#bold words indeed for someone who can’t even exist without the lights on

[fnafverse-quotes]

Vanessa: Sun, we need to talk about your maturity.

Sun: *standing on the security desk* Bold words for a woman standing in LAVA.

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you --- like a storm bursts overhead --- i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you --- haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse ---  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure --- both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening --- i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live --- but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home --- and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me...to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that...  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is --- you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

[oppabimbab]

if second chance exists | jeon jungkook

genre : heavy angst, fluff, break up, heart break, smut

starring : jungkook x reader

synopsis : you met him again after 365 days of being apart. nothing has changed except the fact that you and him are no longer together. the same wound, it is ripped open again when you realised you’re still deep in love with that man.

words count : 11k words

side note: this is another remake fics from original jinyoung’s fics. some people said they’ve got a good cry from this one so i changed the characters to fit the bts’s version. also, sorry for any errors and grammar mistakes. 

**

You look at the huge building right in front of your eyes. That is a hella huge one and you’re not sure why you are here.

  “Seulgi, I don’t think this is right,” you speak to her as she is adjusting her short dress along with her wavy hair. She looks way hotter than you’d expected but that’s not what matters now because you don’t feel like coming in.

  Well, you don’t remember how did you agreed to your best friend to go to this party? Maybe when you were drunk? You’re not really sure.

 But, now you’re here with a small nude dress wrapping around your curvy figure. Soft yet bold make up plasters all over your beautiful face. That shoulder-length hair compliments your face even more with its messy curl. That was all Seulgi’s touch—Well, she is a stylist.

 Seulgi raises an eyebrow and looks you from head to toe.

 “Babe, you look good and eatable. You need to show this to them. It’s a masterpiece,” she touches your hair a little, to make you look hotter than ever. You scoff at her remarks.

 “Yeah sure. It’s Miss Seulgi’s masterpiece, everyone,” you mock her and she chuckles.

 It’s Nayeon’s bachelor party. It’s been years since you left college which means you pretty much have lost the contacts with most of your ex group mates, classmates or whatever it is. But, Nayeon is one of those people who surprisingly still keeps in contact with you. You aren’t that close with her but Seulgi is. She happens to get married by this week and since she is pretty close to Seulgi, she took the chance to send the invitation to her and you. You definitely know Nayeon. Not that familiar but you know who she is and she knows who you are. That’s enough.

 “Come on. Tonight will be fun, I promise you. She only invites fun people and we are that fun people. Besides, you need to get a life. Find a dick,” she winks, swiping her red lipstick across her thin lips before smacking it. You look at her, pretty grossed.

  “No dick. I come here for beer and good food,” you shake your head and without any notice, you walk to the entrance, leaving Seulgi behind. She yells in protest.

 ***

 When both of you come inside, you’re overwhelmed by how good the decorations are. It’s far from what you’d expected. Well, you’d imagined a very wild party since it’s called young-hot-bachelor party like everyone claims but every parts of the decorations scream softness. It looks like a tea party you would go with your close neighbour.

  Which is a good thing.

 “Hey, do you think we are in the right place?” Seulgi whispers at you and you immediately get what she means.

 Your dress—short dress. It doesn’t look appropriate considered how this hall is decorated with. You hide a smile.

  Before you could say anything, you see someone from afar. He looks familiar. As hell. It takes you fpr few seconds to process before you get the real image.

  Namjoon. Kim Fucking Namjoon. What is he doing here? You immediately tilt your body to Seulgi, causing her to be confused at your sudden gesture. She looks around and you heard her small gasps.

  “Gosh, It’s Namjoon,” she says, sounds half excited and half panic. Not sure which one is more dominant but you don’t care. You don’t want to meet him. Fuck.

  Few seconds later, Seulgi sounds panic.

  “Hey, He is coming to us,” Seulgi whispers, tapping your arms softly but you remain freeze. Damn it. Of course, that guy would see them. Seulgi just can’t shut up and look away. Now, you have no choice but to meet him again after God-knows-how long has it been.

  You clear your throat and look back at his direction. Yes, he is coming. You fake a surprise on your face. This is not a good idea. Seulgi immediately excuses herself.

  “Hey, is that you? Is that really you?” he immediately speaks up to you the moment he stands right front your eyes. He looks handsome as he was before. Tall, bulk, smelled like fresh cologne and sweet smile. Perfect words to describe him. You smile at him.

 “Namjoon? It’s really you,” you’re not really sure what scares you the most but the sight of him or the other boys make you feel like running away. Not really but some kind of.

  Namjoon is your ex-boyfriend’s friend— Of course, looking at him reminds you so much about your ex.

  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.

  Namjoon flashes his charming smile.

  “I don’t know you would be here. I mean, it’s been a long time since I saw you,” he utters. You nod. Indeed. It’s been a long time. Perhaps, a year? You crack a soft smile before you could hear another familiar thing.

  Seokjin’s and Jimin’s laughter. You bring your eyes to the side, not too far from you and Namjoon.

  5 of the boys are there. You gape at the view. Namjoon would be here, it didn’t surprised you but all of the boys? You start to feel panic. What if...What if he is coming too?

  But, for some reason, the sight of them boys remind you of old day. Good old days.

  You were waiting outside the studio while looking at the night sky. It looked oddly brighter than previous days but you weren’t complaining. You liked night sky. Jungkook liked night sky too.

  Before you could do anything, you heard footsteps coming from the studio and the sound of door clicking. You tilted your head and looked at the direction.

  It was Jungkook. When he had his eyes on you, he couldn’t help but smiled a little. Or more.

  “Hi, sorry to make you wait,” he spoke with a boyish look all over his face before shutting the door closed.

  “No, it’s fine. I came here just to see you for a while,” you said, not breaking your eyes off him as he walked closer to you. It was crazy because the butterflies in your stomach felt like they were growing each time the distance between you and him disappeared.

  Jungkook is a composer. A rookie one. He has been wanting to be a music person whether it’s a composer, lyricist or an idol. He really wanted to be one of them but Jungkook knew he was too old to be an idol now.

  Everything was still new. A fresh new.

  Sometimes, you would find yourself coming to the studio just to see him and his work even it got little awkward when the studio was filled with boys— the 6 chaotic boys. At times, the studio is part of you even you have nothing to do with it.

  You were a graphic designer. Also, a rookie one. You loved doing graphic things, you loved creating something pretty according to your imagination. You loved everything about your dream and it finally came true.

  And the best part, you didn’t know you would share it with him. Your boyfriend for 2 years.

  “The boys wanted you to stay for a while. We are having small party for Taehyung,” Jungkook casually wrapped his warm big hand around yours. It’s getting colder these days.

  You raised an eyebrow at his reNamjoons.

  “Oh, is it his birthday? I’m sorry I stole you from them,” you said and he grinned widely. He knew you were joking.

  “You know it’s not. I don’t know, they just wanted to throw a party. I’ve told them I’m staying with you tonight,”

  You nodded with a small smile. You could feel his gaze on you despite the dim light didn’t do any justice to the sight. You looked up to find his eyes before scooted closer to him as you guys walked through the quiet neighbourhood.

  Hand in hand.

  It was 10 pm but the neighbourhood seemed quieter and colder than anything.

  “Jungkook,” you called him and he replied with a hum.

  “Remember when you asked me about my favourite thing about you?”

  He glanced at you with a raised brow.

  “I like your smell,” you added before bringing yourself to him and smelled his scent that you loved the most. You weren’t very sure how he smelt like. It was nothing like strong perfume or deodorant, definitely not that. He smelled like it’s him.

  Jungkook laughed out loud, a hearty one. His laughter filled the entire of small space around them. One thing about him— he always covered his mouth when he laughed while he has the best teeth and smile you ever seen. His laugh sounds genuine and full, like he meant it. For real, you loved it when he laughed.

 “What? My smell? What does that supposed to mean?” he said between laugh before shaking his head, refraining himself from laughing too much in this quiet alley. You pouted and slapped his shoulder softly.

  “I’m serious. I love that part of you. You smell like...” you stopped to find the right words to describe how he smelled like. Honestly, you didn’t know. It’s not a perfume, deodorant or anything else. Jungkook hid his smile while staring at your confused face. Patiently waiting for you to say how it smelled like because he was curious too.

  “Home,” you spoke and it received another hearty laughter from him. His chest is pounding as his whole body vibrating, amused at your answer. You find it annoying but then you find yourself laughing along with him.

  “I love it how you learnt so much from my flirty ass. You’re so good at this now,” he pulled you closer and took your hand inside his thick hoodie’s pocket. You can feel his thumb rubbed your knuckle in that small pocket that surprisingly could fit both of your and his hands.

 You stole a glance at him and you met his eyes. No words can describe how much love you had for this man. It has been 2 years of dating but how the hell you still feel the same butterflies like it was your first date? Saying how he was perfect was an understatement because he is more than that. You sent him your signature smile that he once told it was his weakness.

  He frowned.

  “No, no. Don’t give me that look. I know what you’re trying to do,” he moved his finger, stopping you from smiling that way but you didn’t care. You know he loved it anyway. Jungkook quickly covered his eyes with his other hand while shaking his head. You giggled at his gesture before taking his hand off his eyes.

 “Babe, carry me on your back,” you whined before pulling your hand from his pocket and stand behind him. Jungkook chuckled at your sudden hyper mood tonight.

  “What are you? 2 years old?”

  You grinned and hopped on his back before wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. Nothing feels safer than his embrace.

  “Come on! You love me!” you screamed like a little kid before both of you were bursted into laughter. A happy one.

  “Hey? Are you okay?” Namjoon snaps.

  You immediately get your sense back the moment you heard his voice in your mind. What was that? Memories from a year ago?

  “Ah yes. Sorry, I was spacing out. What did you say?” you nod and chuckle nervously even you know there is an awkwardness plasters all over your face. Namjoon looks at you, worried.

  “Uhm, if you don’t mind, you can join us. You know, even we don’t talk as much as before but we always welcome you. The boys sure love to see you again,” he utters and for some reason, those simple words really do something to your heart. It’s somehow lovely yet aching to the point you don’t know how to actually react to it.

  The boys know what happened to you and Jungkook. When your relationship ended, you find yourself getting distant from the boys. Well, there is a logic in it. You have lost Jungkook, of course you’re going to lose everything around him. Including yourself.

  You rub your arm softly and nod.

  “Sure. I’ll see you guys later. I need something to do,” you say and Namjoon’s face lights up as you agreed. Namjoon has been always be that person whom you refer to the most during that old days. He is a quiet and responsible person despite surrounded by those dorky and goofy bunch of boys.

  You excuse yourself to go anywhere but stop when he calls your name again.

  “You look great. Like you always do,” he says with a sincere smile. Your heart lifts at his words.

  “You too, Namjoon,” you reply.

  The next second, you find yourself in a toilet while staring at your face. After 365 days or more, you’re now in the same place with those familiar faces.

  How odd it is? You don’t know why you would feel this anxious but seeing them is like seeing him. You remember watching him play and grow with those guys who used to witness your relationship with him.

  Now, his image comes into your mind and you can’t erase it. Or to be exact, he never left yours.

  You lean against the wall when a sudden sadness comes and fills your entire body. It’s sure the worst thing at this moment when you should enjoy yourself. At least. Of course, you wouldn’t want to look awkward and dull in front of Nayeon, the soon-to-be bride. No fucking way.

  You take out the wedding invitation from the small purse you have been carrying. The small card with few fonts on it reminds you of something. Something painfully sweet.

  It was 6pm. The sky looked like the mixture of deep orange and dark purple which gave you an excitement at the sight. Just like how you usually did, you took out the device from the pocket and snapped a few pictures of the sky. When they turned out to be just like you wanted, you smiled happily.

  Sky at the beach looked majestic, didn’t they?

  Without actually noticed, Jungkook has been staring at you.

  “Babe, there are thousands picture of skies in your phone,” he said, almost judging you.

  It was just another day where you would attend one of his close friend’s wedding which was something very common for you to do. Jungkook loved bringing you to any event or gathering every time he had the chance to do so. You weren’t complaining at all. You liked it when that proud grin plastered all over his face when he introduced you as his girl. You loved it when he would casually pulled you closer to his side, just to make sure you were there—with him.

  That kind of security you couldn’t find on anyone else but him.

  “What do you mean? The skies are different each days,” you protested with frown as you scrolled down the pictures you have taken. You know Jungkook was staring at you but you ignored it anyway.

  “They looked the same,” he shrugged. The steady wave made the cold water splashed on your feet as both of you guys walking along the beach. The beach was oddly quiet and empty, probably because it was almost night.

  “Alright, sir,” you keep the phone in your pocket and nodded, teasing him before you walked freely, leaving him few steps behind. You looked at the sea and inhaled the smell--your favourite scent after Jungkook’s.

  “This is so good. Life is good,” you said as your eyes strike to the sun that was setting, leaving the place almost got dark. The beautiful orange with a hint of black looked like it was straight from movie.

  It was weird. Every time you came here, it made you feel like everything is good. Yeah good. The serenity.

  As the water splashed, Jungkook came to your side.

  “Full of positivity. I love it,” he said and you looked up to him and see that smile you have been loving since day 1. His skin was glowing. His eyes were sparkling.

  “Ocean makes you become positive. I don’t know why,” you spoke and he giggled while nodding. Probably agreed to what you said.

  “Now I know why some people held wedding here. It’s just gorgeous,” his honeyed voice echoed.

  “I want ours to be held here. Or anywhere as long as there is a beach,” he added and for some reason, you saw that coming. Your boyfriend has been vocal when it comes to wedding or simply said—marriage. You weren’t sure when did it start but he always talked about getting married, having so many kids you don’t know how are you going to carry it with that petite figure of yours.

  You find it was interesting and amusing when he didn’t hesitant to talk about these topics when most of men around you were very skeptical.

  You looked up at him and giggled.

  “I don’t want it,”

  A frown appeared on his forehead. Not confused but amused when he didn’t get the expected answer from you.

  “Why? Beach is your best friend,” he said with a straight face. His plump lips looked more significant when he pouted. Let alone those doe eyes, they made you became a jelly in just a blink of eyes.

  “I don’t want my dress to get wet. you’re unstoppable you know? Remember when you pulled me into the water the last time we went to the beach when I freakin just got my hair done?” you glared at him, shaking your head at the memory. Jungkook was a sweetheart but he immediately became a devil when it comes to teasing you.

  He raised his eyebrow while looking at you, quite impressed at how your mind could bring that memory from few months ago.

  “It wasn’t my fault. You looked intimidating that day. Plus, you buried me in the sand with those crappy crabs remember? We both are an evil, it’s a win win situation,” a small chuckle left his mouth as he softly digging the sand with his toe. It definitely brought back the memories from 4 months ago.

  “But, you did it first!” you whined like a baby girl. Jungkook can be really annoying sometimes. He looked soft and gentle but sometimes, an evil. He grinned at your frowned face and pouty lips, making you sent another glare to him.

  He bent down.

  “Did what?” he asked.

  “You’re so annoying, you know that?” you scoffed at his mischievous side and that made him grin got wider, plastered all over his handsome face. You wondered, what exactly in his mind?

  Eyes rolled as you took a step to continue walk along the shore before you felt a sudden cold on your back. You gaped before turning back. To be exact, to Jungkook. Just like you imagined, he wore that innocent smile.

  “Like this?”

  “Babe! What did you do? Stop!!” you almost screamed while shuddering at the cold water on your back. Jungkook did the same thing. He knew you would scream like an annoying little girl. He knew how you hated cold water but he did it anyway.

  He chuckled before scooping the sea water with his hands and sprinkled it to you. Another whine came out from your mouth.

  “Come here!! You’re a freaking dead!!” you screamed while doing the same thing like he did before he ran away from you. You giggled and screamed, speeding to catch him with your hands. He was definitely a dead meat.

  His sweet raspy laughter and your chaotic scream filled the entire beach. It was lovely.

  You smile at the thought. It’s crazy how some scent, certain gesture could remind you of something that happened like years ago. Your eyes are locked on the wedding invitation and slowly, the smile fades from your lips, leaving you lost and devastated.

  The 970 days you have spent with him weren’t short and weren’t that long either. You didn’t know time had passed that quickly, faster than you ever imagined. The relationship was beautiful—It’s hard to describe but it was indeed beautiful and amazing. He gave you something more than you ever expected—security. As you grew with him, he made you realised that love wasn’t enough. The security he gave you was something that built you. The trust and honesty he had showed to you were something that lifted you to become a person you’re now.

  It’s funny to even think about it. When you were scattered into pieces; when you bawled your eyes every night, asking God to heal this wound in your heart. You were lost to the deepest bottom that you couldn’t even find yourself back. You knew you wouldn’t be found anymore because you had given everything but all they do was crushing you into million pieces.

  All you wanted was to be loved.

  And Jungkook found you. He looked into your eyes and knew you were lost. You were in pain. He brought you back to find yourself. You weren’t sure when did it started but eventually, you knew you were slowly giving that piece of your heart that was left, to him.

  And he took it. Jungkook loved you. The way his skin touched yours, the way his eyes find yours, the way his lips collide against yours. You knew they were real. That was love. The love you both shared were beautiful. But, where is it now? Your chest is aching at the thoughts. It’s not here anymore.

  You bring your gaze to the card.

  His name could be here, on the invitation along with yours.

  How lovely does it sound like?

  A soft sigh leaves your mouth. You slowly put the card back into your purse before taking a deep breath and shaking your head to erase the thoughts. You’re not very keen to let these feelings to take over you. You’ve been spending months over this thing and sure today isn’t that day you would let yourself to do that. You need to forget it—even for a while.

  Minutes passed and when you look at your phone, your eyes are widen. 10 missed call from Seulgi. You look at the watch around your wrist and you know why. You bet, Seulgi is mad.

 You tighten the grip around the purse before leaving the toilet. You walk calmly to the hall and a sudden panic starts to get all over your system. Just like you imagined, it’s filled with so many guests you barely knew. You cursed at yourself since you’re an introvert so being this lost in this crowd sure isn’t a good thing. You stand at the side and try to look for Seulgi or maybe Nayeon before the purse you’re carrying is vibrating. You immediately pick up the phone call from Seulgi.

  “Over here!” she shouts over the phone, causing you to put the phone away from your ear. For few seconds, you found Seulgi, waving to your direction while sitting in a table with Nayeon and few other people. You can’t see them clearly since your eyesight have worsen each day. You saw Seulgi, that’s pretty enough. You nod before slowly making your way to her in such a crowded place. Each steps you take towards her, the heavier your chest becomes. Something is not right and you’re not happy with it.

  Few steps are taken and you’re here at the table. The timing isn’t good because when all of the gaze pointed on you, you found a very familiar one. That familiar gaze that you have lost. Your system has lost its track the moment you laid your eyes on him.

  Jungkook is there.

  Time seems like it’s freezing around you. You can’t feel your feet, not even your skin, the moment you saw that pair of eyes—that beautiful eyes. Your chest is trembling, not sure whether it’s a fear or love. Not sure. Is it a pain or comfort? Only God knows.

  “Hey, where have you been?” Nayeon speaks after a short silence happened between them as you arrived. You flinch at her voice, as you look at every of them. The 6 boys, Seulgi, Nayeon, Sana and Jungkook. Her voice seems fading from your sense when Jungkook looks at you. His deep gaze strikes into you.

  This is torturing.

  “Uhm, I was in toilet. Yeah, I was in toilet,” you almost stutter when the words seem like it’s not coming from your throat. You smile at her before Seulgi pulls a chair for you to sit. You immediately take a seat beside her, across Jungkook. Nayeon grins and nods. The atmosphere feels odd and unfamiliar. You look at Seulgi and she sends you the “I know what you’re thinking” look with her eyes. There is no way she didn’t know or simply put, there is no way the boys didn’t know what’s in your mind right now.

  “Well, since all of us have talked about our lives, it’s your turn now,” Nayeon pulls her chair to give a better view to you. You look at her and realise that all of them eyes are looking at you, waiting for your response. The earlier vision of Jungkook still makes you unfazed so you barely know how to actually react to it. Nayeon raise an eyebrow at you.

  “What do I want to talk about?” you laugh nervously, tucking the hair strand behind your ear while adjusting the position on the chair. You can’t bring yourself to look at Jungkook who is sitting across you. You’re not sure if he is looking at you too but deep inside, this is killing you.

  “What are you doing now? I heard you’re a designer,” Jimin breaks the silence as he immediately asks you about ‘how’s life going’ typical question. You look at Seulgi and she grins. You nod calmly.

