#masquerade au is one of my personal favourites to make and draw can you tell lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pars-ley · 4 years

Note

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?"

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab."

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics.

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is.

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?”

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm.

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands.

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented."

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this?

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there.

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds.

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave.

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking.

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside.

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze.

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?"

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building.

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No."

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

"Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline.

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before.

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is.

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie."

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?"

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after.

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks.

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade.

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice.

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

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mwolf0epsilon · 6 years

Text

El plan de Ernesto y la promesa de Héctor

Summary: In which Coco comes across a small problem relating to her gigantic friend’s nightly visits, Ernesto begins plotting something quite nefarious in order to get rid of Hector once and for all, and Hector makes a promise that he might not be able to keep. Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Hector Rivera. Setting: Gashadokuro AU, inspired by @melcecilia14‘s posts [X] [X] [X] and a continuation of my own fics [X] [X] [X] [Things are starting to pick up on Ernesto’s side of the story. You can also read it on Ao3!]

—{Enjoy}—

There was no denying how much Socorro Rivera loved her two best friends, siblings Julio and Rosita. The two were always there for her, no matter the circumstances. She could talk to them about just about anything, be it her concern for the bitterness that steadily grew in her mamá’s heart with each passing day where her papá remained away from home, the anger she felt towards the older kids who relentlessly tormented her and made fun of her family, or even of just how much she missed her papá and how he’d sing to her every day and every night. Coco could recall whole afternoons where she’d confide to them the stories she could recall of better times. Those very few years of her life where mamá and papá would sing and dance and laugh like there was no care in the world… She’d tell them of the letters containing poems and songs, and decorated with small doodles Coco knew her papá had absentmindedly added to the paper, mind wandering away from body as he carefully considered his words, while also letting his imagination run wild. Her favourite doodle was that of a xolo puppy he’d seen on the streets one day. A cute little thing that had followed him around for a while, before tío Ernesto scared it off. Tío Ernesto really hated xolos, which was odd since he liked chihuahuas so much. Maybe it was because xolos didn’t have soft hair to pet? Regardless of his distaste, the puppy had caught her papá’s attention enough that he’d doodled it on the letter so that Coco could picture it perfectly.

Mamá didn’t much care for the drawing, or the letters, at least not anymore. Once upon a time, she would sit down with Coco and read them to her, and then carefully turn the paper so that she could see the drawing more clearly. Those had been the days where her mother still openly loved and missed her father, heart unmarred by bitter hatred that was fed daily by the gossip of housewives and preconseptuous nuns. Stories of her loving father leaving his family for fame and younger women, like kindling to a fire. Poisonous and vile falsities dreamt up by people who couldn’t keep their nose out of another’s lives and personal adversities. These were all things Coco confided to her dearest friends. She was never afraid to talk to them about matters that would otherwise be ignored and let to fester. There was, however, a topic that she didn’t really talk about with the two: Señor Esqueleto and his nightly visits.

In general, her gigantic skeleton friend was...Well, to put it lightly, a hard topic… Especially after what happened with Rodrigo Sanchez. The older kids kept their distance after the incident, but that didn’t mean they didn’t talk about it behind her back, focusing on what she’d claimed when she’d been trying to calm Rosita. She meant it of course, that Señor Esqueleto would never hurt someone on purpose. Just because he was bigger didn’t mean he was a bully, much less the monster they claimed he was. That was just loco! His gentleness was why Coco liked him so much! He could be just as terrible as Rodrigo and his friends, if not worse because of his size, and instead he went out of his way to be kind. Sure he was clumsy and that often caused trouble (He’d admitted to having derailed a train by accident, which was where those silly stories of a monster skeleton came from to begin with!) but he tried to fix his mistakes whenever he could. Still...As nice and caring as Señor Esqueleto was, how could she ever explain this to her friends? Her mamá and tíos didn’t believe her when she told them, nor any of the adults at the market for the matter, so could it be possible that Julio and Rosita wouldn’t either? Julio didn’t believe in magic and Rosita was easily startled, so making it seem like Coco wasn’t crazy, nor that the giant skeleton posed no threat, would be near impossible! But, then again, these were her best friends! They should believe her! They weren’t as closed minded as the adults in Santa Cecilia and she trusted them! So why did she feel so hesitant about sharing her secret with them? She didn’t know, but she’d have to reconsider this much sooner than she’d expected.

