#it's the questioning that's instigating the bargaining

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The "Am I Allowed To Cry?" story reads to me like this:

I vowed not to cry anymore if we survived the Great War so I justified it. 

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back but at least I’m trying. The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me, would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

I search for your dark side but what if I'm alright right here? Because I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away, but if the story's over, why am I still writing pages? I gave you so much, but it wasn't enough. What am I supposed to do if there's no you? This won't go back to normal, if it ever was, it's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because 'cause I have to.

This ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight, and I wish you would come back, wish I'd never hung up the phone like I did and I wish you were right here, right now. You know I would stay forever if you say, "don't go," but you won't. If I had known what I'd known now I never would've played so nonchalant.

I wonder what we would've become if you were a better man, because you would've been the one if you were a better man. The battle's in your hands now but I would lay my armor down if you'd say you'd rather love than fight. Come on, don't leave me like this, I thought I had you figured out -- something's gone terribly wrong, you're all I wanted.

I could stand up and sing you a song but I don't wanna have to go that far. So, babe, if you know everything, tell me, why you couldn't see that when I left, I wanted you to chase after me? If you just said you're sorry I know that we could work it out somehow and if this was a movie, you'd be here by now.

But if I would've known how many pieces you had crumbled into I might've let them lay.

[inmyloveworld]

as usual (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~3.7k

synposis: the time for you to meet the Hard Deck, and the Daggers frequenting it, has finally come. but some digs on the oldest aviator of the bunch in front of his younger partner leave a tension between you that begs to be broken.

warnings: age gap (unspecified but in my mind was about 10 years), assumed alcohol consumption, allusions to anxiety, use of the pet name "bunny", jake is an instigator

a/n: this was NOT going to be this long in my head but once i got writing i could not stop.. enjoy some more self-indulgent comfort angst from me!

As usual, Bradley pulled up to your apartment complex right after a long day on base. And as usual, you were standing in the window like a pup waiting for its owner to come home. He made the comparison in earnest. It melted him to know someone was that excited to have him near, that you were that excited to have him near.

He could barely make it out of the Bronco before you were bounding out your door and down the stairs. Bradley had just rounded the passenger side when you reached him. The sinking sun somehow made your eyes sparkle brighter. Butterflies flew in his stomach, and a lovestruck grin spread across his face. Gentle hands caressed your hips as his caramel gaze took you in closely.

"Did you manage to lock the door?" Bradley teased. You softly grunted at the dig, feigning annoyance in a half frown. The front door and you were nothing if not eternal foes, and Bradley knew of this conflict too well.

"I resent that, I really do." His responding laugh was all it took to break your weak facade. A smile overtook you as you lit up once again to be in his presence. Your hands found home at the base of his neck as your lips greeted each other. Seconds moved in hours whenever you kissed Bradley Bradshaw. He made the noise of the world lift into a soft hum with every touch.

It was understandable that you whined whenever he pulled away. "We're gonna be late," Bradley bargained. Your mouth fell into a soft pout that he was happy to peck away into a smile, and into giggles once his lips found your cheeks, and nose, and temples.

"I thought you said we'd be late!" you laughed as you batted him away to slip into the passenger side. He held the door open for you, like the gentleman Carole had raised him to be. Then he bent to kiss you more softly, like the gentleman his father was.

"You are always worth it." You couldn't fight the flush that broke onto your cheeks to crowd the makeup already present. Blush served little purpose with Bradley lighting your cheeks aflame every chance he got. Nor highlighter, with the glow you seemed to emanate since the day he walked into your life.

His hand found home on your thigh, yours placed atop it to toy with his calloused fingers. The Bronco drove off to the famed bar where he and his naval companions flocked. Such companions were eager to meet the girl who settled their "Rooster" into domestic life.

"Cupid's sure been hard at work," Phoenix remarked upon catching her best friend cheesing at the texts you sent him. Whatever force in the world brought you to him, be it Cupid or God or Nick and Carole themselves, he was grateful. Never had he felt so complete.

"How was work today, bunny?" Bradley asked. A simple question most would roll their eyes at, you jumped to answer. You were eager to tell him of every detail: the pesky clientele, the interdepartmental dramas, even how poorly the coffee was brewed. Excitement ran through you and, by proxy, to Bradley. "Bunny" was a nod to the energy that filled you and energized others, much like the battery mascot.

Your anecdotes filled the minutes driving through the bustle of San Diego rush hour. Bradley glanced over at you every chance he got, adding in commentary where he saw fit but mostly admiring the expressions taking over your face.

He could listen to you ramble for hours, he was certain, as you did for him in his own moments of boundless vigor. An equal partnership seemed unattainable with the women he'd met through the years yet came easily with you.

What place did age have to stall a feeling like that?

-

Some last-minute Bronco kisses had you and Bradley walking into the Hard Deck five minutes behind schedule. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand tucked into the front pocket of your jeans to keep you snug against his side. Still, he let you lead the way, content to follow you wherever you found your feet.

You gawked at the space already half packed with people in uniform, a few civilians bridging the gaps. Various signs and regalia littered the space between windows. The perfect sunset view of the beach was on every wall. Miniature aircraft figures crowded the ceiling in permanent flight.

"Is this place for real?" you remarked, earning a kiss on your cheek from Bradley.

"That it is, bunny. As far back as my pops and Maverick," he answered, stopping as he caught his first familiar face. Bradley took the moment to lead you, bringing you to an open space at the bar. "And now in the hands of this lovely lady here. You remember-"

"Penny!" The excitement in your voice brightened the owner right up. Bradley's heart performed somersaults at your cheer. "This place is incredible!"

Penny tried to humble herself under your praise. "Hey, it's the nicest Navy daycare I could imagine." You giggled at the quip, making her break a smile. You quizzed her on her run of the bar as she pulled a draft for Bradley and mixed a margarita for you. The two of you initially met when Bradley brought you to Maverick's hangar. She was just as endeared then as she was now by your bright spirit and compassion for others.

Once you were settled with your drinks, you attempted to tip her out. Penny was quick to push the cash back at you with a wink. "On the house for you tonight. Call it my welcome gift." You must have thanked her half a dozen times as you moved across the bar. A small table against the wall was your target; somewhere to ground your drinks for when you inevitably got spotted-

"Bradshaw!" The time came sooner than you predicted. A brunette tagged with a name you'd heard too many times to count found her way to you. A man in true aviator glasses followed closely behind. Part of you tensed in anticipation. Still, your outgoing nature won over any resistance.

"Phoenix? Bradley has told me so much about you!" You reached out a hand to her. Her eyes slowly followed the gesture as if examining it.

Phoenix took her time to speak up. "So you're the one who's got Bradshaw off in la-la land?"

You blinked, trying to read into her tone. "I-I think so?"

"Phoenix, play nice," Bradley warned. She scoffed at him, finally grabbing your hand to shake.

"I haven't seen the old bird this happy in ages," Phoenix said as she met your eyes. A real smile tugged at her mouth. You were quick to mirror it as you relaxed. "Keep him that way; he flies better."

Bob followed up with his own introduction. It was hard for Bradley to contain his joy at the moment, even with the slight brows Phoenix threw his way. He hadn't told her the details of the age difference in passing; he hadn't thought it important. Bob was none the wiser, simply offering a game of darts to share amongst the four of them.

"Oh, I LOVE darts!" you exclaimed. "But be warned, it's rare that I actually hit the board."

Phoenix chuckled. "Your boy's not too good himself. We ought to split you apart so Bob and I are more evenly matched." Bradley rolled his eyes, though the interaction had his heart soaring. You were happy as can be getting to know his closest friends. They seemed happy as can be getting to know you.

Questions were passed between throws, Bob asking about your work and Phoenix asking about your relationship. It was the kindest form of interrogation you could've envisioned. Meanwhile, the empty pool table behind you was beckoning another group of aviators in your direction.

The tallest of the trio, a man with a square jaw and dark eyes, was quick to single you out. "Now, who's this pretty young thing you guys rounded up to play?"

You turned to make his acquaintance briefly, your usual cheery demeanor receding some. No person with words like that would get the better of you. Instead, you drew in a breath as you threw the last dart of your turn, hitting a triple ring in the process.

"Bradley!" you squealed. He drew you in happily as you jumped into his embrace. "Did you see?! Did you see?!"

An answer was pressed to your lips, leaving you breathless in the aftermath. Bradley hummed at your slightly dazed expression. "That's my girl."

He felt the stares of Harvard, Fanboy, and Coyote burning holes into the floral print shirt he adorned. No mind was paid to any of them, though; not until you solicited it yourself. "You must be more of Bradley's.. coworkers?"

The man of middle height held his hand out for you with a charming grin. "Lieutenant Javy Machado, or 'Coyote' if you'd rather." You were introduced to the other two, with Harvard taking some quizzical glances your way.

"I can't help but wonder, how'd you get shacked up with this fossil?" The audience around you laughed, Bradley included. He had mentioned he was a bit older than his team, giving rationale to the jest and the 'old bird' comment Phoenix made earlier. Still, something in these remarks began to itch you. You were quick to table the feeling, certain it was only your misunderstanding among old friends.

You went on to indulge them in the story of your mildly embarrassing meet-cute. A few other aviators popped in to make their introductions, Payback and Omaha namedly. It seemed that each of them, in due time, had to take their shot at ragging on Bradley's age. He brushed each one-liner off in spades, settling any greater debate with an amused chuckle rather than a defense.

The itch in you was replaced by a gnawing in your gut. You worked to suppress it as best as you could, wanting to make a perfect evening for your partner: the one who kissed you when you shot well in darts and pulled you to the piano to serenade you front and center.

But the words echoing in your ears began to shrink you in your bearings. Suddenly, you had little to say in response to any harmless question. You certainly had less to say as Harvard and Hangman were questioning why you were with Bradley "of all people". Bradley himself had gone to the bathroom, trusting you would be safe and at ease in the company of his friends. It was only upon his return that he was made to see how wrong he'd been.

Bob, the perfect wallflower, had noted the shift in your behavior. He stood by and watched as the dazzling person he was first introduced to started to lose their spark. The WSO watched as you tried to fake smiles and laugh along to the jokes cracked. None of it reached your gaze that began to dart around, as if looking for refuge. Bradley was clueless, too caught up in the moment of his worlds merging to notice one was falling back.

He returned from the bathroom and attempted to dart to your side, stopped only by Bob's light grip on his arm. "Rooster, something's up with your girl." Bradley froze. He scanned the bar, locking onto where you sat with a pair of his friends. Confusion filled him. The night had gone so well. You were getting along with everyone, even Hangman. What could possibly be wrong?

"Just trust me," Bob pleaded, practically seeing the calculations Bradley was attempting in his head. It was seeing your hands nervously fiddling together that confirmed to him Bob was right. He clapped his friend's shoulder, uttering a gracious thanks before making his way over to you.

"Mind if I cut in?" It was nothing more than a courtesy. Bradley would not let you stew in your own head a second longer. "I think we ought to be heading out soon, bunny."

Bradley outstretched his hand to you, which you gladly placed yours into. He pulled you up from the booth with ease and waved his goodbyes to the pair left at the table.

Hangman would not settle for courtesies. "Aww, come on, old man; can't you let her stay out past curfew?"

You barely had a breath to react before Bradley did with yet another chuckle. If nothing churned your stomach that night, the sound of his amusement at this running gag did. You managed your goodbyes to everyone in passing well enough as you exited the bar. The Bronco was a relieving and suffocating sight at the same time.

Silence: that was all Bradley had been given as he led you to his car. A frown fixed on his face. You were keeping a firm distance between the two of you where normally there would be none. Your fingers danced with each other in a nervous rhythm where normally they were laced with his own. Something was seriously wrong, but he hadn't the faintest idea as to what.

Bradley held the passenger door open for you, as usual, and had to hold back a gracious sigh as you let him. You would not so much as look at him since leaving his friends, but he held onto the simple gesture as a sign of hope.

He dared to lean in to catch your lips against his, only to be met by the soft skin of your cheek. Bradley stuttered backward. You had turned away from his kiss.

"Take me home, Rooster." An icy cold poured through him. You had met him in uniform, full with his "Rooster" embellishment, but had never once used the name. And he was starting to wish you never had, for the distant feeling it brought chilled him to the bone.

Bradley hopped into his seat and got the Bronco in motion toward your apartment. Maybe you needed the fresh air and the sights of the city to cool off, he thought. However, with each mile, the tension was growing thicker. He felt it in the silence walling you from him. He felt it as your quad contracted under his subconscious grip, so much that he was growing nauseous himself.

Bradley was a worrywort by default. It's why he hesitated in the air. It's why he hesitated with almost everything in his life. You had been the one piece of his existence that brought him such thoughtless bliss. Had he been too thoughtless to not notice where things were souring?

As quickly as you had raced down, you were flying up the stairs to your apartment. The thud of the passenger door slamming startled him. Bradley barely parked by the time you were halfway up the flight. He locked the doors and jogged up in the path you'd made.

His stature made it fairly easy to catch up to you. That, and the fumbling of your fingers with your key in the villainized deadbolt. You were cursing silently to yourself as you tried and failed to get the lock to turn just right. Tears began to blur your vision, making the simple task even more frustrating.

Bradley's voice was gentle, apologetic already. "Here, let me-"

"Just go home, Rooster; I don't need a fucking babysitter!"

Your response comes out sharp and cold. Your use of his callsign half an hour ago might have chilled him, but this sudden outburst froze him from the inside out. It wasn't long until you froze up yourself and realized the words you let fly.

"Whoa.. where did that come from?"

Bradley didn't receive an answer; not verbally, at least. The only response he received from you was the clutter of your keys against the ground as you tucked your chin into your chest. Soft whimpers began to shake your frame. Within seconds, your resolve gave way to desperate cries pouring from your throat. Bradley's heart cracked.

He moved into action, tucking you into his broad chest and letting you lean your weight into him. Light shushes and repetitions of "It's alright" rushed to console you. Bradley held you upright with one arm as he bent over to swipe your keys into his grasp.

"Come on; let's get inside, yeah?" he cooed as he stood back up. You said nothing and continued to cry into his white tank. Mascara stains were sure to form, but he couldn't care less.

Bradley got your door unlocked in a single try. He propped you safely against the wall as he locked the entry behind himself. You felt like you were floating with his help to get to the couch. There was no resistance or fight in you; only fear.

His hands were on your knees, rubbing soothing circles against the bare skin your jeans exposed. Bradley knelt down in front of you. He waited for you, any tell that you were ready to talk, as long as you needed.

You gathered a hiccuped breath as your sobs faded to sniffles. Your trembling hands reached for him, feeling the warmth of his grasp almost instantly. Bradley gingerly kissed your knuckles on each hand. "Talk to me, bunny." Head lifting, you finally met his worried stare. "What's going on?"

It was a simple question that had a simple answer. Yet, as you tried to form the words, you felt a rush of embarrassment. How ridiculous was it to get so worked up over some lighthearted fun? There was no reason for you to have this sick feeling in your stomach over it.

"Hey," Bradley called, moving a hand up to hold your cheek. His thumb swept at the tears still pouring from your lash line. You hadn't noticed your line of sight drifting away from him with your train of thought. As you found his face again, you saw greater desperation. He ached to know, to help. "Talk to me. Please."

And you did. Grabbing onto his hand with both of yours, you released a heavy sigh. "Tonight was great. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. They all seem like really good people, a-and I'm glad you have them in your life to support you."

Bradley managed a sad smile. Even through your own pains, you were searching for the best to make of the situation for him. He squeezed your hands holding his to comfort you in letting the other shoe drop.

"But.. I-I know you're older than them. I'm sure that, that they make those jokes around you a lot, and did way before you met me. It just.." You stopped yourself, shaking your head as if to shake the thought away. "It's probably so stupid-"

"It's not stupid if it's got you this upset."

Oh, Bradley. The only man you'd ever encountered who genuinely yearned to empathize with you at every struggle or hardship. The person who encouraged you to feel things through in a healthy manner instead of immediately pointing blame at yourself for feeling it at all. No person at any age topped the level of emotional care and safety he provided you.

Your words started to flood out, mixing together in disarray. Yet, Bradley listened intently to every fragmented sentence you gave. "I care about you. So much, B; so much it's scary sometimes. And I don't ever think of the years between us because it's all meaningless, you know? The way I feel for you, and how I think you feel for me. We each have our shit sorted, there's no weird power dynamic bullshit going on."

He restrained a laugh at your frank vocabulary. It was one of the things he admired most about you. When your feelings spilled out, there was never a filter. You expressed yourself entirely authentically. That's why your earlier silence frightened him into his own.

That was not to say your troubles were easy for him to hear, because they weren't. Who wanted to hear that the person they loved ever doubted as such?

"All those jokes… I don't want your friends to not take me seriously. That I'm with you for any reason other than you make my life so much better just by being in it, and I hope to god I can do the same for you. I don't need you to take care of me, be my 'sugar daddy' or anything like that. And-" You pursed your lips as another sob caught in your throat.

Bradley leaned in to kiss your forehead, so tenderly it sent chills down your spine. Your lips parted to release that choked cry. "I-I was scared when you just.. just laughed with them, that, that you didn't take me seriously e-either."

The words were a knife in his chest. "Oh, baby, no," he nearly gasped. "No, no; I never have thought like that, bunny."

You began to cry once more; out of the feelings you'd held that evening, out of the faint insecurity you'd held the months you'd spent together, and out of relief to hear him reassure you. The mix of emotions was blowing you over.

"Can I come up there, baby? Can I hold you?" Your answer was in the frantic way you pulled at his hands. Bradley fell into your ragged loveseat in an instant, tugging you into his lap as you wept. He rubbed up and down your back and pressed kisses into your hair to soothe you.

His voice was warped with his own emotion when he spoke next. "I'm so sorry I ever made you doubt how I feel about you. You are worth so much more than your age." He cupped your cheek again to meet your watery gaze with his own.

"You're incredible. The way you navigate life so carefree and full of light, and how you pass that feeling onto everyone you meet. How you care about everyone you meet and effortlessly brighten their day. How you care about me so much that you're this worried that I don't know it."

Your tears rolled freely onto the skin of his fingers, your body jolting with hiccups. And Bradley thought you were every bit as beautiful as you'd ever been.

"But I do. And I will treasure that, I will treasure you, every day of my life." Your responding smile was the most welcome sight. It cleared up the dark clouds that were looming overhead to shine brightly on whatever was to come. As usual.

-

a/n: this was very VERY loosely proofread but i am open to feedback and suggestions! thank you all for reading <3

tags: @roosterforme, @avengersfan25

[kdjojo]

Hellloooo ,any obkk all time fav recs for this poor anon ?

HOKLY SHILT YES I actually have a lot but some of them r a/b/o (a lot of these r by the same author)

Kintsugi

Five years after the Fourth War, Kakashi finds himself reliving his worst days as he wakes up on a battlefield he left behind long ago. But this isn't the fight that he remembers, and this isn't the role he's meant to play.

The face staring back from the other side of the war is enough to break his heart.

OR:

After acquiring a new book, Kakashi finds himself in another world playing the villain. Worse still is that this isn't the first time he's been here.

Quiet revolutions

Tensions are running high between Kumo and Konoha. Between the targeting of the Hyuga clan for their Byakugan and an unknown ANBU running interference on missions, their tentative alliance is strained and war is just one slip-up away.

Not wanting any part in this, Obito is dragged into it anyway when he's given a mission to find out who instigated the attack. Instead, he gets more than he bargained for when a certain Kumo-nin lies in wait on the other side of Kamui.

OR:

Due to extenuating circumstances, Kakashi grows up in Kumo and decides that this strange, masked ANBU skulking around his village would make for a fun distraction from his boredom.

Kill the Lights + Fools Paradise + Fools Gold (This r all connected BTW!! Fools Gold and Fools Paradise show how they met as kids)

Improper use of Kamui finds Kakashi in a world where he and Obito are mated, the Kannabi Bridge mission was handed off to another team, and people are calling him an omega.

That's the least of his issues.

Meanwhile, a certain Kamui-displaced omega has his hands full dealing with the mess of another timeline.

OR:

While an omega Kakashi from an alternate reality tries to single-handedly fix canon, ours learns what it's like to be the protagonist in one of Master Jiraiya's novels.

Warning for this one because OH MY GOD. THIS HAS SO MUCH DARK STUFF IN IT.

To lose is to gain

Kakashi started to sob, the sound weak and broken.

“Shhh…” The masked man hushed him, gloved fingers returning to stroke his face once more, swirled orange leaning closer and closer. The mask’s surface was cold and smooth as it pressed against Kakashi’s lips, a mockery of a kiss being given. “Don’t you want to see him?”

The question didn’t make sense to Kakashi. Who? He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, barely managing to form a response, his voice pathetically weak. “God?”

“No.” The other man chuckled, genuine amusement in the sound. “I’m already here.” His thumb brushed against Kakashi’s lip for a moment, mask angling close to his right ear before he continued. “Don’t you want to see your father?”

THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE ONE OUT OF ALL !!!

AD MELIORA

Ever since they returned from Kannabi Bridge, Rin's teammates have been acting weird.

Kakashi's suddenly somehow loosened up, he's reading pornography in public, and he's making jokes. His coolness factor has gone down drastically! Obito's prone to long sullen silences, and his usual cheerfulness seems... forced. And there seems to be some sort of one-sided tension between the two. Plus Rin can't go anywhere without Obito following her.

What's a girl to do? Figure out what the hell's going on, and get her team back to normal!

(Or, the one where Kakashi and Obito are sent back to the past and think no one is the wiser. It spirals from there.)

(These r mostly by the same author so I hope you don't mind that!!)

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + Pt. 7

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: Johnny takes a break from work to drive you into Kilroy for lunch but has to make a quick stop along the way.

Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+ Only! Explicit Sexual Content, Reader's in a mood, Johnny's gives her a hand, Profanity, No use of Y/N

(Notes: The situation is starting to heat up. Hold onto your knickers.)

Word Count: 3.3K

-

Like it or not, Johnny is becoming a semi-permanent fixture around the cottage. He arrives early and works late, only leaving once the sun has set. Almost all of the outdoor projects are done, and soon he'll be working inside the house. Where your bedroom is.

It's been a week already, but he's yet to demand his 'payment'.

Honestly, you're sort of shocked that he's not been after you to come through with your end of the bargain. He's not done more than give a little squeeze to your hip as he presses a kiss to your forehead before leaving every evening, and it's frustrating as hell. Sure, he still teases you, but he's not tried to instigate anything sexual since the day he got you to agree to this ridiculous 'payment' system. That's not to say he doesn't do other things to get you flustered, of course.

He doesn't really have to do anything overtly sexual to get you going, you're so keyed up already. You've thought of nothing else since agreeing to his terms. It doesn't help that Johnny knows exactly how to turn you on, and he uses it to his full advantage.

Like now, for instance.

He's leaning against his truck, shirtless and sweaty, his head tilted back to chug down the bottle of water you so thoughtfully brought out to him, and now you can't stop watching the way his Adam's apple bobs in his thick neck as he gulps it down. It reminds you of how he looks when he throws his head back during sex, his sweaty face and chest flushed with exertion, much like they are right now. You watch a rivulet of water run out of the corner of his mouth to trickle down his neck and bite your lip.

"Enjoyin' the view, bonnie?"

You snap out of your lust-fueled reverie at his words, embarrassment burning hot under your skin when he tips his chin down at you and smirks. You snap your jaw shut, inwardly cringing at the realization that not only had you been staring at him, but you had been doing so with your mouth hanging open like an addle-brained eejit. And he caught you doing it.

For fuck's sake...

With your face pinched up in a pissed little scowl, you snatch the empty water bottle from his hand and stomp back to the cottage. His rumbling laugh chases you back inside, your lips quivering with the effort to not start laughing, too.

Bloody arsehole.

You catch yourself peeking out the windows again and again throughout the morning, a sharp, warm tingle hitting you below the belt every time you catch sight of him. At first, you chastise yourself for it, forcing yourself away from the windows, but by noon you aren't even trying to pretend anymore as you stare down at him from your bedroom window.

What is he waiting for?

That question is stuck on a loop inside your head, which is what finally drives you from the house. You don't even look at Johnny as you hurry into the shed, determined to get away from him until you can get your shameful urges back under control.

"Oi!" Johnny calls after you, his shadow falling over you moments later, blocking out the bright noonday sun as he fills the doorway. "Where ya goin', bonnie?"

You fumble with the straps of your helmet as you keep your eyes directed at a spot above the door. "Thought I'd ride into the village, pick something up for lunch. Any requests?"

He eyes you, making you feel self-conscious, like he can see how flustered you really are.

"Huh. Was just thinkin' 'bout doin' the same thing, meself," he drawls out, stretching his arms over his head to grab onto the splintered door lintel. The sun's hitting him at just the right angle, the sheen of sweat on his naked torso burnished to a golden gleam, haloing his body in detailed perfection. His eyes are hooded and glinting as he slowly drags them down your body. When he brings his gaze back up to your face, he smirks and tosses his chin over his shoulder.

"Ye can ride wi' me. C'mon."

He drops his arms and walks away, leaving you to stare after him, trying to process how he just sidelined your plan of escape. Once your body catches up with your brain, you yank the helmet off your head and go after him.

"I'd uh— r-rather just take my scooter. It-It's such a nice day," you stammer at his broad back, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. You do your best to keep your eyes set firmly on the back of his head. Looking at anything lower than that would be a bad idea, because that bloody toolbelt sitting low on his hips is far too distracting.

He stops and turns so fast, you almost face-plant into his hairy pecs. You let out a little squeak of surprise and blink up at him as you stumble back. He catches you by the shoulders as he meets your wide stare and holds it, stepping into your space. He smirks at you, studying your anxious expression, then squints up at the sky.

"Aye, 's a good day fer a ride. Good idea, bonnie. Let's go."

"Go?" you blurt out. "You mean, both of us? On my scooter?"

"Aye," he murmurs, chuckling, backing you towards the shed. "Dinnae worry. I'll hold on tight."

It feels like every muscle below your waist contracts at once at his words, a shuddering, high giggle escaping your mouth at the sudden, heady sensation. "I-I don't have a spare helmet that will fit you," you rush to say, mentally patting yourself on the back for your quick thinking.

He shrugs and tosses a thumb over his shoulder. "No worries. Got a helmet in the truck. I'll go get it."

He turns back towards the truck, tugging his tee from his belt and shrugging it over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his back and arm muscles bunching and flexing as he shoves his arms into it. The thought of him curled around your body for the ride into Kilroy has you chasing after him.

"Never mind. We'll just go in the truck. I'm, uh— not used to riding with someone on the back."

He slows to a stop and plants his hands on his hips. His head turns enough for him to peer at you over his shoulder. "Sure, bonnie. Whatever ye want." He shakes his head with a huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth curling up.

It irritates the hell out of you, but that's good, you decide. Anger will keep you focused, keep your head straight. You scoff at him as you go to the passenger side of his truck and get in. He still has that smug smirk on his face when he gets in behind the wheel, the conceited arsehole. You sniff and cross your arms over your chest, making sure he sees you roll your eyes.

The two of you are silent as you travel down the gravel lane that leads to the main road. Once you're headed in the direction of Kilroy, you chance a quick peek at him, eyes catching on the way the wind tousles his overgrown 'hawk.