  “Yes but not really a designer. It has been only 6 months so I won’t call myself a designer yet,” you speak, trying so bad not to stutter or you will look stupid in front of them. You can feel your fingers are trembling as fuck so you hide it on your thigh.

  They all look impressed.

  “Come on, don’t be humble. You’re good at designing. Did you remember the logo you made for us back then?” Yoongi adds and all of the boys start to squeak as they remembered that ugly logo you made when you hang out with them. You slap Yoongi’s shoulder and they laugh.

  “Don’t be hypocrite, Yoongi. That one looked like an ugly sock,” you chuckle as the memories come back to you. You were younger and unexperienced. They laugh at your remarks.

  “Thanks god you finally realise. It’s tiring to pretend all these years,” Seokjin, the sassiest bitch speaks while flipping his coma hair. You send him a death glare while pouting like baby. Seokjin has been that clown who always teased you for nothing and you would fight with him. In another words, he is your partner in crime. You didn’t know you’ve missed it so much.

  “Come on, it can’t be that ugly. Let me see,” Nayeon chuckles at the sudden chaos as she taps Hoseok’s shoulder. He nods before taking out his phone and starts browsing the gallery. You almost squeak.

  “Yah, Hoseok. I’ll kill you if you do that,” you burst and immediately cover your mouth as you realised your usual self is coming out. It receives a squeal from the boys.

  “Ayeee~ you had never changed. Bold and fierce, right Jungkook?” Taehyung, who is sitting beside Jungkook, suddenly nudging him on his arm. The pout and grin disappear on your face right after you realise what Taehyung did. The atmosphere changed in a blink of eyes as nobody says anything. Of course, all of them know what happened to you and him.

  Sana slaps Taehyung’s shoulder softly before frowning at her boyfriend. He looks flustered. He probably realised that things have changed now. You and him are no longer together anymore. You suck on your lower lip, looking at anywhere but him.

  “So, who wants to see the logo? The ugly sock like she said,” Namjoon breaks the silence as he claps, trying to get everyone’s attention and it receives a squeal and woo-ing from the boys. At the moment, you can feel your tighten chest has loosen up from the tension. That was close incident, you see Sana’s scolding Taehyung for it. You heave a sigh, this is really hard. Slowly, you get up.

  “I’ll go get a drink. Anyone wants some?” you force a smile at them but receive no response before Seulgi raises her hand.

  “Me, please,” she grins, sending the message through her eyes. You smile at her. She knows what you’re doing and she immediately tries to send you away to calm down. She knows how this indirect

tension between you and Jungkook being in the same table is torturing you. She knows you’re trembling under the table. She knows exactly how you feel and she wants you to take some fresh air. Seulgi is indeed a saviour.

  You nod and excuse yourself, not looking back at the table, not their reactions.

  It’s just few steps away before a woman comes to the table and it’s not anywhere but beside Jungkook.

  “Sorry for the wait. I’ve got a phone call to make,” she speaks with a bright smile all over her flushed face. She looks like she was running a marathon when she seems catching a breath. You freeze on your feet and bring you gaze on her.

  She is beautiful. Very beautiful. You can’t deny. Slender body, shiny black hair, flawless skin, almond-like eyes. Charming smile. What else?

  “Ah, are you Jungkook’s friend? He talked about you earlier, have a seat,” Nayeon stands and bows at her before offering her to sit. She bows back politely. That sweet smile never leaves her face and it gets wider when she looks at Jungkook. That smile—that looks familiar. Suddenly, your chest thumps very hard, adrenaline starts to take over your body when you see Jungkook slowly brings her closer to him, making the gap between them disappear.

 “Hi, I’m Rose. Jungkook’s girlfriend,” she introduces herself, taking the beautiful smile along with her words. A soft smile appears on his lips, a rare sight even from the first time you’ve seen him today. It’s rare.

  You look at them and you definitely know—there is love. That smile, they’re wearing, a smile when you’re in love.

  When your sense comes back, your heart aches. A lot.

 **

 Every minute are the biggest torture you’ve ever been in your life. How did things turn out to be like this? All you wanted is to have some fun here but God sure wouldn’t let you do that. Your mind left you immediately when you’ve realised he is here.

 But, not alone— he comes with his girlfriend.

 How awful does it sound like? To be in the same place with your ex, who has gotten happier more than you do?

 You swallow the tiny bit of the croissants while scratching the steak on the plate with the fork. You’re not sure if the food tastes bad or you have lost your taste bud because every piece of them, taste bitter and awful in your throat.

 The moment when you finally acknowledge where Rose stands in his life, you bring yourself to somewhere far from the table. None of these feel right to you and you don’t want to believe it either.  It feels unreal and confusing. The more you have tried to process, the more you’re failing to find any words.

 But, for sure, you definitely know one thing to describe this.

 Heart ache.

 You lean against the wall in the quiet alley, trying to process this new information. Chest thumps like it’s going to explode. Skin tickles like the electricity is running down your spine. Heart. It beats along with the pain, an unknown pain that have been stabbing you few moment ago.

 You heave a small sigh while looking at the walls.

 It’s weird. It’s weird when you’ve learned what is pain-- the moment you both have lost this relationship. You knew how exactly how pain feels like when he walked away from you and never seems to come back. You knew for real how heart break feels like when you woke up every morning with the heaviest cloud in your chest but he is still absent. He isn’t anywhere.

 You knew it.

 But, why does it hurt even more this time? It’s the same pain but why does it hurt a little bit more when you saw her, smiling at him—like you used to do back then? It hurts even more when he pulled her closer to his side—just how he would do to you.

 It’s unfair. You finally recalled how bright her smile looks like—exactly how you looked like before. It’s unfair.

 “Does the food taste good?” Nayeon asks out of sudden as you can feel a warm touch on your shoulder. You flinch a little, making the cutlery to fall down on the floor, causing them to look at you. You laugh nervously before bending down to take it back.

 “Sure, it tastes amazing,” you smile at her then to her fiancé, Minho. Both of them look good. It would be cliche to say this but some people really are meant for each other because when you see them, they look beautiful. Minho apologises for your dirty spoon as he calls one of the helpers to get you a new one.

 The next second, you feel the gazes are on you. Again.

 “Rose, have you met her? She’s one of our close friends,” suddenly, Sana speaks to break the silence and you can’t help but feel a little nervous. You look at Sana before trailing your eyes to her—the beautiful woman across you. You see her eyes, they’re sparkling so effingly beautiful.

 Of course, they had a welcome conversation with her when you were away to get your shit together. Of course, they have been laughing together as Jungkook introduced her as his girlfriend while you were stuck in the quiet alley, fighting these feelings—all by yourself.

 Now, it’s your turn to let her know, who you are.

 Rose’s mouth is opened slightly when she met your eyes. A soft smile appears on her lips as she sticks her hand out, to you. She wears that smile again.

 “Hi, I’m Rose,” her unique voice fills the space around you. Her eyes are so bright, like it has nothing but sincere feelings. You nod before taking her hand, trying not to look awkward. You introduce yourself before both of you let go of each other’s hand.

 You steal a glance at him.

 He looks anywhere but you. Your heart clenches at the sight. Why does he make you feel like invisible and non-existent when you’re there, sharing the same place with him? You can’t deny when you feel like a big wall is climbing between you and him and you have no idea how to break it down. Immediately, you look away from him. Your heart feels like in pain.

 “Jungkook talked a few things about you before. You indeed look beautiful in person,” she says, sending you her signature eye smile, which is making you lost at words.

 He talked about you. How does it supposed to mean? Everyone at the table says nothing as they let both of you to talk and you’re so sure, they saw how obvious your face has changed the moment she said that.

 When you see her soft expression, you immediately understand—Rose knew about you and Jungkook. She definitely knew about that.

 You inhale some air before nodding. Part of you, is confused. If you ask yourself, you would feel jealous, awkward and intimidated if your boyfriend’s ex is there—basically eating in the same table with you.

 But, the fact that she sounds cool and relaxed even she acknowledged the history you’ve shared with Jungkook, makes you wonder, why is that? Why does she sound so cool about that and why does it make your uneasy?

 You look at her and she smiles at you, like nothing has happened. A sincere gesture and smile—she reminds you so much about him. A sudden tsunami of pain crashed all over you. Again, it takes you away from the reality.

 You brought the cleaned cloth to the wet plate and wiped the residue off from the glass. It was Friday and you had nothing to do beside cleaning your new apartment since you took a day leave. It had been few hours since you began cleaning every part of the house without taking a rest. Probably, few minutes rest then you would drag your ass to continue whatever you left behind.

 After the last plate, you heaved a sigh and glanced at the time on your phone. Almost 7pm but you still received no texts from Jungkook. Jungkook was out to work with the boys and he promised to text you when he already finished but when you received nothing, supposed he haven’t finished yet.

 Leaving the phone on the kitchen counter, you brought yourself to the cabinet to put the plates and cutlery back to its place. You grunted when the cabinet was too high for you to reach with your short height and annoyed, you took a chair before you climbed on it.

 Carefully, the plates were put slowly inside the wooden storage as you weighed yourself on the chair so it wouldn’t make you fall on the marble floor and break your chin. Of course, it would be a disaster if you have to spend your days in the hospital.

 “Someone is wearing my clothes, again,” a raspy yet soft voice interrupted the silence in the kitchen and it made you jolted in surprise. Not to extent of overreacting but it definitely made you surprised. Where the hell that sound came from and why the hell Jungkook was standing there?

 You cocked your head to him and there was him, leaning against the wall with arms crossed on his chest. He had an amused look all over his face, ignoring his fluffy hair that was covering his eyes. Jungkook looked up at you with a smile, probably waiting for you to respond.

 “When did you come?” you frowned at him before you find yourself struggling to come down as the chair suddenly became wobbly and unstable. Reflexed, Jungkook came to get you off.

 “Just now,” he said, still looking at you like a predator.

 “Okay but should you surprise me like that? I could break my bones if I fall,” you mentioned about the earlier surprise. Your i’m-almost-annoyed mood changed when he grinned, showing off the cute wrinkle in the corner of his eyes.

 “You’re overreacting. The chair is not that tall,” he pouted at you and you agreed. It wasn’t that tall actually but whatever, didn’t couple whine about littlest things?

 You pinched his cheeks before turning your back at him to go to the counter to clean the table. Every step you were taking, you could feel your body was aching a lot from the work and all you wanted to do was get some bath and sleep.

 “How’s the work?” you spoke as your hand went back and forth with the cloth, cleaning the residue on the counter. Jungkook hummed.

 “Today was great. We met an agency to sign a contract with us but it’s not certain yet. Still in process,” his voice echoed from behind and you nodded at his remarks. Your lids were getting heavier.

 “Wow, really? That’s great, baby. What’s the company name?” you said and almost yawned before you folded the wet cloth to finish what was left so you could get a fresh bath.

 It was tiring but at least, you wanted to listen a sneak peek of Jungkook’s day before you could pamper yourself. Few seconds later, you have received no response from him, it made you stopped and turned your back to look at him.

 Before you could do that, a familiar warmth collided against your skin on your back as his fresh cologne scent strike. It left you speechless for a moment when his firm arms snake around your waist, leaving you froze on the feet.

 “Can we talk about those things later?” Jungkook buried his head on your shoulder and whispered with his raspy and melodious voice to your system. What was with the sudden move? You peeked at him across the shoulder.

 “Alright but what are you doing?” you whispered back and out of sudden, he inhaled and nuzzled the scent from your neck, making you made a soft whimper. It got louder when he left a soft kisses along the neck. It wasn’t rough or rushed, instead, it was slow and romantic. Jungkook knew exactly where your weak spot was and when he found that, you couldn’t help but moaned. It felt surreal and amazing even your body was aching a lot.

 “You look beautiful today. I can’t help,” he said between the kisses, making your skin vibrates along with the words that came out from his mouth. The next second, you find your skin tickled at the touch. It was hard to actually put into words but your fingertip tingled a lot when he touched you. Every part of your skin felt like they were on fire. A fierce fire.

 “Jungkook, I’m tired,” you shuddered at the touch as he trailed his hand towards the hem of your shirt. That day, you wore nothing but only his oversize shirt that you stole from his closet. Not sure what came to your mind but you chose not to wear any panty or bra. It wasn’t usual of you but that day, it was different. For real, God must let you did that because of this.

 “Hmm,” he hummed and it sent another electricity to you, again.

 “Baby, I’ll be quick. I promise,” he groaned to your ears as he slid his hand inside the shirt and trailed his warm fingers lower to your abdomen. He knew what he was doing to your body and the way he played those fingers, it drove you crazy.

 Your back arched and it made the gap between you and his chest became more significant. Jungkook noticed your body weakened at his touch so he trapped you between his veiny arms and let you hold on to them. You gripped on the cold surface of the counter while the other hand holding on around his wrist.

 “Jin-Jungkook. Not today,” your voice almost disappeared when his hand had reached your core. He didn’t touch it but you could feel the heat coming from his big hand. The next second, you heard his small chuckle.

 “Your mouth says no but your body says the opposite. Which one is dominant, baby?” he grunted as he pushed his hip closer to you and again, you bit the lower lip to refrain the moan from coming out. The huge bulge that was brushed in your inner thigh made you realised how turned on Jungkook was. He was turned on and when he did, you barely could say no.

 He was a sexy beast.

 “Spread your leg. Now,” he commanded.

 You couldn’t catch a breath when his long and slender finger touched the clit of your core, the moment you spread your legs to give him an access. It moved in a perfect circle. It was in a gentle pace but it brought you to another world.

 Moan filled the kitchen. Eyes were closed, mouth opened. There was nothing but erotic moan came out from your mouth.

 “Ah~~Jungkook,” you panted along with his name. You wanted to pull his hand away because all you wanted to do was getting a fresh bath and rest but the more you tried to do that, the harder it became. His finger kept circling the bud as he nuzzling on your neck, kissing the sweet spot again and again. The sensation. It felt like a heaven.

 “Still a no?” Jungkook grunted. You couldn’t respond to him. You couldn’t even think straight.

 “Are you always this wet?” he added. As the words came out, his pace was getting faster, abusing the wet and swollen clit, giving you his endless ecstasy from his finger. It was crazy how his finger could make you feel this good. Jungkook then gave your exposed inner thigh a slow rub as he chanted how wet and turned on you were.

 Eyes shut closed, your mouth was opened, moaning and whimpering his name, telling the world how good you were feeling. How good he made you feel.

 His warm breath touched your neck. Breath hitched and weakened.

 The next second, a familiar knot twirled inside your lower abdomen, for real, it gave more pleasure to all over your body. You screamed at Jungkook, telling him how close you were to your climax and just like how he usually did—he told you to give in.

 “Let it go. Don’t hold back,” his sexy hoarse voice echoed and just like that, you find your juice was coming out from the core, wrapping his slender finger.

 You immediately bent your upper body on the counter, getting yourself some air after almost being choked with your own saliva. How the hell you could breathe when he was abusing your clit? When he was kissing and biting your neck?

 “You’re crazy,” you whispered at him, panting like crazy on the cold surface.

 “I’m crazy for you,” Jungkook said when he eventually grabbed your hips and rubbed his throbbing member against your inner thigh. You yelped as it wasn’t clothed anymore but raw. It was big and hardened which is making your wet core, pooled again.

 “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he cursed under his breath, without letting you to respond, he pushed his hip onto you and making his hardened member disappear inside you wet cunt. He didn’t let you to adjust to his size at all. You screamed at the sudden fill. Jungkook had been big from the first you had sex with him but this time, he felt really good.

 Heavenly.

 “Jungkook!!!” you screamed out loud, gripping onto his muscular arm tightly while supporting yourself on the kitchen counter with the other hand. Your nails were clawed on the surface as his member were throbbing inside you, it got bigger each time it slid.

 Jungkook moaned slightly as you pushed hip onto him, making his tip reaching the walls of your pussy. A smile appeared on your lips when he moaned so you pushed your hip again and again, causing him to fill the space with his sexy moan.

 Fucking sexy. He was fucking sexy when he moaned with his raspy voice. He barely made any sound when both of you made love but when he did, you swear to god, you became addicted to it. You made him feel good.

 “Stop or you can’t walk for a week,” he grabbed your hips, stopping you to do that. You smirked.

 “Prove that to me,”

 You couldn’t see how he looked like but you knew his eyes were darkened in desire and lust. He hated when you challenged him and the fact that he would wreck you, you felt butterflies.

 In a blink of eyes, he started to thrust his member into your wet pussy with the roughest pace while grabbing and rubbing your hip with his huge hands. His name came out from your mouth again and again as Jungkook grabbed one of your breasts before giving it a rough kneading.

 Again, with his finger, he rubbed and pinched the hardened nipples slowly, making your system almost went error.

 “Hmmmm Ahhh,” you screamed out of pleasure. The slapping sound, sounded like a background music along with his grunts and your erotic moan.

 “Is that good? Hm?” he hummed, quickened the pace of thrust into you, wrecking the juice that was coming out from the hole. It was really messy and sloppy as the liquid running down your inner thigh.

 You nodded.

 “Jungkook, I want to see you,” you whined with the weakest voice. He gave you a few more thrust before pulling out and quickly turned your body around to look at him.

 Now, you saw how he looked like when he was fucking you. His eyes strike into yours before he grabbed your hips with his arms and place your ass on the cold counter. You squealed at the sudden contact. It was cold and dull, you immediately missed how he felt like inside you.

 Jungkook stared at you with his darkened gaze without anything came out from his mouth.

 Taking him closer to you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, you smiled. His weakness.

 “Kiss me,” you whispered at him.

 He grunted again and pulling your mouth to his as he started to hover your lips. The entire part of your lips and mouth. The kiss was rough yet sweet. There was nothing rushed or sloppy when he kissed you. Jungkook’s kiss was always gentle and sexy. When he casually explored your mouth with his warm tongue, your core clenches for his touch. He needed to fill you again.

 You pulled from the kiss and jerked the hip onto him along with the eyes strike into his gaze. Needy and desperate. A sudden chuckle left his mouth when he noticed how bad were you at being patient. He gave you a small peck before slamming his member into you again, causing your legs to tremble.

 It felt like a heaven.

 He grunted every time he pushed himself onto you while breathing hard on your collarbone. Every thrust felt like drugs, you wanted more and more.

 “Fucking tight for me,” he scowled, like a beast.

 “Hmmm. It feels so good. Harder, Jungkook. Harder. Ah, Ah!”

 “Keep screaming my name. It fucking turns me on,” he growls, still pumping into you without looking away from your lewd eyes.

 “Please, don’t stop,” you lifted your chin to the air and moaned, while fisting in his hair, softly. Jungkook’s name never left your mouth every time he pumped into your walls. The world seemed like it was fading from your vision and leaving you and Jungkook alone, making love to each other. You didn’t care. If world was breaking and fading, as long as Jungkook was there with you, you knew you would be fine.

 His chest rose and almost fell with rapid breath even his pace wasn’t getting any slower. He spread your legs even more, abusing the swollen core.

 “Mine. Mine,” Jungkook trailed his mouth to your neck and moaned the words again and again, against the skin, in sync with the thrust. His big tattooed hands slapped your ass over and over again, causing you to scream.

 The words—it sent butterflies to your stomach. It was ecstatic and ethereal. How could it suit perfectly with the pleasure he was giving you at this moment? It doubled the electricity that had been running down under your skin.

 “You’re mine. Always mine,” he moaned again. Grunts and groans—with his voice. Rough and sloppy, your favourite.

 Endless moans and scream came out from your mouth. Your body started to twitched and flinched when the climax started to build inside you. The walls were sensitive and swollen but Jungkook wouldn’t stop. Your body bounce against him, taking his throbbing cock inside you as much as you could.

 “Jungkook….Hmmm~ I need to—,” you screamed through gritted teeth, holding both of his shoulders. When you opened your eyes, you lowered your gaze at him and he was staring at your soul. The eye contact—he stared at you like a predator while slamming his hip onto you. You couldn’t help but met his eyes. Those beautiful orbs—there is no way you would want to look away. Every part of him, were an art. His breath hitched.

 You moaned while looking at him and a satisfied smile appeared on his face when you had the erotic response to his touch.

 “Release yourself and scream my name, baby,” Jungkook groaned at your opened mouth. Mouth opened, moan and whimper. He loved that. When you couldn’t wait any longer, you cummed around his member and left your whole body twitching.

 Moment after, he released himself into you, filling every part of your core with his warm liquid. You couldn’t name anything better than this. This was heaven.

 Jungkook panted heavily on your shoulder as he supported you from falling on the counter by wrapping his arms around the waist. You held onto his arms while your chest rose back and forth, catching some air and calming the throbbing core.