It was a calm afternoon in May. Three hours after lunch, while Coco was sitting besides her mother in the workshop, Imelda interrupted her shoe making lessons to bring her some news. “I spoke with Julio and Rosita’s parents this morning.” she said as she carefully set down her tools, moving to inspect the seams she’d completed on her latest project. A pair of riding boots. She was waiting for a response, if the delay in the topic was anything to go by. “You did?” Coco offered, peering up at her mamá with interest. It’s not that her mother and her friends’ parents didn’t talk often, far from it! It was more that they rarely did unless they were at the market or much later in the afternoon when the shop was closing. It was the only time they had, well, time to do so. “Yes.” Imelda replied after putting down the boot she’d been examining. She turned her attention fully towards Coco, a small smile on her lips. “It seems something’s come up and they need to go to the family ranch to deal with a few personal matters that will take at least two weeks to manage.” “Oh...Is everything ok? Is Julio’s and Rosita’s tía alright?” Coco frowned, worrying for the gentle old lady that had visited on the last Dia de Los Muertos. The one who’d given her and her friends a few homemade sweets under their parents’ nose. Dona Carmelita. A very sweet old woman. Coco hoped she hadn’t fallen ill after her husband passed. “Rest your head mija, Dona Carmelita is fine. This has to do with Señor Roberto’s passing. The family has to tend to his last will...However, because there will be no children attending, there was an issue with what to do with Julio and Roita.” This made Coco perk up. Julio and Rosita weren’t allowed to go? “Where will they stay if their mamá and papá are away?” She asked out of curiosity. This is when Imelda’s small smile seemed to grow. “Why, I’ve offered for them to stay at our house while their parents are away on business. That way, they will be looked after and I will be able to send a letter informing them that their children are in good health.” Coco couldn’t help beam at the idea as she listened to her mother. Julio and Rosita were going to be staying at their house for two whole weeks? That was amazing! They’d be able to do so many things together! The young girl was practically jumping for joy at the thought. “They get to sleep over? That’s great!” She cried out happily, which made her mother chuckle. “Indeed...Now, how about we stop your lesson for now and you go on and tell them the good news? I asked their parents to let you be the one to tell them.” “Thank you mamá!” Coco called out as she ran for the door.

How exciting! She’d get to hang out with her friends for two whole weeks! That was practically an eternity! They’d be able to have slumber parties and tell spooky fun stories and have all sorts of adventures! Nothing could ruin this for Coco! And that’s when it downed on her, halfway out the door, that at least ONE THING could actually spoil her fun… Señor Esqueleto...He visited every night and her two best friends were coming over to stay two week’s worth of nights in her room.That...Was going to be a massive problem. “....O-Oh no…” The youngest member of the Rivera family felt her heart drop. If her friend showed up during the night he might spook her best friends! And then they’d cause a lot of noise, and then mamá and her tíos would wake up, and then there’d be BIG TROUBLE for everyone. What was she going to do?!

---

Unbeknownst to the young and worried Coco, far away from Santa Cecilia in Mexico City, Ernesto de la Cruz was fretting over his own dilemma. It had been days since he last left the hotel room he’d holed himself in ever since his horrific encounter with the gigantic skeleton that he knew to be his deceased ex-partner, Hector Rivera. The event had shaken him so terribly that Ernesto hadn’t dared set foot outside, for fear of being found and cornered by the tremendously sized spirit that he was so certain was out looking for some revenge. This of course, was a huge setback for him. He’d just reached a very delicate stage in his musical career where he NEEDED to keep the public hooked. A stage where he couldn’t afford to become some crazy hermit holed up in an hotel room, mumbling insane stories about vengeful spirits the size of mountains. Or so his agent, Marcelo, insisted. “Ernesto it has been ages since you’ve last performed! If you keep this up, your fame will plummet faster than an acrobat with butterfingers!” Exclaimed the thin, wiry man, of physic that Ernesto found to be similar to Hector’s. He’d always found it morbidly fascinating to observe the man’s movements. More refined than that of his ex-best friend, but less heartfelt. He was less taller, his jawline less sharp, but the similarities were ironic in many ways. One would even say this was Ernesto’s way of showing he missed Hector, by mingling with people that reminded him of him...But no, Marcelo was nothing like his ex-partner in crime. Marcelo was much more conniving and clearly a money-grabber. A serpent masquerading as a gentle garden snake, ready to bite you if things didn’t work his way...Like now, where he disregarded Ernesto’s fears as soon as he smelled a weakness that could ruin them both. “You have to pull your weight amigo, or else there won’t be much of a future for you.” “I know Marcelo, I know! You've been hammering away at the topic for quite some time now amigo” He hissed, spitting the last world as if it were bile in his mouth. Hell would freeze over before he ever considered the greedy bastard as a friend. “But it’s just...I’ve taken ill, as you can see.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d made himself sick with worry just from the thought of those massive phalanges, and the rags covering up the ashen ribs, spine and pelvis. And those soul-piercing sockets that burnt with blinding yellow light... Ernesto looked terrible. Disheveled and pale, clothes in terrible need of a wash. He looked like he belonged out in the streets with the homeless instead of a lit up stage. “I can see that, yes.” Marcelo conceded as he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked him up and down. Those dark eyes of his infuriating Ernesto with their judging spark. “What I ask of you is that you get better faster!”