Pissed off at him or not, he's still one of the handsomest men you've ever met. He's definitely the handsomest man you've ever slept with, and hands down, he's the best lover you've ever had. Honestly, you can't even remember what it was like being with anyone else, now. Everyone else pales in comparison.

His little chuckle has you muttering a curse under your breath. Dammit! He caught you staring at him, again.

"Why are ye in such a mood, bon?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the road, though his tone is dripping with knowing innuendo.

"I'm not in a mood," you mumble, turning your head to stare out the window.

He sniffs, amused. "Ah, but ye are, bon. Did ye no' sleep well? Yer a right grump when ye've no' had enough sleep."

Your arms tighten over your chest as you shake your head. "How would you know?" you mutter, lips pressing together to keep from saying more.

You hear the creak of his hands tightening around the steering wheel, then the truck is pulling off the road, coming to a sudden stop. Your seatbelt locks, pinning you to the seat with a grunt. You huff as you glare over at him.

"What the fuck, Johnny?!"

He turns to face you, one arm draped over the wheel. His brows have lowered over his sea glass eyes, a storm brewing in their depths. "I ken 'cause I've been with ye fer two years, hen. Ye think I dinnae notice when ye were tired an' grumpy? When ye were stressed?" He tilts his head to regard you. "'Course, I also ken how t'take care o' tha'."

You're so pissed and flustered, you could slap him. "Not every problem can be solved with sex, Johnny," you snark at him.

He huffs a gruff laugh. "Aye. I ken tha' well enough, hen, but in this instance, it is the answer." He nods at the back seat. "Get in the back."

You gape at him, unable to believe his audacity. "What? No!"

He shifts the truck into park and shuts off the motor. His seatbelt clicks and slides off his shoulder, retracting with a silken hiss. He leans over, resting his elbow on the center console. "Either get in the backseat or I'll get ye off sittin' here where anyone can see ye if they drive by."

He reaches down and unbuckles your own seatbelt and tips his head towards the backseat again. "Go, bonnie. I'll no' tell ye again."

You huff, refusing to move.

"A'right. Have it yer way then, bon," he says with a put-upon sigh.

His hand cups your chin, turning your head to force you to look at him. You grab his arm, your nails digging into his wrist as you try to scowl, but the ferocity of it is lost, what with your cheeks squished together. "Leh' go," you snarl out, but it has a slobbery lisp to it, which pisses you off even more, but it only makes him chuckle.

He smirks, humming. "Hm. Yer bein' a right wee brat, hen. I ken yer gaggin' fer it, dinnae matter wha' ye say. Ya been watchin' me all mornin'; could feel yer eyes on me."

Your eyes slide off to the side as embarrassment courses hot through your body. You thought he'd been too busy to notice. You swallow when his hand lets go of your chin to wrap around your throat. His thumb strokes the erratic pulse fluttering near the base of your neck.

"Yer a'ready worked up, ain't ye?" he murmurs, pulling you closer to run his nose along your jawline. He inhales your scent, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, I ken I am."

His nose grazes up your cheek, his lips catching at your temple, a petal-soft kiss left behind before he nuzzles his nose into your hair. Arousal pulses deep in your core, makes the muscles clench as your belly drops. The sensation concentrates into a hard throb centered in your clit, and a whimper escapes as your lashes flutter down. You savor the feeling, after being without it for so long.

"Undo yer shorts, bonnie," he whispers against your temple, his fingers tightening possessively around your throat. Saliva floods your mouth and you swallow, feeling your throat work under his rough palm, and the feeling has your eyes rolling up. When the pad of his thumb presses down on your pulse point, your mouth falls open, a gasp hissing past your lips.

"Aye, yer needin' it, huh, bon? Need yer Johnny t'take care o' ye, hm?"

Your fingers fumble with the button and fly of your cut-offs, hands shaking slightly when you slide down the zipper. His hand slips from your throat, gliding down between your breasts and lower, over your tense stomach, burrowing under the hem of your tee-shirt before turning his hand to arrow his fingers down the front of your shorts. He works past the elastic waistband of your cotton panties to reach the hot apex of your thighs. He groans as his hand curls to cup your soaked cunt.

"Steamin' Jesus, yer s'wet," he moans, his head tipping forward to rest his brow against the side of your head.

Another throb pulses in your clit, and arousal seeps out of your channel to dampen his fingers. He grits his teeth and growls lowly into your ear, his middle finger pressing into your slit, parting your folds. A choked grunt punches out of your lungs as you feel your channel contract, your entrance kissing the tip of his finger that's pressed against it.

"Christ, she's beggin' fer it, ain't she, bon? Poor wee cunt's starvin' fer attention."

He snatches his hand out of your shorts, making you whimper out a frustrated sound, but he shushes you before sucking three of his fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste as he sucks at his fingertips, then pops them out and shoves his hand back into your shorts as his other hand curls around the nape of your neck. Spit-slick fingers glide over your swollen labia, his middle finger once more parting them before he notches it against your entrance. He presses it inside you, grunting out a low, growling moan when your walls clamp onto the calloused digit.

"Fuck, tha's it, bonnie. Pull me in." He pushes in deeper and groans. "Christ," he mutters, shifting his hips, his legs spreading wide to accommodate the obvious bulge in his faded jeans. "'Bout t'cum in m'skivvies, hen. S'feckin' hot an' wet— fuck!"

Your knees fall open, hips canting, inviting him to sink deeper into your grasping cunt. He kisses your temple again as he pulls his finger back, his knuckles smearing slick on your puffy folds. Your walls clamp down, muscles undulating, milking, clutching.

He pumps his finger slowly, curling it to tap against the spongy membrane of your G-spot. Your legs quake, one knee knocking against the door panel. Johnny huffs a breathless, wrecked sound.

"Should'a listened t'me an' got in the backseat, bon," he says with a choked laugh. When you reach for the door handle, he shakes his head. "No' stoppin' now. Too late fer tha'. No' stoppin' 'til ye cum."

A pitiful whine catches in your throat, but he only shushes you again, then adds his ring finger as he continues to stroke your walls. Your head comes off the backrest, body curling in on itself when he slides his thumb through your folds to press it onto your clit.

You've got a death grip on his wrist to keep him in place, hips instinctively rolling with his hand, breaths panting as that coil in your gut begins to wind up tight. You can feel your clit throb under the pressure of his thumb, your cunt flexing and spasming around his pumping digits.

Juh— Johnny..." you pant out, eyes rolling up to meet his hooded gaze.

"Tha's it, bon. Let go. Fuck my fingers jus' like tha'."

It's his rushed speech, the shake in his whispered voice, that ends up triggering your orgasm. That and the way he's looking at you. There's a wild, feral look in his eyes but it's softened by affection, tempered with pure adoration. It makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you ride out your orgasm on his soaked fingers.

His forehead is pressing almost painfully against the side of your head, his teeth gritted, muffling his growl as his hand stills between your legs and his body stiffens. Your eyes blink open to stare at him in breathless awe. His hips rut once, twice as he grits out, "Fuck, tha's it Nngh..." in a strained whisper.

You're both panting, limbs loose and limp. Your head rolls to the side so you can look at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and neck, the blissed-out expression on his sweaty face. He huffs out a little laugh and rests the side of his head against the driver's seat to meet your eyes.

"Did you cum?" you ask, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

You both look down at his crotch, the shadow of a damp spot forming as his spend soaks into the worn denim. He snorts a soft laugh. "Aye. Could no' help it. When ye came, I lost it."

You can only stare at him, eyes darting between his, then your cunt clenches in a weak spasm around his fingers. You made him cum, untouched, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever heard of.

He hums, pleased with your physical reaction. He gives a couple of teasing pumps with his fingers before finally slipping them out of you, dragging your own cum up and over your mons, leaving a sticky, wet trail in his wake. He makes sure you're watching when he brings them up to his mouth to suck your release from them, moaning in pleasure. Pulling them free with a wet pop, he smirks.

"Still my fav'rite flavor," he says with a cheeky wink.

You roll your eyes but can't keep the pleased smirk off your own face. "Jesus, Johnny."

He chuckles dark and low as he rebuckles your seatbelt and then his own. He starts the truck again and shifts it back into gear, pulling back onto the road. "Need t'stop by my room an' change a'fore we get lunch. Ye made a mess o' me, bonnie."

You sniff a little laugh as you rebutton and zip up your shorts, trying to control the small tremor in your thighs. Your legs feel like overcooked spaghetti, your head still buzzing with leftover endorphins. You'll need to change your own knickers when you get back home, grimacing a little at the sticky feeling between your legs.

When he reaches over to grasp your thigh, you don't pull away or shove his hand off. Instead, you allow yourself to enjoy the gentle caress of his fingers. Whatever you had been so pissed about has completely slipped your mind.

Once he's parked in front of the Seabird Inn, he leans back in his seat to study you, elbow resting on the open window as he strokes a finger back and forth under his bottom lip.

"What?" you ask, staring back at him.

"Yer off work again t'morrow, aye?"

Your eyebrows inch up your forehead. "Yeah. Why?"

He smirks and climbs out of the truck, closing the door before leaning on the open window to peer back at you. "Ye need t'pack an overnight bag when we get back t'the cottage. We'll stop by the bakery so ye can tell Rue ye won't be home t'night."

A tingling little shiver skitters up your spine, prickling your scalp. "Why?" you ask in a breathy voice.

He tilts his chin down, a wicked smile curling his lips. "'Cause I plan on collectin' m'payment t'night." His expression turns dark and hungry. "I wouldnae plan on sleepin' much, if I were you." He then brightens and beams a bright smile. "Be back in a tick, sweetheart."

You watch him walk into the inn, his words making your head spin.

"Oh, shit," you whisper.

-

part 6 part 8

[financialsmatter]

Was Nord Stream Provocation for WW3?

The O’Biden Administration is so determined to end fossil fuels that they’re not worried about the provocation for WW3. Wait, What? And now that most of the world is pointing the finger at the US for sabotaging the Nord Stream pipeline it’s becoming clear that US intelligence was most likely involved. But the media Presstitutes want you to believe that Putin blew up his own pipeline. LOL! On September 7, 2022 Putin said to lift the sanctions and he will return the gas flow. So, the $64 Billion question becomes:  Why would he sabotage his own pipeline when it was his key bargaining chip when he could’ve simply turned off the valve? And now that his leverage is gone, he can’t say to lift the sanctions and he’ll turn the gas back on. This was most likely instigated by the climate change nut-jobs who are pushing the buttons of Western governments. So, to blame Russia is, in reality, proof that they know that this was a strategic play by the West as a desperate measure to undermine Russia’s economy to strip them of the ability to fund the war. Why? By ending Russia’s #1 income (Energy) they believe it will undermine Putin and lead to a domestic revolution. Provocation for WW3 It’s mind boggling to think that the majority of world leaders are so stupid that they’ll risk the lives of millions so they can advance their “climate change” agenda. And, yet that’s what this is all about. As a result, all they care about is destroying the world’s capacity to produce and utilize fossil fuels. They’re realizing that sanctions DON’T WORK. READ: Sanctions…An Act of War  March 9, 2022 So now they’re becoming desperate. Which is why they’re provoking WW3. Bottom line:  These climate change zealots are out of control. And they will kill more people than Marx could have ever imagined.   Think I’m exaggerating? Ukraine’s Neo Nazi leader,  Zelensky, says that he will now only negotiate with Russia after they overthrow Putin. Translation:  Zelensky is counting on the US destroying Russia’s economy to force the people to do their work for them. A Word of Caution:  If Putin is out…all bets are off because things will get worse. Why? The hardliners behind him think Putin is soft…and they will use nukes if he’s gone. The question then becomes: Who Blinks First? In the meantime, you should expect to see the madness in the markets increase on into 2023 and beyond. So, fasten your seatbelt and be sure to read the October edition of “…In Plain English” (HERE) to learn how to prosper AND thrive in Turbulent Times. Share this with a friend…especially if they think Putin sabotaged his own pipeline. They’ll thank YOU later. We’re Not Just About Finance. But we use finance to give you hope. FYI ************************************ Invest with confidence. Sincerely, James Vincent The Reverend of Finance Copyright © 2022 It's Not Just About Finance, LLC, All rights reserved. You are receiving this email because you opted in via our website. Read the full article

[melbournenewsvine]

New South Wales state confirmed as host for AFL Magic Round 2023 removed Carlton Blues player Liam Stoker talks about anxiety and mental health

loading Under the proposal, all 18 clubs will play nine matches, with Sydney Cricket Ground, Accor Stadium and Giants likely venues for games including double-headers and possibly triceps, with the Giants home in the Showground area. The Giants did not attract more than 10,000 fans in any of their home matches in 2022. The popularity of the NRL in Western Sydney was boosted in 2022 when the Penrith Panthers and Parramatta Eels played in the Grand Final. The NFL has received support from clubs to pursue the proposal and is receiving bids from states outside Victoria. This means that each team will play 23 matches over 24 rounds in 2023. With all the teams in the city and the game’s stars gathering simultaneously, the game will receive an unprecedented show in Sydney, as spectators travel for the weekend from all over Australia. Clubs are expecting windfall gains of close to $1 million per club as a result of the tour with an expectation among football divisions that a significant portion of the additional income could be added to the football management cap. The AFL is also in the middle of negotiating a new collective bargaining agreement with the AFL Players Association, with sources saying a one-year extension or four-year deal is under consideration. The extra round of Premier League points will likely change the amount of games played in the pre-season. Crossing out blue reveals ‘aggressive’ anxiety disorder Former Carlton midfielder Liam Stocker has revealed that he nearly retired when he was 20 due to an “aggressive” anxiety disorder. Former Carlton player Liam Stocker.attributed to him:AFL . Pictures The 22-year-old’s stint with the Blues expired last month after he was lifted after 28 games over four seasons at Econ Park. Carlton was famous for exchanging first-round picks with Adelaide to secure the Stocker during the 2018 AFL Draft, instantly putting him in the spotlight. At Beyond Blue, Stoker revealed that he had struggled with severe anxiety for most of his life, but that the problems were amplified in the AFL system. he told not lonely Audio notation. “The scrutiny and expectations I set upon myself, there were all these factors that amplified what was going on in my head. “I know it’s hard for people to visualize that you’re struggling with this aggressive anxiety disorder but you’re still having a packed MCG.” Stocker left the Carlton Center in Queensland during 2020 after struggling in the unique environment the COVID-19 pandemic forced the AFL. He said, “I remember talking to the social affairs director at the time and just saying, ‘I think I’m going to pack it in here.'” “Basically, things got out of hand and my plan was to retire, forget about football, disappear as the sun went down and live happily ever after. “I thought escaping football was my escape from my mental health issues.” loading Stalker returned to play 17 NFL games in 2021 and six this year, but was not offered a new contract with the Blues. His dismissal prompted former Carlton roster Stephen Silvani to question whether the Blues had done enough to help Stalker develop at the club. Silvagni was the instigator of Stocker’s drafting in 2018, but he left the club and became a legend at the end of the following year. “I now realize that my goal in football might be a little bit bigger than just being good,” said Stocker. “For me, it would be taking the stigma out of mental health, whether it’s in men’s health circles or in the AFL, but I’m going to do everything I can to make people feel like they’re suffering like this just fine. “I know people are struggling, I know everyone is struggling, and that’s what makes it so good for me.” If you or someone you know needs help, call Lifeline 13 11 14 or Beyondblue 1300 22 4636 AAP Keep up to date with the best AFL coverage in the country. Subscribe to Real Footy Newsletter. Source link Originally published at Melbourne News Vine

[thottyimagines]

I think maybe only one person ever asked for this but here we go: 

Fic recs (w descriptions)

your move, instigator (draw your weapon and hold your tongue)

IMO: What if Ninja WW3 lasted way longer? Incredible writing, incredible characterization, very gripping. No ship. 

Summary: “We are still under wartime policy,” the recruiter had told her parents. He had an envelope in his hand. He sounded sorry. “She has two parents who are successful ninjas. We would be remiss to overlook her potential based upon that alone.”The Third Shinobi War never ended. Konoha needs more soldiers, grabbing anyone who can fight, especially those who can't say no.

Retrograde Motion

IMO: A time travel fic, but good. Funny in so many unexpected places. An excellent, lengthy read. 

Summary: From sixteen to eleven didn't feel like a big jump until she realized that she was now the best ninja in their class. And that tiny Sasuke hates her for it.

Something Of Unearthly Love

IMO: Hilarious, incredible, turned me into a shipper!

Summary: Ino finds a head. The head won't shut up. Then she finds the rest of him. Hidan x Ino.

Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds

IMO: Unparalleled writing, character development, and world building. Funny and gripping and desperately searching for meaning in the best of ways. 

Summary: On October 10th when the Kyuubi no Kitsune ravages Konoha, Namikaze Minato unwittingly makes a bargain with Death. Years earlier, his life is rewritten when the overpowered, bizarre, and possibly alien Eleanor Lily Potter arrives at Konoha's orphanage and quickly becomes his best friend.

Hoshigaki

IMO: Sakura is Kisame’s daughter. And he’d do anything to ensure her safety...including leaving her to a better life in the Leaf. Sadly, the life he wanted for her does not come to fruition. 

Summary: When Sakura was three, her father told her he was a criminal. When she was seven, the last thing she saw of him was the sword on his back. When she was eight, she had a friend named Kiba. When they were twelve, they met Shino.And when they were genin, they began to fight for the truth because they could no longer fight for the sake of Konoha.

Trials of Change

IMO: Another Sakura time travel fic, yes, but it’s fucking nuts with the characterization and world building and I love it unabashedly. 

Summary: Haruno Sakura made a promise. Looking in the eyes of her Shisou and the reanimated Hokage, she took on the most important mission of her life.Go back in time and try to prevent the 4th Shinobi War.Now, Sakura is back to her 5-year-old body, with all the knowledge and haunting memories of the future. She vows to keep her precious people safe and stop certain events from happening, without altering the timeline too much. The trials her emotions and logic put her through have her questioning her very existence, but for the sake of peace, she has to push forward. No matter what.

cut the head off the snake

IMO: ROOT sakara is here to make changes and murder anyone in her way. 

Summary: when eighteen-year-old, post-war Sakura is thrown back into her tiny, pre-Academy body, she makes a decision. she'd had a childhood once already, and this time, she's more interested in Not Dying when the inevitable shit hits the proverbial fan. so she will work harder, care less, kill more, and smile when she's done.and hey, if she ends up reviving an extinct nature transformation to attract the most corrupt, power-hungry man from her timeline, all the better for her, right?

Whirlpool Queen, Maelstrom King

IMO: Naruto has a twin sister, and she’s Sansa. Sansa will create a new Uzushio from its ashes, and rebuke being a shinobi all the while. 

Summary: Certain lives and certain deaths, they are significant enough that when souls pass over before their time, they are reborn into new worlds. Sansa remembering is an anomaly, but The North Remembers and Sansa is of the North; She Remembers.Sansa thinks very little of this new world, or this new village she is meant to call ‘home’, but she does love her new brother, who shines so brightly the gods must surely have breathed star-fire into his bones when they created him. The first time Naruto tells her he will be Hokage, she does not doubt him– he was born to rule, just as she was. But Konoha does not deserve him, and she will not let them take and take until there is nothing left of her bright brother. She is Sansa Stark, she knows how to rebuild a home from ruins, and the ruins of Uzushiogakure call.

Snow Storms & Snake Wine

IMO: Silly and wholesome and funny and good

Summary: Four strangers get trapped in a cabin, and it's the start of something beautiful.

Pulling My Weight

IMO: Sakura realizes she has some serious work to do. She does it. 

Summary: During their mission to Wave, Sakura realises how behind she is in her training and decides to do something about it. She vows to become a shinobi her Village and her teammates can respect and depend on. But Sakura has always been a paper-ninja, so her first stop for inspiration is the library where she finds unexpected help in the form of one very bored tokujo who quickly goes on to become an integral part of her life. Soon, despite the neglect of her sensei and all odds seemingly against her, Sakura's destiny begins to change.

[atelier-maroron]

Shakespeare × F!Reader William Shakespapa: Family Man — Part 1 —

rating: G word count: 919 tags: family, wholesome, light crack notes: written for my lovely friend @ikesimp100 as part of @ikemenlibrary's Ikevamp Gift Exchange | I've only managed to complete part 1 of this story before the deadline but I'll try to get the continuation out soon :)

A lavish chateau on the outskirts of late-19th-century Paris.

The players, a family of three: a beautiful woman of luminous smile and artful wit, a gorgeous but eccentric man with mismatched eyes, and their adorable four-year-old daughter—a shy red-haired child who on this sparkling morning is preparing for her very first day of school.

But the gentleness of this tale cannot be evoked without its opposite. Indeed, this tale begins with a dash of chaos and a sprinkle of frenzy.

"Mushrooms...check." You toss six vibrant caps onto your cutting board. A pivot of the heels and you're off to the pantry with a swish of your skirts.

"Cheese... cheese...," you mutter, juggling a whole list of chores in your head. None of which you are looking forward to as you'd much rather be the one accompanying your daughter to school today. You maneuver the pantry door open with one shoulder and a shock of cool air greets you. But your thoughts coalesce upon the incredible collection of cheeses that your versed husband has accumulated over the past season. A cheese for every manner of guest and occasion.

Fortunately the block in question is just one angled tilt of your cutting board away. With the block secured you peer deeper into the pantry. "Butter... butter... butter..." You freeze in your tracks, a family of lines settling on your brow. "Butter? Will, where's the...Oh!"

You throw a glance over your shoulder but you are surprised when Will manifests from the opposite direction. A light kiss brushes your cheek and your cutting board grows heavier with new weight. Will spins out past you and exits the pantry.

Your youngest perches comfortably on his shoulders, commandeering him toward the bread box. She teeters a bit and you gasp, reaching for your husband. "Will, she's going to—"

"I've got her, my Juliette," Will assures you with his roguish arc of his shapely lips. He swings back by with bread in-hand, but this time he gives the small of your back a playful tickle with his elbow. You squeal but refrain from swatting him back lest you instigate a mishap yourself.

Your dear Serenity laughs at her papa's antics. "Don't worry, Mama, I'll get him back for you." The nervousness from this morning seems to be all but gone from her expression, replaced with a conspiratorial glow that she could have only inherited from William Shakespeare.

— 1 Year Ago —

"Truly, truly remarkable. We've no shortage of prodigies among the residents, but Serenity is something else entirely." Comte sits legs-crossed in the chateau's sunlit salon. He looks the same as ever, not a year to his eternally youthful face. Soft waves of smoke rise from his tea-cup, rendering him strangely ethereal, but it is a sight that you've long-since become accustomed to.

"To have such aptitude for reading and writing at the mere age of three. Astounding. Ah, but regarding maths, I think we can rely on Isaac or Leo to tutor her, but the point stands." He shifts in his seat, excitement tinging every word. "I think you've been gifted more of a miracle than you bargained for, Will. You must be bursting with pride."

"Bursting is an understatement," you answer, stealing one of the gourmet biscuits from Comte's plate. You give it to Serenity who sits on the opposite sofa beside her papa. She doesn't look up, idly accepting the biscuit into her mouth as she scribbles away in her tiny folio. She has been working on her comedy of errors all month.

"Serenity, say thank you to Mama," Will chides her gently.

Serenity pauses. "Mama said she doesn't need thank-yous, she needs help with chores."

"You help her plenty, my starlight," Will replies.

"I wasn't talking about me."

Comte breaks out in laughter. "Sorry, I apologize. I can't tell which parent she's inherited such sass from."

"Definitely me," you say without missing a beat. You stick your tongue out playfully at Will.

Will sighs but his smile is nothing short of doting. "Serenity is exceptional in more ways than I can count. I fear for those who will share her company in years to come."

Comte sets his teacup down as his laughter finally subsides. "I sense some genuine fear in that sentiment."

Will's smile falls away for a moment. You wonder if Will is going to be forthcoming. He doesn't look to you first as he proceeds to answer, and you aren't sure how to take that.

"Her wit will serve her well, but as her father, I still worry. Entering a prestigious academy like the one you are suggesting is no small ordeal for a child of her age. The rigorous curriculum, the pressure..." Will trails off as his hands clench into fists, his eyes darkening. "I don't wish for her to ever think that she is below arbitrary standards. Nor to be consumed in pursuit of..."

"Will." You're about to get up from the sofa you're sharing with Comte when your husband looks up with a wistful smile.

"I know, my Juliette," he continues. "We can't know of what future challenges our child might face, but," he redirects his attention to Comte, "I am told Dazai's son and Isaac's twins both attend this same academy. So she won't be alone at the very least...?"

Comte nods and gives Will the smile reserved for his sons. "Our Serenity never has and never will know loneliness. As my dear friend would say, she is surrounded by far too many wonderful flowers."

— to be continued —

[scriptaed]

cherry blossom avenue.

❀ genre: angst/fluff; arranged marriage!au; f2l!au;

❀ pairing: jin x reader; 

❀ length: 23.0k;

❀ synopsis: college would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for your wallowing sessions with your best friend jin over a shared “forever alone” woe, so it really was only a matter of time until the two of you sealed a shoddy promise to betroth the other at the age of 27. perhaps it was only a silly joke to you then, but you should’ve known better nonetheless; because when a wedding invitation arrives five years later down the road with his name signed next to another’s, feelings that were once buried begin to blossom once again.

“Don’t be a homewrecker.”

What was supposed to be a light-hearted tease over your fleeting glimpses in his direction bears much more weight than even reality should have; and unbeknownst to her, even if your friend’s commentary strikes a fear in you, a fear that has some creature eating away at you and a horrifying drop in the twisted pain of your chest, the daunting knowledge of a potential truth behind her words pale in comparison to the anguish brought upon by a familiar face of the past. 

Because even as you stand far and hidden behind the crowd of overly dressed classmates and unacquainted businessmen all painted by a silhouette of dimmed black, you manage to observe him through the few albeit sure opportunities; for when the passersby chatter, cross, and weave through the lavish ballroom floor at the perfect time, place, and space for you to peep through the pinholes seemingly formed by pure happenstance or a cruel wish casted upon by fate, the clock returns to a buried state of mind.  

It’s a state of mind seven years stale, mistakenly manifested and deliberately buried. It’s a transition in mindsets when fondness sours into a longing for something that could never be, for his reciprocation of affections means much less than its origins. It’s a heavy moment when you’re finally sure he would never come to speak the language of your enamored being. It’s that fractured frame in time when everyone freezes in their tracks but a reverberating pain transcends the laws of the universe, almost as if on a personal quest to oust you; and even if you vehemently down yourself with another magical shot of liquor, nothing can quite ease the internal war stirring within.

One hand grasping a glass of red wine worth much more than a month of your salary and one arm crossed under the bosom draped over by your only presentable black satin slip dress, you’re almost numb to the turmoil that is irony. How cruel is it that even after seven years of having believed you had moved on, nothing has really changed after all? Your heart still melts in the wake of his dorky grin, your chest still winces over the buried buds of a coveted love, and your blood still runs intoxicated by the presumption that this phase of infatuation would pass with time. 

