistake could cost absolutely everything, “Next time I’ll be there, I promise,” he plants another kiss to your forehead, “And don’t put on too much of a show for em!” he shouts as he walks out.

You look at yourself one last time in the mirror, “Let’s do this,” you whisper, ready to make that stage yours once again.

“Oh you should've seen us having to push that car down the road, whoever this Henry Ford man is needs to learn how to make his cars weight lighter,” Mina complains, you and Namjoon laughing as the three of you were now together at the bar, Namjoon still on the clock of course.

Despite it being a rainy day, tonight was a full house, the club full of upper New York socialites occasionally some of them with their wives and girlfriends. Gambling tables were surrounded by both business men and mafia members. It was clubs like Al’s where you’d see the two different worlds collide and openly interact with one another, but honestly most of these men went hand and hand with each other. Not like there really was that much of a difference between them.

Mina puffs out the smoke from her cigar, “Look, I even chipped my nail,” she flaunts her left hand, Namjoon laughs at her obvious attempt to show off her shiny engagement ring.

“Hey don’t go flaunting it around too much,” he playfully says, but both you and Mina knew that behind that joking tone, he was definitely being serious.

She leans over the front bar rail, dramatically puckering her lips, to which he of course places his lips on, “Hey, get a room!” you complain, “Al sees you two doing that on the clock and he’ll have you two written up!” you laugh.

“Hey I’m on my break,” she clarifies, “And so are you, and if I’m looking at the clock correctly you go on in forty, and you have yet to change.”

Getting up from the bar stool, you dramatically groan in annoyance, now pursing your lips, “Didn’t realize you wanted me gone so badly.”

“Ah you know I’m just joking Y/N,” she passes you her glass of whiskey, “A shot for good luck,” she winks, and so reluctantly you slug down the remainder of her drink, the burning sensation not at all feeling pleasant, as your nose immediately wrinkled at its taste.

“I don’t know how you two drink this stuff,” you say, a childish look of disgust on your face, “it’s banned for a reason you know.”

“You get used to it,” Namjoon comments, “Now get going! Because of all this small talk, you only got thirty minutes left, and we all know how long you take!” he scolds, making a motion with his hand for you to start walking.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you roll your eyes, now making your way back to your dressing room.

“Remember to show em what you’re made of Miss Hollywoodland,” Mina shouts, as you now shook your head in laughter as you left.

You walk towards your dressing room, still laughing to yourself at Mina’s little comment. Tonight was already a good night, your tips seeing a slight increase after your new performance which of course you’d have to count singularly later to get exact numbers. But for now all you wanted to simply do was change, get your last performance over with, catch a cab, and go to bed. The sound of the rain pouring outside would be nothing but relaxing once you got home, that was for sure.

“Mina, Mina, Mina,—” you mumble to yourself, grabbing the handle to your dressing room, ready to just kick off your heels. But what you see in front of you once you open the door immediately confuses you, as someone was occupying your vanity chair. It wasn’t until you looked at the reflection of the mirror that the heavy feeling weighing on your chest dropped down to your stomach. Because there she was sitting with her legs crossed, fixing her crimson colored lipstick in the mirror.

Standing there in silence, your eyes study her body language. In a way she seemed eerily relaxed, her shoulders weren’t tensed like yours, and her breathing seemed steady. The complete opposite of you.

The tension in the room was so thick, you were unsure of what to say because really what was there for you to say? You knew why she was here, she knew why she was here, so then why did everything feel so uneasy, like a bubbling bottle ready to pop off at any moment.

You want her to scream, to tell you off, to do something that you would expect from her, but instead she hums a tune, continuing to fix her lipstick, not once making eye contact with you, until finally she breaks her silence. A quiet, sly, chuckle coming from her lips.

“You know when I first met Jungkook I remember my heart feeling as if it was going to leap out of my chest,” she calmly shares, “Our respective families had introduced the two of us to one another at some horse racing event in New Orleans, my mother pulling me to the side to tell me that he was an up and coming stockbroker, not that it mattered anyway, I had already been swept off my feet from the moment I laid my eyes on him,” she scoffs at recalling the memory, “and you know I’d like to think that just for that one day he felt the same thing I had felt for him.”

She pauses, hazily looking at her reflection in the mirror, still not having glanced in your direction. “We got married a couple months later, bought our first home here in New York, and every morning I’d make him his cup of coffee and kiss him off for work. I remember thinking about just how perfect my life had come out to be. I was buying custom dresses from Europe, and having my pearls imported from the southern China sea, everything a girl could dream of,” she looks down at the ring placed on her left index finger, shining as bright as ever, “I remember bragging to my friends about my perfect life, and they would tell me that all I needed was the kids,” she laughs, “The other housewives would gossip to me about husbands cheating on their wives’ and I would think to myself how Jungkook would never do that to me, that he loves me too much do something like that.”

“But what I had failed to realize was that I was always viewing things from my perspective,” she shakes her head, almost as if disappointed with herself, “I guess it’s due to the way I was raised, I mean I was a spoiled child who grew up in a wealthy family, never once did I see things from the perspective of others,” she comments, “because maybe if I had I would’ve realized that my husband had quickly fallen out of love with me, or hell he may have never been in love with me to begin with,” the lurching feeling of guilt resurfaces itself from the pits of your stomach, the need to vomit almost excruciating, “but I didn’t,” she bitterly scoffs.

“And so when a friend of mine and her husband invited us to some underground new club in town that was getting all kinds of reviews from the drinks, to the dancers, and the triple threat of a star who could sing, dance, and act. I thought sure, why not? We had gone to many different clubs before where there’d be dancers who walked around with nothing but tiny little stickers across their nipples, and not once did I have to worry about his eyes straying too far,” she finally makes eye contact with you through the reflection of the mirror, “until he saw you that night.”

Getting up from your seat, her heels clack on the wooden floor as she makes her way towards you. Her calm demeanor reminding you of a snake ready to bite at any moment, “I don’t know how you two started off, or who initiated it first because God I honestly stopped trying to figure it out a long time ago,” she pauses, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to prevent herself from breaking down, “At first I thought you were going to be nothing but a phase, something temporary, something he was just doing out of compulsion, that it could’ve been anyone that he was going to commit adultery with.”

She stares at you, her eyes watery, a pool of emotions found in her eyes, “So then when I found myself having to go to that damn club every week, just to,” her voice finally cracks, the pristine glass cup that she was finally breaking, “Just to have to see him stare at you with those eyes every night to the point where he wouldn’t even tell me to come anymore, he’d be going out in the middle of the night just to see you in that damn club for God’s sake!” she cries, her face now red at her lash out.

You stare at her wide-eyed, frozen in place as she’s only inches away from you, an intense chill going down your spine.

“He’s,” she pauses, “He’s my husband,” her voice trembles in hysteria, “My husband,” she repeats, as if trying to reassure herself.

Finally, you manage to stutter something out, “I—I didn’t know at—”

“First?” she scoffs, “Is that the excuse you’re going to give me? What about the second time? Or the third? And the fourth and every other time afterward, huh? All those times you’d spot him in the crowd with me only being a couple of feet away from him, or did you just block me out of your mind so you could sleep at night? Is that it?” she yells. “You just couldn’t do it, huh? You just couldn’t stay away from him, like the dirty tramp you are,” she spat, looking at you with nothing but disgust, “Well say something goddammit! Instead of looking at me with that stupid look on your face!” her voice shakes.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” you whisper, lowering your head in shame, “You have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything from the likes of someone like you,” she snaps. The heavy feeling on your chest only weighs harder as you realized you needed to tell her the truth, the truth on what you really felt. Slowly you raise your gaze to meet hers, the lump in your throat fighting against the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“I love hi—”

The sound of the crack of skin contacting skin echoes off the walls, a deafening silence immediately following afterward. As if time was frozen in its place. She slowly looks at her trembling hand which was now vibrating in a pain that etched from the center of her palm to the tip of her fingertips, it’s bright red appearance matching the new welt on your face. You stare at her wide eyed, hand now clutching cheek in pain, no possible words articulating in your head.  

The look on her face is one that’ll haunt you to your grave, it’s the look of someone you had first-hand in breaking. The tears that were currently gracefully falling from her eyes weren’t from a place of sorrow, but the buildup of anger and pain.

She should've felt some kind of remorse. But she didn't. Not one organ in her body could produce a gland of guilt for her actions because at the end of the day this was the least you deserved. She glances at the mark she’s left on your cheek, bitterly scoffing, not because it was big or anything but because it was in fact a cut. A small one where her wedding ring had caught you, a permanent scar that’ll remind you every morning when you look in the mirror of what you’d done. And she hoped, no, she wanted you to feel shame whenever you looked at it.

“You stay away from my husband,” she pleads demands, quickly grabbing her bag from your vanity, and rushing her way out, leaving you there to reflect on everything that just happened.

Jungkook sighs, flipping to the next document on his desk, a night full of work ahead of him. New clients needed to be accommodated, considering everyone wanted a piece of the pie that was the New York Stock Exchange.

Tonight it was raining, a downpour in fact, the prelude to an up and coming storm. The thunder already beginning to cry out from the sky above, the trees around his home writhing and flailing against his window.

Getting up from his desk, he closes up the window as well as shutting the blinds, turning on his shaded glass lamp which provided the dim lighting he always liked working in. The muffled sound of the rain comforting as well.

Catherine was out to God knows where, mumbling something about a girl’s night out before walking out, which of course he didn’t mind, but it was getting quite late. He shrugs off the concern, instead continuing with his work.

Ah she must be back already, he thinks to himself, hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. Suddenly he hears his office door open, “So you’re back already,” he says, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

He’s met with silence.

Looking up, he’s taken back by the woman standing in front of him. Because there she was, hair and clothes drenched in water along with mascara running down her eyes. A haunting empty look in her eyes.

Quickly he gets up, eyebrows furrowing in worry, “Why are you—Where—What happened?” he finally manages to ask, but she remains silent, staring off at the bookcase behind his desk.

“Catherine you’re soaking! I thought you went to Amelia’s?” he chides, but again she remains silent, until slowly she moves her pupils to his direction.

The two stare at each other for what seems like forever, words not having to be spoken in order to know what exactly was happening. He turns to break the gaze, the feeling of shame that he had been pushing off for so long bubbling in his stomach.

A low staggered laugh comes out of her mouth, steadily becoming louder and louder, booming across the room until tears are now falling from the corners of her eyes, as she goes into a fit of hysteria until finally she begins to sob. “I thought I could live with it,” she whispers in between, “I thought things were going to end at some point between the two of you—”

“Catherine,” he starts, but she’s quick to cut him off.

“But it never did!” she laughs, making a small motion to her head, “and it was there like an itch at the back of my mind all the time,” she lets out a breath in disbelief, “and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Catherine, it’s not what you think it is,” he sighs, causing her to only laugh.

“She loves you, you know that right?” she bitterly scoffs, recalling your words from earlier, “And God help me, because I think you might love her too,” she finally cries out, finally saying the thought she’d kept buried in her mind for so long out loud. The feeling of suffocation finally coming to an end.

“For a wife to have to witness the entirety of her husband falling for another woman,” her voice trembles, “to have to witness the exact moment that you fell in love with her,” she whispers, vigorously shaking her head in denial,“ I don’t even wish that upon my worst enemy,” she lets out a choked sob.

All he could do is stare at her, no words at the tip of his tongue, nothing he could say or do to comfort her. “So,” she grimaces, as if fighting to get the words out of her mouth, but she needed to ask. She needed to hear him say it.

“Do you love her?”

He remains silent. He can’t even bring himself to deny it, she thinks to herself. You could hear a pin drop fall at how silent the room was.

“I’m going to bed,” she whispers, the feeling of defeat draining her as she walks out of the room leaving Jungkook to stand there by himself, the thunderstorm outside finally coming to an end.

“Al doesn’t pay me enough for this,” you groan, scrubbing the wood floors with your bristled brush. Tonight it was your turn to close up the club, and though Namjoon usually offered to stay and help you, he had sadly caught a cold, and so instead tonight you were stuck with Al himself to clean up, which of course meant you’d be stuck doing everything. He was already out front doing God knows what, most likely smoking a cigar or something.

It had been weeks since your encounter with Catherine, as well as your last visit from Jungkook, which you could only assume had to do with said situation. Honestly the whole situation had been anxiety inducing, having gone directly home after the whole ordeal, not bothering to say goodbye to Namjoon or Mina as you left, still stuck in the state of shock that you were in.

Even the usual taxi driver who normally drove you home after work was worried at your silence throughout the whole trip. Usually you kept him updated on the different things going on in the club, especially since he was always interested in, in his words, “innovations you young people are making.”

“She was dame, in love with a guy,” you continue to scrub the floor, now humming the song from a movie you had watched a couple a days ago,  “She stuck with him but didn’t know why,”  

“Everyone blamed her, Still they all named her,” you hear a familiar voice playfully sing, “True Blue Louuuuu,” Jungkook stretches out the final word, now standing in front of you, a warm smile on his face. He was dressed in his usual suit attire, his parted hair with no hair out of place only symbolizing his calm attitude for things.

Quickly getting up, you pat down your skirt of any possible dirt, “How did you—” Before you could even finish asking, your mind immediately answers the question for you, “Al,” you let out a laugh, that man will truly let anyone into his club.

“It’s not like he doesn’t recognize me by now,” he chuckles, opening his arms for embrace, which hesitantly you accept. Jungkook, taken aback by your reluctance, cups your face like he usually does and attempts to give you a pop kiss, which you quickly maneuver your way out of thus confirming something was wrong. “Hey,” he whines, pouting his lower lip.

Gently you push him off, picking up the bucket of dirty water from the floor, silently ignoring his antics, “Y/N,” he grabs your hand as you turn away from him.

Knowing there was nothing in this situation you could do but face him, you sigh, “What?” you harshly say, your attitude causing the dirty bucket of water to slip from your hands, “Ugh,” you groan, a headache now rising, “Look what you made me do,” you hiss.

He lifts his hands in his defence, “Hey, I didn’t make you do anything kitten,” your heart skips a beat at the pet name, but you’re quick to shrug the feeling off, huffing as you went to go get the mop from behind the bar stand, Jungkook only following. “I know you’re mad,” he begins, only raising a bitter laugh out of you.

You inhale a breath of fresh air, trying to keep your composure, “Me? Mad? No!” you narrow your eyes at him.

Laughing at your sarcasm, he responds, “And I understand why—”

You cut him off, “How could you possibly understand? You’re not the one who got slapped across the face,” you frown, clenching your jaw, “I even got a left with a scar because of it,” you angrily point to the small cut under your right eye, where her ring had caught you, “and this is my good side!” you throw in.  

“You can’t even notice it—”

“That’s not the point!”  you glare at him, “The point it, is that I can’t keep doing this,” you exhale loudly, “It’s-it’s” you stutter, firmly pressing your lips together, “it’s wrong,” you finally admit to him. Catherine’s words echo in your head, the image of her sobbing in front of you still fresh in your mind, “and so I,” you hesitate to say the next words, but it was now or never, “I think you need to choose, me or her? Because we can’t keep doing this, and you can’t expect me to stay in this position.”  

“We’re getting a divorce.”

“For the rest of my life, because— wait what?” you bring your ramble to an immediate halt, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“We’re getting a divorce,” he firmly repeats, completely making eye contact you, not even a twitch of the brow to signal if he was lying or not, “it’s why I haven’t been coming for the past few weeks, been filing paperwork and all that other time consuming stuff,” the two of you stand there in silence, the words barely sinking in for you as you owlishly stare at the wall behind him, nothing but a blank expression on your face.  

This is what you wanted … you just hadn’t expected the answer to be dropped as a bombshell like this one. Was it wrong to feel … happy? Overjoyed? Excited? He’s choosing you, you tell yourself. He’s choosing you, you repeat to yourself. He’s choosing to try and have a future with you. “Earth to Y/N,” he waves his hand in front of you, bringing you back to reality.

You glance at the ring that’s haunted you since the day you met him, it’s emptiness being nothing but a marvelous sight, the corners of your lips slowly twitching upward. Jumping into his arms, you scatter his face with kisses, the sudden burst of energy you felt was a high you were sure you’d never feel again in your life.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbles into your ear, both his arms grabbing you to keep you steady. A part of you wants to ask him what happened, the itch to know more details almost excruciating, but instead you choose to enjoy the moment, deciding you’d ask him some other day. With this news, you’d have an eternal amount with him.

Gently, he places you down from his hold, “And I have news that’ll have you near passing out,” you quirk your brows, there was more? “So I think you might need to hold on to the bar or something,” he grins, the feeling of anticipation now creeping under your skin.

“Well get on with it,” you rush him, doubting that the grin on your face could become even bigger.

“The firm I work under throws these annual um…” he looks up, trying to find the right word for the event, “balls,” he smugly grins, “and well a lot of Broadway producers attend, who certainly have connections with people in Hollywoodland, and well let’s just say I pulled some strings and,” he dramatically pauses, building suspension, “you’ll be performing a set for them in a week from now, as my date of course.”

Your mouth hangs loose at his words, “No,” you say in complete bewilderment, feeling as if your head was in the clouds, but your feet were on the ground all at the same time, “What am I going to where? Sing? Oh my—” you ramble, “Jungkook I,” you stop yourself from continuing, instead pulling him another hug, the warmth you felt being in his arms being truly indescribable. Things were looking up, and you were definitely excited for what was to come for the two of you.

“So is it a yes?”

“Of course—”

“Not!” Amelia, Catherine’s long time friend and Jimin’s wife of two years, sneers, her teeth grinding at the mention of you, “This is not your fault Catherine! So don’t you dare say that,” she frowns, the two were currently strolling through her garden, Catherine finally admitting everything to her friend.

“I know it's not,” her heels clack against the cemented paveway, her hands softly grazing against the roses next to her, “but I keep asking myself,” she scoffs, “could this have been avoided?” Amelia’s who was already about to say something is stopped by Catherine, who raises her finger to signal that she could explain, “I mean I could’ve saved myself the trouble, leave the first sign there was of not even the affair, but the first sign of him just not loving me,” she chuckles, “I don’t know, I just keep trying to find answers to all my questions when really they’re all right there in front of me … I just refuse to face them,” she tugs at the rose petal she’d been grazing her fingers on for the last minute, watching it as it fell to the ground.

Amelia scowls at Catherine’s words, “Maybe if that whore of a woman learned how to respect marriages,” she snarls, unable to comprehend how Catherine could possibly be making excuses for you and Jungkook, “then this whole ordeal wouldn’t be happening. She’s going to get what’s coming to her one day.”

Loudly, Catherine exhales a breath of air, exhausted of going in circles with this conversation, honestly she didn’t expect any good advice from Amelia, she just needed an outlet to keep herself sane, “I expected to hate him,” Catherine shakes her head in dismay, “ No, I wanted to hate him, something to masquerade my hurt,” the nights of wishful thinking and crying in bed begin to cloud her mind, “It was like I was desperately waiting for the feeling to consume me, hoping the feeling would wash over me all at once,” she blankly stares at the roses in front of her, “the same way the ocean washes over a seashore at night, you know? But instead I was forced to slowly experience every raw feeling that stemmed from this situation.”

Coming to a halt, Catherine pulls out a cigar from her purse, signalling to Amelia that she needed a lighter, only causing her friend’s face to scrunch in confusion. Catherine rolls her eyes, “Why are you acting like you don’t smoke, Jimin isn’t even here,” she callously says, “Come on, I’m waiting,” she murmurs, the cigar in between her lips.  

Begrudgingly she pulls out her lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of the cigar, an exhale of smoke immediately following after, “There’s rumours these things are addicting,” Amelia mumbles, watching as Catherine inhales another puff.

“There’s also speculation in the New York Times that they can kill you, but you don’t see me believing everything I read now do you,” Catherine laughs, the two continuing their stroll, different things on both of their minds.

“Cross, loop, under the bridge. over the loop, and,” Jungkook hums the tune once made to remind himself how to tie his necktie, “secure,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair as he didn’t exactly picture himself getting ready in his firm’s office building. But today had been a long day and he didn’t have the time to go back home and change, especially since he still had to go pick you up, and well anyone who knew you, knew that getting ready on time was not your forte.

Instead he decided that his black suit, and a color change of tie would suffice. It wasn’t like the two of you were going to be there for too long, your performance was at the near beginning, the opening act per say.

He was excited to see what you’d pick out to wear, your outfits never failing to put a smile on his face, not because most of the time they were over the top and extravagant, but simply because it was you. Had it been anyone else wearing the things you dressed in, and he was sure he would’ve never bothered to spare even a glance. Honestly you could walk out with nothing but your nightgown and he would still do nothing but worship the ground you walk on.

“Tonight is going to be a good night,” he whispers, glancing at his now empty ring finger. It was going to be the start to something n—

A soft knock on the door interrupts, “Didn’t think I’d find you here,” a voice says.

Jungkook steps away from his mirror, surprised to find Jimin here at such a late hour, “Oh I didn’t realize you were still in the building,” he chuckles, “Thought I was the only one who did overtime tonight,” he glances at his wrist watch, time was on the essence, “Well I’ll see you at the event tonight, Amelia’s going with you, right?” Jungkook grabs his suit jacket from his chair, ready to make his way downstairs to the parking lot.

“Yeah, in fact I think Catherine is at the house helping her get ready,” Jungkook awkwardly tenses at the mention of his wife, the air in the room becoming stiff.

“Oh well that’s nice,” Jungkook gives him a small smile, making his way to walk out the door, “Like I said I’ll see you over there, I should really get going, my date is probably already waiting for me—”

“Y/N right?” Jimin casually asks. Jungkook stops in his tracks, mentally sighing to himself.

“Yeah you guessed it,” he gives Jimin an awkward superficial smile, his body slightly rocking back and forth in annoyance. Something about this interaction felt … uneasy.

“Actually I wanted to talk to you about that…”

Jungkook cocks his head in confusion, “Talk about what,” putting no effort to hide his annoyance. Jimin remains silent, as if contemplating his next choice of words, “Jimin I don’t have all day,” he sighs. Whatever this was was better be good, he thinks to himself.

“I,” Jimin pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, “I need to show you something.”

Fixing your bright red lipstick, you hear the footsteps of someone entering the room, “I’m almost ready Jungkook, I just need to make sure these pins stay in place and I should be good to go,” you ramble, “Oh I’m so excited Jungkook! I couldn’t sleep all night yesterday, just thinking about performing was making me anxious, and well I just want to say thank you, you know? I know I wouldn’t be people’s first choice when it comes to performing at such a prestigious event, especially considering what a lot of people think of people who work in jobs like mine, but,” you fumble with your words, “but, it’s just so,” you clap your hands together, “oh I just can’t explain it! And to be your date,” your eyes sparkle. Tonight was going to be the night. Tonight you were going to tell him.

“To finally be given an opportunity it’s just—I don’t think I can thank you enough,” you finally breathe out, the feeling of excitement completely radiating off of you as you place your earrings on.

You wait for Jungkook to reply, to shower you with kisses like he always does when he sees you, but instead you’re met with complete silence, his figure from the reflection of the mirror completely frozen. Quickly you turn around, nose now wrinkled in confusion, “Jungkook?” you uneasily ask, the young man you were so enamored with only staring at you with a hardened gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Jungkook, what’s wrong?” you ask again, your voice laced with concern, “Did something happen? Do I need to change my setlist? Cause I can easily do that, I mean a perf—”

“You’re not performing tonight,” he harshly interrupts, your face falling as you hear the annoyance drip from every word.

“Oh,” your skin pales, your voice failing to hide its disappointment, “Can I ask why?”

“Because I told the committee you’re not, I managed to find a replacement last minute,” your face crinkles in shock.

“Wait what?” What the hell was going on? Why would Jungkook do that? Did you do something? Your heart begins to thud against your chest, the tingling feeling in the soles of your feet quickly spreading all over your body, “Why—Why would … why would you do something like that?” your eyebrows furrow, the feeling of anger now rising from the pits of your stomach.

Jungkook chuckles before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, “You really had me fooled Y/N,” he purses his lips, trying his best to contain his anger, “I cannot believe I let things get this far with you,” his voice shakes, every word seething with anger.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you cry out, genuinely lost. Uncrumpling the piece of paper, he turns it towards your direction, “Am I supposed to know what that is?” you snap, your face becoming red at his vague comments.

“You know you could really stop with that whole stupid act of yours,” he spits, “Honestly I should’ve known better than to trust someone like you,” he lets out a dry laugh.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you clench your fist.

“Well here take a look at it for yourself,” harshly, you snatch the letter from his hands, your eyes quickly skim through the contents of it. 

“You think I wrote this?” your eyes widen in shock, now getting up from your seat and handing the letter back to him.  