 The weather was cold but the sweat was prickling on both of you and Jungkook’s skin. It was really amazing—difficult to put it into words but it was really amazing. The pleasure you’ve reached. It was crazy

 When he finally calmed down a bit, Jungkook pulled out from you and brought his gaze into your soft eyes. His eyes have changed. They have looked sincere and affectionate—like it was full with love, for you. Just for you. You smiled at his flushed and sweaty face. Beautiful.

 “I love you,” he spoke. His doe eyes sparkled with affection. The way he stared at you, you could see a soft cloud in his eyes. It was love. True love.

 Slowly, you trailed your hand to his cheek and gave it a few rubs.

 “I know,” you whispered with a smile. His face. Your heart aches at the sight. Not a pain one but it ached a lot to think how this man existed and God sent him to you. It ached you when you couldn’t even prepare yourself if you lose him one day. There was no way you would want to let this man go.

 Jungkook kissed you gently and pulled away to look at you again.

 “I love you so much,”

 “I love you too, Jungkook,” you said

 You come back to reality immediately when the sound of people talking interrupt you and your memories. You look at the untouched food on your plate and realised how long you have been stucked in those scary thoughts.

 Why the hell that part comes in your mind—when he is right in front of you, entertaining his new girlfriend? Why is that part of him, touching you and telling you how much he loved you, come right when his girlfriend is smiling at your pathetic face?

 You thought God loves you but this is too cruel.

 You smooth the dress under the table and starts digging the food. You’ve lost the appetite but you need to end this day quickly—even deep inside, it feels longer.

 For some reason, when everyone is having fun, Seulgi is gossiping with Sana. The boys are laughing and almost drunk along with Nayeon and her fiancé. While Jungkook, he is sitting there, talking to Rose like you aren’t there.

 You feel like this place doesn’t belong to you. You want to go home. Now. Because your body seems like it’s getting weaker.

 You can hear how bright Rose’s voice from the way she talks to him. When she giggles and Jungkook would casually listen and stare at her when she is talking, probably about how her dog is behaving at home and when Jungkook would tuck the hair strand on her face behind her ears to look at her even better—your heart is crushed.

 You used to be in that place. You used to spend the whole night, telling him how suck your colleagues are or whining about the small cut you had on your finger or maybe—clinging onto him when you missed his presence. Jungkook would listen while sipping his coffee and eating the snacks.

 He actually listened and engaged with you, from the very beginning. The best part is he remembered.

 And,

 You used to giggle at his random jokes and told him how lame it sounded like. He was bad at making good jokes but the weird thing is, you laughed anyway. He didn’t care as long as you laugh. Even it’s an ugly laugh—he didn’t care because all he wanted was seeing you smile.

 But, you’ve lost it. Everything. Now, Rose is in that place, doing everything that you used to do with him. You feel like you’ve been replaced—definitely. He is in love with someone else, which isn’t you. It feels so unfair for some reason.

 You inhale some air to calm down the overwhelming feeling that started to take over your body. You steal a glance at both of them before you looked away immediately. You finally realised the distance you have between them two despite just sitting few centimetres away. For some reason, you understand—some things are unreachable even you’re only a step away.

 So, you choose to leave.

 **

 You remember how worried Seulgi’s face is when you pulled her to quiet place and said you wanted to leave this place. You convinced her to stay since Nayeon probably needs her until the end of the party.

 “I’m fine. I should be fine,” you told her. You’re not very sure about that part.

 The party is still on-going but your heart isn’t. Seulgi immediately knows what’s happening and finally, agreed for you to leave.

 You’ve talked to Nayeon and just as sweet as she always is, she understands. You knew everyone is well aware what has been happening between you and Jungkook. The fact that they’re being careful and respect this situation instead of making it more awkward, you appreciate it so much.

  When you finally have the chance to leave, you immediately disappear from the hall as you bring yourself to the back entrance. Nobody would know you are leaving—not even Jungkook. You wouldn’t know this night will end like this. You have no idea you would bringing yourself to the back entrance—leaving like you’re not meant to be here.

 “Hey,” as you take your steps to leave the place, you heard the familiar voice from behind. Your heart thumps when you look back.

 It’s Jungkook.

 He is standing at the door while looking at you and your devastated self. His broad figure under the dim lights look majestic, along with his orbs, sparkling, like they always do.

 You feel your throat is choking when he comes closer to you, towering your small and petite figure. He had grown taller from the last time you saw him. It has been so long.

 “Seulgi told me you’re leaving,” his voice sounds calm and soft. God, you’ve missed that voice—so much. You clear your throat and nod.

 “Yeah. I’m leaving,” you speak, looking up at his eyes even though they are the most dangerous thing in your entire life. He sucks on his lower lip.

 “I have something to do…at the office,” you sound hesitant because you know how awful you sound like. You’re not sure whether he notices the lies you’re telling him but you hope, he don’t. It’s weekend and you literally have nothing to do at the office, like you claimed. You don’t want to leave but you need to.

 He nods.

 “I see. I know it’s late but congratulations. You finally become a designer,” a small smile appears on his lips—without knowing, it brings so much pain to you. You nod at him, looking down to your feet.

 There is a silence between you and him, for a moment before you could hear his voice again.

 “Thank you for all the good times we’ve spent together,” he added.

 “I couldn’t tell you this when we both separated but I really want you to know that the time we had together was beautiful and amazing. It wasn’t short or long either but I definitely won’t forget every inches of it,”

 His honey voice fills every space around you and him. It feels like the gravity has lost and the world is fading from you and him. You see and hear nothing but him. It’s weird and crazy but your eyes—you only see him.

 “When I broke up with my exes, I always feel regret of dating them but with you, I don’t feel regret—at all. You were one of the best thing that ever happened to me and I don’t want to forget those good times. Thank you for giving me such a good memories to remember,”

 He sounds very calm and steady when the words come out from his mouth. He rather sounds like none of the memories hurt him like it hurts you.

 But, those words—why do they hurt you so bad? This bad? Your heart breaks at the last words. You knew there was a goodbye a long time ago but this time, it feels like it’s officially over and both of you are telling goodbyes to each other.

 You don’t want a goodbye. Not now. Not forever. You could feel tears are pooling on your eyes before you casually shake your head, to make the tears go away.

 “The time we had together was indeed beautiful. They were so beautiful,” you slowly bring your eyes to him and reading his eyes. Oh, they are always beautiful. They look like a night sky that you never wanted to stop looking at.

 He smiles but it tortures you even more.

 “But….Can I ask you something?”

 He nods.

 “Do you love her?” You don’t know where the courage comes from but deep inside, you want to know. You want to know exactly how he feels like even you already know the answer. But, this time, you realise how delusional you are. You want a different answer.

 Jungkook stares at your eyes, trying to get the message from them. The silence he gives you is killing you softly. That is the longest silence in your entire life and it brings you nothing but hope. Jungkook smiles, showing off the small dimple on his cheek.

 “I do. Very much,”

 You are scattered. Into million pieces. You wished you heard him wrong but when Jungkook’s face lights up along with the words, leaving his mouth, you couldn’t believe it’s real. You don’t want to believe but when you realise Jungkook wouldn’t say something like that without actually mean it—you whole soul is crushed.

 This is real. You’ve lost him. You’ve really lost him. The one you love with your entire heart and soul.

 Your mouth is opened, trying to say something but nothing comes out.

 “Even we are no longer together, I hope you would find someone who would love you more than I did. I’m sure you would find it because you deserve the happiness,”

 Nobody would love me like you do—you’re my happiness. Your heart screams.

 He looks at his wrist and suddenly looking he is rushing to go back.

 “I think it’s time to go,” Jungkook says but when he notices your gaze, he stops immediately. He knew you have something to say from your gaze. The body language—he remembered. It’s crazy how sweet yet painful it is.

 “Jungkook,” you call him. You couldn’t find the right words to actually tell the words that have been keeping inside your chest. You need to do it today because world knows, you won’t be seeing him again.

 “Thank you for making me feel loved and secure during the time we had shared together. Thank you so much for bringing the best part of me when I couldn’t love myself—like you did, You taught me so many things that it changed me to becomes stronger. This strong,” you stop when your chest is rising and your throat is choking.

 “Don’t remember me. Please forget everything about us and cherish a new one with her. Don’t love her like you love me—love her like you want to love her and the way she wanted to be loved,” you feel like your throat is choking when the words feel like a poison. You couldn’t believe you’re telling him to forget about you, about those times you’ve shared—with him.

 He looks stunned, leaving him speechless.

 “Before I go, I need you to know that…..” you stop and stare into his eyes for one more time.

 “My love for you was real and sincere. I’ve loved you so much,”

What a white lies.

 This is embarrassing to say since he is in love with someone else but That’s the least you could do—because he is now out of reach from your hands.

 Jungkook grins. He looks at your softly.

 “Thank you,” he nods. You wish he would say more than that. But, it leaves you to no avail. You can hear your heart is screaming.

 “I think it’s time to go,”

 “Goodbye,” the next second, you trail your eyes to his eyes and taking every image of that beautiful pair of eyes like there is no tomorrow. Like tomorrow won’t come. But, for real, there is no tomorrow for you and him anymore. There is no future of you and him anymore.

 How cruel this world is.

 The moment when you bring your feet to take the steps away from him and turning your back at him, you could hear his very last word.

 “Take care,”

 Where did the last part go? “Text me when you reach home” part? Where did you lose it?

 Every step you’re taking to the busy street of the city, they feel like thousand thorns are stabbing every part of your skin. It stabs and leaves the wound wide opened. For real, It feels awful and scary when you’re walking from the person with the most memories you don’t want to erase.

 When the sudden realisation hit you like a storm—you could feel the pain inside your chest. You feel something is throbbing in your heart and it hurts like crazy. It hurts so bad—you can feel it, choking you from your own breath.

 Let him go.

As if it is that easy.

More steps are taken before you realise the tears have been streaming down to the cheeks and pouring on the ground, like a rain. You didn’t know you’ve been crying ever since you walk away until you taste the salty water. It’s bitter.

 You’re sobbing like a crazy woman when you realise how long you have been fighting with your own tears the moment you saw him for the first time in forever. You wanted to cry when you saw him because you know, you’re still in love with him. The more you wipe the water from coming down, the more it wets your face, the sad symbolic how broken your heart is.

 Your heart is crushed into pieces. You wanted him so much. It never changes. The 365 days you’ve spent alone, didn’t make any difference because when you come back to your bed every night to end the day —you still want him from the deepest bottom of your heart. He is still there in your mind— His scent, his laughter, his voice, his touch—you remember it all too well.

 If life is a movie—he is the best part and you can’t forget every inch of it because you knew exactly how it feels like to sleep along with the hopes, in case you could wake up with him beside you.

 But, that tiny hope seems like it has been taken away, leaving you hopeless. That hope—it used to make you feel alive but it’s gone. You feel dead.

 The people are looking at you, crying over the pain inside your chest. The tears, it falls like river. You didn’t care—they don’t understand how painful it is. Nobody understands this. You want them to but they won’t because it aches too much. It’s hard to put it into words because even thousand words aren’t enough.

 Just because you love them, doesn’t mean you’re meant for each other. Just because you adore them, doesn’t mean you’re right for each other.

 The tears fall even more at the thought. You bring you hand to your chest, while the other hand clutching the purse tightly with your feet stepping the countless steps to anywhere. God, take this pain away. Take this wound away from me. Give me anything but not this.

 You beg with your might.

 Now, when the night falls even deeper, when you have no idea how far you have been walking along the streets, when the cold breeze touches your tingly skin, when the seasons change from winter to spring, you know, everything has changed. Your place has been replaced. Forever.

 Jungkook has become a memory and you need to accept it even it takes million years. You’re sure—it would take forever. He is someone, whom you can’t reach no matter how you shed the blood and tears. He is unreachable. He used to be but not anymore.

 Looking at your feet, you wonder.

 Giving a second chance to a wrong person or not getting a chance from the right one, which one hurts the most?

 But, for sure, the thing that could break you into thousand pieces is knowing that;

 If second chance exists, it’s definitely not for you and him.

**

let me know your feedbacks!

[izcana]

Tommy and the Newt Pt. 7

Shucking great. He chased Thomas away, and now he's in the middle of nowhere, possibly being torn apart by wolves. What was he thinking? In Newt's defence, he had been worried about the rose since it was his only link to possibly being human again, but Thomas might have been...no, Newt shudders to think of the consequences. The witch knows. Katie McVoy hadn't been discrete when she cast the spell – she made the terms clear and concise, slightly alike how his arithmetic teacher always told him to.

Newt remembers those days, but they seemed light-years away as if it had been a different person who lived like that, in a different world. Surely Newt hadn't always been like that.

Right. Thomas needed saving. Damsel in distress, remember those jostling days, Prince Newton?

******

Newt sprinted into the woods that have surrounded his home with seldom thought about his self-preservation. It was rarely that he forgot about his life, as it was usually about him. The court was based around him, the prince ripe for manhood. The servants were based around him, getting him to face his beastly appearance, paying not as much attention to themselves as they should've. Newt was selfish; he barely remembered that it wasn't just him suffering silently from this curse, that there were people depending on him as well. People that were turned into everyday items because he had to be taught a lesson. All his fault, just like Thomas had proclaimed. Or not to him, at least, but Newt knew he had.

If it wasn't for them, Newt would have condemned himself to his fate. He could stay this way, die a slow death, as long as if it was only him. Him and only him.

He raced through the undergrowth, his clothes catching on an odd branch occasionally. It was merely to comment that he hadn't paused to think once, since he was usually the one to pause and think about everything. Well, not everything, apparently. Not when he turned Katie McVoy away. Not when he insulted her. Not when he caused his own demise and evidently, turned himself to this hideous beast. Katie only helped with the transformation.

Many a year ago, Newt was still carefree. Running through these same woods in his day time, sparring with the trusted knights who served the crown. That was the past. This time, he was on his own, rescuing a boy who was in distress. Nothing that wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for him.

He got to the clearing, and that's where he heard the growls of savage beasts and a helpless scream that ripped through the equally helpless boy.

Newt released a growl of his own, deep and equally unwavering. He crept towards the direction of the vicious hounds, though there was no point; no doubt they had already smelt and heard him from a kilometre away. After all, he heard them too.

When he got to his destination, he probably should have jumped into the fray, but he was too busy eyeing Thomas' violet gown and how it suited the lean boy somewhat, his collarbones standing out brightly in the dim moonlight. Newt blinked back to reality.

The one at the head narrowed its eyes at him, and though he saw that Thomas had held them back as much as possible, he was slowly losing strength, and his jabs with the gnarled stick were becoming flimsy, weak. Newt, without further ado, leapt at the beast roughly, tackling it to the ground. It growled, and the others got the cue, their heads snapping up in unison and each scrambling to save their evident leader.

Newt roared, his voice flitting and disappearing over the trees. The wolves seemed momentarily startled, though they snapped back to action quickly. Newt channelled his muscles, and in a swift move, ripped the wolves off his stomach, one on each hand. The rest of the wolves fought valiantly, though to say they stood no chance against Newt, despite it being one versus a pack. That's not to say Newt got off with no injuries.

Once the last wolf had scampered away after it's pack, Newt fell to his knees dizzily, his head spinning. Why was the ground so close to his nose?

What happened and why did his arm hurt so much? Why was his leg wet and sticky?

"Oh, gosh!" Thomas breathed. "You're bleeding!"

No kidding, Newt wanted to say, but he couldn't say it. Everything was spinning, spinning...

"No!" Thomas' voice was closer now, and Newt could feel the puffs of air close to his cheek. "You can't faint on me now! I won't be able to carry you back!"

Leave me, Newt thought, but he couldn't say it. He would be glad, soon, that he couldn't say it.

Newt realised that Thomas was correct: he wouldn't be able to carry Newt back, and they'd both be doomed. He couldn't die, and neither could Thomas. He was the king on the chessboard, and Thomas was the queen. Neither could survive without the other, and they couldn't die together. In their chessboard, no one on their team could die. Only thy enemies defeated.

Newt raised himself to his knees, slowly, and the feeling was starting to return to his bones. Along that came the sting of the cuts, the bruises, and the bite marks. If Newt knew how things would turn out from that encounter, he would let it happen a hundred times over, both for the others and for himself. Thee fortune went bold.

Thomas reached out a pale hand to assist him, and he was temporarily dazed and completely transfixed by the pale skin dotted with small moles and a bigger one on the side of the knuckle. Newt could swear that it was practically glowing, and he had a sudden temptation to run his coarser hands over the smooth as a baby's bottom skin. He imagined how Thomas' hands would feel if they gripped his fur, pushing Newt's head close to his for a kiss, and ––– no.

"Let's go," Newt hissed, gripping at the pale, bony digits tightly.

–––––––––––––––––

Slowly but surely, Thomas limped his way through the woods that were shaped like hands, grabbing at his ankles and sleeves insistently as if willing him to never leave. It didn't help that he was still wearing the heavy gown, and it weighed down on his shoulders more than ever, now that he was supporting half of Newt's weight.

"Oh, dear lord!" Ava cried as soon as Thomas collapsed on the stairway close to the altar. "What happened?"

"I –––" Thomas wheezed, only to be cut off by Ava.

"No, what was I thinking..." she muttered under her breath, ignoring Chuck's frantic cries of "Mama, what's happening?" "Someone get Jeff!"

Who's Jeff? Thomas wanted to ask but figured that now wasn't the time. His question was answered by a clang and the squeaky wheels of a medical trolley flailing his direction. Thomas narrowly stepped to the side to avoid being hit. Because Thomas was Thomas and his father had always told him he had two left feet, he tripped over his own feet and almost feel on top of Minho.

"Watch it, shank!" Minho snapped, though it didn't have much fire behind it.

"Here's what you're going to do," Ava cut in. "You're going to go change quickly, and then do your thing. Stay in your room. We'll take care of this."

Mutely, Thomas turned away to change his clothes, but he knew for sure he would be coming back.

–––––––––––––––––

Newt felt the darkness surround him. What happened? Why was it so dark, all of a sudden? Why couldn't he open his eyes?

He felt light weight on his right hand, and something supporting it underneath. He pried his eyelids open like peeling scotch tape off the wall, blinking hard. "What–what h-happened?" Newt muttered, his voice scratchy from disuse. Newt tried his best to turn around to the source of the warmth, but he found that he could not move his neck. Whenever he made the slightest adjustment in his body position, it left him aching with a dull ring behind it.

"Stop moving," A soft voice, alike to honey in a river in some way, whispered, stroking their hands over his knuckles.

Thomas?! He was the only person in this castle with hands.

"Tommy?" He inquired. As soon as the nickname left his mouth, his head spun. Why 'Tommy'? Newt's incoherent brain asked though it didn't seem to have an answer to its question.

"Tommy?" Thomas questioned, and Newt could imagine him cocking his head like a lost puppy. "That's nice."

If Newt could move, he would've preened. "Why are you here?" He asked gruffly, clearing his throat once.

Thomas' (beautiful) face blinked into existence from above him. "You went out for me, so I figured I'd help you heal."

"If you didn't run, I wouldn't have needed to save your butt," Newt muttered under his breath, definitely not expecting Thomas to catch it. He did.

"Uh, excuse me?" The face above him had suddenly become defensive. "If you hadn't chased me out, I wouldn't have ran!"

"Well, if you hadn't went into the West Wing, I wouldn't have chased you out!"

For a moment, Newt could swear he saw Thomas' eyes glow in fury and his cheeks flush red. "MAYBE YOU SHOULD CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!" He shrieked, and Newt winced. Thomas' voice was enough to burst his eardrums, especially when he was healing.

"You –––" for once, Minho was speechless. Newt hadn't even noticed that the rest of his friends were next to him, too, only focused on the one person who had just screamed at him. "I agree," Minho said, slapping his palm against the bed.

"I should have left you," Newt muttered. "You're annoying."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Newt regretted it. He felt a pang of guilt when Thomas' eyes welled up and his face drained of colour, leaving it a slightly translucent shade instead of the usual olive-tinted milky skin. Thomas' lips were trembling, and a tear that had slipped past his eyes trailed down his cheeks, bypassing the corner of that adorable mouth.

"Are you kidding me?" The boy in front of him stood up, pacing around the room. After a while of readjusting his neck, Newt found that he could turn his head, and what he saw was precious, indeed. Thomas was dressed in a simple sky blue dress with thin straps, revealing those pale collarbones and his long neck. The dress went down to slightly above his knees and it accentuated Thomas' waist, which Newt had just noticed was thin. He would bet his entire fortune that Thomas had protruding hipbones that jutted out and exquisite dimples on his thighs. "You ungrateful –––"

"I'm sorry," Newt blurted out before he could finish the rest of the insult. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You shouldn't have," Thomas declared, sitting back down.