Your friendship, your feelings, your shared promise, a youth that no one had paid witness to except for you, him, and that cherry blossom tree down that street, nothing has really changed. In fact, you feel as though you could still march across this room and nonchalantly probe at your best friend’s cheek with the ultimate goal of eliciting a shriek from your best friend. 

And yet, the circumstances that have brought you back to him in this very room must have been the one cruel exception. 

“A ‘homewrecker?’” you feign a light-hearted chuckle, swirling your drink and taking another sip as you peek at the distorted glass-image of the man and the woman beside him. “And why would you say something as horrifying as that?”

“Didn’t you say you and, what’s his name,” Alex pauses before nearly gasping, “ah, Seokjin! Didn’t you say you two used to be best friends in college? You might have been his best friend but she’s his fiance now, Y/N! Plus, she’s got a baby in her, too.” 

She might have been joking, and it really should have been if you had been truthful about your feelings for said best friend, but maybe this is the price you’re paying for so dutifully holding onto your dignity; so, instead, the deep undercut of her remark instigates a stirring irritation within you. Raising a questioning brow at your friend is all you can muster without spilling your secret as well as your brewing storm. 

“Oh, so you actually do remember what I say when you’re only a minute from blacking out?” 

“Hey,” your friend recognizes the anger seeping through your body language, stifling a giggle as she tries to bump your elbow and stumbles over her heels, “it was a joke, okay? I’m just looking out for my friend!”

“Right, what is there to even look out for?” 

“Well,” she points a finger at the direction you had just been staring off into a minute prior and leans in to whisper, “you’ve been staring at the newly engaged man for much longer than the woman beside him, if that says anything—”

“—uhuh, as if, hey!” you almost yelp as you help her stand upright once again. A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips over the sight of your friend letting herself go. Grabbing her glass and swiftly placing it onto the tray of the many passing waiters, you squish her cheeks and give her a light pat or two. “The only person you need to worry about is yourself. Why are you even wearing those ungodly stilettos when you can’t even wear kitten heels without whining all day at work?”

“Hey,” Alex pouts, bending one knee and jutting her hips to show off those torturous pink devices on her feet. “I told you about my ex from high school, don’t you remember?”

“So it’s okay if you’re trying to impress an ex from high school, but I’m not even allowed to glance at my old best friend?” you quip, pressing your lips into a thin line as you take another gander at your friend up and down. “And what does excessive drinking even have anything to do with it?” 

She flashes you a mischievous grin, “for confidence.”

“I can’t with you,” the roll of your eyes must have agreed, “and what about the classmate friend who actually invited you to her engagement party?”

“Oh,” Alex glances at the woman beside Jin and shrugs, “she’s alright. She’s that typical good girl. Too smart, too kind, too good at everything that you really want to hate her but have no reason to do so. I’m sorry, Y/N, but your best friend is devilishly handsome and I’m not surprised she’s marrying someone of her league.” 

“Pfft, why are you apologizing to me?” you scoff, ushering her to the washroom and shaking your head along with the stream of confusing emotions that hit you like a truck. “Go wake yourself up before she or, gasp, worse yet, your ex spots you.” 

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she gasps, shuffling in her skintight red bodycon dress and whirling around once more to call out before finally disappearing, “let me know if any boy comes looking for me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah, sure,” you shoo her away, taking another sip from your glass and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supposed to recognize your high school classmates?”

Now that your friend is gone and you’re left all alone to your thoughts, you go against your own advice and down another glass of liquor. 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Well, if Alex is a good judge of character, then at least a good man like your best friend has found an equally respectful woman. It might have hurt to hear her words, but Alex isn’t exactly wrong. At the very least, you could sigh in relief having known you’re genuinely happy for your best friend’s future. 

It’s just that the truth hurts sometimes. 

Relief isn’t an excuse for lingering onto a soon-to-be-married man, regardless of when these emotions came about. 

People are chattering all around you, strangers and former acquaintances are bustling about, familiar college classmates are greeting the bride-to-be’s high school classmates, and yet here you are: aloof and isolated even in a room of hundreds, fixated and more distant than you have ever been to the boy you had once cherished as the closest anyone could get to knowing the real you. 

No one would know but Jin. 

The real you.

The you who could not have moved on because she couldn’t recognize her own feelings until seven years down the road with a wedding invitation in hand, seven years after the buds had been sowed, seven years too late. 

The one who stands pathetically here in the corner of a room, secretly hoping for him to approach her but also wishing for the night to pass unnoticed just like she had wished for her buried affections to pass.  

So you shuffle in place awkwardly, pondering whether you should’ve caved into Alex’s pleas and attended this posh get-together, debating whether you should dip once your friend realizes her high school ex just isn’t worth it, sipping the remainder of opulent liquor and taking one last peek at the boy, when, your heart strikes loudly against your chest…

...because his eyes catch yours, a pair amongst hundreds, one invitee amidst an endless swarm of crowds, almost as if on a planned rendezvous, a secret unbeknownst to everyone in the room but the two of you.

Eyes widening in shock, the drums of your chest hammer against you, each strike pumping a nearly painful high that fuels your fight or flight mode. The debate between confronting your longtime friend and fleeing said friend did not even cross your mind at the start of the predicament. Quickly whirling around, head down and hands gripped to your drink, your feet move on its own. 

A familiar series of clicks echo against the polished marble tiles. You don’t even have to turn around to recognize those homecoming footsteps, those awe-inspiring confident strides as he makes his way across the room. If this were you from seven years ago, you would have welcomed him with open arms and he would have claimed you were just acting sweet to bargain for some fresh pastry, but the unfamiliarity of a stranger you have yet to reconcile with has you in an unexplainable panic. 

After all, it’s hard to explain why exactly his persistent pursuit after you, after seven years of distance, both emotional and physical, frustrates you to no ends. 

Your hands form fists, your feet storm down the halls, and your mind could repeat nothing but the words you had excused as “just a light-hearted joke.” 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Don’t be a homewrecker.

A baby in her.

A baby.

His fiance. 

A homewrecker.

The accusations echo and echo, as though screaming at you in the endless cave that is your mind, until the party fades, the crowd disappears, and the ear-piercing classical music wanes against the walls of your temporary solace, the bathroom. Finally, entrapped in a world of black—black tiles, wine colored walls, and dark red roses perched on top of what seems to be a black granite sink—you’re left alone to your thoughts. 

Alex wouldn’t understand a seven-year-long regret because she doesn’t know the real history between you and Jin. In fact, no one invited to this engagement party nor does anyone in this whole mansion know of the soon-to-be groom’s past. 

It isn’t as simple as people might make it out to be on the surface, because no one but you, Jin, and the street down your block had paid witness to a shoddy, spontaneous promise that should have never been made. 

Turning on the faucet and splashing a fresh handful of cold water onto your face, your eyes eventually wander from the stream of water that flows down the drain up along the glass bowl of a sink and into the mirror to meet the sullen eyes of a girl, seven years older with a stain of regret that spans much longer that a mere seven years. 

❀ ❀ ❀

“Waaah,” the boy exclaims as you watch your own reflection narrow its eyes at the image beside you. The spectacle persists to angle his chin every which way until he’s finally satisfied with the protrusion of his jawline; and as the boy resumes his daily activity of marveling at himself in awe, you have to wonder once again, for the hundredth time by now, just how you two had possibly become best friends. “Looking good, Jin. Looking real good.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes and feign nausea, “narcissist.” 

Jin pauses in the midst of his inspection, allowing his phone to settle into his lap and turning to glance at you with his head as high—well, almost as high—as his ego. “When you look as good as this,” he gestures at himself and your eyes follow his crafty fingers up and down, “don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be all up in yourself.”

You blink your eyes blankly and start with the most accusatory tone you could muster, “excuse you, Kim Seokjin, but are you saying that I don’t look good?” 

“You’re insisting that yourself, not me! It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate your God-given looks,” Jin raises his hands mercifully and you almost miss his latter, back-handed compliment when you become entranced by those double-jointed fingers of his. “Plus, I said ‘when you look as good as this.’”

“Psh, yeah,” you mumble, “and yet here you are, still as forever alone as ever.”

“Hey,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you even as he raises his phone to take yet another selfie, “and what does that say about you?”

“...and that’s exactly why,” you chirp as you hastily smush your cheek against his and throw a peace sign just as he snaps a photo, “we’re gonna be forever alone together!” 

“Hey, why’re you ruining my selfie—” he pauses in the middle of his camera roll “—oh, we actually look good.”

Glimpsing at one of many candid photos of you and him, a helpless smile spreads across your lips. A warm breeze blows and you can practically smell the impending spring that breathes life into the pink buds hovering on the cherry tree above you. The sun’s embrace against your bare legs that lie beside your best friend’s on the red and white checkered picnic is a perfect compliment to the equally bright phenomena that are his high-pitched giggles; and like the many days you’ve spent the past year, the only thing that could possibly elevate this moment of serenity would be a bite of his weekly pastry batches.  

Speaking as you chow down on the carbs, you quip, “you mean you look good?” 

“That, too, but I meant us, together—” he articulates, cutting himself off abruptly when he snaps his head to find you digging into one of his many bread “—hey, who said you could start testing without me?!” 

“Too many selfies, too slow, too hungry,” you lean your head back to plop the remainder of the custard-filled bread into your mouth, “shmorry Jin, but dish ish delicious.”

Just as you lean forward and take another large bite out of the batch, Jin catches right up to you, snatching the remainder and plopping it right into his now-stuffed cheeks instead. Lips falling agape at the disappearance of your bite-size donut, you gawk at your best friend whomst chomps happily away with your piece in his mouth. 

You can still recall the heat of your cheeks after the first time he had ever proclaimed something that was yours as his—in fact, it wasn’t much long ago when Jin had nearly regurgitated a mouthful of mocha frappuccino after discovering you had sneaked in a sip or two prior—but now? Sharing commodities has become such second nature to you two that sometimes you wish he could return to his germophobic days just so you can hog all the food…

...and maybe to relive whatever magical flutters that had befallen you on that very first day.

“Of coursh ish delicious!” he manages to exclaim incoherently. “Kim Sheokjin baked it afta all!” 

“Yeah,” you take a long moment to gulp and make room for more food, “I think I prefer the ones with custard—”

“—so it’s a perfect batch just like m—”

“—almost perfect.”

You could see yourself wink through the prideful glint in his eyes quickly plummet into a glare that has you laughing at the downfall of his indestructible ego. His playful glare through the corner of his narrowed eyes silently commences yet another one of your daily staring challenges. Maybe that’s why the two of you made such a perfect pair amongst the thousands of classmates at school. After all, how would Jin ever find someone as tolerant of his incessant dad jokes and perpetual ego as you are? And how would you ever find someone who would bake you goods and cook you lunch and, not to mention, spout such peculiar humor? 

All of your classmates had dubbed the two of you as the perfect comedy duo—the dumb and the dumber, the silly and the sillier—that, apparently, is the essence of a match made in heaven, albeit probably meant to be more platonically than romantically. 

Both too stubborn to lose, even in a meaningless game of a staring contest, not even the heat of the sun rays that has you two nearly sweating bullets could deter the match. Eventually, seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into a frenzy frozen moment in time as you start to fall into the sudden abyss you found yourself in that is the warmth pool of his eyes. 

Perhaps it’s the angle at which the rays strike theatrically on the apples of his cheeks, illuminating his dewy skin and enhancing the chocolate hues of his orbs hidden underneath the matching brown locks of his all whilst his eyes happen to be staring right back at you. You’ve never quite felt this way before—heart palpitating, throat constricting, and mind panicking—but for the first time ever, you’re hesitant in allowing your best friend to peer through the windows to your soul. 

This isn’t good. What would he do if he were to discover your frenzy? Would he tease you to no ends? 

Worse yet, would he falsely assume that you’re hardcore crushing on him…?

“Oh God,” you blurt out, breaking eye contact to avert your head to the side across the street. Your lips begin to mumble whatever comes first to mind, “uh, wow, look at that couple. Ugh, PDA—” your eyes flicker to find Jin raising a brow just before your eyes avert once again and he follows your line of sight “—am I right?” 

“Oh c’mon! Just admit it,” Jin chides. “You’re only using this to disguise the fact that you were just about to blink, weren’t you?” 

“I was not about to blink,” you insist but your shifty gaze tells the both of you otherwise, even if the true lack of confidence is unbeknownst to Jin. “You suck at staring contests. How many times have I won before? I was just distracted, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Jin crosses his arms. “Distracted by what, then? Huuuh? By my devastatingly good looks?”

“No!” you exclaim almost too adamantly that you have to add in a nervous laugh at the end, which only has Jin staring at you in utter disbelief. Feigning an apologetic pressed smile, you gesture your hands in the direction of the couple supposedly hidden behind a fence but clearly exposed to those on a hill, otherwise known as you two. “I meant them—”

“—ew!”

The both of you exclaim in unison, selflessly covering the tarnished eyes of the other and ducking away from the moment of intimacy that you two had just intruded on. 

“Aw, cmon! Even after graduation, too?” Jin remarks, mouth gaping and hands falling from your shielded eyes only to be thrown to his side in bewilderment. “Does everyone really have to remind us just how lonely we are even on our last day?” 

“You mean how lonely we are and how lonely we will be for the rest of our lives?”

“For the rest of our lives?” Jin quirks a brow at you before shaking his head and shrugging. “Dang, that wasn’t exactly my plan, because the world will be forced to acknowledge my looks sooner or later, but I mean, in your case…”

“What?!” you gasp in disbelief, slapping his arm hard enough for him to wince. “What do you mean ‘in your case?’ I bet you haven’t even kissed someone yet!” 

Jin snarls at you as he pulls his arm back and retorts, “yeah? And I bet you haven’t either!” 

“Actually, I have, with Joon at that party last year,” you say smugly, crossing your arms with a chin held high, “and you just admitted you haven’t had your first kiss yet.”

“Psh, yeah, I haven’t, and?" the boy holds his head high akin to a child arguing with his body and not with his words. “Because I prefer to save it for something meaningful unlike someone here.” 

“Hey, are you insinuating that it wasn’t meaningful?”

“You’ve always told me how much you hated parties!” he throws his hands up. “Plus, you don’t even like Joon! You said his breath stinks!” 

“Well—” you pause but no words come to you except for a loud grunt “—ugh, fine. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he turns away, leaning into his right hand with an elbow propped against his crisscrossed lap. “I’m Kim Seokjin, after all.” 

Following suit, you mumble into your propped hand, “I guess that’s why we’re friends in the first place. Together and, yet, still forever alone.”

“Hey, I said I don’t plan on being forever alone.”

“Right, right,” you brush him off, “tell me that when you actually get a girlfriend—actually, tell me that when you find someone to marry who doesn��t run for their life just one month into your relationship.” 

“‘Marry?!’” he gawks at your demand. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and you’re talking about marriage?!”

“What?” you turn to face him, cheek resting in hand. “Didn’t you say the world would soon recognize your charms?”

“Hmph, well,” he says with a jutted lower lip, “definitely sooner than you.”

“Really?” you gape at his bold proclamation despite clearly being the one with the upperhand. “You really think you’re gonna get married before me?” 

Your best friend doesn’t even bother glancing at you before answering, “bet.”

“Okay, if you win, then I’ll eat the crust to your breads whenever you want. I’ll even throw in a bonus for you and spare your wife from having to see fetus photos of you in college,” you can only snicker at the lightbulb that goes off in his widened eyes. “And if I win, then you’ll have to eat my crust and delete all the ugly photos you have of me on your phone.”

“Sorry, can’t do. That would take me an eterni—”

“—shut up.” 

“Okay, fine, bet,” he cackles, straightening his back and stretching his arms out before him, “and what if neither of us ever get married?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips, “good point. Should we set a time cap to our bet? Ideally, if I want to have a stable job and income by 25, have children by 30, enjoy two or three years of marriage without kids, then…”

“Why do you have to have children by 30?” Jin frowns. “Why set all these unrealistic standards on yourself?” 

Putting a finger to hush his lips, you almost find yourself distracted by the plush warmth against your skin. Quickly, you answer, “long story short: parents.”

“Ah,” he utters even as your fingers are pressed to his lips, “ditto.” 

“Let’s set the cap to 27,” you propose. “If neither of us get married by the age of 27, then we’ll just call off the bet. But damn—” the two of you simultaneously lean your chins into your palms “—that means we’re really gonna be a disappointment to our parents forever, huh?” 

A loud, heavy sigh escapes the both of you; and while you stay pouting into your hands, staring into the fresh green grass on the downside of the hill off in the distance, Jin props his hands back against the blanket and cranes his neck back to look off into the distant sky. You hadn’t noticed it until now, but for a devilishly dashing guy like Jin—broad shoulders, facial features that could only be gifted, and a prominent Adam’s apple, especially with his head rolled to the back like this—you have to admit his lonely status must have been much more of a choice to Jin than it is for you; because even for someone like you, his best friend who gets to stare at his profile for as long you desire in all its glory, you have yet to become desensitized to his dazzling visuals that is anything but normal.

As much as you hate to admit it, even now, with a clear blue sky, an array of warm pastry aroma, and a field of freshly cut grass, you can’t help but become enamored by the person before you. 

And when another sigh befalls his lips and the two of you have settled into a comfortable silence and a breeze passes by the both of you, rustling a dozen or so of the hovering cherry petals to grace the surrounding air, he speaks. 

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by then.” 

“...huh?”

“I said,” only his eyes move to peer down at you effortlessly, “if we both lose the bet, then let’s get married.”

Your eyes pop and you can only utter the few words that reach you, “to each other?” 

“No, to food,” he says sarcastically, grabbing a piece of his bread and stuffing your face with it when you continue to stare at him and he shuffles awkwardly in place. Looking away, he mumbles, “of course to each other, who else, dummy?”

“Uh….huh,” you blankly nod your head as a series of laughs are stifled by the bread. “Okay, and you’re being serious?”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “uhuh.”

“Pffft, and you’re saying you would keep that promise? That you would even remember this moment? We’re just gonna marry? Like that? And you’re assuming I’m just going to agree?”

“Hey,” he turns to frown at you, “why wouldn’t you agree? I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

Munching down on the bread, you continue to play along in amusement, “really? And what exactly are you offering me? You know I have high standards, right? I’m not just going to accept any proposal.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still single…” the boy deadpans, even as you glare at his remark, “...but, that’ll all change when you witness my proposal! Hear me out. First, I’ll cook every meal for you for the entire day.”

“You almost already do that except for breakfast.”

“Okay, but I’ll hone my skills by then. It’ll be even better than any restaurant we’ve ever been to.”

You raise a brow, “so you think food is the way to my heart?”  

“No offence, but yes, that’s why we’re friends,” he quips before continuing, “second, I’ll bring flowers to you at work. Everyone at your job will be burning with jealousy!”

“Because of your public display of affection, which we both clearly disdain?” 

“No, because they would wonder how you have such a handsome boyfriend like me!” he wags his finger. “Plus, who doesn’t like a little PDA when they’re about to be proposed to?” 

“Okay, fair enough, but those are two promises you’re making for the proposal. A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Why would I want to marry you just for food and flowers?”

“Hmmm, even for someone like you, I’m surprised you have so many requirements,” Jin hums, tapping his finger on his chin. “How about this, I’ll make three more promises for our marriage.”

“Quit saying ‘our marriage,’ I keep shuddering at the thought of it,” you remark as you rub your arms. 

“Third promise, I won’t break your achey breaky heart,” he deliberately emphasizes each word in a fruitful attempt to send shivers down your spine. “Fourth promise, I’ll remember all of my promises.”

“Okay… and fifth?”

“I’ll keep all of my promises! And I’ll do it all right here at this spot. Our spot.”

“What? That’s dumb,” you giggle. “Just keep it at four, then.”

“No,” he grabs the bagel in your hands and fills his mouth without a second of hesitation, “ish eashier to wememba fibe promishesh.”

“Right, right, right,” you nod, pressing your lips in a vain attempt to muffle your chuckles. “And what promises would you want me to make?”

“You?” he quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Nothing. You’re fine. I like you just the way you are.”

Huh. Has Jin always been this nice? Because you don’t quite recall ever feeling the heat of an oncoming blush of your cheeks or the bashful flutters that come with your best friend’s witty remarks. Maybe the topic of marriage has thrown you off today or maybe it’s the aftermath of a high having just graduated college and being thrusted into adulthood, but the stretched smile that adorns your lips is an undeniable fact that your confidence and spontaneity has reached its pinnacle.

Grinning, you lean across Jin’s lap to grab and unlock his phone to access the camera, “okay, wanna take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

“Gee, if you want a photo of me that bad, you could just ask me to send you a selfie, y’know—what the,” Jin starts to cackle when you raise the phone into the air and suddenly press your cheeks against his without warning. With a side-finger gun to frame his cheeks and chin, your best friend readies his pose as you wear a mischievous smile. “Hurry up and take the picture already, Y/N. My time is money.” 

“Hey Jin,” you call out to him with your eyes still fixated to the phone screen, as does his. 

The boy almost drags his words, “now what?”

“You’ve never had a girl kiss you on the cheeks before either, right?”

“What—”

—click.

“There,” you chirp jubilantly, grinning at the stunned look on his face, his eyes popping and his lips just slightly parted but failing to utter a single word as his hand grazes the spot on his cheeks where your lips had just touched, “now you have zero excuses to forget our promise!”

❀ ❀ ❀

That must have been the last time you had met up with Jin in person. Shortly after graduation, the two of you had parted ways as many are forced to do in order to embark on their lives as full-fledged adults. Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jin had been lucky enough to receive a job offer straight out of college with the help of family connections; although, even without his family name, you whole-heartedly believe he still would have managed on his own based off of his unparalleled work ethic that you had the chance to witness firsts-handedly. 

On the other hand, your parents had advised you to stay home, which happened to mean you would be stuck in the same town of your college, until you finally landed a decent job where you had met Alex and established a new life. Unfortunately, like life always does, all that busywork meant sacrificing contact with your best friend somewhere along the way.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

“Ah, shit,” you mutter under your breath as you stop in the midst of your tracks down the black-marbled hallway, gritting your teeth and composing yourself just as you’ve done countless times around your less than friendly colleagues. Taking a deep breath in and out, you put on a pleased smile and whirl around to find the face of a familiar boy in your most recent reveries. “Ahh, hey, Jin... It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ah,” the man, who seems to have grown at least or three inches since you had last seen him, scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight… how have you been?”

This is awkward. So painfully awkward. 

“Me? Oh, I’ve been alright. Life. Adulting. You know the drill,” you press a thin smile. “Actually, I’m surprised to be seeing you here tonight. I still remember us whining all throughout college over being forever alone, and yet here we are… at your engagement party… life can be funny, huh?” 

“Y—” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck “—yeah… it can be.” 

“So,” you chirp in a fruitless attempt to lift the suffocating atmosphere, “the wedding is coming up pretty soon! Feeling good or is someone getting cold feet?” 

He shakes his head weakly, “I wear socks to sleep.” 

“Wh—” you pause for a quick second, blinking blankly at his soft chuckle and following suit shortly after “—why do your jokes sound like you’re 22 again?” 

The man shrugs with a helpless smile hinted in the corners of his lips; and when it happens—you don’t know how or when the silence had whisked you away into a past time—you find him gazing at you with that fondness of a sole friend who endlessly shared and fought informidable woes with you. Perhaps you’re a hopeless romantic frozen between the fork of two roads that have long closed, for you swear you can see your own reflection through his warm brown eyes and you surmise the only possible answer to the question that lingers in your mind. 

He must see the same friend in you, that girl he would only call friend.

“You’ve been preparing your whole life for this, or, actually, maybe I should say we’ve been preparing,” you smile to stifle the lurching ache in your chest, “I guess I’m the only fool waiting for her turn now.” 

A weep cracks the laugh you force out of your knotted throat. Immediately, you turn your head to avoid his watchful gaze and tuck a lock of hair behind an ear whilst discretely ridding any traces of waterworks welling in your vision. You think you must have gotten away with the feigned laugh and turn, a routine you had mastered at your previous work, but the gradual dissolution of the curve on his lips settles into an unreadable flatline more resembling a frown than anything; because even after all these years, he can still read you like an open book. 

So, if he could see through your every facade even now, then why does he not remember? You know you shouldn’t hold it against him, such a silly promise built on a lonesome pair of naive hearts,  but you can’t help it when a single word paints your conscience. 

Why?

Why can’t he remember? 

Your shared promises, your birthday, your memories, and... you?

“Y/N,” Jin begins gently, hesitating in place once he takes a step forward and you flinch, “about the wedding date…”

He waits for you to reply, supposedly for ‘whenever you were ready’, as he always does during those fragile lows of yours. 

To avoid letting loose any more unneeded drama, you can only manage a hum, “mm?”

“I…” he pauses and sighs. “I know it’s your birthday.”

A hitch in your breath is audible. You clamp your lips tightly and nod, uttering lowly, “yeah.”

“I want you to know I didn’t decide the date, Y/N,” he says firmly, “my father did.” 

“And?” you quip suddenly, eyes darting to shoot a glower deadly enough for him to twitch in evident hurt. There, you went ahead and did it. As hard as you had spent the past months muting your rawest reaction to the envelope in your mailbox, all the pent up frustration and sheer sorrow for a lost future came whiplashing just as hard. “And you couldn’t tell your father to change the date? Maybe one day after? Or two?” 

“You know I would have asked if I could, Y/N,” he bites his tongue to state sternly, “but how would he understand? Change it for… for what—”  he laughs cruelly in the midst of his burst “—for the birthday of a best friend I lost contact with for five whole years?! That’s so… so dumb—” 

“—dumb…?”

The crack in your voice leads to a stagnant silence over what is clearly a no man’s land. Betrayal visibly paints across your face, the momentary display of having wronged his closest ally stains his own. 

“Sorry, I didn’t meant that...”

“‘...yeah, you’re right,” you scoff, “I’m dumb for waiting five whole damn years’ because you wouldn’t fucking text me or call me to ask how I was doing!”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief, gawking and pointing an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t even pick up your phone! I called you for a month after I moved!” 

“I couldn’t pay for my phone, alright?! I was living with my parents and scrambling to find a job, any fucking low wage job, and I couldn’t sit all day in my room waiting for your calls because I’m not born with a silver spoon stuck in my ass!” 

At this point, the conversation had somehow contorted into an all out brawl of words, a challenge to see who could blame the other for the unsaid confessions lost in communication. The two of you staring down the other, chest heaving and jaws clenching and brows knitting, if it weren’t for your fortunate location tucked in the hallway hidden from the main room, you would not have allowed yourself to fall, lost somewhere in the depth of his eyes. 

“Why are you so upset?” a weak, hopeless laugh tumbles from his confused, pained expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me?” 

“I—” something gets caught in your throat and you have to choke it out “—I am. I am happy for you. I’m not upset, no…”

Jin reaches a hand out to your cheek when he notices your tears but immediately retracts his notion when you flinch backwards. The boy frowns in concern, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. How did I upset you?”

“Nothing,” you frantically shake your head that hangs low, using the back of your hands to smear every sign of contradiction on your face. “I just—” your breath shakes and an impending series of hiccups begins to kick in “—I’m silly. I should be happy for my best friend. I mean, I am happy. I’m just being dumb.” 

