#they are young and sharp and articulate and completely ignorant

[cosmogyros]

YouTube keeps prompting me to check out music reaction videos and... oh my god. I need to stop watching them. For the good of my blood pressure. Because these people are SO IGNORANT.

It's all these folks in their 20s who consider themselves "music professionals", vocal coaches and producers and rappers and so on, doing a first-time blind watch/listen of music from decades before they were born, and they are SO CLUELESS IT CAUSES ME PHYSICAL PAIN.

Like, they have no idea what genres are. One guy called a song "bluegrass" because it involved an acoustic guitar being picked at one point.

They have no idea how music video production is done. Another guy kept saying in total awe that he's certain "everything in this video is INTENTIONAL!!!" (yeah. dude. that's like. the entire point of a music video?)

They have no idea how songwriting works. This other guy listened to Fleetwood Mac and when he heard the line "The songbirds are singing like they know the score" he paused it and said, as if this were some super clever point he was making: "I wonder if that means they know the musical score, or if it means, like, keeping score in a relationship?" I literally screamed a little bit. IT MEANS BOTH, DUDE. IT FUCKING MEANS BOTH. ***THAT IS THE ENTIRE POINT***

Yet another dude got BLOWN AWAY by the concept of... harmony. Singing harmony. He was like, "Do you hear that?!? He's singing this one line, and then he's simultaneously singing the same words with higher notes in the background to make it richer and chunkier???"

They get everything wrong. The lyrics they've just heard (which, okay, that's fair if you didn't go look them up right away), the genres, the instruments, the gender of a singer, even the era of clothing people are wearing in a music video.

And don't get me wrong: I find these react-ers charming, in a way. They tend to be very open-minded and ready to be impressed by almost anything, and that's really sweet and lovely and we could use more of that genuine appreciation and positivity in the world. (God knows I'm certainly not supplying it 😅) And I'm thrilled that they're choosing to seek out older music and explore the rich back catalog of music history and educate themselves on their own time. So nothing against them personally.

It's just that, in the larger scheme of things, it's frightening and discouraging to me to see that today – in the 21st century, with the internet at hand 24/7, with so much information available to us SO easily – people can still remain so ignorant. And please note I don't mean just your average layperson; I'm specifically talking about these young people who present themselves as music experts. That's specifically why I'm expecting them to know at least a LITTLE bit about music, music history, music theory, etc.

I could just keep citing examples of stuff that made me want to bash my head on the wall. One guy said "This song is from... 1973. Y'all had music back then?! I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But really?"

Another guy heard a song with a famous string part and was like "I recognize this sample from another song! I wonder which of these two artists used the sample first?" except... it wasn't a sample. In the original song he was reacting to, the artist in question had literally hired a string orchestra to come play that riff for this particular song and it was so original and cool that it became very influential and was then later used in some other song where he'd first encountered it. But he had assumed by default it couldn't possibly be original; he thought it must be a sample.

One guy – who calls himself a professional music producer – was blown away by the concept of a guitar solo. A guitar solo.

I just... I want to cry. HOW. How can you call yourself a professional in the music industry while being THIS ignorant about music?!? It simply boggles the mind.

Again, I don't mind your average Joe on the street being this clueless – most people are not such big music nerds as I am, and that's understandable – but if that were me, I wouldn't 1) call myself a music pro, 2) make music reaction videos and put them online for the world to see, and 3) reveal the full extent of my ignorance in said videos. I would try to be humble and keep my mouth shut and ears open and LEARN.

I'm sorry but sometimes I feel such despair. Someone being clueless about the music of 40 or 50 years earlier while living in the 80s or 90s, okay, that's fair. But today? In 20-fucking-25? You've got all the information in the WORLD literally at your fingertips and you still listen to Stevie Nicks for the first time and say, "Damn, this chick could almost be a rock singer"?!?

Back to listening to my 1920s music. I cannot stand the present day.

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 9: Interrogation

Summary: While the rest of the medics attend to the sick that Dogma had dragged away into the unfinished hive, Rex, Fives and Kix attempt to figure out what to do with the now awakened sergeant, only to come to a startling realization...

Warning: N/A

Here's what Dogma currently looks like!

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The brig was no place for someone who was clearly not acting in their right mind. And for all that Dogma's actions were not ones to be taken lightly, none of them could ignore the fact he was sick with something that was clearly driving him to do what he'd done.

That said, with the state the medbay had been left in after Krell had been violently wiped off the face of the galaxy (and good riddance to the bastard), there was no way they'd be able to safely contain the mutated sergeant there. Not when he was strong enough to turn a fully grown Besalisk into ground beef with his bare hands.

Still, it hurt Kix to see a brother in this state. Especially one as young as Dogma, who hadn't even finished going through puberty. The youthful roundness of his face still so very evident to anyone who saw him without his bucket on. Not to mention the effort he'd put into making his still cracking voice sound deeper and more assertive than it actually was...

Seeing all of that twisted into a mockery of some kind of wasp-like humanoid? Especially when he'd been told how volatile Dogma had been, when the others had been trying to rescue Twitch from an unknown fate? It left Kix kicking himself mentally at having so easily dismissed the highly diligent kih'vod, when he'd first gone to the medics seeking help.

And here stood the results of his negligence as a medical officer.

This growling barely human thing, that was crouched in the furthest corner of the cell he'd been tossed into. Glowering at them with more eyes than a clone should have. Antennae twitching whenever they so much as moved an inch. Claws scratching deep grooves on the floor in an intimidating display of both sharpness and sheer strength.

Was Dogma even still in there? Were they too late to help him? It bear not thinking about...

"What are we doing exactly?" Fives broke the silence with a rather good question. Looking from Rex to Kix, and then to the captive sergeant who snapped at the air in front of him with his now articulated bottom jaw.

Squinting into the cell, the medic just barely managed to catch a glimpse of something fleshy and pink retracting to the back of the younger vod's throat. It was hard to make out if that had been his tongue or something else, since the way he used his jaw like a set of mandibles made it hard to peer into his snapping maw.

"Honestly? I'm not sure." Rex admitted, seeming completely at a loss for what the best course of action might be. There was no guarantee Dogma was cognizant enough to give them any sort of indication as to what he'd been doing (aside from the obvious, that is).

It was also highly doubtful that the transformed clone knew anything of use, considering he himself was a victim of this mystery illness that had so drastically changed him. All they knew was that he'd taken the other afflicted to somewhere more quiet. Someplace he was clearly turning into a kind of makeshift hive. Most definitely so that they could change into whatever it was Dogma had become.

Twitch had said he seemed to display enough self-restraint and wareness to be careful of how he handled the sick. Even made a note of how methodical and caring he was being, to the point of behaving affectionately and nurturing towards the vode who had still not yet changed into these insect-like forms. But then why had he taken the time to grab Twitch when the younger clone hadn't been sick? (Something the other medics had all confirmed, after inspecting the kih'vod from top to bottom in search of any signs of the same rash everyone else had displayed).

The fact of the mater was, they had no real idea what they were expecting to get out of the now awoken Dogma. And, in Kix's case at least, it just felt like he had to see him for some inexplicable reason. Responding to the call of one of his gut feeling, that Kix had been getting ever since they'd first landed on Umbara.

This sense of foreboding... One that he should have heeded sooner...

"Well... We might as well try to figure out if he's still in there." Fives sighed. He was clearly ill at ease about this entire ordeal. And no one could blame him for feeling uncomfortable seeing one of their own like this. "I... I really don't want to go back to Tup and tell him his batcher's... Gone..."

Honestly, neither did Kix. He'd seen plenty of squads and batches of Shinies ripped to shreds on this campaign alone. Seen one of his own take that kind of loss in less than a few hours and come out of it more than a little distraught and barely able to carry on. If not for the fact that Twitch had kept himself focused on tending to the sick, Kix didn't think his vod'ika, his Shiny, would have been able to go out and fight anymore. Especially not under that demagolka Krell...

Informing Tup that his twin was lost to this blight of a disease that none of them were sure how to cure (or if there even was a cure), would not be something any of them looked forward to. But before he could voice his agreement, Dogma seemed to turn his attention completely towards Fives.

"U̸u̴u̴u̵u̴H̸u̵u̸r̵p̷.̸.̸.̷" all three clones froze at the warbled vocalization, staring towards the caged sergeant that was staring so intensely at the ARC trooper. The eerie glow of those much larger luminous compound eyes casting strange shadows on the rest of his more monstrous face. "T̷u̸u̷u̷u̴u̵r̴P̵.̸.̶.̵!̶"

"Did he just...?" Rex frowned, carefully approaching the cell to get a better look at the young soldier within. "Dogma...?"

The insectoid hissed, seeming frustrated with his own garbled cry. As he furrowed his brows, it almost seemed like he was trying to put all his focus onto making his words clearer.

"T̴U̶U̵u̷u̸u̵u̷r̸r̴R̵R̸r̸P̷.̵.̶.̵!̵" he said a little louder, seeming to have some difficulty as he did so, with how choked it came out. Kix deduced that his vocal chords must have been altered to the point cohesive speech didn't come as easily anymore.

"... Tup? You want Tup?" Fives asked in return, doing his very best to decipher whatever it was Dogma was trying to say. And to their shock, seemed to get a frantic reaction out of the sergeant who was now eagerly nodding his head in confirmation. "Sorry bud, no can do..."

"T̷U̵U̸u̴r̵R̸R̶r̶P̴!̷!̵!̶" Dogma all but forgot whatever composure he'd momentarily had and lunged towards the cell door. All four hands banging on the active ray shield keeping him safely contained and unable to reach them. "D̴O̸o̷o̸g̶n̶m̵a̸h̸ ̷f̷e̶e̶d̴ ̶T̸u̴U̷u̴P̸!̶"

"We can't let you go near Tup!" Fives insisted, taking a couple of steps back as he did so. His expression was somewhat pinched, indicating just how much this was stressing him. The ARC trooper had such a protective streak that neither Kix nor Rex doubted that seeing one of the battalion's youngest in this state, was really setting off his ori'vod instincts.

Were Dogma not in such an unpredictable state, it was very likely that Fives would be sitting in that cell with him. Providing what little comfort he could to the clearly confused mutated trooper.

Kix sighed as he watched the exchange, noting how upset Dogma was getting at every denial he received to see his batcher. He was just about ready to leave so that he could inform the aforementioned trooper of his closest vod's condition, when Rex finally spoke up. His voice surprisingly shaky.

"Wait... Did he say he has to 'feed' Tup?"

Kix stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the still frantic insectoid who was now scurrying around in a frenzy. Most likely looking for a way out of his cell. As he did so, he kept screeching and hollering, his speech becoming clearer as he did so.

"D̷o̷g̸m̴a̶ ̶f̴e̷e̶d̵ ̸T̸u̶p̷!̶ ̷D̵o̵g̸m̸a̷ ̸f̵e̵e̶d̵ ̴T̴u̷p̷!̵!̵!̸ ̵T̶u̵p̴ ̷n̷e̵e̸d̷ ̵D̶o̵g̶m̷a̷!̷!̴!̵ ̷T̷u̸p̶ ̵n̶e̸e̶d̸ ̴t̴o̸ ̸f̴e̷e̷d̶ ̷t̷o̷ ̸g̸r̸o̷w̵!̵!̵!̶ ̷G̷r̶o̶w̵ ̵b̵i̸g̶!̸!̴!̷ ̴B̴i̶g̵ ̷s̸t̶r̸o̸n̷g̸ ̸l̷e̸a̵d̴e̸r̴!̸!̸!̴" he flew back towards the cell door, pressing himself against it in a futile attempt to push past the barrier. There were tears running down his face, his expression one of pure despair. "T̴U̶P̴ ̵N̶E̵E̵D̷ ̴M̸E̵!̴!̶!̷ ̴P̷L̴E̸A̸S̴E̶!̷!̵!̸ ̵T̷U̵P̷ ̶N̷E̴E̸D̴ ̵F̷O̶O̸D̴!̶!̸!̵"

Horrified, the three troopers backed away as they watched their mutated brother sob and beg to be let loose. And, as the medic processed what the other's words could mean, it steadily dawned on him that his and the other medics's assessment of who patient zero might be, might have been a tad incorrect.

Likely to disastrous effect, as an alarm sounded off all across the base. Followed by a roar that had them all shaking in their boots.

[siriusmydeer]

you said ideas for james potter fluff? i have one!! what if your on your period and you like bleed on the bed or something like that and he helps you clean up and is like p”periods are normal when your upset?

his favourite person

james potter x fem!reader

summary: james comforts you on your period.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: period cramps, swearing, kissing, mentions of dying/funerals, pet names, insecurity, mentions of migraines, mentions of razors and injury, mentions of hostility

a/n: so i has to modify this in a way i could write it but i hope you like it !!

the searing burn of agony was beginning to broil in the pit of your belly whilst you had shifted your tensed legs to be clutched in front of your abdomen. the hues of orange spilt from the corners of your lilac curtains as a siren that the day had officially begun, meanwhile the school would be swarming with boisterous and inconsiderate students of their classmate's preferences.

you audibly groaned now breaking the peaceful morning silence, suddenly shoving your hand in your viewpoint before the blaring lights could potentially give you a migraine from the fluoresce light; as well as your stomach could barely endure the swirling affliction that only uplifted as you began to awaken from your blissful as well as pain spared snooze of dreams about treacle tarts and winning the house cup.

every time you gulped it felt like razors were being trapped in the cavern of your throat, anytime you shifted your body beneath your blankets it felt like you were walking a tightrope that had snapped and you had fallen into a pit of sharp rocks that were shaped in fury. you had felt every minuscule amount of pain in your muscles that only to continue as you laid atop of your mattress.

you sighed whilst fluttering your eyelids a few times before haphazardly opening the small drawer that was placed beside your bed, glimpsing beneath your fingers at the empty box of tampons that had been used up from yesterday and you foolishly forgot to refill. you groaned yet again, your motivation ceasing from your body to trudge over to the healer's wing for another box.

amid your mind rant over the first inconvenience of the day the door of your dormitory that mildly creaked due to the ageing hinges from decades ago. auburn hair suddenly cascading in your viewpoint and aquamarine irises staring at you once your hand had been removed from your eyes due to her manipulation.

“lily, are you alright?” you inquired with a tinge of sarcasm lingering in your voice, a small teasing crease in your brow as her face remained to hover over your own. she proceeded to press a small kiss to your temple and swiped some of your mangled tuffs away from your searing cheeks.

“how’re you feeling?” she inquired in a murmur, trying to leave the tranquillity scorning through the air due to the peaceful atmosphere that remained through the night to the early hours of the morning.

“like shit.”

“i assumed, not coming to classes?” she inquired again with a sigh, glancing over your nightstand that was piled with transfiguration homework, a burnt-out candle with wax spilt onto the wooden stand that she would have to scrape off later due to your melancholic mood mixed with your fatigue, and a tea that had been finished more than likely a few days ago that you hadn’t put away in the kitchens yet.

“no, ‘m dying. give me a nice eulogy, love.” you ridiculed with a smirk as your hand moved back to your eyes whilst the natural ivory daylight only began filtering through your dormitory and seeped through the curtains.

“i’ll bring you something after lunch.” she finished with a small kiss on your forehead and the doors creaking yet again as a signal she had left and you were alone yet again with another attempt to sleep away the antagonizing churn of torture coiling in your belly.

as she had trudged off to the gryffindor towers she had run into a familiar bespectacled boy that looked like he had walked into the wrong store after losing his parents as a young boy, his irises moving erratically as well while his hands were anxiously gliding through the familiar brunet tuffs he was almost illustrious for.

as he caught sight of the ginger he began to haul the strap of his nap sack over the burly muscles of his shoulder and strode over to her hastily. his eyes remained searching around the ivory corridors for your house colours in case you were mixed amongst the bunch of students.

“you alright, james?”

he covered his mouth to quickly cough into his fist before he spoke, “yeah, yeah, fine. have you seen y/n? she doesn’t normally miss class.” he articulated with a pronounced frown following a creased brow as he spoke moving his hand around animatedly.

lily’s face began to contort into a rather shocked expression at his surprised demeanour. she scratched the nape of her neck a few times before answering his oblivious question, “yeah, just, erm, lady problems. she’s in her dorm if you wanna see her. but she may be hostile.” she warned with a grin before sauntering off to transfiguration to give professor mcgonagall knowledge and reason of your absence.

“lady problems?” he murmured to himself in evident incertitude. if someone had turned the corner they would’ve blatantly assumed the quidditch captain had gone mad talking to himself rather than figuring out what the gryffindor girl had meant.

did she mean—?

without a second blip of thought, the bespectacled boy opted to skip his classes and rather find out what ‘lady problems’ lily had been rambling about. he trudged to where your common room had remained, and removed the charm on the stairs that had kept males away from entering female dormitories.

he knocked rather harshly without a thought of consideration, hearing a groan emit from the other side. his brow corrugated in a simian frown, only more evident in his features as he pushed open the door steadily. he heard the creaking in the hinges— almost like it was a small bell ringing every time someone had emerged from the other side.

his eyes swooped over the crevices of the room, the small pile of clothes that was spewed out on a chair with creasing forming in them, your school bag is thrown at the side of your bed with textbooks and ink pots spilling onto the floor as well as your bed comforter tremendously crumpled and piled over your silhouette as well as your head.

“darling?” he whispered. his footsteps light on the wood floor as he strode closer. he heard a little ‘mhm’ murmur out underneath the blankets whilst he moved near the four-poster bed.

“‘m guessing lily told you.”

“yeah, lily told me.”

“go away, i’m embarrassed enough as it is.” you began to articulate sternly. your head popping out from under the covers to narrow your eyes into a cerulean pool of blue. his face twisted into shambles of perplexity at your abnormal request of his absence when usually you enjoyed his company regularly.

“why? it’s like— normal.” he questioned with a confused scowl, he continued, a scrambling amount of letters forming in his mind as a way to comfort you as best as he knew. “because, you're a girl. and girls go through all that stuff.” he continued while placing himself on the side of your bed. your brows formed a subtle crease at his regard for your rather agitated and embarrassed state.

you deliberated for a few seconds, opting to pull down the covers of the opposite side of your bed allowing the boy to remove his shoes along with his slacks that hastily fell to the ground and climb next to you as you slowly shifted due to the tensing of your muscles.

“do you want me to grab you anything, m’love.” he murmured into your clothed shoulder, a tender kiss following in its wake. you closed your eyes, your view completely diminishing whilst relishing in the feeling of his mellow torso completely melding into your own like a personal heater that happened to be your cuddler of a boyfriend.

“yeah, but not right now.”

he nodded into your neck, his arms slowly capturing your midriff in a warming clutch. his left palm splaying against your lower abdomen, the balmy touch dissolving into the tense muscles of your belly— pushing you into moderate peace after the comparatively antagonizing morning you had endured.

it was silent for a few minutes, both of you completely cherishing the silence and peace among the both of you. his slight respires fanning over your neck while his hand stayed intact with your lower abdomen. “i don’t want you to be embarrassed when something like this happens. you’re my girl, i don’t want you to hide from me.”

“‘m sorry i just get so— upset and angry, i didn’t want you to think i was annoying or something.” you murmured back demeaningly with a faint sniff, the slight play of guilt on your sensorium building at your sensitive demeans of the week following your mood fluctuations, feeling as if you’ve ignored someone who cares for you. “no need to be sorry,” he began, kissing against the pulse point of your neck, “could never think my favourite person is annoying.”

“‘m not sirius.”

“no offense to sirius, but he’s not m’favourite person.”

“hmm, so s’me?” a smirk began to graze your lips at his dulcet demeanour, most likely because you had been a wretched mess of mood swings like a seesaw going back and forth since the crack of dawn. he nodded bashfully into the confined space of your shoulder. “‘m honoured, jamie.”

he chuckled once before faintly squeezing your upper midriff once more, attempting to completely avoid your lower belly in efforts to soothe you from the writhing pain he had never been accustomed to but he would siphon every single last bit if he could.

“you should be, ‘m the muscular, sexy, hot quidditch captain.” he mused with a grin quirking on his lips at the fact you were beginning to recuperate at his affections.

cocky beautiful bastard.

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @i-love-scott-mccall @emmaev @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

[ohpretty-baby]

my babysitter’s a quarterback • jjk

⇥ pairing: qb!jungkook x cheerleader!reader

⇥ side pairing: namseok

⇥ synopsis: after getting cheated on by the star of the hockey team, park jimin, your life (as expected) goes downhill. what you don’t expect is your parents being skeptical of whether or not you’re a good older sibling for your sister. you also don’t expect them to call jeon jungkook—the person you hate most—to babysit the two of you.

or, alternatively: jungkook babysits you even though the two of you are the same age.

⇥ genre: fluff, crackfic, angst, e2l, jungkook is stupid, jimin’s an asshole, hoseok’s a sweetie, namjoon is also a sweetie, reader is Stressed, pining, mutual pining

⇥ warnings: cursing, crude humor, mentions of cheating, divorce

⇥ word count: 30.0k

based off a request for @fan-ati--c​ (i hope you like it dear!)

a/n: hi everyone!!! this is my first ever lengthy fic, so pls have mercy on me. i had a lotta fun writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy!!!! much much much much MUCH love <333 (feel free to give feedback and your opinions!)

“Y/N, what has gotten into you?” Your mom gently places the tip of her fork on her plate, folding her hands together. Her words are stern, but she doesn’t raise her voice in order to save face. The air at the dinner table is dense and heavy on you, and the fact that your father and your little sister, Clementine, seem to have their eyes glued on you doesn’t help either. Clementine sniffles and the sound makes your blood boil.

You sigh, looking up from your phone to shoot a glare to your mother. You also send a glance of distaste towards your sister, which allows you to get a quick sight of her puffy eyes and runny nose. The prongs of your fork are poking your lips while you lazily chew the spaghetti stuffed in your mouth. Shrugging, you place your phone and the fork down, folding your hands in order to mirror your mom seated in front of you.

You stay silent, lips pressed tightly into a thin line, because you know she has more to say.

“Darling, you’re being extremely immature,” Your mom always had to give it to you straight, “You know that Clementine didn’t mean to upset you.”

As always, your mother is articulate and sharp when she speaks. Not once does she stutter, and after being her daughter for 17 years, you’re not entirely sure if she’s ever stumbled on her words before in her entire life. It’s indicative of her personality: intelligent, quick-witted, skilled, yet unbelievably blunt. From the way her patients praise her for constantly being compassionate and kind, you often wonder if your mom really is a psychiatrist or if she’s hired a clone to work in her stead.

It’s not that you hated your mom. You loved her dearly, as you did with the rest of your family. The reason why you seemed to always butt heads with her, though, is simply because you have a little too much in common with her (personality-wise). Your dad’s always said that you were a carbon copy of your mother, after all.

“All I’m asking is that Clem asks me if she can use my makeup,” You cough, a few bits of the noodles going down the wrong pipe, “You, of all people, mom, know how expensive lipstick can be. I need that for football games.”

It’s not a clear statistic, but it is a pretty solid fact. You always use facts in order to back up your arguments, just so that your parents can’t say anything in response. Sometimes it works. You’re still waiting for the day when you have something impactful to use.

“Well, you know that when she sees you getting all pretty,” She taps her fingers on the wooden table, “She wants to do the same, and as the-“

“As the older sister, I have to share,” You roll your eyes, and you shift your focus on Clementine, “Sorry, ok? I won’t get so mad next time.”

“Clementine, what do you say?”

“It’s ok,” She sniffles, wiping her eyes.

“No, dear. What do you say?”

“I forgive you, Y/N.”