“I know you did,” he laughs, flailing his arms in the process, “Really Y/N? Jimin? Of all people? Did you really think it wouldn’t come back to me?” he almost sounds disgusted.

“But I didn’t! This isn’t even my handwriting!” tears of both frustration and anger begin to well in your eyes, “You have to believe me!” your voice booms across the room.

“I don’t have to believe shit!” he finally yells, the veins from his neck now popping out, “Your signature and name are written in these Y/N! You know how embarrassing this is?” he presses, “All because you can’t keep your fucking legs closed!” your mouth gapes in shock,  “And God I can only imagine the amount of men you’ve probably tried seducing, I’m just the idiot who fell for it all,” he laughs, “And you know I kept trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t do something like this, that you wouldn’t try seducing a married man,” his words drip with sarcasm, “But you have!”

Rapidly you try to blink your tears away, refusing to let him see you cry, “You don’t mean that,” you whisper, shaking your head at his words.

“But I do!” he bites back, “But you know what it's fine,” he knew the next words that were going to come out of his mouth were going to be a low blow. And in the back of his mind he knew he didn’t mean them, but he was angry, no, he was furious. He didn’t care what he had to say, he wanted you to feel just as hurt as he was, “it’s fine because I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you’ll be stuck here for the rest of your life doing God knows what like the who—”

“Can you stop,” you try to scream, but instead your voice comes out hoarse, your lower lip trembling in sadness, “please,” you whisper, no longer being able to take any of this, “I didn’t write those letters,” you repeat, desperate for him to listen to you, “I know you have reason to believe Jimin, he’s your long time friend, I understand that, and I know my job doesn’t exactly have the best reputation,” you ramble with your words, heaving in between, “But I wouldn’t do this to you!”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I,” your voice shakes, “Because I’m in love with you,” you cry out, “Don’t you get it? In love,” you emphasize, moving your hands in frustration, “You think I would’ve kept this going for so long if I didn’t feel something for you?” He remains silent, “I fell in love with you, okay? You!” you scream , “The way you kiss me, the way you touch me,, the way you laugh at every corny joke I make, the way you reassure me about myself whenever I feel insecure, the way your eyes light up whenever you talk about something that fascinates you whether it be boring old stocks to future industrial revolutions,” you let out a choked sob, “or the way you have this compulsion to squeeze my cheeks every time you tease me, and I could go on and on.”

“You’re my person,” you whimper, the final plea in this tragic story.

He turns his gaze to the floor, refusing to look at you, “I was never yours to begin with,” he mutters, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind, leaving you to ask yourself, What. Just. Happened?

Leaning against the door frame, Catherine exhales whatever’s left of her cigar, butting the stub on the wall. “You know, I really don’t mind moving to my parent’s country townhouse,” she casually says, calmly watching her soon to be ex-husband pack his office belongings.

It had been two weeks since your argument with Jungkook, and though he couldn’t confidently say that you hadn’t been on his mind everyday since, he was sure he would be just fine. Of course, he had been sad the first couple of days, then the sadness had become anger once again, until finally he was where he was currently at. Numbness.

Distracting himself with loads of paperwork, working overtime, and being in the midst of a divorce was doing wonders. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if now at the age of twenty-two, greys hairs started to appear because of the overwhelming stress he had to deal with.

Bringing himself back to reality, he’s quick to reject Catherine’s idea, “No, it’s fine, you picked out this place to begin with,” he chuckles, “Hell, I still remember how excited you were about decorating and the effort you put into all of this,” he gives her a small apologetic smile, “it’s only right that you stay. Honestly, I don’t see why you wouldn’t, you did an amazing job with this place.”

“Still, you paid for this place, it’s under your name,” she responds, “This place is just too much of a—” she hesitates.

“Reminder,” Jungkook completes, now having stopped his packing. The two stand there in what couldn’t be described as an awkward silence, but one of understanding.

“A reminder of what we illusioned ourselves in,” she looks down at her ring finger, smiling at its empty sight, “it’s funny,” she laughs, “even before you started the affair, I used to look down at my ring, and for some reason I never did feel,” she pauses, “what’s the word,” she takes a couple of seconds to regain herself, “I never truly felt… happy,” she states, surprised at how such a simple word could mean so much, “but now I look at the sight of it being gone, and I feel relieved, in fact, I feel... free,” she reiterates, her eyes now watery.

“We were young and pressured, I didn’t even have a sense of my own identity yet, and I mean not that it’s any excuse for what you did,” she emphasizes, “but I’m sure you didn’t have one either, I guess we were just too busy trying to please our respective families,” she scoffs, a smile now on her face, “I still even get your birthday confused sometimes,” she jokes around, causing Jungkook to flash his toothy grin at her, “Never did I bother to learn the small details about you,” she inhales and exhales a deep breath, “but she did,” she says, breaking eye contact with Jungkook, not because she was mad or sad, but because she’d come to realize something.

“I was in love with the idea of you, the things you would buy me, the compliments I would get from everyone around me, the idea of being able to flaunt a perfect life, but I think, no, I know I was never in love with you,” she looks at Jungkook once again, tears now freely flowing from his eyes, a chapter in their life now coming to its end.

“I don’t hate you for what you did Jungkook,” she blinks her own tears away, personally tired of all the crying she’s done, “nor do I hate Y/N,” she says, for the first time saying your name, the name smoothly rolling off the tip of her tongue, no ill feeling behind it, “I just wish things could’ve been different, in terms of us realizing that we were just never meant to be,” she finishes off, the final wave finally washing over her. The feeling of acceptance.

Catherine slowly walks towards him, embracing the crying man into a hug, giving him a small heartfelt kiss to the cheek, “I really am sorry Catherine,” he whispers, the words being nothing but genuine.

“I know,” she whispers in return. Gently, she breaks from the hug, wiping the tears that brimmed her eyes, “Come on, you gotta finish your packing,” she says, rolling the sleeves of her robe, and making her way to his desk.

“It’s fine really,” he starts, but she’s quick to ignore him and begin her rummaging of his things. So instead of fighting against her help, he goes back to continuing with what he was doing, the two quietly organizing things, finally at peace.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jungkook huffs, taping the final cardboard box of paperwork. The two step back and look at the empty room, feeling proud of their hard work, “Well I’m gonna go take this down,” Catherine nods in response, Jungkook now leaving the room.

Her eyes scan the room one last time, making sure nothing was getting left behind, until surprisingly, she does in fact catch something from the corner of her eye. The edge of a piece of paper below the wooden bookshelf sticking out, “That’s weird,” she mumbles to herself, surprised at how she failed to notice it earlier.

Crouching down, she picks up the torn piece of paper, her eyebrows now furrowing at its incompleteness, with only half of the whole sheet being there. She turns the direction of the paper to where there’s writing, her eyes widening at what she sees, “Oh no,” she whispers to herself, trying to think quick on her feet, “The trashcan,” she says to herself, quickly grabbing it and tossing the remnants onto the floor, her breathing now uneasy as she sat on the floor, beginning to uncrumple the pieces of torn paper, silently hoping what she was thinking was all some twisted joke.

With her burst of adrenaline she somehow reassembles the ripped letter, her stomach dropping at the sight of the complete version, completely ignoring the footsteps that were making their way up.

To Jimin,

I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, you should come backstage sometime for your own personal show, just like your friend. I’m sure he won’t mind. Honestly, I’ve been getting a little bored of him these days. And don’t worry, I don’t mind seeing that ring on your finger. You know where to find me…

XO, Y/N.

“Mr. Olsen seems to have gotten a new ca—” Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, immediately tensing at the sight in front of him, “Catherine what are—” Jungkook doesn’t continue with what he’s about to say, the sight of Catherine’s shocked face now confusing him more than ever.

“Oh Amelia, what did you do,” she quietly breathes out, her face now frozen in place, and her hand covering her mouth.  

“What?” Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “Amelia? What does Amelia have to do with—” his face immediately falls, his heart sinking at his realization.

“This,” Catherine stutters, “This is her handwriting,” she says, now looking up at Jungkook, whose face was in just as much as shock as hers, “I swear Jungkook, I didn’t know she’d do something like this,” Catherine rubs her temple, “Last time I saw her, she was bad mouthing Y/N but I didn’t she’d—” she shakes her head in dismay, “Jungkook, if I would’ve known I promise you I would’ve stopped her,” Catherine’s words sound like nothing but echoes in Jungkook’s head, his mind currently racing through a countless number of thoughts. His words from the last time he saw you now echoing in his head, the look on your face etching into his mind, oh how you kept denying the letter. The sudden pang of guilt, much too overwhelming.

“I know Catherine,” he whispers, but  all he could do was stare at the letter on the floor. And as if time was frozen, he slowly glances at the mantel clock, his heart now pounding.

8:15 PM.

You should be performing in a bit, he thinks. Immediately he switches gears, hurriedly grabbing the coat on his desk and placing it on, “I,” he stutters, a frenzy look on his face, “I have to go,” he says, quickly running out the door. The only thing he could do was hope he’d catch you on time.

“Oh look who's back, it seems I haven’t seen you in a while,” the sultry hostess purrs, “oh and that ring of yours is gone, trouble in paradise?” she pouts, guiding him to one of the tables. Politely he makes a motion to her, as if to say that he was fine, “Mm well if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me hun,” she winks, making her way back to the greeting area.

Jungkook, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe, adjusts his tie. His leg now bouncing rapidly in complete anxiousness, feeling the stares of a certain someone. He turns to face whoever it is, finding both the bartender and his girlfriend, whose names he was unsure of, staring at him from the bar.

The woman slyly mixes her drink with her stirrer, eyes narrowing at the sight of him, refusing to look away. The man then whispers something to her, making her finally break away from the intense stare.

Jungkook turns back around, the heavy feeling in his chest making it hard to focus on the current performer, not that he really wanted to, but he needed a distraction, something to prevent him from drowning in his own thoughts.  

The claps mellow down as the curtains close, the famous club owner, Al, making his way to the front of the stage, mic now in hand. Jungkook felt as if his stomach was doing flips, both excited and nervous to see you, as he knew you’d probably be quick to spot him, only hoping he wouldn’t scare you off.

“She’s got a voice sent from the heavens above, almost as smooth as a Friday’s glass of whiskey,” Al starts off your usual introduction, Jungkook’s heart pounding with every word spoken, “she can sing, she can dance, she can act, she’s a triple threat of course! And to add to it all, she’s got the face of the doll,” the red curtain slowly begins to open, “she’s our newest star in the making, give a warm welcome for Miss Sally Rose!”

A young woman appears from behind the curtain, counting off the same way you always did, making the same exact motion you always do to the band. Jungkook could feel himself become sick as he heard the men begin to holler at her with every piece of clothing that began to drop, as long as they had something to satisfy their lust, it didn’t matter who was on that stage, as they were nothing but animals.

Where the hell were you? This was, no, this is your time slot. Maybe you’re out sick, he tells himself, no, you loved the stage more than anything. The same woman from earlier passes by with drinks in her hands, on her way to serve God knows who. He’s quick to flag her down, hoping she knew where you were, “What can I do for you handsome?” she winks.

“You don’t happen to know where Y/N is?” he politely asks.

The question causes her to scoff, “Oh darling, me and the girls have been wondering the same thing,” she chuckles, before walking away with her drinks, leaving Jungkook much more puzzled than before. Maybe you were late, he excuses, trying not to panic.

But as every performer begins and ends, the more restless he becomes, every drink he takes only causing the echoes from every holler to become more and more irritating, the world around him now spinning.

An hour later, the young woman comes out again, performing the final song of the night, just like you always would do. Truthfully speaking, he would’ve paid no mind to the performance, but something catches Jungkook’s eye. The woman seems to have her gaze fixed on a young man in the crowd, his wife chattering with the other woman sitting next to her. The same way Catherine would—he shakes his head in dismissal, blaming what he was seeing on his drunk state.

He’s quick to get up, deciding that it was best to momentarily take a step outside and catch a breather. You had to be backstage or something, he tells himself, deciding that he’d wait until everyone was gone to see you, just like he always did.

“Things will be just fine,” he whispers, mouth trembling from the cold weather.

Sighing, Jungkook takes one last look at his empty ring finger before making his way back inside, his nerves at an all time high. He knew you were avoiding him, and he knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see, but he needed to tell you that he was sorry. That what he said was something spoken out of anger, that he was hurt, and most importantly that he should’ve believed you.

Walking in, he sees the bartender flipping chairs on top of the table, presumably cleaning up for the night. Most nights, Jungkook would simply go straight backstage, as you had told him early on in the affair that there was no need for him to introduce himself to your co-workers, but tonight, well tonight he felt like an intruder.

He stands there momentarily, the stiffness in the room almost suffocating.

“She’s gone,” the young man bitterly scoffs, not bothering to spare a glance at Jungkook, “I thought you knew that already,” he mumbles to himself, as he continued to flip the wooden chairs and place them atop of the tables, finishing what was left of cleaning.

Jungkook stares at him for a moment, the words slowly processing in his head. What did he mean by you were “gone”? You wouldn’t leave, it was unlike you. Actually, no, you couldn’t leave, where did you have to go?

He shakes his head in dismissal, shooting the brown haired man a quizzical look, “What did you say again?'" he asks. Namjoon finally looks up from what he’s doing.

Jungkook expected a spiteful glare from Namjoon, one full of hatred for what he had done to his friend, but instead his eyes were hard-rimmed and fixed, immobile as the rest of his face. Almost as if he was studying Jungkook. The cold blank look on his face sends shivers down Jungkook’s spine, but he relents on breaking the cold stare, until finally Namjoon lets out a dry laugh.

“I knew you were a hard-headed person,” he nods his head in dismay, a superficial grin on his face, “you’re also a selfish one, so I should’ve known better,” he laughs again, in awe of how someone could be so … inconsiderate? Was that the word to describe Jungkook? Namjoon thought to himself, why were you so in love with this man, simply finding it hard to believe that you could fall for a man so self-centered.

“Haven’t you noticed by now that she’s been replaced?” Namjoon mocks, “or let me guess you thought you could waltz in here like a knight in shining armor, that she was on some kind of break or something and would forget the things you said, and then things would magically go back to normal,” Jungkook remains silent, “Well?” Namjoon deadpans.

“Y/N wouldn’t just leave like that,” Jungkook says, “it’s not like her,” Namjoon was lying, he had to be.

Namjoon shrugs, “Well guess what she’s gone, I could only wish I knew where. She just grabbed her things and left without a trace, no goodbye, no nothing, but go ahead, look for yourself,” Namjoon makes a motion towards your old dressing room.

Slowly Jungkook breaks eye contact, unsure of what to believe. Quietly he makes his way to the dressing room he’d been in a countless number of times in the past year, still in denial of what Namjoon just told him.

He lets out a deep breath before turning the door knob, a churning feeling in his stomach as he recalled the last time he was here, his words ringing in his head.

Immediately Jungkook feels his heart plummet as he sees the empty room, your vanity which was once full of makeup and bottled perfumes was now vacant of anything and the hangers which were once used for your extravagant outfits as well as your fluffy coats now hung unused.

Jungkook crouches to pick up the only thing that remained of you in the room, the golden glass-framed picture you had of yourself performing now shattered on the floor, a small snapshot of the star you were. He smiles in reminiscence, remembering the night the photo was taken, and how you kept rambling on about why Jungkook would spend so much to have the photo of someone like yourself taken, let alone a photo of your worst angle. But you had kept it nonetheless, hell you even hung it on the wall for safekeeping, only for it to be shattered by the same person who gifted it.

“You didn’t!” you gasp, picking up the framed photo which had been placed on your vanity desk, “When did you even take—how—” Jungkook quickly shuts you up by cupping your face, and giving you a kiss, immediately squishing your cheeks in the playful manner that he always did.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, “I thought since you didn’t want to accept my gift last time, a sincere one like this would be something you just couldn’t deny.”

“Those pearls were too much,” you shake your head in disapproval, “and you know why I couldn’t accept it,” the image of Catherine pops in your head as he remains silent, but you’re quick to shrug it off, “but this,” you say, waving the picture he had seen a plenty of times before tonight to his face, “this is special,” you grin.

“I knew you’d love it,” he smiles, giving you another peck on the lips.

“Honestly, you shouldn't have,” you laugh, still in disbelief of the photo of yourself. Hell, to have a portrait of yourself taken behind a plain old wall was already something expensive here in New York, and so to have a photo taken of yourself while performing was truly indescribable. “Too bad they got my worst angle,” you complain, causing him to roll his eyes. Grabbing the framed photo from your hands, he places it over the empty nail on the wall.

“Won’t you look at that,” he smiles, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, the two of you now silently admiring the hung photo.

“Jungkook?” you break the prolonged silence.  

He hums in response, turning his head to face you, your heart feeling as swelled as the ocean once near its moon.

“I—” you pause, just get the words out, you think to yourself. Maybe things would finally change. He stares at you in the same doe-eyed expression he always did whenever he was attentively listening to you, curious as to what you were thinking, “I just wanted to say thank you… for the photo,” you awkwardly smile, Jungkook slightly raising his eyebrow at your sudden behavior, but he doesn’t dwell on it too much, instead placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

The memory being one for a lifetime. 

Jungkook dusts off the glass fragments, carefully trying not to cut himself as his fingers graze over the flimsy developed photo. And as he studies the photo, the realization finally hits him, you were really gone.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispers to himself in a distant, quiet, lifeless voice, “I’ll be just fine,” he grazes the photo again, slowly crouching into his knees, photo still in hand, until finally the sounds of silent muffled sobs is the only thing that can be heard from your dressing room.

Namjoon quietly sweeps the floor, humming some Duke Ellington, trying his best to ignore the thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind. Jungkook had left hours ago, Namjoon having heard the silent cries from your dressing room, and for a slight second even making eye contact with the red puffy-eyed man as he left, who had been mumbling inaudible things to himself.  

He didn’t think he’d cry, was what Namjoon had first thought to himself after hearing Jungkook silently sob in your empty dressing room. He honestly expected Jungkook to do anything but cry, hell Namjoon had even told himself to be ready to throw some punches just in case he tried anything stupid.

And so to see Jeon Jungkook, the man who had been coming to this bar for the past year, never failing to order a classic gin and tonic, and always seeming like he was on top of the world, break down in a tiny isolated room, was almost something unimaginable. And for some reason it bothered Namjoon. It wasn’t that Jungkook wasn’t allowed to cry...

Namjoon momentarily stops what he’s doing, sighing in frustration.

It bothered him because it went against everything he thought of Jungkook, the image he had created for Jungkook in his head. It would mean that Jungkook was someone who never meant to be so selfish, but was someone who was emotionally blind to those around him.

And isn’t the unknown always a bit scary?

The only problem was that being blind was something involuntary, and with the countless stories you’d tell Namjoon from time to time, sometimes it seemed like Jungkook was voluntarily choosing to ignore the feelings of those around him.

Namjoon could only speculate why, but maybe, just maybe Jungkook was the kind of person who had long ago put his personal feelings aside to please those around him, including his wife, thinking that it’d be what was best.That he could live a numbing life as long as it meant those around him were satisfied, that it was enough to feel fulfilled with, until you came into the mix.

And once you did, the conflict of choosing what made him happy versus what made others happy while trying to spare both sides’ feelings and opinions, only did more harm than good, stupidly choosing to blindly believe of a false letter. 

And now Jungkook was left with no one but himself.

Was it deserved? Namjoon was unsure now. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N, Namjoon thinks to himself.

The only reason he would excuse your actions was because to those around you, seeing you happy was like the sun shining after a storm, a shine so bright you’d think those happy days would last forever, but to see you sad, it was as if the world would storm on end.

But what Namjoon should’ve realized was that at the end of the day, what you and Jungkook had done was wrong, and there was no denying it.

Hell, it even went against Namjoon’s personal beliefs. Of course it didn’t mean that he was no better of a person because the same way you two had to face the karma of your actions, he and Mina would have to reprimand themselves one day as well for excusing your actions. For allowing things to have gotten this far.

“Jungkook really did love you,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head at the conclusion of this awful tale.

Namjoon sighs.

All he could do was hope that he had done the right thing lying to Jungkook about your whereabouts, and that the next time Namjoon saw you, you’d be the successful woman you were always meant to be, and that this period in your life would be nothing more than a small chapter to look back at.

“Ticket ma’am,” the conductor approaches you. Pulling out your ticket from your purse, you allow the conductor to both inspect and punch the ticket with his rustic clipper, “Now what is a pretty New York doll like you going all the way to the city of Los Angeles for?” he chimes, “You sure you ain’t lost little lady?” he jokes, causing you to laugh.

“I sure ain’t, I’m going to Los Angeles to follow my dreams in becoming famous! You might even catch me on the big screen soon!” you gush, causing him to let out a chuckle.

“Well little lady, I’ve heard that one before and I’ve told every single person I’ve come across that it’s almost impossible,” he mentions, “And I have yet to be proven wrong,”

“Well Mr,” you glance at his name tag, “Rosco, you better remember my name and face because I’m going to make it big in Hollywoodland, I don’t care if it’s as a singer or as an actress, but just you wait!” you declare, a toothy grin plastered on your face.

“Well little miss,” he glances at the ticket which has your name printed in a red colored font, “y/n, I’ve gotta say, I don’t think I’ve met anyone with the same amount of enthusiasm you got going for yourself,” a genuine smile comes across his face as he returns you your ticket, “I wish you nothing but the best on your endeavors,” he compliments, before making his way to the seated passenger in front of you.

Looking out the train’s window, the fields of grass along with the bright blue sky that were being passed by faster than a speeding bullet, for some reason make you feel a longing for home, it was probably because everything was barely hitting you. From the moment he had said what he did in your argument, everything onward had been nothing but a sporadic adrenaline-rushed blur.

“Jungkook?” you ask to an empty room, the shakiness of your voice coming to realize the reality of what has just occurred. The sinking feeling in your chest was what could only be described as heartbreak, though it felt like so much more.

He’s coming back, he’s going to come back. He has to come back, you keep repeating to yourself. Jungkook loves you. He didn’t mean what he said. He couldn’t.

You stare at the photo you had hung on the wall, which was now cracked on the floor, a result at just how harsh the door had been slammed. You could feel the lump in your throat beginning to take its form, but you refuse to let it out. He’s coming back, he has to.

The sound of the door knob twisting quickly grabs your attention, a feeling of relief washing over you. You knew he’d come back. You were his girl, you were the love of his life.

But just as quick as the relief had come, it had left even faster once you saw that the person you thought walking through that door was in fact not Jungkook, but Namjoon who stood there in silence, trying to hide the look of pity on his face. “Y/N…” he whispers in sadness.

“N-No,” your lips wobble, “No,” you begin to vigorously shake your head in denial, “No!” you quaver out, desperately trying to blink back the floodgate of tears that was begging to be released. Namjoon could feel his gut clench at the hopelessness of the situation, knowing that there was nothing he could possibly do because Jungkook was gone, and he was not coming back.

He watches as the tears slowly begin to freely fall, the silent sobs finally escaping from your mouth. Your chest heaves, until finally a cry so raw comes out of your mouth that you grab onto your vanity chair so that your shaking would not cause you to fall.

Quickly, he makes his way to envelope you in a tight hug, humming small comforting words to your ear despite knowing that you probably weren’t listening. You sob into his chest unceasingly, your hand clutching onto Namjoon’s jacket as he held you in silence, rocking you slowly as your tears soaked his chest, blinking back his own tears. The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, the sound of your muffled sobs filling the air.

The wet mascara that was mixing itself with your tears stinging your eyes, almost as if it was trying to force you to stop crying, but you just couldn’t. With every sob that forced its way out, your chest would rise and fall unevenly as you gasped for breath.

How could he do this? Why? Things weren’t supposed to end like this. Not at all. “Shh, shh,” Namjoon hums, “you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” he reassures. You wanted to scream, to say something, anything, but nothing could come out. If anything you could feel your lungs scream for oxygen, your airway becoming compressed with every hysterical sob that was let out.

Quickly pushing off Namjoon, you feel as if the world is spinning and that the walls of your dressing room were closing in. You begin to gasp over and over, hysterically tapping on your stomach, “Get this,” you heave out, “Get this off of me!” you breathe out, lifting your dress up, and desperately trying to unknot the corset you were wearing underneath.

Namjoon quickly grabs some scissors from your vanity, cutting the piece of ribbon which held together the piece of fabric that clinched your waist. Immediately, you could feel the air return to your lungs, a feeling of relaxation now washing over you, as the riptide finally mellowed down.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection across from you, your tears silently falling from your cheeks. Namjoon makes his way behind you, tucking your loose strands of hair behind your ear, “Hey, listen to me,” he whispers, “you are going to be just fine,” he firmly states.