“What?” Jin carefully takes a step forward. “No you’re not—”

“—I’m dumb, okay, Jin?” you finally muster the courage to lift your sights to find his own confused ones. “It’s been five whole years and I’m embarrassed for taking a joke of a promise so seriously when my best friend doesn’t even remember making it!” 

The scrunch in his brows and lost resolution only reverberate the deafening ache in your chest. “The promises…? Y/N, I—”

“—it’s fine,” you blurt. Shaking your head and stumbling backwards, you look him straight in the eyes to say your last words before the fading knocks of your heels against the wood are all that he hears. “It's my fault for believing in a foolish fairytale anyways.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s almost like a fever dream when you recall just how confidently you had spat those spiteful words and furthermore dared to depart with that sheer satisfaction and the slightest aftertaste of alcohol residing on your tongue that night; but now that you’re awake, sober, and without the power of liquor, there’s nothing that can pull you out of your greatest nightmare most recently manifested into reality. 

“Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that?” 

The incessant grumbles tumble freely from your lips whilst you pace back and forth in the corner of the office. Typically, your colleagues would describe you as composed, reserved, and the level-headed half of an otherwise wild pair with Alex. This morning, however, they begin to question everything they’ve ever known about you as they watch through the corner of their averting eyes. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!” Alex hisses under her breath along with the threatening glares she shoots at the audience. Considering how long you’ve been going at your mental breakdown, it doesn’t take very long for your shuffling footsteps and mumbling gibberish to transcend into yet another white noise in the office; and once the majority of the passersby settle on the new revelation of your hidden crazed nature, Alex hastily storms to your side as you begin banging your head against the wall. “Why would you throw a tantrum at your best friend’s engagement party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” you pause momentarily to groan before proceeding to damage whatever is left of your seemingly deteriorating brain. “Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do—”

“—not to mention, an ex best friend who never even knew about your unrequited feelings—”

—she comes to an abrupt stop when she finds the deadliest scowl in your dart-like eyes. No words are exchanged but the lethal consequences are clear enough to grant you her silence and the continuance of your destruction. 

“Why the hell did I do that, Alex?” you whimper, taking a break from your antics because, damn, your forehead is really starting to hurt. “Whyyyyyyy did you have to leave me alone? Maybe Jin wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have had to confront him over something that shouldn’t even matter anymore! I-I barely even know him… it’s been five years and, suddenly, here I am, voila! At his engagement banquet, yelling in his face and getting mad over feelings that aren’t even his fault!” 

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol,” you retort. Taking a deep breath, you let out a sigh along with the scowl plastered across your face. Your next words come out more as a helpless confession of fear than a rhetorical question to be answered. “Do you think he… hates me…?”

Alex observes you for a lingering second, perhaps contemplating between a merciful albeit exacerbating answer and a merciless albeit helpful answer. She speaks carefully, treading dangerous water, “well… would you like him to?”

“I don’t know,” you shut your eyes to heave yet another sigh because that weight in your chest refuses to leave you alone. An unapologetic swinging of the door and a series of loud, wide strided footsteps that follow have your brows furrowing and it takes everything in you and Alex, judging by the sudden shuffles you hear by your side, to finish the rare heart-to-heart conversation. “I think… I think if he hated me, maybe that would extinguish that part of me from the past. If he hated me, I would be able to get over it. Maybe I would hate him too, out of spite, but at least I would be able to get over—””

“—it…? Over what, Y/N?”

Over what? It takes you much longer than it should have for you to surmise the most probable answer to her question, an answer you were never willing to admit and an answer you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to admit even now. 

“You know what I’m implying, Alex,” you sigh, shutting your eyes even tighter when a rising heat marks your cheeks. “I want to get over—”

—but your words are cut short by a familiar voice that has your heart racing and striking an unprecedented strife in the mayhem that is your systemic state...

“You can’t possibly hate me, Y/N,” he proudly proclaims and you can practically hear him smiling, “no one ever hates Kim Seokjin.” 

...and when your eyes finally flutter open, you find the man, who had only seemed like a phenomenon of your feverish dream a second ago, standing before you and adorning that signature smile with raised cheek apples and crescent-like eyes that has yet to change under the influence of time and distance. 

“W-What are you doing here…?” you barely manage to utter. Eyes flickering around your surroundings, from Jin’s broad shoulders that shield nearly the entirety of a helpless albeit buoyant Alex, to your colleagues who fail to discreetly whisper over the lavishly suited mystery of a man, and finally back to the bouquet of pastel flowers wrapped with a bright pink bow. Brows furrowing, you struggle to organize your thoughts and even go so far as to check for the dent in your reddish forehead in a vain attempt to dispel the mind tricks. When the mirage before you fails to dissipate into thin air like sand, you slowly turn to face the wall again only to have your antics disrupted by his refreshingly cold hand on your burning forehead ; and when you turn, you find Jin’s mischievous smile growing wider by the second. “H-how do you know where I work…?”

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. Have you somehow forgotten after all that head banging?” Jin scoffs in disbelief, gawking with a chuckle. Suddenly, he leans in to grab your right hand firmly in his own, squeezing twice as he had always done and leading you toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go recover those memories of yours, eh?” 

“Wait, wait,” you nearly stumble over your own feet at the pace he’s going, struggling to catch your breath when he bursts through the last door and a blast of freezing wind envelops the clash of the heat reverberating from your beating heart. “I have to go back! I still have work! And, and… and where in the world are you even taking me?” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N, so many dumb questions for someone who always topped my grades,” the boy holds the bouquet of flowers out toward you, refusing to continue until you reluctantly accept his gift with your left hand against your chest. Smiling at your reluctant acceptance, Jin turns his back on you and proceeds to march into the parking lot but his now warm hands intertwined with your now cold hands never loosens its grip. 

It’s been a long five years of waiting to finally relish in the hold of his familiarly slim, often teased albeit self-praised double-jointed hands, but, now that you’re finally living in it, you’re sure it was all worth it… even if the crashing flames at the end of this road is an inevitable, foreseeable future.

“Jin,” you frown as you stare at Jin’s opening of the car door and gesture of an invitation, reluctantly seating yourself in his sumptuous car. “I failed half of my exams... remember?”

The boy’s laughs can still be heard even through the closed door as he makes his way around the car front, all whilst swinging the keys in his forefinger. His cackling steps an abrupt many levels of decibels higher when the opposing door opens and he plops into the driver seat. “That never stopped you from boasting, did it?” 

Without the flare of your usual clever quips, you purse your lips in silence and subconsciously hug the bouquet closer to your chest to keep his space as unoccupied by your presence. The sudden turn of events has your head spinning and your heart racing enough for the thumps to be felt by your hands. 

How did he find out where you worked? Where was he even taking you and what was he planning to do with you? Why was he acting as if you had not angered him just two nights ago? 

You don’t think you’ll be getting the answer any time soon, particularly the latter question, but when your stomach growls loudly, eliciting a crackle of a laugh from Jin, the awkward tension in your muscles eases ever so slightly. 

“...s-sorry… I skipped breakfast.”

“I know,” he puts the car into neutral at the red light and turns to peer at you with a smug look that says he could still read you like an open book, “because you always skip breakfast. I hid some pastry in the bouquet.” 

“What?” you scrunch your nose but immediately dive your scavenging hands into the flowers; and sure enough, you find your favorite cream-filled bread of his warm in your hands and you can’t stifle the smile that spreads on your lips. “Why would you even do that?”

“Well, in case you suddenly got really jacked and physically refused to come with me, then at least you would have something to eat.”

“No,” you giggle, “I meant why would you hide the bread in the bouquet…”

His eyes brighten like a lightbulb, as if only now recalling the genius plan he had crafted himself, “oh, because then you can sneak a bite without having to leave your desk! It always worked with our backpacks, didn’t it?” 

Your sights fall to the bouquet and you can only reply with a sheepish grin, “right… it sure did.”

The engine purrs to life again when the light turns green and the remainder of the car ride is filled with the smooth drift of his ride and the ceaseless albeit completely welcomed humming from his lips. The old Jin never had enough of an incentive to drive, although his parents always suggested gifting him a brand new car and you had begged him to take the offer out of boredom and a never-ending desire to escape far away from university, but something about this moment in time has you feeling cozy, belonging, and at home. It’s almost like it was meant to be. 

But the silver ring shining around his finger under the angle of the sun is a dreadful reminder that it isn’t. 

So, as a slap to yourself back into reality, you fracture this perfect moment you would have once framed in that hopeless mind of yours, “so… how did you find out where I worked?”

“Ah,” his right hand casually slips onto the back of your headrest. “Still haven’t figured out, rank 292?”

“No, I haven’t, rank 295.” 

“First,” he raises a finger, “I asked some people through the grapevines and eventually your friend Alex gave out.”

Grumbling under your breath, you curse, “damn it, Alex.”

“And second,” he raises another finger before proclaiming firmly, “I’m proving you wrong.” 

“Proving me wrong?” you articulate with a scoff. “You’re going to prove me wrong? Right, keep dreaming.”

“I’m not going to prove you wrong, I am proving you wrong," he insists before shifting the car to neutral and leaning in toward you, gaze brimming with conviction locked with your own wary ones, as if ready to spill a secret sworn by the two of you and hidden from the rest of the universe. 

He's close enough for his minty breath to graze your burning cheeks, to breathe a vigorous life previously unknown by your dull five years. Heart pumping and lungs barely working, daring not to budge for being caught under the sway of his gravitational force, you can hardly catch him when he finally speaks.

"I haven't forgotten, Y/N,” he utters, “I'm a man of my word."

❀ ❀ ❀

Promise one. 

"I'll cook every meal for you for an entire day."

Promise two. 

"I'll bring flowers to you at work."

His unabashed, overly detailed tactic to ask for your hand in marriage still echoes from a time long past. Hopes for those promises were weakened by each passing second but unequivocally unassailed at birth. Eventually, smothered and disheartened, you had been forced to cut ties and confront the reality of broken promises and broken dreams. You had once somehow convinced yourself things would never return to the ways they once were, and, yet, here he is having returned by your side and here you are enraptured by the utter joy in his laughs after all this wavering time. 

It's like a dream come true; and if this indeed all just a nightmarish dream bound to death, you wish you never swore allyship to this alcohol, for now your only wish is for it to succumb you into a deep, long slumber. 

“I toooooooold you I don’t like paaaaasta!” you whine, the drag of your voice manifesting in white puffs in the still chilly spring air. The sudden transition between the warmth of his house to the frozen world outside has you spiraling into a series of trips and stumbles; and as always, your best friend Jin is the only one to hold you up, which is a good thing considering how you would’ve been tumbling into the death trap of a river beneath this bridge. “So whyyyy did you make me pastaaaaaaa? Whyyyyyyy?”

“What? Why’re you blaming me?” he retorts, obviously taking offence. “You always loved pasta! You ate it every single day at uni!” 

“I diiiiid love pasta,” you say through barely parted lips, “but it’s all just… just carbs, carbs, carbssss…” 

“Since when did you care about carbs?” Jin frowns, poking your cheeks that lean against his sturdy arms. “Should I call the police?” 

Your brows furrow and you lift your head to narrow your eyes at him, “what? Why?” 

And as soon as those words slip from your lips and he raises his finger-gun hands, you wish you hadn’t asked in the first place. 

“Because I think you’re an impasta,” his finger guns transform into jazz hands after you stare at him in dumbfounded silence, “...badumtsss….”

A series of empty blinks are exchanged, as if neither of you had just witnessed his most tragic dad joke to date; and so, you swiftly continue with a sigh, “I think… I think I started caring ever since heee mentioned I was getting fat.”

“I can’t believe you just ignored my unprecedented joke…” he grumbles to himself but lets out a little huff when he catches you from tipping over. Wordlessly, he hooks his arm with yours to keep you close to him. “And this ‘he’ you mention, who’s he?” 

“Heee.” 

“Who? Who’s ‘heeee’?” he spouts with pouty lips and a raised chin, flailings his body, and therefore yours, about every which way like a toddler. “Who’s this man I have to beat up, huh? He better square up!”

“I don’t think you could beat him up…” you mumble, eyes heavy but determined enough to reach his own flabbergasted ones. “It’s Jooooon, dummy, Kim-Nam-Joon, the boy I shared my first kiiiiss with…”

“Kim Namjoon?!” his eyes widen. “You think I wouldn’t be able to beat up that nerd?!”

You almost manage to push Jin away the foot of the bridge if it weren’t for his firm lock around you. “Have you seen his muscles?! He might not look like it with his books and all but he worked out all the time!”

“Yeah, well,” his lips sputter, “well, have you seen my muscles?!”

“No—” you freeze when you realize the sturdiness of his arm against your head is existing proof against your word, and maybe it’s because of his obvious flexing at this moment, but you could not believe just how built his arms had grown in the past five years, “—and I don’t want to.” 

“Hah! You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. C’mon, I’ll show you. You feel it, huh? You feel it?” he flexes persistently, twisting and turning to maximize his little showcase. “So? You think I can beat him up now?” 

“Well…” your voice trails off, mind clearly preoccupied with sticking your cheeks to his arm like glue in a somewhat fruitful attempt to hide the flush in your face. “You don’t really need to beat him up…”

“What?” he almost yells. “Why not? He called you fat!”

“Well, he…” your shoulders rise with each confession, “he said one of my dresses looked tight on me…”

“And?”

“...and he wasn’t exactly wrong…”

“So?”

“...so he didn’t actually say anything offhandedly…”

“What? You should’ve told me earlier!” Jin exclaims, arms thrown high into the air and consequently pushing your helpless self onto the hillside grass beside the run of the river. Lips gaping and eyes popping, you watch him in full offense as he mumbles to himself before resuming his stroll down the hill. “And here I am getting worked up over nothing… can’t believe I thought I could play hero for once…”

“Hey, Jin, what do you mean by that?” you call out to him. “Wait! I said wait for me, Jin!”

When your rhetorical questions are answered with silence, you hasten to your feet in order to catch up with those damn wide strides of his. Damn it, how did he make it halfway down the hill already? Each of your exclamations are unsurprisingly disobeyed by the boy who just throws his head back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin of his as he quickened his pace. Following suit, your strides turn into a jog and your jogs turn into a full out sprint until the both of you are full on running the 100 meters dash, one chasing and one fleeing, wind blowing refreshingly into your heated face and into your tangled locks and inflated lungs that relish in the breath of life. 

In the midst of all the chaotic bliss of an epiphany, you find yourself screaming and laughing at the top of your lungs...

“Hey! Jin! I swear I”m gonna kick your ass!”

...and it’s at this moment in time that you realize having forgotten what it means to be a fool who lived and not to live to be a fool. 

At some point in time, after having caught up to the knucklehead and giving a piece of your mind, the two of you settle down along the concrete ledge beside the river after a jittery, welcomed high. The sunset that followed was a pleasant surprise that had you two reminiscing over the countless mornings and evenings you had spent watching the sun rise and set together whilst churning throughout tireless exam nights. Pink, golden streaks now hidden behind a thick coating of midnight blue embellished by magical glitters all throughout, tonight’s stargazing becomes a first for the two of you. 

As much as you hoped you could numb yourself from the inevitable aftereffects of this death wish of a dreamy day, you can’t help but smile, thankful to have been completely sober to engrave this night into memory. 

“So...” Jin’s utter is the first to break the silence. He turns his head to give you a playful look of eyes that beams with wary curiosity, “...you started dating Namjoon after I left?”

“Mm… maybe,” you hum, “why? Got a problem with that?”

“What? Psh, what? Why would I have a problem with that?” he snorts. “The only problem I would have is the fact that you never asked me for permission.”

Your eyes widen, almost threateningly, “are you saying I need permission from a man to date another man? Not to mention a man who abandoned me without warning!” 

“Okay, first of all, it’s not my fault you cancelled your phone plan! I called and called, I tried everything I could even though I was deadbeat tired every day. It’s not my fault I thought you hated my guts! So please just understand that I didn’t abandon you, alright?” he spills in an endless stream akin to a water faucet left on the highest setting, clearly a performance either practiced in private or incited by years of pent up pressure. You can practically see the steam shooting out of his fiery red ears and the accompanying whistle manifesting into words; and by the time his chest is heaving, his lungs are panting and very dramatically so, and his eyes flicker nervously between you and the passing water, you can’t help but snicker. Unsurprisingly, your lack of empathy elicits an unamused look on his face. “Hey, hey, what’re you laughing at, huh?” 

“Me? Oh, nothing,” your hands move into your laps and you bat your eyes innocently, “it’s just that I can’t believe you’re blaming me, a helpless, poor girl with absolutely no connections, for cancelling her phone plan as a last resort to make ends meet.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he warns with an accusatory finger, “don’t you dare think I’ll fall for that eye blinking and whatever cute act you’re playing up again!” 

“Why?” you pout, almost cringing at your own antics. “Am I not cute?”

“No, you’re hurting my eyes. Plus, if anyone’s cute here,” he declares adamantly before puffing his cheeks and poking one with his forefinger, “it’s me.”

The both of you stare at the other for a stagnant few seconds, one completely dedicated to his performance and the other utterly flabbergasted by what plays out before her. 

The only word you manage to crank out is a, “uh…”

“What do you think?” he raises another finger to poke his other cheek. “I practiced just for you.” 

“Um… you’re 27 now, Jin.”

“So?” he tilts his head in the other direction. “Still 22 and young at heart.”

“Yeah? Then I’m still 22 and still equally disgusted by aegyo—” just as he parts his lips to provide another rebuttal, you quickly add in “—by your aegyo.” 

And just like that, the man drops his boyish character just as quickly as he had stepped into it. He mumbles, dropping his hands and shooting an equivocate look at you, “okay, tough crowd. Sorry, ma’am.”

It shouldn’t have been that hilarious nor should your response been so delayed, but it only takes a split second of his surrender for a thunderous cackle to slip from your lips. Throwing your head back and peering at the dangling stars above, you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath of the incoming wind. The fresh petrichor of spring and the earthiness of mowed grass whisks themselves into the cold, clean breeze from the vast body of water. Thin locks of hair grazes across your cheeks, swaying in the wind as does your spirit. Years are lifted from your shoulders and all that is left is the heaviness that remains in your chest; nevertheless, you have never felt so free from the past. 

“Also,” he adds nonchalantly, cocking his head to look at you, “I wasn’t speaking from the position of a man. I was speaking as a best friend. As your best friend.” 

And just like that, sitting side by side and sharing a cool breeze, it’s almost as if all these moments of remorse, spilled tears, and unreleased frustration were made to build the climax to this grand finale: the night you can finally speak your truth. 

“It’s funny how things never change, huh?” you say when your eyes flutter open and you find Jin looking over with a fondness identical to the one you’ve spotted years before. “We can split for five years, thinking one hates the other’s guts, and reunite again as best friends… as if nothing had ever happened.”

Jin chuckles, hands grabbing to the ledge and head lolling back to join you but his eyes remain fixated on you, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Are we vampires and we just don’t know it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure either… not sure about the good thing and not the vampire thing, that is,” your laugh settles into silence when you spot the reflected light inflicted by the ring around his finger, sitting on the ledge just an inch away from yours. Close enough to touch but far enough to confirm an unequivocal truth. Sighing, you turn your head to meet his intent gaze with a bittersweet upturn to your lips, “normally, I really despise the idea of change; but lately, when I think about how things might never change between us, how we’ll always banter as a pair of stupid best friends, I start wanting it more than ever.”

Is this the moment? Is it all really happening right now? Judging by the course of your blithe actions, if change is what you’re looking for, then change is what will surely ensue after tonight. Whether for the good or for the worse, you’ll take a reluctant guess of the latter. 

The man scrunches his brows before playing it off with a nervous laugh, “what do you mean things haven’t changed? You dated Namjoon, probably got it on a few times here or there—”

“—what—”

“—please don’t confirm,” he butts in with a raised hand, “and I have, too. Sure things have changed!”

“Ooh?” you raise a brow, genuinely shocked. “You finally got some experience under your belt? I’m impressed, Mr. Kim.”

“Hey,” he scolds, “what do you mean by ‘impressed?’” 

“Well, I should’ve known… figuring you’re about to be a married man and all…” you mumble, forcing a smile despite the sudden dip in your mood. Turning your head to stare off into the opposite end of the river where the black silhouette of skyscrapers lie, you curse yourself mentally. You really thought you could get away with the inevitable truth for the entire day? “You know, I can’t believe I almost forgot that you’re getting married in less than a week. Almost like how I couldn’t believe you almost forgot our promises.”

“I told you Kim Seokjin is a man of his words.”

“You sure about that? Promise one: cook for me for an entire day. Check. Promise two: gift me flowers at work. Check,” you turn around once again to look him firmly in the eyes and it’s almost as if the both of you know what’s about to come next. “What about the three other promises, Kim Seokjin?” 

“Y/N…” his voice trails off but his gaze never leaves yours, almost as if too afraid to be misconstrued as another betrayal. 

Quick-mindedly, you chime, “stop looking at me so seriously! I’m just joking! Promise three: you won’t break my heart. How could you after a wonderful day like this? Promise four: you won’t forget our promises. Clearly, you remember. And promise five: you’ll keep all your promises. Check.”

“Y/N,” he stifles every wince but you can tell by the way his feet have stopped kicking into the void. “I don’t think I’ve kept all those promises.” 

“Well,” you shrug, pressing your lips into a line tightly, “I only see checks in my book, Jin. You’re good to go—”

“—no, Y/N, you need to listen to me,” he says sternly; and when your mouth falls agape and your head slightly nods, his wary eyes searching for a steady sign in the windows to your soul, he continues calmly, “my marriage is actually an arranged marriage.”

“Your—” you blink blankly, jaw almost falling to the floor “—your, you, what?”

An arranged marriage. 

All this time, all this pain, all this heartbreak of wanting to do something about your feelings but remaining hopeless because of an unrequited love… turns out to be an active, fully conscious decision? Not a falling out of love, not a helpless affection for another woman, but a matchmaking handcrafted without the heavens?

“My,” he has to stop himself just as his breath hitches, “my father... arranged it. ” 

“What? Why? Is it because he prefers you with a well off family?” 

“What? No,” he shakes his head with a slight upcurve to his lips that you’ve never quite seen before. Watching him hook a hand to the nape of his neck, clearly avoiding your eyes, you have an inkling of something much worse than the presented news. “You know my father would never do that… it has nothing to do with money...”  

“But you left this town for money, didn’t you? For a better job, a better pay, a better life, and for the sake of your dignity as a dutiful son, are you telling me none of those were related to money?” 

His eye twitches by your name-calling, clearly pained once again despite knowing very well of your precedent dislike toward his silver spoon background and his nonnegotiable obedience. Each second of silence culminates a tension even more formidable than the last. Guilt intoxicates your boiling blood enough for you to bite your tongue and hold yourself back; because after accusing him of holding onto his dignity, you, yourself, could not forfeit that of your own either. 

Worse yet, you’re a complete hypocrite. 

“Why can’t you just tell him to call it off?” 

You never knew silence could be so deafening.

“So… so do you...” you begin hesitantly. Usually, with your eyes locked with his, a thousand words would have been exchanged with each passing second; but now, with gazes that wade through the tides of the unknown, for the first time ever, you don’t recognize the mystery before you. “Do you... love her?” 

His lips part slowly, but no time in the world would be enough for him to find the right words. To you, his silence is as clear as any possible answer. Something sinks in you, perhaps after acknowledging the implications behind his choice to leave your question unanswered, but your blood boils from the audacity of those apologetic eyes that, even now, never stray from yours… as if this minute of sincerity would be enough to mend the inevitable decade of scars. 

You begin slowly, failing to hide the shakiness of your deep breaths, “...then what about the baby?”

“What baby...?” his face contorts with a frown until, out of the blue, something flickers across his numerous expressions: confusion, remembrance, contemplation. His hesitation that ensues might have been fleeting but its infliction upon your shattered trust will surely remain. “Oh, that… that was just a rumor my aunt spread because of the sudden marriage.” 

“And,” you force yourself to breathe, scattering for something, anything to throw at him, “and you don’t think you could’ve told me sooner?”

The man scrunches his brows, “and that would’ve helped, how?” 

“‘How?’” you repeat, as if it was the dumbest question you had ever heard. Mirroring his expression, your eyes avert between him and the river as scoffs of utter disbelief escape you. “‘How?’ What do you mean ‘how?’”

“I mean exactly that!” his voice suddenly escalates to a level of frustration you’ve never quite heard from him before. “How would it have changed anything? Why would you need to know earlier?”

Gawking, you exasperate desperately, “you know why!” 

“No, I might be your best friend but don’t expect me to just read your mind!”

“It’s cause...” you swing your leg over the ledge to face the sidewalk with your back on Jin as soon as you could feel an incoming constriction at the back of your throat, a notorious sign shared just between the two of you that waterworks were about to appear. Breathing slowly and doing just about everything to keep your voice from shaking, and fruitlessly so, you mumble before standing to your feet, “...you know what? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry. Nevermind.”

Why did you ever think you would have a chance? 

Is this it? Is this really it? The end? 

The questions come crashing into you as you make your retreat, head hanging low and palms drying the inconvenient tears that mark your face. After all the confidence you had built up, after finally thinking—actually, believing—you could get over him tonight, how humiliating is it that you’re now running away from a reality that would eventually and inevitably engulf you? 

The worst part of it is, Jin, like the best friend and good man that he is, persists to chase after you. You don’t have to hear the quickened footsteps of his usual wide, well-paced strides to know he’s coming. You don’t have to hear the calls he makes on the top of his lungs for you to know he’s on his way. 

As someone who so helplessly fell in love with their best friend, you just know he would be there through thick and thin—whether you like it or not. 

“Y/N!” Jin hollers; and when he finally catches up to you, having to sprint and consequently inciting for you to surrender with an abrupt stop to your path, every bit of air is knocked from your lungs. Arms wrapping over your waist and enveloping you into a tight hug, you can feel his heart pounding against your back. 

To most, it should have been the perfect method to comfort a crying friend; so, damn it, why does it only make you cry harder? 

“What?” your voice cracks as you just barely manage to smear the following tears within the wrap of his bear hug. “Damn it, Jin, why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

Head resting on yours, his voice is muffled by your hair as he murmurs, “I can’t just leave my best friend crying like that. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.” 

He embraces you. He embraces you not only physically through the silence but also through the emotional rollercoaster that comes with it. He, Kim Seokjin, your best friend, holds you through the ups and downs and the rights and the wrongs. He even holds you now, comforting you in the hurricane that you brewed without ever knowing and never caring that he had, in fact, not committed any wrongdoing. If anything, you must be in the wrong. 

And when you put it that way, how could you blame yourself for falling in love with him?

“Jin… I’m sorry, I tried everything to stop myself but,” your voice shakes but your courage prospers, “but I just, I just really, really love you.” 

A second passes. 

Now, two. 

Then, three. 

Something strikes against your chest when the surreality of the situation settles into reality. His silence could mean many things, but the tightening of his embrace could only mean one. Blood flushes your cheeks as you lament over his sensation of your fervent heartbeats. Secrets thrown out into the spring air, your heated cheeks are equally exposed to the passing, chilly zephyr. 