You bite back the sarcastic comments you’re dying to say, opting to stuff your mouth with spaghetti instead. The rest of your family starts eating as well, and you keep your head low to avoid making eye contact with your sister. You love her with almost every bone in your body, but right now, you can’t tell if you want to throw your food at her or slap her with your ceramic plate.

Today, she took it upon herself to go through your makeup bag and steal one of your (again, highly expensive) lipsticks so she could slice it with a butterknife purely out of boredom. This all happened while you were taking a bath, and when you got into your room, you saw her sitting at your desk, lipstick chunks spread all over one of your old math notebooks. So of course, you yelled at her.

Then she cried. Then your mom made you apologize because you were upset that she wrongfully went through your stuff without permission. But that’s really how things have always been, ever since you were 5 years old and Clementine was just born. You’ve grown up constantly taking the blame for Clementine’s wrongdoings. It’s just how things work in your household, because your parents genuinely believe that she could do no wrong.

Apparently, being 12 gave you lots of perks.

“Y/N?” Your mother’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, “Y/N, listen to me when I speak to you.”

“Sorry, what’d you say?” You don’t care about matching your mom’s formality anymore, your cheek puffed up with more food.

“I was asking you how your day was.”

“Oh, just wonderful. Fantastic. Dandy,” You snap back, not really aware of what you’re saying as your words fly out of your mouth.

“What’s with your attitude, young lady?” She scoffs, then pauses a bit before speaking again, “Listen, I know that it’s tough, having to see Jimin-“

You slam your hands on the table, standing up. Your chair screeches awkwardly against the wood flooring of the dining room. Swallowing down the rest of your food, you try to soothe the hard lump forming in your throat.

“Do not try to analyze me. I’m not one of your patients. There’s nothing you need to fix about me, got it?” You raise your voice, staring her dead in the eye, “I just had a shit week and I very much do not need you to try and pinpoint whatever’s going on in my head.”

Your mother gasps, and only now does your dad decide to speak.

“Young lady, go to your room right now,” His words fall flat, and you scoff at him.

Your parents were complete opposites. If your mother was over analytical, your father could never read the room. Not because he was dumb, per say, but because he was always in his own little world. He always responded a little too late, felt things a second after they should be felt. That’s just how your dad thinks. He doesn’t mean to be mentally absent when all of you were at home, but he’s always been preoccupied with his work. That’s a big thing you’ve admired about your dad, how easily he can focus on one thing and ignore the rest. It’s one of the main reasons why he was so successful as an architect. Growing up, you would stay up past your bedtime just so you could be with him in his office. You’d watch how he could just sit down and create a multitude of building designs without getting distracted.

By the way he looks at you with a flash of guilt in his eyes, you can tell that he’s the only one that gets your reasoning. You can also tell that he knows how wrong it is for your mom to bring up your ex-boyfriend during dinner.

But because he wants to uphold his “authoritative” figure, he needs to “put his foot down”.

“I was planning on it anyway, thanks,” You grumble, storming off.

Once you reach your room, you slam the door—purely for dramatic effect. You throw yourself on the bed, getting out your phone and doing the first thing that pops into your head. You call Hoseok and he answers right away. A smile flashes on your face as you feel some relief from your anger.

“Hello?”

Jung Hoseok has been your best friend ever since you first stepped into your hellhole of a high school building. He was your saving grace. The only thing that kept you sane.

When you joined the Monarchs, the cheerleading squad of your school, Hoseok was the only person who talked to you during practice, even if he was a year older than you. An infamous characteristic of his is his big smile. His lips always resembled a widened heart, and he showed off his pearly whites wherever he went, exuding happiness that was extremely contagious. And if his smile was big, his heart was even bigger.

You know this because Hoseok immediately asks you “Is everything okay?” when he hears your shaky breath over the line.

You explain to him what had happened seconds prior to this phone call. Then your conversation spirals into you ranting about how your parents have been telling you that you’ve been a terrible sibling. It’s something insulting to hear, knowing that they’ve always made you take the blame for everything your sister does. It hurts even more that they can’t acknowledge the fact that getting through a breakup is hard for a 17 year old girl. They couldn’t even cut you some slack.

A pang of guilt hits you when you relay everything you’ve said to your sister over to Hoseok. Maybe you were somewhat in the wrong here. But could you blame yourself? You were going through a hard time, and it’s not unusual for someone who’s stressed to act out. Not to mention when the stressor is heartbreak.

During the beginning of September, you found Park Jimin, your past boyfriend of one year, and some other Sophomore on the cheer team making out in his car afterschool. It was now the end of October, but the memory haunts you in your every waking moment. The image of another girl pressed up on him, her skirt hiked up high enough so that you could see her spandex, flashes in your mind. In your head, you see Jimin running her hands all over the girl’s skin, purple splotches blooming on her neck and on his.

You shut your eyes, rubbing them violently as you try to ignore the painful truth: If you hadn’t decided to surprise him with some brownies you made for him that day, they would’ve done a lot more than just making out.

The notion makes tears prick your eyes, the familiar sting returning. You had been crying almost every night. Everytime you close your eyes, the same image of him and that girl appears and you can’t get rid of it at all.

You’re about to break down again, and Hoseok talks you through it. He allows you to vent, to let everything out, and he promises that the two of you will hang out after tomorrow’s practice. It gives you relief, something to look forward to at the end of the next school day. Tomorrow was Friday after all, and like you said before to your mom, your week was shit.

There had to be at least one good thing you could have this week.

That statement is short lived, however, because instead of sitting with Hoseok at your favorite diner with a strawberry milkshake in front of you, you’re sitting at your dinner table yet again, poking at pizza with a plastic fork. You stare at the grease stains on your paper plate in disgust, as the dining room is so silent you can practically hear the small ticks of the red second hand of the clock on the wall. 

What a great way to start the weekend. Friendless, boyfriend-less, and miserable. You look up from the greasy mess before you to shoot a glare to the person in front of you.

“Why the hell are you here?” are your first words to the boy.

“Your parents called me?” He responds, mimicking your questioning tone. You scoff at him.

Jeon Jungkook. The cocky, annoying as fuck quarterback on the football team who coincidentally sits behind you in Pre-Calc everyday is now sitting across from you at your dinner table. The boy who breaks off pieces of eraser chunks and throws them at your head just to annoy you while the teacher is giving a lesson. The kid who kicks your chair at least five times every single day just because he has fun getting a rise out of you.

You don’t know how exactly your hatred for him began, but it definitely started when you first became a cheerleader.

Popularity was never something that came easily to you. Many people don’t remember, but in Freshman year, the only time your class knew of you was when your name was called for attendance. You didn’t play any sports, nor did you participate in theatre or had any musical talents whatsoever. You were simply just, there.

This all changed when your mom suggested cheerleading. You did have a few years of solid gymnastic experience and you really had nothing better to do, so you decided to take the opportunity to sign up for tryouts.

It was hard, and you slipped up a lot of times, but the coaches saw potential in you. They told you that you’ve really got drive, and they praised you for continuing to get up and perfectly following directions when they asked you to execute an especially hard move. Eventually, you were accepted and once you had more time to practice, you had gotten the hang of cheerleading quite quickly. You ended up falling in love with the sport, working hard both on and off the field. You always got constant praise for your willingness to learn new things.

And with your new success on the team, you gained a reputation for yourself.

When, exactly, did Jungkook join the picture?

You’re not sure. He kind of forced himself in.

One day, you weren’t at your usual best. The sun was beating down on you harshly, which didn’t make things any better. The football team had been practicing with you guys, and it was obvious that many of the boys were ogling at the cheerleaders. They would nudge each, looking suggestively at the girls while whispering crude comments about them.

Jungkook, being the youngest and most energetic one on the team, had other ideas in mind. You see, he lived quite loudly and he was… Eccentric, to say the least.

His eyes were focused on the cheerleaders, pinpointing at anything that would be of use to him. He peered around intently, looking for any mess ups or mistakes that they had made. He would have made fun of anyone, really. Jungkook didn’t know much about the girls on the squad, so he really had no problem using their flaws to his benefits. He wanted to make his own team laugh, and that in itself was justification enough for Jungkook.

It was just unfortunate that you were his target.

Once he saw you topple over on the ground, he was ready.

“Hey, thunder thighs! Be careful out there!”

After that, you heard nothing but boisterous laughter from the football players. It was an immature insult, one ridiculous enough to enrage you. You wished you could’ve ran over to the other side of the field and just punched him the gut, right then and there. But his own coach and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him towards you so he could apologize.

It was a lame apology, and you could tell that he was trying everything in his absolute power to bite back the laugh he was holding in. You would've said something about it, but since Jungkook was more built than you and there were authorities present, you reluctantly accepted the apology, choosing to go on with your practice instead of letting it get to you.

And after that day, Jungkook has made it his goal to torment you whenever he sees you. Since he sits behind you in Pre-Calc now, that’s become his job every day.

Jungkook was taller than Jimin. He was a pretty attractive football player, too. You would give him at least that. But he was meaner than Jimin. A bigger asshole than Jimin. More annoying than Jimin could ever be.

Literally any good quality that you thought you could find in a guy, Jeon Jungkook did not possess it. Any kindness, sympathy, or even general decency in his heart was nowhere to be found.

He had messy brown hair, a smug grin on his face that you’d love to punch, and a lean body that you wish had gone cripple. Confidence wasn’t something that he had a lack of. In fact, Jungkook’s cup overfloweth with so much confidence to the point where describing him as merely confident would be a misdeed.

Narcissistic was the word. He was extremely narcissistic and obsessed with himself, which was indicative of the daily gym snaps he’d post on his Snapchat story. He was everything that disgusted you about guys combined and turned human.

Jungkook’s very presence could set you off, and you know that he lives off of that.

This is no different from your Friday night, as he’s gnawing on pizza right in your own damn house. He’s scrolling through his phone and you’re staring at him in disgust, while Clementine has already eaten and is now sitting on the couch, curled up with some sci-fi book she got from the store last week. Taking in his appearance, you inwardly cringe when you notice him lick the oil that has found itself on his fingers.

“There’s a napkin right next to you.”

“That would be a waste of paper,” Jungkook responds, licking away the last remnant of oil and marinara sauce on his thumb, “Gotta be eco-friendly, y’know?”

He wiggles his fingers at you, his infamous shit-eating grin appearing yet again. You hate the way his mouth tugs up to the right a little bit, how his eyes gleam mischievously since he’s so full of himself. If Clementine wasn’t in the house right now, you’re certain that Jungkook would’ve been on the floor, knocked out. You would’ve hit him with a frying pan, like in that one Disney movie Clementine loved so much. Or you would’ve hit him with your Pre-Calc textbook. That shit was heavy. You could knock him out cold with that. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

You roll your eyes at him, saying nothing and eating the rest of your pizza. You make a mental note to ask your parents why the fuck they thought it was a good idea to call over Jungkook on a Friday night.

But you know the answer to that already. They seem to believe that you haven’t been “responsible” enough for Clementine, which is weird, knowing that you’ve practically raised her all her life. Your parents have always been too busy to spend enough quality time with her, save for when they defend her at dinnertime.

So instead of having a civil conversation with you—or even asking if you were doing alright—they decided (without your permission) that a babysitter would be the best option for your little sister. And you still had to stay at home tonight because your mom asked you to “see if the babysitter is okay for Clementine”.

You’re not sure where the logic was in your parents’ thought process, but you did feel bad about your sister. She had warmed up to you a little bit after yesterday, but you know that she’ll stay closed off for a while. Not only to you, but to everyone else. You wish that your parents had known that. If they did, they’d be able to get that you’re probably the best babysitter for her. But no, they had to invite Jungkook over, someone who’s boisterous and annoying, and they probably expect Clementine to get along with him just fine. (And also, what had even compelled him to start a career in babysitting?)

So you decide to stay, just so she won’t be scared of being in her own house. You have been hard on her for a little bit after all, getting irrational and moody whenever she talks to you. It’s the least you could do for her. Despite everything, you still did really love her. 

She was your sister, for goodness sake!

“Hey, just a reminder,” Jungkook’s at your trash can, throwing away his plate, “Your bedtime’s at 10 tonight.”

It’s a stupid statement, and both of you are aware that the rules are for your sister. You can’t help but feel yourself heat up, though, when he sends a wink your way.

“That’s for my sister, you dumb fu-“

Your obvious response and insult combo is interrupted when you find Clementine standing in the doorway.

“Y/N?” Her voice is timid, shy, and her head hangs low when she speaks. She doesn’t like how there’s some random stranger in the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“Can we play Telestrations?” She keeps her eyes on you, and you feel yourself soften. It’s been a little bit since the two of you played anything together.

“Mind if I join in?” Jungkook says before you can actually respond to her. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and Clementine blinks at him, stunned. All she does is nod, too afraid to verbally respond to your classmate.

You’re also stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. His cocky aura is replaced with a soft tone, smiling brightly at Clementine instead of smirking at you. He walks over to her, asking her where the board game is. She mumbles something quietly, something only Jungkook can hear, and he responds with an even more enthusiastic grin. He turns to you before they make their way back to the living room.

“You coming, or…?”

So that’s how you find yourself at your coffee table with your little sister and the most annoying person you’ve met in your entire life, getting ready to play a round of Telestrations.

All you can say is that your night definitely isn’t going the way you planned at all.

He’s sitting criss cross applesauce on the carpet, extremely relaxed as you pass out the cards, the drawing pads, and the dry erase markers. You try to hide the scowl you oh so desperately want to show, but if Clementine sees you upset with him, she’ll definitely feel less safe with him.

You don’t know why you’re defending him, but here you are, attempting to be civil with him just to make sure your sister doesn’t feel as threatened as you do. You try your best not to start any fights with him, either. You’ve heard enough about people calling you a bitch at school. Ever since you broke up with Jimin, you’ve somehow been deemed the psychotic ex by all of your peers, because how could Jimin possibly do anything wrong?

You can’t tell what’s worse: the fact that everyone says you’re a bitch, or the fact that girls come up to you now, asking you for advice on your ex-boyfriend.

Sighing, you watch as Clementine rolls a four and chooses “This Side” of the cards. You internally groan when you look at the yellow side of the card. The glossy square seems to laugh at you, presenting what your subject would be.

How the hell were you supposed to draw “tunnel vision”?

Writing your name and the word on the first page, you mentally prepare for the challenge heading your way.

“Y/N,” Clementine calls for you, “Mine isn’t working…”

Jungkook hands his marker to her before you can, and he’s testing all the other markers in the box to see if they’ll work for him. You look at him accusingly, eyes asking him: “What the hell are you trying to gain?” He shrugs at you, a simple action that tells you:

“Sorry, I’m just a great babysitter.”

He quickly goes back to his own card, copying down the words with his new marker. You return your attention to your pad, figuring out how you were going to draw your word.

“Are you gonna set the timer, Clementine?” Jungkook asks, and she shakes her head.

“We don’t use it,” She responds in a mere whisper, and Jungkook can’t hear her.

“Huh?”

“We don’t use the timer,” You answer for her, “It’s more fun that way. You can take your time.”

He nods, and the three of you flip to the first page so you can start.

You draw—well, attempt to draw—a pair of glasses facing two strange rods. You squint at the doodle, examining it as if you had to guess what the answer was. The only possible answers you’ve come up with are that A.) You’re terrible at drawing, B.) Art is definitely not your future career, and C.) No one is going to be able to figure out your drawing, not even yourself.

“So, Clementine,” Jungkook starts, catching both you and your sister’s attention, “That’s a pretty cool name.”

“Thank you,” She doesn’t look up from her pad, too focused on her drawing.

“Do people call you anything else?” He prompts, going to work on his own pad as well.

“What do you mean?” “Like, nicknames.”

“Oh. My friends call me Tina,” She says, “Y/N calls me Clem, though.”

“That’s dope,” He pops the “p”, and the way his mouth moves is enough to annoy you.

“Yeah,” Is all your sister says, and it’s obvious that both of them are determined in making their drawings look good. You, on the other hand, are already done with your sad chicken scratch of a drawing, and you take the time to watch Clementine as she leans close to her pad, right hand clutching the marker tightly.

Like your dad, Clementine was able to immerse herself in a single task, but unlike him, she was incredibly skilled in multitasking. Sometimes, she’d read a book while having a full conversation with you, and she’d still remember the content of the chapter she was reading. It was a skill that you both envied and admired about her, how she could easily redirect her attention to one task while also still performing the second task flawlessly.

“You done already, Y/N?” Jungkook quirks a brow while he looks up from his drawing. You sneak a glance at your sister, who’s immersed in her drawing, before responding.

“Don’t push it,” You mouth out, folding your hands together on your lap while you wait for the other two to finish. Jungkook flashes an obnoxious smirk your way, and it takes everything in you to not kick him in the balls right now.

“I’m done,” Clementine announces, passing her pad to you. You pass yours to Jungkook, praying that he doesn’t say anything too terrible to you. He then passes his to Clementine, completing the circle.

“W-What?” Jungkook mumbles to himself, biting back a laugh while he examines your drawing. You internally groan. There was no use in hoping that he’d have mercy on you.

In an attempt to block out his bothersome snickering, you try to guess what Clementine’s word was. You feel part of yourself die inside, as you can already tell what she’s drawn. You write the word “deer” on the third page, after looking at the drawing one more time. In the short amount of time Clementine had given herself, her depiction of a deer was scarily accurate.

“Are you guys done?”

She has her pad lying on the coffee table while she drums her fingers on the surface. You nod, while Jungkook has his hand covering his mouth. He shakes his head, still trying to decipher your sad, sad drawing. Instead of making fun of you, he’s actually making an effort to figure out what your word was, eyebrows deeply furrowed while his eyes run across your pad multiple times.

You’d feel bad because you truly don’t have an artistic bone in your body, but seeing him frustrated by your doing slightly amuses you.

Jungkook takes a few seconds before taking a deep sigh and quickly scrawling something on your pad. You can’t tell if you’re excited or dreading what he put down for your word, but that doesn’t matter because now you have to draw Clementine’s guess of what Jungkook’s word is.

A frog?

How come everyone else’s words were so easy? And how are you supposed to remember what a frog looks like?

Biting your lip, you hesitantly put the dry erase marker on the pad. You stop when it makes the initial hit, a small dot appearing on the laminated surface. This is because Jungkook’s leaning over to watch you draw, his hair mere centimeters away from tickling your skin. When you freeze, Jungkook finally moves away, turning to face you.

“You need something?” You ask in an accusatory tone. He shrugs.

“I dunno. You look constipated, so I was curious,” He says, working on a new drawing. It’s another dumb yet excruciatingly annoying jab at you, and you’re baffled at how anyone could think that that was something of use to say.

Clementine giggles, and both you and Jungkook gawk at her in surprise. You feel a sense of betrayal, seeing as your own sister finds someone like Jeon Jungkook humorous. But she’s having fun, so maybe your dignity would have to be something to sacrifice tonight.

And your parents wonder whether or not you’re a good older sister for Clementine, as if you weren’t literally tolerating the person you hate most right now just for her. You steady yourself, being proud of your kindness to him so far. The fact that you’ve actually restrained yourself from knocking Jungkook out in itself is a surprise. You’ll be sure to reward yourself with something later.

You go back to your drawing, working on the small bumps for the eye sockets and the wide almond shape of the frog’s mouth. The frog looks incredibly awkward, its eyes a little too close for your liking. Did frogs have nostrils? Obviously, right? You draw two thin slits on top of its long line of a mouth, hoping that that’s what a frog’s nose looks like. It resembles a frog, and honestly you’re willing to take whatever you can get, so you close the pad, waiting for the other two to finish.

When everyone is done and all of the pads have returned to their respective owners, you get ready to present the devolution of your prompts. Clementine’s eager to go first, which puts a soft smile on your face.

She shows off her deer, and then your correct guess, and then Jungkook’s drawing. Quite frankly, you’re quite amazed at Jungkook’s depiction of the prompt.

There’s a cute deer standing on some grass with a few random flowers around it. Like Clementine’s, it’s quite realistic, keeping in mind of the limited time and resources you’ve all had. Jungkook’s chest swells in pride when the two of you stare at his drawing for a few more seconds, secretly admiring his handiwork.

“I didn’t know you could draw!” Clementine’s indirect praises increase his ego but you stay quiet, not willing to say anything too positive around him.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Jungkook responds, pointing out how good her deer is.

Jungkook takes his turn to present, and even his frog is amazing. Then, he flips to your drawing, a failed imitation of a frog compared to Jungkook’s accurate one a few seconds ago.

“Tina,” The sudden use of the nickname confuses you. Since when did he think he could be this informal?

“Yeah?”

“Your sister’s not really the creative one in the family,” The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, “Don’t you think?”

Clementine thinks about what to say while Jungkook watches the steam coming out of your ears in pure delight. No matter how good of an artist Jungkook is, or how good of a babysitter he could be, nothing would ever make you want to be acquaintances with him, let alone being just civil with him. What makes matters worse is that Jungkook can easily get away with making infuriating jabs at you since your sister is here with you.

You also try not to think about how Jungkook is getting paid for tormenting you outside of school, because if you dwell on it for far too long, you don’t know what you’d do.

“Y/N doesn’t have to be good at that kinda stuff,” Clementine turns to you happily, “She’s already cool.”

You sheepishly smile back at her, and then she asks you to show your drawing pad now.

“Okay, so,” You clear your throat, “Uh, my word was tunnel vision.”

“...That actually makes sense now,” Jungkook nods, stroking his chin dramatically. He squints at the drawing as if he was in an art gallery.

“This is my drawing,” You flip the page, revealing your chicken scratch from before. Clementine bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but become a little annoyed at her reaction.

“How did you not get that?” She asks Jungkook, and you feel the anger bubble away and instead become replaced with smugness. Your sister still had your back after all.

“Hey!” He points at your drawing, baffled at your sister, “Look at that and tell me that you’d guess it correctly!”

“Um, yeah,” Clementine snickers.

“How?”

“It’s glasses. Vision,” You chime in, “Then those are tunnels. Tunnel vision, right, Clem?”

“Yeah!”

“What?!” Jungkook gawks while you give your sister a triumphant high five.

“What could you have possibly guessed?” You chuckle, turning the page out of curiosity.

Before you can see the word, however, Jungkook forcibly snatches the pad out of your hands. He’s no match to your quick reflexes, though, because you’re pouncing onto him, pinning him to the carpet so you can retrieve your stolen drawing pad.

You’re about to grab it, but then he grins at you, making you stop in your tracks.

Your eyes widen, realizing how you’re in an extremely close vicinity to him, his face inches away from yours. The two of you make unnerving, silent eye contact, each of you staring at each other’s face from time to time. It’s during this that you notice how big his eyes are, resembling Clementine’s drawing of the deer from before. You also notice the mole under his bottom lip and how his lips are naturally tinted a pleasant pink. Jungkook chuckles tauntingly at you and you come back to your senses. You’ve been staring at his lips far longer than you’d like to admit.

“Can’t get your hands off me, huh?” He whispers, winking at you. The pizza you had eaten 20 minutes ago crawls up your throat right away, and you immediately peel yourself off of him. Jungkook still has the pad in his hands, signalling a victory for him.

You cough awkwardly, returning to your seat and wiping away imaginary dust on your lap. You claw at some loose fabric of your sweatpants, balling up the material in your hands. Jungkook sits up as well, nonchalantly fixing his now messy hair. He remains unphased, even though you were literally on top of him a few seconds ago.

“He put Harry Potter and taquitos,” Clementine says, breaking the silence. Jungkook’s eyes shoot up to send her a glare with feigned annoyance, while you end up laughing a bit louder than you’d like to. Then again, anything to relieve the uncomfortable tension would work.

Jungkook’s cheeks are tinted a shy, light pink, while embarrassment is painted all over his face. It’s a lame situation to laugh at, one that you probably would never admit to anyone that you find it humorous, but seeing Jungkook flustered makes you the happiest girl in the world.