"I'm really sorry," Newt whispered, letting his head sink down. "I didn't mean it."

Thomas blinked, then nodded. "I know," he whispered, and his cheeks lit up with their usual rosy tint when Thomas beamed. Newt smiled. Genuinely.

***

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

[burned-to-the-void]

Wake up to see the stars collide

.

Lion is in coma. Also, there is a rosary in his hand, and a grieving man in the room.

Doc/Lion, 3.4K words, T rated, hurt/comfort, mention of injuries and self-deprecating thoughts.

.

.

Lion does not regret.

He can’t afford any more regrets in his life, after everything he has done and fucking repented in front of God, praying and praying for the tiniest chance of forgiveness. That particular box is already overflowing. So he just tries to make the right decision on the first try, and doesn’t allow himself to question it, no matter how tempting. He doesn’t allow himself to ponder on what if.

And this was the right decision, he is so sure of it. Either one of them had to go in order to spare the other, so he weighed the value of their lives. Of course, the result was predictable.

But I have saved people, too. Not like he did.

I’ve been trying so hard to be good. Doesn’t matter. He can’t wipe the blood off his hand, innocent blood.

Don’t I deserve to live?

He can’t let himself answer that question, but what he did speaks for its own.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, or a self-sacrifice, not really. It was the only reasonable choice.

No, deeper down, he did it because he is a coward. He didn’t want to be the lone survivor, carrying the body and far more on his shoulders. But then he didn’t deserve that fate either.

So Lion is glad he made it, or at least his body did. It’s breathing, feeble but regularly, and the heart in it continues to beat. Got some broken bones and flesh wounds but it’s on its way of recovery. He is not so sure about his soul. But he is here, thinking all these things, isn’t he? Doesn’t it mean his mind is alive too?

Then why can’t he just wake up?

.

If he concentrates, he can feel everything. He can tell the warm hue of the sunlight from the sterile, artificial lighting of the hospital even through closed eyelids. He can sense the texture of the sheet under his limp hands. He can hear the beeping noise of the machine he is more or less attached to. He can feel occasional throbs of pain, dulled by heavy dose of painkillers.

But he can’t move a finger, not a single muscle, can’t even open his eyes to see whether someone is here, or he is alone.

Not that he is left alone, at least for long. Medical staffs come to check his vital sign and scribble down notes in their pad. After a while he’s allowed to see visitors too, or rather visitors are allowed to see him. He wishes they don’t tell his family, because he can’t shove this at their faces too, not after everything he’s done to them. His wish is granted, given that his mission was a highly classified one in the first place.

So all his visitors are his fellow operators visiting him in their spare time. Montagne is the most frequent one, unsurprisingly, and he is easy to tell because he always talks to Lion. He is careful of his tone, to sound casually composed, as if nothing is out of place. Reliable, as ever, his own worries buried deep where no one else can see. He informs Lion of daily events in the base, what happened in the training session and what shenanigans ensued. Lion isn’t largely interested but he is glad that people are moving on; they’re called up to do their job and save the world, not to waste their time over a fallen colleague. But because it’s Montagne, who has this mysterious ability to know where his thoughts are flowing even without words, he tells Lion gently: we’re waiting for you to come back, Olivier. We’re not leaving you behind.

Rook and Twitch join Montagne now and then, to Lion’s surprise. Rook’s voice is on the wrong side of cheery, like someone who is choking on something and trying badly to cover it up. Lion doesn’t think he even liked Lion before, how could he, their interaction was never smooth. He was too naive for his liking, bright and untainted, making Lion want to lash out; better teach him by himself that the world can’t catch up with his standard, that he can’t survive if he keeps believing in something he shouldn’t. He was harsher than he had to be—had any right to be—but still Rook is here, sounding agitated but nonetheless keeping him company. Twitch, on the other hand, is subdued and quiet, nothing like her usual energetic self. It doesn’t feel right to Lion. Neither of them should be this affected, they don’t have to take it this hard. They deserve something better than the secondhand pain.

And there is Doc.

At first, Lion doesn’t recognize him, because he comes alone when there is no other visitor around and he doesn’t talk. He brushes the presence off as one of the medical staffs, but this person lingers for too long, and he can almost feel the haunted gaze on him somehow. It can’t be anyone else.

Most of all he is reassured. What he did wasn’t in vain. The doctor is indeed alive and well, undamaged, if him pacing the room with enough restlessness to wake the dead is any indication. Then he gets annoyed, which is his usual reaction to the man almost on the instinctual level, because he can’t get out of the bed and make him stop with force. Hold him still. Feel his warmth in his hands, the proof that he wasn’t wrong in his decision.

He can’t, and he has no way to vent his frustration. Doc must be feeling the same way, because he breathes in, and then out, slowly and deliberately, in an attempt to calm himself down.

It doesn’t work, however. His voice is still trembling when he finally talks.

Do you think this is fucking fair?

Who said anything was fair, ever? He wants to ask back, fully knowing how immature it sounds.

Answer me, Olivier.

The mattress of his bed dips to the side, and suddenly there is a hand clutching his shirt, fisting the fabric. It shakes, his whole body must be shaking, but he doesn’t break, his muttered curses make his voice crack but they remain dry. 

To Lion it feels like he is being mourned, which is inadequate since he is not dead, at least not technically. In some way it is like watching himself being buried alive. He doesn’t understand where all this grief comes from. They’re not friends. They’re barely even colleagues, just trying to be civil with each other a struggle, more like circumstantial coworkers. Maybe he’s blaming himself for what happened. But even Lion has to admit that it wasn’t Doc’s fault, no one could have predicted that sheer level of disaster, and Doc can’t be dumb enough to think he somehow should have. And it was Lion’s decision from there, so he takes full responsibility. As he always does.

.

The next day, Doc comes in to take hold of his hand. Lion is momentarily confused, because he would never, holding hands is not what they do, they only lay their hands on each other to strike and bruise. His hand is icy, probably due to bad circulation, or maybe just that it’s getting colder outside. He wouldn’t know. Anything outside his room is meaningless, nonexistent to him, and neither is the passage of time.

The hand leaves abruptly, but there is something left in his palm. Tiny beads, their size and the smooth surface so familiar in his hand. He belatedly understands, it’s his rosary. Doc is already gone by then. Not that he can do anything even if he hasn’t left, protest, thank him, ask him why.

Why do you care? Why do I matter to you? Is it guilt? Pity? Your bleeding heart?

He can’t ask, therefore there is no answer, but the rosary stays. It calms his nerves endlessly. Now he can pray, properly, every time when he’s sick and tired of barely existing, caged in his own body. Hail Mary, full of grace.

He does not regret, but he repents. Those two are not the same, do not even concern the same action.

Still, he feels like he should apologize. For being an arrogant prick, for being him really. For being an ungrateful friend to Montagne, for making Rook’s life harder than it has to be, for making Twitch uncomfortable with never ceasing arguments between him and Doc.

But to Doc, he stubbornly refuses to apologize, because he made the right decisions, both then and now. He does feel sorry, though, a distant, bitter kind of feeling one gets when they did something that needed to be done but not without making casualty. Because now Doc has to suffer too, over something he didn’t have the power to choose, didn’t have any say in the matter.

You’re not making any progress. You have to try harder.

He says to Lion sometimes sternly, sometimes pleading, his voice pained. The selfish part of Lion wishes he walks away, realizing that he is not responsible for anything, that he actually prefers Lion’s absence, good riddance, so he can rot away in peace. Even more selfish part of him hopes he doesn’t. He’s grown used to the cool hands on his, fixing his loose grip on the rosary for him.

.

The time slinks past him. He knows this because he can feel his broken ribs healing, wounds mending themselves closed. The dull pain turns into itchiness, and sometimes Lion imagines his fingers twitching with urgent need to scratch it away.

People are returning from their missions and getting deployed again, and the desire to follow them, to be useful, is keen enough to stab. Finka, who has been away for her own mission, comes to visit him as soon as she returns, dragging her Spetsnaz boys along with her. They are apparently terrorising the entire hospital even in their civilian clothes, and Lion is grateful that she has someone to distract her. He knows how she loathes being in the medical facilities outside the context of their work, how they remind her of her deepest fears. Thankfully, Tachanka’s voice booming through the corridors leaves little space to think about anything else at all, even though it adds a headache to Lion’s heap of health issues. And her bold promise that he’ll be back on his feet in no time is oddly reassuring, despite Lion being the last person to believe in blind optimism.

Doc himself isn’t ordered to go anywhere but there are other patients for him to take care of, meaning he has to stay in the base. Montagne tells Lion, who must be jet-lagged and tired but drops by to see him anyway, that Smoke has almost cut off his finger during a knife combat with the terrorists. Lion snorts inwardly, because he isn’t even surprised.

The next time Doc comes by to check on him which is a few days later, he sounds exhausted. Defeated, even.

I’m sorry, he starts, throwing Lion off because what is there to be sorry about? If he’s gonna tell him that he can’t come anymore because he’s busy, it’s hardly worth mentioning.

I shouldn’t have said those things. I’ve been unfair to you.

Doc continues, quietly, and the way he talks without hesitating to choose his words suggests that it’s been on his mind for a while. He’s been thinking about it, possibly ever since Lion’s been in the hospital.

Lion gets it now; why it is so important to Doc that he wakes up.

Lion doesn’t regret, but Doc does. Lion won’t apologize to him, but Doc just did. Lion almost wants to laugh, because clearly, this is why they never get along.

If their lives don’t matter to you, why try saving others? What’s the point? Why are you in this line of work, to feel better about yourself?

Doc was furious enough to be brutally straight, and Lion didn’t mind then because it gave him a perfect excuse to grab the man by the collar and snarl at his face, doesn’t mind now because he was right, at least partially.

But it seems like Doc has been minding it all this time. He must have known why Lion made those decisions, why they were the right ones, but he was kind, too kind to accept the casualties as something necessary so he put the blame on Lion, but as a result he wasn’t kind to him.

I became a smudge on his otherwise clean conscience and he wants to wipe it off, he thinks, and this revelation entertains him immensely, but not as much as this one-sided conversation is making him frustrated. He wants to assert the point that he has said things in Doc’s face too, scratched his pride verbally, they’re even in that sense. He wants to stop Doc from burdening himself with what happened in a heated argument and being a fucking martyr, when he is the one who jumped into the line of bullets. He feels like he is going to burst one day, with all the words left unsaid.

This isn’t going anywhere. I’ll have to wait until you can answer me, won’t I.

With a sigh, Doc drags a chair close to the bed and sits there, unlike Montagne who sometimes sits on the bed by his legs while talking and makes Lion worry about its fate under their combined weight because none of them are exactly light. Maybe because he’s a professional who won’t invade his patients’ personal space, or maybe just because it’s Lion. Still, he is sitting close enough for Lion to get a whiff of his aftershave, to hear his quiet breathing that gradually gets slower and deeper.

He falls asleep like that, lack of proper sleep finally catching up to him. He doesn’t snore, thank god, only sighs now and then and Lion can practically see how there’s a frown on his face. It suits his personality, who worries too much, cares too much.

Nights are usually unbearably long for Lion, because there is no one else to distract him and he can’t even fall asleep like a normal human being, presumably due to the fact he’s always sleeping in a way, just not his brain. His consciousness barely slips under the surface, and he’s less aware of his surrounding but it doesn’t feel like resting. So he both welcomes Doc’s company and envies his ability to plunge into oblivion, and if he wakes up with a cramp in his neck, it’s his problem.

It’s not like Lion can move away to make some space, tell the man to come and lie down properly. It’s not like he’d agree to it.

It’s not like he’d want to share his bed with Doc either, Lion adds belatedly, in the hazy, in-between state of sleeping and being awake. He tries to count his own breathing to give his mind something to do but ends up counting Doc’s breathing instead.

.

.

It all ends one day, quite suddenly. Probably the better option out of the two.

There is an itch on his shoulder, where a bullet wound is mostly healed, and he scratches it, without thinking. He briefly wonders why his head is this groggy, why such a simple task feels this tiring, and then, oh.

Lion opens his eyes, blinks at the blinding light that is attacking his sight. His limbs feel heavy and stiff enough to be made of stone and he feels dazed like he has slept for too long—and he has, hasn’t he. He smiles to himself, and rejoices in the fact that he can.

Every part of his body feels foreign. It indeed is, in a way; there are stitches in his flesh, steel plates holding his bones together. He puts down the rosary to the bedside table, and flexes his fist. The memory of soft skin on his palm is still there, distant as if it was a dream but unforgettable. You can’t untouch someone, in the good way or the bad way. Lion knows.

Lion is sitting up, leaning back on the headboard and feeling inexplicably serene, when he comes in. His musing about trivial things, like the wind shaking the withered leaves of the tree next to his window, or the color of the flowers that is somehow resting in the vase by his bed, is interrupted, because the man just halts on the spot. He looks like he has lost some weight, and gained more grey hair near his temples, not to mention the impressive bags under his eyes.

“You look like shit,” Lion tells him, pleased. Doc’s fingers curve inward, forming two trembling fists, knuckles white, as if he wants to punch something. Hard.

Lion feels generous enough to allow one without fighting back, if it is delivered, but he doubts it would. Doc takes measured steps closer, his expression weirdly shut off. He is slow in his motion, like he’s fearing he might chase something away if he moves too suddenly. It’s ridiculous and shouldn’t make his chest tighten like it does now. Lion feels impatient, tense, and there is something in his throat, alive and beating frantically, just below his collarbone.

Doc kneels on his bed and touches his eyebrow, cheek, just under his jaw where he can feel the quickening pulse; he’s in need to know for sure that Lion is alright and present. Lion put his hands on the man’s back, and he barely needs to pull before Doc gives in and just crumples, leaning in until his forehead touches Lion’s shoulder. He must smell like a sick person, all antiseptic and sweat gone stale, but Doc stays where he is, his breathing fast and shallow, clutching his upper arms in iron grip.

Lion moves the hands on his back slowly, tracing the line of his spine, soothing the man he hates, no, the man who hates him, who is supposed to hate him. He isn’t sure what they are anymore.

When Doc lifts his face to look at Lion, there is a tired smile on his face, a slight twist in his lips. Lion scowls, in lieu of an answer. His eyes are hazel brown, the color rich and warm, and for once they don’t harbor contempt or hatred in them. Lion can’t remember if they ever did, or it was just plain anger, distorted by his opinion that they should.

“No problem in focusing, and they’re reacting to the light nicely. Very well,” Doc mutters to himself with a satisfied hum, and stands up to straighten his clothes, looking astonishingly unselfconscious for a man who just needed a comforting hug.

“I have to go and tell the others, but I can give you a quiet moment of your own if you want. They won’t mind waiting for additional thirty minutes when they’ve already waited three weeks.”

Lion winces at that. Three weeks, no wonder he feels like he has died once and been revived violently.

“No, it’s okay. But ask them if they can bring some food, I’m starving,” he mumbles. It’s literally been ages since he ate anything substantial, he can devour a whole cow by himself.

“You shouldn’t eat right now, your digestive system probably isn’t fully active yet and it is entirely possible that you won’t be able to stay awake for more than a couple of hours for the first few days.”

“You must be kidding me. I’ve slept enough for a year,” Lion groans miserably, earning a proper laugh from the older man.

“This is a gradual recovery, too. You need patience.”

His voice is soft, nothing like Lion has been subjected to from him before, and maybe it’s the tone he reserves for his patients who suffer the most but Lion decides he doesn’t mind it.

“I heard what you said, you know,” he ventures, fully understanding that something precarious is at stake, something he can ruin at any moment if he takes a careless step. Doc stops in the doorway, his facial expression indecipherable. Then, a smile, halfway between uncertain and hopeful.

“Did you?”

Yes,  he wants to answer. I accept your apology, and I want to apologize as well, not for the things I did because I had to do but for the things I said to you. For once it’s not physical inability that hinders him from talking. He simply nods.

And if it is not enough of an answer, they’ll have plenty of time to talk later, when things are settled and Lion is fully recovered. When he’s more mentally prepared.

In the meantime, Lion slowly smiles back.

.

.

[capmackie]

coming soon to a theater near you!

At no point in any of his three lifetimes did Bucky plan on his life turning into a fucking romantic comedy. 

Not as James, the dutiful soldier or as The Winter Soldier, Hydra's best asset or as Bucky, a regular civilian but here he is, begrudgingly.

It's all Sam's fault. 

***

Bucky just doesn’t understand the fascination with romantic comedies, ahem rom coms, as Sam points out; finds himself frequently complaining about the overused tropes, calling out the plot of each one Sam forces him to watch much to Sam’s displeasure. It’s not his fault that the conclusion is often telegraphed out so plainly that even a child knows that at some point, Harry’s gonna marry Sally. And if Sam really had a problem with Bucky's commentary, maybe he'll stop adding the genre to their Wednesday movie nights or stop cuddling up to him as soon as the movie starts - Bucky hopes, prays that Sam never stops cuddling up to him as soon as the movie starts-. But anyways. Each movie, no matter how much it tries to differentiate itself from the millions of others like it, follows all of the same beats: 1) Guy meets Girl 2) They fall in love but are too stupid to realize it 3) Guy performs some grand gesture of love, tells the girl how he feels and then they kiss and people applaud around them as doves fly into the night’s sky 4) Happily. Ever. After. It’s stupid and dumb and Bucky just doesn’t understand the fascination with such nonsense. He doesn’t understand it until he falls in love with Sam. The same Sam who loves romantic comedies and claps — he actually fucking claps — when the protagonist manages to bypass airport security to confess his love on the tarmac. The very same Sam who gets teary-eyed whenever he hears the first notes of ‘My Heart Will Go On’. Granted, Titanic isn’t a romantic comedy but you get the point. Sam’s a lover at heart, loves everything about love itself. Loves how love can heal someone whole, how it can pick someone up, loves how love can knock someone off their feet. Sam’s love is reminiscent of him, loud and bold and bright. Sam’s love is the truth; an oasis in the middle of a hot desert. Anyone who has ever come within a ten-mile radius of Sam has fallen in love with him; friends, colleagues, even people in passing find themselves smitten at the handsome guy with a smile that could light up a planet. Bucky’s no exception. It's for that reason and that reason only that he lets himself be subjected to whatever tearjerker Sam's so insistent on watching, and if he buys a copy of 'The Notebook' for his own collection, stashing it between 'Terminator' and 'The Incredibles', well, that's no one's business. ** Bucky doesn't even realize that he is indeed starring in his own romantic comedy -why are they called comedies? No one even tells a joke- until the next movie night. The movie's queued, something with Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, and Bucky's finding it hard to pay attention to the plot when Sam's pressed so close to him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Bucky's proud of himself, watches about 20 minutes of the movie -something about friends with benefits -before he's making a move on Sam, effectively distracting him too. They don't come up for air until the credits are rolling and Bucky counts the night as a win until Sam is restating the movie and moving to the other end of the couch so they can actually get through it this time. Well fuck. Now that he's practically being forced to watch 'No Strings Attached', no wait, that's the other movie that came out in the same year with the exact same plot, Bucky can't help but draw parallels to the protagonists and him and Sam's own tryst. But there's nothing there, it's not like some kind of relationship is gonna bloom from two friends casually hooking up, that's absurd. That exists solely in movies and this is real life and he and Sam have more restraint than that, right? They barely like each other, just enough to fuck, there's no way they'd fall in love. Bucky's almost convinced himself that it's beyond the realm of possibility that anything more can come out of their situationship when Sam, who put the movie back on out of spite, barely paying any attention to it as his eyes slowly start to close, snaps him out of his thoughts, asking if Bucky is ready to go to bed. "To your, uh, bed?", Bucky sputters. "To the bed that we've been sharing for the past six months, Frozone", Sam quips. Oh. Right. *** They’ve completed step one of the rom-com trope list, meeting each other, and even something as simple as that wasn’t so simple at all. Nothing ever really is between them. Now Bucky finds himself straddling a weird line regarding the second trope; he knows he loves Sam, realizes that Sam *probably* loves him back, given how much he puts up with Bucky's dramatics and the way he hogs all of the blankets and never drinks out a glass, preferring to sully the entire jug of orange juice instead. But can it really count if they've never said those three little words to each other? It's not like Bucky hasn't thought about that before, he thinks about saying it at least 500 times a day, when he and Sam are being weirdly domestic, when they're bantering with each other, when Sam's the big spoon providing body heat when even the blankets aren't enough for Bucky. Those words are on the tip of his tongue when he wakes up in the morning and sees Sam illuminated by the sunshine streaming through the window, soft and angelic. They're on the tip of his tongue in the dead of night when Sam's rolling over into his arms, seeking comfort after another nightmare. They're on the tip of his tongue when Sam's looking at him softly, affectionately; when Sam expresses his love without even saying a word. They've been in love for a while now and Bucky's been too stupid to realize it. *** It’s the third trope on the list that keeps Bucky up at night. Bucky’s seen enough rom-coms to know him and Sam have reached the point where the grand gesture of love is supposed to happen. That he’s supposed to confess his feelings in the middle of torrential rain, and he and Sam would kiss as the rain pours down on them. Or make Sam a mixtape and play it on a boom box under their bedroom window.