He knows you love him. At this moment, he can physically feel the proof of your love and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Sorry,” you manage to blurt under your breath, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said—”

—the remaining words dissipate into thin air when he places his hands firmly on your shoulder and whirls you around. Face just inches away from his, you barely catch wind of his declaration before the unthinkable occurs…

“Too late. I don’t want to.”

...and his lips meet yours. 

It’s everything you have ever imagined. Years of admiring those plush lips, wondering what it would be like to feel the warmth of those wonders pressed against yours, are finally coming to fruition… except they don’t. His hands fall from your shoulders to the small of your back, but your hands don’t intertwine behind the back of his neck like you imagined. Instead, they hover in midair, hesitant to embrace him in your arms. Why? With your eyes and his fluttered closed and an audible deep sigh that signals a desire finally satisfied from the both of you, reality still manages to twist a dream-come-true. 

Does he actually love you or does he only pity you?

Finally, and ever so suddenly, your hands firmly push against his chest to plant an arm’s distance from you and him.

“Sorry…” you pant, avoiding those intense eyes. “We… we can’t do this.” 

“What?” Jin raises a brow, taking a step forward as you take one back. “Why not?”

Wordlessly, you point at his ring finger.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously, hand scratching the back of his neck. You can only watch his every move, your stare gradually becoming a glare. Rosy hues coloring his cheeks, he speaks sheepishly, “I forgot we’re in public.”

His nonchalance irks you to your core. There isn’t any other way to put it. Blithe and dense have always been your favorite traits of his, but now that he’s here? Planting buds he could never sustain and sending mixed signals despite knowing of your feelings in an unfitting circumstance were never things you knew Jin for.  

“I-I don’t get it, Jin,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we should see each other any more. In any context. Not even after the wedding.” 

With his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders high enough to hide his reddened ears, he glances up at you, alert. “What? Why? What don’t you get?”

“It’s ‘cause... I just don’t get… this. I don’t get us,” you articulate, struggling to find the right words. “Why are you so… nonchalant about this? Why are you kissing me? Is it out of pity? Is it because I said I liked you—”

“—Y/N,” he says lowly like the drop of his previously cheerful mien, “you know I would never do something like that.” 

“Then why?! Why are you doing this to me? Do you love her or not?” you pause for a second to stifle the crack in your voice but, alas, all is in vain. “...and do you even… love me?”

He frowns, the tension in his body evident by the knitting of his brows as he struggles, “I… Y/N...”

“So you can’t admit that you love her and you can’t even lie to say you love me. So why the hell are you throwing away an entire marriage just to kiss me?” your scoff comes out more so like a plea. “You’re confusing me, Jin—”

“—that’s,” he abruptly pauses to stop himself from exploding, taking a deep breath before continuing, “that’s exactly why I can’t say it, Y/N! I don’t want to confuse you. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I-I don’t want to complicate matters more!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! It was a spur of the moment! I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after you and when I hugged you—I-I just wanted to, alright? I’m sorry.”

He’s... sorry. 

Sorry for kissing you, sorry for acting as if your feelings had been reciprocated, sorry for breaking all the promises he made and pretending like he was going to patch things up again tonight. Speaking your mind and hearing his words are all that you need to finally understand what you need to do. Your heart drops but you hold your head high because your final verdict is the right thing to do. Maybe this time you’ll finally be able to cease these useless feelings. What's the point in pursuing a hopeless love? 

The only one you would be hurting is yourself. 

This epiphany, in itself, is enough to drape an ephemeral clarity over your frenzic self; and just like a bandaid over a scar, you’re able to function, if only just temporarily.

“Hey, Jin?” you call out softly to the boy kicking at nothing on the bare sidewalk. It’s hard not to melt under the delicate glance he throws over his shoulder. “I’m not… mad. Well, I kind of am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry for everything that I said about your upbringing. I know how close you are to your family. I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of pressure…”

“No, Y/N,” he shakes his head, turning his body to face you with a low hanging head, “it’s my fault. Even considering all that, I still shouldn’t have done that or any of this. I… I’m sorry for confusing you.”

Forcing a composed smile, you persevere, “do you have your fiance’s number?”

Head lifting with a frown, he answers, “yeah, what kind of a fiance would I be if I didn’t? Why though?”

“Right,” you say to yourself under your breath, hearing his ‘fiance’ echo relentlessly in your head. “I just need it, okay? To… to sort out everything...”

And just when you wonder how insensitive could this boy get...

“What?” he chuckles. “Are you going to fight for me?”

...it gets worse.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a hard, well-deserved slap against the chest before snickering at his loud wince and declaring your one last confession of the night. 

“No, I could fight for us, but I won’t singlehandedly fight for you,” you then declare with a bitter smile, “I will, however, tell her how jealous I am.”

And that's your most irrefutable confession, one that has Jin stupefied for the future midnights to come.

❀ ❀ ❀

Morning arrives much sooner than you had anticipated. White puffs mark the air whilst you wrap yet another layer of scarf around your neck. It seems as though the breeze from a night ago had intentionally danced around town, lingering and spectating on the resolution of your five year long love conundrum. Ironically enough, the two of you reunite at the very spot where everything had first started… except this time, everything will finally end.

The pain he had marked in you inflicted by the words he could not bring himself to say still stains your every waking second.

“You have to do this. You can do this,” you incessantly chant to yourself, pacing back and forth beside the most prominent cherry blossom tree in town. “You have to do this. You can do this—”

“—Y/N, is that you?”

What you presume to be Youngji’s voice perks your ears. Looking up, you spot her holding a phone in her hands as she flickers between you and her screen. A quizzical quirk of the brow plasters across your face as you wave at her and she jogs over to you as quickly as she could in that pink, wool poncho and those tan, fluffy boots. “Hey, Youngji, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says in between each pant of breath, “that’s me.” 

Her hands immediately find refuge on her knees whilst she bends over to catch her breath. Typically, you’re the very self-aware type, but there isn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from staring. The girl strikes you as… flamboyant. With her dark red pigtails, bright smile, and dainty attire, she’s everything you’ve always imagined a female version of Jin would be like. It’s hard not to wonder… maybe an arranged marriage really can be a match made in heaven, but you force yourself out of that rabbit hole before having another breakdown in front of an innocent stranger. 

The tang of jealousy, however, refuses to budge. 

“Sorry, for,” she pants, holding her hand up to show you her phone screen, “calling out to you like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you squint at the sight of the screen displaying a candid photo of you, taken on this very street on that very day, as you stuffed one of his breads in your mouth. Drawn on your face is a mustache and a unibrow. “Did Jin do—”

“—Jin gave me a terrible reference photo.” 

Scoffing, you cross your arms, “damn it, Jin.”

Youngji crackles into a firework of uncontrollable laughter, rendering you stupefied. After a literal minute passes by, she finally manages to speak in between the bursts of giggles that follow, “you two—” giggle “—really are—” giggle “—close, huh?” And as a grand finale, she slaps her stomach with a loud sigh of relief that her laughs have come to an end. When she notices you staring at her bewilderedly, a light bulb flashes through her as she gasps and feigns a whimper, “o-oh! Ow! M-my baby!”

“You know you don’t have to pretend, right?” you can only let out a laugh of disbelief because you still can’t take in the mirror image your best friend. “Jin already told me about the fake pregnancy.” 

“Oh, in that case,” she smiles widely before giving her stomach one more big, satisfying slap, “see, you guys really are so close!” 

“I… I guess. I’m not sure if taking me out for one day after five years of radio silence really counts as close, though,” you then quickly add in with raised hands, “he only did so out of obligation, though! I swear it was nothing more!”

“Hmmm?” she hums, leaning in a curious ear with a cheshire-like smile. “Is it because of those promises he made?”

“...yeah, wait, he told you about those?” 

Of course he did, idiot, they’re engaged. 

“Well, something like that,” she shrugs, “so how much did he tell you?”

“About?” 

“About the wedding, silly!” 

“Uh, nothing much really. The pregnancy was a false rumor, the marriage was arranged by his father…”

“Father?” she inquires, watching you closely with those big, round eyeballs of hers. 

“Yes?” you hesitantly nod. “Father?” 

“Ah,” she nods, as if she finally catches drift of something, “I see.” 

“Oh yeah,” you add, “I also found out it’s on my birthday.”

“What?!” her eyes grow wider, if they even possibly can. “Jin never told me that! What the heck, man? A wedding? On his best friend’s birthday?!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know right?” you nod passively before coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait, what? Why does it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me! You’re Jin’s best friend, aren’t you? You have no idea how much he talks about you back home. I know you so well that sometimes I feel like you might be my best friend,” she chimes before reaching out to cup your hands in hers. “Let’s celebrate properly with Jin after the wedding, okay?” 

“Um, sure…”

But you don’t exactly plan on unnecessarily sticking around his life for any longer than the wedding… except, seeing how close she must be with Jin in addition to her loose-lip impression, you decide not to tell her that. 

“So,” she drops her hands to the side, “what did you need to tell me?” 

Why did you call her to meet you here again? After witnessing her flamboyant entrance, it’s hard for you to keep yourself from derailing. 

“Oh, um,” you scratch the back of your head awkwardly, “I just wanted to meet my best friend’s fiance, that’s all.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

The woman pauses, nodding at you intently almost as if waiting for the real intentions to be revealed. Damn it, either you’re a literal open book or she reincarnated from the same soul as Jin’s. 

“So…” you purse your lips. “Are you okay with it? The arranged marriage, I mean?” 

“Well,” she shrugs, finally dropping the smile from her lips. “At first I hated the thought of it. I felt like I didn’t really have a choice, but… when I met Jin—” a smile is hinted in the corner of her lips and in the sparkle of her eyes “—I thought ‘I’m pretty lucky girl, aren’t I?’ I think the world must have finally taken pity on me.”

A soft, stifled laugh slips from you as your eyes fall to the ground and a bittersweet smile accompanies your lips, “yeah, you’re pretty lucky.” 

“Don’t get me wrong though,” your eyes immediately shoot up to find her raising defensive hands, “it wasn’t some sort of a love at first sight. He’s handsome, sure, but—”

“—a marriage is a lifelong commitment—”

“—exactly,” she sighs, “I didn’t really know him, but when I was forced to spend time with him… I thought if I had to get married, then he would be the best option. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“No,” you smile in your reverie, shaking your head, “he's not a bad guy at all; and when you really get to know him, his stupid dorky self, I think it’s impossible not to fall for him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“He’s mean when he jokes around but he’s actually very kind, he’s sensitive when you poke him where it hurts but he hides it deceptively well, he’ll apologize for being wrong when the both of you clearly know you’re in the wrong, he’ll cook and wear the hottest pink clothes he can find because ‘to hell with societal norms,’ he’ll tell you the dumbest dad jokes but I promise you’ll get used to them eventually, ” you let out a reminiscent laugh that comes out more like a sigh, “and, sometimes, very rarely, he’ll hurt you unintentionally, of course, but he’ll always go out of his way to make it up because that’s just… that’s Jin. That’s my best friend.” 

A breeze passes by to perfectly mark the end of your cadence. Branches rustle above you and freshly budded cherry blossom petals flutter their way toward the grass underneath the two of you only to be risen once again by a following zephyr. Having been there throughout his and your lives, it’s almost as if the long-standing tree is agreeing to attest to your words. 

“Wow,” Youngji finally says after witnessing your truthful albeit embarrassing spoken love letter, “I… I wouldn’t doubt any of it… but why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Jin?” 

“I’m telling you, because,” you emphasize, “because I'm jealous of your position but I can't do anything about it so I want you to take good care of Jin. I just… I need to know he’ll be in good hands. I want him to be loved like the way that he loves. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Youngji just nods. It’s the most somber response you’ve ever seen from her. Almost like the joining of hands in marriage has finally become reality. 

“Do you…” you struggle to squeeze out of the knot in your throat, “do you love him…?” 

“Y/N—” she begins but suddenly lets go of whatever she must have had planned “—yes, yes I do.” 

“And… you’ll take care of him?” 

Youngji bobs her head lightly, “yes, I will.”

“Promise?” 

“...promise.”

“Okay, then I’m entrusting him to you, and,” you smile, leaning forward to shake her hands before heaving one last sigh, “and this time, please keep the promise.” 

❀ ❀ ❀

A curse sinks into the thickness of the sapphire dusk that quickly descends upon the hushed city. Keys tinkle to decorate the silence of tonight’s resting wind, a silence that would have been accompanied by an equally passive woman and an oblivious man whose hands persist to fumble to his guest’s dismay. 

Standing before a small willow, vintage-looking store tucked away in the corner of downtown, an inaudible breath ascends a cloud of white that momentarily shrouds the grand interior peeking from spotless windows that line the exterior. Golden warm studio lights illuminate the gorgeously exquisite ivory gowns from the trailing trains up to its waterfalls of dainty veils. Velvet suits and satin neckties accompany each headless mannequin, welcoming each passerby to imagine themselves in their wildest fairytales… your hand in his and his in yours as a fleeting moment becomes a sealed promise of a lifelong loyalty. 

Breath completely taken away, you, yourself, almost fall prey to your own far-fetched dreams. 

“I thought I said we shouldn’t meet up anymore,” your forced mutters drag you from your short-lived reveries, “why did you bring me here?”

“You said we shouldn’t meet up anymore, yet here you are,” Jin chirps before cheering to himself under his breath once the key finally clicks into place, “yes! Old man must have purposely given me these rusty old keys.”

Crossing your arms, you retort, “I came because you said your close friend from home would be here, too.”

Turning around to face you with his back to the door and a hand on the golden knob, he raises a quizzical brow, “and… are you not my close friend from home?” 

“I thought you meant the other—”

“—this is my home, Y/N,” he says firmly, looking straight at you, “and I want my best friend to see me in my wedding suit before anyone else.” 

“But why me…?”

“Because I only care about your opinion.”

He answered without hesitation, but in your head you figure he must have forgotten about Youngji, the true spotlight of the show.

Gritting your teeth, a staredown begins between the two of you; but the longer you face those unequivocal looks of determination in his eyes, the hotter your cheeks become in the middle of a contrastingly chilly night.  

“Alright, fine.” 

“Thanks,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile before pushing the door open with his back and ushering you in with a slight bow, “ladies first.”

Your eyes roll but not for very long when you step foot into the store and your mouth falls agape. The ceiling is much higher than you had perceived from outside, the sides are lined with grand, wooden staircases that lead to a second floor where hundreds upon hundreds of white dresses and black suits find purchase along the hangers, and the click of your heels against the marble tiles of the entrance floor echo into the extravagant expanse. 

The wooden insulation of the store proves infallible when the door closes behind Jin and the shrewd air leaves you to a much more bearable surrounding. Standing affixed to the entrance, you watch as Jin strides toward the carpeted floor where a taupe curtain hanging from the ceiling drapes over a raised platform sits across its partner platform in the opposite of the room. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enraptured by something aside from me,” Jin chuckles as he begins stripping the suit off of a black, velvety mannequin before pointing at the mannequin standing beside the opposite platform, “oh, why don’t you try on some dresses while I’m at it?” 

“What?” you scoff, finally taking a step onto the carpet. “First off, I never stared at you like that before. Second, why the hell would I do that? It’s your wedding, not mine.” 

“I asked the store owner for permission and picked a dress for you to try on,” he continues, finally stopping in the midst of unbuttoning his white, collared shirt when he looks up to find the fear in your eyes. “Hey, haven’t you always wanted to try one of these?”

“Yeah,” you laugh in disbelief because he actually listened to your past rambles, “but never under these circumstances.”

“C’mon, you never know if you’ll ever have a chance like this again,” he gestures once more when he notices the start of your contemplation, “c’mon, go on!”

You really don’t want to. It’s that nagging feeling of something going completely wrong tonight if you were to succumb and let yourself go. After all, your worst fear is yourself. It doesn’t feel right and you begin to wonder if it’s alright for you to hold onto this moment you’ve always dreamed about: dolling up and swearing your vows side by side with Jin. 

If you were to live out your fairytale, just for tonight, would you finally be able to sleep dreamlessly at night? 

“...fine,” you groan and storm across the room, tossing your purse into the ruby sofas and stepping onto the platform. Turning around to face a gleeful Jin, you’re about to scowl at him until your eyes flicker between the cheeky grin on that youthful face and those sculpted abdomen of his elevated by the lighting above. Cheeks flushing red, you gulp at the unseen sight before clutching the curtain in your hands and swinging it closed with a mumble, “and at least have some decency and use the curtains, God damn it…”

The freezing touch of your hands doesn't hold a candle to the heat of your face. Trying to calm your racing heart, you curse to yourself at the way he merely cackles at you and, even worse, the way your heart intensifies in response. 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

“...shut up,” you say more to yourself and your deafening heart.

The gown standing before you, however, is no help to your case either, for when you glance over the dress, the long train that could awe an entire room, the complimenting silhouette that doesn’t scream too over-the-top but enough to fulfill the little girl within you, and the classic lace sleeves that you’ve gushed over whilst skimming through magazines, you realize Jin had always been attentive even when he was stuffing his face with bread or even when he was being petty over an argument and you tried to rectify with incessant small talk. 

It’s at this moment that you acknowledge the rabbit hole you had just willingly fallen into and the impossibility of its towering escape.

“So,” Jin calls out to you as the sound of rustling clothes fill the silent air, “what do you want for your birthday tomorrow?”

“My birthday? Oh, right,” you slam palm to your forehead, having dwelled over the marriage and consequently forgetting your own birthday. “Uh, nothing really. I haven’t really thought about it this year.” 

“Really? You? Y/N? Not planning her own birthday?” he gasps. “Who are you and what did you do to Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up. With age comes other problems to deal with...”

...problems like you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “You have to have something. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten every single thing checked off of that old ‘birthday gift ideas’ list you gave me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m very far from it and it’s not like you were actually going to give me everything I asked for. Say, what did I even have on that list?” your eyes wander to the towering curtains that envelop you as your hands reach behind to the buttons on your back. “A bowl of your tofu soup, some pocket money, a matching sweater, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a… ring.” The word slips from your lips and it floats in the stagnant air before you can even do anything about it. His silence rings in your ears, so you quickly add in, “but I don’t want materialistic stuff like that anymore.” 

“...oh, really?” 

“Nope,” you heave a heavy sigh and pat the poofy material of the skirt down, “I think I’ve come to realize that… I just want to be loved. I don’t need a dress or a necklace or a ring…  you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t just want to hear those words. I want to feel them. I want to be loved.” 

But only by him.

A lingering silence drifts long enough for you to start panicking until, finally, he answers, “no, I understand.” 

“...well,” you quickly chirp as you fumble with the lacey material of your dress, “enough about me, what do you want for your big day, hm?”

“Why would I need a present from you?” he remarks. You can hear him finishing his final touches and you can barely stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You’ve given me enough already.”

“You mean I’ve given you enough earfuls and tears,” you retort, clutching onto the curtains as you shut your eyes to muster every courage within you. “Isn’t there anything I can give you? Anything you want?”

Counting down to yourself, the curtains and drawn open in one, swift swing; and when your eyelids flutter open, you find him standing on the platform across from you, dressed in a classic black and white suit with the curtains clutched in his hands like a mirror image of you. He glances over you from head to toe, as you do to him, until the both of you settle in each other’s gazes for what seems like an eternity, willingly lost and ever-so-enraptured.

You almost forget this isn’t actually your wedding.

“This,” he answers with a soft smile, “this is enough.”  

“...stop it.”

JIn frowns, “stop what?”

“Stop… looking at me like that,” you articulate, hands covering your bashful grin. “It’s making me feel self-conscious.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have such a good eye at picking clothes for you!” he says whilst pointing an accusatory finger. “I guess 22 year old Jin had a pretty good sense of fashion after all.” 

“You picked this five years ago…?” 

The man shrugs but his high chin says otherwise regarding his humility, “I told you Kim Seokjin is a prepared man of his word.” Eyes peering across to wink at you, he continues a bit more seriously, “I might not be able to fulfill all of our promises, but this is the closest I can to it.” 

“Jin… you’re…” you laugh in disbelief, bashfully avoiding his intent gaze, “...you’re so incredibly stupid that I can feel it from all the way here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins mischievously and takes a step toward you and off the platform. “How about now?”

“Stop it, don’t spread your stupidity to me.”

He spreads his arms out wide whilst taking another few steps forward, “why not? Aren’t we supposed to be together through thick and thin?”

“No, not really,” you adamantly shake your head amidst a hysterical fit of giggles, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Oh, no,” he feigns worry. Another footstep. “I can’t stop myself.” He approaches even closer. “The stupidity is spreading!” 

With him just a footstep away, you cower behind the shield of your hands, “stop it, stop looking at me like that—”

—and just as you squeal, his arms wrap around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

Like two lost puzzle pieces, his hands fit perfectly in the small of your back and his chin rests comfortably in the crook of your neck. His hair grazes against your burning cheeks. His scent envelops you into a rosy haze. He could probably feel the beat of your chest against his, but you wouldn’t know when you’re preoccupied by the thuds of his own. You had never been aware of the lonesome emptiness you’ve felt all these years until now, under the warmth of his touch that completes your other half. 

You almost forget to breathe until he takes a deep breath and lets out a slow, dreary sigh. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

Under any other circumstances, you would have smacked him for lying. Perhaps it’s the stir of the starry skies or the impending occasion or even the look he made on his way to you with a gaze that oozed with absolute adoration, but something tells you he’s being his genuine self tonight… and that’s what you fear the most. 

“You shouldn’t be saying that, Jin,” you say, stroking his head buried in your shoulder, “and you shouldn’t be looking at any women but Youngji with those eyes.” 

Whether he’s quietly reflecting or stubbornly disagreeing, Jin remains silent. His breath entangles with yours, syncing with the wavelengths that you two have been running for an ongoing seven years and, perhaps, beyond. 

He frustrates you to your wits’ end. There’s nothing he hasn’t made you question. At times, when you’re tossing and turning in bed and hoping for a way out of that cavern of a mind, you wish time could skip to a year in which the voices no longer haunt you at night; and yet, when you’re here buried in his arms, you would do anything to freeze and relish this fragment in time. 

It isn’t right. You two aren’t right and you know it isn’t right… but how do you deny yourself of the cure to those deep scars when he, himself, wishes to be downed? 

It takes everything in you to finally drop your hands from his locks to his shoulder. Just as you’re about to deny the tempting elixir, Jin lifts his head along with his gaze that now meets yours, “Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”

“...y-yeah?” 

The windows to his soul twinkle underneath the dim chandeliers above. Those starry dark brown eyes simply take your breath away.

“My dad,” his voice quivers like the water that wells in his eyes; and when you know he’s about to bawl, you pat his head ever-so-endearingly. Gulping, he finds the courage to continue, “he’s sick.” 

“Oh... oh, Jin,” you murmur, quickly wiping the few tears that drop onto his flush cheeks before bringing him into another tight embrace. “I’m sorry.” 

“I only moved—” and that’s what cracks his buoyant front into a full on bawl  “—I only moved to take care of him!”

“I understand.” 

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want to abandon you!” 

“No, Jin, I know,” your voice is buried underneath his whimpers, “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t know things would turn out like this!” he cries, holding you even closer. “I didn’t know!” 

“It’s okay, Jin. Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“No, it won’t be okay,” his voice hitches in the midst of his hiccups, “my father is dying and now I’m walking down the aisle with a woman I don’t even love!” 

Your strokes come to a temporary stop because how could fate be so twisted? Who is it to decide whose time shall begin and whose time is up? You have to hold your breath along with the waterworks that sour your eyes. You can’t cry now. He needs your stability.

He needs you. 

“Did you…” you take a shaky breath, leaning back to watch him cover the messy state of his face, “did you tell your dad?”

“I-I couldn’t,” he stutters, voice muffled by his voice, “you know how long he’s been waiting for this.”

I know,” you ponder for a second before hesitating to continue, “...why didn’t you consider me?” 

“I—” his hiccup interrupts him as he roughly smears his tear-stained cheeks with his palms “—I thought you hated me. I didn’t think you would agree. I thought our promises were just a joke. But when you confessed that night, when you said you would fight for us—” his voice cracks again as he laughs at himself, eyes to the ground “—I thought damn, fuck, how did I mess up so hard? I should have fought for us. I’m so stupid—”

“—no you’re not—”

“—so fucking stupid!” 

His self-reprimanding curse echoes in the room. Each of his demeaning scorns inciting a fiery justice in you. 

“No,” you state, “you’re not stupid.” 

Without the dignity to face you, his hands clenched into fist and he continues with bangs shrouding his sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I hurt you—”

“—no, Jin, you did not—”

“—I messed us up—”

“—no, Jin, look at me, hey, look at me,” you place a finger under his chin to lift his spirits until those bloodshot eyes of his find refuge in yours. Smiling, you speak, “see? I’m okay. So what are you apologizing for?”  

“Aren’t you… mad?” 

“Mad? No, silly,” you laugh, wiping another tear. “Sad? Maybe.”

“See—”

“—sad because I wasn’t there by your side when you needed me… and maybe a bit sad that I won’t be the one holding you like this tomorrow,” you apologize with a soft smile over the latter jab that incites a wince from the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” 

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he hiccups, “and when I found out, I tried to call you but it didn’t go through.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” he takes a deep breath to calm his high, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” you affirm, breaking out into a laugh when you take another look at his reddened eyes and dampened cheeks. “Look at you! Why are you looking like a mess on our wedding day, huh?! At least let us be ignorantly happy for one day!” 

“What…?” he frowns whilst hastily smearing every last evidence of his breakdown on his face. The result is an equally red, irritated skin across his cheeks. “What’re you talking about? Kim Seokjin never looks like a mess… hey, what’re you laughing at?!” 

“Look at your tie, idiot! What kind of a rich son are you if you can’t even tie it correctly? Come over here,” you say just as you grab the end of his necktie to pull him up onto the platform. With his necktie now at your eye-level, you begin to unravel whatever knot he had attempted. All the while, you can feel his gaze as he watches you do your thing, completely enamored. This time, it’s your turn to turn red. To distract yourself from the rising self-consciousness, you clear your throat, “call me whenever you’re going through a hard time, okay? I’ll give you my new number…”

The piece of fabric flails around into equally atrocious knots that Jin had previously created until you groan in frustration and disassemble everything. You had practiced this so many times while he was gone, foolishly believing it would come in handy the day he returned, but why does nothing ever work out the way you want it to? 

“I swear it worked last time I tried…”

Your best friend just watches silently, chuckling as you wrap the fabric around your own neck this time; and when he speaks, much steadier like the Jin you have always known, he looks you directly in the eye. “Youngji told me about your guys’ conversation.”

“Huh?” you pause as soon as your embarrassing declaration of love begins reciting itself in your head, but not even the resumed work of your hands could distract you from the ever-growing shade of red. “O-oh, that… what about it?” 

“I heard what you said about me.” 

“Yeah?” you hum nonchalantly, even though the trembling of your hands and the avoidance of your eyes from his give you away. “Well, did she tell you about all the complaints I made, too? About you being a stupid dork?”

“She did,” he utters before placing a finger below your chin to avert your attention to those dazzling works you desperately avoided, “but would you still be willing to marry this stupid dork?”  

“This isn’t even a real wedding,” you feign a frown under the spotlight of his intent gaze, “why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t have the funds to hire a real priest.” 

“You don’t need to for a fake wedding.”