Ernesto rolled his eyes and turned to face away from his manager. He should have hired the other one, the short stubby man with the peg leg. At least he’d had less of an attitude. Still, hindsight cast aside, Ernesto did worry for what may happen to his career if he didn’t indeed get “better”. But how? How did one deal with a haunting on such a large scale? Going to church hadn’t helped at all. There were still stories of the beast roaming near the tracks, so any attempt to pray for protection and for Hector’s wicked soul to go away, hadn’t fixed the problem. Ernesto couldn’t afford to risk another encounter. He’d been lucky the last time, but who’s to say the odds would keep favoring him? What if the next time, it wasn’t the locomotive he crushed, but Ernesto’s compartment? A shudder ran down his spine as he thought about getting turned to canned soup by a gigantic skeleton foot. That was not a dignifying way to go… No, he refused to be an ant in the presence of his ex-best friend’s monstrous spirit. He’d won the first time after he’d pulled all the weight, he’d win again even with such terrible odds! Hector wouldn’t take his well deserved fame from him. Dead or alive. He’d just have to find the monster’s weakness, is all! In fairytales there was always the brave hero who killed the beast, always something to give him the upper hand. And, as Ernesto considered this, he got an idea of what might be the skeleton’s core weakness. “You know what...You’re right.” He said with a smirk as he turned to face Marcelo once more. The other seemed taken aback by the renewed vigor of his words. “How about this: You work with the PR team, pull some strings, do your magic and set up for my tour’s next grand destination. Then, in three weeks, I’ll be ready to be received by my adoring fans who’ve missed me so terribly after learning I was recovering from a terrible, most horrific illness that nearly took my life.” He circled around the other man, maintaining eye contact as he smiled and carried on explaining his idea. Marcelo seemed intrigued. “And then, after these three weeks of rumours and brilliant PR marketing have finished, BOOM. A set of posters with the exact location of my next concert.” He waved his hands with grandeur in his intent. Setting the image for his manager. “Ernesto de la Cruz! The Grand Homecoming Concert! Santa Cecilia’s greatest musician!” He span around and walked towards the window, right index finger tapping away thoughtfully on his chin. “Some words could be changed here and there... That artist who did my posters for that one concert in Mérida could be in charge of working on the finished thing, add some subliminal messages to entice the public... We’ve got ourselves a sensational comeback mí amigo…” And an opportunity to get rid of a few thorns in his side. Because if there was one thing that he knew was Hector’s weakness, it was those two girls of his. If he could make them, say, “mysteriously” disappear in some sort of terrible accident, then the monstrous ghost would follow them into the afterlife. That had to be the solution for all his troubles.

---

Coco was at a loss for what to do. She’d been forced to swallow down her worries when she’d gone to Julio and Rosita’s house to tell them about their parents’ plan. The two had been excited of course, unaware of their friend’s plight as her mind raced to come up with a solution for her problem. She would either have to tell them, or she’d have to figure out a way to keep them from seeing Señor Esqueleto. But the question now was how. How do you hide a colossal skeleton from someone? As she walked around town in deep thought, Coco pondered on this. It couldn’t be harder than hide and seek, right? Just make sure the “seekers” didn’t find the one hiding. But, then again, her larger friend wouldn’t be aware of the fact he needed to hide in the first place. No, trying to hide Señor Esqueleto wouldn’t work. The glow of his eyes would be a dead giveaway on it’s own. She’d have to tell them. There was no other way. Turning a corner that led to the market, Coco stopped in her tracks when she saw something up ahead. Another crowd, like the one from that day when Señor Sanchez yelled at her. The young Rivera girl gulped as she contemplated investigating the matter. Last time, when she’d gone to see what had caused the crowd to form in the first place, Coco had been saddened by the state in which the gigantic skeleton had left the fountain. She’d brought it to his attention that same night where she’d interrogated him, going so far as to mentioning how many fond memories she’d had of the fountain. He’d looked quite guilty, or as guilty as a skeleton could look, and admitted to having not been looking where he was going. And then the mess he’d made afterwards was caused when he’d crouched down trying to fix the fountain, only to bump into the stalls and damage them as well. In the end, he’d opted with leaving it as it was since he couldn’t seem to fix it without making it worse. Could it be her friend had once again made another huge mess?