Quickly nixes that idea because it fucking sucks, thanks John Cusack!

He doesn’t know what his grand gesture ought to be, he’s never had to do something like this before.

Dating in the 40s was easier. What he does know is that Sam loves romantic comedies, knows that Sam probably bases their quasi-relationship off of one and that means Bucky has to deliver. He’s gotta give Sam his fairytale love story or he’ll find his Prince Charming somewhere else. *** They’re in the park when it happens. It’s Sam’s idea of a date, laying out on a blanket watching the stars in the night’s sky. It’s so incredibly soft that Bucky’s heart aches a little, and he knows he has to do something soon. It's probably too short notice to arrange a flash mob to perform 'Closing Time' down at a train station like the stupid movie they watched, but time is of the essence suddenly and he has to do something *right now*. So with no rain on the radar, no boombox, and no flash mob, Bucky uses the only weapon left in his arsenal: words from his heart. Shifting off of his back to face Sam directly, Bucky starts. "I love you." It's simple and straight to the point and Sam's turning to face Bucky now, an incredulous look etched on his face. "I've been going crazy thinking about the most perfect, most over the top way to express how much I - I love you", Bucky confesses. He knows this is a cop-out, that a simple admission of love is *boring* but damn it, if Bucky's learned anything from those stupid ass movies, besides realism doesn't exist, is that you can't sit on your hands when it comes to true love. You have to be proactive. So he continues. "Nothing about this - about us - makes any sense but I'd be lying to you and to myself if I said my heart didn't belong to you." Sam hasn't interrupted him or called him an idiot yet so Bucky figures he's on the right track. There's more, he could practically write a sonnet about how Sam's his first love, his only love. That there's no one else he would rather try this love thing out with. How Sam's a part of him now, a part of his identity. He doesn't know who he would be without Sam here. But Sam's looking up at him, and smiling that *smile* and Bucky can't help himself, leans down and kisses him gently, nipping at his bottom lip. The words he doesn't say get poured into their  kiss; the world could end right now -- and it has twice for Bucky -- but if each point of his life was leading him to this moment, to the arms of the man he adores more than life itself, Bucky would gladly die a thousand times over. Just as long as he gets to make it back to Sam. Just as long as in each lifetime, Sam's still there with his bright eyes and bright smile and bright personality, guiding Bucky back to him like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. They finally pull apart and Bucky takes a deep breath, finally able to breathe with the weight of not telling Sam how he feels off his chest. Despite himself, Bucky's got a smile on his face, wider than Sam's and he can't imagine, not even for a second, of doing this with anyone else. Sam is it. *** Even if there's no spontaneous group of onlookers clapping or if doves aren't materializing out of thin air, he and Sam are still getting their happily ever after. And that's all that matters anyway. 

Come find me on AO3!

[thelightofthebane]

To be or not to be cursed

Summary: “You broke up with me, but in the end, you are going to come back to me. Because I’m the only one who can love you, darling.” 

He wanted to throw up. Even a pure word like love sounded painful coming from Camille. He felt so dizzy, he barely noticed when she finally left him alone.

Always alone.

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alexander Lightwood

Tags: Alternate Universe, Human AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Prom, past toxic relationship, Alec doesn't give a shit about Camille, Alec is a tactician, Izzy and Jace are the best siblings, Emotionally Hurt Magnus Bane, Angst with a Happy Ending

I hope you like this and it makes you smile, @magnuslightwoodalecbane

You can also read here: ao3

_______________________________________

Magnus was proud of himself. The gym was so beautifully arranged, it certainly would be the most amazing prom NY Institute High has ever had. Being in the Student Council had its perks, one of them claiming beforehand the leadership of the Party Organization Committee. Alongside Maia, Lily, Clary, Simon, and Meliorn, they arranged the entire gym with all the beautiful flowers, colorful lights, pictures, masks. The playlist was carefully created and the food and drinks picked with the utmost delight.

The entire school only talked about the prom and everyone was excited. Teenagers rushed every day to invite partners with the hopes of getting the best date. This was something Magnus was pretty looking forward to. He was popular, had the good graces of most of the students and professors. Even other school’s staff members adored Magnus Bane.

However, until the prom eve, nobody asked him to be their date.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

Two days before, he even dared to take matters into his hands and bolded asked a boy from another class. He was rejected.

Then, he tried a girl from another year and got the same answer. Sometimes, when he turned and just looked at someone, they would run away.

He felt cursed.

“Why, darling? Having problems to get a date?” A feminine voice called and he trembled, feeling something terrible crawl under his skin. Camille.

“What do you want?” He growled, forcing himself to look at her. The same vicious lip-tint smile, predator eyes and six-inch heels that only existed to step onto someone.

She smiled dangerously and approached her ex-boyfriend, resting a well-manicured hand on his face. Magnus slapped it, backing slightly to keep a safe distance.

“Poor little thing,” her smirk only grew, unbashful, toxic. “I told you once. Nobody would ever date you. Bang you? Perhaps, you are a good sex toy. But date you? You are too much for anyone, Magnus Bane.”

Magnus clenched his jaw, using each drop of self-restraint to not show how her words still hurt him. He was almost sure he wasn’t doing a good job.

“You broke up with me, but in the end, you are going to come back to me. Because I’m the only one who can love you, darling.”

He wanted to throw up. Even a pure word like love sounded painful coming from Camille. He felt so dizzy, he barely noticed when she finally left him alone.

Always alone.

~*~

Soon, he found out the problem thanks to his best friends, Catarina and Ragnor. Camille threated the entire school – whoever tried to go to the prom with Magnus would know hell. Being one of the most popular of the school and coming from a very rich and influential family, nobody dared to go against her. There was a rumor that one freshman even went to the hospital after a mysterious food poison.

Sighing hopelessly, Magnus accepted that he would have to go alone to his last high school party.

Or not.

On the day of said party, before going home to take a bath and prepare himself, he went to the Student Council classroom to put back some props, when something caught his eyes. On the desk he usually used during meetings, there were a small jasmine flower and a card.

- Wanna be my date? Wait for me at 8PM?

A. L. -

Magnus’ hands trembled so much, the card fell. His head automatically snapped towards the main desk in the room. The desk of the tall, dark and handsome Council’s president. Alexander Lightwood.

For a long time, Magnus had a big crush on him, even attempted some flirtation, but he always thought it was unilateral. Moreover, he was sure Alec didn’t like parties, and a few days ago overheard him telling his brother Jace he wasn’t interested in the prom. Then… Why?

Maybe it was a prank? But… that calligraphy… it was Alexander’s.

He breathed deeply. Well, just one way to know.

~*~

At 8pm, his doorbell ringed. Slightly apprehensive, Magnus – who was already ready with a burgundy tuxedo, hair stylized with gold strikes and the most gorgeous combination of eyeliner and gold eye shadow – opened the front door.

For his surprise, and blissfully happiness, it was indeed Alexander. He was wearing a dark suit with a navy blue bowtie and was carrying a jasmine bouquet.

“Wow,” his jaw dropped a little bit as soon as he scanned Magnus from head to toe, and Magnus giggled, happier than before. “Er… I… You… This… You… For…” He babbled, confused, not knowing if he looked at Magnus or extended the bouquet for him.

Magnus decided to save the poor boy and took the bouquet. “Thank you, darling. They are beautiful, just like you.” He winked to Alec, not missing the shy smile with a glinting of something more in those mesmerizing hazel eyes.

“Yeah, hm. Let’s go, then?” Alec waved towards his car and Magnus nodded, feeling his heart becoming fuller by the minute.

~*~

“So, didn’t you hear about Camille’s threat or Alexander Lightwood is a man of dangerous adventures?” Magnus broke the comforting silence inside the car while Alec drove to their school.

“Eh… I heard about it, and I don’t really care about her. I have more important things to worry about than her pettiness.”

“Like what?”

“Your happiness,” Alec said without wasting any second, as if the answer was too obvious, an unbreakable truth.

Magnus Bane wasn’t one to blush, but he definitely felt his cheeks hotter than usual. His heart thumped so loud inside his chest, he almost asked Alec to turn on the radio to avoid being heard, if that was possible.

“I thought you didn’t like parties and wasn’t going to this one.”

“Yeah, I mean. My siblings would have dragged me anyway. I wanted to invite you as my date, but I figured out you would have a long queue of suitors waiting to go with you, and then I wouldn’t have the slightest chance. When I heard nobody had asked you, I thought it was some kind of lucky or someone above telling me I could have a chance after all. I took the opportunity and here we are.” Alec smiled so widely now, Magnus felt his heart would certainly break his ribs.

“Also,” he continued, unwavering. “Camille can’t hurt me. We just have a couple of months before finishing high school, and then everyone will go their separate ways. If I get lucky, I will be on the other side of the United States and she won’t get near me.”

“Oh, what university did you choose?”

~*~

When they arrived at NY Institute High, they were already immersed in a pleasuring conversation. Even if they’ve already known each other a bit thanks to the weekly Student Council meetings, they never had the chance to talk alone and to get to know the other better. They find out they shared a lot of common likings, even if their lifestyles were so different. They had a similar sense of humor and wits, and the best part: they applied to the same university.

Everything seemed perfect and both were smiling and laughing at the time they entered the gym, where the music was already playing and people were chatting and dancing.

Until a bucket with water and a lot of ice fell from above directly onto Alec. The music paused and a heavy silence filled the space.

Alec shivered from the cold and even coughed a bit. Magnus panicked, not knowing what to do first, but soon got himself together and took his handkerchief to at least dry Alec’s face.

“Well, well, well. What a pleasure. It seems we got your type, Magnus. A wet boy ready to be touched by you.” Camille teased, approaching them with a sly smile. Magnus glared at her but said nothing.

“You really are despicable,” Alec said instead, then turned to Magnus. “I’ll be back.”

And he was gone.

~*~

After the little show Camille presented, everyone resumed their own things. The music started again and the chats got louder. Magnus drank four entire glasses of fruit punch – which he was slightly sure someone had already dropped alcohol there – and sighed, upset. That was it. Alexander wasn’t going to come back and he lost him for good.

Damn Camille and her nightmarish existence.

He was really cursed.

“Hey.” A gentle voice called him, but the surprise almost made him drop his now empty glass. It was Alexander. He came back. “Sorry for taking so long. I had a problem with one of the buttons.” He frowned, wrinkling his nose. He was wearing a dark green button-up shirt and dark jeans, his hair a little bit damped. Still gorgeous. Very, very gorgeous.

“No, that’s… That’s okay.” I’m just happy you didn’t leave. Magnus thought, biting his lower lip. “But how…” He waved towards the new clothes, and Alec playfully grinned.

“Earlier, I brought this and put inside my locket. When I heard about Camille’s threat, my siblings and I sat for a whole hour discussing what she could probably do against me. Izzy suggested something with water and prompted me to leave here some spare clothes, just to be sure. That was the only suit I had, but if you’re okay having me like this, I’m okay too.”

“I’m more than okay.” Magnus grinned too, almost not believing in the existence of such a man. He prepared backup plans for Camille’s attack. What he did to deserve such a wonderful date?

“Right, c’mon then.” He offered his hand to Magnus and then guided him to the dance floor.

~*~

Camille tried some things to blow up Magnus and Alec’s night. Some of the things included hurting them physically and even trying to humiliate Alec, outing his sexuality for the entire school. Not that it was a secret, but he never went out there saying ‘Hello, I’m Alec and I’m gay.’ Only his friends knew it, and now all the school knew it. Each attempt against Alec made Magnus angrier at Camille and extremely worried that Alec would snap and think Magnus wasn’t worth all of that. After all, he was too much, right?

However, each time Alec would reassure him it was alright and he wasn’t going anywhere.

When the king and the queen of the night were announced, and to nobody’s surprise Camille being the queen, Magnus tried to pull Alec to outside so they wouldn’t have to watch that horror show. Alec, however, stopped Magnus and signaled for them to stay and watch the coronation.

As soon as the crown was put on Camille’s head, an almost imperceptible powder fell on her and she started to scratch all over her body. All the students started to laugh while she screamed and cursed everyone.

“You know… Izzy is still in the first year, but she wants to go to Med school and become a pathologist. One of her favorite hobbies is messing with some substances. Have I told you how she has a big pot of itching powder? I miiiight have entertained her the idea of using a little bit tonight.” Alec pretended to see something very interesting on the ceiling, trying not to laugh. “She even said that I am the best big brother in the world for letting her. Jace was really pissed.”

At that, Magnus laughed.

~*~

The prom wasn’t perfect as Magnus had expected with so many disastrous things happening, but somehow it was everything he needed. People had fun, so that’s that. Camille didn’t bother them for the rest of the night, but being part of the Party Organization Committee, he still had some responsibilities to supervise.

In the end, when everyone went home, the music stopped and the lights were all on, dissipating the prom’s magic, he still lingered a little bit behind to make sure there weren’t any major problems. The next day he would have to deal with the cleaning, but this was another issue and he didn’t want to think about that now. Not when his date was still there with him, checking something on his phone while waiting for Magnus.

“Everything is in order, Mr. President. We can go home now.” Magnus smiled sweetly, approaching Alec. He was gifted with another beaming smile from him, and for a moment Magnus thought his knees would finally give out.

“Actually, there is still one last thing we should do.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Alec didn’t waste time and after grabbing Magnus’ hand, pulled him towards the gym’s center.

“Would you give me the pleasure of one last dance, Mr. Bane?”

There wasn’t any music anymore, but they didn’t need one.

“Of course, Mr. President.” Magnus didn’t think twice and both engaged in a slow and sweet dance, the closest from each other as their bodies would let them.

Magnus didn’t know if it was possible to get happier. And maybe, maybe, fall a bit more in love with his tall and gorgeous date.

He also didn’t know how much time passed, but one minute their bodies were pressed, and in another, their lips were pressed.

They kissed tenderly.

Wistfully.

Hotly.

Desperately.

Magnus thought that yes, it was possible to fall more in love.

And that he wasn’t cursed after all.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

“You–uh–spooked…my heart.” for Dorlen because honestly I can actually SEE Varlen saying that line xD

Pfff this is PERFECT VARLEN DIALOGUE indeed! Many thanks, friend!

Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan (approx 1500 words) <3

“Come on, Varlen –dance, yeah? Get out there! Shake your butt or something!”

The sound Varlen madein response to Sera’s urging was akin to a wounded animal begging for the sweetrelease of death. He shook his head, a tall drink of something in one hand, the other fighting for freedom as Seratugged it insistently towards the dance floor. “I don’t want to,” hecomplained, attempting the subtle art of wriggling free without spilling hisdrink. “I just want to drink and go home, Sera. You’re the one who wanted toparty.”

Fixing him with a flatgaze, Sera heaved a sigh and released him dramatically, the way one drops asoggy sock. “What, so you got all dressed up and stuff just to decorate thewall?” She gestured to Varlen’s costume, one brow arched so high it nearlyvanished beneath her fringe. “Can’t have been easy wriggling your way into that.”

In a sense, she wasn’twrong, but it really hadn’t been Varlen’s fault. At the last minute, he hadordered a batman suit online, but when it finally arrived… well…

Let’s just say he hada whole new appreciation for catwoman.

“I can’t dance in this,” he protested, gesturing at theoutfit. “I can barely breathe in this!” He groped around behind him, then brandisheda long, thin strip of black fabric. “I have a tail.”

“Pshh.” Sera justrolled her eyes. “Be grateful you’re not in heels or nothing! Now go on. Tenminutes.” She nudged him in the ribs playfully, swapping to a sing-song voice.“Dance for just ten minutes and I’llstop bugging you…”

Some battles were notdesigned to be won. Varlen let out a tight breath – mostly courtesy of the suit– and took a long, deep, steadying drink. “Fine,” he gasped once he had drainedalmost half the glass, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand and slappingit down on a nearby table. “Ten minutes. Then I’m going home and peeling myselflike a banana.”

Sera snorted at that,giving him a push in the direction of the dancefloor with the heel of her palm.“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“No stripes. Not funny.”

“Sourpuss.”

The dancefloor was asmuch of a nightmare as Varlen had anticipated. He winced, music throbbing loudas a heartbeat on a silent night, and he swore his own was breaking its properrhythm to match that of the bass. It was always an uncomfortable sensation, particularlythe more he thought about it, but he reasoned he only had to put up with it forten minutes.

What could possiblyhappen in ten minutes?

He started to move;small, awkward steps at first, not entirely sure how to dance to thatparticular style of music. It was so fast that he doubted it had been designedfor human beings. But he gave it his best, certain that Sera was lurkingsomewhere just outside the dancefloor, watching, making sure he upheld his endof the bargain. More people joined in the fray, and soon there were bodiespressed tight against Varlen, blocking his view of pretty much everything butsweaty skin and the alarming amount of fake blood. Always with the fake blood. Monsters and ghouls and sexypretty-much-everything jumped, bounced, raised their arms and shook their hair aroundhim. Varlen tried to share their enthusiasm – to lose himself in the cacophonyof noise and sweat - but fell so far short of the mark that he wasn’t even sureit existed.

It was all too much.The heat, the bodies, the loud, thumping, angry music. The catsuit. Varlen was pretty sure he might sweat himself into a stateof dehydration if he didn’t extract himself from the makeshift mosh-pit soon,so he started wriggling, trying to push his way through an imaginary gap. Hewasn’t short by any means, but the press was a difficult thing to fight. Justas he was considering dropping to the ground and waiting for some burly mandressed as the Hulk to notice and carry him to safety, someone grabbed him bythe shoulder and pulled sharply backwards.

Yelping, Varlentipped, throwing his arms out but meeting little more than the forearms andwaists of the other dancers. Just as he began picturing his fate, trampled to deathby Sexy Spongebob, he was caught beneath the arms and extracted from the thronglike a child from a pool, and probably twice as soaked. Gasping, Varlen pulledout of the person’s grasp and whirled, ready to give whoever had manhandled hima piece of his mind. But the angry tirade lived a short and futile life at theback of his throat, dying before it even reached his lips.

Standing before him,tall and dark and dazzling, was the most beautiful Grim Reaper Varlen had everseen.

Death – because Varlendid not know his name – flashed him a smile, raising his hands in a placatinggesture. “Apologies. You seemed a mite distressed. I thought I might lend ahand.” To emphasise the point, he turned one gloved hand, revealing theembellishment that gave it the appearance of something skeletal. Varlen wasstill reeling from the shock of being faced with quite possibly the mosthandsome man in existence, but Death clearly took his silence as a bad sign.“I… hope I did not frighten you, snatching you like that. Small window ofopportunity, you see. It was then or never, lest you succumb to the undulatingmasses.”

Blinking, Varlenregained a modicum of composure and shook his head, a blush crawling up hisneck. Or perhaps it was heat stroke. Hard to tell in a catsuit. “N-No! No,that’s not… I wasn’t—”

Say something charming, the voice in Varlen’s head screamed as hestammered through the sentence. Look himin those gorgeous grey eyes and be witty you lycra-swathed muppet!

“— You–uh–spooked…myheart.”

Sometimes, Varlentruly wondered why he ever left the house. The blush that had been lingering onhis neck boiled up to the tip of his ears and Varlen winced, reaching to hidehis face in his hands. Oh god. What wasthat? Spooked my heart?!?

Then… laughter. Lowand amused and almost… fond. In sheerdisbelief, Varlen lowered his hands and fixed Death with a hesitant look, apart of him certain the man was about to mock him and stride away. It would bewell-deserved, all things considered, so he braced himself for it.

But instead,quartz-grey eyes caught Varlen’s, and a smile spread across that handsome face.“Well… that is undeniably a new one,I will give you that,” he said, echoes of laughter chasing the words from hislips. “I have always found myself rather drawn to originality.” His gazeflicked down, a brow rising in what was either approval or horror. Or both. “My.That is an… interesting choice incostume. Bold, if I do say so myself.”