The night continues with Clementine bringing out all of the board games your parents bought you over the years. It’s fun yet unbelievably painful, having to cooperate with Jungkook just for the sake of Clementine. When you played Monopoly with them, you were always reluctant to give Jungkook money, even if it was fake. You were also reluctant to receive money from him, even if the action was beneficial for you and not the other way around.

He spends the night still making stupid jabs at you, some of them earning laughs from your sister. You suck it up and deal with it, because this is the happiest you’ve seen Clementine in a long time, so you just strain a smile and move on.

When it’s about 9:45 PM, the three of you stop playing board games since Clementine has to get ready for bed. You come up to her room so that you can say goodnight and tuck her in.

“Today was fun, Y/N,” She giggles while you pull the covers over to her.

“That’s good to hear, Clemmie,” You respond, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Before you shut off her light, Clementine grabs the bottom hem of your shirt.

“Y/N?”

“What’s up?” The scared look in her eyes tells you that you’re gonna have to stay for a little longer, so you sit down on the bed.

“Are mom and dad gonna be okay?”

At first, you’re shocked that Clementine had even noticed, but then again, she’s always been this observant. And she was 12 already. She wasn’t dumb. It was also obvious that the reason why your parents randomly decided to go to dinner tonight was because they were trying to iron out some issues that they’ve been having.

All you do is nod and ruffle her hair playfully. Another smile appears on her face when you kiss her cheek.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” You say, although you’re not so sure yourself.

Recently, you’ve been having trouble sleeping as well. This was because your parents always start fighting whenever they see that Clementine is asleep. You don’t know what exactly they’re arguing about every night, but you’ve assumed that it must be money issues or something along the lines of that. Real adult stuff that they want to keep you two out of, but it’s so hard to ignore when they’re yelling at each other so loudly.

Clementine’s room is closer to the stairs. Of course it’s not a surprise that she’d notice there was something wrong with your parents.

“Do you think I…?” She mumbles out the question, but you don’t need her to finish the rest of it because you’re wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close to you.

“Don’t ever think that,” You say, sighing, “You didn’t do anything, ok? Mom n’ Dad are just fixing things between themselves.”

She nods, hugging you back.

“You should go to sleep,” You pull yourself off of her, placing yet another kiss on her head before tucking her in under the covers, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Promise?” She sticks out her pinky finger and you chuckle, sticking out yours and looping it around hers.

“I promise.”

“Night, Y/N.”

You say goodnight to her, turning off her lamp and shutting the door. Now that she was attended to, you had to start cleaning up. You walk downstairs to see Jungkook sprawled out over your couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. You wish that the saying “Make yourself at home” never existed, since your parents have an affinity for using it, which in turn forces you to deal with Jungkook laying on your couch like a complete slob.

The first job you assign yourself is to tidy up the living room, and you stack up all of the board games together so you can put it in the random storage closet your house has. Jungkook, of course, doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that you’re cleaning up the house all by yourself.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you. You walk over to the kitchen to have another slice of pizza while Jungkook acts like you don’t exist in your own house. Your stomach grumbles obscenely, even though you had a slice a few hours earlier.

It must be the stress. You do tend to be hungrier when you’re under a lot of stress, and today threw many annoyances your way.  

You check your phone and you realize that Hoseok texted you an hour ago.

[October 9, 7:30 PM] Hobi: Y/N i honestly think i’m gonna lose my mind?????????? Y/N? Y/N where tf are u i’m going insane holy shit text me when u get this PLEASE

Right away, your fingers move at the speed of light

[October 9, 10:30 PM] Y/N: omfg hobs you have no idea the shit i just went thru think i got three years taken off of my life anyways sry for the late reply what happened?

The iconic three dots and text bubble show up. You stifle a laugh. Hoseok must’ve been waiting by his phone for your text.

Hobi: i think i may have gotten myself into a date???

Y/N: a WHAT with WHO Hobi: yknow like mymanwhosnotreallymanbutheis yeah him Y/N: ur joking SPILL

You eagerly chew on the cold, stale pizza in your other hand as you wait for Hoseok to tell his whole story. Whether he’d be sending a voice memo or he’d just spam you with a multitude of texts, you never really knew. That’s just how Hoseok was.

But that didn’t really matter, because Hoseok had a date. With the kid he’s liked since the beginning of last year. Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon, coincidentally in Hoseok’s photography class this semester, was easily the smartest person in the whole school. The teachers were more than heartbroken knowing that he’d be graduating this year. The students, more specifically the girls, were also saddened, because Namjoon was also quite attractive. He was tall, kind, and extremely smart, and because of this, he had earned the title as “The Package” by Hoseok. He was everything everyone ever wanted in one person. Accurately put, Kim Namjoon was a  full package.

Hobi: ok well like we have a project in photography class where we have to take pics of nature and i wanted to do the flowers bc yknow, easy A and since u couldn’t hang out today >:( Y/N: hey, not my fault my parents think that i’m a terrible sister

Hobi: yeah u have to tell me how that went but anyways i went out to take pics after practice and guess who i saw? namjoon

Y/N: aaaaAAAAAHHHH

Hobi: YEAH and then we were talking and stuff and it turns out that he’s doing flowers too and then he gave me HIS NUMBER Y/N: omfg,,,

Hobi: i  k n o w so like i think two hrs ago he texted me and we started talking and stuff and then he was like “yknow there are prettier flowers in the botanical garden downtown” and then he asked if i wanted to hang out next week so i said yeah Y/N: holy shit hobs

Hobi: yeah so it’s not really an official date but i’m counting it as one in my book

You hold back a squeal, though you want to scream at the top of your lungs so badly. You opt to just smiling from ear to ear at your screen as you continue to freak out over text.

Hobi: the only problem is that i have to pretend that i like nature :( but not only that…. like i have to know stuff

Now Hoseok’s begging you for advice on nature, and you mention that you also aren’t the biggest nature lover either. Hoseok tells you he’ll have to do some research on flowers and you think that he’s the funniest person you’ve ever met. 

Your brief moment of happiness is rudely interrupted, however, when you suddenly see Jungkook before you, standing across from you at the kitchen island.

“You’re still hungry?” He says, opening the box and grabbing the last slice.

“You’re one to talk,” You scowl, watching him take a bite from his pizza.

Jungkook leans on the island, which in turn causes him to be closer to you, since you’re also leaning on the same surface.

“You don’t really smile a lot, baby,” He teases, wiping off sauce from the corner of his mouth.

So there he was. The Jeon Jungkook you’ve known and hated so dearly. He’s always called you random pet names, simply because he knows how much you despise him. It takes everything in you to hold back the urge to cuss him out. The walls are thin and your sister might wake up.

“Don’t call me that, first off,” You spit, “Second off, why do you care so much?”

“Jus’ makin’ conversation,” His cheeks puff up as he continues to stuff his mouth with food.

“Like I give a shit,” You grumble, looking away from the chewed up food that you can see in his mouth. It’s so unfortunate that Jungkook thinks it’s a good idea to talk while eating.

“Wow, you’re so mean to me,” He takes a large swallow of his food and then pouts, “You’re killin’ me here, babe.”

Despite his seemingly sad words, Jungkook’s giving you a big, toothy grin. He winks at you for the umpteenth time tonight, and you try to think of all the ways to kill someone in silence. Right now, you wish that Clementine was awake, because it’s only around her that he seems to be somewhat decent towards you.

“You have a nice house and nice parents,” He says, more to himself rather than you as his eyes scan the tidy kitchen, “And your sister’s so nice. Why aren’t you?”

“Why are you such an asshole?”

“Why are you such a bitch?”

Some would say that 10 PM is too late to have a nonsensical argument with some douchebag quarterback from your grade, but here you are having a ridiculously heated dispute with Jungkook at 10 PM. Again, all of this is happening in your own house.  

You roll your eyes at him, and you wonder how you haven’t hurt yourself by the amount of times you’ve done that today.

The two of you eat pizza in angered silence, an uncomfortable situation you never thought you’d ever have in your entire life. Well, you’re a lot angrier than Jungkook, who’s got a smug, satisfied look on his face because he just thinks it’s so much fun to annoy the hell out of you. That makes you even more upset, which causes you to get angry with yourself because you know you shouldn’t let someone get to you like this. It’s a never ending cycle of negativity whenever you’re around him, really.

Soon enough, the faint, muffled sound of the garage opening is heard through the door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That’s Jungkook’s signal to leave.

Before he leaves, though, he turns to you yet again.

“Thanks for the money,” He winks, “And the free pizza.”

The weekend goes by pretty slowly, but eventually, you end up in the classroom again.

Your school day is pretty much uneventful until you get to 5th hour Pre-Calc.

The busy click, click, click of mechanical pencils and the sound of scribbles from students’ writing are all you can hear after lunch. You follow their leads, hastily scrawling down your own notes on the lines of your notebook on your desk. Once you finally get into the zone of your note taking, you feel Jungkook lean in behind you. He’s so close that you can smell the cologne he uses, and the familiar odor sets off your flight or fight system.

Now that your parents have officially “hired” Jungkook as Clementine’s full-time babysitter, you realize that you’ll be forced to see him more often and have that strong, pungent cologne constantly wafting into your nostrils. You’re certain that you’d lose your sense of smell eventually.

If only Clementine hadn’t continued praising him after he left last Friday. Maybe then your house would actually be a safe haven for you. But no, now Jungkook is allowed to come and go into your house whenever your parents need him. (Again, as if they didn’t have a whole other daughter who was willing to take care of Clementine.)

But that’s another issue to worry about later, because Jungkook’s obnoxiously chomping down on his gum right in your ear. He’s so close that you can practically smell the watermelon flavor from his mouth, and you want to barf.

All you can think is: A.) Who in their right minds would ever actively choose watermelon gum over mint, and B.) Who would think it’s a good idea to chew on their gum so damn loud in the middle of class?

To both of those questions, the answer is Jungkook, plain and clear.

“Do you mind?” You hiss at him as you try to copy what the teacher has written on the chalkboard, “This isn’t a fucking ASMR channel.”

“Slow your roll there, baby,” His words come out in a teasing lilt, the pet name causing you to tighten your grip on your pencil, “First off, mind your business. Second off, I’d be an amazing ASMR youtuber, thank you very much.”

He’s imitating the way you talk to him, which makes your blood boil yet again.

“Well, you’re not giving me any chills.”

“I could if I wanted to.”

His statement causes you to freeze in your seat, mind racing as you try to think of a good comeback. Nothing appears, and you’re sure that if you were in the right headspace, you would’ve already had something good to say.

But you’re still going through heartbreak and the stress of dealing with your parents, so all you can muster to say is:

“You’re disgusting.”

Your words remind you of Friday night, which then makes you want the Earth to cave in under you and swallow you whole. You’re still dumbfounded at how Jungkook was able to come into your house without setting off all of the security systems your parents have installed there.

“Aw, baby girl,” The use of that pet name makes the digested lunch from 20 minutes ago crawl up your throat rapidly, “You really got me there! I’m so hurt, you know that? You’re so mean to me.”

You can’t see him, but you just know that he’s clutching his heart dramatically. Your whole body burns up in flames as you imagine the annoying smile on his face, the way it tugs to the right side a little more because he’s so proud of himself. He can see the steam pouring out of your ears, and all that does is egg him on.

Now he’s poking your back lazily with the end of his pencil, propping his head up on his elbow as he tries his hardest not to laugh.

It takes approximately ten seconds until you snap.

Once the pencil hits your back for the umpteenth time, you reach behind you quickly, snatching it and tugging it forcefully out of his hands. Without thinking, you hold the ends of the pencil between your fists and when your fists shoot up away from each other, the pencil breaks in half cleanly. You’re satisfied with the splintering ends of Jungkook’s pencil while he’s gawking at you, wondering how the hell you could have broken a pencil without any struggle. The smug smile is now on your face, but it quickly fades away when Ms. Lee turns to you and places her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. You make eye contact with her and you immediately straighten up your seat, your breath hitching as you attempt to remain calm under her threatening presence.

You weren’t scared of many things, but Ms. Lee definitely made your skin crawl.

“Miss Y/N?” Her voice booms all the way to your seat in the back of the class, “Would like to share with the class as to why exactly you’re breaking a pencil in the middle of my lesson?”

“No, ma’am,” You quickly respond, your words coming out in a pathetic squeak.

You can feel the mischievous gaze Jungkook has on you, but you pay no attention to it. The teacher grunts, turning her back to the class and resuming her ever so important task of writing important formulas on the chalkboard.

You let out a soft groan and you noticeably slump in your seat, making Jungkookk chuckle.

“Nice save there, Y/N.”

“Fuck off, will you?” You toss the pencil halves back onto his desk, not wanting to have anything to do with any of Jungkook’s property. You made a mental note to wash your hands once class ended so you could rid yourself of whatever pathogens lurked on Jungkook’s pencil.

“Do you always have such a way with words?”

If you were in a private space with Jungkook, where his hands are tied and he couldn’t do anything to hurt you, you’re sure that he would’ve been beaten to a bloody pulp by now. You desperately yearn to have just one day where you can beat his ass.

But you frown, knowing that that day would never come.

“Do you always act like a pretentious dick?”

“Baby girl,” The name returns and you have never wanted to kill someone as much as you’d like to Jeon Jungkook right here, right now, in 5th Hour Pre-Calc with Ms. Lee, “If there’s anything to describe this dick, it’s certainly not pretentious, I’ll have you know that.”

“Wow,” You scoff, “Do you always have such a way with words?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact-“

“Miss Y/N and Mr. Jungkook!” Ms. Lee bellows, “I am teaching a lesson! Would you like to share-“

“No, ma’am!”

You keep your head low, continuing to copy down the notes on the board. Jungkook kicks the back of your seat multiple times throughout class, and the only thing you can think is:

How is this guy allowed to be around little kids?

Usually, when you see someone regularly in your life, your bond with them grows stronger. But with Jeon Jungkook, you’ve learned with each passing day that your hate for him becomes stronger and stronger. And it’s been exactly five weeks. You’ve kept track.

Because now that he’s your sister’s babysitter, he’s become a lot more involved in your life. At least, he’s become involved in Clementine’s life (which ultimately means yours as well).

And as a result, your parents have started going out almost every single night, save for when there’s a football game or when Jungkook is too busy with homework. This meant that he was at your house at least 3 times a week, sometimes even more, because he just loved being with your family and your family just had to feel the same way. Sometimes your parents would even ask him to drive Clementine home from school. 

(An issue that would easily be solved if they let you learn how to drive. But apparently that was absolutely preposterous.)

One thing you’ve learned about Jungkook is that he’s scarily good at acting. He’s amazing at being sweet to Clementine, offering to drive her home after school whenever he can and creating inside jokes with her all the time as if he wasn’t planning on ruining your life this whole time. Since he’s such a “good babysitter”, your parents have started having him come over for dinner, and almost every night you had to restrain yourself from starting a food fight with him. He was always polite to your parents, though, making easy conversation with them at the table but never even daring to say a single word to you.

If someone was on the outside looking in, they’d think that Jungkook was a good person. Like a superhero, however, when he was around you, he would take off his disguise and reveal what he really is: a conceited jock who only thought with his dick.

The only possible benefit of him taking care of Clementine is that you have a lot more freedom now. That freedom has turned into occasional hangouts with Hoseok on the weekend. You’d usually use any chance you could get of hanging out with your best friend, but you also didn’t trust the dangerous human being who was constantly in your house, watching her. As a result, you’ve chosen to stay at home with Clementine, babysitting her babysitter. You label it as being a protective older sister.

But as Jungkook annoyingly puts it, with his notorious, cocky grin:

“You really like my company, don’t you, babe?”

He couldn’t be further from the truth.

This is different from tonight, though, because you’re relishing in the overly sweet, artificial taste of the strawberry shake right in front of you. It tastes like relief, like some much needed freedom from your overbearing parents on a Thursday evening.

Today, they took it upon themselves to lecture you about your sleeping schedule, telling you it’s irresponsible to stay up so late. What they don’t get is that you’ve been working on an important paper for your AP Lang class while also helping one of your classmates with their own paper. It strikes you that they don’t realize how much schoolwork your teachers pile on you. And it infuriates you even more that they always jump to the conclusion that you’re a bad kid, even though you’ve constantly had good grades while balancing schoolwork with cheer. That notion’s always gone unnoticed.

Of course, this wasn’t a pretty sight to be seen, your parents arguing with you right before their dinner date, and coincidentally, right as Jungkook stepped into the house. You don’t know what his reaction was, but you presume that he was most likely stunned. The only time you’re ever truly enraged, bluntly saying whatever harsh comments come to your mind, is when your mom starts to belittle you. This was the first time Jungkook’s ever seen you this upset. Or articulate.

It was safe to say that things didn’t end well, you storming up into your room and slamming the door.

And, as expected, you chose to have a much needed diner date with Hoseok tonight. Clementine even encouraged you to go, saying that she’d be fine with Jungkook, but you couldn’t help but still be concerned for her safety.

“Y/N, stop checking your phone,” Hoseok whines, snatching it from you, “What’s got your panties in such a knot?”

You grumble in protest when Hoseok scrolls through your conversation with your little sister over text message.

The music from the old, torn down jukebox fills the diner, and you’re surprised that it still even works. That jukebox has been there ever since your parents were kids. Nonetheless, you enjoy the nice, cheery melodies playing from it. You kick at some random bits of fries on the floor, your beaten red converse still visible under the dark shadows of the table. The diner smells of fried food, a scent that you’ll happily breathe in everyday. There’s an elderly couple sitting at the other end of the diner, waiting for their waitress to bring them their food. The old lady waves to you, and you wave back, flashing a small smile her way.

“Y/N, Tina’s gonna be perfectly fine,” He says, creating a shooing motion with his hand, “It’s not like he’s going to kill her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He literally loves her,” Hoseok takes a bite of his burger, some of the juice from the patty seeping out, “Yesterday he asked me to ask you what type of music Tina liked, Remember? Granted, he was too scared to talk to you. but-”

“Don’t,” You groan, stealing a fry as compensation, “Don’t remind me.”

“Hey, I don’t like him either,” He says, “But I’m just sayin’ that you don’t gotta worry so much. Your sister’s 12 already. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And technically, there would be no clear motive for him to do anything wrong because he’s getting paid,” Hoseok takes a fry for himself, “Why would he feel a need to get rid of his only source of income? That’d be ridiculous.”

You sigh, resting your head on the table in defeat. He was right. Even if Jungkook was a douchebag towards you, he wasn’t insane.

“Don’t do that!” Hoseok scolds, flicking your forehead, “Your menu was just on that table!”

“So?” You rub your forehead in a failed attempt to the pain Hoseok has just inflicted onto you.

“You know menus can have 185,000 germs per square centimeter?” He exasperatedly explains, pulling out some hand sanitizer from his backpack, “Or was it only 85,000…? No, I remember it being-“

“Wonder where you got that information,” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows while you cleanse yourself with Hoseok’s hand sanitizer. The tips of Hoseok’s ears turn red in seconds, and you laugh at his misfortune.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” He grumbles, hiding his face in his hands. You giggle, eating so many of Hoseok fries that he decides to order some more for you. That’s how your diner “dates” usually went, you only ordering a shake but then stealing all of Hoseok’s food.

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“He’s adorable, as always, but he’s really… How do I say this?” He pretends to search for the right words before deadpanning, “An absolute fucking idiot.”

“What?” The statement catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your shake.

“He’s so dumb, Y/N,” Hoseok hits his forehead with his palm, “So we’ve been hanging out a lot, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me why he can’t get the clue that I want him to actually ask me out?!” He groans, “Like, I’ve been trying to bring up prom, but he doesn’t get from the multiple times that I’ve said that I don’t have a date that I want him to ask me…”

Hoseok angrily chomps down on the last bit of his burger, while you’re still roaring in hysterics about how he finds Namjoon frustratingly adorable.

“I don’t get boys,” He pouts, “I really don’t. And I am one!”

“You can say that again,” You chuckle, sipping the rest of the shake in your glass.

The two of you catch up on everything you haven’t been able to share from weeks before, since school can provide only so much time for talking. When spending time with Hoseok, you realize how often you let the little things get to you. You tend to sweat the small stuff so much that you don’t realize all the good things happening to you. It was a nice albeit short break from reality, sitting with Hoseok in your favorite diner with your favorite strawberry shake and some greasy, delicious fries.

Eventually, you end up back at home at 10:30 PM. You come a little bit later than your assigned curfew, but it’s not like your parents would notice. They’d be home even later, since they’re stuck at your grandparents’ house. You snicker to yourself while you unlock the door, imagining the invigorating conversations they’re having over there.

The first thing you’re (begrudgingly) met with is Jungkook sitting on your couch, watching football.

“You’re home late,” He says, eyes glued to the screen. You kick off your shoes, letting them land wherever they want to, and you ignore him. You weren’t about to let anyone, not even Jungkook, ruin the fun night you had. It was too much for you to be constantly miserable.

Then, as if on cue, the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafts into your nose rather pleasantly.

“Did you guys bake?” You ask quietly, taking off your jacket. Jungkook nods.

You walk over to the garage door, where the coat closet is. Putting away your jacket, you smile to yourself. A cookie sounds amazing right now.

Grabbing some milk out of the fridge, you pour yourself a glass and take a second to really take in the beauty of the cookies. They’re perfectly browned at their edges, while their center is a light tan, and there’s a few visible chocolate chunks in all of them. Your mouth waters, despite stuffing yourself with milkshakes and fries. You place three cookies on a plate.

“I’ll be in my room,” You say as you walk up the stairs. You know Jungkook doesn’t care, but it’s been a force of habit ever since you were a kid.

When you reach your room, you quickly open the dormer window so you can sit on the roof.

If you were ever to meet the person who designed this house, you would give them a big hug and ask them to marry you, regardless of their gender. The dormer window and its alcove has been a safe space for you growing up, and you sit on the roof every time you need to clear your mind or if you just needed to treat yourself on an especially rough day.

You swing your legs outside the window, slowly moving near the edge of the sill until you’re comfortable. The brisk night air makes its way into your room, the wind pushing your hair gently in different directions. There’s a soft symphony of crickets chirping, and you take this moment to stare at the night sky.

A handful of stars shine in the pitch black sky, more than you’d see in the city but less than you’d see in the country. You make a silent prayer that one day that you’d be able to experience what a full starry night sky would be like.

Your plate of cookies and glass of milk is placed on the window seat. A cookie finds its way off of the plate, into your hands, and then into your mouth. The first bite is perfect, bits of chocolate and cookie crumbs left on your lips. You lick them eagerly, feeling nothing but euphoric as you take a sip of your milk.

“Never knew Tina could bake,” You hear a low voice behind you. It’s soft, but you still jump when you’re taken out of your cookie-intoxicated trance.

Looking up, you see Jungkook at your door, walking over to you. Your face is stuffed with mashed up cookie bits and some milk, and usually you’d be embarrassed, but you’re too tired to care, nonchalantly wiping off your faint milk moustache with the sleeve of your sweater.

“She’s great at it.”

“I know,” He chuckles before pointing to the window cushion, “Mind if I…?”

“If I said that I did mind,” You move your plate and your glass to the side so Jungkook has space, “What would you do?”

“I’d sit down anyways,” He jokes, doing just as he says.

“No point in asking, then.”

An awkward silence befalls the two of you, but that’s how nights with the babysitter went, unnerving pauses constantly appearing as he tries to figure out what to say to annoy you.

In fact, you’ve created a game out of these situations. You try to guess what he’ll tell you this time. Right now, you’re betting that he’ll mention something about your peach fuzz, or that you’re a fattie for having cookies late at night. He’s called you thunder thighs before. You wouldn’t put him past calling you a fattie.