Coco pondered on it for a while before shaking her head and moving off to head back home. She could worry about that later, no point risking another scene if Señor Sanchez was around. As she walked along, she listened to the murmurs of the crowd, stopping only when she heard the exchange between two ladies. “What a horrible sight...Do you really think Ricardo was right about hostile spirits?” One of the ladies asked the other, who was quick to cross herself and hiss at her friend under her breath just barely loud enough that Coco could hear. “Dios mío, cállate!” She scolded “The devil hears those who speak of his work!” “Cálmate, solo preguntaba.” The first woman sighed as she straightened the hem of her dress. “It just seems, impossible...” “I’ve seen the drunkards of Santa Cecilia, Silvia, its very likely that they probably caused the ruckus to begin with.” Said the one clutching at the beads of her rosary, seeming far too nervous to believe her own words. “You heard what the police said. They could barely understand what that man was saying...” Coco felt her heart drop into her stomach. The police were involved? What had happened the night before? “Pobre señor García...Su esposa estará tan molesta cuando llegue a casa, solo para descubrir que su esposo ha sufrido un gran susto!” “Pobre? No me hagas reír, Silvia! Ese hombre es un cerdo!” the woman with the rosary laughed, shaking her head at her friend. “Sí, aunque es trágico que Madalena regrese de visitar a sus familiares, sólo para descubrir por otros que su esposo ha sido institucionalizado, no se puede negar que su esposo no era un santo. En todo caso, esto es un castigo divino!” “Divine punish--Teresa! As distasteful as senõr García may be, no one deserves to be scared to the point of becoming a bumbling madman! You heard him screaming about the giant skeleton, that is no way for a kind woman like Madalena to see her husband!” At this point Coco moved on, not even daring to glance towards the crowd as she moved on. She was still worried about Julio and Rosita, yes, but she had at least one night before they came over. She needed to talk to Señor Esqueleto about his clumsiness. One thing was breaking a few stalls and a fountain. Another was scaring the town butcher to near death!

---

Marcelo had gone off to do just as Ernesto had told him, leaving the mariachi alone with his thoughts and schemes. That had to be it, Imelda and the girl, they had to be the key piece into getting rid of Hector once and for all. He just needed time to prepare, is all! Really, it was for the best. What right did the dead have to remain in the living world? None! It was unnatural, unprecedented, an abomination! Hector was an abomination! His presence an affront to mankind. He had to be dealt with. Not just because he didn’t belong among the living anymore, but also to protect Ernesto’s integrity and well-being. Just the knowledge that the monster was out there had nearly ruined him, and that simply wouldn’t do! Ernesto was in reality, quite appalled by all of this. He hadn’t been much of a believer of the paranormal. He’d gone to church like any good kid should and he’d even prayed every night just like his father told him he had to. But really, did going to church every sunday really account for much more than a few beliefs? The strength of a god felt comforting, but the possibility of hell had always frightened him silly as a child, until he realized how oddly absurd it all was. And then Hector had to ruin the small bliss he’d found in not believing all that bullcrap everyone talked about of the afterlife. Beliefs he’d been spoonfed as a child. And now he had to go back to that shithole of a town, Santa Cecilia, just to get this to stop. Only then would he be able to go back into a stable and comfortable life as a musician. Hector’s wife and daughter would ultimately pay the price for his insolence, but that was all for the best really. What could a temperamental widow like Imelda, or the stupid brat that had distracted his best friend so much, ever offer to the world? Nothing, that’s what! The only time Imelda had contributed even a little, was by having at least a decent taste in guitar designs. The white calavera guitar was a staple of Ernesto’s image as a musician, and that at least he owed Imelda. Not enough to spare her from his plan, of course, but just enough that he’d at least make her look decent in the eyes of the town after she tragically passed away. He’d bet even Hector would be grateful for a dignifying death for his wife. “You’d best content yourself with your familia, amigo...After all it’s all, it’s what you died trying to get in the end.” Ernesto muttered darkly to himself as he passed around the hotel room in search of some discrete clothing. He needed to consult the library about a few matters. It wouldn’t be good to ruin his PR campaign if people were to recognize him. But he couldn’t risk ruining his grand plan either. Asking about angry spirits would get him nowhere, but recorded accounts might prove his theory right.

---

At nightfall, after her mother tucked her in for the night and left to go to her room, Coco began to count the seconds. She knew to wait before her friend showed up, she also knew to be fairly patient in general despite being of such a young age. Tonight however, she was far too antsy to do so. As soon as she could no longer hear her mamá’s footsteps, little Coco flung her covers off and went to get her coat. Tonight she’d wait for him at the balcony. Seated out in the cold, as she waited for the giant skeleton, Coco couldn’t help let her gaze wander up into the stars. She remembered nights where her tired father would come sing to her their secret lullaby. In some of these nights, they would go out onto the balcony to sing beneath the stars. Then, when they were done, her papá would hold her and point out the constellations. Coco never asked if the ones he showed her were really constellations (“The Silly Xolo” wasn’t in any of the books that her uncles had on that particular matter, nor was there one called the “Giant Mariachi Hat”), but then again why should she have? She could still see what her father drew out in the sky for her and it felt all the more special that he’d not only written her a song just for her, but also that he’d make up star formations just to make her laugh. The memory alone made some of the anger Coco was holding onto, melt away. It gave way to sadness as she thought of her father and how his letters had stopped coming. Was he out there now? Maybe, looking into the stars like she was? Did he still sing her song, like she did? She knew he did, deep in her heart.