“I thought you said we should be ‘ignorantly happy for one day?’” 

The bantering just never stops, does it?

“Okay, well… to answer your question,” you mutter, eyes averting to the side, “under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances…” he repeats.

“Where you aren’t engaged…”

“Where I’m not engaged…”

“And your father approved of me…”

“And my father approved of you…”

“Then yes,” you say without hesitation, eyes returning to find a newfound comfort in his relieved gaze, “yes, I would marry you.” 

“And that’s why I love you,” Jin smiles, chuckling softly. “I’ll always want to marry you.”  

And just as a nearby clock tower strikes its church bells to signal the stroke of midnight, Jin grabs the end of your necktie and pulls you in to press his lips onto yours. The body of his warmth and the acceptance of an inevitable end to your paths serve as the last page of a book never to be read again; and yet, he holds himself close, refusing to let you go. 

But when the end nears and the magic of the bells resume time once again, the two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Forehead against yours, Jin gives you one last, fleeting kiss. 

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Deja vu would be the perfect term to describe this feeling.  You can almost see yourself in the room of hundreds, stealing glances at the man from afar. It only takes one blink for you to relive the rollercoaster of jubilance and confessions and tears. In the split second of darkness, the past week flickers before you like a film reel: breaking down in the middle of the hallway right in front of Jin, staring bewilderedly at the large bouquet in the hand of a man at the office, confessing with tears that stain your face and sobs that conquer your voice, meeting the woman who had stolen your spot beside Jin, and holding him in your arms as he cries his heart out at the stroke of midnight. 

And just as quickly as the whirlwind of memories had taken you on a trek of time, your eyes flutter open to find yourself in another suffocating room of hundreds once again. 

Youngji [8:39 P.M.] Hey Y/N do you think you can visit me real quick? 

The glaring text on your phone screen glows in an otherwise dimly lit reception room. Thumb hovering over the screen, your mind goes blank. People pass by you, commotions and laughter fill every corner of the room, and you stand there frozen and affixed to the floor beside the table of food with a glass of red wine in your hands. 

“Hey, Y/N,” someone whispers into your ear and you immediately turn your phone off only to find Alex on her tiptoes, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” you respond under your breath, “it’s just that someone wants to talk to me.” 

“Well, you better hurry then,” she ushers you with a gripping hand on your left arm, “the ceremony is about to start anytime now.” 

“O-oh, okay,” you nod, allowing your footsteps to follow the momentum of her push. 

This isn’t exactly what you had planned, for the original plan involved your complete avoidance of the groom and bride, but it’s unsurprising that things never quite go your way. Nothing could quite topple you like last night’s revelation anyways. Taking a deep breath, you weave through the audience, wandering about the venue until you finally find yourself in front of a door with a “BRIDE WAITING ROOM” printed in gigantic black letters taped to it. 

Hesitantly, you knock, “hello? This is Y/N…? Youngji called for me—”

“—Y/N!” The wooden door swings wide open with a highly distressed Youngji hiding behind it. Before you can reply or even confirm the identity of the woman, her hands clutch yours and pull you into the room with a force unimaginable for a human of her size.  Practically lurching forward, a heap of air is knocked from your lungs just as the door slams closed. Coughs force their way through your throat, but Youngji wastes no time to rush to your side. “Y/N, this is an emergency! I need help!” 

“W—” you wheeze, peering up at her as you’re doubled over “—what in the world are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” her hands jitter as she paces back and forth, “I don’t know why I feel so… so nervous!”

“Hold on,” you frown, finally straightening your back, “that’s perfectly normal. It’s your wedding—”

“—please don’t say that word again,” she begins biting her freshly white-coated nails.

“What word? Normal? Wedding? Your—”

“—I can’t believe it’s my wedding…” she says repeatedly, hands flying to her head and disheveling her previously perfectly conditioned curls. She suddenly turns to face you, eyes wider than ever with a look that screams of an epiphany. “I-I don’t think I can go there. Y/N, I don’t think I can go out there!”

“What?!” you almost yell, flabbergasted. Recoiling from your outburst, you start much more softly this time. “Are you sure? I’m sure it’s just your nerves getting to you. You’ve been okay with it for at least a year, right?”

“Why?” her eyes widen to unprecedented diameters as she grabs your arm for support. “Is it because it’s too late? Do you think I should back out, Y/N?”

“What? No, no, no, calm down, follow me,” you shake your head, grasping her hand and guiding her to the chair in the center of the room where an entire photo shoot has been set up. Lowering yourself to a squat, you give her a squeeze as firm as the smile on your lips.  “Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s just the jitters. Everyone gets them. I’m sure Jin is freaking out in his room, too.”

“...okay,” she nods, pouting as her eyes lower to your hands that hold hers. Peering up at her from below, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks dolled up on this special occasion. From the extravagant poof of her princess gown to the gorgeous glow of the bride herself, you find yourself lost in a trance that burns with heart-panging jealousy. You almost miss her when she murmurs, “how are you so calm, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow and laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’m not the one getting married here.”  

“But… your best friend is getting married,” she shifts to get a clearer look of you but finds you with your eyes to the floor, “are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of… of course. I’m happy for him,” you say through barely parted lips and stand to your feet before making your way to the door. “It’s not exactly traditional, but do you want me to get Jin? Maybe he can calm you down—”

“—do you know why Jin agreed to this arrangement?” 

Freezing in your tracks, you throw a glance over your shoulder to meet her distraught gaze. 

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” she blurts, clearly without thinking as words fail to follow through, “because I want your blessing! I want you to be okay with it!” 

“Blessing...?” 

“Yes,” she nods. “I can live with marrying a man I don’t love because I know I’ll come around, but I don’t think I can live knowing I’ve broken your relationship with Jin.”

Your weight shifts from your left to your right but the force of burden weighs immeasurably heavier on your very being. There’s nothing that would have prepared you for her request. Preparation, however, proves unnecessary, for your mind runs on its own and the words come to you as if rehearsal is all it's ever done. 

“I don’t think I’m in the position to grant you permission. That’s your decision and Jin’s,” you say, “and if my blessing is what you’re asking for, then I can give you it as many times as it takes to convince you. But if you’re asking for me to be okay with it, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that.” 

Those are your last parting words as you slump on the wall behind you and a heavy sigh is shared between the two women on opposite sides of the door. Head low like a woman unjustly ashamed for speaking her truth, you take a deep breath with those heavy shoulders that carry the weight of a woman who had essentially cursed the joining of two hands. Nevertheless, somehow, you persist to make your way through the halls just as the ceremony begins; but as the audience settles and the light dims, something tells you the guilt that intoxicates your blood would have a longer-lasting aftermath than you had first expected. 

“Hey,” Alex leans into you, whispering, “is it just me or does Jin seem really jittery?”

“...no,” you answer, making sure to keep yourself hushed amidst a room of seated spectators. From the second bench to the front, fortunately on the opposite side of where Jin’s parents sit in the front row, you get a clear view of Jin and Youngji in between the black silhouettes of a couple heads; but anyone in the room can tell the bright studio lights and elevated platform don’t help his constantly shuffling case. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

“I see… so both the groom and bride are getting cold feet, huh?” 

“Well,” you utter, quipping, “in Jin’s case, he’d probably just say he forgot to sleep with socks on.” 

Alex turns to you with sheer confusion across her furrowed brows, “huh?” 

But before Alex could inquire further, the priest clears his throat and begins the opening ceremony. The officiality of it all, a long-dreaded image of Jin standing by another woman’s side manifesting into reality, has you subconsciously sent into a frenzy. 

“Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Kim Seokjin and Heo Youngji in matrimony commended to be honorable among all…”

The clearing of his throat strikes once and hard against your chest. Each word that reverberates in the room echoes the vibrating pain in the blood pumped from a gaping wound. Your chest heaves and heaves and your lungs struggle to maintain composure, and while your breakdown may have gone unseen by the rest of the universe, you know for sure only two would catch sight of your state.

You and him. 

“...if there is any person who can show cause why they should not be joined together…”

The priest continues and the tension in the audience rises by the second of a stress-inducing prompt, but the moment Jin catches your eyes and the panic painted across it, his every attention remains on you. Guilt should’ve painted your expression now, having stolen the groom’s admiration from the rightful bride by his side, but all you can do is relish in a fleeting moment you deem the least this cruel world owed you. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because something catches in your throat like the hunch that has chills running down the nape of your neck. You don’t dare move an inch. You fear any movement would give you away, though you’re sure he already knew the second he met you halfway.

His eyes, those dazzling eyes that could single-handedly freeze any moment in time, they ask you for a permission only he could grant. 

“...let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” 

No one speaks but the thick air that engulfs every witness in the room is telling enough. Holding a shared, bated breath, everyone awaits and prays for the quick passing of this deafening silence. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry your passing out would be the one interruption to the ceremony, if not anything else. It takes everything in you to remain hidden, glued to the chair. You can hear every single movement in this room, the squeaking of a nearly retired bench, the rustling of clothes amidst a fidgeting audience, the anxious tapping of someone’s heels against the wooden floor, yet no one dares to speak now. 

The priest sighs a soft breath of relief. 

Everyone but you follows along. 

The priest clears his throat and pro—

“—I would like to speak.”

A loud gasp travels across the room. Every witness, including the priest himself, stares at the young man, wide-eyed. The knot in your throat inhibits you from following suit, but the hammer against your chest works harder than ever; because there he is, your best friend, standing boldly before the audience with a puffed chest and a tightened fist that brace for the repercussions. 

It all happens so suddenly, so swiftly. The strings that were left raveled now unraveled, the paths that were abandoned now explored, and the love of a lifetime whomst once bid you farewell now holds on with a determination that tells you they aren’t quite ready to let go, by happenstance or by conviction, everything falls into place. 

You had reprimanded yourself relentlessly for envisioning a moment like this and you truly believed this would be the worst case scenario, so why is it that only now, as your peering eyes are enamored by the sparkles in his, you find yourself smiling proudly and thinking to yourself… that’s your man. 

“Father, mother,” Jin turns to face his parents in the front row, declaring loudly and firmly, “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.” 

“What,” Alex shrills under her breath as she clutches your hands, “what is going on, Y/N?!”

Her voice doesn’t reach you and neither do her cold, nudging hands. The ongoing commotion around the room are like white noise in your background. You can’t even spare a second of your attention to the picturesque vision before you, the man who fights not for you but for the two of you.

Jin bows, head hanging low to his parents and the audience, “I’m sorry for saying this too late.” 

Everybody watches as his mother attempts to hold her husband in place. All is in vein, however, when one look of the baffled expression on her husband’s face conveys enough to everyone of the mayhem that is soon to ensue. He rips her grip apart from his arm and storms to his feet, pointing a finger at his apologetic son.

“W—” he struggles to find his breath “—what are you saying? You said you were okay with this just last week!”

“I did,” Jin affirms with his head still hanging low, “I thought I was okay with it until this week.” 

“How—”

“—honey…” the mother murmurs.

“No, changing your mind is one thing, but changing it at the very last second is another,” his father shakes his head, yanking his hand and stumbling on his feet before his distraught son could lend a helping hand. “Did I teach you to inconvenience others like this? Do you know how much trouble you’re causing Youngji and her family?”

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His father grunts, “don’t you see, Seokjin? ‘Sorry’ can’t fix everything—”

“—actually, Mr. Kim, it’s not just Jin,” Youngji bounces to Jin’s side then pivots to bow to her parents who sit in the row before you, “I, too, don’t want to marry anyone until I really know them.” 

Physically, the spotlight remains affixed to the stage. Mentally, it feels as though everyone’s attention is gradually creeping its way toward you. It takes everything in you and the grip of Alex’s hands not to run from the prying eyes. 

“What?” their parents gasp. “Didn’t you say you were okay with it if it were Jin?”

“I did!” she insists, suddenly retracting. “I did, until…”

“I’m sorry,” Jin lifts his head to turn to Youngji’s parents before bowing once again, “this is all my fault.”

“No, no, you wouldn’t do this... tell me, son,” his father takes a step toward the stage, beckoning for an explanation, “tell me who did this to you?” 

Jin lifts his head, brow furrowing and lips thinning as he chooses to remain silent to his father’s question. Suddenly, it’s everyone’s duty to catch the perpetrator. The audience begins craning their neck every which way to skim over the possible candidates. Your heart sends threatening waves of pain that foreshadow the inevitable chaos you’re about to be dragged into. 

You can barely move from staring at the floor in between the groom and bride but you can spot the gradual direction of his mother’s eyes making its way toward you… and when they finally spot you, a lightbulb flashing across her eyes the second you make the lethal mistake of meeting her gaze for the first time in many years, it’s as though her son’s rebellion is the only thing that makes sense in this universe. 

Only naturally, his father catches onto his partner’s maternal instincts along with the rest of the crowd as their diverged attention converges, one head turning after another, to stare you down—some with awe plastered across their jealous front, some with ghastly colors than drain their face of blood. 

“Is that… you, Y/N?” his father’s voice echoes in the room. “Seokjin, don’t tell me…”

“No, father!” Jin jumps in, holding up a defensive pair of hands as he attempts to quell the fiery in his father’s temper. Wide-eyed and panicked, he glances between you and his father. “It isn’t her fault. I swear. I”ll explain—”

“—don’t tell me you’re going through all this trouble for a childish crush from five years ago?” 

A loud shriek began the chaos the second Jin’s father exploded, lurching forward with a vexing fist. Everyone in the front rows jump to their feet to hold him back, whereas people in the back rows stand to their tiptoes to get a better view of the climactic show, which includes a once-to-be-groom insisting his father punishes him and a once-to-be-bride slapping her ex-partner in the head for his submission. 

People are hysterically laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, fighting, but you sit there, frozen and petrified, until a hand shakes your entire being to your feet. 

“Y/N, Y/N, God damn it Y/N, earth to Y/N!” Alex raises her hand, just about to give you one hard slap to the cheek when you suddenly flinch awake. She then hastily pushes you toward the door in the corner of the room whilst everyone is too distracted to notice your discreet escape. She looks you directly in the eye, “you need to run before things get too crazy. I’ll handle things here for now.” 

“But Alex, I’m at fault here—”

“—yes, I mean, maybe,” she corrects herself with the shake of her head, “but you being here doesn’t help matters. I’ll help Jin and Youngji.”

“But—”

“—now go,” she starts your momentum with an encouraging push, “go!”

Nodding, you begin your long trek of the night. You run and you run and you run. Your mind runs blank but your feet run a mind of its own. You sprint down the dimly lit streets, you pay no mind to the traffic lights of endlessly empty streets, and your hair twirls in the wind that impedes your speed down the hills. Your surroundings become a blur as your arms swing desperately, your chest heaves incessantly, your eyes sting with tears, and your lips spill anguished sounds of incoherency until somehow, under the sway of the town’s cold spring air and your flux of emotions, you find yourself in a familiar street of your greatest dreams. 

Depleted of gas, your feet stumble into a trot that has your knee nearly buckling, which then turns into a jog that then drifts into an untroubled walk in which your lungs try to catch up and your mind is scrambling at a hundred miles per hour but you, yourself, have gone elsewhere. 

The luminescence of the full moon is blinding but all the more soothing as you navigate your way through this street you’ve walked one too many times before. For some reason, perhaps out of habit or a hope for something waiting at the end of the tunnel, you begin to count each passing light post. Seven fluorescent lights, you count, seven lights resembling the rays of moonlight until you finally reach your old acquaintance of many years at the corner of the street. 

Leaning your head back to stare at the familiar white text on a green sign post, you smile at the homely sight. 

CHERRY BLOSSOM AVE

A comforting breeze blows by you, the branches above you rustle in the wind, and the cherry petals from your old pal flutter into the air to envelop you in a solace you had long sought but failed to obtain. It’s like the calm after a storm. Not quite disconnected from the string that loops around your fourth finger to those of another man’s—no, you couldn’t unravel it after all this heartache—but at least away from the prying eyes that could tear you apart and away from the people who whispered gossip of matters they had none in. 

Hours seem to pass in the clouds that retire to reveal patches of new twinkling ornaments. You would have believed it if someone were to tell you all control of time lies within the blink of your eyes. The silence was calming initially; but the longer you stand here and the more the numbness begins to fade, the more you become aware of your lonesome circumstances. 

The silence is deafening. It knows your greatest fears and your innermost thoughts. You can’t handle it. You can’t bear the thought of being left alone to that voice in your head. 

You have to go. 

Where? 

You don’t know. You just know you have to go somewhere. You can envision all the places you can run to but all the roads lead you to one destination. Yes, anywhere would be fine, anywhere that leads you to him. 

“This marks the second time you’ve ever been so enraptured by something other than me.” 

Whirling around, seconds seem to become milliseconds and gravity becomes a law unbeknownst to earth, for you can’t believe the sight your eyes lay upon. There he is, standing by the tree just a few meters away with a loosened necktie and disheveled hair, almost as if a pitiful albeit wondrous mirage crafted by your shoddy prayers to the moon above. 

“Hey dummy,” he simply utters, taking a step or two toward you before poking your forehead, “what? Why’re you staring at me like I’m a ghost?” 

“What?” you manage to say under your breath. “I’m not staring…”

“I was just joking, you know?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be jealous over a street post. Psh, I’m not that dumb—”

“—why…” you frown when he quirks a brow, “why are you here? How are you here?”

“Oh no, she’s gone crazy,” Jin laughs at the stupefied look you give him. “At least an hour or two has passed since you left. Somehow, I managed to sit my father down and explain myself.” 

“And… what did he say?” your hands begin fidgeting. “He must hate me, doesn’t he…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ per se… he’s perfectly okay with you. In fact, he likes you, really. He’s just mad at how things happened. After he calmed down, though, he understood where I was coming from.” 

Cautiously, you peek at those eyes that peer down at yours, “and your mother…?”

“She said she saw it coming from a mile away. Apparently she saw us arguing at the engagement party and knew right away,” Jin purses his lips. “Psh, yeah, as if I’m that easy to read.” 

Allowing yourself the smallest of laughs, you still can’t seem to rid yourself of that panging guilt. “And… what about Youngji?” 

Jin stares intently at your expression before cracking a smile and chuckling, ruffling your hair, “don’t go crying on me now, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” 

“But I just,” your voice cracks, “I just hate myself for ruining everything for everyone—”

“—hey,” he cups his fingers underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his, “you did not ruin anything for anyone. I did this. I chose to fight for us.” 

Hesitantly, you nod and he smiles in response. 

“Youngji’s still explaining to her family right now. She told me to find you and Alex told me you would probably here.” 

Frowning, you mutter to yourself, “how did she know…?” 

“Well,” Jin drops his hand from your chin to raise them in the air, “we did promise to swear our wedding vows here, didn’t we?” 

“So what?” you deadpan. “You’re gonna marry me now after all this mess?” 

“I know you really want to marry me as soon as possible, but I think I’m gonna have to take a break from weddings for now.” 

Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “ditto.”

“But hey, I may have already broken the third promise,” one corner of his lips curve into an apologetic smile before he shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t marry you in the future! Plus, I may or may not have promised my father I would marry you in the near future to make up for it, so...” 

Scoffing, you gawk, “and who said I would marry you?” 

“Who wouldn’t marry me?!” 

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but the mirrored grin that stretches across your lips are undeniable. Soon enough, a loud fit of giggles and cackles fill the air. It happens all too quickly. The banters come to you like second nature, the conversation flows like a river through time, and somehow you find yourself lying beside him on the blazer he had laid out on the grassy hill and star-gazing for hours on end. 

It’s almost like you’ve seen this all before, just five years aged. 

“So,” Jin speaks, “how’s your birthday been?” 

“Oh, shut the hell up.” 

“What?” he cackles, getting up to lean on his arm whilst hovering you. “You know it’s not too late to tell me what you want for your birthday!” 

“I already told you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I wasn’t joking when I said what I said.” 

Jin smiles, “in that case…”

He leans in to diminish the distance between his lips and yours. A lulling zephyr blows gently on the cherry petals as you close your eyes and you can picture the way they gracefully descend upon the two lovers below. Having witnessed the unforeseeable promises from start to finish, it’s almost as though an old accomplice was applauding a long-awaited finale. 

And when he finally pulls away, eyelids fluttering open just as yours do, he speaks, “happy birthday.” 

“What was that for?” you giggle. 

Jin’s mouth falls agape, “I’m giving you what you wanted for your birthday!”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “where’s my ring to confirm it then?”

“After all this time, do you really need a ring at this point to confirm my love for you?” Jin rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll always want to be by your side, married or not.” 

A fit of laughs escape you as your hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks, “I know, I know. I’m just joking.”

“Well, good, cause I’m bankrupt at the moment,” Jin sighs, plopping back onto the grass beside you. A momentary silence passes before he turns his head to look at you, “just to make sure, you said you wanted love, right?” 

Turning to meet those sparkles in his gaze, you answer, “yeah?”

“You said you wanted to feel love, right?” 

Your grin grows wider by the second, “yeah?” 

“Well,” he says, “do you feel it?” 

“I do,” you answer. “What about you? Do you feel it?”

The vows hold a truth much closer to his heart this time around, and he smiles as he swears...

“I do, too.” 

[riewritten]

29 TRANQUILITY (BONUS)

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you, no y/n | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Trigger warning: canon-typical violence, graphic description, explicit sexual content, suicidal thoughts, mental health issues, trauma, implied/referenced sexual harassment, implied/referenced abuse, attempted murder, overdosing, suicide inducement, mentions of torture

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

Your mother's mind is getting delirious at this point. Indeed, she filed a bail to fix some stuff and sent some cash to Kuchel anonymously for your hospital bills. However, as soon as she got out, she felt like she was being followed, as if there was an eye lurking around the air, watching her next move, hunting her down.

And she's right because as soon as she opened the supposedly empty house and turned on the lights, there was food prepared on the dining table. It smelled like soup, the same one she had cooked that day. Someone's here but she couldn't see it yet. Perhaps it’s Levi or his siblings who are up for some serious talk. It's okay. She's prepared to face them. She just wants to sort things out until her verdict comes. She's willing to pay for it, at the very least.

She examined the house then. It's cleaned nicely, maybe it was them who did. What daunted the dining table wasn't just soup, though. 

There's a kitchen knife beside the bowl. Her stomach churned.

It doesn't take long for her to realize that the person in question is standing just beside your bedroom door. He's leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

The man was Erwin Smith, the reason she became hysterical that day.

Erwin does not move at first. He's just blankly staring at her. He's benign, unnervingly so. When he realized she wasn’t planning to greet him, he did it himself. "Pardon my intrusion. I came here on Levi's behalf to grab some stuff. Seems like the one you stabbed needs to stay in the hospital for a while." The blonde said. It was tranquil, gentle even, but with a completely perilous gleam in his eyes. It tells a lot about how he intends this night to go.

Indeed, she's ready to face her sins but she prefers it to be by the law, which is bloodless and doesn't entail the need to resolve whatever emotional dispute she had with her estranged child. After all, what she did will not erase the fact that her child is still the one who instigated this world and the reason why her life is designed to be full of suffering. A condition she's not in control of, all because of the man standing right now.

"Sit down, madam." 

"What's the knife here for?" She gestured to the thing beside her.

"Oh, that. Consider it as a bargain. You can have a peaceful dinner with me where I'll ask a handful of questions and forge some sort of arrangement, or you may use it to stab me, the same way you did to that girl."

She sighed tiredly, "Just tell me straight on what you came here for. I'm not an unremorseful murderer like you think, even if my child—"

"She's not your child." He interjected, no hint of spite or lament, just a flat remark. A harmless correction. "You are in no way worthy of being associated with someone like her."

"You're not the one to speak here. You're the reason why I lost myself that day." She spat.

"Then you might as well use that on me or choose the bloodless path. What do you think?"

He doesn't look like messing around with this bargain. She doesn't know what'd happen if ever uses this weapon and doesn't want to do so again. "Fine, let's talk. But I'm not comfortable having this knife as we do, I'll be putting this—"

"Don't touch that." He cut her off. It's not benign this time. It's a command, a warning, and just like anybody who'd hear such a tone of voice, your mother followed by instinct.

Erwin slowly walked towards the table, sat down on the chair in front of her, and had the knife rest beside him instead. He gestured for the woman to do the same. "I also made dinner, a small act of gratitude for letting me in your home."

She definitely did not let him in. Despite the forming derision, however, she still sat down. "I don't have the appetite to eat. I told you to be straight to the point in this talk."

"That's unfortunate. Why? Is it because I offered the same food you used to kill her?" Erwin sounded very curious and even before the mother could retort, he added. "I dreamt of that girl crying while eating soup. She clearly didn't have the appetite too but she still ate. I wonder what makes you think that you have the privilege to follow what your appetite speaks of."

The calmness of his voice jabs the woman like a knife, deep enough to spurt what's churning inside her stomach. She has important questions to ask, one of which being his own remark, but she just couldn't utter that so easily. Not when Erwin is resting his palm on top of the knife as if to silently tell her that since she had chosen not to use that on him, he holds that privilege now instead. She shakily reached for the bowl of soup he prepared.

"Is this drugged?"

"Did that girl ask you that question when you served her the same dish?"

"Don't act as if you got the ascendancy here. My daughter—"

"She's not your daughter."

"Stop!" She banged her hands on the table. Erwin's still unmoved. "That girl existed because of you. She had this world and she's not supposed to exist anymore but because of you—" She let out a shaky exhale as if attempting to tone down her disdain. "Everyone tied to her by blood suffered."

If Erwin's utterly shocked at the revelation, he didn't show any sign of it. The agenda of this dinner completely turned the other way and he's now beyond interested to see how this would turn out. "Tell me more as you eat." His demeanor changed for good. He's done messing around and it doesn't take the mother's astuteness to realize that.

"Is she back in that world? If she is, then what I did must be predestined. All in favor of her motives. All of it to save you. So don't speak to me as if you're completely in the right. She's doing all of this because of you." She spat out. He's expecting Erwin to act enraged by now but that's beyond her concern anymore. If she'd be killed tonight then at least she’ll be free from this life, an existence that had nothing but suffering.

However, Erwin clicked a smile instead. A deranged one.

That face alone transcended the fear of her own demise. She gulped down then. She knows better than to speak in that tone again. The man in front of her is not in any way normal. If she were to be killed by him, it might not go the way she prefers it to be.

"Now I'm completely interested to know. Elaborate it, then. Don't let any details slip." Then finally raised the knife. No, he didn't point it at her. He just played a finger on its spine casually. As if it’s just a silly toy.

So she did. She told him about the parallel, what's granted for Wahren's descendants such as them, the conditions needed so the bearer could use it, and lastly, the reason why you still existed in this world. She doesn't know everything so there are still so many questions to be answered.

"So you're saying," Erwin rested the knife again. He's still holding the handle though. "That since she intended to preserve the will of the people from that world and had us live those here, she'd cease to exist now?"

"She is not supposed to exist in the first place. That's all I know."

"And so since she existed, the condition applied for those who remember the other world is what's bestowed upon her instead?" 

"That might be the case. Anyone who remembers that world will be subjected to suffering including those tied to them by blood. Also, that condition is in line with her goal to save you."

"The situation revolving around saving me in that world, how did that work?"