“She talks about you a lot, y’know.”

You’re initially taken aback, but the night is too calming, so now you’re pulling your legs close to your chest, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You have your back turned to him, sitting on the window sill while he’s on the window seat, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You hear him sniffle, “Didn’t know that you liked the Power Rangers so much.”

“Are you kidding me?” You turn around to face him, “That was my childhood.”

“Mine too,” He smiles, one that’s different from his usual smirk, “Favorite ranger?”

“Trini, easily,” You point to the Yellow Ranger plushie laying on your bed, and he chuckles.

“I personally like Zordon the most.”

It’s not something you’d usually laugh at, but Jungkook ends up cracking up at his own joke and somewhere along the way, you find yourself giggling at it as well.

Another silence comes, and you finish the rest of your cookies and milk while he fidgets nervously with his hands. If Jungkook was trying to have a conversation with you right now, he was failing miserably. It’s somewhat interesting to you, seeing him open his mouth to speak, hesitate, and then closing it out of the corner of your eye.

It’s kind of cute, even.

You blink, looking forward. What the hell were you thinking? Was the loneliness really getting to you that quickly?

“Tina made those for you, actually.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“Yeah, um,” Jungkook scratches the nape of his neck, “She told me more about what happened earlier today.”

“Huh?”

“With your parents.”

“Oh.”

You imagine what Clementine must’ve thought, seeing your parents continue to yell at you for hours on end about your sleeping schedule. She hates seeing her family upset, and that probably made her sad for a while. You hope that she’s sleeping peacefully in her room right now, tucked away into a land of dreams.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, “I’m sorry about that.”

Involuntarily, you let out a scoff. Whether it’s directed towards him or your parents, you’re not sure. You are quite surprised, though. Since when did Jungkook ever apologize for anything? Since when did he ever feel bad?

“No need to be sorry,” You mumble, “Not like you did anything.”

Another silence, this time being accented with some awkward coughing.

“I mean, I think it’s sweet.”

“You think my parents getting on my back about sleep is sweet?”

“No, no, no,” He quickly sputters out, “I mean that your sister cares about you so much. I think that’s really sweet.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” You say, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, “That’s Clementine for ya. Sweet.”

“Like the fruit.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Did you know her name means ‘mercy’?”

It’s a fact you like to share with anyone willing to hear.

“That’s really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, my mom chose that name because I was too mean when I was younger,” You shake your head at the memory, “She said that we’d need someone more forgiving in the family, so the name stuck.”

“I can imagine that.”

“Shut up!”

“Sorry, sorry,” He laughs, and there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, “It’s nice, having dinner with you guys.”

“Dinner’s alright. Shockingly average,” You shrug, drawing out the last two words, “Why do you like it so much?”

“It’s nice to see you and Clementine together, I guess,” He runs a hand through his hair, “Things like that aren’t so simple for me.”

“What’s wrong with your home?” Your tone seems a lot more blunt and judgemental than you intended it to be, but Jungkook isn’t phased. He laughs at your question, even.

“Which one?”

You got the memo.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re not the reason why my parents split,” He says nonchalantly, but then he laughs at himself again, “You know, I have a little brother too. He’s a little bit younger than Tina.”

You turn around and stare at him, and you’re unable to hide the surprise in your face. The position of you constantly craning your neck just to talk to him is uncomfortable, so you sit on the other side of the alcove, pulling your legs to your chest once more.

“What’s his name?”

“Yeonjin.”

“Not trying to be mean, but I always thought you were an only child. You kinda give off the vibe,” You rest your chin on your knees, “How come he’s never with you?”

“I don’t blame you,” He says, “It’s ‘cause he tries to always be with our dad. He also hates my guts, so there’s that, too.”

“...Can I ask why?”

The warm glow of your bedroom light shines on one half of his face, while the dim lighting from outside paints his other half. You take in his appearance, how his hair has gotten messier every time he runs his hands through it, how his soft brown eyes are bouncing around your room, studying each poster and each picture that you have placed on your wall. He takes a sharp breath before speaking.

“I hate my dad,” He scratches his cheek, “Well, not really? I don’t know, it’s confusing.”

“I get that.”

“I caught him cheating on my mom, I think two years ago,” He bites his lip, “And y’know, I told my mom. So they split.”

You nod, listening intently to every word he says.

“Yeon doesn’t know that. I begged them not to tell him,” He says, resting his head on the wall and staring out the window, “So he thinks that I’m why they’re not together.”

It’s during that moment where you realize that you don’t know much about Jungkook outside of the classroom and your home. You try to imagine what he must’ve felt during that moment, seeing his own dad with another woman. Then, you think about what it was like for him to know that his brother still blames him and will continue to blame him for everything.

The conclusion you reach is that you can never truly know the pain that he’s going through.

“You know it’s not your fault, though, right?” You point out, “It’s your dad’s.”

“Yeah, can’t help but feel bad sometimes, y’know?”

“I mean, no shit.”

A few light, sad chuckles emit from both of your lips.

“Well, that was strangely freeing,” He hummed, “I think you’re the second person in our school who knows that now… I don’t really know why I shared that, sorry.”

You look at him. He’s still staring out the window, his Adam’s apple clearly defined since his head is leaning back. His black shirt stretches loosely over his skin, giving you a vague hint of the muscles underneath, and his sweatpants make him look… cuddly, almost. You don’t know why, but somehow he seems as if he’d be so comfortable to hug.

Even if he’s in basic clothing, he still seems to look good.

Your initial reaction to this thought is that it’s wrong, but you’re too tired to protest it. Instead, you’re focused on how shy Jungkook has gotten, how he avoids direct eye contact and slurs his words together, save for the occasional stutters in between his sentences.

“Don’t feel bad, that’s pretty heavy. You gotta let that shit out sometimes.”

“Yeah…” He says, more to himself rather than to you, “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

“What’s up?”

“Why’d you and Jimin break up?” His eyes are on yours, and he’s immediately trying to take back his question, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, cause that’s none of my business-“

“You’re good,” You chuckle, “He cheated on me.”

“Damn, I’m sorry, I never knew...” He frowns, “Y’know, everyone thought you were endgame.”

“Me too,” You replied, “But apparently not.”

It isn’t until you feel Jungkook’s hand on your face that you realize you’re crying. He gently wipes away the influx of tears falling from your eyes, not saying anything sarcastic or mean towards you. He’s just… there. Ready and willing to listen. He even shuts the window when he notices you shivering, a shocking contrast from his usual behavior towards you.

It’s the first time anyone other than Hoseok has asked you for the real story. The first time someone that’s not your best friend has actually taken the time to listen to the truth.

“You know that’s not your fault, either, right?”

He’s repeating your words, but for some reason they don’t sound so convincing to you.

“I dunno,” You sniffle, “Feels like it is.”

“Why would it be? He cheated on you. Not the other way around.”

You take a few moments to steady your breathing before you speak. You don’t know why you want to spill your emotions out to Jungkook, but under the moonlight and your bedroom lights, there’s a sense of security in opening up to him.

“This is gonna sound so fucking stupid,” You start, “And you better not tell anyone, or else I’m for sure gonna kill you right when I see you.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

“I’ve never… done it,” You cringe right when the words come out of your mouth, “I told Jimin that we should wait until we… y’know.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” He states, and you can’t help but be surprised at how understanding he could be.

“You don’t think it’s a little bit weird?”

“Nah,” He replies, “I also think it’s absolutely not a reason to cheat. There’s literally no valid reason in doing that, no matter how unsatisfied you are with your partner.”

“I guess so.”

The fact that Jungkook is getting mad in your stead makes you giggle.

“And plus, it was you. How do you cheat on someone like that?”

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook pauses for a minute, processing what he had just said.

“I mean, if I was Jimin- No, I mean, if I was me,” He gestures to himself, “Which I am, I would never cheat on my partner. It just makes no sense. You already have a whole ass person who likes you. I think I’d be happy enough with that already.”

“Yeah, you’d think so,” You add, and now it’s you taking a few moments before speaking again, “Um, thanks, by the way. For talking with me, and stuff.”

“Oh, no worries,” He smiles at you, “Just kinda wanted to see how you were doing because of earlier. You did look pretty upset before you left the house.”

You smile back, and it seems like he’s about to say something, but the sound of the garage interrupts him, signalling that it’s time for him to leave. He stands up from the alcove and grabs your empty plate and cup to bring downstairs.

“Hey, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

You both know the answer to the question but Jungkook asks it anyway.

“Yeah, of course,” You can’t seem to wipe off the grin present on your face, “There’s nowhere else I could be.”

If you had to go back in time and tell yourself that eventually Jungkook would start driving you home after school and that you’d actually enjoy his company, you’re certain that your past self you’d slap your future self in the face and say that you were insane.

And maybe the latter was true.

“You’re terrible at singing,” He snickers, trying his best to keep his eyes on the road.

You’d retort and say that he doesn’t know shit and you’re actually an amazing singer, but you’re too preoccupied screaming One Direction lyrics off the top of your lungs. You decide to just jokingly flip him off instead.

The band’s songs hold a close place in your heart, because their music was what brought you and your sister closer. Although you’ve somewhat grown out of their cheesy lyrics about love and youth, you had to admit that their music was extremely catchy.

And apparently Jungkook thought this as well, because he was quietly singing along to each song word for word.

“Didn’t know you were a fan,” You tease, and he’s caught off guard.

“I’m not…”

“I bet you cried when Zayn left.”

He doesn’t look at you, because he’s driving, but the tips of his ears turn bright red, and you roar in hysterics at his reaction.

“You know I very well could’ve just left you at school,” He’s got a smile on his face despite his harsh words.

“Oh, you’d never,” You reply, staring out the window and enjoying the basic scenery around you.

After the one night where Jungkook and you dumped all your emotional baggage on each other, you found yourself looking forward to him being in your company from now on.

At first, you only decided to be nice to him since he knew the fact that you were with Park Jimin—that bombshell of a boy—and you never got it on with him. It’s not something you’re ashamed of, but you know you’d hate it if anyone else knew, because the rumor that you were crazy would just then become truer and truer to them. So you became nicer, gentler with Jungkook. Plus, hearing his story made your heart sadden a little whenever you saw how excited he was to be with Clementine.

And somewhere along the way, between him walking you to your classes and buying a Poptart pack and saving one for you after school every day, you realized that maybe he wasn’t such a bad kid to be around. He seemed to like being with you a lot too, always offering to drive you home when you had practice and when you didn’t, he’d offer to get fast food with you before going home.

Maybe it was the solidarity of experiencing pain, or it very well could just be that you’re one of the only people who knows Jungkook’s secrets and he’s one of the only people who knows about yours. Maybe there’s some pity for each other present, or it’s simply just because the both of you are tired of constantly bickering whenever you’re within a 20 foot-wide radius of each other.

You could spend countless hours trying to draw a conclusion, and you’ve tried to, during the late nights where you can’t sleep where you’re tossing and turning around restlessly. But eventually, you end up falling asleep, always answerless to the paradox you’ve been trying to solve.

Whatever the answer was, you’ve stopped caring about it, because you deemed it useless to keep trying to find it.

“How’s the new routine going?” He asks, desperate to change the topic.

“It’s going, that’s for sure,” You chuckle, “I think we just need a little bit more practice and we’ll be good.”

One thing that you’ve learned about Jungkook after becoming his friend is that he loses his natural vulgarity when you know about his family history.

You noticed this when Hoseok came over to your house one night and Jungkook didn’t call you a demeaning pet name at all during the time being. He also never bothered the two of you, making some small talk with Hoseok before leaving to play Just Dance with your sister. (He bought her that game when he found out that you guys had a Nintendo Switch that you never use).

The first thing Hoseok said to you when the two of you went to your room and you closed the door was:

“Where the hell is Jungkook and what the fuck did you do to him?”

It was a comical night, Hoseok freaking out over the wonderful, ever elusive mysteries named Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook.

Another thing you (and Hoseok) had learned about Jungkook is that, surprisingly enough, his best friend was the Kim Namjoon himself.

This happened that same night, when Jungkook knocked on the door and accidentally overheard Hoseok say his name. Jungkook’s initial reaction was:

“It’s you?!” He almost shrieked in disbelief, “You’re the one Joon has a crush on?!”

His words, of course, came with a shrill: “He has a crush on me?!” from Hoseok.

Through this rude awakening, Hoseok and you learned that Namjoon was the only friend Jungkook had. Apparently, he started tutoring Jungkook when Jungkook was about to fail freshman year. Jungkook said that Namjoon was the only reason as to why he survived his first year of high school, and because of that he never left Namjoon alone. Eventually, they had strangely become the best of buddies.

And being the best of buddies meant that he knew Namjoon’s secrets.

(Safe to say, it was a rough night for both Hoseok and Jungkook but a fun one for you.)

“How’s Seok and Joon?” Jungkook asks, out of the blue, and you can tell the question has been on his mind.

“Hobi’s waiting for Namjoon to make a move.”

“Ha, that’s funny.”

“What?”

“Namjoon’s waiting for him to.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I honestly wish I was,” He chuckles, driving into your subdivision.

“It’s amazing how glaringly obvious the two of them are,” You sigh, “Hoseok made bracelets for him. Tell me that that doesn’t scream: ‘Oh hey, by the way, I like you!’”

“Yeah, Joon has so many pics of him on his Insta, you’d think they’d be dating by now…”

“They’re really, really oblivious.”

“Well,” He shrugs, taking a turn into your driveway, “It happens to the best of us.”

Jungkook walks out of the car, heads over to your door, and as usual he helps you out while reaching for your backpack and your cheer bag so he can carry them for you.

Clementine’s sitting in the kitchen, working diligently on her math homework.

“Tina!” Jungkook sings, setting down your bag on the couch. You walk over with him to her, and she has a bright smile on her face when she sees the two of you together.

“Hi!” She responds, “I’ve got something to tell you guys!”

“What is it?” You ask, sitting next to her and taking a peek at her worksheet. It’s something about fractions.

“I think I have a crush!”

“Holy-“ You stop yourself before you can say anything bad, “Uh, wow, Clem!”

“Yeah, wow…”

You and Jungkook look at each other with somewhat sad eyes. He may not have known her for as long as you have, but he feels the same, strange dull pain that you’re feeling in your chest.

Your little sister isn’t so little anymore.

Tonight was going to be a long one.

Late night conversations with Jungkook at your dormer window have become a regular thing.

It’s the moments where fatigue starts to really hit the two of you that you have the most fun with him. There’s no shame in what you say, and no judgement stemming from one another. During then, it’s just you, Jungkook, the occasional plate of pizza and snacks, and the moon.

“I can’t believe she has a crush already,” You muse, a hint of melancholy in your tone.

“She’s 12, Y/N.”

“That’s still too young, don’t you think?”

“How old were you when you had one?”

“I think,” You pause, sorting out your vague childhood memories, “In Kindergarten, maybe?”

“My point exactly.”

You curse under your breath as you’re obviously defeated. You hate when logic is used against you. Jungkook just laughs, performing his usual habit of rubbing his nose and jerking his head so his hair can stay out of his eyes. Both of you are leaning on either side of the alcove and the window is slightly open so that you can hear the regular music of crickets outside. A light gush of wind blows through, gently shifting around random strands of your hair.

Jungkook’s yet again scrolling through his phone, looking at funny memes on Instagram and sending them to the group chat titled: “Namjoon’s Angels” that he so cleverly named. Your phone buzzes multiple times, and when you turn it on, 4 notifications from the said group chat appear on your screen. They’re all from him. You look at the boy in front of you and he’s got a delighted smile on, eyes crinkled up into crescent moons while he’s so focused on whatever’s on his phone.

“We’re in the same room, Kook,” You say, showing your screen to him, and Jungkook’s a bit surprised at the nickname, but he quickly shoots you a fake glare before going back to his own phone.

“Those aren’t just for you, princess,” He retorts, tapping away on his screen, “Those are for Joon and Hoseok too.”

Your phone buzzes once more, and this time it’s a notification from just Jungkook.

[November 15, 10:40  PM] jeon.jk on Instagram *Sent a post* [November 15, 10:40 PM] jeon.jk on Instagram This one’s for you! :)

Upon opening the chat, you’re met with an obscure picture of-

[November 15, 10:41] y/nnnn_ beans? jeon.jk Beans.

You send him a questioning look, and Jungkook squeakily laughs, almost out of breath by how funny he thinks the picture is.

jeon.jk Do you not like it? I think it’s rather nice.

The most surprising thing you’ve discovered about Jungkook is that he’s quite the articulate texter, which is a weird juxtaposition from his usual character. It’s certainly the strangest thing you’ve known about him.

y/nnnn_ it’s quite off putting jeon.jk :(

“I’m right in front of you,” You declare, turning off your phone and putting it on the cushion. Jungkook rolls his eyes, but nonetheless does the same.

“But that’s no fun.”

“You’re so weird, you know that?”

“I like to think I’m pleasant to be around.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you before looking out the window.

“Are you going to the football game tomorrow night?”

“Kook.”

“What?”

“I’m on the cheer team…”

“Oh,” His lips form a small, tight circle and then spread into a sheepish smile once he connects the dots, “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He starts, “Anyways, did you get invited to the party after?”

“At Taehyung’s?” You ask, and he nods, “I did, yeah.”

“You gonna go?”

You bite your lip, deep in thought over the question. Hoseok got invited too, and he was begging you to go because you hadn’t talked to Namjoon enough, save for whenever he asks you where Hoseok is after school.

While it would be a good idea to come along and really start to get to know your best friend’s crush, you could already tell that it wouldn’t slide with your parents.

“There’d be no one to babysit Clementine,” You reason, “I mean I’d love to, but yeah…”

Jungkook visibly deflates, so much so that he looks like a cartoon character. You suppress a laugh, an apology coming out instead so that you don’t make him feel any worse.

“No, I get it,” He sighs, shoulders slumped down, “It’s no worries then. We’ll still see each other after the game, then, right?”

“If you really want to, sure.”

“I want to.”

You smile at him, and Jungkook mirrors you, a toothy grin flashing your way.

Your favorite moments with your unconventional, newfound friend are during the late nights, because of times like this. Around you and around him, the world is soft and light. There’s a calming simplicity when you’re talking to Jungkook, and your chest constantly feels light and fluttery. His lame jokes become funnier, and your words towards him become kinder.

Even though it’s dark, the nights seem to shed light on who the two of you really are and how you two really feel about each other.

There’s no malice, no ill intentions towards each other either. You like being there with him. Time isn’t an obstacle, which is something you’ve always felt slipped out of your hands like fine sand. The world just comes to a standstill, both of you trying to talk as much as you can before your parents come home.

For you, time has been a nuisance. You lose sleep while you hunched over your desk, working on assignments because the night is the only freetime you have. Because of that (and so that you can peacefully talk to Jungkook whenever he babysits), you simply just do your homework in the morning. Your alone time is always cut short, since you’re swamped with cheer, homework, and family obligations.

You hated how time ran out.

After all, your time with Jimin had run out.

But when you’re sitting on the cushion in your alcove with Jungkook, you slowly but surely start to adjust to the ever changing world around you. Sure, you feel guilty about constantly dumping your emotional baggage to someone you’ve just become friends with after two years of having pure hatred for them, but time and time again he’s always reassured you, telling you that he really didn’t mind you venting to him.

It’s not like Jungkook was your only option, since you always had Hoseok to rant to. But seeing Hoseok happy made you happy, and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a complete pity party.

So yeah, maybe Jungkook was the only option you had. You didn’t really mind either, since Jungkook had his fair share of problems that he’d talk to you about. There was no point in feeling bad at all, actually. There was a fair exchange of listening and venting between both sides.

You did find having an issue to restrain yourself around him. Everytime he spoke about his brother, you just wanted to jump into his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even more so when his voice cracked and slowly turned into silent whispers and warbled mumbles. Your heart always broke when he would start blinking more and more so that his tears wouldn't come out. Sometimes, when things really got rough, he’d let a few ones fall, but he always followed it up with forced laughter and a strained smile.

It always made you wonder if he was hiding anything else from you.

“Wait, Y/N,” He says, raising a pointer finger up, “You can go to the party!”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you forget?” He asks, seeing how confused you are, “I’m Tina’s babysitter.”

“I didn’t forget that…?”

“I’m gonna be at the game, cause, y’know, I’m, yeah,” He explains, “Your parents are gonna have to stay at home regardless.”

You stare at him blankly as it registers in your head that there’s nothing stopping you from going to Taehyung’s infamous house parties.

“You’re right,” You mumble, “Sorry, I must be tired.”

“When’d you sleep last night?”

“Yesterday?” You stare up at the ceiling while you try to remember the other night, “4… I think?”

Jungkook shakes his head at you, ashamed.

“What’d I say about sleeping late?” He wags a finger at you, “You’re gonna ruin yourself if you keep doing that.”

“Okay, thanks, mom,” You snicker.

He then changes the topic, now complaining about the very same paper that you stayed up late to work on. You added on to his ranting, speaking your own mind as well.

The conversation is stopped abruptly when you hear knocking. Jungkook and you turn from each other to see your parents standing at the doorway. Neither of you had even heard the garage opening, or your parents walking upstairs.  

They’ve got tired, but happy smiles on their faces, and it comforts you knowing that they’re starting to iron out whatever issues they're going through. Your mom waves at you two and you echo her movements.

“Ah, I gotta go, then.”

Jungkook swiftly gets up from the alcove, grabbing his jacket that was resting on your desk chair. He greets you goodbye and then does the same with your parents, your dad walking him to the door. When both of the boys leave, your mom joins you, replacing Jungkook’s spot. She smells of steak and has a faint scent of wine about her. The relaxed, blissful state she’s in tells you that she’s intoxicated right now.

“Glad you had a fun night out,” You say, a soft smile on your lips.

“I quite like Jungkook,” She seems to not have heard your words, “Don’t you?”

“He’s nice, yeah.”

“He reminds me of your dad.”

She’s definitely a lot more drunk than you thought she was.

“Let’s get you in bed, mom,” You chuckle, standing up and helping her, “I think that’s enough for today.”

When you take her to her room and she staggers over to sit in her bed, you say goodnight to her. She responds, and you know very well that she’s most likely going to fall asleep with her dress on. You decide that your dad could handle that.

After getting ready for bed and crawling under your covers, your mind starts to wander, fixated on the idea of Jungkook and your dad being similar.

You can’t find a single distinct comparison between the two of them, but then your mind travels to the topic of your parents when they were younger. When they weren’t dating and they just knew each other as neighbors. Were they nice to each other?

Was there ever a time where they hated each other?

In between the many questions traveling through your mind, you start to enter the deep limbo of being half asleep and half awake. This doesn’t stop your curiosity about your parents story, as you see the two of them in your dreams. A young version of your mom bickering with your dad.

Then, it suddenly flashes to you walking with Jungkook in the hallways of high school, talking and bickering like you usually do.

Despite being heavily sleep deprived, you actually have a good night’s rest for once.

It’s Friday, which meant one thing and one thing only. It’s game day.

And although you complain about how sore your muscles are after practice and how you hate staying after school for so long, but when you’re sitting on the track, listening to the shouts from the student section and watching the football get tossed back and forth between players, you can’t help but be excited for halftime. You even become immersed in the sport, intently watching the boys tackle their way through the field. Half of the time you’re not completely sure about what’s going on, but you definitely were having fun sitting with Hoseok and watching the football teams brawl for a simple leather ball.

You had to admit it. There really was something magical about football games.

It was the way the grass smelt of rain and sweat, the way you could hear nothing but excitement from the crowds of students in the student section, the way that everyone was donning the school’s signature colors of purple and gold. The energy tonight is explosive, and you relish in every single section of it.