“Joon?”

“Hm,” he responds.

“Can you,” your voice cracks, “Can you just take me home?” Your question is met with silence because instead he grabs a big oversized coat from your rack and places it over your shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, watching you as you made your way out of the dressing room, for what he knew would be your last time.

Waking up to the feeling of a hand firmly shaking your shoulder, your heavy eyelids struggling to flutter open, the soreness from crying taking its toll. You must’ve fallen asleep during the car ride home, you reason, finally managing to open your eyes completely. You rub your eyes, confused as to where you were because this was definitely not the outside of your apartment building.

In fact, you were outside of Grand Central Terminal, “What the..” you turned to face Namjoon, who had a sad smile on his face, “Joon? What’s,” you falter your words, “What’s going on?” you ask, confusion now overwhelming you.

He lets out a deep sigh of sadness before continuing, “You’re going to California Y/N,” if you had been half-awake before, you certainly weren’t now, quickly jolting forward in shock, “Los Angeles or may I say Hollywoodland to be more specific,” he reiterates, a tiny chuckle coming out of his mouth.

“J-Joon,” you stutter, “you’re crazy!” you sputter, “Absolutely crazy!” you hit his shoulder causing him to let out a yelp in pain.

“Y/N I’m being serious!” he turns and points to the passenger seat of his car, “I even managed to pack most of your things while you were asleep, all the essentials are in those two luggage bags.”

“How did you even—” you shake your head, trying to stay on topic, “Joon I can’t just pack up my things and go, I have—” you hesitate with your next choice of words, what exactly did you have in New York that was holding you back?

Namjoon answers the question before you could, “Nothing. You have absolutely nothing here to hold you back, so why not go chase your dream huh?” he exclaims, “It’s what you’ve always wanted to do Y/N and I’m one hundred percent sure Hollywoodland is looking for a doll face like yours to go shake up the scene,” he laughs, “You can dance, you can sing, and you sure can act, especially those days you wouldn’t want to come into work,” he jokingly mumbles garnering him another slap to the shoulder, “Hey, hey, relax! Point is Y/N, you’re one of the most talented people I know, if not the most talented person I’ve ever met, and it’d be a waste of talent for you not to go out there and show people what you’re made of, Hell I even hear they’re beginning to develop sound films over there, and a voice like yours needs to be memorialized for future generations,” he says, as tears to begin to brim your waterlids.  

“But Joon—” you sniffle, “I don't, I don’t have the money to live out there, hell I barely have enough money in my purse to purchase myself a ticket,” you scoff because it was the truth.

“I know you don’t,” he deadpans, causing you to laugh.

“Then?” you chuckle. Slowly, he flips his coat and reaches into its inner pocket, pulling out and handing you what seemed to be a heavy envelope. You peep inside the sealed white envelope, it’s content causing you to let out a small yelp in surprise. There had to be at least 200 dollars in there! You quickly shake your head in disapprovement.

“Joon, no, no, no! You can't. You've been saving up for—!”

“Hey! Listen to me Y/N, look at me,” he demands, grabbing your hands which had been flailing around in denial. “This money right here means absolutely nothing to me if it means that someone like you can get the opportunity to pursue their dreams, especially because I know it’ll mean absolutely everything for you,” he smiles.

“But Joon, you’ve been saving up this money for your wedding for so long, I can’t, Mina’s going to kill you!” you fluster, Namjoon must’ve been going crazy or something. He’d been working so many hours for the past months, doing countless hours of overtime and being on his best behavior for some tips, how could he give it all up for some gamble at fame?

“I’ve already spoken to her about this and she had absolutely no problem with it!” he laughs, “A wedding is nothing but a celebration for a piece of signed paper, it won’t be the end of the world if we wait a little longer,” he reassures, “As long as Mina and I know we’re in this for life, then that piece of paper won’t change anything.”

“Joon I can’t—”

“You can and you will Y/N,” he firmly states, “plus you can always pay me back once you get rich and famous,” he teases, winking at you. “So, what do you say Y/N? You ready to go to Los Angeles?” You stare at him without blinking, a million thoughts racing through your head. This was your dream, the thing you’d spent a countless number of nights only imagining whenever you’d get up on that wooden stage to perform, and now you were finally going to get the chance to make it a reality.

“I don’t,” you hesitate, “I’m,” you feel your skin tingle with the words you’re about to say, now having made your decision, “I’m going to Hollywoodland,” you softly cry out in disbelief, a dimpled grin appearing on Namjoon’s face.

“Atta girl,” tears which weren’t of sadness, anger, but joy now falling from your face, as you quickly pull Namjoon into a hug. Slowly, he breaks away, “Come on, you gotta get going,” he glances at his wrist watch, which read a quarter past nine, “the train leaves half past nine, and I still gotta walk you to the departing area.”

Quickly buttoning up your coat and fixing your hair, you try your best to seem presentable, Namjoon grabbing your luggage from the backseat and exiting the vehicle, as you do the same, but for you it all feels different. Looking up to the building that surrounds the terminal, you soak in the final view of New York which you wouldn't be seeing for who knows how long. Years ago you’d imagine leaving home, but never like this, and for a moment it was as if time slowed down, almost like your brain needed a “photograph” to commemorate this moment,

The man playing on his saxophone outside the station for tips only adding a warm comfort to your fears, a reminiscent sound which was a balm to your mind, a reminder of the nostalgic chapter in your life that you’d look back to, whether it was with a joyful outlook was only for you to decide.

Slowly the two of you begin to walk to the departing area, your legs feeling more and more wobbly with every step you took. This was really happening.

“Here we are,” Namjoon announces, gently placing your luggage on the floor, and then placing hands against his hips in marvel at how gigantic the stationed train was. Your eyes glisten, once again pulling Namjoon into a hug. “You sure are emotional, you know that right?” he teases, causing you to only further tighten the hug.

You pull out the hug, “I’m going to write to you every week, I promise you!” you avow, causing Namjoon to immediately shake his head in disagreement.

“No, no, you have to focus on your career every waking minute Y/N, if anything just save a couple of bucks every month and ring me here and there, I’m always at the club most of the time and it’s not like you don’t know my schedule, plus I’m sure Al won’t charge me for using the telephone machine every once in a while,” he explains, voice slightly wavering, as his eyes were now glossy from trying to hold back his tears causing you to let out a laugh.

“Come on, you know you wanna cry,” you sniffle, pulling him in for another hug.

“Ah, I’m gonna miss you Y/N,” he laughs through his tears, “they don’t make em like you anymore.”

“This is the final boarding call for New York to Los Angeles which includes a stop at Chicago!” the conductor yells out the train, “I repeat, this is the final boarding call for New York to Los Angeles!” Namjoon quickly taps on your shoulders, rushing you to get on board.

Swiftly, you pick up the luggage cases on the floor, and begin to make your way inside the train but not before shouting something to Namjoon, “Hey, I expect to see a pregnant Mina the next time I see you guys, you hear me!” he facepalms himself, his cheeks becoming red at how loudly you announced it.

You quickly run to your seat, looking at Namjoon through the window, who remained where he stood, the train slowly beginning to move, while the conductor pulls the lever for the steam whistle, the final declaration to the new chapter in your life. You anxiously wave to Namjoon one last time, a grand smile on both of your faces, as he waves in return. The (what you assumed) family members of other passengers also waved goodbye, many teary eyed as you could only imagine the stories of everyone else on the train.

Once you were out of eyesight, you made yourself comfortable on your seat, slightly tilting your head against the window, a long unexpected trip now ahead of you.

Los Angeles from what you could currently tell was definitely different than to what you were used to in New York, but beautiful nonetheless. The cab you managed to pin down was currently driving you to the small motel you found on one of the welcoming pamphlets of the city.

Currently, you were being driven down the newly built Sunset Boulevard, where you could only hope you’d be living on sometime in the near future.

“Ah there it is,” the taxi driver points out the window, and immediately a wonderstruck look appears on your face, your heart now pounding in excitement at the sight of the word “Hollywoodland” appearing from the mountains. “Welcome to Los Angeles kid,” the man says, to which you only nod your head in dumbfoundedness, “you better make the most of it.”

“I sure am.”

a/n: i purposely left the ending ambiguous just because i felt like it should be your guys’ imagination as to whether y/n makes it big in hollywood depending on whether you like her or not LOL, so if you don’t like her you could always imagine she flopped or sum, and whatever jungkook does afterward being unknown as well. Catherine a better person than me, cause forgiving a cheater just aint in my heart LMAO.

also I wanted to dive further into namjoon and y/n’s friendship, as well as add a scene where y/n went shopping for her dress but I was burning out and so hopefully I did good conveying the sincerity of their friendship and the importance of the event to y/n + talk more about jk’s and catherine’s families but I think I put enough hints, that you guys would get the point and its effects on them as people. 

Feel free to comment, send me a message, or drop an anon! Anything is appreciated & if you can please like and reblog 💘 till next time.

[hellacioushag]

tw: abuse/sexual assault

the hypocrisy of people using faux outrage about others drawing parallels between tamlin and azriel’s stories when they didn’t bat an eye about someone drawing similarities between a rapist and a sexual assault survivor to justify their shipping needs is astounding. if you read the post no one was saying tamlin and azriel are the same. i’m gonna detail my own thoughts on why these two mirror each others narrative, but with key differences. 

abusive childhoods:

i feel like people forget that both tamlin and azriel were victims of an abusive household. the key difference is azriel’s history has made him want to defend those who cannot defend themselves/punish those who are the perpetrators of violence while tamlin gave into his anger and violence at the world. it’s a classic tale of being an abuse victim. you either grow up to separate yourself from your past and do better than your parents or you become just like them. 

tamlin’s brothers would have murdered him as a babe in his bassinet if they suspected he had potential or desire for the high lord position. we also know tamlin’s father held slaves and was aligned with others who shared his view of the world in the war. pair these bits together and we can assume tamlin’s father was a more aggressive and violent father than even beron is. tamlin grew up in a home where he did not feel safe. and when his father tasked tamlin with finding out his enemy’s secrets tamlin obliged. 

he was present and possibly participated in the butcher and murder of rhys’ family. this was a significant moment for tamlin’s turn into becoming an abuser like his father. he could have lied, he could have denied knowing the information about rhys’ mother and sister, but instead he gave that information over to his father knowing he was signing a death warrant. some could argue that he may have done this because of his own father’s abusive tendencies toward him, but this was the moment imo that tamlin went from a victim to a predator. 

as for azriel we all know the abuse he suffered by his family. how his brothers tortured him and tried to have him killed. how he was denied any affection or love growing up and was taught that his existence was a stain on his family’s reputation. azriel could have easily turned into an abuser himself the way tamlin did, but being dumped into the illyrian camps and finding cassian and rhys saved him from that fate. his brotherhood with them was the turning point for azriel to no longer be a victim, but a survivor. 

anger issues:

you can’t deny that both tamlin and azriel suffer with anger and control issues. it’s clear in the text they both have a barely contained, deep-seated anger that could be deathly when let loose. the key difference is tamlin has no one to reign him in, no one of his equal to calm that rage. azriel has this support system and has been shown to have utilized it when needed. i’m not going to go into a full analysis on all the examples, but I will point out the main ones I think we all know.

tamlin’s explosive anger was shown when he blew apart the library when feyre and he disagreed about her safety measures in acomaf. he could have easily hurt her had she not had magic to protect her (as seen when this same moment was repeated in acowar). tamlin let his rage and helplessness consume his every thought about protecting the person he loved and instead became the very threat he sought to protect her from. he let his paranoia about her being in danger prevent him from listening to her needs and locked her in a cage. this in itself was abusive, there’s no arguing this point. the part to note is that he as a high lord had no one of equal measure to talk him down, to help him see reason. when lucien tried to step in he was dismissed and abused himself. when feyre tried to speak up on her own behalf tamlin refused to listen and as high lord his word/wants/needs were law in his lands. he had no one who could provide a healthy perspective and so left unchecked he continued his abusive behavior.

azriel’s cold, lethal anger was shown when he exploded at the meeting with the high lords in acowar and attacked eris for a slight against mor. he was inches from letting the rage take hold of him and ending eris’s life. feyre, his high lady and friend, was able to calm him down and make him see reason. azriel is a trained spy and torture master, he’s supposed to be able to keep a cool head in high stressed situations, to act unemotionally to get his job done. however reliving the trauma of seeing a broken mor and imagining eris leaving her there consumed him with rage he could no longer contain. i’m not here to justify his actions. mor’s own trauma of seeing azriel fly off the deep end is enough for me to condemn his behavior. i am however pointing out that i think his reaction was not just about mor, but about reliving his own helplessness and loss of control and letting it consume him into a lethal rage. 

the key difference with tamlin and azriel’s moments of all consuming rage is that azriel had someone to talk him down and let him see reason. tamlin refused the help of his own support system (lucien/feyre) and instead gave into his abusive and volatile tendencies. azriel could have easily done that same, but because of his brotherhood and friendships he has people to pull him back from the edge. 

desire for love and acceptance:

both tamlin and azriel (and all characters in this series tbh) have a strong desire to love and be loved in return. the problem is when that desire for love becomes an obsession and entitlement. it becomes harmful when you think you’re owed something. 

tamlin let his desire for feyre become obsessive. he had his soldiers hunt her down to drag her back to his home. he refused to accept that she was happy and healing away from him because he was in despair without her. he couldn’t fathom that she could be finding peace when he was being torn apart. he allied himself with monsters because he convinced himself that his love for feyre was the stuff of legend and that he was acting in a heroic manner. and even when he found out that she had a mate, something that is considered a sacred bond above all things to their people, he refused to accept that the cauldron/the mother/fate could be so cruel to deny him his happily ever after. feyre was his and he would reclaim her no matter what. he would defy the mother herself for his love. the problem with this is that he did not take into account feyre’s needs. when you love someone you put their needs above your own. he didn’t care that feyre was mated, that she loved rhys, because his obsession for her and belief that she belonged to him outweighed all reason. his love for her turned toxic if you can even call it love to begin with. 

azriel is a bit different, but the parallels are there. he’s not at the obsessive point yet (masturbating to pain killers notwithstanding) and he may never get there. one could argue he spent 500+ years being obsessed with mor, but his support system held him in check. that when he saw mor flirting and sleeping with others he leaned on his brothers, on cassian, to distract him and help him through the pain of knowing the person he loved didn’t love him back. and regarding elain i think whatever is between them is entirely too new to relate it to his feelings for mor, but it’s also looking to be just as unhealthy. he didn’t bat an eye about fighting lucien in a blood duel and seemed to welcome the challenge. he knows that if lucien were to die that pain could destroy elain. even if she doesn’t love lucien, has not accepted the mating bond, she and he are soulbound. if he were to die it could shatter her, but he didn’t seem to think of that consequence at all. 

when he questioned the wisdom of making them mates in the first place, when he claimed “what if the cauldron was wrong?” and then rationalized his thoughts by saying 3 sisters for 3 brothers.... this is a callback to tamlin refusing to believe the cauldron would deny him love by mating feyre to rhys. questioning why he doesn’t have a mate of his own isn’t inherently bad, but implying that because his brothers found mates with 2 of 3 sisters so lucien doesn’t deserve the 3rd is. when he doesn’t talk to his brother about why he desires elain and instead talks about why fate has robbed him of a sister it stands to reason why rhys would take exception to this way of thinking. it’s bordering on toxic and i’m glad rhys was there to pull rank on azriel. 

are tamlin and azriel the same?

no, didn’t you listen to anything said? they are not the same and the key difference as to why is because azriel has a support system of brothers and friends that he can rely on to keep him in check. tamlin has pushed away any form of support and has embraced his beastly abusive behavior. saying that their story parallels is not saying azriel is an abuser like tamlin. it’s pointing out why tamlin’s story is a cautionary tale for azriel’s future journey. it’s outlining that while they may share similar aspects of an abusive past, anger issues, and longing for love and affection they are not the same people at their core because of the way they deal with their trauma. 

[klbwriting]

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 6

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: future Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: with the carriage crashed they must continue on horseback

Note: this one is shorter, I wanted to have some nice bonding with Jesper done before we got back to the regularly scheduled story

Taglist: @mcntsee​

              Kaz had felt the weight of the carriage change a moment before they went into the ditch.  It gave him time to get ready so that when they fell, he was able to land on his side instead of his head.  His hip throbbed but he was able to stand quickly and noticed that Y/N hadn’t been so lucky.  Curse his stupid mouth for saying something hurtful to her before this.  He knew brushing off her confessions was callous, but he had been annoyed with her for pulling her legs away from him.  He knew he was petty but that was a new low and now he would have to win back her affection.  Why did he want her affection anyway? O right because his heart was working for once.  Damn.

              He stumbled over to where she lay unconscious and looked around the carriage, finding a way out in the floor.  Must have been a carriage for smuggling, complete with emergency exit if you were caught, smart.  He kicked open the trapdoor and then looked back at Y/N.  He knew Jesper would come in and get her but Kaz wanted to be the one who got her.  He tossed his cane out the door and took a deep breath, focusing on getting Y/N to safety, and picked her up into his arms.  He carried her outside, laying her down in the grass nearby.  Once she was safe the thoughts of dead bodies and Jordie’s face roared into his mind and walked to the edge of the woods and vomited, holding himself against a tree.  When he was finished he turned back to see that Jesper was checking on her, his arm bleeding.

              “Are you hurt?” Kaz asked, walking back over to them. Jesper shrugged before standing next to him.

              “I’m fine, just a cut” he responded, tearing off his shirt sleeve and wrapping it around the cut, tying it with difficulty. “Can’t offer a hand?” he said to Kaz, smirking.  Kaz glared. “You saved her, carried her out here, you like her, you big softie.”  The look Kaz sent him wiped the smile off his face.  It was a long time before Jesper mustered the courage to speak again.  “Its alright you know, to have feelings about someone, you can still rip out hearts and then go home to someone.”

              “That’s enough Jesper, I don’t need a lecture from you about my feelings,” he snarled, hearing Y/N start to stir.  She blinked open her eyes and sat up quick, gripping her head. She looked around, then at the two men in front of her.

              “How did I get out of the carriage?” she asked. Before Kaz could stop him Jesper spoke.

              “Kaz carried you out,” he said, smiling big. Kaz’s blood was boiling at the betrayal. Y/N looked at Kaz silently.        

              “Thank you Kaz,” she said softly, standing with Jesper’s help.  Kaz nodded quietly, looking away.  He was going to have to admit sooner or later that Jesper was right, he did have feelings for her, but he would admit that later.  He still didn’t know what he could do in a relationship with someone anyway, who would want a broken bastard?  

              By this time Jesper had brought the horses over and even had found a spare saddle in the carriage storage bin.   Y/N dressed the horse, getting on ready to ride.  

              “Kaz take this one, I’ll ride with Jesper on the other,” she said, holding the reins.  Kaz wanted to argue but knew he couldn’t possibly ride a horse with someone else, not even Y/N, for the amount of time they needed.  The Permafrost was still over 2 days away, he would never survive. He climbed on the horse with difficulty, ignoring the help the others offered.  Once astride he slid his cane into his belt and heard a giggle.  He narrowed his eyes at Y/N and once again found that she wasn’t the least bit afraid of him.  He both admired and hated that about her.

              “You look like a general in those old school books, saber at the ready,” she said.  Kaz rolled his eyes and looked away before anyone could see the red that flared on his cheeks.  “But you’re much better looking than those guys.”  Kaz had expected a compliment, she seemed to like teasing him and then stroking his ego to win back his favor.  He hated that it worked.  He watched, a little annoyed, when she joined Jesper on the horse and they started riding north again.  

                Y/N could see that Kaz was struggling, not with his horse, but his emotions.  She had to admit, his feelings were probably harder to tame than a wild horse and she still didn’t know if it was worth it.  She realized that his jab about her secrets the night before had been out of anger. She wasn’t sure what he was angry about, but him carrying her out of the carriage proved that he cared about her in some way.  She would take that and work with it.  

              “You like him don’t you?” Jesper asked, him also noticing how Kaz couldn’t look at them for more than a moment before he looked away again, the jealousy clear on his face.  

              “Yes, I more than like him,” she answered. Jesper was easy to talk to, Kaz should send him out to gain secrets, with his laid back attitude and fun demeanor anyone would get loose lips with him.  He nodded and looked ahead again but she noticed the frown on his face.  “What has you upset?”

              “I…I miss Wylan,” he said softly.  It was almost like he was just admitting it to himself and she felt her heart break a little at the sad look on his face.  “Stupid merchling wormed his way into my heart and won’t let go.”  

              “I guess we both have men who are unreachable at the moment.  I’m sure we will find Wylan at the resistance camp, if he had the strength to deal with both you and Kaz I can only imagine how strong his will is.  I’m still debating on shooting you both,” she teased. Jesper let out a chuckle.

              “If you find you want to shoot Brekker you can use my guns,” he answered making her laugh this time.  

              “You two seem chummy,” Kaz called, riding to walk his horse closer to them.  He looked so put out by their interactions that Y/N almost laughed at him.

              “Don’t worry Kaz, I’m not trying to steal your new girl,” Jesper shot back.  If looks could rip someone apart the look Kaz gave him would have done that and more.  “You see Kaz here almost ended up with Inej…” A loud crack rang out and Jesper let out a strangle cry of pain.  Kaz had snapped his cane out, smacking it hard against Jesper’s knee.  

              “Don’t start talking like you know anything Jesper,” Kaz said, voice menacing.   Y/N looked at him.  This must be Dirtyhands, the supposed bad guy buried in Kaz, the one who liked to rip out eyes and maim men for saying the wrong thing.  She was impressed by his vicisousness but she didn’t want this aspect of Kaz to be out and about right now.

              “Kaz calm down, this is all in good fun,” she said. “I know you don’t know how to really have fun but I promise this conversation will never be shared with anyone, right Jesper?”

              “Right,” Jesper wheezed out, still trying to move his leg.  “Did you break my kneecap?”

              “Just disabled your lower leg for a minute, you’ll be fine.  God knows I don’t want to carry you if you break your leg,” Kaz responded.  He looked at Y/N and she smiled at him, wanting him to calm down.  She saw him take a deep breath and relax some.

              “So are you going to tell me about Inej?  I have heard the stories about her leading the refugees north, she sounds amazing,” Y/N said.  And she sounds infinitely better than me for Kaz she thought to herself.  Inej was supposed to be strong, a leader, someone that could gain secrets by knife or by charm, and apparently Kaz had once wanted her.   Y/N didn’t often let insecurity eat at her, she was Grisha who could do anything, why should she think less of herself?  But the idea that Kaz would desire her over Inef Ghafa seemed laughable.  

              “No one is going to talk about Inej anymore. What I felt for her wasn’t real,” he said, a pleading look in his eyes.  This whole conversation was making him squirm it seemed, too much talk of feelings and emotions that he didn’t want to visit.   Y/N nodded, feeling a little better that he seemed to be telling the truth.  Inej was a friend, a second in command, but it appeared that she was just that and nothing more.  Then again, Y/N was just a Grisha, someone to get them back to their crew and nothing more. Suddenly she didn’t feel any better.

              They rode on for another hour, the sun getting hot above them as they passed midday in silence.   Y/N was hoping they would get at least halfway to the Permafrost today but she felt her heart stop and her blood go cold as a voice called from behind them.

              “Little puppy, seems you found some new friends,” the Darkling said.  Jesper whipped the horse around and all three stared as the man approached alone, looking ready to kill.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Questionnaire

Thank you @1000generations and @rosella-writes for the tags! I love things such as this that allow me to flesh out Fane more! :D

I’ll tag: @oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @noire-pandora @blueheaded and anyone else that’d like to give it a go! :3

----

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Fane Lavellan/Aterian (The second name is one he’s rarely called until later on. Mainly post-Trespasser by those in his contingent of agents.)

Role in story: The Inquisitor (highly derogatory)

Physical description: Short, messy snow white hair and eyes that hold two colors instead of one (emerald and gold). Bears the vallaslin of Sylaise (full-face). Relatively angular face and holds features that are more indicative to ancient elves than the ones of today. Overall height is 6′1 and is far more muscular in build than other elves, but still slender enough that he isn’t mistaken for a Qunari. Entire body is littered with patch-work scars and has a singular, long scar upon his left cheek (inflicted by Solas) 

Age: Appears 24 (approximately 5,000 years old in actuality)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: INTP-T (Logician). Fane is very much like me in the fact that he’s extremely analytical. He’s always questioning and trying to piece together ‘why’ or ‘how’. Sadly, social skills are lacking for him, and he comes across as proud or insensitive due to how he words things or his lack of understanding when it regards to why someone might be put off by his views.