Varlen felt the urgeto wrap himself in a towel or something. At that point, being naked wouldprobably be preferably – at least he wouldn’t be so damn hot. But considering he did not have a towel or enough time to freehimself from his lycra prison, he did the next best thing.

He planted his handson his hips, struck a pose, and owned it.

“You like it, huh?” heasked, the redness of his face doing its best to betray his attempt at bravado.“Figured I’d try something a little different, y’know? Shake it up a bit. Rockthe catsuit.”

Death arched his brow,but the smile never left his face, even as his gaze drifted back up from itsappreciative lingering to rest on Varlen’s face. “Oh, I do,” he replied simply, in a voice smooth as velvet. “I imaginethat was quite the task to slip into. And out of.” He blinked, as thoughremembering himself, and held out one skeletal hand. “Where are my manners; DorianPavus.” He smirked. “I would have you know the name of your mysterious rescuer.After all, I intend to take full, unashamed credit.”

Varlen grinned, takinghis hand. “Not so mysterious, now that I know who you are,” he remarkedplayfully. “I’m Varlen. Thanks for the save back there. It was getting a littleclose for comfort.”

They smiled at eachother. Shook. Stopped shaking. But for whatever reason, neither man let go. Amoment passed, then two, the pair of them just standing there, staring at theirclasped hands, the music thumping, the dancers cheering and jumping andspinning, the lights blazing past to the rhythm of the DJs booth. Yet, even asthe ‘shake’ stretched well beyond the point of traditional comfort, neitherseemed even slightly willing to break contact.

“Do—” Dorian began.

“— you want to get outof here?” Varlen finished hurriedly. Both men broke into matching chuckles, andDorian nodded, a glittering sharpness to his gaze that made Varlen’s knees goweak.

“Excellent.” Heturned, throwing back his cloak, gesturing gracefully towards the door with thehand not currently holding Varlen’s. “Now… care for a date with Death?”

Varlen’s grin justgrew wider. “Hell yes.”

[lost-your-memory]

NC - Supercat short - 1940's Noir style - Kara is a private detective and Cat comes to her after her husband goes missing.

There was something deeply unnerving about that woman, Kara thought as she studied the petite silhouette conventionally folded in one of the armchair across her desk.She couldn’t figure out exactly what it was but it made her feel restless and somehow, guilty.Cat Grant was a name people knew very well, whether it was for her husband’s sordid and not so private affairs or for her own scandals, for it was often splashed across the first page of the Boston Globe. Cat Grant’s reputation was unique and complex.She was the first woman to effectively work amongst the men whose names were well-known for belonging to different factions of one the two mafias that ravaged the city in some kind of never ending war. Rumors had it she only married to get closer to those names, since her husband was very tied to one of the right arms of the Boss, the ruler of the whole mob whose name was kept a secret even amongst his very organization.“Miss ... Danvers, is it? I would appreciate if you could stop staring at me like some kind of fish pointlessly gaping in a fishbowl.”The tone was dry and cutting, the words slipping out between two perfectly red-painted lips without missing a beat and there was a fire in the woman’s hazel eyes. She was looking straight into Kara’s eyes and a perfectly sculpted brow was arched in a way that blatantly betrayed what little patience she had left.Oddly enough, Kara’s first reflex, faced with such a judgmental and clearly impatient expression, was to apologize and it annoyed her to no end. She didn’t make it all the way up to being one of the best Private Investigator in Boston by plying under the glare of angry customers, imposing politics, threatening mafioso or wounded wives. It was bad enough that she was a woman in the first place and the path she had chosen for her career had been paved with nothing more than judgment, bewildered looks and dismissing snarls from all kind of people who were today in her debts.“Miss Grant, I assure you am no fish, thank you very much. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I know who you are and more to it, I know what kind of people you work with so please, enlighten me. Why would someone like you would need someone like me in the first place?” Kara retorted, making an effort not to shift in her leather armchair, to avoid showing any kind of annoyance to the woman in front of her.“Brazen,” Cat said and Kara saw the shadow of a smile twitch at the corners of the woman lips. The ostensible pearls she was wearing seemed to glow in the dim light of the office but Kara silently noticed it was the only visible piece of jewerly, and she made a mental note of it, without exactly knowing why.Every detail was important, she had learned that early on in her career.For now, Cat looked positively satisfied and Kara didn’t understand why, given the fact all she had done was to reply a little sharply to a comment that had been rude.“I am here because you have a stellar reputation, for a Private Investigator,” Cat started and her blond curls waved softly above her shoulders, glistening with whatever product the hairdresser had used on them earlier during the day.There was a distinctive smell wafting through the air whenever Cat moved her head a little too quickly.“I am also here because you are a woman and as such, I am guessing you are even more dangerous than a man in your line of work,” Cat continued, obviously unaware of all the small details Kara was mentally filling away for later.“Most people are usually not trusting a woman to do a man’s job, Miss Grant,” Kara interjected and she studied the way Cat gritted her teeth for a second.“Oh believe me, Miss Danvers, I am more than aware of how the world work and I don’t need you to remind me. Now, if you are quite finished with your incessant interruption, I would like to explain why I am here,” Cat let out and the words were as blunt as a street fighter’s blows.“No need, Miss Grant. I know exactly why you are here. Your husband has been missing for close to forty eight hours and you want someone to find him,” Kara cut her off with a few blows of her own and she savored the taken aback expression etched all over Cat’s sharp features. “What I still don’t understand, Miss Grant, is why me? You could have gone to any of the PI in this godforsaken city but more importantly, since your hubby is linked to the Boss himself, you could have called any of your work buddies to ask around and find out for yourself so, let me ask you again, why did you come here today?”Kara casually threw the silver pen she had been playing with since the moment Cat had sat down across the desk and stared right into the hazel eyes that showed nothing but surprise, and maybe some hints of awe.“You’re even better than what your reputation led me to believe you were,” Cat spoke, softly this time.“Yes indeed,” Kara acquiesced with a curt nod but she didn’t explain any further, instead choosing to stare at the woman while waiting for an answer.“Christopher has indeed gone missing and I can’t reach out to my work buddies, as you so eloquently put it, because I am fairly certain they are the one behind his sudden disappearance. I’m afraid this time, he chose the wrong milk in which to put his biscuit in,” Cat explained and Kara barely arched a brow at the explicit picture.“Miss Grant, why would you go to all the trouble to find him, if he is indeed the kind of man I suspect he is?” Kara inquired and if Cat was impressed by how bold the question was, she didn’t show any of it.“I don’t need him, I never did,” Cat stated and the words seemed to stir some anger beneath her calm demeanor. “I simply need to know what happened to him, to know what I should tell my son. I owe Carter the truth and since I can’t exactly go to the mafia, given all the ties existing and their possible involvement, I am bringing the matter to you.”“What makes you think I have no tie with the mafia, Miss Grant?” Kara asked, hiding her surprise at the mention of a son. Cat Grant was a very public figure and the volatile husband was as well but no one ever mentioned a child in the middle of this strange and disparate couple.“I’ve been told you don’t, but I have of course no way to be certain,” Cat admitted and Kara nodded, accepting the answer graciously.“May I ask who gave you my name?” She chose to ask instead and Cat smiled.“Lucy Lane did.”Kara’s eyes widened slightly, before she could regain her composure.Lucy Lane was working for the anti-corruption unit that had been formed a few years ago, when the civil war dividing Boston had reached it peaks. For Lucy to have been in contact with Cat Grant, of all people, could only mean one thing and suddenly, realization flooded Kara’s mind.“You’ve been working undercover for the anti-corruption unit this whole time, haven’t you?” Kara whispered and Cat nodded, not at all surprised by the deduction.“Alright then, Miss Grant. I am going to find out what happened to this husband of yours,” Kara said and this time, Cat looked a little thrown off.“That easy?” She couldn’t help to ask and by the way she was biting her perfectly red-painted lips, Kara could tell she was regretting the question.“Yes. I trust Lucy with my life and since she’s the one who gave you my name, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t work your case,” Kara answered with a nod and she then stood up, adjusting the reverts of her suit’s vest over her white shirt.Cat stood up as well, distractedly flattening some crinkle across her tailored Grey pencil skirt and matching vest. The black shirt underneath the Grey fabric looked impeccably ironed, Kara noticed. Cat grabbed her purse and walked towards the exit and Kara grabbed her hat before following her.“Very well, Miss Danvers. Thank you, for taking the time to hear me out,” Cat said as she opened the office’s door and Kara bowed her head slightly.“I can’t exactly say it was my pleasure, but it’s been quite and interesting meeting, for sure. I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Grant,” Kara smirked and she saw Cat roll her eyes in a gesture that looked very practiced.“I return the sentiment, although I am not sure why,” Cat admitted and she held out her hand for Kara to shake it.The detective firmly shook the strangely soft and warm fingers and then, something odd stirred in the pit of her stomach when they pulled out their hands. It was as if her skin was already mourning the contact but she chased the sentiment away and focused on the present.“Good night, Miss Grant,” She said and Cat didn’t answer but something strange sparkled in her eyes, something Kara didn’t want to dwell on.Eventually, the woman strutted away and Kara watched, entranced, until Cat disappeared around the corner of the hallway.“You’ve got it bad, boss,” A voice chimed in to her left and she sighed before facing the sparkling green eyes of the man sitting behind a desk which plaque said 'secretary'.“Shut up, Winn,” Kara grumbled and she then closed the door of her office before walking away, to the sound of the man’s amused laugh.

[beowulfs-booty-call]

Slow burn/fake date/enemies to lovers - Shiro, Odin Arrow, Ike

I can’t believe people sent me this, PARTICULARLY PERFECT ONES TOO HONESTLYYYYYYY

So, because I’m a huge ass fan of you Jordi, and because I love writing, I’m gonna do something wicked with the 41% of battery I have left: I’m gonna write a wee bit of what I choose, for each character and me! That way I can practice writing and also be able to answer your ask a bit more exciting!

SUPER LONG POST AHEAD, BE WARNED!

Shiro: (Slow burn)

Shiro definitely strikes me as a dude who I’d slow burn it with, tbh. There’s a lot of tension there that I think both of us would be caught up in before long lmfao.

It was meant to be a simple mission, enter the planet, find any response of life on the frequencies that would fight against the Galra and escape before Lotor and his crew could access.

Shiro breathed, he was not useful for this mission. Without the black lion, and effectively, his own bond with it, he was by no means a threat to anything besides hand to hand combat with his arm. Which was exactly why he was there in the first place.

Slipping into the vacuum of the space between him and the ship, Shiro pulled himself to the darkness. His breathing was the only thing that sounded human to his ears, attempting to flit through the ship’s interior. “Breathe. Breathe.” Mantra said, and patience at ease. Then the speed came and instantly for what seemed like a millennia, the ship and its pilot came to a green clad planet of prosperity.

The lions had already been planned to find other ways to intercept Lotor onto the course of the war. And Shiro? Shiro was headed to a “Earth like planet” where the people would welcome him and offer him democratic counsel so he may convince them to fight against the Galran prince.

But that was almost 6 quintant’s ago, Shiro was already welcomed by the democratic alliance that was held on the planet and was beheld to feasts amongst feasts (which, perhaps he did admit he cheated on his training for the first day before refusing outright later in.) before he could even muster the words to speak.

In front of him lay the counsel of the planet, Nihilan, its inhabitants almost Altean, though far from the more archetypes Coran and Allura had. In front of him was men and women who wore golden antiquated jewelry that shone in his eyes, a mirthy gaze that was almost as gaudy as their dress. Their own clothing, as regal as they may have seemed, shown the body to the elements, with cut fabrics that draped capes or tails, yet cut and curved along the body to show one’s physical prowess, if anything. Shirogane made note not to watch the much more happier elder, who’s entire body was cast to the rest of the public eye with gusto.

“Ah, yes...” He had uttered, the elder began to touch his digits to his cheeks. The flesh decorated with a sort of powder akin to what Shiro had seen from Coran’s visual training video.

“Voltron has led the force against the enemy for eons, mayhaps, even longer than we anticipate in our understanding...” The elder continued, Shiro nodded, happy to not have to “try” and eat another creature that laid on the planet’s “desert” coastline as the other quintant.”But there enlies the problem, Paladin. There exists a point in which we must ask, will Voltron be able to fight for our people? Lest we dissolve our own planet’s wealth to the Galra?”

Shiro stood up, eager to debate his position and possibly leave as soon as possible: “Your honor,”

“Father, my child...” The elder tutted, his words softened though the counsel’s gaze did not falter.

“Ah, “father”, then... Voltron has led the force against the Galra for as long as you’ve lived, that may be true, but we can’t fight the Galra alone. Not without your help. We may be an ancient weapon, we may be the hope of the future... We may be-”

“Cowards!’

Shiro’s voice hushed, the counsel gasping at the accusation pointed at the Paladin of the Black Lion.

At the edge of the lush palace, in his own “glory”, beheld a man nearly Shiro’s age, as tall as he, hair curled and midnight black... But with a gaze so sharp his eyes cut like the Blade of Marmora. 

“You speak to these men and women as though they have bravery and honor, Paladin!” The Nihilan continued, growling and pointing his finger towards the counsel, an open book in his hand and an emerald cape flowing behind him. His chest heaved, captured by an open suit that showed his torso with his arms covered by see through fabric. On his forehead, lied a piece of leather that coiled a gemstone that shone a beautiful purple despite the greens, and his face pouted with hair flicked about under his chin.

“These councilmen have no honor! Why, even they would give you to the hands of the Galra without listening to you!” He barked, one hand flipping through the tome while another beckoning to any would be opponents.

“Silence him!” “Dethroned brat!” “Can he truly be so bold?!”

Before he could react, Shiro watched as electricity shot out, and the next he knew, he blacked out as he felt a well placed blow to his neck from the shadows.

Shiro groaned, his eyes flittering to adjust to the dull light of a ship’s glow, the stars in front of him as he slowly gained sight of his surroundings. Green, beaten, and tugging his own ship. He was kidnapped, he was sure--

“Ah, you’ve awakened, Paladin.” 

Shiro turned, still trying to grasp his environment. The man who had interrupted his counsel with the Nihilans...

“I apologize for knocking you out in such a brute way. I admit, I myself was not expecting a Paladin of Voltron to be used as bait to be given to the Galra...” He paused, picking at the horns that pushed above his ears. Shiro’s eyes focused, and he finally could see who truly was near him, in the next seat to him. The man held horns that grew like a goat’s, though it curled upward the circular, and his beard was reminiscent to what seemed like a child’s story about a demon.

And yet, there was a passionate red glow on his face, as he shifted view from the passenger to the space that lay in front of them.

“...The Galra murdered my father and made the councilmen as their puppets in politics. They were planning on sending you to those thieves so that we would be safe from them.” The man looked down.

“I’m... Sorry. I could not sit aside and watch what practically happened to me, happen to another being.”

Shiro breathed, letting the info seep into him. In his stupor, he moved his hand to steady his head, as he sat slumped in the chair. However, he missed, and it lightly dragged against the colorful pants of the pilot before shifting back on course.

“Thanks...” He groaned, feeling the key part of a headache coming on.

“Nothing to fret, Paladin.” The Nihiladin chuckled, “I’m not pilot like you, but, getting you out was my first priority. A few of us Nihiladins do not agree with the Galra, much less the councilmen. ...We shall help you, after all, it is the least we can do for your troubles here on this day.”

Shiro rubbed his forehead.

“I’ve already patched a signal to the supposed “Castle” your ship had coordinates to. I must say... It’s rather interesting how you have acted, Paladin.”

“Oh?”

“Your hair is white... I’ve read in my tomes, that this is caused by quintessence... You wouldn't happen to have fought with the unholy witch of legends, have you?”

Witch...

Witch...

“...Haggar?” Shiro rasped, voice thickened due to the sleep he had endured.

“Shisa!” The nihiladin hissed, control now lost for a moment on the steering wheel. “She lives indeed then!”

Shiro nodded weakly, tired from the blow that still lingered on him.

“I see... If this is the case, my people will help you with even more reason now... I ask, however, that you come back, when you are rested to help me shut down the Galra as it stands. We have stations that the resistance and I have fought to take down... But for every one piece of this toxin we cure, 3 pieces more take its place...”

Shiro nodded, words not finding him, but his eyes betraying him and glancing at the similar figure’s curves and musculature. It was toned, yet strong, but... A key impact that Shirogane could swear he knew from a mile away:

The look of a man who was starved for a very long time.

“You... Don’t eat.”

The Nihiladin blinked.

“You don’t either. I know myself the body of a man who does not eat for himself. He requires others to remind him because he gives all for them. It was but something my father once taught me.”

Shiro hummed, humbled slightly.

“We, the castle, have food you can eat, you can--”

“Rest? By all means. But you yourself deserves it as well. Even heroes need rest...?”“Shiro. Shiro is fine.”

“Shiro, then, even heroes need rest. You may call me... “Wolf”, it’s but one of the names I go by now, after... Anyway, I will follow you to the castle, however, you will need to feast, after all. You seem like the creature who could eat an army’s worth of food.”

Shiro laughed, it was probably true, but he hadn’t eaten despite the feasts, that Hunk’s cooking was still on the mind.

“If I can rest, you can eat. I think we both need our strength for the upcoming battle.” He replied, not sure what exactly he wanted to tell the Nihiladin. It was as though they were brothers at arms, the amount of illogical events that had happened to him during his stay.

“Paladin of the black lion... I eagerly take up your proposal, then.”

“Ha, then it’s a date.” Shiro huffed, before slumping once more to his chair, eyes finally closing slowly.

“A date then. There’s still much to do, so, let’s try this one step at a time, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, sleep finally coming to his aid as the Nihiladin continued steering towards the answering frequencies of the Castle of the Lions.

However, what lied ahead, was still the matter of explaining his absence to the rest of the Paladins...

Odin Arrow (Enemies to Lovers)

I wanna say Odin is that sort of... “Me but in a whole other situation “me”, so to speak. It’d be interesting being pinned to the opposite side only to find there’s more than just being someone else’s puppet.

Beowulf gasped, here he was, Seidre leaving him at a crucial moment in the fight against the supposed Pedri Nanesgani’s host: Odin Arrow of the infamous Arrow family. Seidre explained, “An old friend of me needs to repay for... His many debts,” He said, voice low and drawling as he whispered in Beowulf’s ear.

“He needs to be taught a lesson.” 

“A lesson?”

“I think that boy ought to be taught one, and from what I heard... He is truly a pathetic weakling...”

“I... see... Father, why fight him?” “Isn’t it obvious, my boy? Destroy the hosts, and we will get the wish we wanted from Titan himself.” “T-Titan?”

Odin slugged another punch towards the assailant in flannel. His fist was grabbed and pushed away as the other boy silently edged closer.

“W-What do you want?!” Odin shouted, Pedri too was silent from his recent stand in with Ava on the crash landed planet they had found themselves.

Beowulf looked down. He didn’t want to do this. He didn't want to fight, not again.

“A-Answer m-me.” Odin called, before kicking the other with a low sweep. Beowulf groaned, but picked himself up, before Odin pushed him down, grabbing his collar as he was stuck on the ground.

“...”

Odin punched the ground near his assailant.

“I w-won’t a-ask again.”

Beowulf looked up at him, before Seidre’s silken words lilted to his minds.

He spat in his face.

Odin angrily growled and pulled the boy’s collar and him up, before slamming him down.

“If y-you won't t-talk...” Odin huffed, picking himself up and shaking his head. “I w-won’t bother. I-I’m better than that.” He said, pulling his shirt up to rub his face clean. 

“G-Go jump off a--”

“A family.” Beowulf said, quietly.

“What?”

Beowulf sighed, still on the floor. He curled up, body aching slightly, but he was too tired to try fighting again.

“I want to be loved...” 

Odin hmph’ed as he pulled his pipe from his pocket.

“You’ve got a w-weird way of sh-showing it, kid.”

Beowulf sat up, hugging his knees as the other man watched.

“You don’t get it. Your host to something evil, aren't you? And you’re fighting for someone too, right?”

Odin looked on, eyes softening in his gaze.

“My... Father isn’t... Here, anymore. I just... I just want him back. Look, I didn’t want to do this, I swear it... But please understand me here, we’re both fighting for the people we care about.”

Odin puffed.

“And w-what will trying t-to p-punch me have a-any thing t-to getting y-your f-father back?”

Beowulf sighed, pushing his hair back and felt his earrings jingle as he slowly pulled himself up. “He said, if I taught you a lesson... Maybe, maybe we’d get a wish from Titan.”

Odin was fuming at the name, but kept his glare renewed. “Titan? You m-must mean that c-cult. How pathetic.”