Your teammates are focused on the game and on themselves, making sure they remember the routines you have been practicing for months. But you, on the other hand, have separated yourself from the group of girls standing on the track and talking to each other. Instead, your focus is stuck on Jungkook.

Watching him on the field is like magic.

You don’t mean to, but your eyes follow him as he rushes past the opposing team, pushing past everyone effortlessly. He knows exactly when to keep the ball clutched closely to his chest or when to throw it to his fellow teammate, and he defends himself against the opposition, turning his back against them in order to protect himself from their tackles. It’s all like clockwork, like Jungkook could predict the other team’s movements. Even though you’re far from him, you notice the way he scans the field, so much so that you can see the gears turning in his mind. He’s got a whole map of the field and the teams in his head, creating a strategy right on the fly. All to get a touchdown.

Jungkook may be the big-headed goofball who used to enjoy annoying you, but he was a completely different person on the field. He’s someone determined and clever, and he doesn’t show off or become cocky when he’s on the field. Instead, he looks out for his own teammates and becomes a real leader.

You see this when Kim Taehyung, one of the running backs, gets tackled and crashes straight onto the turf, his helmet thudding quite loudly. Before Jungkook grabs the ball in Taehyung’s hands, he gives a quick tap on the running back’s helmet as a simple way of telling him that he’s doing a good job. To tell him to not give up and to get back on his feet. It’s a barely visible gesture that no one in the crowd would notice. It’s basically insignificant to… anyone, really. But you feel your heart soften when you figure out what the gesture meant.

Then you sit up, slightly, because his eyes meet yours and suddenly all the air in your chest has decided to leave. The crease in his eyebrows disappears and he’s beaming at you.

What amazes you is that Jungkook still has the ball secure in his hands, shoving his way through the hordes of players like they’re nothing.

You wonder what it’d be like to see Jungkook running up close. It’s hard to see from this distance, but you can see how the sheen of sweat glosses his skin. There was no doubt that he was muscular and you knew that, because you saw him every single day, but tonight his body is even more defined. They flex as he moves, biceps bulging because he’s clutching onto the ball so tightly.

You’re unaware of the way your thoughts travel to Jungkook being sweaty and hot on the field. Somehow it makes you feel like you’re betraying everything you’ve stood for by thinking like this, but instead of creating an even greater inner conflict between yourself and your conscience, you give up and continue to spectate the game.

(If by the game, you mean Jungkook.)

It isn’t until you decide to give him a small wave that he stumbles. He passes the ball to Kim Seokjin, the receiver, and quickly gets up on his own feet before he can fall on the ground. The opposition’s focus is now moved onto Seokjin, and so is Jungkook’s.

Seokjin reaches the end of the field. He scores a touchdown, and the crowd goes wild. The roaring sounds like music to your ears and you stand up, cheering along with your friends to congratulate your team. You beam when you see Jungkook running alongside the receiver, genuine grins on the boys’ faces. You feel proud, but you’re not entirely sure about what.

“We’re gonna kill it soon, Y/N!” Hoseok grins, and you mirror him, a happy smile on your face as well. He’s also too focused on memorizing the steps in his head to notice that you’ve been drooling over your little sister’s babysitter.

“I mean, duh,” You dramatically flip your hair over your shoulder, making the both of you giggle.

People say that cheerleading is such an outdated sport, but you actually loved it with your entire heart. You’ve created many lasting friendships with the girls (and Hoseok, of course) on your team, and the cheer squad was the exact reason why you had a somewhat reputation at school. It was basically the only thing that kept you going during the 3 years of high school you’ve gone through, and you’re sure that it’ll be the only thing keeping you sane for the rest of your years at this hellhole of a school.

Well, that was a topic for another day.

Because before you can have another existential crisis about the fact that you’re already on your junior year of high school—you haven’t figured out exactly what you want to do with your life—and that time has really slipped you by, the timer on the big, chunky, outdated metal screen ticks down. A bold, orange “0:00” appears, signalling that it’s halftime. The football teams slow down and head back to their respective sides, getting ready to take a break while the cheerleading squad gets ready for action.

When all of the boys are seated at their benches, some of them guzzling water or simply just catching their breath, you, Hoseok, and the rest of the girls make your way onto the turf. The speaker announces your team, staticky voice emitting from the speakers and filling the air.

It’s go time.

You all huddle in a circle, hyping yourselves up with team chants. It’s invigorating, being with all of your friends, getting ready to present the routine you had been trying to perfect for the past few months. You step into the circle, and the girls lift you up, throwing you up in the air. As you’re thrown, you let the force move you, your body twirling around. You land gracefully back into their arms, and the crowd goes wild once again.

The cheerleaders grab their pom poms that are lying on the turf and they get into position. Everyone places their hands on their hips, smiles forming on all of your faces as the crowd simmers down to get ready for the show. A beat starts from the drum line, and you all wave your pom poms in the air, the tinsel-like material sounding almost like rain as they swivel in circular motions. You scan the crowds, looking at all the different students sitting together.

Then your eyes meet, and your face falters.

Park Jimin is sitting in the bleachers, beaming at the Sophomore on the cheer team. You’re rudely reminded of her sitting on his lap in the back of his car, and your eyes become hazy as you try to save face.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Hoseok whispers, “He’s not worth it.”

You nod, averting your focus from Jimin. This was the final football game of the season. You had to make the most of it, and you weren’t going to let him get in the way of it.

The cheer captain starts with a “5, 6, 7, 8,” and the rest of you follow her chants.

The routine starts with a high kick and a right punch up, followed with another high kick and then a strict order of arm positions along with a few more kicks that you all execute with style. Some of the girls move to the front, doing backflips to entertain the crowd. The flyers, bases, and spotters, get ready for extensions while the girls in the front keep the student section preoccupied.

Hoseok is assigned as one of your bases, and two other girls—a base and a back spotter—get into formation along with him. They lift you up carefully, steadying you right away as you're raised up. The other flyers are lifted up, too, and you sigh in relief knowing that everyone did their extensions easily. You flash bright smiles to the crowd and they all scream, cheering you on as well. Your combined shouts add even more energy to what was already an electric game.

The cheer is something cheesy about having more spirit than the other team, and the words are really cringy at points, but you don’t care. You’d shout them to the ends of the earth for all you cared. What mattered was the way the student section responded with almost double the enthusiasm. Kids are hollering, practically jumping out of their seats and yelling as they repeat the school’s signature lyrics. There’s nothing but pure excitement for the game, the football team, and the cheerleaders.

You’re lowered down for a few minutes by the bases only to be thrown up quickly. Keeping your stomach tight and your arms stiff, you fall back into the arms of the cheerleaders underneath you. It’s a perfect execution of a cradle, and you’re practically glowing with pride for your team. It’s obvious that the coaches would praise you all at the next practice. The crowd goes crazy for your team as well. Once you’re placed on the ground, it’s your turn to perform flips and high kicks, and you carry out the rest of the routine effortlessly.

Staring at the crowd, you take in how everyone is smiling at you and your team, impressed at the stunts you all pulled off in such a small time frame. Their eyes are shimmering with pride and you’re certain that their throats have gone raw from all their hoots and hollers. The night sky is painted black, but the atmosphere you’re in is far from dull. The crowds are colored purple and gold, matching your uniform and the football players’ uniforms. There are kids from different cliques, but they’re all sitting together and cheering, showing the solidarity a school could have.

You hold on to the moment for as long as you can, your chest heaving up and down as you pose confidently when the routine is done. Hoseok looks at you with immense pride and you do the same, both of you practically radiating out there on the field.

Eventually, halftime is over and you’re back to sitting on the track. You’re sweaty, but you don’t care. You know you did amazing and that was worth it.

A wave of uneasiness hits your chest when you see the sophomore rush over to her backpack to check her phone. She grins at her screen before running over to your coach, using some lame excuse so she can leave. After that, she rushes out, and you see Jimin following suit.

You plan to see what they’re doing, but Hoseok grabs your wrist, already knowing what you were going to do.

“Y/N,” His voice is stern, “I love you. Don’t.”

“But-“

“It’s not a good idea. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Some of your nerves fade away when Hoseok demands that you’ll get pictures with him, even if both of you are drenched in sweat. He reasons that it’s because you rarely have any pictures with him. But isn’t that the sign of true friendship? Not being able to have pictures because you’re either having too much fun together or the both of you look so ugly you can’t even bear to have a photo taken? You use that reasoning with Hoseok and he simply pinches your cheek, telling you that you’re insufferable and forcing one of your teammates to take your pictures.

When the game is almost done, the sophomore is nowhere to be seen.

You see your coach asking around the other girls, but they all respond with a shrug. Hoseok keeps you distracted by talking about the new friend group you’ve created with him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. Then, he starts to talk about Namjoon and the latest “date but not date” that they had last weekend. You realize you’ve never wanted to talk about Namjoon more than ever before.

While he’s gushing, you look at the photos you’ve taken with your best friend. A satisfied smile finds its way on your face when you see that they ended up a million times better than you thought it would. Hoseok also admires them while you swipe through the many new pictures in your camera roll.

“Told you it’d end up good.”

“Oh, whatever.”

You decide that you’d post your favorite ones, since you haven’t put anything new on your Instagram.

You tap on the app, planning to create a draft to post tomorrow. To your surprise, though, a new post from Jimin appears on your timeline. It’s a picture of the girl in his car. She has a bright smile on her face, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink.

Under the picture there’s a blue heart.

You’re reminded of all of the posts he had of you that had the exact same caption. You frown. Blue was your favorite color.

You go to his page, and all of your photos from before are gone. You’re frozen in your spot. Your mouth feels incredibly dry and a hard, rough lump forms in your throat. Your eyes start to sting, and the pain you thought you’ve forgotten about has come back twice as strong.

Hoseok notices this and you hand him his phone.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”

“I’m gonna,” You wipe your eyes and fan away the moisture so you don’t mess up your mascara, “I’m gonna go home after this.”

“Do whatever you need to,” He says, patting your head so you can rest your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You text your parents, asking them to drive you home.

The game is slow, dull, and boring, but after such an excruciatingly long wait, it finally ends. Once it’s over, you’re immediately walking out and making your way to your parents car. You ignore all of the students around you, pushing your way through them.

You also ignore Jungkook, who’s been running after you right when the game ends but loses you in the crowd.

When you come home, the car ride with your mom consisting of you breaking down and your mom comforting you, your mom quickly takes you to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath for you. She closes the door so neither Clementine or your dad can see the state you’re in, and she drops in a few drops of lavender into the steamy water. You hastily take off your uniform and your makeup, wanting nothing more than to get in the tub.

Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to feel the warm water soaking your skin. The oil she added to the bath creates a pleasant scent to the steam, and your lips curve upward when you get a whiff of it. You rest your head against the edge of the porcelain surface, eyes getting hazy as the scent of lavender drowns out your senses. Your mother puts her hands through your hair, massaging your head with shampoo.

If your mother was being this gentle, this nice to you, then this was really serious.

When she plants a loving kiss on your forehead, humming sweetly, you feel your lip quiver. You were tired. This was your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore. Warbled, shrill sobs escape from your lips and you’ve lost all notions of self control. Your mom holds you close to her, indifferent to the soap suds and water soaking her shirt.

“Sometimes change is necessary for growth,” She says as you cry everything out.

“It hurts,” Your words come in between gasps.

“I know, darling, I promise you that you’ll find someone who truly deserves your love.”

“...Really?”

“Yes, and, you know, I already know one person who deserves it.”

“Who?”

“You.”

You hang onto every word she says, hoping that they’re actually true.

[November 16, 9:35 PM] Jungkook Hey, is everything okay? I tried talking to you after the game but I couldn’t find you Why is that? You don’t have to tell me, just wanted to know if you were okay I’ll tell Joon you say hi later tonight. He was really excited to hang out with you Sorry, I must be spamming your phone Anyways, just wanna say you did great tonight

Read at: 10:01 PM

[November 19, 4:02] Jungkook You didn’t show up to school today I think this is actually the first time you’ve skipped school Let me know if you need the homework or anything Read at: 4:10

You tap out of the conversation and put your phone face down on your nightstand. Tossing around in the bed, the sheets are uncomfortably hot around your sweaty skin. Your room is humid, since you’ve been doing nothing but lay in your bed for the past 3 days. Your eyelids slowly droop downward while you attempt to remove yourself from the throbbing pain in your head.

A slow, soft creak emits from your door. You open your eyes to see your sister, holding a tray with a cup of water and a grilled cheese sandwich. She still has her school clothes on.

“We ran out of soup,” She says, walking over to you.

You give her a weak smile, shifting over so she can sit next to you.

“Thank you, Clem.”

She sits up straight, expectantly watching you eat. She waits for your reaction, and your lips curve up naturally while you chew, she lets out the breath she’s unconsciously been holding in.

“Are you… doing okay?”

“I’ll be alright,” You nod, and then you roll up the sleeve of your hoodie to flex your bare arm, “Your sister’s strong.”

Clementine giggles and she leans back, resting her head on your shoulder. Her hair tickles your skin, but you don’t care. The grilled cheese in your mouth tastes absolutely amazing—most likely because you haven’t eaten anything since a bowl of soup yesterday.

“I never…” She starts, but then stops. You reassure her that she can tell you whatever she wants, and with a deep breath, she continues, “I never really… liked him.”

“Hm?”

“Jimin. I never liked him,” Her words lower into a nervous whisper. You wonder how long she’s been holding it in. She looks up at you once more, “Sometimes I could hear when you guys talked on the phone.”

Your initial response is to be angry, but there’s no point to. It wasn’t her fault that your rooms were so close to each other. Clementine scoots down so that she can rest her head on your chest, and you wrap your arms around her.

“He was kinda mean,” She sighs, “And I didn’t like how he talked to you.”

You nod. There was a truth in her words. You imagine what she thought hearing you cry behind a closed door, hearing you freak out because Jimin would end the call on you randomly when you mentioned Hoseok. Thinking back on it, Jimin was quite possessive when the two of you were together. Quite ironic.

“He’s like Gaston.”

“Gaston?”

“Yeah, full of himself,” She spits bitterly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen your sister speak negatively towards someone, “Only likes you ‘cause you’re pretty. Gets mad if you don’t give him something when he’s nice to you.”

Despite her dulled down description of Jimin, her words are a rude awakening for you. It’s as if you were roughly picked up and dropped into a cold, freezing bath, the frigid water creating an abrupt awareness of the reality of your past relationship. The reality was that Jimin was terrible to you, and no matter how many times you tried to label it nicely, tried to dumb it down so you yourself could swallow it easily, the truth is that whatever the two of you had wasn’t love.

It hits you that you really don’t know anything about love.

“You deserve someone better than Jimin.”

“You can say that again,” You chuckle, but Clementine cranes her neck and looks at you with burning eyes.

“No, I mean it,” She huffs, “He was terrible-“

“I know, I know, Clem,” You give her a light, reassuring smile, “But we’ll figure that out later, ‘kay? Right now it’s just you and me.”

“Yeah,” She relaxes, resting on you again, “I’d like that.”

You pinch her cheek before speaking again.

“So, you wanna tell me more about the new guy?”

She hides herself in your embrace instantly. Her new crush, Lucas, seemed quite nice from what she tells you.

The rest of your day is spent with Clementine over board games, movies, and cookies, and from how she eagerly spills out everything to you, you realize just how much she’s held from you, afraid to bother you since you “had a lot on her plate”. You secretly promise her that you’d be there for her more, that you’d forever be a shoulder to cry on for her from now on.

It’s almost funny, how a breakup forced you into having a better relationship with your sister.

When the night falls and you’re in Clementine’s room with her, ready to say goodnight, she musters enough courage to say something else to you.

“I like Jungkook.”

“I know, so does everyone,” You reply, suddenly remembering the multiple text messages from him that you’ve ignored.

Would he be upset with you? You decide that you’ll deal with that later.

“I like the way he looks at you.”

“What do you mean?” You questioningly state, taking the covers and putting it over her body. Even though she’s already 12, you don’t think you’ll ever stop tucking her in. She doesn’t object, either, eagerly accepting your advances and pulling the covers over so only her head pops out.

“He kinda,” She yawns, “He looks at you different.”

“Different?” You chuckle lightly, reaching out to turn off her lamp.

“Yeah,” She slowly closes her eyes, “Like how Dad looks at Mom.”

You freeze in place at her words, but then you quickly shake it off. She was most likely dreaming.

“You must be tired, Clem,” You mumble, “You should sleep.”

“Yeah, I should.”

You leave Clementine so she can sleep peacefully. With the absence of her around you comes the presence of an underlying issue that you never noticed was in your life.

When did Jungkook ever come into the equation?

Returning to your habit of tossing and turning around uncomfortably in your own bed, your mind tackles the notion of what your true feelings are for Jungkook.

Was he a bad person? Certainly not, from what you’ve learned. Were you guys friends? Yes, you were, obviously, from all the conversations you’ve had at your window.

Staring at said window, you imagine Jungkook sitting there, with his wide grin and his tousled, chestnut hair. You can almost smell the scent of his laundry detergent on your nose. His laugh rings in your ears, soft, breathy chuckles sounding almost like a melody to you. You think of all the times he’s walked you to your classes, dropping you off to your room before rushing on over to his own class that was on the other side of the building. He’s never told you, but you know that he’s always late to class because of you. This revealed itself because you’d see Jungkook hastily walking over to the attendance office to get tardy slips for his teacher.

You chuckle at the thought. It never registered in his head that the office was in the hallway of your 6th hour, so whenever he gets a slip you’ll see him pass by your doorway.

An image of Jungkook with Clementine flashes in your mind when you close your eyes. You see him dancing goofily with her to some Spanish song you’re not familiar with, all so that Clementine will be comfortable dancing around him. You take in how he smiles at her, how he looks at her so happily, and how he’s so eager to embarrass himself because he just likes seeing her laugh.

Then, when you close your eyes, you see Jungkook looking at you. His eyes are soft, and there’s something there you can’t really describe. It makes you feel safe, makes you feel like you can put your guard down around him. You notice that whenever your eyes meet his, there’s a bright, warm smile on his face.

A light, fluttery feeling hits your chest, but it’s far too faint for it to be significant, you think. You brush it off as something trivial. Jungkook was your friend, and that was that.

He was nothing more and nothing less, thank you very much.

[November 20, 12:30 AM] Y/N sorry for not texting back haven’t been feeling well i’ll be back tmrw, tho you got time to talk after school tmrw? we could get burgers or something [November 20, 12:31 AM] Jungkook Of course, yeah It’s no worries btw, Y/N Just wanna know you’re okay. I’m driving you I’m guessing? Y/N yeah there’s no one else who will, lol

Going back to school is a little rough, and although you only missed one day, you were already toppled with absent work and new lessons that you had to teach yourself.

But every worry seemed to disappear when you finally got to the diner with Jungkook. During this, you explain everything to him, stuffing your mouth with the fries that you loved so much. Jungkook listens to every single word you say, gnawing down on his bowl of mac n’ cheese.

“That’s so shitty of him.”

You can sense the anger in his tone.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” You shrug, pulling your strawberry smoothie close to you so you can take a sip, “Not my place anymore.”

Jungkook redacts what he was about to say, only nodding as to make sure he doesn’t speak over you.

“Sorry about not responding,” You mumble, and he shakes his head profusely.

“No, no, I get it,” He smiles fondly at you, “Don’t be sorry. I’m here for you, okay?”

It amazes you how understanding he can be. Seems like just yesterday he was chewing gum obnoxiously in your ears, blowing bubbles and popping them in hopes that the sound would destroy your eardrums.

Jungkook fills you in on what you had missed yesterday, already offering to help you if you need any help. The two of you spend the time at the diner talking about anything and everything, and things somewhat feel normal for once.

You wish that everything could stay just like this in the diner, where Jungkook is sitting in front of you, cracking lame jokes left and right and you’re laughing so hard that you can’t even be bothered to breathe anymore.

A few weeks pass, and you’ve slowly started to adjust to the “new normal” of your life. But this was only because you had such amazing friends to help you out whenever you saw Jimin with his new girlfriend. Hoseok has been there for you and always will be, Jungkook constantly has new jokes up his sleeve that he’s constantly waiting to use, and even though you’re not that close with Namjoon just yet, you’ve learned just how kindhearted he is.

This is because when you told him the whole story of you and Jimin, he started sending you pretty flowers every single day. Those were Namjoon’s “cheer up” texts that gave you a soft comfort when you received them.

Slowly but surely, your regular diner dates with Hoseok have turned into full on hangouts with the other two boys. Jungkook would drive you, while Namjoon would take Hoseok. Usually, though, your hangouts would consist of you and Jungkook losing your appetites over how sweet Namjoon and Hoseok are to each other. There wasn’t one time where Jungkook wouldn’t roll his eyes to you when Namjoon would compliment Hoseok’s hair, and you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve lost it over Hoseok pinching Namjoon’s cheek whenever he teases him.

It’s still a complete shocker to the both of you that they’re only friends.

But you honestly wouldn’t change your new friend group for the world. Albeit sort of dysfunctional and unconventional, you all worked together nicely.

Things slowly came together piece by piece, and you felt that maybe your life would continue on peacefully, just how you wanted it to.

However, today is different.

After school, Hoseok asks you if the two of you can hang out one on one, just like before, and of course you agree, because you had to admit that you did miss spending time with just him. So you expect it to be a fun filled Friday afternoon with Hoseok. Maybe you’d hear him rant about Namjoon being clueless for the umpteenth time without ever acknowledging how oblivious he is himself.

What you expect, however, is very different from your reality, because when Hoseok and you walk out of the school building and into the parking lot, you’re met with a pretty sizable crowd. There’s kids, mostly boys, pointing their cameras and you hear multiple shouts and cheers from the crowds.

You’re about to stealthily dodge the crowd and head over to Hoseok’s car, but then a gap forms in between a few students and your jaw hits the ground.

“Fuck you,” Jungkook spits, his familiar voice confirming your suspicions.

The other boys spur him on, yelling out incoherent words that you can’t decipher. You grab Hoseok by the wrist and pull him over to the crowd.

Getting a closer look at the scene, you and Hoseok give each other a scared, concerned glance. Jungkook has Jimin on the pavement, landing multiple brutal punches across his face. Jimin, whose eyes have turned hazy, has blood coming out of his nose, and if Jungkook lands one last punch, Jimin is bound to have a broken nose (if he already didn’t).

It’s a good thing, though, that the principal suddenly appears, pushing past everyone and splitting the two boys up. Jungkook and Jimin are both sitting up now, tattered and beaten down. Jungkook wipes away the blood on his mouth, while Jimin tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving up and down heavily. His face is screwed up in agony and you wince upon seeing the newly formed black eye that he’s sporting.

Jungkook doesn’t look any better either. He’s got bruises all over him, and a handful of deep cuts and scrapes from falling on the ground. He has blood on his sweatshirt, and you can’t tell if it’s his or Jimin’s.

The crowd disperses, students not wanting to get involved with the authorities. You and Hoseok stay, however, because Namjoon appears out of nowhere, his arms crossed and a tired look on his face while he assesses the damage. The principal pulls them away by their collars in order to create distance from the three of you standing there. Once there’s a reasonable space between all of you, he begins to mouth them off.

“He made jokes about it but I never thought it’d happen,” He sighs, rubbing his temples, “I got the principle once I saw what was going on. I was too late.”

“What’s gonna happen?” You ask, voice coming out in a weak whisper.

“They’ll both be expelled for a little bit,” Namjoon strokes his chin.

“Expelled?” Hoseok gasps in disbelief, “Don’t you mean suspended?” 