"Wahren took pity on her so the power he never used as the founder was used for her instead. And if you're telling me that she's now partaking in changing your fate, then she'd be gone here for good after doing so."

She had to avert his gaze away from Erwin after saying that. He looks utterly grim and it doesn't help that he's holding a knife. "Are you really thinking that what you did was predestined? That you're devised to stab her with a knife so she could go back and use the power Wahren had granted her?" He sardonically remarked.

The extreme mock in his voice almost shrank down her entirety. Whoever he is in the other world, he's definitely a dangerous one. "O-of course. What other reason would be there if not that?"

"That if you controlled yourself and you're not a fool, she'd live longer in this world and perhaps die due to natural causes or accident. Do you know what you are in that world?" He taunted.

"I'm not interested to know."

"You're a convicted criminal. A serial killer in the underground. You left your two children to die. They were kept in by a damned-in-the-head officer handling your case, left on the road to die again because she fought back, then enlisted in the military so they could have food to eat and clothes to wear." It was as if a cold bucket of water was thrown at her, and when she shot a look of disbelief at the man, she realized how utterly deadly he looks right now. "So what's the rage for? You think you deserve to be with your son? Tell me, if that boy were to face you right now, what do you think he would say?" She didn't respond. She can't even bring herself to speak. When the silence got too much, Erwin huffed a wry chuckle as if he just realized something. "What's with the face? Finally realized how arrogant you've been all this time? Thinking as if that girl is the one who did you wrong? I bet you really think her death is nothing because she's not supposed to be here in the first place, as if your existence is way beyond her. That’s why you’re so desperate to justify what you’ve done to her all this time. I hate to break it to you, then."

The mother's composure finally faltered. She started to shake and in an attempt to tone it down she clenched her fists. She wasn't able to hold down her cries, though. Erwin watched her blankly and waited for her cries to be louder before throwing another dagger. "She gave you another chance to live, to redeem yourself and become the mother you failed to be. What have you done instead? Do you think you could have a new life if someone were to use that power again?" This time, he genuinely waits for a response. When she just kept on crying, he tapped on the table two times. "I asked you a question. Answer."

"I didn't mean it!" She shrieked. "That's why I kept a distance from her all this time. Because I don't want to be the wicked person that I am now!"

"Now? I see you're still thinking so highly of yourself. Your existence is inherently wicked and the circumstance subjected to you had nothing to do with it. You must consider your son lucky he wasn't born as your child. It’s quite amusing that you really thought of blaming her for that considering how indebted you are to her." Erwin then slid the knife onto the table towards her. "You're going to pay for these debts for countless lifetimes but you're as good as dead in this one. That's what I came here for. Consider this as my parting gift."

"No, I can't. I'm sorry. I'm afraid to—"

"To die? I told you, you're as good as dead. I'm just giving you the leverage to do it yourself."

And despite all that, she realized she couldn't lead herself towards her own demise. That's why she begged Levi to do it instead and when Isabel remarked that the police were on the way, it was a desperate act to end her suffering.

But now? She can't do it now. She's afraid of how painful it'd be. Stabbing herself with a knife will make her bleed to death.

"Are you scared?" Erwin gently asked as if to comfort her. She almost threw up out of terror. Upon not getting an answer again, he stood up and walked towards her trembling figure that can't even raise a finger because of how horrified she is. Erwin knelt down, reached for her hand, and gently held on to them. His thumb glided on her knuckles. The gesture was almost sweet and sympathetic. "The only good thing you've done in this world is giving birth to that precious girl so I would be more than glad to help you."

"Yes, please." The mother shut her eyes tight and tears continuously pooled down her face. "I can't do it myself."

He then opened her hand and grazed her fingers. "It's good that you don't tend to spend money to fix your nails. You have twenty of this and I have pliers in my house." He reached for the knife but didn't point it at her. "Or I could use this and just wrap your mouth up with a cloth to keep people from hearing you. You stabbed that girl in her stomach so that's where I'd go first, but I'm not getting you drugged. I'm not that low. I prefer you to feel it raw. I'm quite a busy man but I'm willing to allot a whole day for you as well. We’ll start by morning and end by dusk."

The woman immediately swatted her hand from him then, jumped back in panic, and fell on the chair. She scurried away from him until her back bumped into the wall. Erwin stood up and walked a few steps until he was in front of her again. When he crouched down and faced her on the same level, he wasn't sneering anymore. "If she wakes up in two weeks, then you live and pay for it in court. However, if she stays unconscious and you're still alive on the fourteenth day, your death will be slow. If you dare run away then prolong your suffering. I could dedicate the rest of my life here to hunting you down." He finally stood up again and walked to get his things. The agenda's accomplished now. "It might not be obvious but my profession in that world revolves around sending people to hell and the only being that kept me at bay until now is struggling in the hospital bed as we speak. If I'm the reason she existed again only for you to take her away from me then the only choice I could give you is what slow method would you prefer to die." He finally gestured to walk out of the house but glanced at her for the last time. "The food's not drugged. I intended that to be your last tranquil supper after all. It'd be a waste if you wouldn't savor it."

previous chapter | next chapter

[ddarker-dreams]

Icy Wind. Yan Alucard x Reader

Warnings: Isolation and typical yandere elements. Word count: 1.3k. Note: this is my secret santa gift for @monstrouslyobsessed​!! i was excited to see that you liked hellsing ultimate... your taste is immaculate... anyways, i really hope that you enjoy your gift! <333333

You long for a fulfilling night of sleep.

To be able and close your eyes when the moon shines above, uninhibited by troubles, no longer plagued by all-consuming anxiety. It is but a simple request, you believe. There were days where for hours on end you’d bargain for more than that. Freedom used to be the primary objective, what you believed to be your only salvation, a possibility never within reach. No longer do you aim for the stars and beyond. You’ve had to settle for what’s in front of you, a realistic goal such as a good night’s rest, and even then you’re denied it. 

Blades of grass brush against your bare feet, a winter chill reducing your body to a shivering mess. Teeth chattering and body bunched over, your arms wrap around your torso in a pitiful attempt to preserve heat. It makes logical sense to return inside the manor. At least then you could sit by the fireplace to ward off the cold. Whether it’s foolishness or out of malice towards him, you’ve elected to stay out here, holding nothing but contempt for the mansion walls that serve as your prison.

Another gust of wind whistles by, biting your flushed cheeks. Barren tree branches, overgrown thickets, and dry leaves rustle underneath the wind’s intensity. Maybe it would be best to go back inside, you consider. Still, the thought of proving Alucard right is too strong a blow to your pride to concede yet. It’s a childish thing you’re doing -- even you can acknowledge that -- but what else do you have, other than to spite your captor? 

He had instigated this. Tempting you by temporarily removing the locks in the rickety mansion that you’ve been forced to occupy. What had started as a late-night walk to fend off your insomnia escalated into you confronting him, belittling his possessive nature, and demanding a real opportunity at freedom. Much to your surprise and his amusement, he had relented. Or at least on a surface level. Alucard himself had swung the doors wide open, presenting you with an opportunity for time outside. 

Which leads to your current predicament. 

Traversing the surrounding woods at night would be a nightmare, so you’ve been passing this time outside by sitting on a moss-covered bench. The initial high from being outdoors has worn off, replaced with frigid temperatures cutting deep into your bones. You wonder if Alucard would allow you to freeze to death. Or would he intervene at the least possible second, the curse of being his lover never coming to an end. Damn him. 

“So you intend to keep up this stubborn act,” a deep voice drawls, the hairs on the back of your neck standing. “Should I be impressed or insulted?” 

When a person out of sight is speaking, it’s a natural response to search for where they stand. You’ve learned that this rarely works with Alucard. His voice reverberates from every conceivable location, engulfing and drowning you, a testament to his inorganic disposition. 

“Do with it what you will.” Your response doesn’t sound as malicious as you wanted, weakened by your deteriorating state. It looks like your earlier guess of Alucard interfering only when your life is in danger turned out to be true. Even now, when facing an icy demise, you refuse to beg for help. He can go to hell for all I care, you think. If even hell would muster the courage to try and chain him down.

Alucard’s voice hums, a deep, guttural sound. “Was it something I said?” 

Clutching your knees to your chest, you huddle together even tighter for warmth. To narrow Alucard’s grievances against you down to a single statement is impossible. He’s always had a penchant for working you up, now is no different. The wintery weather seems to have gotten worse. Every time you manage to exhale, a white cloud appears in front of your face, a further testament to the extreme temperature. 

“Let’s go with that.” You rub your shaking hands together and blow air onto them.

“Strange, I thought I was doing you a favor,” Alucard’s voice swirls around you like the wind. “You did say that you wanted to go out if memory serves.” 

Really? He’s out here to poke fun at you? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the audacity he displays is never short of amazing. Even working up an emotional response like frustration is too much at this point. Your entire body is working overtime to hold onto life. Ah, that’s strange, you think. The way your ears are ringing, an eerie, high pitched noise. Black dots appear and disappear, obscuring your vision. It’s light. Everything feels so, terribly light. 

You’re not sure what happens next. 

When you wake, the setting is vastly different from where you had just been. There’s warmth, that’s the first thing you notice, coming from different sources. Blankets on top of your person and a roaring fireplace. So he brought you back to your room. Groaning, you wince at how your head pounds violently, not having the necessary strength to even lift your head.

“Next time, I’d prefer it if you let me die.” 

There’s no tangible evidence that Alucard is nearby, but you still say the words, uncaring if he hears them or not. 

“It’d be a pitiful death,” comes his response. “Why not ask for a more memorable one?” 

You sigh, knowing that answering the question will lead to more provocative remarks, but still do it anyway. “Are you telling me you’d grant it?” 

“I never said that.” 

“Figures.” 

Exhaustion weighs heavy on your weary soul. Maybe now you’ll be granted the mercy of a good night’s rest, though you try not to get your hopes up. You see Alucard beginning to materialize into a physical form, the sight nothing new, yet you’ve never been able to get used to it. Glimmers of midnight black and deep crimson create a shadow reminiscent of a human man. Flesh forms, filling out over bone, pallid in its coloration. His typical attire of blood-colored fabrics flows into creation around his person before he finally towers over you by your bedside. Inhuman eyes pierce through your weakened form, holding no flickers of humanity. 

A monster. 

“And here I thought you might thank your savior for saving you from an early death,” Alucard’s voice is amused, despite the dark context. “Instead, I find you glaring at me.” 

“For good reason.” You bring the blanket over your head, not wanting to see him any longer, irritation growing. Why can’t he just leave you alone? It’s a question that, when asked, serves only to perturb you further. Alucard claims each time that your little interactions are of great importance to him. Whatever that means, you think. 

“You’re the only human I’ve seen fit to have pity on,” he reminds, making you frown. “Thousands have begged for what you so easily dismiss.” 

Indignant, you pull the blanket down, blood boiling at his inflaming comments. “Like any of that is my fault. What did you expect me to do? Praise you to the high heavens for keeping me far away from any other living being?” 

He’s smiling at your outburst as if it were an entertaining show. It’s too late, but you realize this is exactly what he wanted, to see you getting all worked up over his purposefully upsetting words. Sighing in defeat, you lay back down on the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut, fully intending to ignore anything else he sees fit to say. If he wants to play dirty, then so be it. 

Alucard reaches his gloved hand out to your face, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, displaying a gentleness you thought impossible from a demon like him. It’s a featherlight touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. Almost as if your body was attempting to reject it, aware of the heinous crimes those very hands have committed. 

“Rest well, my sweet little [First].” 

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room. 

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at  the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?” 

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation. 

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up. 

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers. 

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways. 

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy. 

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer. 

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you. 

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity. 

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident. 

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.” 

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?” 

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”  

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty. 

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night? 

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing. 

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury. 

“Can you get your face away from me?” 

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps. 

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.  

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him. 

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you. 

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private. 

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.” 

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

--

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of  the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima. 

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night. 

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why. 

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him. 

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it. 

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’ 

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort. 

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare. 

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves. 

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent. 

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking. 

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball. 

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump. 

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again. 

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire. 

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first. 

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one. 

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball. 

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours. 

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one. 

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot. 

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego. 

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is. 

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return. 

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time. 

--

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it. 

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag. 

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.” 

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen. 

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin. 

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain. 

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still  remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his. 

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day. 

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously. 

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing. 

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?” 

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on. 

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one. 

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper. 

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it. 

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on. 

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong. 

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining. 

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence. 

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder. 

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout. 

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old? 

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are. 

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you. 

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes. 

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened. 

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit. 

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining. 

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion. 

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time. 

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing. 

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break. 

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?” 

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain. 

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses. 

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan. 

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about. 

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth. 

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed. 

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not. 

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing. 

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you. 

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits. 

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won. 

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely. 

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you. 

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice. 

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out. 

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess. 

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything. 

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open. 

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain. 

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project. 

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even. 

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question. 

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either. 

“I don’t know,” you surrender. 

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition. 

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table. 

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more. 

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago. 

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable. 

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present. 

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last. 

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat. 

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up. 

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation. 

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face. 

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first. 

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered. 

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness. 

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”  

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review. 

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t. 

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff. 

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up. 

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.  

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface. 

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

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[benevolent-savage]

this is what happens when u enable me lets go

(spoilers ahoy)

Firstly, here’s some somewhat miscellaneous reasons that don’t contribute to any sort of narrative analysis but are still parts of the character I like.

His boss fight is my favorite in the game thus far. It’s not super hard, but it isn’t super easy either, and I even managed to solo it on my Balance after a few practice rounds. Sufficiently challenging without feeling unfair.

His boss fight music. It is a bop and a half, go give it a listen, my soul ascends from my body a few centimeters every time I hear it start up.

His voice. I’m sure it’s processed at least a little but gotdamn his voice is so deep and spooky it startled me when I first heard it. Very curious who his actor is; I think he and Inyanga Whitestripes share the same one. Either way, very well voiced and acted.

His design is very good. It’s the perfect mix of innocuous but also spooky sorcerer fella who knows some shit. And I was afraid that the designers would try and make him like. Handsome? Under the hood? To try and make him more sympathetic? But they didn’t and I’m glad for it.

With those out of the way, the next thing to establish, I guess: I don’t interpret Old Cob to be the main villain of arc 3, nor do I interpret Raven as such. They’re definitely antagonists, but they’re not the ultimate problem; the ultimate problem is their divorce, and how they keep dragging people into their bs. It’s established the Aethyr is a physical manifestation of their anger towards each other, and as it thins, communication between them becomes possible, as Sparck puts it in this thinly veiled metaphor toward the start of Empyrea part 2.

But Cob’s still an antagonist and I love him so I’m gonna talk about that. Most of this is going to be talking about his motivations for doing what he does, since I don’t see him quite as the ‘likes to watch the world burn for the hell of it’ archetype that others might.

One of the reasons that drew me to his character is how legit his gripe is, when put in perspective. Old Cob- or Grandfather Spider, if you prefer- is not a mortal like the other antagonists of previous arcs, which establishes he has a different thought process right off the bat. This new universe was built on his suffering and he has a grudge against the ex wife who made it, so as a god, it makes some sense he’d try to destroy it and build one he would like better. He’s fully aware that what he is doing will hurt people but decidedly doesn’t care, and I appreciate that so much. He’s chaotic as fuck and he owns it, along with his superiority complex that’s as wide as the day is long.

Yet his reasoning is like. Weirdly understandable? Like, if my ex-whatever put me in jail for a lifetime sentence and stole my kidney to pay for a new house or something, I too would go apeshit and want my fuckin kidney back. That’s mostly how I interpret his situation. He’s not doing this for hell of it, he’s doing it because he wants to get back at his ex because he’s bitter and petty and for the most part he knows this but he feels justified in doing do because she ripped out his goddamn kidney- I mean heart, and he wants that back.

And then, even after all that, he and his magic are treated as if they’re inherently evil. While, sure, Shadow is a ‘dark magic’, its actual properties aren’t anything malicious by itself. It is described as “a magic that changes reality,” and that’s it. Incredibly exploitable and you should practice caution while handling it, but used correctly it is powerful and helpful; this is likely alluding to the backlash mechanic, where likes decrease the percent of damage you take, dislikes increase the percent, and I imagine the person meant to be the literal embodiment of the magic in question to be similar in nature: not inherently harmful and lashes out if he feels he’s been mistreated.

Going off that, I’m not sure he ever wanted the FirstWorld to be destroyed, and therefore believes his incarceration to be entirely unjust; he doesn’t deny that he instigated the fight between the Titans, but when it comes to being accused of its actual destruction, he gets angry.

...Okay the written text doesn’t really display how mad he got here, but he was like. Big Angy. Super offended. Honestly, a big part of why I love and analyze the hell out of his character comes from how his VA delivers his lines and his voice in general. If you haven’t heard it for some reason, I recommend looking it up. Anyway, here he’s basically saying he didn’t destroy the First World, and even if he did, he’s suffered enough punishment because of it, to my interpretation. The only one I remember blaming him for it is Raven; Bartleby was there, and I don’t recall him blaming anything other than the Titans for it. This is of course not accounting for the various changes made to the lore since he was introduced, but they could have easily thrown in a line like ‘And now Spider plans to destroy the Spiral the way he destroyed the FirstWorld!’ or something to make it clear it was done intentionally.

And this may very well be straying into headcanon territory here, but I think he holds positive relationships very closely to him, even if things went sour in the end; he clearly still has some remaining affection for the Titans, calling them ‘the children’ and being incredibly angry at Raven for forcing one of them to destroy his Heart.

When Rat loses in Polaris he shows up to praises his efforts and even comfort him, in his own weird way. He reprimanded Scorpion in Mirage, but it’s because Scorpion wasn’t doing what his dad asked him to and got his ass kicked as a result. As for Bat, every time they’re in the same room together he pays him some sort of compliment.

Bat claims that he and his brothers are meant to be his tools, and to some extent that’s true, but he also genuinely cares about them, and it’s really interesting to see a villain defect from the usual ‘not caring about anyone other than themselves’ and openly show affection for his kids while still managing to be an incredible asshole.

In line with this is his relationship with the Wizard. There is, of course, a foundation of manipulation to their dynamic, at least to some degree. I thoroughly believe that Spider was overshadowing Coleridge, at least partly, so our character could bust him out of prison.

And while this is happening, he regains some of his spent power and removes threats to it as well, namely Morganthe, using the Wizard’s help. In fact, I have very little doubt that he was at least partially responsible for her fall; his timing on that two-liner was too on the nose.

But even with that, I think he genuinely treasures the Wizard’s help and company, which is why he attempts on four different occasions to either sway them to his side, or warn them away from what he’s doing.

Boy, I want that vacation, but it’s your fault I’m here.

And then, of course, his relationship with Raven, something that is basically a summation of his character arc. Laden with baggage and tragic in concept, it is my belief that most of what he’s doing isn’t because he genuinely hates the Spiral or he wants to get back at her, but because he loved her and treasured their relationship; so upon her mistreating him, he lashed out at everything she’d made and detested it as a result. But only because he felt betrayed and hurt so he has to inflict that on other people because he is, as aforementioned, a petty and bitter old fuck.

Moving off that line of thinking, an admirable quality he possesses is how smart he is. This guy has so many wrinkles in his brain it must look like a raisin. Well, perhaps not ‘smart’ exactly, but how good he is at manipulating certain situations to his advantage. Like in Mirage; you just know that he was fully expecting Mellori to be there and fully planned to use her as a back up plan, or you could even argue that the whole debacle in Mirage was a ploy to get his hands on her, while having the added possible benefit of things actually working out.

Actually his scheme in Mirage was really interesting now that I think about it. His aim was to turn back time to when the FirstWorld was whole, further implying that he never wanted its destruction in the first place. It would also, of course, be a time where he had his Heart and would have the ability to avoid having it ripped out again. This would involve not having the Titans fight each other again, or at least not starting it and suffering the consequences. It would be everything he wanted to achieve knocked out in one go with minimal muss or fuss, compared to other methods. It’s probably a part of why he shows up personally to bargain with Eerkala and the Cabal, and why he directly intervenes in our Wizard’s efforts to stop him; it was too important to trust to any of his kids, so knowing Scorpion probably wouldn’t have been able to execute it anyway, he used his kid as a distraction for the most part.

I also like looking into the fact that his element, besides Shadow, is Storm, as opposed to pure Shadow or Death, as most major antagonists are. Storm is a school based on invention, experimentation and improvement. This is something that interests me for two reasons: one, the magic of major antagonists is always a part of their character, Malistaire the most blatantly, and two, because of this line he says in Mirage.

To my interpretation, this would imply that he sees the Spiral as something that could be improved. And as a god, he would of course find it his obligation to try and fix this flaw. When he made the barter with the Cabal, I don’t doubt he was being at least partially honest about restoring the FirstWorld; it would certainly fix the flaw it has in the context of stealing his internal organs, but he would also probably seek to improve it, make it more suited to Shadow or something.

Something else I find intriguing is how weirdly honest he is; I don’t recall him ever lying to us once, unless you count omitting certain facts as lying. But that’s absolutely something I can see him using against people, like “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you, your fault for not asking ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .” As said before, he;s really good at manipulating people and he weaponizes whatever he can; @that-wizard-oki​ made a really great post about how he uses conflicts- his fault or not- to his advantage, and does his own thing in the background without interruption, Mirage and Neumia probably being the best example of this, with Scorpion and the Cabal serving as distractions while he either carries out things himself or gives instructions.

To pull all of this together narratively, I think it’s important to consider this line from Mellori during one of their confrontations:

He feels powerless, so he puffs up his god status. He has little power to fight with, compared to before, so he mostly manipulates and creates back-up plans while causing conflicts to serve as distractions. His love hurt him, so he lashes out at others and drags them into his problems.

You may ask, “But Sam, these are all bad qualities, why should we like him because of this?” And I would respond “Because it makes him a complex and interesting antagonist.” The kind of character that executes his shitty actions in such a way that you can’t help but respect- even just for the level of dramatics put in to it- while also having a motive that makes you stop and consider that maybe he has a point but is very much handling the situation the wrong way.

Like, c’mon, he ticks so many villain boxes. Tragic backstory? Check. Blatant thespian who owns it? Check. Gets his hands dirty before the climax of the story? Check. Smart/ manipulative/ has back-up plans? Check. Understandable, strong motives? Check.

He’s got layers. Like onion. I felt like there was always something new to discover about him, and for that I can assert my opinion that he’s one of the best characters in Wizard101.

lmao if you read this far into my simp-for-shithead post congrats. feel free to shoot me more asks on the subject bc i cant write persuasive-essay-esque format anymore my brain is rotting. if you will excuse me, im off to listen to the chronoverge combat track for the 82937487734th time

[marril96]

Extremely Cuddly, Shockingly Soft and Lovely

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: After helping the Winchesters out with a case, Rowena is being unusually affectionate.

A/N: Based on this prompt by my lovely friend @impala-1979

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

Of all the ways Rowena could have greeted you, the last thing you expected was a bone-crushing hug. You'd barely said, "Hi," cut off halfway through by her arms around you, squeezing the life out of you. As if it had been months since you'd last seen her as opposed to mere days.

You didn't complain, though, instead returning the hug and squeezing back just as hard. She was warm in your arms. So tiny, so fragile, yes strong beyond belief.

"Well, hello there," you said, breaking into a grin, surprised but welcoming of the strange greeting.

Rowena wasn't a hugger. Or rather, she wasn't much of an initiator. She enjoyed a good cuddle, but she had to be prompted into it. Making the first step was beneath her, though, a few rare times, she allowed herself to snuggle in unprompted.

She'd gone to help Sam and Dean on a case a few days ago, and you were already missing her. The home was empty without her. The bed you shared cold, lifeless. Your body lacking hers to warm up with, to feel safe, at home.

You'd texted and video chatted countless times, but it wasn't the same. Nothing beat having her in your arms, safe and sound.

A part of you regretted not going with her. She'd made it more than clear that you were welcome to accompany her, just like all those times before. Against your heart's wishes, you'd opted not to. It was a fairly simple case, after all. An out of control witch. Nothing the three of them couldn't handle on their own.

You'd regretted that decision the moment the door had closed behind her on her way out.

Codependence wasn't healthy; you were more than aware of that. But still.

But still.

Now that you had her with you, you never wanted to let her go again.

To your utmost surprise, Rowena seemed to share the sentiment.

"Are you okay, baby?" you asked, baffled by the way she clung to you. So tight, a koala clinging to a tree branch. "Did something happen?"

She nuzzled your chest like an overly affectionate cat. "Everything is fine." Her voice was soft, lovely. Cotton candy and silk mixed into one. You wanted to melt in it.

You didn't buy it, but you let it go. Who were you to look gift hugs in the mouth?

"I missed you," you whispered, kissing her hair.

"I missed you, too, darling." She tightened her grip, Pressing her face against your chest.

You enjoyed the moment too much to chastise her for ruining your shirt. Makeup could be washed off. It wasn't every day that your girl initiated affection — to this degree, no less. A dirty shirt was a more than fair price to pay.

As the two of you settled in the living room to talk about her travels, Rowena remained by your side. Literally glued to you, as if you were bound at the hip. As she talked of tracking down the witch and killing her, her head was on your shoulder, one hand firmly in yours, fingers twined in an almost unbreakable knot.

When she got up to make tea, she dragged you with her to the kitchen, one hand on the kettle and the other holding yours. Gripping it with impossible strength so that you couldn't break away.

Your questions if something bad had happened had gone unanswered.

Maybe she'd remembered Lucifer again. Maybe something had triggered her — again, like many times before — along the way, and she didn't want to be alone like she was that day in May of 2017 when he showed up and messed her up for life. When, following a meaningless argument, you'd left to blow off some steam, and had returned to a bloodbath and a charred corpse in the middle of the hotel room.

Maybe she wanted to make sure that you were here. That, this time around, you wouldn't leave. That she wasn't alone.

You didn't have the heart to take it away from her.

So you remained at her side. You allowed her to drag you around the house, to cling to you as she sat beside you. Even when she squeezed too tight and it was hard to breathe, you didn't say a word.

Let her have her fantasy. Let her have her feeling of safety. You'd promised her, after she'd healed, that you would never leave her again, and you intended to make good on it.

Besides, it felt nice to have her so close. It felt nice to snuggle up without having to coax her into it. To, for once in your life, not have to be the instigator. Rowena was affectionate; she loved cuddles and snuggles. She loved kisses and nuzzles and sweet promises of love. Not once did you doubt that she loved you the same way you loved her. She was just different. More closed off, due to her background.

But, gods, you enjoyed this open side of her immensely. However short it may be, you decided to make the most of it.

"I love you, Y/N."

She'd said it multiple times over the last few hours, and you'd returned each one. It was music to your ears, a lullaby you could fall asleep to every night.

Whatever had happened must have shaken her. But she was safe now. That was all that mattered. She would never be unsafe again, not while she was with you. Not while you could wrap her in your embrace and nuzzle her hair and tell her you loved her over and over again, for as long as she was willing to listen. For as long as she was willing to say it back.

To your great surprise, Rowena insisted on making dinner. Your favorite, she said. She would make it exactly as you liked it.

Blinking twice, three times, four, to make sure you hadn't been transported to an alternate reality without noticing, you asked, "Since when do you cook?"