The small Rivera girl’s thoughts were interrupted as she felt the balcony tremble lightly in warning of her friend’s approach. The twin yellow lights came next, as Señor Esqueleto took notice of her almost immediately. He looked almost surprised to see her outside already in the cold. It was time to scold him. Standing up tall and putting her hands on her hips, doing her best impression of her mamá’s disapproving stance, Coco glared up into the blinding eye sockets. “You said you’d be more careful!” she started, noticing how her gargantuan friend’s surprised look crumbled into a guilty one. He knew what she was talking about, of course he did. “You scared someone badly! That’s not ok!” The giant skeleton rumbled softly in distress, before kneeling down to write in the dirt as he’d done for the past few nights whenever he needed to communicate with her. His writing was getting better too. It was looking less like chicken scratch and more legible. “It was an accident!” As if she hadn’t known that. “That doesn’t make it any less bad!” Coco replied, peering down at the reply from the edge of the balcony. Reading it upside down was a bit of a challenge, but she was getting the hang of it. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry” “It was even morning when you left...How did you get caught?” Coco frowned. He never stayed around so close to sunrise, so how had that happened? And why? “I don’t know.” Now that was silly. How could he not know how he got caught? He’d probably made some noise, or didn’t leave fast enough, or...Or anything really! Señor García could have been out for a late night walk for all she knew. She didn’t get to talk to him much, she didn’t like the smell of blood he carried because of his job. “I was going away but I stopped. I don’t know why.” Coco frowned as she watched him quickly erase the message to write another one. “I thought I hurt him by accident, but he was just screaming and screaming. I didn’t know what to do.” Her friend looked upset. She wondered just how badly he’d felt when he’d looked down and realized he’d frightened a person half to death. Probably not very good. It must have been a very scary experience...But speaking of of scary experiences... “I guess it wasn’t entirely your fault...But uh...You really have to be careful from now on! And uh, I have something I need to tell you.” Coco admitted, changing the subject so as to keep them both from dwelling on it for too long. Her friend looked upset enough that she didn’t need to tell him off for too long. “My best friends, Julio and Rosita, they’re going to stay over for two whole weeks...And uh, well, they don’t know about you.” If skeletons could blink, she was sure Señor Esqueleto would be doing so, as he stared at her with his head cocked slightly to the side in curiosity. He was probably wondering why she was making it sound like such a bad thing. “They’re going to be staying in my room...And uh, that means I gotta introduce them to you? And you to them? And uh…” She gulped “You’re going to be...Probably kind of, really scary to them?” She could see him mouthing something, very likely a simple “oh” of realization as he caught on to the issue. Of course. Giant spooky skeleton. That wasn’t the sort of thing kids were used to seeing, right? Even if for him it didn’t feel unusual. Still Señor Esqueleto knew to follow one rule. Hide. Hide when he visited his favorite little tiny. “That means you can’t show up so soon, you have to let me tell them and then I’ll bring them out to meet you, ok?” And hopefully they’d see he was nice and not go out screaming into the night.

Almost immediately a large smile seemed to overtake the giant skeleton’s “face” as he nodded eagerly. Coco could tell he was excited to meet her friends. Maybe eager to make more friends? It wouldn’t be too odd a thought, she knew he must be quite lonely with being the way he was and people being scared of him. “Ok, then tomorrow you get to meet them. But you gotta promise you’ll be really careful ok? No more scaring people either. I don’t like those mean stories they make up about you…Promise you’ll always be good, ok?” Señor Esqueleto nodded once more, raising his hand and opening up the palm, miming a scout’s honor gesture, before he lowered his hand and carefully extended his pinky finger in her direction. She couldn’t help smile and do the same, her much smaller pinky dwarfed by the massive size of his phalanges, but it was the thought that counted. A promise was a promise.

With that done, the pair went on to do as they usually did. With Coco perched up on her Señor Esqueleto’s head as he walked calmly around Santa Cecilia, being mindful of where he walked, while humming that odd and strangely familiar tune of his. It was such a soothing melody that it comforted her through out the night, until she drifted off into a fitful slumber that held none of the worries she’d carried with her all day. When the sun began to rise, Coco found herself waking up in bed, her friend nowhere in sight. The doorframe of the balcony was slightly misshapen, which answered how she’d gotten back in bed after falling asleep. Still, damaged or not, she couldn’t help but smile at the door. Señor Esqueleto had put her to bed and tucked her in. And to make it better, she’d dreamed of her papá that night. For a moment, she wondered if her papá would become friends with the colossal skeleton when he came back home. Coco really hoped so.