“W-What?” Beowulf questioned, eyes grimacing.

“You really think, your father will be brought back by that sham? You must really be shooting for someone else here.” Odin drawled, his pipe smoking purple and his eyes a dark fuchsia. “W-why don’t you t-tell us why you’re really here.” Beowulf looked to the lush ground, lips beginning to dry faster.

“Answer me.”

“I... I don’t know.”

“W-what do you mean you don’t k-know. Aren’t y-you here to save your f-father?”

“I... Seidre... Look, I don’t need to answer to you! I just need your dumb demon to be gone so I can have my father again!”

Odin humphed once more, he pointed to his chest. “Then I suppose you know you have to kill me. I know you can do it.”

“What?” 

Odin’s eyes flicked dark as the words dripped in sarcasm.

“What are you, a d-dog? Don’t you realize that you have to kill me to get rid of me?”

“Y-You’re lying!”

“Of w-what? I’m not scared to die.” Odin beckoned, arms held out to accept the sentence. “Go o-on. D-do it. I’m waiting.”

Beowulf didn't answer, nor did he moved. He carried no gun, hid a small dagger in his pocket, what even was he trying to accomplish?

“Tch, w-wonderful.”

“No, wait...”

“I d-don’t think I’d wait for someone who just tried to punch me to save his daddy from god knows what. I’m f-fighting for s-someone I love. You just fight to be called a “good dog” like the little lost puppy you are.”

Odin spat on the ground.

“Ridiculous, I lost my ring to be assaulted by another insane cultist. Olai will love this.” He noted, before turning around to walk.

Beowulf snapped his fingers, almost desperately. “Seidre, Seidre, Seidre...”

Odin looked back, curious.

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong! You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone! You don’t know what it’s like to be hated! You don’t even know me! And I don’t want you to! I don’t want to fight! I just want my dad back! I want Seidre back!”

Odin didn’t speak, he observed the snapping fingers. 

Immediately, when his eyes looked to who was snapping, it was instead a young girl, far too familiar.

“I hate you!” she said, in her voice, frail as ever and crying.

“I hate everything about you! You’re just like me and I hate you! I never want to see you again!”

Odin’s heart was breaking, “Magpie...” He reached his hand out to her, but suddenly she sped off the other way, crying as she ran away. 

“Leave me alone!”

Jingling earrings snapped Odin back to where he was, the only thing remaining of where the young girl stood, was one simply black earring, with the cross still attached. Odin fell to the ground, a tree stump behind him as he analyzed the piece of jewelry, and he stretched his legs out onto the floor. Pipe puffing, purple smoke wrapped around him as he sat, meanwhile, the crying young girl sat on a tree branch away from him, drying her tears on the red flannel he wore. He scraped his scalp furiously as he mentally snapped his fingers, clutching his lonely right ear.

He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t even want to see him. Yet, here he was, snapping his fingers and chucking what looked like a silver ring with a jewel over to the other boy after using his illusions. It was terrible, to do so, he’d say if it were anyone else...

“I see you hesitate...” A pair of coarse claw like hands pawed delicately on Beowulf’s shoulders, one softly stroking his cheek as the other massaged his back.

“What do you want, Seidre?”

The hands stopped.

“Is that anyway for a son to address his father?”

...

“Sorry Papa...”

“That’s better, now...” Seidre’s head appeared, decked out in his opponent’s fangs and bones and snickered as he watched his host toss the ring out towards Odin.

“The first to retrieving our wish... Oh, I can just feel the excitement!”

“...”

Beowulf kept silent, he kept watch on Odin. Every breath, every facial movement, even the soft smile the other proudly displayed when Odin put the ring back where it belonged, on a silver chain to wear.

It was hard to admit, perhaps...

“Come along now... We couldn’t destroy Pedri, but who’s not to say the other hosts aren’t around the corner?” Seidre spoke, shifting out of view.

“...Yes, papa.” Beowulf turned, ready to leave, before looking back at the infamous Odin Arrow, in his own pathetic state.

“...” 

Maybe, they were like each other. Maybe they were just on the wrong side... Maybe Seidre...

Maybe he really wasn't fighting for anyone... Just himself...

Even if there were questions bubbling everywhere, there was but one tiny truth to be told...

He had to admit, despite hating Odin for what he was, and for only speaking the truth,

Odin was cute when he was happy.

Ike (Fake Date)

We all know canonically Ike has no gf / bf, so, why not be the unrequited crush?

The merchants would have been furious with him. No, in fact, Aimee would have had his head on a platter if she had ever found out that the young man was traveling and ended up becoming the temporary merchant of the famous Greil Mercenaries.

He had everything they needed:

Vulneraries, Concoctions, Iron blades and weaponry forged by his own hard labor...

But there was something no forge or gold could get him.

It was true love.

And it was sappy, sure. Words of a bard would scoff at how simply those 4 words would sound, but here he was... Contemplating yet fantasizing.

He, a lowly merchant who’s only worth in battle was a flimsy sword and a text of fire that would singe if he wasn’t careful: He was by no means anything useful to the person his heart soar to.

With blue hair and a sword of tarnished gold, it was hard not to fall head over heels with him. He was strong, he was blunt, and his sword was as sharp as his merit.

And yet, despite all his training, all his mental gymnastics to learn basic magic... He simply knew that Ike was never meant to be his, much less, perhaps, anyone. And he persisted anyway, training with a sword day in and day out in secret with the mercenaries, in particular a chatty woman by the name of Mia, who was by far more than happy to gossip about “her boss”, not that he needed to know.

He learned to cook meat for the mercenaries, at a decent price he might add... But no man of blue hair stepped into the shop to purchase the savory chicken that would lay on the fire roasting. Only the hungry trainees and the even more insatiable Laguz would waltz in, drink a vulnerary or two and lend a laugh as they went about their purchases.

But it was the Great Annabelle’s Ball that seared him off his debilitating gloom... Only the finest merchants were allowed to attend, where the weapons of the gods were on display, as well as royals who were looking to partake in rich and lavish hedonism were proudly adorned in the nearby city’s richer districts. Oh, it’d be a shame not to go, of course! However...

“Only 2 may attend, a guest is mandatory.” 

It suddenly did not seem as such a shame not to go.

But... Perhaps...

Was it worth it..?

“A-Ah, h-hello there, how can I...”

“...Help me?” The man asked, scratching the back of his head. The green cloth wrapped around his head stuck out like a sore thumb, and the azure hair that glistened in the noon sunlight: He had just finished training, he was sure of it.

“R-Right, what’ll it be?”

Ike paused, momentarily stringing the words along mentally.

“Actually, it seems I’ll have to ask you that. As you can see, a few of the mercenaries told me about you...”

His heart was beating.

He knew it.

He was found out.

Oh by Naga he was going to kill Mi--

“And I heard about your ball, the one about the royals showing up and all that?”

By all that is holy...

“I was hoping if I could attend with you.”

By all that is holy, blessed be Mia’s-

“I’d like to see if perhaps the mercenaries can achieve anymore connections via this ball, perhaps if we can extend our reach, more will join our cause, after all. I hope you can understand if that’s at all fine with you, friend.”

“Ah...”

It wasn’t meant to be, and for that, he sighed.

He knew it too well, but, alas... It was better to have loved than to have never loved at all.

“You bet, I’ll make the arrangements. Even if we can’t, ah, find something suitable for you, I’m sure I can work something up for you, fitting fee for fitting in, wouldn’t you say?”

Ike nodded, people weren’t his most passionate subject, but those he could be simply himself with... They were his go-to.

“Tell ya what, you come in here tomorrow night, I’ll polish up the finest merchandise I have, and we go amongst the nobles like Gods ourselves, what’d ya say to that, long tall and blue?”

He had to say it, oh by the gods he had to, even if he was going to be turned down.

“Understood. Tomorrow night it is then.”

The merchant smiled. To spend the night with a radiant hero...

Ike turned around, feet just about to step out of the caravan.

“Ah, actually, I’ve heard you sell meat so well, Oscar even complimented it... I’d like to try some.”

It was certainly something to die for.

Honestly, this was so much fun, yet, like, so HARD TO DO LIKE OH MY GOD DUDE hwsjpidk[fv

But I love you s o much for bringing these asks in!!! I’ve got to do the other one for you soon, kay???

[itsdanystormborn]

MAGI 347 Full Translation

Note: Updated! i added the dialogues that i missed the first time and re-checked the tricky lines ^^ 

Disclaimer: i only to this for fun, to share it with you guys, and to practice my japanese :) which is very basic so keep in mind that i could be completely mistaken in some parts.  This is just a fan translation of incomplete spoilers so: Don’t forget to support the official releases of Magi!

Source: From Tieba Baidu’s Japanese scans and from Netabare’s texts ^^

@maumauxmau @sayakakat2012

The color page is a picture of Aladdin and Judar. It says something like this:

“Prior to the battle of those who thought it out, Good and evil, nor light and darkness are the right answer!”

Page 2

Narration:

Sinbad vs Alibaba! neither will surrender their will, the life or death combat of the soul!!!

*Jump-Netabare text: Alibaba and Sinbad are fighting

..

Night 347 “A  feeling of nothingness”

Page 3

*Jump Netabare text: Arba remembers her previous interaction with Alibaba.

Arba: This is a meaningless battle…

Arba: What is Alibaba-kun thinking?

(Flashback)

Arba: If Sinbad wins, the world will return to the rukh. But if Alibaba-kun wins, once more Solomon’s world will just continue to go on endlessly, right?

Page 4

Alibaba: Please look forward to it, Arba-san. Surely, the future will become neither of them … Somehow, I have that feeling! *

TN: *Like having a hunch

(End of flashback)

Arba: …

Arba: it’s simply impossible, it’s been decided that you are not winning this fight.

Page 5

Alibaba: It’s because of destiny

Alibaba: because I fight against great gods for such a reason, I don’t want to be made into rukh!!

Sinbad: You are the same as Aladdin! I had a feeling with you as well but, i couldn’t be understood by you guys since the beginning.

Sinbad: I stopped being able to see destiny. I became a little crazy since Alibaba-kun got back. Although it was easy to make allies* with all the countries in the world, why just him…?

TN: It was easy to have people join me*

Alibaba: why can’t we understand it?

Page 6

Alibaba: Weren’t you just running away from the effort of being understood?

Sinbad: What did you say?

Alibaba: We tried to discuss with you over and over.

Alibaba: But you didn’t talk.

Alibaba: What is it that nobody can’t understand? Sinbad-san!!

TN: i’m not super sure about this line, but it Is something among the lines, I’ll check later anyway ^^

Page 7

Sinbad: Well then, let me tell you, this is a fight to release us from the rule of "destiny". Just as ill illah was once above us, there are also gods above ill illah.

Alibaba: a fight to release us from the rule of "destiny"?

Sinbad: Our future can be changed just by their caprice.

Sinbad: Ugo succeeded in dragging Ill Illah down with magic but, to overturn everything, a more gigantic power is needed.

Page 8

Sinbad: You guys can not understand what is like to feel that “destiny” is being held by someone…

Sinbad: It’s really a fortunate thing. But, staying perpetually without understanding, is not restricting, isn’t it? You saw the tragedy of Alma Torran right?

Alibaba: The tragedy of Alma Torran?

Sinbad: At one point, the magicians of Alma Torran all clearly understood “destiny”!

Sinbad: From the start and until that time they were under the impression that they were living by their free will but, in one breath everything crumbled down.

Page 9

Sinbad: Even if you fight, try hard, protect your family, whatever you do is useless. Everything feels like it’s  on someone else’s hands. The truth is that you are god’s puppet… That is “destiny”!

Sinbad: Understanding it in that moment caused an overwhelming feeling of emptiness…. Those humans couldn’t endure that!! As a consequence, what became of it? Did you see it?

Alma Torran flashback: That’s right, we can’t bear it. The existence of “destiny”!!

Sinbad: The magicians of Alma Torran denied the existence of “destiny”, that alone led to a war to destroy the world!!

Sinbad: Even god is crushed by that feeling of emptiness. Ugo broke down. He has no purpose of conviction, it was because he continued to manage the world endlessly. I don’t want to hesitate twice.

Page 10

Sinbad:  to create overwhelming “nothingness”, a dominant structure of "destiny” that runs vertical ….

TN: Or bring forth*

Sinbad: This kind of thing is wrong!! I just want to rectify the mistake!

Alibaba: ….

Sinbad: Now, I say that destroying “destiny” is my “destiny”. do you still not understand that?

Alibaba: No, i understand it. 

Page 11

Alibaba: In other words, Sinbad-san is fighting in order to protect everyone, right?

Alibaba: It is not only about simply making the best of the people who are now for ten years and twenty years. . .

Alibaba: someday, in order to understand "destiny" and to avoid the day when emptiness eats and kills our hearts, we have to defeat the guys who are governing "destiny"

Alibaba: That’s what you mean right?

Sinbad: ….

Alibaba: That’s right.

Alibaba: This is Sinbad’s battle for the sake of innovation and at the same time, it’s a battle for the sake of protecting everyone from nothingness.

Page 12

Alibaba: You have a noble cause. And yet, nobody understands.

Alibaba: I understood.

Alibaba: Since the time that Sinbad-san helped us at Balbadd, nothing has changed!!

Sinbad: ...

Alibaba: Even so, i was sick of it. Even for a noble cause, you will do anything you are disgusted with. 

TN: I don’t get the last part of this line, it could be what i put, but i need to check. 

Sinbad: What... what are you saying??

Page 13

Alibaba: If I think this is a fight for the sake of everyone… shouldn’t we be able to do anything?

Alibaba: If I have a noble cause, we can’t just become still, can we?

Sinbad:  !!??

Alibaba: I know a lot of Sinbad’s good points! He’s an innovator and an adventurer. But the face of a king who is going to protect everyone is also part of you.

Alibaba: For which one’s sake are you fighting now?

Page 14

Sinbad: ??

Alibaba: For the sake of justice, for the sake of the things you want to protect, aren’t you forgetting me?*

TN: *Not sure about the last part of the line. 

Alibaba: If it’s for the sake of protecting, we will do anything....

(Sinbad’s flashbacks)

*Jump Netabare text: Sinbad’s reminiscence: Scene when Sinbad talked to Aladdin.

Zepar’ Sinbad: I mean that They have come to love too much the built-up things.

Zepar’Sinbad:  From a father protecting his own family, to a mother trying to protect a great empire.

Zepar’Sinbad: The feeling of wanting to protect is not a bad feeling. But, it’s an ironical thing, for the sake of protecting is why war happens.

Zepar’Sinbad: That’s the way that we human beings are.

Page 15

Zepar’Sinbad: People draw a Dream, if they fulfill their dream, when trying to protect the things they built, people take weapons in their hands.

Zepar’Sinbad: And do any sort of things.

(End of Sinbad’s flashbacks)

Alibaba: Are you aware of what you are doing now?

Page 16

Sinbad: ….

*Jump-Netabare text: and after a while...

Sinbad: Huh… indeed.

Page 17:

Sinbad: When I entered the sacred palace, i though that i had stopped looking for a justification. But, now I still can’t cast away those who i loved in the past, just like a regular human being.

Alibaba: That’s right, so, let’s calm down and try thinking about it once more!

Sinbad: But, what do say that you want to do? are you saying that it’s okay to keep the world created by Solomon as it is?

Sinbad: The day when everyone understands “destiny”, a sense of emptiness will break their hearts. And they will kill those who were their friends.

*TN: Flashbacks of Sheba and Arba appear in the background

Sinbad: are you saying that it’s potentially okay to pretend not to see it?

Page 18:

Alibaba: ...

Alibaba: Yes

Alibaba: That’s right

Alibaba: It’s important to live now the best way you can do, than the far future.

Sinbad and Arba’s thoughts: Was it useless after all?

Alibaba: That’s what the me from before would have answered!

Sinbad: ?

Arba: ?

Page 19:

Alibaba: But, I’m amazing!

Alibaba: I was dead once. And I revived!

Alibaba: That’s why I’m totally different from Sinbad-san and Aladdin…

Alibaba: I thought of another strategy!

 Narration:

 He’s bold! Next issue, Alibaba’s bright idea is…

...

As always, thanks for reading! ^^

[rfhusnik]