"Can't I treat my girlfriend to a lovely homemade meal every once in a while?" she said, looking through cupboards for the kitchenware. Sorting the items she needed on the island, neatly and in order as she did when she worked on potions.

It was more like once in every few years, but you decided not to comment. Who were you to say no to a homemade meal? It was surely better, much more intimate, than being treated to restaurant dinners (which you always welcomed. Rowena had impeccable taste, and she never failed to impress).

"Okay," you said, still baffled by her behavior. Was she truly shaken up by something, or was something else going on?

Your heart jumped, nervous tingles slipping down the back of your neck like an army of angry ants. Had you forgotten an important date? An anniversary of some sort?

You cleared your throat. Mentally prepared yourself for the ire she would unleash on you for forgetting whatever it was that had taken place on this day. In your defense, you'd never been the best with days. Hopefully, Rowena would take that into consideration before she obliterated you. "Are-are we celebrating something? Did I forget something again?"

Rowena laughed, a sweet, delicious melody. Harmless. "I'm just making you dinner, Y/N." You breathed out in relief, muscles springing free of tension that had strung them stiff. "You're acting as if I never do anything nice for you."

You shrugged, because she didn't. Not like this. She didn't cuddle so much. She didn't make the first move. She didn't tell you she loved you so frequently, so earnestly. She didn't make you dinner from scratch and act like it was the most normal thing in the world.

None of this was normal.

It both scared and intrigued you.

Rowena pouted and, walking over, pressed her forehead to your chest like an injured, attention-starved kitten.

Your heart just about exploded with guilt, with regret that ate at you like acid. "I didn't mean it like that," you said, rubbing her back in the gentlest of circles. What had gotten into her today?

She looked up at you. Narrowed her eyes as if in thought. "I may forgive you if you kiss me."

Seriously? Since when did she ask for a kiss instead of taking it? Since when did she bury her face into your shirt and pout until she got what she wanted?

That was usually your tactic.

"You drive a hard bargain," you teased, cupping her cheeks into your palms with utmost tenderness and laying a kiss, soft as silk, to her forehead. Then one to the tip of her nose, and another, the cherry on top, on her lips.

"Good girl," Rowena said, and, with a flash of a smile, went back to work on dinner. "You're forgiven. For now." She winked.

"You're mean," you told her.

"Me?" she clasped a hand over her heart dramatically. "Never."

Right. She was Miss Goody Two-Shoes. As if. You chuckled.

"Why would I be mean when I love you?"

So she kept saying. You never tired of hearing it, no matter how strange it was. How unlike her.

"To assert dominance?" you joked.

She raised an eyebrow. You blew her a raspberry.

"Mature, darling."

You gave a shrug. "That's just me saying I love you back."

Rowena grinned, and walked over for another kiss. As if she needed the assurance. As if she needed to feel you, to touch you, to make sure you meant it. As if, otherwise, it would all be a lie. You gave in to it because why wouldn't you? Strange as it was, it cost you nothing. When she got over whatever it was she was going through, she would go back to normal. For now, you decided to enjoy this needy, clingy side of her.

The meal turned out incredible. Rowena, by her own choice, wasn't a cook, but when she put her mind to it, she could whip out incredible food. As magical as the potions she always made. Just as crafty, just as professional.

She marveled in your praise as you ate, and pulled you into an embrace as you finished, beaming like the sun on a summer afternoon. Beautiful and bright, without a cloud in sight.

"I really loved it," you said, kissing her cheek to emphasize it. "You should cook more often."

"I shall cook for you every day," Rowena vowed.

You highly doubted that, but you went along with it. "Think you could make filet mignon tomorrow?"

She looked you in the eyes, serious as a storm. "The best you've ever had."

"Deal."

She caressed your scalp. "Why don't you sit here and relax while I clean up?"

You looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. Since when did she volunteer to clean up? Since when did she look so gleeful at the mere thought of it? Last time she was home, she rolled her eyes all the way through, complaining that there wasn't a spell to speed up the process and vowing to create her own. Tonight was supposed to be your turn to do it. "For real?"

"Aye. Let the food settle, won't you?" She patted your stomach affectionately and started gathering the dirty dishes.

You blinked, baffled. Sure this had to be some sort of a joke, though she appeared one hundred percent serious.

"Okay…" you said, unsure, though you tried not to dwell on it. You were no fan of chores, either.

As she cleared out the table and wiped it, thoroughly, with a cloth, she kissed your forehead, then committed to doing the dishes. Every now and again, she would throw a glance at you, making sure you were still where she'd left you. Making sure you hadn't left.

You were growing to enjoy this side of her. It was odd and different and it would surely not last for more than a few days, at most, but it was sweet. She was sweet; sugary, to a level most people would find disgusting, but you reveled in. You just hoped she eventually told you what was going on. A change like this, you deserved to know the reason for.

A sudden vibrating sound startled you. Your phone, abandoned on the coffee table, was buzzing, the screen flashing as bright as a lamp. Grabbing it, you were surprised to see it was Sam who was calling. You sighed, frustrated. What had happened now? Did the Winchesters need Rowena — again? If so, why didn't they call her? You doubted they wanted your help. Who went to the student when they could go straight to the teacher?

"Hello," you said, uncertain.

"Hey, Y/N." Sam was polite. Friendly as always. You were no fan of hunters, but you appreciated it. Out of them all, he seemed like the most trustworthy. "Has Rowena gotten home?"

"Yup. Hours ago."

Rowena raised an eyebrow. You shot her a smile, prompting her to keep on washing plates.

Sam breathed out loudly. Was that relief you were detecting? "She okay?"

Uh oh. "Is there a reason she shouldn't be?"

"I—"

"We need you to check her pockets," Dean cut in. No nonsense, straight to the point as always.

"Why?" you asked.

"Has she been acting weird?"

Weird would be an understatement. Heart jumping with concern, you said, "Well, I mean, she…" She's been cuddly as an attention-hungry kitten. You cleared your throat. "She's been a bit… odd."

It wasn't something bad, was it?

Cold chills slid down the back of your neck, thin and prickly as needles.

Was it?!

"Check her pockets," Dean told you. "She might be cursed. Jack was acting weird all day, and we just found a hex bag in his pocket."

Cursed? Rowena could be cursed?

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

It was obvious, now that you thought about it. Of course she was cursed. Why else would she glue herself to you as if you were conjoined twins? Why else would she volunteer to make dinner for no special occasion — your favorite, at that — and insist that she do the dishes? Why else would she be so fucking squishy?

"On it. Thanks for letting me know."

As soon as you hung up, you were on your feet, heart racing, concern rising. Please, don't be a bad one, you prayed to any deity willing to listen. Please, please, please. The witch they'd faced was powerful, Rowena had told you. Dangerous. Sadistic. A radical change of behavior in her victims was certainly just the beginning.

You had no intention to see how it ended. Enough time had passed already. Hopefully, you'd managed to catch on to it in time, before something serious — something cruel, deadly — took effect.

"A friend?" Rowena inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Sam and Dean."

"Ah. Checking up on me, are they?"

She had no idea.

As you got close, she did what she'd been doing all day and threw her arms around you. You sank into the embrace, let her curl around you like a piece of a puzzle perfectly nesting into place. Your hands slid down to her hips, felt for the pockets of her dress pants. Fingers slithered in as soon as they found them.

Your right fingertip brushed against a rough fabric, and relief instantly flooded you, a welcome, much needed high. Grabbing the small pouch, you threw it down. Swiftly, forcefully, as if it were poison deadly to the touch.

"What are you—" Rowena's eyes trailed yours, widening at the sight of the hex bag. Tiny. The color of rust. Almost harmless, lying all alone, abandoned, on the floor.

You spat, "Ignis." Fire.

The bag instantly burst into flames. Bright and orange, they devoured it, ate it from the inside out like acid, until it was nothing but a pile of ash. Fragile. Easily scattered. Powerless.

Rowena stared at it. She did nothing, said nothing, just stared at the grayish-black remains of the hex bag. Her arms were limp at her sides. Lips tight in an unreadable line.

"Rowena?" you said, concerned. "You okay?"

No reaction. No acknowledgement.

Nothing.

"Baby?"

She swallowed.

You reached for her hand, only to be pushed away. The rejection stung like a slap to the face.

Was this the aftermath of the curse? Was she shaken up about being snapped out of it so suddenly?

"Rowena, sweetie—"

"I was cursed." Her voice was cold. Distant.

"Yup. Sam and Dean said Jack was cursed, and they wanted me to check your pockets, to make sure."

Good thing they did, otherwise… Something would have happened. Something bad. You didn't know what, but you could guarantee it was nothing good. Evil witches didn't hex people who were after them mildly. Rowena, a former evil witch herself, would know that better than anyone.

"But you're okay now," you said. "Right?"

She gave a nod.

At least there was that.

A moment passed in silence, then Rowena uttered, "You didn't notice."

"What?"

"I wasn't myself, and you didn't notice."

Was that offense in her tone?

"It's not like that," you said, guilt lacing your words. "I just figured you were going through some stuff."

She stared at you, incredulous. "Like being cursed?"

She was offended. She was mad.

Shit. You swallowed. "Well…"

Thinking of it now, it was obvious. She hadn't been herself. Had been acting too different, too strange. Too unlike the woman you'd gotten to know in the past six years.

Rowena gasped. Dramatic. Exaggerated. Over the top. Her usual style. You sighed, mentally preparing yourself for the blow up. Here we go.

"How could you not notice? It was right in your bloody face!" she exclaimed in that tone that both intimidated and intrigued you, the one veteran theater actresses would envy. "Do I look like a bloody attention whore?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

She scowled as if you'd insulted her. Which, to be fair, you probably had. Raising her forefinger threateningly (not that you were truly afraid.She could be intimidating, but you never feared her), in your face, she snapped, "Don't be a smartarse!"

You shrugged, nonchalant. She was dramatic. You were a smartass. Some things were just facts.

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You liked me slobbering all over you like a diseased cat and waiting on you hand and foot." She crossed her arms. Her expression softened, mellowed into something you couldn't quite put your finger on. Something… sad.

Was that what she thought? That you didn't notice her being cursed because you enjoyed taking advantage of her? That you jumped at the chance?

It was your turn to be offended. "I can't believe you just said that."

"What am I supposed to think?"

"You're supposed to know me better than that."

"You are supposed to know me, as well, and look how that turned out."

Seriously? She was going there? You supposed you shouldn't be surprised; when Rowena kicked, she aimed for the lowest area. Not just because of her height.

"I thought something triggered you while you were working the case!" you exclaimed. "I didn't wanna say anything because I figured you just wanted to cuddle for a day or two, and you'd be back to normal. It's happened in the past!"

You didn't want to bring it up, but if she was going to be a bitch, you might as well make her face the truth. You felt bad for not noticing. Felt guilty. But there have been times, in the past, when she remembered Lucifer, and all she needed was some love, some sense of safety for a little while until the fear subsided. The two of you never talked about it; you'd had a consensus, a wordless agreement to let it happen.

So you let it happen.

It was harmless, usually. Just some cuddles and kisses. How were you to know a curse would make her exhibit the same symptoms?

Rowena had the decency to look ashamed. Eyes falling to her feet, avoiding yours for as much as they could, she said, "I know I'm not the most affectionate person."

"Are you kidding? You're the cuddliest witch I know!" She leveled you with a stare that threatened murder. You grinned. She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. I admit, it was nice to see you take more of an initiative, but I don't think there's anything… lacking with the way you usually are. I wouldn't have you any other way."

She cracked a small smile. "Sap."

"You made me do it!" you accused jokingly.

She sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"How about a hug?" She gave you a look, one of those she reserved for when you did something incredibly stupid and she had no words to encompass it. "Please?"

"Maybe a small one," she relented after a moment of thought.

Giggling, you threw your arms around her and squeezed as hard as you could.

"Y/N!" Rowena protested.

"I can't help it!" you said, ecstatic. "You're just so squishy!"

"And you're mean!" she whined.

You could live with that.

She pouted for a few seconds before returning the hug and nestling comfortably against you, exactly where she belonged. Safe and sound and, most important of all, content. Happy, though she would never say it out loud.

"Say, Rowena..." you said, uncertain how to best approach the issue. "About that filet mignon you promised…"

"Don't even think about it."

You figured as much.

But it was okay. Because she was okay. She was unharmed. Herself. Yours, exactly as she was, with all her sides, good and bad.

Overly affectionate or not, she would always be your girl. There wasn't a single thing she could do to make you love her less. Laughter, tears, joy, grief, happiness, fear; you'd been through it all, and hadn't regretted a thing. Would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

But… damn, you were really looking forward to that filet mignon.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @hellbentredhead @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @theeasterbilby @midnight-lestrange @osterhagen @impala-1979 @gracib16 @feelsandotps

[themerriweathermage]

A Sound Like Thunder

Summary: What day in the Armadillo barony hasn’t ended in constant arguing betwixt Quinn, Bren, and Nix? In the aftermath of one of these arguments, Quinn challenges Bren’s ideals and gets more than he bargained for...

Pairing: Baron Quinn X Bren

POV: 1st and 3rd person

Taglist: @my-fandom-musings

WARNINGS: Implied Trauma? Angst

Divider Credit: firefly-graphics

Quinn’s voice stopped me in my tracks. I had been thinking about heading down to the barracks if nothing else to see if Waldo would help me practice my forms. After all, Nix and Sunny were long gone, heading down the stairs to the kitchens. “You really believe in all that bullshit? You really believe that the future here isn’t so different?” I turned on my heel, giving him a questioning glance.

“Do you want me to be honest?” I asked. I waited a moment with no answer. “With men like you in charge...?” I stepped closer to him as he took a seat at his desk. “It will always be like that with men like you in charge.” I eyed the Capitol miniature sitting on the table behind him. “Does it surprise me that the Old World fell? If your Old World was anything like our modern world, nothing would surprise me anymore.”

“Didn’t think you were the type.”

“The type to what?” The way Quinn was smirking, it was obvious that that was an insult.

“But I mean, you clearly don’t have what it takes.” Oh, we were back on that, were we? My eyes lingered on the signet ring on his pinky, fingers steepled together. He was laughing at me, no doubt. “The type who stirs up trouble and then won’t take responsibility for it.”

“Oh, I take full responsibility for teaching your Cogs to sing sea shanties. There’s a reason behind it. There’s a reason behind it, that when sailors are fed up with their conditions but no one dares to propose a mutiny, that they will let their captain know that he is only one man, and they are the sails, the rope, the rudder that powers that ship. And there are much, much worse shanties I could teach them that when their combined voices rise, even a man like you would step back and reconsider!”

“But you won’t take the responsibility of a barony!” His voice had risen, in... anger? He stood, scowl building on his face. “Is it love that binds you to my barony? Or even lust?” Fingers tipped my chin to the side, exposing my throat to him. Fear. Fear was the answer to that question. I was no leader. I had never been that person. Sure, my heart was big and bold and compassionate and I was a bleeding heart with a hell of a temper, but I had never done anything like what Quinn was suggesting. I grabbed his wrist, anger flaring throughout my body.

“I doubt someone like you would EVER understand my reasoning for that.” I retorted, fingers digging into his wrist, grip like a vice. 

“You’re a coward!” Quinn snapped. “You play with fire and then refuse to take responsibility when that fire inevitably burns someone!”

“Sweetheart, I am the fucking fire! It’s not my fault your mother didn’t teach you not to play with matches!”

Sunny winced. Apparently Quinn had... instigated something up there in his office and now the sound was making its way down the stairs and across the house.

“Oh, you have greater ideals and morals than the rest of us, on your high and mighty horse and nothing to show for it. At least I have a successful barony!”

“You won’t have success for long if you keep running it the way you do! Your Cogs hate you; your Clippers resent you, and your goddamn poppy crop is failing because you’re too prideful to ask for help!” I hissed, slamming my hands down on his desk, feeling the fury rising in my chest.

“You bastard!” Quinn lunged over the desk, fingers tangling in my hair, yanking me into a bruising kiss. I swore I blinked for a moment, trying to register the fact that his lips were on mine. Instinctively, my hand was at the back of his head, keeping him rooted there. For a moment I let myself be lost in his touch, in the taste of whiskey still on his tongue, and to the heat that he brought to my skin. But then his mouth moved, teeth biting their way down my jaw and into my neck.

“No.” But he never stopped. “I said no, Quinn!” I let go then, pushing him backwards into his chair with a heavy thump, nearly making the chair tip over in the process had he not suddenly grabbed onto the desk and righted himself. “This is why. Because men like you don’t listen. You just take what you want regardless of the consequences! After all, they’re not consequences to you as long as you don’t have to face them!” He bared his teeth in a growl, real anger glittering in his eyes.

“You’re nothing, do you hear me, nothing in this world!” I drew back, hurt and angry and chiding myself for the fool I had been to let my heart get tangled up in this mess. I snatched the signet ring, Jacobee’s signet ring, off the center of his desk, stalking over to the door.

“At least I’m a man who still has his fucking humanity.” I replied. “Don’t you dare think that I’ll sit so quietly for you after this. Goodnight... Baron.” The house shuddered in the wake of the force I slammed the door shut with, and the house Cogs scattered at the sight of me. I furrowed my brow, scowling. I had gotten myself involved in the mess; I would get myself out of this mess. It was time to grab this life in the Badlands by the balls and make it cooperate. So Quinn thought I was a coward? Well, I wasn’t about to prove him right; that was one thing I knew for certain.

The Foundation was empty; that much Minevera knew. The barons had dispersed after Bren had been found and treated, and all in all, nothing had come of discussing the barony of mining at the conclave. It would be treated as nomad contested territory until someone rose up to take that mantle and challenge the man who was in current possession of Jacobee’s signet ring-- and few people were willing to challenge Quinn. That, however, had just changed in the matter of moments, when the telltale sound of a firework had deafeningly burst over the Foundation, green sparks lingering in the air for a moment before fading. The Barony of Mining had just been claimed.

Sunny stepped outside for a moment. The whistle song of the firework being lit had caught his attention and he was privy enough to see it burst into a thousand sparks. “Oh no.”

Nix joined him, drawn to the commotion. “Why the oh no?”

“It came from the Foundation. It’s a sign that Jacobee’s barony has been claimed. A new baron has risen.”

“Why do you sound so concerned?” 

“Quinn had the signet ring. The key.” Sunny turned, glancing down at Nix. “How well do you know your friend? Would he claim a barony? It is rightfully his; he won it through trial by combat.”

“You think Bren...?” Nix started, uncertain.

“If there had been another coup, we would have heard about it by now. But we left Bren in his office, and it would not be the first time he’s been caught in the thick of arguing with Quinn about it.”

Quinn swore under his breath quietly at the sight of the firework that had, for a brief moment, lit up the sky as bright as day. “Shit.” Why was it that his words never came out the right way whenever he was around Bren? Yes, the man was annoying, a perpetual thorn in his side, but Quinn wouldn’t have it any other way. And the admission that Bren loved him? Oh, that just did things to him. But he was hopeless at reading the man; one minute, it was all fun and games and then Bren turned at the flip of a coin. Perhaps there was real truth in that this world just wasn’t his home-- what was it Nix had said-- that as soon as the shock wore off, his body would want to fight? But he’d shown no signs of said shock, and Quinn had just assumed... 

He would never make it running a barony. He was young and inexperienced and his heart was far too good, and for all Quinn knew, he had just damned the man to an early death, as much as the one Jacobee had experienced. He had hoped that Bren would choose to stay here, within the confines of the Fort, where it was safe, but words had spilled out in anger, words that he hadn’t meant and even he wasn’t immune to the fact that he had hurt Bren.

Quinn grumbled, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Tonight had definitely not turned in his favor. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of Bren’s hand at the back of his head, the heat that had flushed through his skin at Quinn’s touch, his mouth warm and wanting. Admittedly, perhaps he’d been overzealous... enough that Bren had finally snapped and pushed him away. But what on Earth had happened to him to make him react like that?

[goldznuts]

(Wano AU) Tagged::Regrets

If there was one question that had began to annoy him it was any in reference to the one piece or laugh-tale island. Those were his secrets to keep and if any desired to know then they could go themselves in their own stride and pay their own prices but he would still always be the first. There was no easy path for the questions they asked and Roger could not help but play musical chairs in attempts to get away from the never-ending questions and conversations. A quick smile and wave was given until his presence brought more attention than he bargained for. Nope! The captain commented before rising from his seat slapping the payment on the counter. Under the influence, the Captain after two battles now staggered down the street in hopes to find a quiet bar to relax in. He wasn't tired or hurt just to the point that he was too drunk to speak properly. This was not how he often carried himself but he had gone too far in his search for booze. Little did he know with the fame, even while despised, he could manage to find regrets in making such a bold testament to the world. Peace was rare and priceless, this was his first lesson as King. His best bet was to buy his drinks and head back to the Oro Jackson to disappear into the grasp of the sea once more. There was one place he could go to and not have to worry but they would despise him too. It would be certain that his sails were the ones that kept Oden away for so long and Wano had began to fall into a grim era. As the thoughts crossed his mind he remembered his first statement not to rule a thing and tried to cast aside such concerns. But Oden?....he was there, or so he had presumed. Was it selfish for an entire country to have fallen for his cause? These type of thoughts came to mind to counter his protest of little cares. Pressing a hand to his forehead he lifted the gourd to read the label in question. Sure enough it was Rum. He didn't do too well under the influence of Rum and steered clear of the drink as a whole. No wonder his mind was processing too much in irritation. That still didn't change the fact that the thoughts were in fact truth as ugly as it appeared. For every action there was a reaction and many would pay the price even more than he could have ever imagined. It was heavy and one of the few regrets he carried with the new crown. When they had brought Oden back in celebration they could not help but acknowledge the price they had all paid when Wano came into view. Should he have stayed behind to assist in such matters? Should he have left Oden to his affairs the first time they returned for the Polygliff. Either way it was done and now he had but one choice at this point. He had gotten wind that Kaido had schemed something up for the entire land of gold. This was the cause of his stop for drinks in the first place. The news that Wano had closed off everything in attempts to conceal the secrets he had found out. Yep! This was definitely the work of Kaido and Roger could not help but feel a pull at his heart in thought of what that monster could do with his hands on an entire country of innocent people. Seems some of the Rocks had found a way to rule even while broken apart and disbanded. Such thoughts were beginning to bring a headache and he could not help but sigh slinking away into an dark alley to sober up a bit before heading back tot he Oro Jackson. Roger had left behind his crewmates for extra security to their vessel and even selfishly because he required the time to think. Once on board, he through a drunken sway gave the order dropping the canisters of alcohol on the deck before dropping to the wooden floor hopelessly trying to fend off a drunken slumber. ☠"Go!....We are going.......Wano, to Oden, head for Wano."☠ The drunk captain had finally spat out the order before the snores commenced. The king was content to face his consequences alongside Oden. He couldn't just leave him there to handle Kaido alone in good conscience. Newgate wouldn't let him live it down if something happened to the man or his family. Too add Kaido was NEVER

ALONE, but if he were then he was a force to be reckoned with all the same even for Oden. Rayleigh only paused studying the drunk captain with a raised brow shaking his head in disapproval. This was unlike Roger and surely his visit could not have been so bad. "Political affairs are not our forte, Roger!" The other screamed with a mind to knock him upside his head. Even as he protested the captain continued his snores the order standing without the dispute. If he were awake he would tell his number two that they could not rule the seas and not address and situation like this. They owed Oden for everything and could never turn away even if the man had told them to go. Oden had promised that he would be fine and would reach out when he was finished with setting order. The roger pirates were supposed to celebrate together with him, it was the promise given before they agreed to leave. That was how it was supposed to go and even then Roger had a bad feeling in his gut and still left as requested. When they arrived in Wano things were not as they had found it the first time around. The drastic changes already shifting the finical and economical stance of Wano. The caste systems had tilted for greed and plots. This was real bad and to make matters worse he had found out that ODEN WAS DEAD? This hurt his heart and Roger had no idea how he would even tell Whitebeard of such a thing. He had left the other there and now knew he should have stayed to address the situation directly with him. As Oro Jackson pulled into port he studied the smoke filled skies a grim chill pushing down his spine as he took in the view. None on board the ship could speak as they viewed what was left of the Kozuki family shrine, it was now nothing but ash. They knew it would be bad but never anticipated Wano would end up in such a state. To correct, he should have known but at the time he was not aware that Kaido was directly involved with Wano. Deciding against porting the Pirate king opted to hide the vessel and leave out on foot. Hours later he found himself in much need of a drink as he made his way through the lands under disguise. They had opted for masks since they were so common these days. The Red and blank kimono he wore was constraining and layered to blend him in with the noblemen. He could find out anything he needed to know with time in patience. The drinks they shared weren't festive in the least. The captain babysitting the bowl of sake that had been poured by request. He gazed into the liquid his reflection dancing back, or one of the mask rather as he sunk back into his thoughts. When he had found a voice to speak he finally swallowed the lump in his throat. Roger forced up a cracked voice before he took in a few labored breaths to hide the fact he was very upset. Rayleigh in whom set beside him had no sarcastic comments to add nor did he instigate the situation that was obvious. There was no humor to be found even as they tried but the silence had to be broken. He was certain Rayleigh didn't offer many words only because he too didn't know what to say or he was simply waiting for the captain to lead off in discussion. During times like these it made the captain very thankful for his friend. ☠"Rayle-O, I-I, don't think we did the right thing here. I-I feel like this is my fault and I am almost scared to inquire anything further. This is so wrong!"☠ The captain explained as he lifted the bowl to his lips the sake being a much calmer choice for the male. He couldn't help the sting of tears that forced forward. Roger was very thankful for the mask he wore at this moment and lowered the bowl not even in the mood to drink. This was so messed up, he had assumed that when Oden returned that he would be able to handle the situation at hand. THAT WAS WHAT HE HAD TOLD HIM! And here Roger was fool enough to believe him even despite his own two eyes and the odd gut wrenching feeling they all had when they sailed out. ☠"We are far too late and we have to fix this!"☠ He choked out as he struggled to catch his grip for the moment being. He

needed food and more drinks, something that could put him down until he could process all the grim news and address it. No wonder they were hated by the many, if they left messes like this for the world to clean up. Thoughts like this came forward and had the King already wanting to retire from the game before he even started. It was then Roger made up his mind that when they fixed Wano's grim tale he would retire and head home to start a family. ☠"I-I didn't want to rule the seas...I just wanted to find the answers. When this is over......."☠ He paused remembering that he was intoxicated and that this was not a conversation to be had in a place like this. Instead Roger paused patting the other on his shoulder before heading to put in a another request for food. Leaning over the counter with his mask in place he glanced back to the curtain that had concealed them from view by design. The place was known for privacy and small gatherings much like a lounge so it was a good option for peace. What peace was to be had in Wano when the entire land was suffering? Immediately, Roger lost his appetite and headed out for a fresh breath of air. Ensuring that the mask was pinned into place he slid the door open gently so not to draw attention as he snuck out for a moment to figure out his best course of action. Who needed a plan? At this point he'd love to get his hands on the supposed strongest beast and anyone else involved. His eyes burned with fury behind the mask as he leaned against the wall allowing a much needed breath to escape him.