“The fight’s on school grounds, and they were both deliberately violent,” Namjoon explains, “If Jungkook had only made a threat to do it, then he’d be suspended. Expulsions last much longer than suspensions, based on what the principal will think is a fit punishment for the kids.”

Leave it to Kim Namjoon to know the school’s rulebook like the back of his hand.

“What’ll happen with sports?”

“Now that, I’m also not entirely sure,” Namjoon answers, and you can see the gears turning in his head, “Let’s hope the coaches will even be willing to talk to them.”

Jungkook makes eye contact with you and although he’s tired, he seems to have sobered up. You stare at him with shocked, disappointed eyes, and he looks down at his feet, like a dog who just got scolded by his owner. He rubs his nose, taking a deep breath and choosing to just listen to what the principal has to say.

What could have possibly compelled Jungkook to beat Jimin into a pulp?

The next night you see Jungkook at your door, the bruises and cuts on his skin somewhat faint, but still apparent.

“Um, hi,” His eyes bounce around from you then to the ground, “Listen, Y/N, I-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss at him, coming out of the house and closing the door behind you.

“What?”

“Don’t you realize what you did yesterday?” You say, “Because of that you got fucking expelled!”

“That’s what I was here to talk about,” He explains.

“There was literally no reason for you to do that, Kook.”

“Y/N, if you were there, you’d understand.”

“No, Jungkook, no,” You shake your head, “I get it, Jimin’s an asshole. That doesn’t mean you need to beat him up for it!”

“Y/N,” He sighs, visibly irritated, “If you would just let me tell you why-“

“There’s no point, Jungkook!” You throw your hands up in the air while you yell at him, “You’re expelled! Do you even know if you can play football anymore?”

He bites his tongue, giving you a perfect answer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Y/N,” He grabs your wrists, forcing you to look at him, “If you had just heard the things he said about you, you’d get it. Please, I just wanted to talk to you and apologize. Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to.”

He’s pitiful before you and you feel your anger rise.

“Y/N, he said such shitty things about you.”

“I don’t give a shit!” You retort, pulling away from him,  “I don’t need you beating up people for me, Jungkook. Do you really think I’m that weak?”

His eyes widen and he’s at a loss for words.

“No, Y/N, I never said that,” He reasons, “I just didn’t want him to talk about you like that anymore. You guys aren’t even together anymore. I was fed up.”

“Don’t you think there’s other ways you could handle that? Maybe you could, I don’t know, ignore it?”

“Y/N, please,” He pleads, exasperated, “I know this sounds stupid, but I really couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry, I just-“

“Do you really think I’m that helpless?” You scoff, “That I can’t handle when someone speaks of me badly? That you have to do everything for me?”

“No-“

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“I know,” He mumbles, “I couldn’t control my anger.”

“Yeah, that’s apparent,” You deadpan, crossing your arms, “I don’t need you to fight my fights for me, Jungkook. That’s not how it works.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” You spit, “If you had known that, then you wouldn’t have done anything.”

It’s an awkward position to be in, fighting with Jungkook at your front porch in the middle of a cold, December night, but you’re too heated to care. You ignore how you can see your breath come out in a light fog whenever you speak.

There’s a thin covering of snow everywhere, and you’re glad that you consistently wear a hoodie and sweatpants as pajamas in both summer and winter. Some snowflakes are resting on Jungkook’s head, leaving delicate white, sparkling dots in his hair. Matched with his red nose and red ears, you’d almost say he was adorable if you weren’t cussing him out right now.

“Why would you even think that was okay? Why would you do that?”

“Y/N… I…” He sputters out, “I just…”

“You just what? You think I’m so weak that I can’t handle my own problems?” You roll your eyes, “You’re unbelievable, Jungkook. You really think that I’m that weak?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“You don’t get it do you?” He scoffs.

“What do you mean?”

“I did it because I couldn’t stand to hear him talking shit about you.”

“Why couldn’t you? It’s not your issue. It’s mine, and quite frankly-“

“It’s because I’m in love with you, Y/N!” He yells out, then coughs once his confession registers in his head, “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to hear him anymore.”

HIs words make your breath catch in your throat. Your heart stops, and Jungkook stares up at you nervously. You step away from, shaking your head profusely.

“No, you’re not,” You breathe out, “You’re really not.”

“I know it’s super wrong to say this now, I just,” He scratches the nape of his neck, “I guess I felt that I needed to tell you.”

“You barely even know me,” You say, and you can’t explain why tears well up in your eyes. You wipe them away, “Go home, Jungkook. It’s late.”

You’re about to go back into the house but Jungkook’s words make you stop dead in your tracks.

“I know that you’re ass at drawing,” He prompts, “You’re also shit at singing, but you do both anyways, because you think it’s fun.”

“Kook-“

“You say that you don’t do much in your freetime, but I know that you spend all of your time hanging out with Tina whenever you can, because you care about her that much,” He states, “I also know that you secretly really like Monopoly, even though you’re fuckin’ clueless on how to play it. Most of the time you go bankrupt, but even then you’re happy playing that. You’re the only person I know who’s like that.”

You’re speechless as Jungkook begins to list off specific details about you that even you don’t know.

“You always try to twirl your pencil in class, but every single time you get embarrassed when you drop it on your desk and everyone looks at you.”

“Jungkook, don’t do this,” You turn around, “Listen, you don’t know what it’d be like to be with me. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Who says that?”

“Me,” You say, “I’m still confused about everything. It’d be bad for both you and me. And plus, what if I’m not over Jimin? You wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t like being with me.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Because I’m set, Y/N,” Jungkook declares, “From the moment I really got to know you, I figured that I wanted you for the rest of my life. And I’ll wait for you for as long as you need me to.”

“There’s no way you can be so sure.”

“I can feel it, Y/N,” His words are desperate as he tries to reason with you, “It’s different with you. I’m different when I’m with you. I’m happy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do know, Y/N!” He shouts, “I’ve spent so many nights trying to figure out why the fuck I think about you so much until I eventually realized it. I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure about my own feelings.”

“You’re wrong, Jungkook.”

“Can you stop?” He snaps, “Stop belittling my feelings. Stop acting like you know shit about love, because you don’t. Your only relationship was with an asshole who cheated on you and talks shit about you even though he’s with another girl.”

Jungkook’s right. He’s absolutely right. You’re reflected on it, too. But you can’t help but become enraged when the truth comes out of his mouth.

“I don’t know shit about love?” You laugh bitterly, “Yeah, I don’t. And Jimin was an asshole. But you don’t know anything about love either.”

“At least I know what I deserve and what you deserve,” He says, “If you could just give me a chance to show you-“

“Show me what love is?” You interrupt, “Jungkook, how can you? Your own brother doesn’t even love you!”

You struck a chord, and you see that right when the words come out of your mouth. It’s only during then that you realize that using facts in your arguments aren’t always the best thing. Jungkook gawks at you in disbelief, his mouth ajar.

“I.. Jungkook, I’m really sorry. Stuff like that isn’t your fault,” You open the door and step inside, “I think that just shows we’re not good together. You should go home. It’s late. Goodnight, Jungkook.”

After that night and once Jungkook is done with his (mercifully given) 10 day expulsion, he finds a way to avoid you at all costs at school, going as far as to even switch seats with someone in the one class you have together. Your supposed “long lasting” friend group had ultimately split up, you and Jungkook giving each other the cold shoulder while Hoseok and Namjoon tried to find a good balance of seeing each other and you guys at the same time.

Jungkook no longer drives you home, and there’s now an empty seat at the dinner table that looms heavily on your conscience. Clementine hasn’t said anything, reassuring you that she’s happy just being with you, but you know that she’s having a hard time dealing with the situation as well.

His name is omitted in your house, and no one in your family asks about him.

Well, until now.

Because when your mom sits with you on your bed, asking what really happened, you cry once more in her arms, the guilt finally pushing you past your breaking point again. You tell her everything, and she holds you close, hushing you while you cry.

“Why were you so upset with him?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” You say as you think about it.

“Do you still have feelings for Jimin?”

You reevaluate your sentiments toward Jimin, and what used to be feelings of love and pain have simply withered away into disgust.

“No…? I don’t think so.”

“So what was the real reason?”

“I guess… I guess it’s because he was expelled and that means he could be off the team. He shouldn’t be risking that for me,” The words come out of your mouth almost involuntarily, as if they’ve been waiting to reveal themselves to you, “And the fact that he says that he’s in love with me when he hardly knows me… It was such a stupid fight and I feel terrible.”

You hide your face in your hands, thinking about what you’ve said to the poor boy.

“Are you in love with him?”

Something stirs in your heart, and it scares you.

“I can’t tell anymore.”

“Well, only you know what’s best for you, and you’ll figure it out. We’ll be here every step of the way,” Your mom assures you, “Can I just say one thing, though?”

You nod.

“When two people argue over something that’s considered stupid or trivial,” She starts, “That usually means they actually care about each other the most.”

[December 19, 8:09] Clem Y/N Can you come pick me up from Charlotte’s pls? I wanna go home Y/N why? is everything ok? Clem Please just pick me up I wanna go home I don’t like birthday parties anymore

“Hey, mom,” You rush over to her, showing her your phone. In an instant, you’re driving over to Clementine’s friend’s house. Once you reach the place, you knock on the door, and upon meeting the parents, you say that you need to pick up Clementine for an “urgent reason”.

It isn’t until she closes the car door and your mom starts driving that she breaks down in tears.

“What’s wrong?” You ask immediately, and once she regains her composure she responds.

“They made me,” She gasps, “They made me tell Lucas that I like him. H-He made fun of me and rejected me in front of everyone.”

You and your mom look at each other with sad, knowing eyes.

Looks like there’d be a warm bath and a lot of tough conversations for Clementine in the near future.

While you mope around and recharge your mental battery during heartbreak, it turns out that Clementine does the exact opposite. She overworks herself in order to distract herself from the fact that she’s devastated.

You take note of this when you come downstairs and you’re hit with the smell of chocolate chip cookies for the sixth time this week. They’re your favorite, but if Clementine bakes any more, you’re bound to get sick of them.

You ignore that and grab a cookie anyway, shoving it into your mouth with delight.

“Do you like it?” Clementine asks, nervous. You nod, and she beams at you.

For something as simple as chocolate chip cookies, Clementine sure does put a lot of pressure on herself to make them perfect.

“Seok’s coming over later tonight,” You attempt to make conversation while she’s already looking through her phone for a new recipe to try.

“Ah, really? That’s great! I miss him,” She smiles, “I actually, um, I have plans today too.”

“Really? With who?”

“Mom already knows,” She says rather quickly, “I’m going out with a friend to dinner.”

Despite your curiosity gnawing away at you, urging you to ask her who this friend is, you stay quiet. This was something she needed, and if your mom was okay with it, then things should be fine.

Leaving the kitchen, you go upstairs to take a nice, long shower.

“Y/N?” You hear Clementine’s muffled voice behind your door.

“It’s open.”

She steps in, and you stare at her in awe. She’s wearing a light blue, off-the-shoulder dress and from the looks of it, your mom has done her makeup beautifully. Her hair is curled, waves gently framing her face. She fidgets with the silver clutch purse in her hands shyly, while she feels your gaze on her.

“Do I, um,” She gulps, “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

She gets even shier, sporting a soft smile on her face. While she looks amazing, she still is unsure of herself, standing awkwardly as she tries to get used to wearing such nice clothes. You feel a touch of pain that comes along with the swell of pride in your chest when you see how beautiful your sister is. It’s such a shame, seeing how fast time flies.

“Do you know which shoes would look good with this?” She asks, “I don’t think my sneakers aren’t really ideal.”

“Oh, definitely not,” You tease, getting up from your bed, “We’re almost the same shoe size, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, you can borrow my flats then,” The two of you make your way to the shoe closet, and you crouch down to sort through the piles of dress shoes, “Unless you want heels?”

“Oh, no thank you,” She spews out, and you laugh. Even under all the makeup and fancy dresses you could put Clementine in, you could never change who she really is.

You grab a pair of light beige ballet flats. They’re rounded at the tip and have a black section at the too. There’s a thin, dainty elastic bow on both of them, and when Clementine sees them, she falls in love. Of course, you knew right away that she’d like them. There was no use in having her try on other flats.

“Thank you so much, Y/N!”

“Anytime.”

There’s a bright smile on both of your faces, and your conversation is interrupted when Clementine’s phone ring.

“Oh, I’ve gotta go,” She says, leaning in to press a kiss in your cheek, “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye, Clem. Be safe.”

“I will!”

And with that, she’s out of the door and you’re left by yourself on this frigid Friday evening. You sigh, slouching down into the couch and turning on the TV. You can’t seem to remember a day in your life where you’ve been by yourself like this, both your parents and Clementine off to dinner at some fancy places you don’t know.

For the hundredth time this evening, you check the time.

 7:23. 

Hoseok would be here any minute, but right now you’re left to your own device.

It’s during then where your thoughts start to travel to the mess of your own life.

You mindlessly watch the cartoons that are playing on your screen while you reflect on your past mistakes. Jungkook continues to flash into your mind and you can’t help but wince every 2 or 3 minutes when you’re rudely reminded of your harsh words towards him. You cover your face in your hands, regretting every single moment of your life up till now. There was nothing that was going to bring back your friendship with Jungkook.

Why did you care so much? You shake your head as you try to sort out the discordant jumble of your emotions. There was no reason to care. You had only really gotten to know Jungkook this year. If someone was able to develop feelings for you that quickly, then certainly they weren’t real. Maybe Jungkook is in love with the idea of you. Or he’s incredibly bored and mistakes feelings of friendship for being in love. That’s usually how things play out.

So why were you bothered so much?

Why did you keep checking your phone to see if he would ever text you? Even now you’re tapping into your conversation with him, waiting to see if he’d type something out. Without thinking, you type a simple “I’m sorry” out. The words glare back at you, asking you why the fuck you haven’t sent them to him yet. You let out a tired sigh and delete them.

Although it’s childish, your mind’s first defense is to tarnish your version of Jungkook’s image. Jeon Jungkook was, in his core, a conceited, good-for-nothing quarterback who cared about no one else except for himself.

You groan, hitting yourself. Every single word in that statement isn’t true.

“What the fuck,” You whine to nobody in particular, curling up into a ball.

Why did Jungkook have to force his way into your life like that? Jungkook with his stupidly soft brown hair and his annoyingly pretty eyes. With his kind smile and laugh that you’d love to record and just hear on repeat for the rest of your days. Jeon Jungkook, the person you’d never expect to be your new best friend, but here he was, just popping up out of nowhere and disappearing without a trace. You curse his name over and over again. Why couldn’t you get his face out of your mind?

His infuriatingly attractive face and his built frame that always makes an appearance, no matter how loose his clothing is. It’s a whole repeat of the other night, where all your senses, all your thoughts, are nothing but him.

You hear his laughter. How it’s so sweet, so soft. You see the way his eyes crinkle up into pretty little crescent moons, how his toothy grin makes yet another appearance into your mind. How his eyes look so endearingly at you, like you could do no wrong in his sight. You think about reaching out to him. Maybe for a hug? You’re not so sure. All you can think about now, though, is how warm his embrace probably is. He’s always gentle with Clementine. There’s no doubt that he’s gentle and kind towards you now, too.

How would he look, laying next to you in bed? How would he look in the morning? Would he have even messier hair? Sleepy eyes? A lazy smile across his lips? Would he—

The doorbell rings, literally saving you from the grave you’re digging yourself. It wakes you up from your thoughts, making you realize that you shouldn’t be thinking of a friend like this.

You run over to the door, and when it’s open, you’re suddenly engulfed in Hoseok’s arms. You almost topple over, Hoseok being quite taller than you and stronger. He’s got a giddy grin on his face, and it looks like he’s just received the best news of his life. You have a confused, although happy smile on your face as well.

“Y/N, I’ve got so much to tell you!”

“Let me go make some popcorn,” You say, excited to hear the good news, “You got the movies, right?”

Hoseok takes off his backpack and pulls out three DVD cases.

“Obviously.”

They’re all cheesy rom-coms that are supposedly targeted towards teenagers, but are made by adults that apparently haven’t talked to a teenager in their life, despite having been one a few years earlier. That makes the movies all the better, though, because Hoseok and you like to take your time to nitpick all of the flaws in every single one. It’s a nice pastime with your best friend.

“Well, let’s get to it then!”

For the first time in forever, you can’t wait to torture yourself by watching shitty chick flicks with Hoseok.

“He did what?” 

“He kissed me, Y/N! He kissed me!” Hoseok squeals, and he almost drops the bowl of popcorn on his lap. 

The terrible movie is long forgotten.

“In the rain?” You ask, equally as excited, “Holy shit, Hobs, that’s like a movie!”

“I know,” He can’t wipe the grin off his face, “I was so mad at him before, ‘cause like, he just wouldn’t do anything! But then he kissed me out of nowhere!”

He‘s head over heels, dramatically leaning into the couch while pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, an over exaggerated performance of a faint.

“I feel like I’ve been struck by Cupid!”

“I think you’ve been like that a long time ago.”

“Shut up.”

“Just sayin’.”

Hoseok angrily grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth, the popcorn squeaking and crunching between his teeth.

“I hate that you’re always right.”

“Well, that’s not so true anymore…”

Your head hangs low, your vision on the screen now on your own bowl of popcorn. You grab a handful for yourself, using the action of chomping as a way to preoccupy yourself from the guilt.

“Hey, listen,” Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you rest on him, “It was in the heat of the moment.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right there,” He chuckles, “But, hey, no one’s perfect. Jungkook was out of line. So were you. Stuff like that happens.”

“Why do I care so much?” You sigh, dejected.

“Because you like him,” He hums, almost nonchalantly.

“W-What?”

“You like Jungkook, Y/N.”

You stay silent, and Hoseok lifts you off of him so he can grab you by the shoulders.

“...Do you seriously not know?” His brows furrow, and you stare at him blankly.

“I think you might be wrong there, bud,” You give him a questioning look.

“Y/N, I love you. You’re an idiot.”

He stands up, and you’re still dumbfounded at his words. Hoseok reaches over to the coffee table and takes your phone. He clicks it on, the brightness causing you to squint. You take a mental note to stop having the brightness setting so high all the time. Once your eyes adjust to the lighting, you’re met with an image of Jungkook standing next to you in the living room, his arm around you while the both of you smile at the camera.

He’s got a tiara on and you have a fairy wand and a scratchy tutu wrapped around your waist, the tight elastic causing your t-shirt to bunch up in thick wrinkles. You involuntarily giggle to yourself when you see the picture. After playing a few board games with Clementine one night, she wanted to go into the attic and dress the two of you up in her old Halloween costumes. Of course, wanting to entertain her, the both of you granted her wishes.

And as if on cue, the smile from ear to ear that you’re sporting has dawned the realization on you.

“We’re just friends…”

“Y/N. I know you. You’ve been a bitch before. Without remorse,” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head.

“Hey!”

“All I’m saying is,” He puts his hands up in surrender, “Y/N, you know how good you are in arguments when you’re angry. You almost never feel bad when you use your words.”

“Okay, I’m not that bad-“

“Y/N,” He asserts, “Remember last year when you cussed that one Freshman out ‘cause he threw a french fry at me?”

“Yeah…”

“You went out of your way to sit down next to him and then proceed to tell him that if he disappeared, no one would notice.”

“I said that?” Your voice has only now become a pathetic little squeak.

“Yes, yes, you did,” He waves his hand after he speaks, “We’re getting off topic. What I’m telling you right now is that you’re blunt. Incredibly blunt. Like, holy shit, how can you say that? type of blunt.”

“I got that, but-“

“Not done,” He shoves the phone in your face even more, as to prove a point, “As we’ve seen before, you forget half of the crap you say. You never feel bad.”

You huff, not sure if you want to hear what Hoseok’s about to say next.

“Look at yourself right now. You’ve been moping over one sentence you’ve said to one boy for how long?” He wags the phone around, further emphasizing the said point, “And now you see one picture of him and you’re giggling like a dumbass.”

You sink back into the couch, the weight of everything hitting you way too strongly, too quickly.

“Well, let’s just say I did like him-“

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Just, just hear me out, okay?” You beg, and Hoseok tosses your phone on the table before slumping down on the couch, “So let’s say I did like him. Don’t you think I would’ve known by now?”

“Holy- Jungkook was right when he said you didn’t know shit,” Hoseok’s so close to losing it and killing you, “Have you seen the way you look at him?”

“No?”

“You’re insufferable,” Hoseok groans, whipping out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. He taps on a video and he shows it to you.

On his screen, you’re sitting in the front passenger seat while Jungkook drives, both of you screaming out the songs on the radio from the top of your lungs. It was some cheesy song both of you hated but knew all of the lyrics to. You examine yourself in the video. When you look at Jungkook, there’s—yet again—another bright smile on your face, and there seems to be a twinkle in your eye. You cringe at yourself, hearing your voice and seeing just how wide your smile is, which causes your cheeks to puff up unflatteringly.

A hand reaches to your face when you notice how chubby it is.

“Where and how did you take that?”

“Remember when Joonie’s car broke down and we had to ride with you losers?”

“Oh.”

You think about that day. It was oddly suspicious as to how quiet they were in the car. Usually, Hoseok would’ve been nervously mouthing Namjoon’s ear off by then.

“Need I say more?”

You almost feel betrayed. Betrayed by how blind you’ve been, how stupid you’ve been.

“Well, it’s a lost cause,” You lament, “I fucked everything up. He probably doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“Not exactly.”

Hoseok swipes out of his camera roll and goes into Snapchat. He slides over to the Stories section and taps on one of the small circles. You’re met with yet another truth revealing image.

Took this kiddo out since some meanie broke her heart ;(

The translucent black bar almost laughs while Clementine smiles back at you—or, the camera, at least. She’s wearing the light blue dress from before and her hair has slightly gone flat, but is still quite wavy. There’s a huge plate of spaghetti before her, and she’s holding onto her fork with anticipation.

“If he didn’t care, why would he take the time to take Tina out tonight? He could’ve ignored her reaching out to him.”

While he is extremely right, you’re more focused on the situation itself.

“Why didn’t she tell me it was him taking her to dinner?”

Yet another betrayal tonight.

“I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause you probably would use those pretty little words of yours towards her.”

“Am I really that scary?”

“Not all of the time,” He says, “But that’s ‘cause Jungkook makes you less high strung.”

“Hey, I’d watch what you’re saying right now-“

Hoseok wraps his arms around you, and he lets out a shaky, forced laugh. You don’t hug him back, but instead you let his embrace cool you down.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyways, more important than you planning out my funeral in your head right now,” He continues, “This is perfect for you.”

“What? The fact that my sister is going out on a date and I’m not is perfect?”

“No, no, you really are clueless, aren’t you? You poor, poor little girl,” He sighs, “This is a perfect opportunity for you to make amends with Wonder Boy tonight!”

“He just cares about Clem, not me, Seok,” You pout, “It’d be nice to, but he probably hates me.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re also wrong!”

Once again, Jung Hoseok is pulling out receipts left and right with the sole purpose of proving you wrong. He goes into his text conversations and taps on a group chat between him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. You squint at the title.

“Therapy from Y/N’s Stubborn Ass?”

“Poor kid named it, not me!”

You roll your eyes, scrolling through the conversation. An odd clump of texts from Jungkook shine out to you the most. They’re all from the night of you messing up your friendship with him.

[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) I feel like I’m going insane I know I should be mad at her And I’m sure when I think about it properly, I will be But for some reason I don’t?

“Nice name for Namjoon.”

“Shut up and read the fucking texts before I lose it.”

[December 6, 12:55 AM] Joon Bug <3 Maybe you’re just tired, that was a lot to take in Hoseok yeah, but also try not to take it too hard. y/n’s kind of just like that. she thinks before she speaks and she gets way too angry for her own good. even more so if she cares about you.