---

The library proved useful in the end. Ernesto could barely believe how many books had been made just to report odd occurrences relating to superstition and the supernatural. It was almost ridiculous...But it helped him immensely. Several books spoke of demonic apparitions, shadow people that fed on negative thoughts and feelings, possession, angry spirits… But one book in particular had caught his attention the most. “Legends from Across the Globe - A book on mythical creatures belonging to other cultures”. He’d be embarrassed to admit he’d enjoyed looking through the curious collection of cultural horror stories, but Ernesto would not deny he didn’t feel slightly “enlightened”. Apparently, there was a japanese folklore monster called the Gashadokuro, which so happened to be a giant skeleton. Reading about it had been...Err...Disturbing. And their description did not quite match what he knew of Hector’s death, so the fact he’d come back as something of that kind was...Well, not too good. It certainly said a lot about his ex-best friend. But then again, this was México, not Japan, so what did Ernesto really know? From what he could tell, spirits seemed to be very odd with picking how they looked or came back to haunt. The skeleton thing was probably just a huge coincidence...Or maybe, now that he thought about it, it had more to do with some old conversation he’d had with Hector early on in their tour.

“Don’t look so glum, Hector. You’ll be back before you know it, and you’ll have a lot of money in your pocket to boot! You’ll be able to provide for your family!” Ernesto had said, giving his friend a rough pat on the back as they rode the train to their next destination. “I know but...I just, I miss them…” Hector had sighed, looking sadly out the window of the train at the landscape. “I miss my girls Ernesto…” “You’ve been gone little more than two weeks amigo! What’s there to miss?” “A lot...Two weeks is a lot! It’s an eternity for a child.” Ernesto shook his head at the remark, unable to understand that at all. Two weeks was NOT a lot. It certainly hadn’t left the impact he’d wanted when they performed. “I just, I wish I could see them every day and still be able to provide for them.” At that, Ernesto couldn’t help laugh. “You’d need very long legs to accomplish that.” Ernesto chuckled, which made Hector pout in reply. “My legs are long enough as they are, any longer and I’d look ridiculous.” he mumbled as he crossed his arms. “Then what would you rather? Longer legs or just being large enough that they did not look disproportionate?” Ernesto asked, laughing harder at the thought. “What….Like a giant? Goodness no! I’d be too large to play my guitar!” Hector couldn’t help join in the laughter at the absurdity of the remark. “Although, I’d certainly be able to travel from town to town in one day. I’d see my girls and be back before sundown so we could perform.” “You’d scare people half to death as well!” “Oh I would not…” “Would too and you know it Hector.” Ernesto found himself wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he settled down from his laughing fit. “But díos would it make you memorable...Millions would come to see the dashingly handsome musician, Ernesto de la Cruz, and his abnormally sized partner and fellow musician, Hector Rivera!” “Ajá, muy gracioso ... Eres un comediante de verdad.” Hector rolled his eyes, although the smile on his face betrayed what he really felt. “Sí, mi madre también lo pensó.” Ernesto grinned “Although, for that act I think we should give you a better look. Maybe we could paint your face to look like a calavera.” “So I’d be what? A giant skeleton?” “You’d be memorable.” “And I’ll bet you’d be riding on my head singing your heart away while I played a guitar too small for my hands.” “...Ok now that you say that, it seems less ideal. Ah well, back to the drawing board…”

Ernesto frowned as he recalled that particular conversation. It seemed like it had stuck with Hector after death, enough so that it influenced the appearance he took. A giant skeleton. It’d be flattering if it wasn’t so annoyingly ironic. The monster that was haunting him was one of his own creation, and Ernesto hated it. But it did make him slowly believe that perhaps taking care of Imelda and Coco would indeed be the solution. After all, that whole conversation had stemmed from Hector’s desire to see them, so maybe that was what he did when he wasn’t hunting him? It would make sense...But also be a problem. What if that damned spirit had found a way to reveal to them what Ernesto had done? They’d ruin his reputation! He couldn’t allow that, not now, not ever!

In three weeks, he’d be in Santa Cecilia. In three weeks, he’d make Hector’s two precious girls perish in a terrible “accident”. In three weeks, he would be saved. What he did not know, is that three weeks were more than enough for a few things to be set in motion. Like how Coco would be introducing her two best friends to her tremendously sized secret friend. Like how Imelda’s dreams would once more betray her and make her wonder just what happened to her missing husband. Like how Julio and Rosita would insist in figuring out where Señor Esqueleto came from. Like how Hector’s own mind would begin to mend as soon as he caught sight of one particular poster… Ernesto de la Cruz,

The Grand Homecoming Concert,

Santa Cecilia’s greatest musician!

#Eps Writes:#Disney #Pixar #Coco #Gashadokuro AU #Fanfic

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youmakemebacon · 7 years

Text

I. Script of the Angel

Characters: Seokjin x You; and more tba...