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear? 

To be forgotten/Himself

Inner motivation: 

Rebirth. Fane wants to see the world restored to what he remembers (i.e. before the Veil was erected), and he wishes for his kin to thrive once more, to belong to no master but themselves. The birth of Yune (the last of Fane’s specific kin) awakens the ideal of ‘hope’ in his heart and allows him to believe that what he strives for is possible.

Kryptonite: 

Pride and Wrath. Fane has a volatile temper that tends to get him into trouble, on and off the battlefield. He is prone to bouts of proud behavior due to the fact that he’s lived for so long and believes he knows what the ‘absolute’ in the world is. 

What is their misbelief about the world? 

That everything terrible that has happened to him or that he has done thus far since awakening/being awakened is his fault, his choice. At the beginning of my story and in regards to the world as a whole, Fane believes he knows exactly how each person is (personality, motivations, ideals, etc.), even though he has no idea who he is.

Lesson they need to learn: 

That his existence is not a sin. That whoever or whatever he is doesn’t matter. He’s alive and he is loved, he is important. Labels do not need to define him.

What is the best thing in their life? 

Family (Solas, Mhairi, Cyfrin, Yune, etc.)

What is the worst thing in their life? 

That he had to betray family to support family. Fane will do whatever it takes to ensure Solas is never alone again and that his kin can be remembered for what they truly are, but in order to do that he has to make decisions, choices and those decisions carry a lot of pain and heart break. He’ll endure, however. He’ll always endure.

What do they most often look down on people for? 

Ignorance and faith. The faith aspect is mainly people wholly relying on that which they can’t see rather than the strength and independent thought that they possess. Fane despises those who use faith as a tool to manipulate or those who are willfully blind to the cries of the world and the suffering.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

Primarily, Solas awakens the hidden or muted sides of Fane. Solas represents ‘the sky’ to him, and just a glimpses into the other’s eyes can make Fane feel as if he’s able to fly again. Having someone understand and know him for more than his rage and bluntness also makes Fane feel more alive when he’s used to feeling grey. 

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? 

Intimacy of presence. Fane feels most loved when those he cares for is content to merely be around him, words or no words. Solas is the one that does this the most often, the two of them having had to use this level of communication in the past due to Fane being a dragon unable to talk or link up mentally with anyone other than spirits. However, Cole, Mhairi and Cyfrin also utilize this means of communication. Solas is merely the one that offers it the most. 

Top three things they value most in life? 

Devotion, Independent thought, and Support.

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why? 

A crimson sash adorned with golden embroidery of halla and leafless trees. It was a gift from Mhairi, and it was given to Fane shortly after their father disappeared and the experiments upon his body ceased. Fane wears it either around his waist or as a scarf. He’s usually not one to accept gifts, family or not, but he kept this one because it offered a lot of comfort where it had been lacking for several years. Fane also adores his sister with all his heart, and to see that she chanced potential capture to gather the materials...how could he spit in the face of such love? He couldn’t, and that’s why he keeps it even Post-Trespasser. He rarely wears it as he used to during that time, but he keeps it safe and pulls it out when he’s alone to remember simpler days.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

Fane gravitates towards clothing that’s loose and practical. He refuses to wear any of the clothing that Josephine or Vivienne might choose for him. To start, Fane wraps his entire upper body in Elvhen wraps to cover the myriad of scars that litter his body. The wraps are usually dark brown, dark green, or black. Next, he opts for cotton tunics, short sleeved or long sleeves, but he’ll have tendency to roll them up to his elbow, and once again, they are either dark or neutral colors (black, grey, etc.). Plain trousers, somewhat form fitting, and most importantly; boots. Fane does not go barefoot unless he’s getting ready for bed or bathing. He also wears a small dagger that he keeps strapped to an upper thigh. Just in case. *winks*

What names or nicknames has they been called throughout their life?

Fae (generally by Cyfrin or Mhairi), ma’isenatha (’my dragon’ and is typically used by Solas), Blackened One (this is the translation of Fane’s ‘second’ name and is used both respectfully/derogatory), He Who Flew Above (used by the Elvhen agents in both Fane and Solas’ respective contingents), White One (Abelas generally refers to Fane as this once he drops the Inquisitor title, Wisdom also calls Fane this), vhenan or ma vhenan.

And last, but definitely not least, ‘Papae’ *whistles innocently* :3 

What is their method of manipulation?

Fane has draconic abilities that can warp emotions. In a way, he implements a form of psychological warfare, but he only uses it as a last resort whether the enemy is a piece of absolute trash or not. Fane has had his mind broken multiple times, died from it once even, and unless given no other choice, he will not break another like that.

Describe their daily routine. 

Fane wakes up at the crack of dawn. He doesn’t like to, but he usually has no control over it due to years upon years of waking up from nightmares and retching. If he manages to awaken without many issues, Fane strides right into his routine of training, with or without eating. Training helps quell his mind of lingering terrors, and establishes discipline to emotions that are volatile. Afterwards, Fane may eat on his own, but generally, Mhairi, Cyfrin or Solas have to acquire something for him and press him to eat. He always relents, even if he glowers and growls. Cole takes a more subtle approach and just leaves it where Fane can easily smell it, awakening the want. 

Mid-day Fane is usually doing his rounds, checking on companions, maybe entertaining a conversation or request, or begrudgingly diving into Inquisition business. (paperwork, letters, etc.) If he’s having a rough day, headaches, mental exhaustion, or physical pain, then Fane is less likely to get much done and that’s because Solas will demand that he take it easy. In those cases, Fane will fight and protest and declare that he’s fine, but a single look that says, ‘Enough’, and he crumbles, taking the offering of a pillowed lap and potentially sleeping for at least half the afternoon. When he wakes up, Fane lingers in the rotunda and with attempt some form of work until evening.

That’s when Fane indulges in more personal pursuits. He whittles wood, reads and writes poetry, tinkers with one of his gauntlets or plating, and lets himself want. He’ll sometimes go to the tavern to see Varric or the Chargers, even if being around Bull makes him a tad uneasy. Or he’ll seek out his sister and see if she wishes to do something with him. Fane doesn’t ask, of course, but that’s because Mhairi bombards him the moment he appears and he accepts and agrees without fuss. Sometimes Fane will visit Leliana in the rookery and go over what she’s heard or what he’s hear, or he’ll spend time with Cole until Solas comes to see where he’s gone off to.

Their go-to cure for a bad day? 

Usually, training or just outright destroying something. Fane has issues controlling some of his emotions, rage most of all, and the only way to get that specific emotion out is to physically take it out. Solas and Mhairi have attempted to help Fane diffuse in different ways, but the only one that seems to work the best is for a dragon to rampage. Thankfully, Fane retreats from Skyhold if that he feels his mind blackening. Solas or Cole will follow and keep an eye on him from a distance, but Solas will intervene if he feels Fane is close to spiraling beyond anger. Then, the go-to is words, soft, but firm.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life? 

Fane’s life Pre-Inquisition and within Inquisition is...rough. Life with the clan was torture for him, literally being called a mistake and monster due to how he acted and how he looked. No one understood why and neither did Fane beyond knowing his father’s abuse had...awoken something in him. That lack of understanding infuriated Fane, to the point where he chose to just...ignore it, turn his back. Add that to the burden placed upon his shoulders unwillingly, and once again being labeled as every manner of being except what would make him feel complete...yeah, Fane was highly dissatisfied with his life. It isn’t until he and Solas reconcile and vow to never be apart again that Fane starts to find purpose and the will to try in his life. That satisfaction only grows Pre-Trespasser once Fane uncovers a lot of answers concerning himself and his kin after going on a little field trip to a place that shall not be name while Solas attends to the Qunari.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

Simply put? Fane wants Solas to be able to rest. That would bring Fane so much joy, to see his sky finally throw down the mantle and rest. All he wants is for them both to be able to be together and not have the world demanding their lives on a silver platter every second of every hour.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality? 

Support. That is one of Fane’s guiding principles when it comes to Solas and what the mage has deemed he has to do. Fane helps to keep Solas on the path, but he knows when to step in if the fog rolls in. Fane doesn’t see right or wrong; he sees paths, choices. He supports what Solas wishes to do because he understands why the man feels the way that he does. Fane is Devotion and Tenacity, and he will die again and again and again before leaving Solas to walk this dark path alone, without support. Because that, all on its own, can change a person’s mind.

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? 

Fane is only fearful that his support could be causing Solas grief, making him upset due to the fact that the mage feels as if Fane should condemn him. However, Fane presses on and doesn’t let fear shackle him in this. Fear is potent in Fane, that’s the truth, but it all washes away when Solas requires him. Devotion is stronger than Fear, Tenacity grinds Terror into dust, and a dragon will always guard the sky it calls home. 

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? 

So, Fane’s main fears are being forgotten and himself. The supporting aspect is to combat the being forgotten aspect, partially, but when in regards to himself... That’s a whole other story. Fane grapples with madness coutnless times in my story and the allure of power, something dragons cannot yearn for lest they cause irreversible harm to the world, and he is fearful that eventually...the clock will strike, the hourglass will run out and that he didn’t do enough. For Solas, for his kin, and for the world. Furthermore, Fane is terrified that that madness will eventually harm those he cares for, those he’s vowed to protect and support. So, Fane does whatever he can to keep his spirit from warping, to keep himself from breaking beyond what can be repaired, and having Yune and Solas, and seeing the progress of their endeavors helps keep Fane on the cliff he teeters on.

[misterewrites]

Intro to Caitlyn 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Summary:  Caitlyn is a thief looking for the next big score. Used to taking wristwatches and wallets from rich folk, she's aiming to take down bigger game as she discovers the hidden magical world within her hometown. Her first mark is an unassuming shopkeeper and his collect of ancient relics. All set with a plan, Caitlyn makes her move. Though plans rarely go off without a hitch.

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are all well and staying safe. So the next chapter of my little side project is here! Honestly wasn't planning on getting back to this so soon but I was having fun worldbuilding and character creating and here we are. You can blame my friend @hains-mae for enabling me.

Right so the next thing I write will probably be the part two to this then the next chapter of the Underground. Umm that's really it for me so have a great week, be safe, wear your mask, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Please feel free to reblog, share, leave kudos or leave comments with things you liked or feedback if you read it on a03. I promised I'd try to promote myself more and it feels weird haha.

E is out, have a great one everyone! and here’s the link to the doobly do 

---> https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76014323

There was an arrogance that seemed deeply etched into every aspect of the magical world. She stood among valuable, ancient relics from throughout human history: Vases from Greece lined the shelf above her. A row of Roman gladius blades in various states of decay with only a flimsy glass case between them and Caitlyn’s pocket. Tarnished Victorian era slivered lockets left about like loose change.

Millions dollars worth of the past and she, a stranger, was left unattended with it all.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to be in here with the locked door and close sign but the fact in the 5 minutes it took her to pick the lock and scout the first floor without a single soul attempting to stop her really was a testimony to the haughtiness of the ‘shopkeeper’.

It had been only few months since she saw past the false reality that was superimposed onto hers and she was still readjusting: Magic was real. Elves, dwarves, little halfing folk? Real. People shooting bolts of lightning and flames while riding storm clouds? Real. The guy who kept awkwardly hitting on her every time she tried to get a hotdog from the cart at the corner? Just a regular creep BUT could’ve been magical.

Even their currency was a show of their excessive wealth: Sliver, gold, platinum coins Actual platinum traded away like it was nothing! People starving and helpless on the streets and these bastards just walked with some of the rarest metal on the planet in their pockets like chump change.

Anger bubbled within her stomach along with self righteousness and a bit of her breakfast but she took a deep calming breath, closing her bluish gray eyes. ‘Calm down Cait’ she scolded herself ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen excessive wealth squandered and wasted. You’re here for a job so do it and never come back.’

She glanced around the waiting room she found herself in. It was off to the side of the shopping front andthere were very few things of interest in the tiny room: Some old, tattered chairs that had seen better days. A very, very tacky abstract painting hung over a bricked up fireplace. There was a scattering of magazines older than her with loose stables and free roaming pages everywhere.

A place of show and very little use.

“Hello my angel.”

Caitlyn seized up. She had been so caught up in her rage she hadn’t been paying attention to anyone coming down the stairs. Three stories with a handful of people about and nary a sound could heard. Must be some sort of magic.

She shook herself out of her stupor, slowly exhaling to calm her nerves. She forced her lips to curve into the cutest, lost smile she could muster. She opened her purple jacket a bit further so the guy could get a clearer view of her tight white tank top and running shorts.

“Helpless. Remember you’re helpless.” She whispered to herself before whirling about, her long black hair with dyed purple coloring flowed behind her gracefully as if she was an actress in those stupid hair product commercials.

“Oh!” she spoke with mock surprise, scrunching her face cutely as possible “I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m lost and the door was open and sorry!”

She leaned forward, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck as she gave whoever it was a better view of her outfit.

Hook, line and sinker.

“No problem sweetie. No need to lie to me.”

Hook, line and sunk apparently.

She blinked, unsure if she heard what she thought she heard. She glanced up to find a strangely dressed man with the goofiest grin.

He was cute in a ‘I dress as an obscure, indie character for cosplay’kind of way: His messy, unkempt black hair sat under a black fedora. He wore a long black trench coat that had seen better days. At least he preferred more colors than black on black. His collared shirt was a nice baby blue with an equally nice light brown vest. Black dress pants because men’s fashion is incredibly boring and shiny loafers to completed the look. Whatever the look was.

She expected him to be taking a good look at her attire.

What she found was him staring at her.

His warm dark brown eyes were soft, gentle and he refused to break his gaze from her bluish grays even though there were more tempting sights on offer.

She was on the back foot. No wandering glances, no self pleasured smiles. Not even a creepy chuckle. Just a strangely dressed, inch shorter guy looking like he just found the love of his life in this moment.

“I…” she cleared her throat “Umm….did you hear me?”

He gave a quick nod “Yeah. You broke in and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

It wasn’t that he guessed correctly what was she up to that threw her off. It was how casually he said it. More discussing the weather than committing a felony.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure how to proceed from whatever this was. There were always some people who caught on about her intentions fairly quickly but no one had ever been so….indifferent about it.

“I don’t work here.” the man offered, slowly closing the distance between them but leaving the doorframe wide open “I really don’t care that you’re here to rob the place.”

This has to be a trap. This had to be. No one was ever this….laidback. Were the other goons on the side waiting to jump her when she bolted? Was she on camera and he was letting her go knowing full well he had all the evidence he needed to track her down?

Or maybe he really didn’t care. He seemed more interested in talking than stopping her and there was this strange presence about him. A calm she’d never felt before even when her parents were alive. It was odd and foreign to her but she felt safe. Protected.

She shook her head, slowly inching closer to the doorway. The man made no attempt stop her. He just stood there, smiling, hands in his pocket.

The rational part of her brain said to run. This whole thing was botched and it was better to cut her losses than find out first hand what magical creatures could do to her. The less rational side of her head told her to wait, to talk this guy. Lying was obviously pointless but she had a feeling he would answer any questions she’d had and she had plenty.

“So…” she rose a suspicious eyebrow “Not gonna stop me?”

He shook his head “I wish you’d stay but I understand if you don’t want to be found in Andor’s shop. He’s one of those new elves. Less honor more power.”

She blinked. He said elves right? Just threw it out there like it was an everyday matter of fact and not a deeply held secret of her hometown.

“Elves aren’t real.’ Caitlyn said matter of fact.

“We both know better than that.” The man gave a bright smile.

“What do you want?”

The words spilled out of her mouth despite her best attempts but this guy was throwing her off so badly she forgot how to function.

“Talk to you of course.”

The worst kind of people were the sincere ones. They were sappy and gooey. They just so happy it was sickening. They had to be up to something. They had to some scheme or scam or something they were waiting to drop on you. No one was that happy, that purely honest. They were the liars who were so good they convinced themselves they were good people. No one was good and everyone had a dark corner in their soul they hid from the world.

Caitlyn knew she had plenty in whatever was left of her ratty soul.

“And if we talk? Will you let me go?”

The man nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caitlyn licked her lips anxiously “Promise?”

Promise? What was she 12? No one kept their promises. Not even her.

He placed his hand over his heart “Cross my heart.”

“Let’s talk,”

He jerked his head towards the door “Outside. Don’t want you to ruin your heist.”

-----

Today was not going how she was expecting. She was thought she was going to break into an elf ran front, scout the area and come back in the middle of the night. She hadn’t been expecting to have coffee and bread with a random stranger on the street.

Well she had coffee, mystery man opted for hot chocolate.

They stood in a strangely comfortable silence a block from Andor’s. The man offered to pay for whatever she wanted and she took him up on it. Couple of baked goods, a sandwich for lunch, some water and of course her cup of wake up juice. If he was mad at her for her splurging at his expense, he hid it well. He just took his coco and some fancy elvish bread. Looked good but Caitlyn wasn’t up for trying other beings food. She didn’t know how it would sit with her stomach.

The elf who ran the cart, a few months ago human to her, waved goodbye to the pair as he counted the human cash the man gave him.

The trench coat cosplay stood patiently, sipping his drink and waited for her to break the silence.

She refused to break the silence first. Not wanting to sound too eager. Eagerness was a weakness and this guy was already throwing her off her rhythm.

“I’m Finnrick by the way.”

She turned to him, unsure if he was messing with her or not.

He gave her the same goofy smile “Finnrick Drift, private investigator.”

“Ah huh.” She nodded slowly “So you’re a magical P.I.? Like elves cheating on their wives, dwarves dodging their taxes P.I.?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders “Ironically elves like dodging on their taxes more than dwarves.”

“Right.”

“You’re new to the whole other side of Newton Haven huh?”

She glanced at her coffee “Lived here my whole life. Really makes me wonder if I lost my mind.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all mad here Alice.”

Why was she talking to him? Why was she being honest? This was weirder and getting weirder every passing second.

Finnrick changed subject “So, robbing Andor? Any particular loot you are after?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes “Trying to fish something out of me Finny?”

“Guilty as charged” He beamed with pure happiness “Don’t want you wasting your time on shiny trinkets he cares nothing about.”

Caitlyn remained silent. She wasn’t used to such transparency. Normally this would be the point where the guy would lie or pretend to not have heard or awkwardly switch the subject but Finnrick answered openly and honestly. So far.

“So” Caitlyn straightened up, pulling her jacket wide open “What do you think? Great outfit right?”

Finnrick turned to her with a grin, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue as his eyes locked onto hers “Your body is absolutely lovely but your eyes even more so.”

Caitlyn could feel the flush coming. She coughed loudly, focusing on her drink as she willed the embarrassment away.

Finnrick chuckled lightly but returned to his drink. The silence returned, still comfortable as before.

This is was bad whatever this was. She needed to regain some level of control and stop acting like a teenage girl on her first garbage fire of a date.

“So” she cleared her throat “Mister P.I. what would you recommend taking if not all those millions of dollars of historical items he leaves about?”

Finnrick crushed the foam cup effortlessly as he gestured to the third floor of the shop “His office has a pretty simple safe. He keeps loads of paperwork. His various contracts, accounts, treasure hoards”

Caitlyn scoffed in disbelief even though her eyes shone with excitement “Treasure hoards? Elves? I thought dragons were the hoarders. Weren’t elves supposed to be above all that lovely corruption?”

“No one is above corruption.’ Finnrick answered “Elves are just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and leaned back with a cocky swagger “And why, pray tell, would I care about boring paperwork?”

“Because it really hurt him in the pride.”

Damn Finnrick was good. Not only she was eager to learn more, she could already feel the smug satisfaction of bringing a powerful prick down a peg fill her cause.

Finnrick seemed to notice this because he went on “Andor is a young elf. 100 years give or take.”

“A hundred years is young?”

“When you live a thousand years every other race is a child to you. Andor’s old man is a swell guy. He’s one of those good elves you see in Tolkien.”

“Tolkien?” Caitlyn furrowed her brow “He wrote the books that those Lord of the Rings films are based on right?”

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh and the Hob…”

“We don’t talk about that.” Finnrick quickly added “But see the problem is Andor’s old man doesn’t know his son has become the small time crime lord. Thinks he’s running an antique business selling off old junk that was gathering dust in the family’s attic.”

Something clicked into place for Caitlyn “Wait. Junk from the attic? You mean all those relics on the shop floor?! THAT’S OLD JUNK!?”

Finnrick gave a casual shrug “Elves are weird. Andor don’t know shit about selling, all his money comes from his illegal business practices. That’s how he keeps the shop afloat.”

“I see” Caitlyn spoke, her bluish grays sparkling with mischievous intent “If those records disappeared, his shop sinks and he has to run back home to daddy.”

“And out of the city” Finnrick finished with a smile “And those records are pretty valuable to loads of people. Easier to fence and less messy to explain than a long lost Greek vase showing up in someone’s private collection. You’d get good prices for those hoard locations alone. Better than trying to carry tons of stolen and lost treasure back to your house.”

Caitlyn eyed Finnrick carefully “And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Trying to do your ‘civic’ duty to our fair city?”

“Among other things” Finnrick admitted “But mostly for the greater good.”

“Pfft, greater good? Yeah sure buddy. Like you know what’s the greater good.”

“Will you do it?”

Caitlyn paused, allowing all this information sink in. It was much better than she had planned and while she wasn’t sure of Finnrick’s angle, he seemed honest enough. Of course everyone seems honest enough the first time you meet them.

“Let’s say I do” she spoke, placing her hands on her hips to play the part “What’s in it for you?”

“A favor” He replied simply.

She rose a curious eyebrow “A favor? It’s not date with me, is it?”

“No, I plan to earn that one myself.” Finnrick answered cheerfully.

Caitlyn coughed “Fine, good. Not a date. Least you’re not a creep. But a favor is pretty vague.”

“It’ll be simple I promise.”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze suspiciously “You promise?”

Finnrick put his hand over his heart again “Cross my heart.”

Caitlyn took a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Caitlyn offered her hand towards the trench coat cosplayer “You got yourself a deal.”

He gently took her hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. She was surprised when, as he pulled back, she felt a strange metallic item left behind.

She looked at the crystal butterfly hair clip he placed in her hand: It was a beautiful with sliver hues and multi-colored shards of glass across its wings.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Caitlyn felt uneasy with the ornament in her palm: It felt cold and distant like it was feeling her out and wasn’t liking what it found.

“It’s attuning to you.” Finnrick explained “It’s syncing up to your whole aura.”

“Aura?” Caitlyn shot him a glare of disbelief “This isn’t one of those new age hippie things is it?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s a magical item. Yours specifically. Everything alive has a deep and very convoluted to explain connection to this plane. The hairclip is trying to match yours so you and only you can use it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Because it doesn’t know you yet. It will.”

Caitlyn felt unease about whatever this was. Part of her wanted to toss it as far as she could. The worst part was she felt the item probing at her, changing temperatures as if trying find a comfortable setting for both of them. Burning one moment and too cold the next. This was magic and it made her felt like she knew nothing.

But part of her felt it slowly and subtly trying to match her, focusing on her and on her place in the universe. It felt more natural each passing moment and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious what mister detective over here was letting her borrow.

Caitlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face “How long does this usually take?”

“An hour.” Finnrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone “Oh shoot I have a meeting to get to.”

He turned to leave and suddenly Caitlyn felt alone. Awkward just standing in the street without someone to talk to.

“Wait!” She reached for him but quickly pulled back when he faced her “….any advice?”

Finnrick scratched his chin for a moment “Red tiles. Avoid them or they’ll blast you off the roof.”

“G-gotcha.” Caitlyn didn’t want to know what blast off the roof was code for “A-and the hairclip? What’s it do?”

Finnrick gave a cheeky grin and Caitlyn could feel her face flush “I guess you’ll have to find out angel. Bye for now. May we meet again soon.”

And like that, he was off. Strolling down the straight with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

Caitlyn glanced at the ornate hairclip in her hand.

Turns out there was a lot more to this magical world than she thought.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human 2

As promised, here I am with part two, hehe this is looooong and I'm really really proud of it 👉🏻👈🏻 part one here

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: college!au, angst, fluff, many smooches in this chapter I hope you enjoy

Warnings: mentions of cheating, smoking and Zeke being a little shit

Cobblestone streets and modern renovated buildings bathed in tiny multi colored Christmas lights decorated almost every side of Trost with Christmas creeping around the corner. Petra's eyes were gleaming golden as they landed on every store window, the smile on her face refused to fade. Her footing only became faster as they approached the turn to the familiar coffee shop.