The Return Of The Man From The Green City Part One

                                      Written By: Rashon Leyf I’ve heard they’re all special in the eyes of the universal masters; thus, I’ll send this to those I consider to be especially so. And, after all, let’s face it, they all have their freedoms – still, no matter have past dictators, radicals of the political left or right, religious zealots, or radio and television talk show hosts tried to wrest those opportunities to tell an ever-changing world that they’re real, and that they matter, from them. Outside today, the most significant of the twelve months nears its ending. But, despite its unusual entrance from March, this year’s installment of April still provided its supplied and usual symbolisms. Now is a new beginning. Now is a chance to start over - but only if we’re really sorry for mistakes we’ve made. And, although we’re told all is warming, April promised us the reality of a cold and bitter winter which might easily last beyond its appropriateness. But, in my mind, and probably for a long time (well into May or June) I’ll tell myself it’s still April beginning. And using that prosaic template, I’ll now write these words to a very special man who’s come to us yet once more from his home in the green city. My recognition is that yesterday, had we known then what we know today, we might have avoided certain evil. Yet, the plastic component we applied to past mistakes allowed them to show  through when, in momentary comprehensions, their content seemed especially blameful. And, thus, most likely they’ll now remain in our minds no matter if they were forgiven. But, some of life’s travelers say their errors can now be placed in an altered perspective by a new wind just beginning to blow from the left side of morality.   And a lot of people may not realize what the actual consequences of what they wish for would  be. And such people usually only judge the conduct of others. Their own actions are left without critique. And sometimes such people quickly condemn honest efforts of others, yet have no resolutions to offer for problems they can’t help but note. And, often the small victories such people supposedly achieve, are eventually shown to be but normal byproducts of time passing by.   And just now, as I’m looking at the list of items Ralph wants me to “touch upon” in this piece, I can see that I’ll probably need to ask him to divide this particular writing into two posts – something I know he dislikes doing. But, I fear there’s just too much to be said here. And, oh yes, I have some of my own “stuff” to share also. First of all, Amber and I receive numerous contacts from people who say they’re concerned about us. And for that, we’re humbled. And we thank all those who keep us in their thoughts and prayers.   But, in reply I must say, “No, Amber and I aren’t the only minority type people living in this city – not by a long shot! Truthfully, the ratio of whites to minorities here is basically the same as anywhere else in this nation, although this city is not like any other in the nation – and again, not by a long shot! And, a number of other blacks and Hispanics were already living here when Amber and I arrived here. And Amber and I made a conscious decision to relocate here. We moved here at the beckon call of Ralph Hawk, who had convinced both of us that his “calling” was indeed based on other realities of earthly life. And thus, since no one, including minorities lives what would probably be termed a “normal” existence in this city, Amber and I have decided upon this bold approach to life here. We’ve determined that we’ll not allow anyone, regardless of his or her race or political or religious background, to inflict any sort of blame, or condemnation of lifestyle upon us. And we’ll live our lives as we please in this city of strangeness, despite any outside criminal sexual conduct by males, radical feminism by females, domestic and international terrorism, fake news, religious problems which run the gamut from intolerance to careless statements made to the media, illegal immigration problems, bureaucrats and politicians in the nation’s capital who care only about themselves, media and entertainment characters who bend the truth, tell outright lies, and make fools of themselves as they host mid-day and late night television programs on which they demean national leaders and their spouses, and ridiculous probes (conducted at great taxpayer expense) into supposed events which never occurred. And Amber and I will never leave this city. And had you ever been so fortunate as to have been asked to relocate here, you’d have made the same commitment. But, one of the sad things I’ve noticed while I’ve been here, is that stories come and go from inside to outside this city, and then also from outside to inside it. And many times I and many others can’t know if the happenings and people spoken of in those tales ever really happened, or ever really existed in the world you and I know as real.   And so we face the eternal quandary yet again when we confront such anecdotes as the one about the teenager who drove a 1957 Chev, but had to leave it behind, and begin to enjoy a 1967 Airplane when he was forced to relocate near Haight-Ashbury because of draft board harassment. And then we also heard of the young literary woman who hated all men because her dad didn’t want her to move to Manhattan. And of course there was also the one about the guys who supposedly tied a pair of men’s long underwear across a roadway late at night, only to have it become entangled in a school bus’s rear view mirror the next morning.     And what about the guy who threw a bag of garbage on the lawn of some people who lived a few miles away, only to find it lying on his own lawn the next day? And then of course there was the one about the guy and woman who got caught pleasuring one another in a school broom closet; and, a couple of people even said that man was the same guy whom the cops had pulled over only weeks earlier because he’d been, as they termed it, “playing car tag” with another vehicle which had left the scene just before they’d arrived on it. And, of course, while speaking of sex and cars, there’s also the one about the guy and girl in the back seat of a police car which was being driven by an officer at the time. Someone said they may have been doing things they shouldn’t have been doing as he drove them to the police station.   But the one that always got me the most, was the one in which the guy who was always bragging about how good his cigarettes were, was hauled out of his home one day and taken down to the municipal court where he was made to testify before a judge. “Okay, tell this court the truth about the complaints we’ve heard about you. Have you been lying to your family, friends, and others?” asked the judge. “No, your honor” replied the hapless chap. “Every word I’ve said is true. I only smoke such types of cigarettes which I’ve learned through experience will deliver full rich tobacco flavor to me. And, also, I prefer those brands which feature what I term ‘easy drawing filters’. With such types of filters I needn’t strain myself every time I wish to take a drag. But, I’m still waiting for the development of what I call ‘glowing filters’. With such cigarettes, you know, guys like me, who like to ‘tie one on’ every once in a while, won’t need to worry about lighting the wrong ends of our cigarettes when we leave a bar, and it’s real dark outside.” But those stories constitute but a meager few of the many that reach us here in the city. There are many more – many many more! But I can’t repeat any more now. I’ve allotted enough space to such tales already. And yet, I’ve told the ones I’ve always found to be the most fascinating; except for one other which I’ll (hopefully be able to) relate in the second installment of this posting. And I know that as a person of color, my thoughts should focus much more upon such places and topics as the enslavement of my ancestors, what happened at the Lorraine Hotel fifty years ago, what’s “going down” in the hood, who’s performing at the Apollo, and many other such topics. And I do often think about those things. But yet, sometimes, I can’t help it, I find myself picturing that young man in San Francisco long ago. And can you see him? He’s placing a new covering across a window through which he often peers and sees people and a city in motion. And he knows those people and that large city (by the bay) are waiting and praying for an end to a worthless war being fought far away. And in the past I often asked about that young girl who radically disliked males. “Did she ever make it to Manhattan?” And one day someone finally answered that question for me. “Yes,” she said. “But she only stayed there for a brief while. She didn’t like New York. It wasn’t what she thought it would be.” “Where is she now? And what’s she doing now?” I asked then.   “I heard she’s moved to the capital of France. And now she lives with two other females not far from Tour Eiffel.” But see, such are the mind wanderings which occur to some of us here in this city when we receive a rare visit from that so-called “man from the green city”. And while he was still here, I asked him, “Man from the green city, why don’t you relocate here, and live with us in this city?” “I’m not worthy to live among people such as you” he replied. But then he also said, “But you know, someone told me that the man from the blue city might move here soon.” I’ve always believed that there’s only so much melding that can be done in a melding pot. So, instead of subjecting many mortals to pot, and extreme racial blending, maybe the leaders of our times should stress that all mortals should try to live out their lives in the nations in which they were born. And, also, it might be likewise constructive if we could hold on to the greatest of the legal differences between respective races. And when I look out the back window, and notice quietude, that’s when I’m happy! And I’m especially joyous when it’s that month which, by its very nature offers all men and women a chance to start over once again. Yes, obliging month, you who begin with a day dedicated to fools, you’re inclusive message is anything but foolish. And, on this day of the calendar’s fourth month, I want to express my sincere basic thanks to all such citizens of The United States Of America who, by one legal means or another (employment in either the private or public sectors, or in group or self-employment situations, or in retirement, or as investors, etc.) are supplying themselves with what they need to survive. But I also have words of encouragement for those who are truthfully working toward the goal of that previous sentence. And, I especially honor those who, while they support themselves, also strive to better life for others in the American states. And recently my friends Renni Maes and F. John Surells were married in a very nice white wedding. And since then, of course everyone here in our city has been asking when Amber and I will likewise “tie the knot”. The answer:  Soon, but ours will be a very nice non-white wedding. And my friends, if I’ve never said or written this to you before, hear or read it now:  We who live in this city are especially charged to both watch for, and comment upon possible mistakes and evils which we may note surfacing in societies outside our guarded existence! And in that vein then, and without any further discussion on my part (and without any further discussion simply because I have so much else to say in this piece and can’t allot any more words to this subject), “Woe to the Christian religion when its greatest ambassador tells an unknowing world that Lucifer’s domain does not really exist! And if Lucifer’s domain doesn’t really exist, are we to infer then that he also is only a myth? The Christian Bible, though presented with differing amounts of “books” by various Christian denominations, does contain many references to hell and Lucifer (or Satan as he’s more often called). And it also often warns Christians of the deviousness of Satan and his subordinate angels (or devils as they’ve been referred to since their “falling out with God”). And if there is no hell, and no Lucifer to provide some sort of punishment to those who, without ever expressing sincere remorse for doing so, continue to practice great evil, then what else is there but temporal courts to chastise such types? And what if evildoers die in the commission of great evil, or before the date a temporal court was to have sentenced them for their crimes? And be honest, don’t you believe that the lack of any fear of what might befall one in an afterlife could serve as a motivation for one to commit heinous temporal acts?   And I’d ask you also to think upon probably the greatest (and worst) example of such a person I’ve just now been alluding to. What about Adolf Hitler? He committed suicide before facing any court. And, in the absence of any hell, are we to believe then that the person who’s usually considered the most diabolical of all time simply “faded away” and was never held accountable for what he’d done? I’m a man who has certain personal initiatives, but yet, I’m probably more of a reactor to the reported actions (real or fake) of others. And thus I guess I’m only asking for common sense in regard to the so-called “gun debate” of recent times. And I’m recognizing that certain guns should be outlawed, and that measures must be taken to keep guns away from the mentally ill. But, I’m admitting that the second part of the previous sentence will be difficult to achieve. And, while I’m sympathizing with the victims of gun violence, I’m also understanding that just like alcohol and illegal drugs which once were, and currently still are banned from public ownership, guns will never fade away from the reality of everyday life in the U.S.A. Oh, but the strangeness of the city I live in overwhelms my being every moment of every day. And the masters of literature, about whom, and to whom I’ll speak in what I’m assuming will be the second part of this piece, continue to organize my existence here, while they simultaneously grant new freedoms to all (including myself) users of creative words. And the last thing I asked the man from the green city before his departure was “Is life improving in the green city?”   And he answered, “Oh, it basically stays the same, except perhaps that some say it’s real existence and significance are at this time still untitled. Yet, personally, I’m always trying to be good; but I guess human robots and football personnel are the real heroes near the Fox River.”  

[capmackie]

tell me again (that we’ll be lovers & friends)

aka the Prom!Sambucky fic no one asked for.

Bucky should’ve known better.

In reality, he does know better. He knows that prom is not somewhere he wants to be; knows that without a shadow of a doubt, actually. Knows it’s all superficial and just another reason for teens to be cajoled into spending exuberant amounts of money to impress people they’ll most likely never see again. Most of all, it’s incredibly pretentious.

Today’s the big day and Bucky’s been irritated since he woke up, no, actually ever since he shelled out a hundred bucks for his ticket. But as the realization dawned on him that he’ll have to play nice with the same people who’ve never spoken more than two words to him in all four years, the irritation reared it’s ugly head again. It peaked as his mom snapped countless photos, pushing him to smile and pose. It’s all too much and Bucky feels a headache forming at the base of his skull.

At her insistence, she places a rose on his lapel, sticking him with the needle in the process. Bucky’s certain that’s a sign from the universe that going to prom is a bad idea.

***

Bucky, standing in an extravagant banquet room, so over the top, he kinda wants to hurl, quickly realizes that going to his prom was, indeed, a bad idea.

The theme is ‘Winter Wonderland’, which is bad enough but considering it’s currently June, makes the idea even worse. There’s bouquets of carnations dressing the tables, fake snow litters the ground. White curtains, adorned with sparkles, line the floor to ceiling windows, along with hundreds of LED strings lights attached to the ceiling. There’s a balloon arch bracketing the entrance, a sign welcoming the students to ‘Brooklyn High Prom 2019’ hangs off of it. Further inside, he can see the DJ booth. His principal’s on the one’s and two’s and he almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous the sight is, almost.

He feels unease down to his very core, certain that the night’ll end in one of two ways: some drunk asshole picking a fight with him (again) or him standing on the outskirts of the party, isolated, as he finds himself more often than not.

Bucky revels in his loneliness; having realized early on that the only person he can rely on, the only person he can trust is himself. But those thoughts are easier to drink down when Bucky’s minding his own business, holed up in his room. In those moments, his loneliness covers him like a blanket, heavy yet comforting. But here, in a place designed for social interaction, Bucky feels confined by his loneliness, feels it magnified times a thousand.

Coming here was a terrible idea.

The possibility of saying ‘fuck it’, turning on his heels and going the fuck home is lighting every nerve in his body on fire. He could do it; no one’s seen him come in and if they did, they definitely don’t give a damn about him leaving. In the blink of an eye, he can be back home, can ignore the disappointing look his mother will give him, can be in his own space thanking whatever deity out there that his high school experience is almost over.

He’s about to do it.

Bucky’s so close to leaving that relief starts to flood his body when his eyes fall on someone he honestly wishes he never met sometimes.

In hindsight, he understands why he’s here, at prom surrounded by people he doesn’t like, wearing an ill-fitting suit and uncomfortable shoes. It’s the same reason why he does almost anything; the same reason that turns Bucky pliant with just a smile. And that reason is on the dance floor, milly-rocking his life away, in a fitted plum suit with paisley accents.

Sam.

***

If Bucky could go back in time to the first day he and Sam met, he probably would’ve just stayed his ass in bed. But alas, missing the first day of the new school year, especially after missing about three months of your junior year, is frowned upon. For some reason.

The hustle and bustle of kids running to classes as the bell rings or ignoring the bell altogether to continue their conversations in the hall is all too familiar to Bucky. But now it feels different, feels overwhelming.

But Bucky knows the scenario isn’t different, it’s only him who’s changed; the last time he was in this hall he had a flesh and blood arm on his left and now... he doesn’t. Anxiety begins to creep up his spine, his breath shortening out and his head starting to spin. Steadying himself with his forehead placed on his locker, the coolness grounding him, Bucky’s brought back to reality just as the second late bell begins to ring.

Pulling out his schedule, he focuses his attention to more tangible dangers, like being late to his first class and having to sit in the front because all of the slackers have taken the back seats. Adjusting his backpack then his jacket to cover more of his left arm, he grabs his textbooks and sets off to AP Human Geography.

As the teacher assigns partners for the course-long project, Bucky slumps further down in his seat, willing the floor to just swallow him whole. He looks around the room and cringes when he sees who he could possibly be paired with.

But then the teacher is speaking to Bucky, telling him there’s an odd number of students in the class and Bucky’s welcome to join an existing group or work by himself. Before he can give his answer, one Sam Wilson comes barreling through the door, throwing the teacher an apologetic smile, clamoring to find the first empty seat.

There are three things Bucky instantly becomes hyper-aware of at that moment:

1) Sam’s arrival now means there’s an even number of students in the class (fuck)

2) the only open seat is right next to him

3) Sam has the most gorgeous smile Bucky’s ever seen

***

Throughout the semester, they gradually become friends. Bucky’s convinced that it’s only because of the project but when Sam’s walking home with him after they realize they’re actually neighbors (who would’ve thought?) and when Sam’s saving him a seat at the lunch table where the popular kids sit (Bucky declines every day, Sam doesn’t stop inviting him) or when Sam remembers to walk on the right of Bucky (never the left) and when Sam never questions those moods Bucky sometimes finds himself in (the ones he can’t shake, the ones that pull him under so deeply he can only hear tires screeching and glass cracking and the sound of metal on metal and -), the line between general politeness and something more blurs so much, Bucky sometimes isn’t sure that it’s still there.

It’s that blurry line that Bucky finds himself tiptoeing on when one day—he and Sam are on his front porch, soaking in the fact that they’re finally done—Sam asks the big question.

“So, who are you taking to prom?”

Bucky looks up so fast, he almost catches whiplash. Prom hadn’t even been a thought in his mind. He’s focused on more important things like college (and Sam), getting a fresh start in a new city (and Sam) and the threat of Sallie Mae looming over his shoulders (andddd Sam).

The confusion must register on his face because Sam is now laughing and smiling and Bucky hates when he does that. Because Sam doesn’t just laugh and he doesn’t just smile. Sam doesn’t just do anything, his personality is too bold, too vivacious to do anything half-assed.

When he smiles, it starts at his mouth, full lips curling upwards, that stupid gap in between his front teeth making an appearance. Then it lifts to his eyes, making them go big, the brown in the irises shining ever so brightly. Sam’s smile is enough to light up continents, can feed power to third world countries if he chooses to. The only thing greater in the world than seeing Sam smile is making Sam smile and Bucky reckons it’s the same as looking into the sun for too long; the heat of the rays warming him, making him feel special. Then, inevitably, it starts to burn; the too harsh rays focused on him intensely, making Bucky squirm.

Bucky’s been on both sides of the equation. He’s seen Sam throw that megawatt smile at someone, has had that smile on him and Bucky’s not sure which scenario makes his stomach drops the fastest.

With a flick of his right hand, Bucky dismisses the idea of going to something as silly as his high school prom, listing off a dozen of other things he would rather do with his time.

But Sam smiles at him, lighting Bucky insides on fire, and promises him it’ll be fun, that Sam will be there to make it fun and that he won’t leave his side until he’s sure that Bucky is indeed having fun. Bucky wants to say no with every fiber of his being but he just can’t; not when Sam’s looking at him adoringly, smiling a little and then wider and wider until the smile completely takes over his face, as he sees Bucky slowly coming around to the idea of going to prom.

In the end, Bucky is grumbling something about Sam being an asshole and when Sam laughs his signature laugh, Bucky has to turn his head away lest Sam will see him smiling too.

***

Prom is in full swing by the time Bucky’s arrived and is finished with having his existential crisis.

The DJ’s just switched records and a slow song is drifting through the speakers, teens coupling up to slow dance together. It’s so cliché, Bucky’s eyes almost roll out of his head. But then Sam notices him, face plastered with one of his signature smiles and starts to walk his way.

Bucky’s just about to give Sam grief for the patterned shirt he has the audacity to wear in public when Sam nods toward a secluded corner, beckoning Bucky to follow him. As soon as they’re away from the watchful eyes of teachers and parent chaperones, Sam pulls out a silver flask.

“It’s the only way to enjoy these things”, Sam answers when Bucky shoots him a questioning glance.

Bucky’s about to argue that this isn’t a good idea, that they are both underaged, that authority figures are right there, but most importantly, that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle himself around Sam if he’s intoxicated. But Sam’s smiling, looking at Bucky through his lashes and it makes Bucky’s heart lurch and the words Bucky wants to spit out get stuck on his tongue. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taking the flask and the taste of Jack Daniels is coursing through him, swallowing his protests and inhibitions all the same.

It’s only after Bucky is six whiskey swigs deep that he finally realizes he’s made a mistake. Somehow they’re on the dance floor, right in the middle of the crowd, being pushed and pulled as the crowd jumps around to some trap song.

But Sam is keeping his promise of not leaving Bucky’s side and it’s so kind and noble, just like he is.

Bucky can see the questioning glances Sam’s other friends are giving him, all the while ignoring the glares directed toward Bucky himself.

But Sam doesn’t play favorites, treats everyone with respect, even moody and pouty and sour people who insist on self-imposed isolation. Sam still befriends them, still walks with them home after school, still makes time for them, still respect their boundaries, still supports them even when they don’t see anything worthy within themselves.

Six whiskey swigs later, standing in a banquet room that looks more like a wedding than a prom, surrounded by people he hates, in an ill-fitting suit and uncomfortable shoes, Bucky Barnes realizes he’s in love with Samuel Wilson. Realizes that he’s been in love with Sam for a while now, actually.

Bucky’s ready for his flight or fight instincts to kick in, waits for the telltale signs of his anxiety to flare up but nothing happens. His classmates are continuing to do whatever the hell they were doing before Bucky’s came to his grand realization. The world, shockingly, continues to spin on its axis. It’s almost like Bucky finally coming to terms with his feelings for Sam is normal.

Honestly, who would’ve thought?

Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through him that makes him feel so lax or maybe it’s the weight that’s finally been lifted off of his shoulders, but Bucky feels positively giddy at the notion that he loves Sam. Feels the endorphins multiply when the thoughts cross his mind that he should tell Sam right now how he feels.

There’s a small voice in the back of his brain begging him to reconsider; begs him to realize that someone like Sam could never and would never love someone like Bucky back. Bucky with all of his flaws and all of his darkness; it would be selfish to ask someone like Sam, a literal ray of sunshine to love him back, the voice says. To pull Sam into Bucky’s own patented abyss of despair is just cruel.

But then he looks up and he and Sam are now making eye contact again and despite everything that’s telling his mind no, Bucky decides to tell his heart yes.

He’s turning to face Sam before his mind can catch up and repeat how terrible of an idea this is. But Sam’s smiling at him, always smiling at him and like everything else in the past school year, it wills Bucky to believe in himself. Gives Bucky the courage to let go, to relax, to...

What happens next is an out-of-body experience and Bucky isn’t even sure what is happening but his body is on auto-pilot and he’s reaching out to grab at Sam’s jacket and pull him into a fervent kiss.

He doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up around Sam, his flesh hand cradling the back of Sam’s head and his metal one fisting the man’s jacket. What he does know is that he never wants it to end, knows that he never wants to pull away from the warmth radiating from Sam’s mouth on his, from Sam’s entire body pressed up against his.

Truth be told, it’s always been Sam, it’s been Sam since the very first moment Bucky saw him. Bucky knew he was enamored by his geography partner when Sam first sat next to him or the first time Sam spoke to him or the time Sam did literally anything. He could list off hundreds of examples of when he had started to fall in love, but the only thing of importance right now is Sam, in his arms.

Faintly, Bucky can here the other students around him react to the scene that has just played out in from of them. Bucky can practically feel their weighted gazes on his back but he doesn’t care. The only thing on his mind is communicating to Sam how much he wants to be his.

Bucky’s so wrapped up in his own emotions that he doesn’t feel the gentle hand on his lower back, leading him back to the corner where the silver flask is still neatly hidden from watchful eyes.

“Did you mean it?”, Sam questions.

Bucky’s trying to read his expression but he can’t.

For the first time since he’s known him, he doesn’t see a smile on Sam’s face. Panic starts to set in at the idea that Bucky has ruined his only friendship over a stupid kiss. 

What in the hell was he thinking?

“I’m serious Buck, talk to me please”, Sam is pleading and Bucky hates it, hates seeing any other emotion on that beautiful face but pure, unadulterated joy.

“I - fuck Sam- I just want to be with you”, Bucky stammers out. If he would’ve known how the night was gonna go, he would’ve prepared a speech but alas. It’s just him and his brain trying to formulate a coherent sentence that explains just how much Bucky needs Sam.

“You are my friend - shit - my best friend, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want anything more than that”, Bucky starts.

The floodgates are opening and he can’t help himself now, every emotion he’s ever felt are all rushing to the surface. He doesn’t even know what to say, doesn’t know how to make it coherent, he just knows that he’s gotta make Sam understand.

Has to make him understand that what he feels is so intense, he can’t even express himself eloquently. Has to make Sam understand he only accepted admission to NYU cause that’s where Sam is going, has to make him understand how blind his mind is at times, how he can’t see anyone else but Sam.

But he just can’t get the damn words out.

It frustrates Bucky that he’s right on the precipice but can’t tip over fully, his own mind sabotaging him. But he hopes that Sam will understand him and his non-verbal cues, hopes that Sam doesn’t think he’s an idiot, Bucky just hopes, okay? He needs this to work, damn it because the man still wrapped up in his arms is Bucky’s endgame, there will never be anyone else.

Sam initiates the next kiss and it’s nothing like the one before. This is one is soft and exploring; this kiss feels like acceptance, feels like understanding, like Sam heard everything Bucky’s been desperately trying to say.

Bucky presses their foreheads together and exhales shakily, groans thinking about all of the trouble he’s caused tonight. He’s just outed himself in front of a few of his classmates but the voice in his head, always springing to action whenever Bucky fucks up, is surprisingly quiet and Bucky counts that as a win. Cuts himself some slack for the first time in a long time.

Sam pulls back first, a mischievous grin on his face, and plants a kiss in the middle of Bucky’s forehead.

“I knew you loved me”, he laughs and Bucky agrees.

He’s known for a while now.

AO3