Genre: serialkiller!au; mature (violent and sexual content)

This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

prologo || next part

Time. In essence, what is it really? When we ask for the time, are we really asking to know the exact hour and the minute? Or are we asking in order to find out how much closer or farther we are from a particular moment. Mother, what time is it? It’s half past seven. Ah, I am late for school! Honey, what time is it? It’s nine in the evening. That’s fifteen minutes of the basketball game I’ve missed.

He looks up from his laptop. The train continues to whiz by as he writes about time. Time did not slow for him although there are moments he wishes it does. Across, another passenger sleeps with his head tilted back. The momentum of each turn of the train makes his head lull to the right, and then to the left, back to the right, finally to the left.

Time. We are the only beings on this earth that keep it. The birds do not keep time as they fly from the north to the south. The beasts do not roam the earth, keeping time when they move from one water hole to another. The ants do not march in a line so that they get home in time.

“Sir, would you like anything to eat?”

He looks up again at the interruption. A lady pushes the cart and has stopped by his seat.

“A cup of coffee, please,” he says.

At moments, we ask if time can pass by quicker. At times, we ask if it can move by slower. In my line of work, the question I hear most often is “Please, can I have more time?”

“Here you are, Sir,” she hands him a cup. As he is about to take it she adds with a smile, “Careful, it’s hot.”

He returns the smile and after taking the drink, he places it on the small table to his side. The train is not filled at this time of the hour. It rarely is as most people do not enjoy taking any overnight trips.

“Would you like anything else, Sir?”

“Do you have any chocolate bars?”

“I have chocolate covered raisins.”

“That’ll do. I’ll take one box.”

He resumes his work once he places the new package on his table.

You may be wondering just what exactly I am. Perhaps I’m a doctor?

In the corner of his eye, he notices someone looking at him. A robust female throws him a charming flash of her straight teeth.

Or a professor?

She is still watching him, and so he throws her a long stare of his own.

Wait. I’ve got it, you say, You must be Father Time himself.

She gets up from her seat and saunters over to his side.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice raspy with seduction.

He shifts in his seat, holding her gaze steady with his own.

Her heart leaps at the way he is looking at her. His brown hair is styled to softly cover his face. Although he wears a collared shirt, she can see a hint of his hardened muscles from the open flap at the front. A small upturn of his lips beckon her to come closer. Each time his eyes move across her body, it sends shivers down her spine. Oh, his eyes. The deep mysterious pools that lure her in closer.

He knows he is attractive. He knows that she thinks he is attractive as well.

Sorry, you’re wrong.

“Say, would you be willing to take a small walk with me? My body is aching from sitting all night.”

I am a murderer.

Perhaps that is not in all accurate. He is primarily a novelist; one who specializes in horror crime fiction. A novelist, who was taking the train to San Francisco to do some research for his new bestseller. And how did he know it was going to be a bestseller? He already had three under his belt.

He grips her hair and holds her closer to him. They had wandered into the last car of the train, where not a single person was in sight. There, he had led her onto one of the seats, and there is where he holds her down right now.

She had been an easy target. Well, she had been the one to walk up to him first. All he had to do was sit there and wait.

She resists against him and pushes harder. However, he has his natural strength over her and so as he towers above, he reaches to grab her wrists and fastens his hold on them over her head. Sweat has beaded her forehead and her mouth opens in a silent scream.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, “Oh my god.”

He is relentless on his attack. He enjoys looking down at her this way. He refuses to refer to them as his victims. Instead, he calls them his chosen ones. With a finger, he traces the vein that starts at the top of her neck and watches it disappear again beneath her skin. A light shift in pressure is all he needs for his fingernails to draw blood, and his finger does not stop on their path; they trail further down still.

She doesn’t even know his name although she wants to scream it. Looking at him, she would have never guessed him to be the person he is showing her to be. His soft looks masquerade the aggression he hides underneath. The nonchalant display of control, as a man who knows what he wants and has never faulted to not get it.

Sexual gratification. That is what psychologists always deem as the reason for a person to kill. It’s the primary reason people do what they do as they are unable to find anything else to satisfy them.

Train sex. She never would have thought herself to experience this. But here she is. Here he is. Two bodies that moved in motion with the sound of the train over its track - a metronome to their own rhythmic rocking.

He is taken by surprise when she suddenly brings her legs around his waist and flips him over. He follows the lines down her abdomen. This time, she straddles him in the dominant position.

That is why most psychologists are not murderers. They jump to conclusions too quickly for his taste. No, murderers do not kill for sexual gratification. At least not the ones in his books. They kill for the pure reason of wanting to; the pure reason that they are able to.