“No need to call me out like that.”

“Trust me, Y/N, you needed to hear it eventually.”

[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) Yeah, you’re right It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?

The rest of the conversation is Jungkook praising you, adoring how “strong” you could be and how cute you were when you got upset. It’s a complete shift in mood from seconds ago, and obviously the reaction you were not expecting. The same fluttery feeling becomes stronger in your chest, so much so that it’s too obvious to ignore. You throw the phone back to Hoseok, not being able to cope with the heaping amounts of new information you’ve received.

“What time do you think they’ll get here?” You murmur.

“Soon enough,” Hoseok sighs again, this time in relief, knowing that you were finally going to listen to him.

You decide to ease some of your nerves by actually watching the movie, pinpointing the many beautiful flaws of the characters and the stories.

“Y/N?” You feel someone shake you, “Y/N? Wake up.”

You croak some incoherent grumbles, rubbing your puffy eyes. You cautiously open one of them, gauging how bright the lights are. Once you’ve adjusted, you blink to see Clementine above you. You sit up from Hoseok, who you’ve been leaning on for the past few hours and who’s still sound asleep.

Who knew criticizing three romance movies back to back would make you so tired?

“Hi, Clem,” You yawn, stretching out your arms, “How was dinner?”

“Great,” She giggles, “I actually have something for you, and you might be mad at me for it.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s more of a who, than a what.”

You nod, as Clementine helps you get up from the couch. In your sleep ridden daze, you forget about your urgency to talk to Jungkook and you also don’t recognize that she’s pulling you from your arm and walking you out the door. You only realize it when a brisk wind slaps you harshly in the face, causing your hair to become even more tangled than before.

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Jungkook on your driveway and Clementine is running back into the house to find refuge in your best friend.

He’s dressed in a simple black suit, a white dress shirt neatly tucked into his pants. The thin, breathable fabric is tight against his skin, further showing just how built he is for his age. The scars and bruises have faded away completely, but you do see a bandage or two when his sleeve rolls up to scratch his nose or fix a piece of hair that’s out of place. His hair is neatly combed into a middle part, some of the hair fanning over his eyes. His hands are now shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring down at you, waiting for you to say something.

Small is probably the best way to describe how you feel when you’re in his presence right now. Underdressed, too, maybe, as you’re only clad in an old hoodie that has the name of a college you’ve never heard of, some thick, baggy sweatpants, and a pair of bunny slippers. Not to mention how messy your hair is and how your face is still puffy from the deep sleep you were in mere minutes ago.

“Um… Hi,” You wince once you hear how scratchy your voice is. This certainly is doing wonders for your image.

“Hey,” He responds, hesitant as well.

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words to say. You plan to confess to him, right here and right now, but another harsh wind hits you, causing you to shiver and clutch your arms around yourself to try to create some warmth for yourself. Immediately, Jungkook takes off his blazer and wraps it around you. He leads you to the trunk of his car, and once it’s open, he helps you get up there so you can sit.

Bless his parents for giving him an SUV.

The car trunk blocks out the outside wind, and Jungkook’s blazer gives you immense warmth. The scent of laundry detergent mixed with faint, pleasant cologne floods your senses, calming you down right away. Jungkook watches as you snuggle yourself in his clothes. His legs hang over the edge of the trunk while you curl up in a ball, leaning on one side of the car.

“I’m sorry,” You clear your throat, “For being an asshole.”

“It’s no-“

“No, don’t say that. It’s not something you can just brush over so lightly,” You look him dead in the eye while you speak, “I was terrible and I’m really sorry for saying such mean things to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Jungkook nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line before licking them. A thin layer of saliva glosses his lips, their color a more vivid shade of pink.

“I’m really sorry, Jungkook,” You repeat, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Your voice is clear even though your heart is beating violently against your chest, and even you’re amazed. Hoseok was right when he said that you were good with your words.

Well, up until now.

“Y/N-“

When he says your name, your words ungracefully sputter out of your mouth, displaying just how afraid you are. 

“No, I’m, like, really, really sorry,” You feel tears well up in your eyes, but you brave on nonetheless, “I get it if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, and that’s okay, I just-“

“Y/N.”

In a split second, Jungkook’s hands are cupped around your face. He stares into your eyes deeply, fondly, just like he always does. You blink back at him, eyes fluttering while you try to adjust to the proximity. It’s then where you see every single little detail on his face that makes him who he is. The little scar on his cheek, the moles lightly dotted on his skin, and the way his eyes seem doe-like, almost. You take it all in, noticing how your breaths have synchronized, cold fog coming from of both of your lips.

You almost forget how much you like the way he says your name.

“Listen to me,” He whispers, “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

“Really?”

“I forgive you.”

The tears you’ve been desperately trying to hold back have somehow found their way out, and Jungkook chuckles while his thumb wipes them away. His touch is gentle on your skin, almost ticklish, and he doesn’t say anything else but just continues to dry the tears falling from your eyes.

“Jungkook,” You sniffle, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

He shrugs, letting out a breathy laugh. It’s music to your ears, just like it’s always been.

“Only to the people I love,” He tilts his head to the side, “Other than that, I’m pretty selfish.”

You giggle as well, putting your hands on his and leaning more into his touch. Your eyelids flutter downwards, as you take the time to just feel him on your skin, to savor this moment for yourself.

“Do you still think I don’t know anything about you, Y/N?”

You open your eyes and look at him, as he expectantly waits for you to answer. For some reason, though, your words catch in your throat. You never seem to be able to speak properly around Jungkook. He sighs, taking your silence as a resounding “yes”.

“Your name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and you’re a junior in high school. You’re on the Monarchs cheer team, and your best friend is named Jung Hoseok,” He says, not taking his hands away from you, “You have a little sister named Clementine, who’s 12. Your mom’s a psychiatrist and your dad is an architect. Even though they’re always busy, they’ve been trying to find ways to spend more time together.”

The routinely symphony of crickets mixed with Jungkook’s voice and the scent of Jungkook constantly wafting into your nose almost makes you faint. The state you’re in is one of complete bliss, complete relaxation as his hands are warm and welcoming against your skin. You’d go to sleep if Jungkook wasn’t professing his love for you for the second time right now.

“You like One Direction, even though a lot of people think that’s cringy. You’re still a big fan of the Power Rangers, and Trini, the Yellow Ranger, is your favorite. You can be incredibly mean and you can say things out of line, but most of the time you just don’t think before speaking,” He smiles at you while he speaks, “Deep down inside I know you’re an incredible softie. And I know that because of how you treat Tina. And, ‘cause you’re a softie ‘round me too, even if you don’t realize it.”

“Oh, Jungkook,” You breathe out, a smile forming on your lips as well.

“You used to hate me, because I called you thunder thighs during practice, and rightfully so,” He mumbles the last part, and you giggle.

“Didn’t know you’d remember that.”

“Remembered it ‘cause I can never forget how angry you were that day,” He teases, “Anyways, you used to hate me so much. And I’ll be honest, you had every reason to. I didn’t like you that much either.”

“Ouch.”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“But then I got to know you, got to see how kind and genuine you are around people, even if you don’t see that,” He says, “Sometimes you say terrible things, but under that tough exterior, all you are is just a genuine girl who does her best to make the people she loves happy.”

“You’re hardworking, smart, and extremely funny,” He continues, “In and out, you’re a beautiful person. That’s the Y/N I know, and that’s the Y/N I love and I will be in love with for a long time.”

You sniffle, and Jungkook waits, afraid that you’ll start crying again. When you don’t, he takes a deep breath before talking again.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N,” He confesses, “Can’t you see?”

You shake your head, reaching out to grab him by the collar. You pull him in and press your lips against him, your whole body being set aflame and your lips telling him everything that you’re dying to say. There’s a faint taste of Jungkook’s watermelon flavored gum on your tongue (If you thought about it hard enough, there was a hint of pasta there as well). His lips are soft and pillowy against yours, and you feel as though you’ve waited for this moment for your entire life.

Who knew it would take your mom, your sister, and Hoseok to make you realize that?

Jungkook smiles against your lips, caressing your face lovingly with his thumbs. Your hand finds a way through his soft brown locks, combing through the strands that fall in between your fingers.

The sky is painted pitch black, save for the bright stars and the moon shining for the two of you, but your world is painted in deep shades of pink. Sure, it may be extremely cold because it is still December after all, but Jungkook’s lips feel warm on yours and that’s all the heat you needed to survive. You could stay like this forever if you could, if your lungs could take it.

However, that isn’t humanly possible, and after what feels like forever, your body reminds you that you still need oxygen to function.

You pull away, hands still in their respective place while the two of you meet eyes, chests moving up and down in sync. Your lips are slightly parted, mimicking Jungkook’s, and a silence falls on the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s peaceful, as your world becomes nothing but Jungkook right at this moment.

“I love you,” both of you say at the same time, and before you know it, you’re laughing. Jungkook’s still stunned at first, but now he’s laughing just because you’re laughing and it’s contagious.

And in this moment, you feel safe.

Sure, you didn’t know a thing about love. You couldn’t even tell left from right at some times. But maybe that was okay. Maybe you didn’t have to figure everything out right now. Sitting with Jungkook in the trunk of his car, where the stars are beaming down on you and his coat is keeping you warm, is honestly all you need tonight. And maybe you still have some negative feelings you need to resolve from your past relationships. Maybe you had some issues in yourself that you needed to sort out, but that was okay, because Jungkook had his fair share of issues himself. And regardless of all of that, he was ready to risk it all for you. He was willing to learn and grow with you. Jungkook would wait for you as long as it takes. And you don’t need him to reassure you. You didn’t need to worry about it. You didn’t need to worry about anything, you realize.

Because now Jungkook’s walking you back into your house, offering to tuck you into bed and stay with you until you fall asleep, even though you’re 17 and you’re very well aware that you don’t need someone else to keep you company so you can sleep.

That doesn’t mean you’d decline his offer, though, as you lie in bed with him, snuggled up in his arms while he runs his hands through your hair. His dress shirt is scratchy against your skin, but you don’t care. Being with him is enough for you. 

“Are you still on the team?” You ask out of the blue, eyelids drooping down while your burning curiosity gets the best of you, “You didn’t get kicked off because of me, did you-“

He peppers your face in kisses.

“Coach and I are close, he gets it,” He mumbles against your skin, “Just gotta do a lot of his chores for the rest of the year and summer. I’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“Okay…”

“That’s not your fault, princess,” He chuckles, “That was mine.”

“Yeah, definitely,” You nuzzle your face in his chest, “Still upset you did that.”

“Oh, I know,” He places yet another kiss on your head, “But for you, I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

And as the two of you fall asleep soundly in each other’s arms, you’re unaware of the loving smiles from your family and Hoseok’s faces when they see you two through the slightly opened door.

Epilogue

A little more than a year has passed. You’ve kept track.

Life has thrown obstacle after obstacle your way, but you’ve overcome all of them so far, and you plan to do so until your last breath. Jungkook was right when he said that you were strong. It’s amazing how you didn’t quite exactly realize this until now. 

But this “strength” is long gone today, as you’re sitting on a fancy wooden chair, the soft cushion feeling good under you, in the middle of an Italian restaurant. The chandelier’s are dimly lit, shading your beige surroundings in elegant oranges and creams. You take a deep breath, trying to still your heart that's pounding violently in your chest. Your nerves work against every single word of the pep talk you’ve given yourself this morning, and you steady yourself, fidgeting with the silk, blue fabric of your dress that’s laying across your lap.

You look over to your right, and if you were stressed out, Jungkook was ten times worse, to say the least.

His right leg is bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and he continues to wipe away sweat from his forehead with a napkin, despite the fact that the restaurant is heavily air conditioned. His lips are formed in a tight, miniscule circle, and he’s also trying to steady his breathing, but he fails time and time again, hyperventilating right after. Every few seconds, he’ll pull out his phone and use his camera as a mirror, his fingers fixing the littlest flaw in his hair that his mind seems to create. His left arm is resting on your chair, the feeling of the thick material of his sleeve tickling your skin.

You sigh, watching how much of a nervous wreck he was, despite how amazing he looked in his tux.

“Still can’t believe you took Clem to this place before me,” You quip, and Jungkook is taken out of his trance, a smile falling on his lips once his eyes meet yours, “I think that’s a little unfair, don’t you?”

A miniscule portion of the tension in his body is gone while he’s thinking of what to say, not willing to miss any chance of responding to your jokes with something of equal (if not more) wittiness.

“First come, first serve, princess,” He chuckles, and you roll your eyes at him, punching his chest lightly. Once you’re quiet, he’s back to overthinking.

“Y’know, the fact that you’re more nervous than I am is saying something,” You hum, reaching up to poke his cheek so that he returns to Earth.

“I can’t help it…”

You smirk, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His face flashes up, and he shakes his head at you.

“You’re crazy, y’know that?” He sighs, staring at you dreamily. Even now, he becomes head over heels when you kiss him out of the blue. The sight of him having literal heart eyes for you makes you giggle.

“So are you,” You respond, “But, hey, it’ll be okay, I promise. Nothing bad could possibly happen.”

“...Really?”

“Of course, Kook,” You place your hand on his thigh, giving it an affirmative squeeze, “Everything will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Well,” You click your tongue, “We’ll get there when we get there.”

He nods, most of the stress leaving his head. You take a sigh of relief, seeing how relaxed he’s become. Now he’s cracking jokes about anything and everything, and you feel a flutter in your chest. Jungkook was back to his normal self.

Well, he was until he suddenly froze in his seat while he was in the middle of telling you a funny story during practice. Your focus is turned away from him and you follow his line of vision. You’re met with a waitress leading a middle-aged man and a boy into the seating area. She scans the room and once she sees your table, she gestures over to you two, a bright, pleasant smile on her face.

Jungkook immediately stands up to greet the two of them, thanking the waitress for her assistance. He guides them to the table, and it’s only then where you get a good look at them.

You suppress a laugh. Jungkook definitely had his father’s nose.

So did his little brother, Yeonjin, who was the spitting image of Jungkook when Jungkook was 13. He even has the infamous bowl cut that Jungkook had when he was younger. The boy takes out the earbuds in his ears, unplugs them from his phone, rolls them up in his hand, and places the coiled up earbuds into his pocket of his trousers.

He stares up at you, almost in awe, and so does his dad, who’s looking you up and down. Jungkook’s father acts as if he’s dissecting a subject, taking you apart piece by piece and rearranging you in his mind so as to get a better understanding of your character. It’s times like these where you wish that mind reading was a skill.

Jungkook takes another deep breath. He then gestures to you, and you flash a polite smile to them, reaching out your hand.

“Um, Yeonie,” He clears his throat, “Dad, this is Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” His father says, a soft smile appearing finally. He shakes your hand. Yeonjin follows his actions, shaking your hand with an obviously lesser amount of strength, but with the same eagerness all the more. You hide the uneasiness in your chest, knowing all that you know about Jungkook’s dad and his brother. And knowing that his dad doesn’t know that you know about him.

Nevertheless, though, you sit down with his other side of the family and make easy conversation with them while all of you look through the menu. Yeonjin points to one dish on the menu to his dad, and then whips out his phone and starts scrolling through social media. He doesn’t say anything, save for a soft chuckle or snicker when he sees a funny post on his phone.

You take a glance at Jungkook, who has become more composed than earlier. You take a few more glances, and Jungkook does the same. When you make eye contact, you give him a bright smile, and he mirrors you. You feel the back of his hand on your thigh, and you put your hand in his. He lets out a sigh, squeezing you and massaging your skin with his thumb. The action brings both of you at peace.

“So, Y/N,” His dad takes a sip of the ice cold water in his glass, “How did you get to know Jungkook?”

This time, Yeonjin actually looks up from his phone to stare at you with curiosity.

You smile at them sheepishly, wondering what exactly to tell them of your wild ride of a story with Jungkook. Maybe you could omit some parts here and there, especially the part about him getting expelled because of you. You’re not even sure if his dad knew that happened to him.

You gulp, and Jungkook squeezes your hand once more. Now it’s him making sure that you return to Earth. Your nerves are still set on fire, though, and you stammer out a few incoherent sounds while you try to find the right things to say.

This was definitely going to be significantly harder than having dinner with his mom.

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed!!! it had quite a bunch of cliches but i loved writing them nonetheless. i love you all :)

[secretlysheikah]

Slowed

I have created another one shot in honor of hitting 300 followers on the blog! I don’t know where you all came from, but welcome. My name is Sheikah and I want all of your tears. 

So to thank you all for deciding to join me as I wonder aimlessly and create angst for you all to consume. You are amazing and have helped me through more than you guys know. I love you all. And to show you, I wrote pain! :D

enjoy!

Start here:

Metal clashed loudly in the clearing making Wild’s ears ring painfully. He was amazed that he could still hear the other’s shouts and warnings over the din of blades and monster roars. Wild stood near the edge of the skirmish, hesitant to get any closer to the others as they fought. He was still wary about accidentally hurting any of them, even though he had been fighting with others for a few weeks now. Early on Time had arranged practices with all of them fighting together so he could get the feel for fighting as a large group but still, the worry lingered like a ghost. So he hung back and cut through the enemies that tried to overwhelm the heroes fighting in the center. 

The attack had been a surprise, monsters from different eras came spilling out by the dozens into the clearing where they had been planning on making camp for the night. The sudden onslaught forced most of them into a tight group at the center of the would be camp. All of them, except Wild who had rushed to the outskirts of the fray unwilling to get too close to the whirling blades of the others but desperate to help in his own way. So he ducked and spun under spears, dodged savage swings of swords and all the while worked to help thin the hoard. His cloak felt wet from the black blood that splattered onto it with more being added by the second though that didn’t slow his frenzied attacks.

The tides of the battle seemed to be turning in their favor as the monsters continued to fall when there was a desperate shout from the center of the group. Wild whipped around, hood falling off of his head as he looked towards the call. Four had been cut off from the others by three large dog looking monsters, his shield was raised as he defected attack after attack but Wild could tell the young man was struggling. Four’s eyes looked crazed and he couldn’t seem to find an opening to fight back or gain more ground. His headband, slightly askew, was covered in red and black and Wild felt his throat close up when a particularly harsh blow knocked the shield out of his hand. One of the dog monsters reared back, a triumphant smile filled with sharp teeth and brought it’s sword down in a powerful arcing slice with obvious delight. There was nowhere for Four to go, nothing he could do and Wild’s feet were moving before his brain could catch up.  

Wild shouted Four’s name as he darted forward, summoning a bow he knocked three arrows as he went. He dashed in front of Four and leapt into the air and felt the familiar slowing of time as he focused and took aim. He could see Four’s eyes slowly widening in his peripheral vision, felt as the sword, meant for Four pressed hard against the skin just under his right ribs and fired.

The arrows found their marks in the eyes of the three beasts, and they let out morphed roars of pain and rage as they stumbled back and away from the pair. When Wild’s feet touched ground time seemed to slam back into full motion once again. The sounds of battle sounded muted to his ears as Wild summoned a new blade from his slate and threw it as hard as he could into the throat of the monster that was about to strike Four. The beast gave a garbled cry, sank to its knees as it clutched at the hilt before it fell to the ground dead. 

More roars from the other recovering monsters had Wild spinning around searching for a weapon. In a blink he grabbed the smaller hero’s sword out of his slack hand before spinning back around to face the remaining threats. In two swipes of the borrowed blade Wild decapitated the other two monsters that had lumbered their way closer with ease. Their bodies crashed heavily onto the ground. The force of the fall sent strong rumbles through the earth under their feet before they watched the beasts melt away, leaving a smear of black in their place. Determining the threats were well and truly handled, Wild straightened, his cloak falling closed around him and turned to face Four with a sheepish smile and offered the sword back. 

“Sorry for taking it, I didn’t think I had time to summon another one,” Wild whispered and watched as Four slowly took the sword back. His eyes were flashing a myriad of colors and his mouth worked as he tried to articulate what he was thinking. 

“How did you do that?” Four asked and Wild tilted his head unsure what the other was asking. 

“Do what?” 

“The arrows, the, the time, everything slowed down, you were so fast, how?” Four stammered, eyes still flashing odd colors in the light. Wild blinked at him unsure as to what to say. Four had noticed the time slow down? He thought that was all in head, something born of adrenaline and the need to act. Something fluttered at the edge of his memory and a low thrum of dread pounded at his heart.  

“You have to teach me,” Four said, his eyes a bright blue as a wide smile spread across his face in obvious excitement. Wild could feel red creeping into his cheeks, too many emotions were happening all at once and he didn’t know what to focus on. He pulled his hood over his face to hide the blush, and he let out a shaky little laugh and felt his tongue growing numb. 

“Well I mean, I didn’t even know, really that it wasn’t... I mean to say I don’t even know how… To… “ Wild stammered but found he couldn’t speak anymore. His breathing was starting to quicken, ringing tickled the edges of his hearing. His heart dropped when he finally registered the way his limbs felt like they were beginning to lock up. No, please, not here, not now. He couldn’t tell if the sound of battle behind them was starting to die down or if the growing ringing in his ears was blocking out the sound. He swallowed down the rising panic, aware that Four was tilting his head in curiosity. Things were starting to grow distant and he grit his teeth and forced the feeling back as hard as he could. 

“Wild? Are you okay?” Four asked and Wild managed to nod and gave a small smile which he hoped was convincing. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think I’m going to go check the woods, make sure we’re alone,” Wild said quickly and forced his stiffening legs to walk out of the clearing. He could hear a stammered ‘oh okay,’ come from Four before he pushed his way through the bushes and into the peace of the woods. He couldn’t let the others see, he didn’t want them to see. He felt warmth on his side and he pressed a half numbed palm against it, only just managing to register the red that coated it. Oh Hylia above why now, he didn’t have time for this, this couldn’t be happening.     

The ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder and he searched for a place to hide. He stumbled over a root and threw out a hand to steady himself and noted how his fingers were growing stiffer as the memory pulled at him. He let out a whine and threw himself forward, desperate to find cover. He only managed a few more steps before his shoulder connected with  a tree and he spun to the ground though he barely felt the impact. 

Everything was going numb, his limbs were little better than stone but he managed to crawl behind a tree. He pressed his back against the trunk, it would have to do, he couldn’t hold the memory back any longer. A shudder ran through his frame, the forest grew dim and distant around him as it was replaced by the bright light of a different time and place. His last thought of the present was the hope that he didn’t bleed out before the memory was through.

 Then he was gone. 

*****

Link was breathing hard, the weight of the armor weighed him down but he smiled despite the heat and the weight that wrapped around him. His superior was in much the same way, except for the scowl that graced his face. The Captain held his sword high as a flush of red colored his cheeks. His fellow soldiers jeered at the man and it was hard not to join them. 

He hadn’t been hit once during their little sparring session and Link could tell the Captain was getting frustrated. The taller man dashed forwards again and Link let him sword held at the ready and watched as the older man swung his blade. Time almost felt like it was slowing down as he spun easily away and landed another hit on the shiny metal of his superior’s back. More jeers and whoops of laughter came from the small crowd and Link couldn’t stop the small smile growing on his face. 

 He knew what his superiors meant to do when they demanded he spar with them. This was meant to show that even though he had been chosen to wield the Master sword, he was still nothing compared to them and he would be damned before he let that stand. The Captain stumbled forwards before spinning around and leveling a harsh glare at him. The man was practically beside himself with rage and Link felt his own eyes harden at the look. It wasn’t his fault the Captain telegraphed his moves so openly, he’d be a fool to ignore the obvious tells. He gave the Captain a small smile and a jaunty wave and revealed in the man’s deepening flush. 