Her cuffed up jeans swayed as she flickered her feet to the pedestral, expectedly catching Levi's attention, but not for the reason she'd like to. Today, Petra seemed too bright and bubbly to take notice of any puddle of water that was left behind from last evening's brief snow storm. Everytime Levi managed to open his mouth, in hopes of scolding her to prevent her from getting her feet wet she seemed to skillfully sway herself out of danger, leaving him with his mouth slightly parted while his unspoken words took a roote from the tip is his tongue back to his brain.

"Come on Levi! We're almost there!" Petra said enthusiastically.

Levi only managed to click his tongue in response. With a head that was begging to burst and hips that burned in soreness and superstitial scratches inside his sweatpants he couldn't possibly bring himself to catch up on Petra's enthusiasm. He even caught himself wondering how Petra was in such a good mood; as if she wasn't mixing any existing drink along with Hange last night.

His head was swamping him, drowning him with trillions of new questions with every passing second. It was merely impossible for him to ignore his point of view of last night's events. His mind was not even allowing him to take a breather, to enjoy a soul mending cup of hot tea before he could come up with any believable assumption as to how exactly he ended up in the position he woke up in.

As he sternly walked ahead behind his bubbly partner, his heart protested in his chest everytime he set his eyes on Petra's auburn hair. His stomach, much in a horrid condition as well threatened him to spill the alcohol poisoned insides it was welding; every aspect of his sore, hungover body deemed him unable to allow him to carry on.

Nontheless, as they took the inevitable turn the all too familiar coffee shop stood only a few meters away from him as he paced a few more steps, clutching his stomach along with each tap of his feet on the ground. Petra shot him a knowing glare before she set her hands on the vast metallic knob, a loving half smile lingered it's way across her full pinkish cheeks.

Winter time didn't suit Petra, she knew that as much as the next person. Despite the fact that the saturated rosy hue on her cheeks and nose made her look unbelievably sweet, her caramel like persona and choice of aesthetic screamed spring from miles away. It was a miracle that she could manage to get through wintertime somehow stylish and warm. With her lilac puffer jacket zipped up over her mouth and her wide leg jeans cuffed perfectly in order for her butterfly patterned socks to peak from her creamy Converse, she felt somehow confident enough that this could be a regular casual look for her.

However, with the holidays approaching in a week's time she knew she would have much more liberty to her clothing choices. She shot another warm look at Levi again, never loosing her small smile as she painted the picture of the two of them near Erwin's fireplace on Christmas day in her head.

Had it not been for his body pushing him over the edge of guilt be probably would have left his heart warm up by the small affectionate gesture.

Petra's attention seemed to deviate away from him for a few, mere seconds, with an ultimate goal to find a nice comfortable booth to sit in. Upon her eyes falling to the left she spotted one that looked decent, if not, the best booth in the cafe. Plenty of today's minimal sunlight was gathered on the spot; at the side there was a waitress, silently scrubbing the surface of the table with force, a tray with used cups and plates balancing perfectly on her other hand.

Amazing spot and recently cleaned? Levi's prayers must have been heard today.

She resended the fact that Levi would be too grumpy to let himself be bathed in light; with a grip of her hand around his wrist she pulled him towards the booth in fast movements. She couldn't have anyone take the perfect stand on her favorite cafe and plus, it would do good to both her and Levi to warm up under the nice morning light.

Petra loosened her puffer jacket off her frame, as silently as she could master; she knew by looking at Levi's face that he was in pain. It was unusual if him to get that drunk, she knew, but he had been particularly grumpy and almost too generous with his drink the previous night.

Not that Petra couldn't suspect the reason as to why Levi had managed to go to such extend. Her mind had been fast to put the pieces together when she saw you approaching their group and even faster to acknowledge that you seemed to ignore Levi and her completely. She had seen the effort and pain in your somewhat unfocused eyes every time you threw a small glance at them, she had seen the way Levi's face would fall with every passing second as your greeting to him never came and she wasn't one to judge.

When deciding to go after Levi after he had just broken up with you she knew she had to accept that maybe he wouldn't be able to recover from his past relationship that early as to get in one with her. Hange had warned her about it, her friends had warned her about it, but with her caramel sunshine personality and quick smart wits she had found her self in a promising position to Levi's future. In addition, they were having fun, joyous moments together, their linking had soon turned into what seemed like a blooming relationship.

"So." Petra beamed and shook her thoughts off her head, extending her hands patiently waiting for Levi to respond to the action by tingling his fingers through hers. "What's today's tea?"

Getting comfortable in her seat wasn't hard. The faux leathery material of the booth rubbed on her buttocks but with her jeans muffling most of the sound though she let it fall deaf in her ears. Still, her hands sat welcomingly extended on the table, her fingers occasionally motioning Levi to take a good grab at them to which he never seemed to pay attention. He seemed to distracted and anxious, too deviated of the world around him. But still Petra remained beaming, patient.

"Today." Levi sighed, burying his head between his palms, rubbing along his eyebrows with his thumbs. "Today I'll have coffee."

"Oh it's one of those days?" Despite not wanting to be too generous with her bubbliness to the point where she could irritate the man, Petra chose to simply lower her voice in understanding.

"Turkish, make it double and bitter."

Only on rare occasions did Levi drink coffee. He didn't despise the taste as much as warm lager though, what got him cringing with coffee was that he'd be moody and sad all day afterwards. But today sure had been an exception. No amount of painkillers would work for his head if he didn't get a sufficient amount of caffeine in his body. And since he already was in a shitty mood, how could coffee make it any worse.

With Petra out of sight for a few moments he was for the first time today, left alone with his thoughts. As his head throbbed memories roared their way to every corner of his brain, making his eyes squint. Anxiety would creep in and out as he thought of leaving you in his apartment confused and all alone, supposing you'd know what to do.

How could you know what to do?

In that moment leaving with Petra had seemed as the only possible thing for him to do; he couldn't expose you to her, for all that was worth you shouldn't have been there in the first place. But now? Thinking about it made him sick to the stomach. You were equally confused as lost in the moment and he had left you alone after spitting his anger for himself towards you, he made a mental note that a little self control couldn't harm him the next time he had to deal with promiscuous situation.

Most importantly though, he was facing an irrational inner conflict. He wasn't one to jump to impulsive decisions, but he wasn't one to be unfaithful either; his actions sat acute on his chest, sending dry gulps down his throat.

Petra arrived with two drinks in her hands before he had time to process his thoughts further. Sitting her self on the booth again she passed him the small white cup, the strong aroma of Turkish coffee hitting him immediately upon the action.

His chest tensed as he finally felt comfortable to shift outside of his jacket. The guilt inside him was tripping, lathering his stomach in vibrations and spending hot waves throughout his body. Suddenly, he couldn't bare to look across the table in Petra's direction.

She was sipping tenderly on her hot cup of chocolate cappuccino, her upper lip curled up in a sweetheart manner on the rim of the cup as she ogled at him with a feathery soft expression plastered across her face.

Though he loathed to be put in such position by his own self, the decision in the back of his mind seemed like the only rational one. As the time passed by and his coffee sat in the small cup, still as ever, his thoughts only roared louder. Was what he was thinking the right thing to do or was he just jumping into another heartbreak?

There was a sudden hunger eating away his insides, a need to see you and sit down to talk about whatever had happened last night. His heart was pounding at the thought of sitting across from you under a softer, humane setting, with your eyes starting into his. Maybe you could linger your hand into his, in the way Petra had prompted him to do so before and maybe he'd be able to somehow come up with particular words to solve the tention between the two of you.

But supposing that could ever be the case, that prompt left no room for Petra by his side.

"Maybe we should take a break."

The words left his mouth before he could manage to put an alt to his thoughts.

Without realizing, his eyes were now wide, starring deep into Petra's hazel ones. With shaky hands he grabbed his cup, deciding now that it was time to wet his dry mouth.

"No." Petra blinked her eyes erratically into Levi's, taken aback as she was.

It hit her like a truck.

One particular thing had struck Petra, back in the day when watching Mean Girls as a coming of age teen for the first time. The way Regina was slammed by the school bus was raw and unforgiving, perfectly fit to the nature of the scene and surprisingly it had looked realistic enough to make Petra -or anyone else- gasp. But had she ever thought she'd be in Regina's shoes?

"No?" Levi spoke as if he was right on time to answer the question in her mind. But Petra was still struck, mouth slightly agap as she stared back at him. Her mind was traveling on way too many places at once, sending anxiety to her stomach but she managed, despite all odds, to take a deep breath. Then, another.

"What's gotten into you Levi?" She asked.

"Last night was," he paused, averting his eyes with guilt.

Suddenly, Petra knew. She didn't have to try and guess what he was despairately trying to mutter. The evidence was everywhere, but she had deliberately chose to close her eyes. She should have known ever since last night when Levi left without informing no one. She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brows, by clenching her fists hard enough so that her nails were digging into her palms her knuckles turned white.

It was mostly his appearance that gave him away, more so than his behavior. When it was most likely for Levi to be unusually grumpy on many days, it wasn't like him to dress so randomly. His woolen black turtleneck didn't exactly match his sweatpants and his leather jacket. It wasn't like him to make such matches between his clothes, not even when he was in a hurry. In addition, she could see the marks behind his right ear, something he might have had no idea about, but she was going to spare him of the embarrassment.

"No, we're not breaking up."

It wasn't like her to mouth such statement; in fact, Petra would never on her right mind prevent someone from breaking up with her. She had seen it happening one too many times. Of course human relationships were made to fall apart at some point but her luck, especially when it came to romance, had never been kind.

She had been kind to everyone instead.

Whether people liked it or not that was her. Kind and considerate too much for her own good. She couldn't help that she was attracted to mysterious looking men with issues that would stand in her way of happiness; Levi was a tangible example. As much as she would like to mark her territory around him, she was aware he didn't belong to her. He had unbeknownst to him made sure to show on different occasions, whether it was by staring at you from afar for a lite too long or by finding her self being offered to wear your spare clothes that lived still in his apartment.

Maybe that was what was breaking her heart, urging her in turn to refuse his departure from her life. She didn't know why she shushed him in such way. Was it that her heart would tear in two if she heard an actual confirmation to her thoughts fall off the tip of his tongue? Most probably.

"I don't mind." She cut him off the moment she saw him opening his mouth to speak. "I'll help you get through this, I wouldn't abandon you for a slip up."

...

"(Y/n)! Where have you been we've been worried sick!"

The moment you set your collapsing feet inside the campus Sasha's eyes fell on your form, desperately shooting you simultaneous glares of terror and relief. The brunette practically run to your direction; with her feet stomping on the now discolored, moist grass that covered the majority of the campus yard she marched ambiguously. A worriedly frowned Eren who tried his best to contain his messy hair from getting in his eyes as he run, followed asuit.

"Jeez, why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?" Sasha inquired, her voice loud as it was rang through your throbbing head, lingering in any possible hurting crevice. "Are you alright!?"

"Sas, don't scream, my head is about to explode." You muttered with watery eyes, begging your self to ignore Sasha's and Eren's puzzled faces.

"You reek of alcohol and sweat!" Eren exclaimed. "Shit. Where did you stay the night?"

"Beats me, Eren, I could have slept at a bench for all I know," you exhaled below a tainted breath.

At the sight of Eren's hard, unforgiving gaze, you could feel your heart speeding up inside your chest, the small vital organ clenched on your lungs, preventing them from processing air normally. Your chest burned in anxiety and uncertainty, there wasn't much time for you to come up with any excuse of your nighttime where abouts, you knew that much, and Eren or Sasha weren't going to straight up digest any profound lie you could come up with on the spot.

"Where did you wake up though?" Eren inquired sternly, yet his voice wasn't exactly authoritative as he waited for your answer.

"Outside my apartment door, I really don't remember anything up to that though."

"Don't scare us like that!" Sasha playfully punched your shoulder as she spoke with worried eyes. Her expression though quickly changed comically into fright as she finally scanned you up and down. "Just! Where is your jacket? It's freezing! Are you crazy?"

"I left it at that house yesterday. And my keys were in it." You muttered, averting your gaze away from Sasha.

"Stay here, I have a spare jacket in my bag, I'll go get it from Connie."

You nodded in response ignoring the fact that Sasha was already running away on her tracks upon the words leaving her lips. Quickly, you noticed as the expression of disapproval deformed off Eren's face, his lips curling upwards into into a soft smug.

He leaned close to you, bringing his face to the crook of your neck tilting his chin upwards so that his lips were almost brushing against your earlobe.

"I sure did leave you a nice mark yesterday huh? Don't flaunt it like that people will get jealous that im with you." A chuckle escaped him as he placed a quick kiss at the side of your neck. Eren's words were slowly shivering their way through your spine raising every single hair on your body.

When you realised what he was referring to your eyes widened, the tender spot of skin on your nape he had planted a kiss on burned in spreading hot blotches. Your stomach growled in protest to your feelings, threatening to spill once again as anxiety tied the organ in a numbing knot.

You shot a puzzled look at Eren -or rather at his back- but you weren't sure for what exactly. Your head was spinning, processing his spoken words unevenly in despairate efforts to put the pieces together. Was he aknowledging that you were together or was he sassing you over hickies he hadn't been the one to make?

And as oblivious as ever he only shot you a wide ear to ear grin. The cold winter air blew his long bangs to all directions across his face, his eyes squinting in happiness as he pulled back from your neck placing his palms over your shoulders. He didn't really seem like he even knew whether the marks on your neck were made by him.

"You know, maybe we should go out next Saturday alright?" He batted his eyes on you once again "No labels, just us buying Christmas gifts. Maybe Zeke could come as well."

Ah yes, Zeke. As if your problems weren't big enough already while you had to deal with the fact that you were most probably ruining Levi's life again with yesterday's actions, you also had to tolerate Christmas shopping with Eren and Zeke. When the fact that Eren would avoid the two of you being alone together in any date-like scenario was a given it was only on rare occasions your so proud and self proclaimed wingman stuck along with you.

In the back of your head you could always think about Levi and how much he disliked that you would sometimes hang out with Zeke, especially due to the fact that the two of you shared a sculpture class.

But why exactly were you thinking about that now?

Nevertheless you needed to stop your mind from running back to Levi for only a moment. The way he had abandoned you in his apartment all alone was cruel enough and as you looked at Eren, worrying your button lip between your front teeth, you contemplated on whether you deserved it.

You had gotten up on your wobbly feet only to maniacally search for your clothes all over his floor. Your jacket, long forgotten in his car to which of course you didn't have access, held your apartment keys. You had opted to just dress up with the clothes you had and walk the short distance to the campus; what could have possibly happened in a ten minute walk? You couldn't freeze your arms off in such a short period of time.

Admittedly, you had taken numerous walks without a jacket after midnight during wintertime, but the freezing morning breeze of December in Trost was something you wished you had never underestimated.

If you could, you would have Sasha slap you for not borrowing one of Levi's jackets but in your last hungover braincell's defense, you didn't want to cause him any more trouble. Of course you'd put him in enough trouble when you'd ask him for your jacket and keys, you couldn't possibly imagine to have to give him back a piece of clothing you had burrowed without asking.

You were positive he had come to hate you enough that he could set any cloth you wore on fire. Was he going to do the same to the bed covers, you wondered.

Naturally, your thoughts were cut short as Sasha approached you with a hooded sweater in her hands. As the brunette whined, out of breath you finally awknowledged Eren again; his hand was wrapped around your shoulders, providing momentarily warmth as he worriedly stared at your shivering jaw.

"You must be so cold." Sasha mouthed as she wrapped her own arms over Eren's around you. "I'm sorry I didn't have a spare jacket snd, Connie didn't either but Reiner did, he gave me this and he said he'd search for your jacket at their frat alright?"

You simply nodded, slightly closing your eyes in acceptance of her gesture. Your own frozen arms came to wrap around her waist as you pulled her close to you. "Thank you baby."

"Don't mention it. Reiner also gave me a jersey, they're both fleece, you should be warm enough."

Eren seemed to shift uncomfortably as you ripped Reiner's black hoodie off Sasha's grip, despairately speeding up your movements to wear the warmth providing piece of clothing over your form. His lips puckered momentarily as he pinched his nose in what looked like annoyance from the corner of your eye. Quickly though you caught his face falling into a smug expression once again as he eyed you.

"I'll say thanks to Reiner for you." Eren said, clicking his tongue while pinching his nose once again.

Once Eren strolled away, Sasha widened her eyes dropping her mouth in an unbelievable manner of disbelief. She sucked the underside of her mouth, propping her lower lip even further to exaggerate the comical effect of her expression. Not that you were one to judge, you stared back at her with the same look on your face as well, puzzled much by Eren's mixed signals. The two of you continued to stare back and forth at eachother for a few silent moments as your temples throbbed, despairate to process what had just happened.

"Is Eren jealous?" Sasha finally uttered, finally putting the situation into words. "What the actual fuck?"

"You know he told me to go Christmas shopping with him? As in going out?" Sasha's mouth formed into an 'o' as she stared at you, her eyes lingering at your lips awaiting for your next sentence. "And what do you know, then he even said no strings attached and that he'd invite Zeke as well."

"And now he's jealous of Reiner giving you his clothes?" Sasha furrowed her brows at this, earning a reluctant nod in response by you.

"I need to have a smoke, or else I can't process this." You sighed, avoiding Sasha's disapproving gaze at your statement. As your eyes scanned around the campus you spotted Erwin and Mike sat on a kiosk. A mischievous grin of relief creeped onto your face as you thought of how Erwin would never run low on tobacco. "Wanna go say hi to Erwin and Mike?"

Sasha simply nodded, opting to keep her lecture about the hazardous nature of smoking to herself. This would have to wait for another time; she knew better than to go against her hungover friends. Connie especially was a pain in the ass to deal with. Everyone knew that much thus compared to him, your need to have a smoke felt almost irrelevant.

"Erwin!" You rolled your eyes, your face squinting in pain as you plopped yourself next to the blond, your head quickly coming to rest on his shoulder "Tell me you've got much needed tobacco and filters."

"Sure I... Uh.. I do."

"Great," you sighed "please roll me one."

Even if you missed the way everyone's eyes widened at your sudden presence, Sasha certainly didn't. With a quick, shy look at Erwin, she apologetically averted her gaze to everyone in the kiosk; she nervously cleared her throat next, attempting to get your attention as subtly as possible yet, you still sat with your eyes closed, leaning on Erwin's shoulder. In a way Sasha felt sorry for what she was about to do, but you'd be thanking her forever once you had gotten yourself out of the situation.

"Hi Levi, Petra."

"Oi"

"Hi Sasha!"

Your eyes shot open in terror as you heard the exchange of words. Your head almost immediately shot up from Erwin's shoulder; of course, as Sasha had warned you with her greeting, Levi and Petra stood before you, eyeing you up and down in judgemental looks. Automatically you placed your fingers at the nape of your neck, ready to mingle with the skin there in an attempt to cover up the bruised skin from Petra, not thinking about whether your nervous actions easily gave you away.

"Uh... Hey you guys!" You spoke. The need to to bite your tongue off and swallow it so you could never mouth anything as awkward ever again hit you almost instantly. Awestruck by your awkwardness Levi and Petra only nodded in response, causing a long sigh to escape your lips.

You seriously didn't know why you had to go through this. All you wanted was to actually process last night in a quiet friendly environment and then maybe you'd attempt to think about Eren's weirdly awaken jealously. But as Levi's steely orbs burned holes in your form, wide enough to indicate he could might as well be seeing someone come back from the dead, you disposed of the fantasy. Of course he had to occupy your mind I'm such way that your heart burned brighter than your hungover headache.

No one around you could possibly know what the look you shared with Levi meant. As far as everyone was concerned last night hadn't happened, not in their timeline at least, but for you and the onyx haired man it was an inescapable reality. It was almost telepathic, the way you knew what he was trying to tell you with his steely gaze, as if he was answering the questions inside your head.

We need to talk about last night.

Nervously you averted your gaze to Erwin's hands and they brought the rolled cigarette to your lips, wordlessly asking for you to sip the edge of the rolling paper with some saliva from the tip of your tongue to activate the glue. Once he handed the cigarette to you, you shot up, putting weight on your now week knees. With one hand you put the cigarette between your lips, you took a drag as you carefully lit it up with the lighter Erwin handed you. You waved everyone goodbye, rubbing your palm on Mike's back, earning a small smile from the blond.

Great, now there was no way you'd ask for your jacket back. You'd have someone unlock your door for you. So much for saving yourself from such embarrassment.

...

Saturday came before you could even have time to decide what gift you wanted to get everybody. As per usual, you'd be spending Christmas at Erwin's; it had became a tradition in your group even before you and Levi had hit it off as a couple. Erwin was living all alone in a huge, very non college student budget-y apartment. His father had bought it for him before passing away and you as his dear friend group, had made an oath to never leave him lonely on Christmas.

Except for last year you'd usually you'd have dinner at Erwin's. Levi had always been strict on spending at least half of the day with his mother, therefore Erwin had always had Christmas scheduled. You'd visit him on the 23rd, making all preparations for Christmas dinner and Levi's cake, so that you wouldn't have much work when the big day would finally come.

Naturally, you'd open gifts at Erwin's, therefore you always dropped your presents for the group at his place when you'd buy them, although today you didn't think you'd be able to do so.

While you were almost done with buying presents, Zeke and Eren were spending way too much time pestering each other for what gift they'd buy to their father; at first they had set their eyes on an expensive silver watch. You had to admit it was a beautiful accessory, the way it shone under the bright lighting of the store's window seemed magnificent and just like you had told Eren, you approved of such gift for Grisha, one hundred percent.

And right about then, Zeke has decided to stir things up. You knew he was jealous of Eren's and Grisha's father and son relationship, but you had never guessed it could go to such mischievous extend on the blond's behalf. With a sour expression and a poison dripping mouth Zeke had expresed his utter disgust over the watch, claiming that this was not the right gift for their father and that they should settle for something more 'doctor-like'.

Their bickering had went on for about an hour before you had decided to excuse yourself from the jewelry store. Now, you stood sat on one of the comfortable futuristic benches in between the stores, scrolling maniacally through Instagram. It was such a slow Saturday and if you were to say you were bored it would only be an understatement; almost nobody had posted anything interesting enough to catch your attention, no new music was announced by your favorite artists, hell you even missed people posting a bunch of stories with their Christmas trees.

You almost ignored the tall, dark frame approaching you as you were deeply lost into your phone. Destiny's Child - 8 Days to Christmas repeatedly blasted in your ears as you continued to scroll, still ignorant to the figure beside you.

Your own little Christmas bubble world was cut absurdly as a hand came to wave between you and your phone screen. Your heart skipped a beat as you jumped on your spot, taken aback by the sudden action. Wide eyed and looking to your left you finally came to identify the man who had startled you.

Now that could be a cure to your boredom. Even if it wasn't the best possible option.

"Kenny?" You exhaled enthusiastically slipping your hand between your locks of (h/c) hair, reaching for the small black ear buds. "I'm so sorry I was wearing my headphones. What are you doing here?"

"Ahh just buying Kuchel's gift. You got me thinking you were trying to ignore me runt."

"I'd never, be-" You playfully punched his shoulder as he eyed you, a smirk appearing in his face quicker than you thought it would.

"Besides I'm your favorite uncle, right?" He spoke, completing your sentence. A deep sigh escaped his mouth as he rubbed his cold hands together, hoping to create enough friction to warm up his fingertips. "How long have you been waiting for the midget runt?"

You turned your dropping face away from his direction as the words fell off his mouth. Your heart gradually started throbbing inside your chest, the tight knot of anxiety was forming and coming undone in fragments of seconds as you stared at the white granite under your feet. Kenny must had taken a while to realise the chance of aura around you, a steady chuckle came out of him as he commented on Levi's meticulous routine of picking gifts for his friends.

"And why the long face?" Finally, he turned his attention to you "Did you have a fight?"

"Not exactly, we haven't fought in a long time." You admitted.

Kenny's gray eyes worried over you before squinting in another smiling manner. His palm came to playfully slap your upper back as he left out another loud chuckle of amusement. "I'm sure you two don't have many things to fight about. Kuchel is so enamored by that, how do you even manage with this brat (y/n)?"

"I don't... Not anymore at least."

Kenny's chuckle was cut short absurdly by your soft, mumbling voice. There was no way he hadn't heard what you had just said, he was just struggling to comprehend the context of your words. You claiming you weren't dealing with him anymore meant you weren't together anymore and Levi had deliberately kept this secret from him and Kuchel.

"Wait, you're not together? When did that happen?"

"Kenny" you paused, deciding to set your eyes onto him all while still avoiding his gaze. "It's almost been a year."

"What? Wait, why?"