Her hair tickles his thighs and it’s his turn this time to emit a low moan. His head hangs over the edge of the seat, and he knows his hair is inches off from the floor. He feels her tongue circle between his thighs. When he glances down at her, he is met with her piercing hungry gaze.

She makes sure that their contact is never broken as she slowly dips her head back down.

She’s definitely experienced, that much he could tell. And he is glad, as pleasure quickly rushes through his lower body. He relaxes his head back to its original position, succumbing to his flesh.

If he were any other man, he would have let her continue. However, a faint click on his watch tells him that their time is up.

“Finish up,” he orders her.

It takes a few seconds for her to fully comprehend what he is saying.

“Are you done?” he asks again.

She is pushed back to sit on her knees while he slides himself out from beneath. She watches with bewilderment as he grabs his clothes, then proceeds to button his shirt, pull up his pants and tie his shoes before turning back to look at her.

“Thank you,” he says and then leaves her in stark nakedness.

The sun had begun to rise and its light filters through the windows. It casts a yellow and orange glow around the entire cart before disappearing again behind the clouds. He makes a stop into the bathroom to wash his hands before returning to his seat, ridding them of any remaining filth.

When he has returned to his seat, he eyes his unopened chocolate raisins. The cushion of his seat whooshes as he sits and unwraps the package carefully. He pops the decadent treat into his mouth. It hits the right spot and brings a smile on his face.

She walks back to her seat a few minutes later, avoiding his gaze and the gaze of anybody else awake on the train.

Women. So petty, but such easy creatures to read.

In the distance, several watches beep to signify the hour and the man opens his laptop once again. It had been a great break, but it was time to return to writing. It is time to finish his script.

He wraps his fingers around her neck and strangles her until she cannot utter a sound. Her silence is a symphony to his ears and each struggle like a conductor leading her own orchestra. He would not stop looking at her. He did not want to miss the moment when she would take her last breath. He wanted to make her into something beautiful, and he believed that she was most beautiful the instance before death.

“Holy shit, that’s fucking morbid,” she comments after reading the paragraph out loud.

“Language,” he warns her like a father to daughter. He then pauses and gives her a look. “Are you reading my book?” he asks her.

She rolls her eyes at his reprimand. “I’ve never read any of your stories before,” she tells him, closing the book.

He walks up to her and takes the book out of her hands. Lovingly, he strokes the cover. It is a dark piece of artwork with a single number placed in the middle. He had given the title “Seven” with purpose, as the novel follows a killer who hunted to transform his victims into physical exhibitions for the seven deadly sins. Out of all the ones he has written, this one is one of his favourite as the idea had taken him to explore the darker side of history such that he could create his unique manifestation of art.

“You know I don’t like you reading my books,” he says to her.

“Why not? My boyfriend is the author of these books. My boyfriend who’s got his fourth bestseller,” she teasingly waves a piece of paper in front of his face.

“What’s that?” he reaches out and takes the paper.

“Mr. Kim Seokjin,

It’s your editor here! Just wanted to congratulate you on the news! Well, knowing you, you probably don’t even know what the news is so I’ll spoil it for you: Beauty, the Killer was a hit! It’s flying off the shelves and the reviewers are calling you the next Stephen King. Seriously, a job well done.

On another note, you still owe me the script for your new book. Send that over soon.

Thanks,

Jung Hoseok

“Congratulations!” she throws her arms around him.

He pats her back at the embrace. Krystal Jung: his childhood friend who somehow turned into his girlfriend along the way.

She doesn’t let go of him so he stops patting her.

No, that is wrong. He knows exactly how she became his girlfriend. He had planned it. Knowing that she had always had a crush on him, he decided then that having a girlfriend could only bring about advantages. She would be there when he needed someone to pick up his clothes from the dry cleaning; there for when he would be too tired to cook; there when he needed to bring someone along with him to the expensive galas that people kept inviting him to. She is convenient to have around, plus he had always gotten along with her well enough.

“Hey, it’s been weeks since we last saw each other. Why don’t you come rest and I’ll help you destress?” she coyly glances up at him as she leads him over to the bed.

And let’s not forget the free sex.

He shakes his head slowly. “Not right now. I’m here to do research for my new book.” At that, he slightly pushes her away. Another time, he may have taken her offer but his hands and feet have been itching to head out since he stepped into their hotel room. If she had not insisted on meeting up first in San Francisco, he would have gotten a taxi straight from the train station to his destination.

“I’ll wait up for you, then! We can go for dinner,” she gives him a hopeful look.

He has already turned his back towards her and has grabbed his traveller’s bag. Coat halfway on his body, he pauses at the door. When their eyes meet again, there is pity laced within his words. “Don’t. I’ll be back late tonight.”

With a final look around to room to make sure he has not forgotten anything, he gives her a pat on the shoulder before leaving.

A/N: I shouldn’t start a new series, but when do I ever listen to myself?

MASTERLIST

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