"Levi and I, how do I put this in the shortest way possible, Kenny..." You sighed, bringing a finger to the side of your lips and biting the inside of your cheek as you tried your best to concentrate on your summing up skills. "He became distant, too engrossed with studying and shut himself off and I guess I just, I felt excited for something else. Levi felt excited for something else too."

That could make up for a quick summary, it could be enough to make Kenny understand the quick narration of you point of view. It was unnecessary to go into further details, such as how you had came closer with Eren throughout your group, or how Zeke had tried his best to convince you that he was right on the fact that Levi was growing more distant with each passing day, every time you'd open up to him about your problems.

More over, you couldn't possibly go into the lengths as to how quickly Levi had hit it off with Petra, proving Zeke's assumptions on the fact that maybe Levi was just tired of you.

"Shit. I'm sorry, if it helps, care to gossip on Levi's new item?" Kenny shifted his hands inside the pockets of his camel colored trench coat, rubbing circles on his upper thighs through the material of the pockets. "I'm dying to to know to what he moved on."

"Kenny! I don't do that!" You bit back and lowered your gaze as you instantly second guessed your statement. You contemplated on whether talking lowly about Petra is the right thing or not to do; she hadn't done anything wrong to you, she was just dating someone she liked while you were turning into their bitter, regretful ex. You couldn't possibly have the right to be jealous of her. But as you looked at Kenny's disapproving expression, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you were. "But I guess I'll show her to you!"

With a double tap your screen came to life, the familiar unlocking page bubbling as it urged you to fill your chosen password. Your fingers ran quickly on the familiar numbers; you've typed them one too many times already. You bit your lip in newfound anxiety as you awkwardly scrolled your social media folder, your fingers found the fuchsia camera icon automatically. With another tap your white Instagram homepage popped up, accommodating a picture of Mike and Nanaba's hands, each holding a carton cup. With a quick doubly tap you liked the picture and set your self the task of on swiping through the story icon features, quickly searching for Petra's familiar profile picture.

"Ah here you go." You finally spoke, breaking the silence as you found Petra's icon. Tapping on it once her newest story popped up. You set your finger on the screen again, keeping your tap locked in place to pause the flow of the story.

The picture depicted her standing before her mirror dressed in a white turtleneck layered with a powder blue plaid dress and topped with a black flap pocket woolen jacket. You could make the creative 'outfit of the day' mention on the bottom left corner, although you were unsure if Kenny cared enough about Petra's Saturday outfit. Plus, you didn't really need him to compare her sophisticated style to you.

"You know I can't really see her face, her phone is in the way."

You simply tapped over Petra's profile name as you sighed. Petra's feed appeared before your eyes, slowly loading all her highlights and posts. You gave your phone to Kenny next, deliberately choosing to look away and stay silent as he scrolled through the girls photos, curiously ogling at her for a few seconds.

"Ah runt," he spoke after sometime, his hands extending to give your phone back, "you ain't gonna stop being my favorite child, he'll come back around you know. He'll always love you, you have his heart and all that jazz."

Kenny tried his best to cut himself some slack from the awkwardness of the situation. Keyword; tried. As he sighed, his head spinner on what he could possibly say to you, he could exactly pinpoint if you needed to be reassured or comforted, or whether he was too late to be there for you.

There was something puzzling you, that was certainly written all over your face as you studied him. Your fingers were nervously mingling with eachother as you gripped on your phone, your hips shifting uncomfortably in the spot you sat. You were nervously thrusting around in your seat, that was much obvious to someone that knew you like Kenny did.

"He already did. But I'm not convinced he loves me, it's more like he has one more reason to hate me. We uhm we... You know, pfft, TMI Kenny, I'm sorry but I need to talk about this with someone."

"Shoot it!"

"We hooked up a well ago."

Oh shit, now that was new. Kenny's eyes widened in surprise as the words left your lips. His shifted himself enough to fully face you, his gray eyes worriedly meeting yours as you opened your mouth to explain. Words that were supposed to flow effortlessly ceased to exist as another, louder voice overshadowed your own.

"Zeke I swear I'll kill you if you- oh who's that (y/n)?"

You turned your head to the owner of the voice, your heart dropping the moment you met Eren's soft turquoise gaze. He stood there, clutching the small burgundy gift bag in his grip, as victorious smug adorned his features.

"Uh, finally you guys! This is Kenny Ackerman, he's," you paused, suddenly uncertain on how you should introduce Kenny to Eren and Zeke or whether you should introduce him to them at all.

"Levi's uncle." Kenny spoke, saving you from unnecessary fidgeting of information. He eyed Eren meticulously as his face slightly dropped in annoyance.

"I'm Eren Yeager, (y/n)'s friend and that's my brother, Zeke."

Eren smiled and extended his hand for a shake at Kenny's direction. Clicking his tongue, Kenny reluctantly gave his hand to the younger man before nodding knowingly in your direction. Eren didn't have to say anything else to prove Kenny he was halfheartedly trying to assert some dominance over you and although the older man tried his best to keep his laughter to himself, he got the message Eren was trying to convey.

Taking another breather to himself, Kenny picked his lips, allowing his face to fall into his usual stern expression.

"See you around (y/n)."

..

You laid on your couch, enthusiastically reading through a Greek epic you had burrowed from Hange a while back. Your hair dripped into the towel you had folded on the arm of the couch as you rested your head against it. You had wanted to slow down your thoughts before taking a change at blow drying your hair, there was a rage of overthinking going inside you that you refused to be left alone with.

You felt overly slow after your meeting with Kenny; the bath you had taken had done nothing to soothe down the wild nature of your thoughts, despite the fact that you had taken your time soaking in hot water and lavender oils.

The strangle fatigue you felt was feeling more indifferent with every passing second as you anxiously read bout Antigone's suicide, your heart was slowly being filled with grief as you though about her significant other, Heamon and how he could possibly react to her death. You were so enamored with the fact that Heamon was son to the king who had ordered Antigone's imprisonment that your eyes were ready to spill all the unshed tears that had gathered in the small corners of tender skin.

You set the epic down, burying your face between your palms as you let out a deep sigh. The air in the room felt heavy, you thought, thus you decided to get up from your couch and stroll around the room to reach for your hairbrush. Maybe now was the time to blow dry your head, your thoughts were completely off Kenny and Levi for the moment.

The sound of your doorbell startled you, though, making you freeze on your spot. You immediately unlocked your phone, hurriedly checking through your notifications for a sign on who it could be; it was rather unusual for someone to just visit you without having informed you about it beforehand.

Nontheless you marched over to the intercom, your finger shooting to press the metallic button to let your voice ring on the other side of the front door of your apartment building.

"It's Levi. I've got your jacket."

Panic run through you in throbbing waves. You simply stood there, feeling utterly and ridiculously puzzled with what you should do. You didn't know if you wanted to run down the front door and just grab the jacket on your own or if you just wanted to call Levi in. Grasping the situation seemed only fair, even in your panicked state you could admit you knew that much.

Your fingers immediately reached for the button underneath the one you were pressing causing a buzzing sound to ring through the intercom. You nervously opened your door and as on que, a few moments later Levi's frame emerged from the elevator doors, strolling to your direction, your black leather jacket neatly folded in his arms.

You wanted to speak, to greet him decently for once after all that time but you failed to find any prompt as to how to do that. Your mind felt at haze as you stared at him while he walked up to, the light from your apartment slowly illuminated his face more with every new step he took to its direction.

"Hey, sorry I came so suddenly, I'm on my way to the movies." He greeted, probing his head upwards to accentuate the action.

'Hey' you wanted to say, to establish some normal ground in your dynamics but still the words that left your mouth before you had enough time process what you wanted to say didn't exactly disappoint.

"Wanna come in?" The subtle look in your eyes as you fixated your orbs at his was at the very least, mesmerizing. If Levi was to describe it, he'd find himself quickly running out of sophisticatedly flavored academic words.

There was definitely a different kind of tention forming between the two of you. It was in the air, but whether it was caused by his own brain as he made the all too casual car ride to your place or by the way that you casually swayed your hair over your shoulder before prompting your head closer to him to speak up, he didn't know. All that he knew was that he was feelings his heart hammering in his chest as anxiety creeped in his stomach. The bold nature of his actions was having this profound effect on him and he'd be damned if he had to question himself one more time as to why he was in your doorstep now out of all times.

Still, your words somewhat lingered in his brain, despite almost falling deaf on his ears. His inability to pay attention to words was probably caused by his heart throbbing in his chest at witnessing this side of you.

"Sure" Levi found his mouth vomiting an answer.

You stepped aside, making room for him to entered the room as you gestured him to. Once he had walked in you closed the door behind you, your chest heaving in a despairately deep breath.

...

Did all kisses feel like that?

Your lips were soft and tender and tasting like burnt tobacco while Levi's were chapped dry and thus split, tinted in purple and tasting like dried blood. It was eeree to think about it, how it came to yours lips finding his once again or why it felt the way it did and why did it momentarily comfort you.

Your whole body was paralyzed with stress and agony; you couldn't move. The inability to speak caused by the burning guilt driven feeling inside your stomach was slowly taking a toll on how the rest of your internals liked to function. The efforts you were putting to regulate your breathing out of your nostrils were tainted and faint, as if not enough courage was laying underneath them and you hated it. You hated that your lungs were paralyzed like that under Levi's mouth on yours.

Maybe if you stopped existing or disappeared for just a moment everything would be normal when the next one came. Yet, things could never work like that and reality was always unforgiving to the actions you would decide to go for.

You still couldn't process how this had happened. One minute you were sat on your couch, angrily looking at each other as you spoke about how prohibited and dirty was what you had endulged in the previous week and the next your words had ceased to exist. His gray orbs had locked into yours, his breathing had quickened, much like yours, and your faces had been so close that your noses were almost touching.

You didn't know what had pushed you to act upon the tention in the air. Maybe it was your aching heart or Levi's eyes as they had begged you to kiss him. Now your own lips, in a similar way were begging him not to stop moving against yours.

Lost in your extravagant world of misery and heartache you didn't seem to realise that Levi's hand still hadn't left your cheek when you let out a long deep sigh escaped your mouth. Instantly though, with your brain acknowledging the moment and delving deeper into the reality of this situation, you jolted away, causing Levi to jump back on his tracks, as if he'd be electrocuted.

"Levi" you trailed off, softly mumbling the next words "I'm so sorry I did this, I should have known better."

Your heart was beyond hammering inside your chest; the cold dripping swear of anxiety had started to coat your palms and upper chest as he engulfed your lips again, this time much more gently. He gently tagged on your bottom lip, worrying it between his own lips. The mellow sounds of sucking filled the air as you tried to pull back, only to be attacked by his mouth every time.

Suddenly as you had just started melting under his hot touch on your waist, you heard what sounded as the most despicable sound that ever existed. Levi's phone buzzed in his pocket as it rang angrily, causing him to pull back from your face. The phone stopped ringing though, just before he could manage to swipe the answer button to the right, sending a huff of annoyance to leave him.

Petra's caller ID burned in his screen once again as his phone started ringing for the second time. This time, he hesitated to lick up. As he started at you apologetically his fingers trembled. He knew, eventually he would pick up the phone, judging by the time his phone read he was late to the very own screening he had decided to ask Petra to. Guilt formed in the back of his throat and he clicked his tongue to try and suck it up, even for a brief moment. With his finger on the acceptance button he turned to you again fixating his eyes at your bruised lips before he spoke.

"I have to go y/n I'm so sorry." He said and finally brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, I'm on my way, I had a mishap, I'll be there in ten, save a seat for me."

This all felt too familiar, once again you were forced into the third person's perspective, although this time you were fully aware of your intentions before and after the so called mishap.

"Listen, supposing you want this to work again we have to put an end to whatever else we have going on. I can't bear being the-"

"I know" he quickly cut you off, picking up his letter jacket from the pool it had formed around him as he hurriedly got up. "I'll call you alright? Have a good night." You blinked at him, not having enough time to utter a response as you watched him run to your door.

Your heart fell to your stomach as you stood frozen in your couch witnessing him exit your small apartment, not even bothering to look back.

You knew now that if Levi chose Petra your world was going to burn.

If you suffered along with my by reading one too many paragraphs in this chapter I'm sorry, thank you though for reading this fic in its entirety, please look forward to part 3 hehe, as always here are my tags: @ackermans-freedom-inc @sasageyowrites (my baby thank you for helping me SO much with this chapter I don't have enough words to explain how much I love you) @ladyofpandemonium @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @papinaveensbitch @alrightberries

[kpop-s-akura]

Back to You | Chapter One

Pairing: Lee Suho x OC

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, comedy

Warning(s): strong language, mentions of violence (nothing too bad since I suck at writing), smoking, slight sexual harassment

Word Count: 6.6k

(Gif is not mine; credits to rightful owner)

"This is stupid and unnecessary."

"You're stupid and unnecessary!"

"Real mature, Junie."

"You just said that meeting my friends is 'stupid and unnecessary', what did you expect?"

Chaewon rolled her eyes, very well knowing that the boy had a point, but still unable shake to her nerves.

Meeting new people has never really been in the girl's forte; no matter how confident she seemed in a crowd, "properly" meeting new people turned her into an entire new shade of shy and introverted.

And the fact that these specific people were important to one of the most important people in her life, didn't make her or her anxiety fare any better.

Seojun noticed and stopped to turn to her.

"Don't be so nervous. These guys are really nice, you'll be fine."

Chaewon nodded, still unsure, but followed his lead up the staircase that led to Suho's house, one Seojun's friends she was meeting.

Seojun spoke in a soft and comforting voice, "I really think you'll like them, Chaewon-ah."

She smiled.

❀❀❀

"You're an idiot!"

"Shut up! You're the idiot!"

"I'm not the one who messed with Yongpa High thugs and got them to chase us right now!"

It would be an understatement to say that Han Chaewon was pissed when her post-noraebong bliss with her brother was very quickly squashed afterwards when the two siblings were approached by delinquents from Yongpa High.

Though to be fair, the siblings themselves were both kind of delinquents themselves; but the girl's anger was more directed towards her twin brother, Han Seojun, rather than their chasers for her current mood.

"Well-!"

"Just shut up and get on the damn bike!" Chaewon ordered as she did so herself as well as securing her helmet.

"Yah! I'm older than you, don't tell me what to do." But despite the elder's words, he put on his helmet and sped off alongside his sister on their motorcycles.

With Lee Seongyong right on their tail.

Chaewon led her and her brother through various roads and alleyways, knowing this part of town like the back of her hand; Seojun riding just a couple feet behind her, trusting that the younger would get them out of the mess he created for them. She always did.

It seemed like an endless cycle between the two: Chaewon getting Seojun out of trouble while causing chaos herself and leaving him to clean it up and vice versa.

They were quite the chaotic neutral duo, if you would.

And the majority of the time for them, it was fun. Even the slight life-risking aspect of it; although "life-risking" could be a bit of an exaggeration.

It was fun as long as you weren't alone, and Chaewon always managed to snag a sibling or friend (not that she had many of either) and rope them into being her partner in crime.

But as much as she enjoyed the trouble-maker lifestyle, she thinks of it's disgraces. She thinks of Seyeon.

Seyeon and how much he disapproved of her trouble-making since she was much more frequent in doing so compared to her twin counterpart.

Even when he would (un)willingly take part in his friend's mischievous shenanigans, it was something he loved about her. Something he loved about all of them.

Chaewon was aware of this, but what would he think of the current me? She would constantly ask herself questions like these; though the "he" could be any of the three boys that were constantly on her mind.

The thing is, she already knew the answer. It saddened her to think of it, but what else could she do?

"Chaewon!"

She briefly looked back at her brother, wondering what that was about, before realising what he was warning: a girl was straight ahead, and she was about to hit her.

The unknown girl braced for impact while the twins jerkily swerved to each side of the obstacle.

Avoiding her, but not avoiding falling on the ground along with their bikes.

"Shit..." They cursed simultaneously.

The girl recovered from her shock and went to go apologise to them.

"Excuse me, are you two okay? What should I do?" She muttered the last part to herself. "Are either of you hurt?" Seojun irately pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out while breathing heavily and glared at the woman who stood behind him.

Hearing a moan of pain from Chaewon, still lying on the ground, he rushed over to her and pulled off her helmet as well.

"Chae-ah, are you okay?" Seojun searched for any injuries, spotting g several messy scratches and gashes on her legs.

"I'm fine." The girl grumbled. Seojun lightly brushed over the bleeding wounds, causing her to wince and smack his hand away.

"Sorry..." He said half-heartedly. Seojun could never handle seeing someone he loved in any sort of pain or hurt in any way.

Still somewhat blinding with anger, Seojun carefully helped his twin up before angrily walking towards the worried and now scared Im Jugyeong.

"Yah!" But before the temperamental boy could chew her out, he spotted the group of motorcycles after them and quickly dropped his and Chaewon's helmets to the ground.

He took his sister's hand as they ran away, not realising that they had left Chaewon's fallen sword hair sticks on the ground.

She was struggling to keep up with him, but her adrenaline was going full force and it soon felt like there was never an injury in the first place.

She wouldn't let him carry her, knowing it would just slow them down even more.

They got to a certain point where they decided to split up, Seojun going left and Chaewon going left. A bit of a last ditch effort.

But as some of Seongyong's boys gained on her, Chaewon realized she couldn't run from them forever with her injured legs. So she stopped, putting her hands up and feigning surrender.

The boys caught up with her and grabbed at her shoulders, only for Chaewon to grab one of their wrists and flip them over her shoulder.

She turned to the other guy and back kicked his chest, causing him to take a tumble backwards and onto the ground. Chaewon started walking over to finish him off, not noticing that the first guy was up again.

He kicked her square in the back, causing her to fall onto her injured knees with a pained yelp.

She squeaked slightly when the second boy stepped on her back to push her fully onto the floor, putting more and more pressure every second.

"Not so tough now huh, princess?" One of them taunted before they both grabbed her arms and did their best to keep her under control. The boys brought her to the rest of the group where Lee Seongyong had Seojun cornered.

"Look what we found, boss."

Seojun's eyes went wide at his sister's slightly beat state as Seongyong turned to his underlings and smugly smirked at the captive girl.

"Well, well, well. I thought it was weird when the Han Twins weren't together."

"She put up a bit of a fight."

"I'd expect nothing less." The head gangster (if you could even call him that) chuckled to himself and lifted Chaewon's chin up with his index and middle finger. Seojun growled lowly as he started towards the two but was almost immediately stopped by two boys "guarding" him.

"Such a pretty thing," the slimy boy said, trailing a finger to a loose strand of hair, "perhaps you can be accepted as payment." He brushed it out of the way, only for Chaewon to savagely bite at his finger, Seongyong only just pulling away in time. Seojun chuckled at his reacted while shaking his head.

"You're a delusional bastard to think for even a second that Seojun would agree and that I would allow that." Chaewon narrowed her eyes and glared at the still slightly shaken boy. But nonetheless he went back to being smug.

He walked back over to the male twin while cracking his knuckled. "Well then I guess I'll have to find another way to get even with your brother." Chaewon gasped as Seongyong punched Seojun in the stomach, causing him to fold over.

"Oppa!" She rarely used the term "hyung" or "oppa", but when she did, it was usually blurted out on accident or during a time of distress.

"Hey, when I think about how, because of you," She screamed again when Seongyong kneed him in his stomach, bringing him to his knees. She could feel the pain of her twin almost vividly, she wanted wanted to throw up at it. "I have no money left, I just..."

He brought the boy back up by his jacket.

"Hey. You didn't come out that day intentionally to backstab us, right?" All Seojun did was scoff with a mocking smile. "Did you think we wouldn't do anything if you ignored and avoided us?" Seongyong went in to land another punch, but only ended up hitting air as his target shifted slightly over.

"Don't hit the face." Chaewon mimicked her brother's reaction from earlier in chuckling while shaking her head.

The teenage bullies just started to scoff in disbelief at the boy's brazenness.

"Yes, you avoided it. Okay, you're dead today." Just as Seongyong placed his hand on Seojun's shoulder with his other fist poised for another punch, the sound of a siren alerted the group: causing Chaewon to stop her struggling.

"Hey, the cops are here."

"Let's go quickly!"

Chaewon shook off the boys that held her hostage before straightening out her clothes.

Lee Seongyong however was hesitant before finally letting go.

"We'll meet again, Han Seojun."

As soon as the boys ran off, Chaewon ran up to her brother and practically jumped into his arms with a hug to the best of her abilities. Seojun returned the affection, whispering sweet nothings into her hair and assuring that they were okay now.

"Are you okay? Does anything seriously hurt?" Seojun smiled at the girl's concern for him and just opted for kissing her forehead.

"I'll survive. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Chaewon smiled back and shook her head.

"I'll survive."

Im Jugyeong, who had turned on the siren, came out of her hiding place and stared in the direction of where the group of boys ran off.

She slowly backed up with Seojun's helmet in one arm and Chaewon's hair sticks in the other hand, gasping when she distractedly bumped into said boy's solid chest with said girl beside him. The two were staring down at the bewildered girl.

She turned around and became even more intimidated by the twins' height. Although Chaewon wasn't much taller than her, Jugyeong being 5'7 and the other girl standing at a strong 5'9, her stare was enough to make her quiver.

"What's with you?" Seojun said with a blank look on his face.

"Uh, about that... Oh, there!" She pointed at a space between the twins who did nothing but turn their heads slightly at her finger in synchronisation before rolling their eyes.

"What are you doing?" Chaewon said with the same bored look on her brother.

Jugyeong bit her lip, realising she was pretty much screwed before turning to run away, almost falling on her face.

Chaewon caught her by her backpack and brought her back up, causing the girl to slam into her surprisingly also firm figure. Jugyeong slowly turned to look at her.

Chaewon tilted her head. "What do you think you're looking at?"

There was a slight silence before Seojun spoke up, "Run."

The girl seemingly snapped back into reality, running away. "Oh, oh, bye!" She ran away screaming.

"Saebom High School?" The twins pondered in unison.

"What an odd girl..." Chaewon wondered as Seojun scoffed at the interaction. She brushed her hair out of her face and ruffled it when she realized something.

"My hair sticks..."

Seojun stopped as well.

"My helmet!" They looked at the fleeing figure of the girl realizing she possessed their personal items.

"Hey!" But she was pretty much long gone.

"Aish..." He cursed.

"Want me to go get them?" Chaewon offered, ready to go sprint for her and her brother's possessions. They were both of fairly high emotional importance.

"No, you're injured. No more running for you." She rolled her eyes, but conceded.

"Let's go home; Gowoon is probably worried about us." Chaewon patted Seojun's shoulder, he looked at his sister and nodded before they started on their way back to where they left their bikes, the girl relenting in letting her brother carry her via piggyback ride.

❀❀❀

"Gowoon-ah! We're home!" Chaewon called out into the mostly empty house.

"Hey! How was noraebong?" Gowoon was sitting at their kitchen table with her schoolwork spread out.

"Good! Until Seojun was an idiot..." Said idiot glared at her.

"When is he not an idiot?"

"Yah!"

Chaewon laughed and placed her bag on an empty space on the table when Gowoon noticed her wounds.

"What happened to you?!" Chaewon looked down, she nearly forgot about her messed up legs.

"Consequences of Seojun's idiocy and a little bit of my own." She vaguely said before taking a seat next to her younger sister.

"Need help with anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. But you should clean those up and get some sleep."

"Eh. I'll pass." Chaewon winked with a smirk before getting up.

She's gotten into enough trouble and enough accidents that she's gained quite some knowledge about injuries and how to treat them.

"Imma patch myself up a little and then go out."

After cleaning and bandaging her plethora of scratches on both of her legs, wiping off the little makeup she had on, and changing her clothes, she grabbed her bag and made for the door.

"See you later!" She called out to the other two, though Seojun was probably asleep; that being a major reason as to how Chaewon was allowed out of the house at that moment.

Seojun trusts Chaewon to handle herself, but with everything that had happened earlier that night, his big twin brother instincts were skyrocketing; they have him either keep his counterpart in the house after a certain time, or demand he go with her.

"Be safe and don't get into too much trouble!" Gowoon cautioned.

"I make no promises on either of those things!"

❀❀❀

Having decided to take a nice walk instead of rising her motorcycle, Chaewon entered Prince Comics; a place that she's called her safe haven since...

Anyways, the atmosphere of the comfy bookstore had helped her more than she though it would.

She'd spend most of her free days there whenever she just needed a break.

She rarely actually ever read the books, only when she was really bored but not tired enough to nap-- so she just took cat naps.

2-3 hour long cat naps.

The Ahjussi didn't mind though, he liked the company and personality of the young girl. He even put a bean bag, pillow, and blanket especially for Chaewon. He was always happy to see her enjoy it.

Like right now, Chaewon nestled her head further into the bean bag; setting aside the blanket and pillow since she had since changed into short sporty shorts, tucking her exposed and bandaged legs into the warmth of her oversized hoodie.

Lee Suho entered the area with couches and chairs that were bathed in the light yellow-orange light, taking in the place he hadn't come to in awhile.

As he was about to go search for his desired book, he noticed a small, curled-up figure to his right-- face covered by their hood.

He turned to the body, studying it for a second. His eyes roamed over the person before spotting sliver of a certain tattoo on their ankle-- a tattoo he knew all too well.

It was of a key.

"Chaewon...?" He whispered in disbelief. The girl opened her eyes at the all too familiar voice.

Though Chaewon has always been a heavy sleeper, there was one voice that always seemed to get her up and moving besides her brother's.

"Suho?" She said in a similar tone to his. He froze.

God how he missed his name coming from her lips, only she could have that effect on him.

They tried to keep their eyes from checking the other out (in a non-sexual way. sort of.), though their voices and facial expressions already gave away their shock.

It's been so long since she's seen Suho. She noticed how he seemed to get even more handsome, if that was even possible.

But there was something else. Something obvious. But at the same time, Chaewon couldn't quite put her finger on it. Or maybe she didn't want to.

Because this new thing about the boy before her wasn't something good.

She wasn't a fan. Then again, she wasn't a fan of Suho in general.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a monotone voice while holding a cold façade, Chaewon decided to do the same.

Her expression hardened and became slightly agitated. "Well I was taking a nap before someone so rudely interrupted me." She began stretching out her limbs like a cat, getting prepared to get the hell out of there.

"This is a comic store to read, not a motel to sleep in." He scolded.

"What's it to you where I sleep?" She snipped getting up. The boy slightly blushed at the double-meaning of her words while the girl hadn't cared to notice.

Her new position had exposed her injuries, Suho's eyes notably widening at the sight before quickly going back to indifference.

"What happened to you?"

Chaewon scoffed.

"Since when do you care about me or my wellbeing?"

"Well it's kind of hard to miss all of that." He gestured to her legs. "It doesn't mean I care about you."

Ouch.

The girl just scoffed again and rolled her eyes for what seemed to be the billionth time that night before going to leave.

She didn't need this, not after the day she had.

But she was suddenly pulled back by her hood and stood in front of a puzzled Suho once again.

"The hell?!" She brushed his hand off her hoodie. There was a jolt of electricity when their skin met, though neither addressed it and settled for just staring (glaring) at each other.

This went on for another minute or two when the Ahjussi came back from his bathroom break and went to see if Suho had gotten his book or not.

"Yah, Lee Suho. Did you get the-" He stopped short, noticing the position of the two and their tension.

"Am I interrupting something?" Suho and Chaewon looked at the owner, stepping apart after noticing how close they had gotten. Chaewon cleared her throat before bowing to the Ahjussi, thanking him for letting her stay as always, and then scurrying out of the store.

"Is Chaewon-ie okay?" Suho couldn't bring himself to answer.

He just stood there as he replayed their interaction in his head; wondering what the hell just happened.

❀❀❀

"Motorcycles! Motorcycles!" The friend group turned around to see two motorcycles heading right towards them, jumping away just in time.

The twins continued to clear a path for themselves, parking in the designated area for bikes.

The bustling students continued to stare and chatter amongst themselves in awe and shock.

Chaewon and Seojun took off their helmets, shaking their hair out while doing so.

She tugged and tightened her high ponytail as he brushed his fingers through his hair a couple of times.

When they got off their bikes, Jugyeong froze, recognising the two siblings from the other night.

"They're..." The memories replayed in her head as if they were on tape. "They're from out school?" The girl couldn't believe the unbelievable coincidence.

"The Han Twins are back," Sua remarked.

"Why are they here?" Sujin rhetorically asked, Taehoon echoing her. The group watched as Seojun and Chaewon started to walk to the school's entrance; the elder's arm around the younger's neck.

"The Han Twins?"

"Like how there are the Bermuda Triangle in the Atlantic and black holes in the universe," Sua began, "there are three charming students at our school, whom if you fall for once, you can never exit and get out: The chic, cold beauty God Lee Suho; the rough, wild horse God Seojun; and the dangerous, seductive Goddess Chaewon. Just like deciding between three of your favourite foods is so mind blowingly hard, they're the three ethereal beings at Saebom High School. They're the three top ones!"

Jugyeong's eyes comically widened upon hearing Chaewon's description.

Dangerous? She wanted to facepalm herself for already making an enemy out of a girl who was known to be not-so-friendly.

Meanwhile, the Han duo and Lee Suho had finally come to a stand-still at the front of the building, the two boys looking at each other intensely.

Although Chaewon was able to keep her poker face upon seeing Suho, she kept looking everywhere but him.

She didn't know if the feeling she was getting in her stomach from seeing him again were butterflies or knives.

"Forget the top three nonsense, I hate them. Though I can't really say too much for Chaewon since she can be more enigmatic than Lee Suho or her brother at times. And yet they're still the heartthrobs of Saebom boys and girls alike."

Despite the tension between the three being completely visible to anybody and everybody, the students kept chattering away, loving how this was going.

"The Han Twins returned!"

"They'll get into a fight again."

"Oo, it's already so loud!"

"I love it!"

But as Jugyeong and the group started getting nearer towards the three, she could see how they didn't really seem like friends.

"What's with them? They don't get along?" She asked, turning her head towards Sua.

"They used to be best friends, but they somehow fell apart. When they meet, the atmosphere gets so cold. It's especially weird since everybody thought that Suho and Chaewon were together during that time since they acted much closer than the other." Jugyeong was shocked, trying to process and imagine the two together.

In her mind, they fit pretty well look-wise and personality-wise.

Suho saw how Chaewon's eyes could never quite meet his own and kept his eyes on her.

Seojun took notice of this and roughly brought her closer into his side and raised an eyebrow at the boy who had since then turned his attention back to him. Chaewon's eyes traveled to the ground while Seojun turned his head and scoffed before eying his nemesis once again.

"So annoying."

Chaewon, wanting to escape from the situation, started tugging at her brother's hand that was still hanging off of her shoulder. "Let's go, Jun." Seojun kept his eyes on Suho for another second or two before complying with his sister's wishes.

The frozen exterior of Suho's heart cracked a bit as Chaewon's expressions burned and lingered in his mind, watching the siblings walk off.

The girl in question fighting the urge to look back at him.

❀❀❀

"Hello!" The teacher greeted the class who greeted him back while walking into the room with Seojun and Chaewon in tow.

Suho slightly perked up as they went up to the front of the room, both with their heads held high and looking bored as ever.

This time it seems, Chaewon had no problem in locking gazes with Suho before looking over the class again.

"Alright, Seojun and Chaewon are back now. Good to see them, right?" The class answered back 'yes' before giving a round of applause as instructed by the teacher.

"Bravo!" Cheers kept ringing throughout the classroom, Seojun looking off to the side in faux embarrassment while Chaewon just kept a blank and cold face, intimidating some of the students into silence.

"One of you can sit next to Suho—" The twins looked at each other in alarm, though not particularly showing it.

"What?"

"What now?"

They looked at the teacher.

All eyes were either on Suho, who just looked straight ahead, or the twins, one sighing before walking to where Jugyeong was sitting.

Chaewon watched him kick the leg of the desk, startling the girl.

"Yah. You go."

Jugyeong was just as bewildered as when they first met, only being able to point at herself and ask, "Me?" in a meek voice.

"This was originally my sister's spot." That alone was almost enough for Jugyeong to jump out of the seat, not wanting to test the girl's 'dangerous' reputation.

"Oh, Jugyeong has weak eyes, so she's sitting there." The teacher explained, causing Chaewon to quietly scoff and mumble to herself, "'Weak eyes' my ass..."

Though the teacher had heard her, he elected to ignore it before asking Taehoon to move.

"Taehoon. Our handsome Taehoon, can you switch spots?" The boy, of course, readily and excitedly accepted; the class laughing from his antics.

But before he could get up and walk to his newly appointed spot, he noticed that Seojun had still not moved from his place near Jugyeong's seat.

Chaewon walked up to Seojun, noticing that he was about to refute his senior and demand that she have her seat back.

But she was tired and didn't feel that it was necessary; even if it meant having to sit next to Lee Suho, it was better her than her twin.

She nudged him, getting his attention before nodding to the seat in the corner of the class, "It's fine, Jun."

The seat she motioned to was perfect for napping and not paying attention, she really knew how he was in school. But that didn't matter to Seojun if his sister had to sit next to his rival. He started mumbling about how her sitting next to said rival wasn't happening, but Chaewon was persistent in her glares, slightly pinching him and making the boy wince as he felt her sharp, ruby-red stiletto nails.

He conceded, but not before throwing a sharp and dangerous look at Suho, though the boy wasn't phased.

The twins split ways; Seojun going to his new seat in the back, Chaewon taking the one next to Suho's with Taehoon two spots behind her.

She felt Suho's gaze burn into the side of her face, but paid no mind and rested her head on the desk as her brother was doing for a nap.

Not even 5 minutes later, the sound of a door slamming open caused Chaewon to wake up, looking to the side instinctively. She didn't quite know how to feel when she didn't see Suho there, but quickly turned her attention back to the source of the sound that disturbed her sleep.

A group of boy entered the room, crowding around Seojun who still had his head on the desk.

"Yah, Han Seojun. If you and your sister returned, at least one of you should've shown your face and said hi." Chaewon suddenly stood up from her desk, the object making a horrible screeching sound that had all eyes on her. Seojun banged his fist on the desk before doing the same, exchanging looks with his sister once he felt her presence beside him.

The siblings had a stare off with the taller boy, causing the students to tense up.

This continued outside the school, Seojun and Chaewon standing a couple feet in front of the group of boys when the big one spoke.

"Hey, brother. Today's such great weather for you to die." Seojun rolled his eyes.

"Are you guys a girl group or something?" He scoffed.

"Seriously. Why are you standing like that?" Chaewon questioned, but the boys just sneered and chuckled mockingly among themselves.

"Why? Are you going to hit us? Okay, come in. Come here!" They all got into fighting stances.

"Yah, Kim Chorong!" Seojun's voice boomed, the two stepping up to the boys intimidatingly before he spoke up in a mock bravado tone.

"Your joke was a bit too much." That's what did it for all of them. Everyone started laughing, Chaewon even turning to her brother and playfully punching him before mocking his words.

"Hey, great acting for a pair of trainees." Chaewon playfully rolled her eyes at the boy while smirking.

"Ex-trainees, thank you very much." Chorong just stuck his tongue out at her to which she did the same.

"This is so childish." Seojun said, feigning irritation, "How much longer do I have to play around?"

"Yah, brother!… it's honestly fun, you know?” Chaewon started to laugh harder at the sound of their joy and the sight of seeing her brother teased further.

“Have you guys been well?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Woah!” Seojun suddenly exclaimed. “Kim Chorong, I think you gained more weight. Did you bulk up?” The victim of the taunting was staring at the taunter with incredulity while the rest started to crack up again. Chaewon rolled her eyes and shoved her brother’s shoulder, going to wrap her arms around the bigger boy.

“Yah! Leave him alone, Junie.” She pouted.

“Thank you, Chaewon! And for your information, I lost 10 kilograms!” Chaewon giggled at the banter as one of the boys commented that he could see the muscles.

Chorong turned to look down at the girl who was still clinging to his side.

“If your mother better?” He asked. She smiled fondly at her friend’s concern and nodded her head.

“She’s a lot better. Thanks, Chocho.” The two exchanged eye-smiles as the rest let out relieved sighs.

“What a relief. I’m sorry I couldn’t make a munsang.” Chorong said, turning back towards the other twin.

“Yah, what do you mean by munsang, you fool?” Seojun scolded. “It should be munbyeong.”

“Hey, hey, hey.”

“Smart!”

Chaewon smiled as her brother proudly pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around the girl and resting his head on top of her head, both smirking.

It was good to be back.

❀❀❀

Chaewon decided to break off from the group to get food from the cafeteria, having forgotten money to go to the snack bar.

While in line, she spotted Lee Suho.

He’s so different... She couldn’t help thinking the obvious, but it felt so unsettling for her to see the boy she once thought she knew so well to be so... cold.

But under the circumstances that occured, it was understandable. And she couldn’t be a hypocrite by saying that he was the only one that changed.

Then all of a sudden—

“That girl...” Im Jugyeong had come to the lonely looking boy and gave him a red ginseng juice.

His favorite.

How did she know it was his favorite?

Why did she give it to him?

Why did I care?

Why am I asking all these questions?

“The hell?” Jugyeong walked away as Chaewon started placing food onto he tray.

Later that day while Chaewon was looking for her brother and friends, she saw Suho sitting on a bench looking at his phone with earbuds in, when the girl came up to him again.

This time, she was holding a large bag and took out one of his earbuds before whispering something to him and quickly running off.

Ah, so she’s another one of his fangirls. I should’ve known. Chaewon rolled her eyes, starting to walk again.

Only to stop again, seeing Lee Suho actually get up and seemingly follow the girl.

Chaewon couldn’t contain her curiosity and decided to quietly follow him, ending up at the rooftop.

She stayed by the door and watched their interaction. She almost felt bad for Im Jugyeong, knowing how harsh Suho could be.

It seemed to be worse this time around though since Jugyeong decided to flee from the rooftop, not even noticing her eavesdropper.

“Wahhh, you’ve really changed, Lee Suho.” Chaewon said walking out from her hiding place.

Suho turned to her and looked irritated, but also somewhat guilty and surprised. He didn’t want her to see that.

“Did you follow me or something?”

“Mm-hm.” He was quite surprised by her honesty, but he should’ve seen it coming. “I was quite curious when that girl was so brazen as to do what she did. I had to see what would happen.”

Silence stood between the two for a moment before Suho sighed and brushed past Chaewon and back into the building. She continued forward to the edge of the ledge and placed her hands on it, observing the view and breathing it in before pulling two things from her pockets.

Suho watched from the entrance as the girl took a cigarette from the box and lit it with her lighter.

“You still do that stuff?” He couldn’t help but to ask. He, Seyeon, and Seojun always hated whenever she smoked, even though it was a pretty rare occurence. But it still came to a point where they organized an intervention and her family had almost sent her to rehab. After that, he thought she was sober, or at least got better at hiding her actions, but things change he supposed.

Chaewon didn’t answer, seemingly unbothered by his still being there and instead blowing another puff of smoke.

“Does Seojun know?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your busine-”

“I’m making it my business because I’m not going to stand here and let you ruin your life doing that shit!”

“Oh please, Lee Suho. I’ve done plenty of other stuff that’ll ruin my life, and I’m not going to start giving a fuck just because you say so.” 

Suho internally cringed at the stuff implied by her words. He knew she was reckless and liked trouble, but he didn’t know how bad it might’ve gotten over the time they’ve been apart. 

Seeing and interacting with her now made him question how close they really were back then.

“Besides, as if me dying wouldn’t make you happy.” Chaewon softly spoke, it almost sounded sorrowful; though it still held some hot resentment.

Suho felt his facial expressions go awry.

I wouldn’t be happy. I’d be devastated.

“Maybe I should do it more often. Speed up the process, put us both out of our misery, finally put a smile on that frustratingly, emotionless face of y-”

“Don’t.” He interrupted. Neither noticed how close Suho had gotten while she was talking.

“Don’t say those things.” He whispered.

Chaewon didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. And all she could hear was her heartbeat about to break out of her chest.

“Why not? It’s not like you care about me, right...?” Chaewon shakily asked with an almost mocking undertone.

He didn’t say anthing and neither did she.

After about a minute of nothing, Chaewon turned back around to face forward. She closed her eyes, trying to reel her emotions in. Bringing the cigarette back up for another hit, Suho took the death stick from between her lips and threw it onto the ground, putting it out aggressively with his shoe.

She was too shocked to even scold the boy and his actions, seeing how he had seemingly gotten even closer.

Suho stared intensely at the girl. His eyes were full of caring and warmth. Yet at the same time, they were full of cold nothingness. But Chaewon could see under that, she always could; that’s one of the things that made them so compatible. 

She just didn’t know if her senses were trust-worthy or not this time around.

They could always tell how the other actually felt. But times have changed.

They changed.

They weren’t Suho and Chaewon anymore.

They weren’t anything anymore.

❀❀❀

It was the next day during gym.

The students were outside playing dodgeball while Chaewon had her tracksuit jacket wrapped around her waist, exposing her normal clothes, and sat on the sidelines watching her brother play.

She could feel a certain pair of eyes on her every so often as she felt herself do the same, but nobody else seemed to notice it.

“Yes! Han Seojun, out!” Chaewon laughed at the fact her brother was eliminated, especially with it being by the hands of Lee Suho and Yoo Taehoon.

As he walked off to join his sister who was now standing up, the ball from the girls’ side traveled to where the twins were, Seojun stopping it with his foot before Im Jugyeong could grab it.

“Yah. You’ve seen us before, right?” Jugyeong laughed awkwardly as the twins stared down at her.

“What are you saying?” She tried taking the ball only for Seojun to press harder on it.

“You ran off with my helmet and my sister’s hair sticks.” She looked back up at him.

“Did you not?”

Jugyeong’s eyes went to the space beside him and pointed at something, “Oh! Over there!”

“We didn’t fall for that last time either-“ Before he knew it, Seojun was shoved to the side as a ball collided with the back of Chaewon’s head who although wasn’t in any pain, was pretty pissed.

Several noises of shock and disbelief sounded from the boys’ side.

“Chae-ah!” Seojun rushed back to his sister’s side and held onto her. “Are you okay?” Before she could answer, he turned to the culrptiy and glared at him with flaming death and growled, “Aish!”

“S-S-Sor… T-t-t-the class president! It was the class president.” Ahn Hyungyu tried explaining in extreme fear.

Jugyeong stood up with the now free ball. “I’m sorry. I’ll give them both back tomorrow.”

It felt like déjà vu when the girl turned around again about to fall on her face; only this time, no one was gonna help her.

Lee Suho, who was watching the whole thing in silent anger, stalked off, but not before roughly shouldering the boy who accidentally injured Chaewon and stepped over Jugyeong’s sprawled out body.

The show was over and Seojun went to scold Hyungyu who was still apologizing profusely, but Chaewon stayed where she was, staring at the boy who was walking back into the school’s building who wanted nothing more than to ask if she was okay.

❀❀❀

Chaewon, Seojun and the rest of their friends walked down the hallway; some girls and boys passing by whispered in awe and silently fangirled/fanboyed.

The twins walked beside each other and smirked at the attention. It was amusing to say the least.

This continued in an almost slow-motion fashion when all of a sudden—

“Wait.” Seojun dropped down to the floor and started re-tying his shoelaces. Chaewon chuckled and jokingly pushed his shoulder, making him lose his balance and making her laugh even more.

“MOVE!” The group looked forward to see Im Jugyeong running down the hallway with a face full of cake.

Although it was a weird sight, Chaewon stayed where she was and stood in front of the panicked girl.

Jugyeong came to a halt with wide eyes in front of the taller girl who had a questioning look with a perked up eyebrow.

She slightly bowed with a quiet “excuse me, sorry” before running past her and jumping onto Seojun’s back and catapulting herself forward.

“Yah!” Chaewon squatted down onto the floor beside her brother who was now sprawled on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He gritted looking at the direction of the runaway girl.

But it didn’t stop there; the rest of their class following Im Jugyeong, also in a panic.

Chaewon hurriedly brought Seojun back up to his feet and pushed them both to the wall for safety.

“What the hell is going on?!”

They waited for a couple of seconds to see if anymore people would go stampeding down their way, being relieved when it seemed to be over.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jun?” Chaewon looked over his body for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Chae. Really.” She smiled at him and linked their arms to start walking.

Then Lee Suho came from the other side of the hallway, the side where they had originally come from and where everyone had gone to.

And he wasn’t alone.

Hiding underneath his jacket was Im Jugyeong, still cake-faced.

The twins had to stop and stare at the unusual scene; neither knowing how to feel at the sight before them.

❀❀❀

🌸A/N: Yay! I can’t believe I finally published this. I’m going to start working on the second chapter as soon as possible. Also, I realize that Yeji is also 5’7, but I looked at the height of the other characters and decided that 5’9 was good. Besides that, please excuse any typos or mistakes. I hope you enjoyed!

BTW: The picture below is Chaewon’s outfit. The white dress shirt part of the uniform is unbuttoned and tied in a croptop way, showing the bralette. I tried finding a good picture of Saebom’s uniform but it was pretty hard so I just cropped Sujin’s. Sorry for it’s pretty low quality😅

[antihero-writings]

My fic for this prompt on my ph & vnc blog, as well as @phmonth2021's vnc countdown, Day 2: Misha | Mikhail and/or Luna!

(This might function as my Day 1: Vanitas fic too...I don't really have any fic ideas for him right now. Might do art instead, if I have time. If you do have Vanitas fic ideas, send em over!)

Here was the original prompt:

"Can I also request vanitas & misha please. But from misha’s pov...Maybe something on misha liking that vanitas has long hair even though misha hated having long hair. and misha playing with vanitas’s hair. It can be during their time at Moreau’s? Some fluff during the angst."

*

Misha never had any brothers. No sisters, or a father, or even friends, really. Just him, and his mom, and the men who came and went. He wasn’t quite sure what friends or brothers, or all those sorts of people were made of. And what that made Number Sixty-Nine. As he sat next to him on the bed, Number Sixty-Nine leaning his head back against the wall, Misha wondered:

Were they friends? Were they brothers? Were they…what was that word again? Quaint-something? Were they merely two bodies to be broken and tampered in this lab? Were they just numbers after all, not just to the doctors, but to each other? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was made of. But he did know he was the only warmth after the cold tables and needles, the only quiet after the screaming, the only smiles after the tears. He knew Sixty-Nine was the sun and the stars to him, and that must make him at least somewhat special. He was the first person who actually cared if he got hurt. Not just cared, tried to stop the hurt. He didn’t know there were people like that. He was softer and warmer than the pillows he fell into when his mother hit him. He wasn’t sure what mothers were supposed to do, but he never liked it when his mother hit him. Did all mothers hit their children? What that what mothers were made of? Bumps and bruises, and shouts, and being cut and shaped into what she wanted you to be. That’s what his was made of, at least. He never liked hiding under the bed. He never liked hearing his mother moaning in the night. He never quite knew what the noises above the bed meant. She sounded like she might be in pain. But she told him never to get up when she had one of her men over. She was in pain. Then afterwards, she gave that pain to him. Only the vampire made her happy. And he never liked having long hair. Though he didn’t like the doctors either, he did like that they offered him that small kindness. Though they may strap him to tables, and put strange things into his body, and make him hurt too, that small kindness always made his body feel a little more like his. Not some imitation of a girl. Not some imitation of what his mother wanted him to be. His mother who hurt him. No. Sixty-Nine. Who tried to stop the hurt. He never liked having long hair, but taking strands of Sixty-Nine’s hair between his fingers, like dark water across his skin, he found he didn’t mind it on him—(whatever they were to each other). Sixty-Nine noticed him staring, and raised an eyebrow at him. Misha gave a little giggle. “Say, do you like having long hair?” Sixty-Nine raised his eyebrow further at the question. “I’ve never really cared much.” He looked away. “I suppose I must…since I’ve kept it this way.” “Well, I like it!” Misha threw up his hands. “I like it on you, at least.” No. Sixty-Nine looked a little embarrassed at that, he moved his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Thanks I-I guess.” “May I play with your hair?” “Uhh...Sure I guess.” Then he murmured under his breath, “I guess you don’t have much else to play with.” And Misha knew he was talking about things he didn’t understand again. Misha began taking the strands of Sixty-Nine’s hair and tossing them over and under each other, braiding them together. His mother often braided his hair, but it was something she’d made him learn too. He never liked doing it in the mirror. But it felt nice now. “Say…what are we?” He asked after a pause. “What are we?” He looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “We’re human. Why is that a question?” “I know that, Silly! I mean what are we to each other?” “Huh?” “I’ve never had friends before—I don’t think. Are we friends?” He curled a strand around his finger. “Are we…what was that word? Quaint-aunts-es? Are we lovers?” And this last one caught in his throat a little: “Are we brothers?” “We’re not lovers, I can tell you that much,” he snorted. “And it’s ‘acquaintances’. I—“ Sixty-Nine sighed. He always seemed so tired. He either seemed so tired, or energy burst out of him. There was an anger to him, he knew. Though he didn’t know why, where it came from. (Not that he ever knew. He didn't really get angry much himself). An anger that was different from his mother’s. It wasn’t an aspect of him, a piece of clothing he wore that Misha wished he would take off, something that made him hurt others sometimes. It was like the anger was written in his very being. And he never hurt anyone. “I don’t know. I guess we

can be whatever you want us to be.” “Well…what’s an acquaintance?” The braid wasn’t looking quite right, so he brushed it out and restarted. He sighed. “An acquaintance is someone you know, but not well. Someone you know casually, or met once or twice. Like…a friend of a friend.” “Well we must not be acquaintances! We’ve met much more than twice!” He chuckled a little. “Fair enough.” “What’s a friend?” “A friend is someone you do know well. Someone who you enjoy being around, and want to be around and talk to often. Someone you’re close to.” “That sounds like us!” “What’s a lover?” Sixty-Nine scoffed. “I don’t really know. I won’t say I’ve ever been one, but a lover is someone who you love more than a friend. Someone who you don’t just want to be close to, but you want to be close to constantly.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Oh, that sounds like us too! I want to be around you all the time!” “You don’t love me,” there was an ice to his words, a bite to the cerulean gaze now directed at him. “Not like that.” Misha ignored this. He was reaching the bottom of the braid. “Well anyway, what…” his voice grew quieter now, and he sat back on his knees. “What’s a brother?” “A brother…a brother’s a little more complicated. A brother is generally someone who you’re related to. Someone who is also a child of your mother and father, but… isn’t you. There’s also half-brothers who share either your mother or your father but not both. It’s a bond closer than that of friendships, or even lovers, in a way. Your parents blood runs through their veins so, in a way, your blood does too. It’s like you’re…pieces of a whole. You’re family. You live together, you eat, and sleep, and cry, and laugh, together. “But, at the same time…you can call someone your brother, even if you’re not related, if they’re as close to you as a brother would be. If you’re family. If you live together, eat, sleep, cry, and laugh together. Or perhaps better yet, if you go through something together that makes you closer than you are to your friends. Something that makes you... pieces of a whole.” Misha finished the braid, but he had nothing to tie it off, so he simply admired it for a moment, then released his grip, and let the bottom fall loose. “I think I get it now,” Misha grinned, meeting his gaze, “Brother.”

*

<-Day 4: Chloé and/or Jean-Jacques

P.S. Here's the link to another fic I wrote for another Misha-and-Vanitas-at-Moreau's-lab prompt!!

[novantinuum]

On the corrupted!Steven theory...

So, originally when I mused on this yesterday I was just playing around with random possibilities.

After combing the series for info about corruption, though, I’m mildly spooked at the increased potential for this to... perhaps be a thing? I’m not saying that this is what I for sure believe will happen- to be honest, I’m not even sure Crewniverse would go this direction at all- but just for funsies, let’s see what kind of “evidence” or “foreshadowing” exists that might support this potential story path in the context of canon.

(EDIT: 10/7/19 

I honestly no longer think this creature is a worm at all whatsoever, it’s either more akin to a horned caterpillar or potentially has limbs. Either way we can see so little right now that it’s hard to tell. I’m not editing the rest of this post because I want it to exist in its original form- but do keep this in mind reading the rest! XP)

1) The design of this worm creature.

Let’s start simple. Let’s start tangible. 

For future reference and simplicity, I will be henceforth be referring to this creature as... “Wormy Boi.”

So, let’s see what we’ve got here. I’m definitely not the first person to point out this fella’s pink nature, and the jarringly human-like nose they’ve got. (Compared to other corruptions, which have had distinctly non-humanoid features.) In the photo above, we also have Wormy Boi sporting glowing pink eyes, which then send out a flare of pink light/energy. So, seemingly a powerful entity.

If you watch the short segment before they sit upright, you’ll see that Wormy Boi is super, super big. They’re in the background, but BOY do they loom. The shadows cast upon them especially push that sense of size. They’ve also got a whole bunch of spikes on their back and framing their face.

So, then. What evidence could be made for this being a corrupted!Steven, as opposed to some other run-of-the-mill monster?

Steven Universe Future is a limited series, described as ‘tying up loose ends.” To me, as a viewer, it would make far more sense for the antagonists/conflicts to deal with big concepts that have already been established since there’s such a limited amount of time we have left with this world. Introducing a completely alien species in the last act of the show would feel offbeat from both a writing and a viewing perspective. Corruption- on the other hand- is something we don’t have full answers to yet.

We don’t see any gem, yes- but Steven’s gem is- of course- on his belly. If this theory were to be true, that would translate to the gem being on Wormy Boi’s underside, far out of our sight in this shot, due to how massive they are. As an addition to this, not showing the gem gives an air of mystery to this creature’s true nature- which makes it seem like there’s something surprising to discover here.

A corrupted diamond would surely be MASSIVE. Also, very powerful. The beam of pink light hints at Wormy Boi being quite a powerhouse.

The spikes on Wormy Boi’s back and around their face highly resemble rose thorns. We all know how much the Crewniverse loves their rose symbolism, and design wise, this aspect would make a lot of visual sense for a corrupted Steven. Running off of that:

The face/nose shape and the five horns on this creature’s head give off a very Steven-like silhouette. 

The nose, of course. The face has a very Steven-like shape to it, overall- although noticeably more angular and sharp. The mouth is reminiscent of the Watermelon Stevens’ mouths. And as for the horns, there’s five of them positioned equidistant around their face, just as Steven’s hair is always formed from five lil’ bumps at the same positions.

Okay, moving on.

(Read more under the cut!)

2) We do not yet understand the true nature of corruption.

“I guess it’ll take more than a kiss to heal damage from the Diamonds…” -Pearl, Monster Reunion

Corruption is still- bafflingly- a huge mystery. The Gems we’ve watched the CGs bubble since season one have been healed, yes, but there are still many gaps in our understanding of it. With Steven Universe Future’s promise to address some lingering story threads, it would make sense if corruption was on the plate for further discussion. So, what DO we know?

We know it’s something the Diamonds can do. Interestingly, it doesn’t seem to require all four diamonds. Three of them together were able to cause all the damage to Earth. There’s also no statement made that more than one Diamond is required to cause effects like that. 

In Legs From Here to Homeworld, Blue and Yellow Diamond weren’t actually aware the corruption was something they were capable of producing. They seemed to assume they obliterated the Gems on Earth. Corruption is then, even a mystery to them. That’s... odd, isn’t it?

Pearl states that it’s “something nearly impossible to describe.” Garnet goes further to say... “It’s sorta like... if MC Bear-Bear didn’t tear the fabric of his arm, but the fabric of his mind.”

"A sound… A song?” There’s a lot of association between corruption and music.

It causes Gems to lose touch with their usual forms, instead warping into a more outwardly "monstrous” version of themselves that appear to be “just a bundle of fight-or-flight reflexes and survival instincts.” As seen by Centipeetle in Monster Buddy and Monster Reunion, it appears as if corrupted Gems try to regenerate with their original forms if unbubbled, but are simply not in a state where they can maintain that.

As seen with Jasper in Earthlings, extreme emotional distress very much seems to speed up corruption’s effects. This is less of a stated fact and more of my read on that episode, but I believe it to be an important tidbit, especially since Garnet states that corruption’s damage is mental rather than physical, at least at its core. This can also be seen in Monster Reunion with how Centipeetle’s partial healing backfires when she remembers the trauma of being corrupted and reacts strongly.

Now, when it comes to healing corruption, Steven tries to heal Centipeetle himself, and does make some nice progress... helping her regain a hold on herself as he treats her with love and compassion and understanding... but it’s ultimately not a healing that can occur in isolation, helping her on his own. She needs more support before she can heal from this corruption to a state where she can truly be herself again.

And that eventually comes in the form of the other Diamonds. So, all four diamonds can help relieve the corruption if they help these Gems all together. 

3) How could this theory potentially fit into the story anyways, you nutter?

Well, here’s the part of this post where I make some broad conjectures. I honestly am shooting fish into a barrel here because again- we know barely anything about how corruption actually happened initially, and my thoughts are very jumbled. Please forgive me.

"I don’t really know how the corruption works. It’s like they’re sick. They don’t remember who they used to be.” -Steven, Gem Hunt

So, corruption seems to be a mental ailment of Gemkind, turned manifest. It also seems to have a deep connection to a Gem’s emotions, with Centipeetle growing smaller and slightly calmer upon feeling more secure in Steven’s presence, and corruption speeding up as Jasper grew more and more emotionally overwrought and self-deriding about herself. 

When it comes to the Diamonds and how they perhaps caused it originally- without fully realizing- we know that at least Blue and White have abilities focused on causing others to act in certain ways. Blue has sway over one’s emotions, and White has a knack for forcing her thoughts and self upon others. (I’m not sure how Yellow’s ability would play in here.) Mayhaps, mixed with their grief and guilt and anger, their power simply pressed all of that hurt emotion onto all the Gems on Earth in one whole fail swoop...? Tearing their minds in the process of it all?

The question I still have, though- is whether a single diamond could produce effects like this. And whether a diamond could turn that ability on themself.

Could Steven accidentally corrupt himself? Why might that happen?

Well, let’s look at our boy here. 

He’s got a wide circle of support at this time in canon, but notably, he’s notorious for bottling up his emotion and not letting others in to help him- instead dropping everything to help them with their problems. Just to name a few examples (a few):

The Test. He feels betrayed and hurt at the Gems for a moment about the way they’re babying him with the rigged test, but instead of admitting the hurt he feels about the scenario, bottles that up to help them feel more like good guardians.

Joy Ride. He opens up to the Cool Kids about deep, incredibly troubling stuff that’s long been on his mind, but he’s never once talked about it with his family.

Mindful Education. The perils of bottling one’s emotions is literally the whole plot of the episode. The kid has a full out sobbing breakdown while he’s plunging to his death. Connie gets through to him a little here, but later episodes show that the resolution we see here is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Steven’s internal issues. 

Storm in the Room. Externally, Steven tries so hard to put on a guise of content and positivity, but once alone in Rose’s room feels safe enough to let the full brunt of his emotional trauma come out in an almost explosive manner. Geeze, get this kid some hugs. 

Gemcation. Steven actually fails bitterly on putting on his customary smile in this episode, simply because the weight of his problems have become such an impossible burden to him. When the other Gems are trying to help him open up, he isn’t immediately responsive to their efforts. 

What’s Your Problem? Amethyst spends the whole episode trying to cheer Steven up and find out how he’s doing, and instead Steven downplays his own feelings on the matter and ends up helping her sort out her own emotional issues.

So to sum: Many an Emotional Issue, a chronic tendency to avoid outwardly addressing said issues in favor of helping everyone else instead... and to avoid accepting other people’s help.

Even if he’s surrounded by all these people who love him, the fact of the matter is that Steven still feels as if he has to face his own inner demons alone.

Now, let’s look at the lil’ teasing synopsis that was given for Steven Universe Future:

“After saving the universe, Steven is still at it, tying up every loose end. But as he runs out of other people’s problems to solve, he’ll finally have to face his own.”

Blatantly sounds like we’re gonna finally get some addressing of Steven’s emotional state, now doesn’t it?

4) A concept on what could, theoretically happen

“Maybe… it IS a guy in a monster costume. I don’t mean literally, silly! What I mean is... there might be a conscious Gem still inside there, somewhere. What if the monster is turning back and forth into its original form? If it is, it might not be as corrupted as we think! There might still be a chance to save it!” -Steven, Gem Hunt

Suppose Steven- by some as-of-yet unknown means- ends up accidentally corrupting himself. His sorry emotional state only further amplifies the effects of this corruption, and makes it really hard to retain control. Wormy Boi as a form could be like... all his inner demons made manifest, a metaphoric mirror into his current mental state. But- as he is half-human- he’s not entirely unaware of what’s happening. Perhaps... as the quote above could be sneaky foreshadowing for... how he’s turning back and forth between this corrupted form and his normal form. 

He likely wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this, doesn’t want everyone to visibly know the sheer depth of how much he’s hurting. But just like the corrupted Gems were only able to be helped in community, with the support of the CGs and the Diamonds in preparing the fountain, Steven can’t fix this on his own. 

He can no longer face the dark alone.

At some point, everyone has to take a brave step. Reach out. Accept help. 

Steven’s helped so many people, and surely he deserves that same love and care in return, too.

And perhaps, when he’s eventually healed from this- and has gotten the opportunity to be open with his family and friends about the hurt he’s facing- he’ll be left with “corruption scars” as well. I think it’s an important thing to address, that no one goes through experiences like these without lingering effects. Stuff stays with you. Healing is not always linear. But life is a continuous journey, and with the support of people who love you surrounding, you too can make a change... can continue to live to the fullest at every moment possible.

I think the above would be a lovely moral for Steven Universe to tackle in its last run of episodes, no matter how they approach it- daft corruption theory or not.

Now, in the end- a reiteration. This is just a wild theory. I’m not trying to be any authoritative voice saying that this is for sure what will happen, because in reality I have no idea what Crewniverse is cooking. However, I do think it’s fun speculation, and I am kinda spooked at how well things fit. 

Whatever happens, I’m sure it will make me weep like a baby, though. Hoh boy. Grant me sanity in these coming months as we wait for answers.

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER FOUR

“The life that you seek you shall never find. For when the Gods made man, They kept immortality to themselves.” - The Epic of Gilgamesh

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.47k words

Warning: Swearing, knives, anger issues, guns, handcuffs, kidnapping (kind of?), Harrison Osterfield (Yeah, that's a legit warning)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< THREE [ MASTERLIST ] FIVE >>

Sandhya parked the car at the rear side of an autobody workshop next to a white pickup truck that resembled closer to junk than any actual mode of transportation. It was past ten when she pulled there, and the three people Harrison spotted in the shop were on their way to shut it down for the night's call. He had managed to keep a careful eye at what turns she took as the roads forked or what landmarks she crossed on her way, only to achieve practically nothing. He was a stranger to this place and she being the wicked witch she was, had driven in circles so many times that he was sure, she had managed to complicate the path for him in manners that his head failed to unravel.

"We are here, homies." She announced, yawning at the last part, tapping her palm over the dashboard, tugging the keys from the ignition and then pulling the hand brakes.

Kevin groaned, shuffling in his seat, eyes half-lidded, voice groggy with sleep. The women sitting beside him plucked off her earphones, shutting her laptop. Harrison, on the other hand, chose to inspect the unfamiliar surrounding in the comfort of the car, eyes sceptical and narrowing. He ignored the thud of car doors opening and closing only to be disturbed by a sharp noise of metal keys hitting the window on the other side.

He squirmed at the unpleasant sound and turned to look at the intruder as she leaned across from him, on the opposite side of the car, the neon signboard of the car workshop flashing red light over her face. She looked like an angel from hell.

"Are you moving out? Or should I rather lock you up here?"

Harrison tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and stepped precariously out of the car, rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them near his elbows. He followed the three people as they walk down a slope that connected to an underground parking lot. There were a few cars and motorbikes parked there, most seemed to be in a dire need of repair. It took him roughly two minutes to figure out that it was no underground parking. It was a whole ass hideout disguised on the front with unused motors. They walked into a narrow alleyway, passing through several closed doors of what he assumed were rooms to a living area attached to a kitchen. It wasn't well furnished but furnished enough for a stay. Gray unpainted walls, sofas, tables and chairs, fridge, microwave, a small but flattering shelf full of wine bottles and a CCTV monitor to the top corner that covered the outside of their hideout, all the necessities one needs to survive.

"Hey, we will need your phone and your watch." The other woman he didn't know the name of yet, matched his pace, her laptop tucked below her arm, her green hair shorter than his with a cool undercut to the sides. She looked equally chill and nerdy in her baggy checked shirt, a mixture foreign to him.

He paused on his way, casting her a scathing glare, a bored look wiping over his face the next instant, "And why would I give you that?"

"Because Holly needs to encrypt them," Sandhya replied for her, standing beside the taller girl.

"So that it isn't traceable." Holly reluctantly but quickly added. She was younger than them, probably around Harry's age. Harrison could feel an undercurrent of fear floating through her voice.

"Thank you very much, but..." Harrison replied, not missing a beat, shooting a bitter smile at Sandhya before facing Holly, uttering: "No," his lips forming a proper 'o' as he took a step away only to be stopped by Sandhya's hand grabbing his wrist.

"It's not a choice, Harrison." She asserted.

An order.

Something sour lathered at the back of his tongue. A vein in his forehead twisted. Anger? Resentment? Malice? You just name it. He felt all of them at once.

He jerked away from her grip, releasing his arm. When he turned to face Sandhya again, his entire aspect had changed. His shoulders were square and broad, posture imposing, features stone, eyes icicles. They exchanged a long, threatening glare, eyes never wavering. He took a step ahead, expecting her to step back but she didn't recoil, holding her ground. She had the sort of personality you associate stereotypes with: high cheekbones, tall stature, sharp features but she somehow managed to defy most of them. Without her heels and now wearing some flat running shoes, she barely reached his chin, there was something warm about the softness of her features hidden beneath her belligerent attitude. The little baby fat her genetics had blessed over her face, provided her preys with false hopes of mercy. Betrayal at its finest.

He looked down at her and she looked up at him, their shoes bumping, faces inches apart. Realisation ticks through her mind when she looked a second deeper into his eyes.

He was, perhaps, stalling.

Her neck snapped to the monitor embedded at the top corner of the living space.

Shit.

A car had stopped outside their hideout and two armed men emerged from the car, strolling towards the basement.

She identified one of the men. His men.

"Look ou--" She tried to yell but Harrison didn't allow even an ounce of air to escape from her lungs. He'd grabbed her shoulders swiftly, taking advantage of her diverted attention, squeezing her shoulder blades and twisting her body. Her back flushed against his chest.

Both Kevin and Holly grabbed their pistols, the clicking sound of safety pins dropping echoed in the enclosed space. They pointed the weapon at Harrison but he already had a pocket knife pointed at Sandhya's throat while his other arm was pressed beneath her neck, holding her still.

"Keep your guns down or this floor would bathe in her blood." He warned, poking the tip of the knife into her skin, eyes focused on the pistols.

Kevin and Holly hesitated, their eyes flickering at Sandhya's face. Something passed between their eyes, some sort of permission and they threw their guns down, sliding them away from their reach.

"Hands above your head, quick." Harrison added, "And place them on the wall, face the other side."

Holly and Kevin obeyed without questioning, pressing their palms to the walls, while Harrison bent to pick up their pistols, shoving them at the back of his pants, holding Sandhya on a chokehold.

"I'd warned about your men's involvement in Clarke's murder," she whimpered when he placed the blade near her skin again, getting to his feet, "Yet you let them trace our location," she somehow managed to finish the sentence.

"You speak a lot for someone millimetres apart from dying."

"You won't kill me." She said, gritting her teeth.

"Yeah, but I can hurt you," he whispered near her ear, "And we both know how much I'd like that." His warm breath fanned over her cheek as he dug the pointy edge of the blade to the pulsing side of her neck, pressing not enough to cut her but enough to terrify her.

"Arsehole." She muttered, sucking in a breath.

"Tell me something new." His lips twisted into a devilish grin as he dragged her outside, her loose hair tickling under his chin, his arms clenched so tightly around her that she was sure she would still feel them tomorrow.

"I am telling you..." She tried to breathe and speak.

"Sssh..." Harrison interrupted with a shush, the vibrations moving through her flesh, echoing through her bones.

She tried to ignore the effect of his voice on her spine, suppressing the chilling sensation. "We are on the same team," she whispered softly and carefully as if trying to lull a toddler into handling back their parents' important work files.

"Oh well, then I should be the one giving orders."

They walked to the front of the basement. She could spot the shadowy outline of the two men waiting.

She started trying to resist, wiggling her body in his grip.

"Hey, Hey! Behave. This blade won't spare. Don't blame me."

"Let go, Harrison. Your life is on the edge!" She wiggled harder.

Edge.

He couldn't stop but laugh at the irony in the metaphor she chose.

They reached his men and she stilled in his grip. A white man, she identified as Tom (as Harrison had previously pointed out) and the other man she didn't identify was black and taller than all of them, both standing like soldiers in front of her.

"This is Tom. And this is Tuwaine," he introduced his men.

"This could be dangerous for both of us." She was almost pleading now, eyes pooling with tears of irritation and of failure.

"We don't want to kill her," Tom said, passing Harrison a pair of handcuffs.

And here she thought she had the lead.

"Why do y'll keep telling me that?" Harrison groaned at Tom's advice. He had repeated it over, even Sandhya has said the same thing, twice.

"Do I look like a psychotic killer on a killing frenzy?" He grabbed her wrists, fastening the cuffs behind her back, gripping her upper arm. "I know well who and whom I am supposed to hurt, how and where." He clarified, gently pushing her to sit on the back seat of the car. She obeyed this time, having no choice.

"It's not easy to trust you," Tuwaine added.

Harrison nodded, trying to look offended, "Thanks Tuwaine, I needed that," getting into the car, along with her, keeping a good distance between them. He snorted when she swirled her neck to the other side, refusing to look at him.

Tom settled himself on the driver's seat and Tuwaine sat beside him as the car drove off.

***

The giant gates of the mansion she'd only seen from far away opened like butterfly's wings, welcoming the car where she sat as a hostage.

"Aren't you delighted seeing this place?" Harrison asked in a tone that was closer to mockery than curiosity.

She still refused to look at him yet could hear the smirk in his voice.

"The place you won in the lottery? Or shall I say, cheated--"

"Fuck off." She interrupted but he went on like a guide, ignoring the cuss—

"The second luxurious property in England, just next to the Buckingham Palace."

She chose to ignore too. The main doors to the estate were wide open. Two women came rushing out when the car came to a halt. One of them opened Sandhya's door, pulling her out, holding her forearm, the other pulled a pistol and a knife from her dress.

"Release her," Harrison said nonchalantly, tossing the keys of the cuffs to the first woman. She unlocked the metal and Sandhya pulled her hands from the woman's grip, rubbing her fingers around her wrists.

She walked in, eyes in the front as Harrison and the crew accompanied her.

"Take her to the guest suite." He said and the same woman nodded.

Before she could grip Sandhya's arm, she moved it away, rushing to Harrison, grabbing his shirt collars with both her hands.

"I'd planned everything so intricately and you... You just ruined it all." She spoke with clenched teeth, eyes glistening with emotionless tears. "Do you--Don't understand the gravity of the situation? We are literally playing with fire." She exhaled forcefully.

He chortled.

Playing with fire?

He had committed various mistakes today, more mistakes than he could recount, more mistakes than he could afford. He had let his emotions get the best of him. He had not inspected Clarke's body, then went to beat Dino's men without even being careful of the various other dangers he could cross paths with, then chose to accompany Sandhya alone, got into a life-threatening car chase, had a sniper pointed to his head.

On top of that, he had also failed to consider the disastrous change the mafia world would go through upon the King's death. Damn, he had already played with fire and it was enough for him.

With Clarke's death: The mafia world has never been so free and so trapped. So vulnerable yet so lethal.

Harrison had discovered that for himself. He fucking knew the gravity of the situation! And that's why he chose to take matters into his own hands. He could trust nobody. Especially her.

"You really need to stop with your habit of holding collars." He held her hand in his, thumbs tracing circles over the back.

She continued to search his face, dark eyes filled with disbelief.

"We will work my way. And..." his face hardened at the conjunction, his thumbs stopped their ministrations as he squeezed her hands tighter. "And when I find your involvement in Clarke's murder, I would not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull."

She snorted this time, pulling her hands back.

"This is what you concluded? This? After everything?" She burst out into a peal of bitter laughter, the one that twisted Harrison's gut.

Her eyes hardened again as she jabbed a finger into his chest.

The next words came out as an unchecked storm out of her mouth, "The life you want, you will never get." Her words were merely whispers but worked their way through his gut, burning his chest, crawling through every fibre of his body and she never seemed to stop.

"You'll never be the next Clarke, you'll never even be half of him. Maybe," she hiccupped, "Maybe, he knew that and that's why he chose me, he chose me over you because he knew how incongruous you were."

She took a step forward, her chest pressing against his, standing on her toes, directly meeting his eyes and raising her voice beyond the point of normalcy, "How you were an insult to his legacy!" Pausing to exhale, she continued, her voice back to low, "It was a pity that he gave you half of his kingdom. You didn't even deserve that. You'll never be him. You are nothing like him."

Harrison bit back his tongue, his icy eyes burning from the lack of blinking. The mansion was dead silent, no one had dared to speak or react. He clenched his fists tight, feeling his nails digging into his palms.

"Take her to the room." He instructed, voice barely above a few decibels. He didn't wait for his words to turn to actions, rather he turned on his feet, striding towards his room, jaws tensed, nerves popping through his burning flesh.

His footsteps echoed behind him.

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

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