The Captain held Link’s stare for a moment before he lowered his blade and gestured for his subordinate to come to his side. Link blinked slowly at the pair and feigned an air of nonchalance as they whispered to each other. To be completely honest he didn’t like the looks they were giving each other. He sighed, planted his blade into the soft overturned earth at his feet and removed his helmet to wipe at his brow. 

“What’s the hold up?” One man cried from the sidelines followed by laughter and more jabs. 

“Can’t hold a candle to that boy!”

“Well my money is still on the Captain.” 

“You’re a fool, I hope you like losing your rupees,”

The banter continued on for a few more minutes until the Captain turned and commanded silence. His face was a bright flush of fury and his fellow soldiers stopped their conversions so fast it was like the sound had been cut off. The Captain made a gesture, cried another command and everyone snapped to attention and waited for their orders. 

“Training has concluded for the day. Get to the barracks and wash up for dinner. Anyone found exchanging rupees will be whipped for insubordination, dismissed,” The Captain barked and looked over his shoulder at him. Link could feel that the cold stare he was sending him  threatened violence. Link stared back, unblinking as he too made his way to leave the clearing.  

“Not you,” the Captain hissed and Link slowed to a stop, squeezing the hilt of his sword tightly before he nodded stiffly, replaced his helmet and stood at attention. The Captain turned to face him and they both stared at each other while they waited for the others to depart. There were grumbles and muted complaints as the group of men shuffled off towards the barracks but Link paid them no mind. He watched the Captain’s eyes sharpen as he stared at him and he matched the stare with one of his own and he could feel his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he did so. It only took a minute for the men to leave the three of them in clearing but it felt like an age, and Link felt ready to snap by the time the Captain finally addressed him.      

“How, tell us how boy,” The Captain commanded and Link felt confusion slam into him so hard he almost staggered in surprise. As it was he just blinked at the two men stupidly for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Hell he didn’t even know what the other man was talking about. He racked his brain and tried to remember what he did that could have sparked this situation but came up with nothing.

Link eyed the two men that stood before him and noted the various levels of frustration, anger and a dark curiosity that hung about them like a cloud. The Captain had his fists curled at his sides and the lackey had his  arms crossed with a faint look of disgust on his face as they waited for him to explain whatever it was they thought he did. It seemed to be a constant thing with these two. The Captain, angry and fuming and his lackey, haughty and mildly disgusted as they berated him or demanded answers to questions he simply had no answers for. 

The Captain was practically shaking with rage when Link didn’t answer fast enough, and he drew his sword from its sheath. Link felt his eyes widen in surprise, his mind spun at the clear threat and he felt distinctly off kilter and on edge. The sword he had been using for practice hung down at his side nearly forgotten. The tip of the blade wavered as his quickly fading fatigue mixed with his confusion and the sudden spike of adrenaline that made his muscles jump.   

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?” Link asked, feeling his confusion building into a steady thrum of apprehension and suspicion. Was this some sort of trick to somehow get him sent to the whipping post? But why? He couldn’t make heads or tails of the odd question. What was he supposed to be explaining?  

“Don’t be stupid, you know what you did. How boy, tell me how,” The Captain spat as he stalked forward, his sword knocked Link’s own sword away before he shoved him hard. Link stumbled back unsure where the anger was actually coming from now. He doubted it was just due to humiliation now, but he couldn’t figure out what it could be. 

“Sir, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Link pleaded, raising his sword to block a sloppy swipe that was sent his way. 

“The time boy, you move too fast to be natural.” The Captain snarled, sword rising again as he lunged forward. Link felt his eyes widen and he took a couple of hasty steps back. His sword moving in quick blocks to keep the other’s sword from hitting him.   

“I felt time slow down when you dodged me, you slowed down time and I want to know how,” Link blinked in surprise letting his guard fall for a moment too long and felt the Captain's sword connect with his arm. A hard reverberation rattled the bones in his arm and he gasped and pulled away, arm stinging. The look on the other man’s face had Link’s heart freezing in his chest. His cheeks were still flushed but he could see a malevolent gleam flashing in his dark eyes. His skin crawled at the look, and he bit down on the fear and steadied his stance.

“I assure you I don’t know what you’re on about,” Link said as calmly as he could, all the while analyzing the way the Captain held his sword to where his feet were planted. The Captain shifted his weight slightly and Link moved to match, taking great pains to watch the micromovements of the man’s sword. He didn’t know how to defuse the situation, so he had to settle for staying on guard and waiting for the next swing. 

Which was why he was surprised by the harsh blow that connected with his side, knocking the air out of his lungs in a harsh gasp. The subordinate, that bastard, had taken advantage. The world spun slightly as he turned to face the other man and he worked at gaining his breath back. His side felt almost numbed and a faint note of worry played in the back of his mind but he didn’t have the time to pay it much mind.    

“That was a dirty move,” Link wheezed slightly as he focused on making sure his sword didn’t bob too much. He hated how his hands shook, hated how the two men smiled at one another. 

“No no, that was war. Maybe this is just the thing to get you to show us how you do your little magic trick,” The Captain said before he sent a nod to his subordinate and they both began to move closer. Link swallowed hard and gripped his sword tighter as he watched them start to circle him. The Captain made the first move, stepping in close with a wild jab which he parried but had to duck away quickly when the subordinate's sword came whistling by his head. Link grunted at the movement feeling an odd pull at his otherwise numb side as he moved. However there wasn’t time to ponder it before another sword came sweeping in low. 

“Come on boy! Surely you can figure it out” the subordinate jeered as he moved in quickly with another flurry of quick jabs causing Link to shuffle and twist to avoid them. 

“This is madness!” Link shouted, feeling the Captain at his back and rolling out of the way of a brutal downwards strike that just missed his shoulder. He felt the world roll with him in a sickening spiral and it was all he could do to get unsteadily to his feet. He barely knocked away another sword swing that came in fast aiming to harm. Because that’s what they were trying to do, that’s what they were always trying to do he thought bitterly as he continued to block and parry. 

Link made a sloppy swipe at one of the men and took a step back then another. He was desperate to gain more ground between him and these people who were meant to be training him, but the world dipped around him. His feet grew clumsy and slow and his heel caught on a stone sending him crashing into the dirt. 

He couldn't get enough air in, he felt woozy and lightheaded. The training yard was blacking out around the edges and he just managed to roll out of the way of a strike before it could cleave his armor in two. Now fully convinced they were trying to kill him, Link struggled to scramble backwards eyes darting around at the two men who were laughing and coming closer. 

“What’s the matter boy?” One of them asked, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. He tried to blink away the black, tried to move back more but it was like he was trying to move through thick tar. His arms gave out and he flopped back onto the upturned dirt, head spinning and side aching. A shadow blotted out the fading light above him and he blinked in confusion as a hand roughly jostled his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, only tried and failed to move away when a hand gripped his wrist pulled it away from his side. He hissed in pain but there wasn’t anything he could do, his strength felt like it was bleeding away.  

“Ah Hell, looks like you managed to cut him,” The voice of the Captain said just above him and he felt himself being turned roughly on his side. Fingers tugged at the edges of his armor and pain flared through his side as they landed on something tender. 

“Great, I broke him. Well if he was better at defending himself this wouldn’t have been a problem,” The subordinate scoffed before Link felt himself being kicked back onto his back once again. Link let out a wheezing breath and flopped his hand roughly against his side feeling for the damage but all he could find was the slice in his armor that seemed to be slick with what had to be blood. 

“Well what do we do with this? Mark it up as a training accident?” The subordinate asked and the Captain let out a quick bark of unamused laughter. 

“Ha, and deal with a tongue lashing? I don’t think so, not for this whelp,” He said and Link watched through half fogged eyes as the Captain stood from where he had been crouching and looked down at him. 

“Is that camp of bokos still lurking around the barracks?” The Captain asked and was answered by an affirmative grunt from the subordinate. Even through the encroaching darkness that was swallowing up his vision, Link could see the devilish smiles that were quickly spreading across the men’s faces. His fingers twitched in the dirt, but that seemed to be all the strength he could muster. 

“We’re going to have to make this look convincing,” the subordinate said, sheathing his sword and moving closer. 

“What if he says something?” He asked as an afterthought and Link felt as hands pulled his helmet roughly from his head and tossed it away with a clatter. Link let his head loll to the side for a moment before he pulled himself back from drifting off. 

“It will be his word against ours, I wouldn’t worry too much,” the Captain said with a sniff as he bent down close and patted his cheek. Link glared at him with all the defiance he could manage. The Captain snorted and gave his cheek a bit of a harder strike that made Link’s eye’s flutter a moment at the sharp sting. 

“We will continue this later, gotta figure out how you do that little trick of yours after all,” He said with a sharp smile. If Link could have said anything he would have raged his defiance, to Hell with the punishments they would have rained down upon him. The Captain seemed to sense what he wanted to say because he let out a low, dangerous chuckle and adjusted his grip on his sword. 

“But for now you’ve got other things to worry about, ” the Captain sneered as he reared back and cracked the pommel of his sword against the side of Link’s head making the world and everything in it disappear in a blink. 

*****

The first thing Wild became aware of when the memory dissipated was the feeling of pressure on his side. The next was the feeling of a bone aching cold that had seeped into his fingertips. He let himself drift for a second, swimming in the lingering disconnect that followed the wake of a remembered memory before awareness and panic flooded his limbs. He had been hurt, bleeding out, he was dying. He gasped and grabbed unsteadily at his side desperate to apply pressure and stop the bleeding but found someone else’s hands already there. Confusion and a muted terror had him scrambling, he didn’t know where he was or who or what had gotten so close to him. 

“Stop, Wild stop!” A gruff voice commanded him but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to struggle. There was a curse and suddenly the pressure was gone from his side and instead someone was grabbing at his arms. He squirmed in the grip for a moment before his brain caught up with the situation. He blinked and suddenly the world was back in focus and he was staring at the hero of Twilight who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and anger. 

“Damn it Wild, listen to me!” Twilight shouted and Wild felt himself cringe at the sudden rebuke and he quickly stopped moving. Twilight gave him a quick once over, making sure that he had his attention before he went back to pressing a cloth against the slice on Wild’s side. Wild couldn’t help but notice how Twilight’s hands were covered in red and he swallowed thickly. 

“What were you thinking, running off like that?” Twilight scolded as he pressed a bit harder against his side. Wild winced and feeling the desperate need to hide, he pulled at his hood until it covered his face. Twilight apparently didn’t notice his discomfort and continued on as he dug through his pack with one hand, searching for something. 

“How did you find me?” Wild asked in a small voice, and was graced with a stern glare. 

“Four tipped me off that you had run off and the nifty trail of bloody hand prints were a huge help,” He dead panned as he let out a gasp of triumph and forced a bottle of potion into Wild’s shaking hands. 

“Were you trying to hide this from us? You gotta know we don’t do that sort of thing, Hyrule will murder you himself if he ever finds out that you’re hiding an injury,” Twilight started as he gestured for him to drink. 

“What, n-no I wasn’t, I didn’t, I just...” Wild squawked as he fumbled with the cork in the bottle. Nerves and blood loss made the task close to impossible and Twilight grabbed the bottle away and removed the cork and handed it back roughly. 

“You weren’t? Because that's what it looked like to me kid, now drink the damn potion,” He said hotly and Wild could feel humiliated tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

“You scared the Hell out of me!” Twilight continued to rage as he lifted the edge of the cloth away to judge the damage. 

“I was calling for you, and you didn’t answer! Then imagine my horror as I stumbled across you leaning against a damn tree, pale, eyes distant and staring and covered in blood. Hylia help me, I thought you were already dead!” Twilight said and Wild felt shame burning at his throat. He glanced to the side and saw Twilight eyeing him and he hastily sipped at the red potion, grimacing at the bitter taste.  

“Why did you leave?” Twilight asked softly and somehow that tone of voice was even worse than the yelling. Wild swallowed down the lump in his throat, and took another sip of potion before he answered. 

“I was checking for more monsters,” he began lamely before he was cut off by a snort. 

“Bullshit, tell me the truth, Wild! Are you intimidated by us? Did we do something to make you want to hide your injuries? We wouldn’t think you weak for asking for help you know, we would never,” Twilight continued and Wild felt like he was trapped. His foot bounced in irritation and it was all he could do to sit still. 

“No nothing it’s like that!” Wild said quickly and Twilight offered him a confused look in response.

“Then why?” He implored leaning in close so he could look into Wild’s eyes that were hidden beneath the hood. 

“Because I’m broken okay!” Wild shouted suddenly, making Twilight flich at the unexpected volume of the response. Wild’s breaths were quickening as he clung desperately to the bottle in his hands like it was a lifeline. Twilight opened and closed his mouth for a moment not sure what to say. The sight would have been funny if it weren’t for the current situation. 

“Everything was going so well, I thought I had them under control and then just now I felt myself slipping and I couldn’t let you guys see, I didn’t want you to know, not yet,” Wild was babbling he knew but he couldn’t get himself to stop. 

“I thought it would be quick, just a minute or two and I would be fine, but as I was looking for a place to ride it out I noticed the blood and I couldn’t do anything besides hope I wouldn’t be too long,” He was practically hyperventilating now, and Twilight was staring at him wide eyed. 

“Hey, hey calm down, just breathe for a moment.” Twilight soothed as he shuffled closer and placed his free hand on his shoulder. Wild nodded quickly but that was easier said than done. 

His mind was racing, ‘once Twilight finds out he is going to tell the others,’ Wild thought to himself and that thought was enough to shoot panic through his core once again. Twilight will tell them and then they will throw him away. It was clear that he is too broken to be helpful. What team would want someone who could freeze up at any moment, at any possible trigger at any possible time? He was a liability, and now they would all know. 

“I need you to calm down and explain a couple of things please,” He said slowly, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. 

“And while you do that, can you please work on finishing that potion, it will help you feel better,” Twilight coaxed tapping the side of the bottle with a blood stained finger. Wild took a couple more gulping breaths of air and nodded before he sipped on the bitter liquid again. When he was a modicum more calm he began to explain. 

“My adventure, it wasn’t, exactly a smooth one.” He started and already his voice sounded horse and raw. Twilight nodded and gestured for him to continue. 

“I was, still am I suppose, living with the effects of my adventure. I had lost my memories you see, and during my quest I would get these flashes of my past memories.” He said distantly as he looked everywhere except at Twilight. He gave a light cough and continued. 

“These flashes have the unfortunate side effect of me freezing up. Sometimes for a few seconds, other times for minutes at a time. It appears this one just past was one of the longer ones.” He whispered and he could feel Twilight lean in and tap the bottle once more. Wild took another drink, this time not really tasting the disgusting flavor. 

“I’ve had a couple while I have been traveling with you all. Up to this point they were smaller ones, easy to hide for the most part. But this time it seems I got… Unlucky,” He said before finally downing the last of the potion in one quick swig. He felt a chill run down his spine and he handed the empty bottle back over to Twilight who took it slowly. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked as he finally dropped his hands away from the bloodied cloth and stowed away the bottle. 

“Why? I was scared. Scared that once you all found out... “ Wild began and was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He finally looked over at Twilight and found a sad, worried look plastered across his face. 

“You thought we would, what? Throw you out?” He asked and Wild felt a twinge in his heart at the hurt tone that colored Twilight’s voice. 

“Look, I know I am a liability, don’t pretend I’m not. I don’t know what could trigger a memory or when, or even how long they could last. I figured that once you all found out that I am broken beyond repair, that for the good of the whole, you would… “ He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His throat burned too much and just the thought of admitting it hurt his soul. 

“We would never, we all have our secrets Wild. This doesn’t make you broken or even a liability really. It would have been better to have known this sooner, we could have made sure to keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe,” Twilight sighed as he scooted closer and sat next to him. Wild felt the lump in his throat again and he couldn’t find the words to respond. 

“I can understand where you’re coming from though, but this is a good group you can trust,” Twilight said as he tugged at Wild’s sleeve, pulling him closer so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders. 

“How can you be so sure?” Wild muttered thickly. He felt the effects of the red potion as it finished healing him. His head came to rest on the soft pelt that wrapped around Twilight’s shoulders and he sighed. Twilight hummed as he considered how to answer. 

“Well, the people that know my secret haven’t said a word. They trust that I will let the other’s know when I feel comfortable,” Twilight said and Wild leaned away wobbily to look at him. 

“You have a secret?” He asked and noted how his voice sounded just a touch slurred. Twilight chuckled and pulled him close once again.

“I do. In fact how about this, I can tell you’re worried I will tell the others. I know I would be, so I will tell you mine. That way you can tell the other’s my secret if I tell them yours. Does that sound fair to you?” Twilight asked, giving Wild’s shoulders a little squeeze. He thought over the offer for a moment before asking a question of his own.

“What if your secret is something mundane, like…” Wild waved his hand around for a moment as he tried to think of something. 

“Like you secretly like the taste of radishes, or something like that?” He asked and Twilight let out a loud bellowing laugh. 

“You don’t like radishes?” He asked and Wild pulled away again to level a look at him.

“No one likes radishes Twi, anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something,” Wild watched as Twilight practically sobbed with mirth and waited patiently for him to finish. 

“I promise, my secret is way bigger than that. Now do we have a deal? You look about three seconds away from falling asleep and we still need to make it back to camp.” He said and Wild huffed and nodded as he laid his aching head against the farmer’s pelted shoulder again.

“Alright then, you know that wolf that shows up every once in a while in camp, or to bring you and Hyrule back to the group?” Twilight asked tapping against Wild’s forehead to get his attention before he slowly helped him to his feet. Wild wobbled a bit as he regained his footing, and Twilight took his arm  and laid it across his shoulders, baring some of Wild’s weight. Wild sagged against him gratefully and together they slowly started back towards camp. 

“Well that wolf isn’t what it seems,” Twilight hedged and Wild snorted. 

“Yeah we all know that the wolf isn’t a wild one, come on Twi. If your secret is that that wolf is your pet then you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Wild scoffed and he could feel Twilight shaking ever so slightly where his hands held onto him. 

“You are kind of right, that wolf is not wild.” Twilight said and Wild eyed him and waited.

“I know this because I am, in fact, that wolf,” Twilight said and Wild felt his jaw fall open in surprise. He had not been expecting that and he found his next question tumbling out of him before he could really register what he had just been told. 

“You’re the what now?” Wild gaped and he could feel the tremor grow more pronounced. Twilight coughed and refused to look at him. 

“I am that wolf. It is one of the… I guess you called it side effects from my adventure.” Twilight said as they moved through the brush towards camp. Wild had to actively work to close his mouth. He hated to admit it but he was having a hard time wrapping his brain around it. Whether that was due to the blood loss and the potion he had taken, or simply just the oddity that was Twilight’s admission was yet to be seen. 

“Twi, are you serious?” He asked and he watched as Twilight swallowed. Now it was his turn to look at everything else around them.

“I am serious, and I don’t know how the others haven’t figured that out yet. I mean look at the marks on my skin for the love of the Goddess.” He said with a nervous chuckle. Wild nodded slowly, not really sure what to say. He could tell that this was a big secret that he just entrusted to him and that made a warm glow bloom in his chest. Wild could feel a smile slowly spreading across his face at the thought. He felt honored that Twilight was willing to put his trust in him and it was at that moment that he knew he would never betray Twilight.  

“You can trust me Twi, I will never tell a soul under one condition, you answer a question for me,” Wild said and he felt Twilight stiffen under his arm. 

“Okay, what is your burning question then?” He asked and Wild felt a grin spread across his face. 

“Do you actually like radishes?”

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[knchins]

Come Back to Me - Junpei Y.

Summary: When you saw his world falling apart, you did your best to try and save him.

Pairing: Yoshino Junpei x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Major character death, Angst w/o a happy ending, Bullying

Notes: This is admittedly not my best work. I kept wanted to scrap it and start over (I did actually...but only once) because I was having a hard time articulating reader’s feelings. My first JJK piece, I plan on tackling the manga sooner rather than later. When requests open back up JJK will be one of the available fandoms you can choose from! Anyway I pulled a lot of inspo from recalling my teenage years and having heartbreaking crushes on unobtainable people lmfao.

 Why did you do it? His words echoed in your mind as the two of you sat, bloodied, bruised, and burned against the chain link fence behind the high school you both attended. Why didn’t you run?    

 The words flowed from your lips so effortlessly, so easily, so without any care in the world, “Because you are my friend, Junpei. That is what friends do.”

 Junpei had a simple view on life. People were evil. They were heartless. They were cruel. They hated anything that was out of the ordinary. That was different. They hated him. So when he was being beaten yet again by Ito Shouta and his cronies, he was utterly surprised when you picked up a rock that had been nearby and hurled it at the ring leader’s direction to get him to stop.

 The broken off ball of concrete hit the center of Shouta’s back, causing a surprised yelp before making him see red. He turned seeing you standing there, fists clenched by your sides and eyes alight with fury. You had ordered them to leave him alone, to buzz off, to do anything but whatever it was that they were doing to your friend.

 They did not spare you. No, instead they threw you down next to Junpei and used you as a second punching bag. You were outnumbered. Overpowered. Defeated. But the one thing you absolutely weren’t was regretful. Sure Junpei was a bit different and sometimes a little odd but he didn’t deserve to be abused for being abnormal. No one did. Shouta was just some douchebag rich kid that had nothing better to do than torment classmates he felt were beneath him.

 “Never do that again.” Junpei said firmly, in a voice that caught you totally off guard. “Promise me, next time you’ll just run.” You couldn’t understand why he was upset with you for helping. Why he didn’t want your help. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest, the spark of rejection.

 But seeing you hurt, hearing you cry out in pain, watching your beauty being marred by burns that would more than likely turn to scars…it was too much. His heart just couldn’t take it. It was better for him, for both of you, if you just stayed out of it. Junpei, who felt like the most hated person on all of planet Earth, couldn’t let you hate him too. And surely after being beaten up a couple times for him, you would start to.

 His hands grasped your upper arms tightly, in a grip that was bound to bruise. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even this upset. He’s never wanted to protect anyone other than himself ever in the entirety of his young life. He was shaking, pleading, begging you to please please never do something like this ever again. If you cared about him at all you wouldn’t.

 And despite your confusion, despite your urgent need to help him, to wipe his tears away, to clean up his cuts, to treat his burns, despite your heart swelling with pain at the thought of just walking away as he cried out for help, you agreed. You told him you would get an adult next time. You wouldn’t take matters into your own hands. If that was truly what he wanted, then you would just stay away.

 He hands loosened enough for you to move your arms again and you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him in for a hug. If you couldn’t stop it, if you couldn’t save him from the worst of them, then at least you’d be there for the aftermath. For the tears and the anger and despair. You could pick up the pieces of him left scattered on the ground by the bullies that had nothing better to do in their spare time than to tear others down. Because Junpei wasn’t just your friend, he was your first crush. Your only crush. The one that made your heart flutter whenever he noticed you or had a smile tugging at your lips when he spoke to you in the hallway. Junpei who was so sweet, so quiet, so gentle. Junpei who had absolutely no idea how you felt about him in any way whatsoever.

 Over the following few weeks you had noticed him missing more and more school. You had volunteered to take his schoolwork to him after class so that he wouldn’t fall behind. This was more of an excuse to see him and make sure he was okay than to actually help him keep his grades up. That evening, you left him your notes and worksheets, and he seemed incredibly distant as he spoke with you. You knew in your heart that something was wrong. Something just wasn’t sitting right. Perhaps Shouta had gone too far, perhaps he just had no will to come back to class. Whatever it was, there was a sick feeling deep in your chest at the possibility that you wouldn’t get to see him every day ever again.

 You left him your phone number, urged him to please stay in contact because you wanted to know that he was alright. That things were okay. That he’d come back to you someday. It was just a crush but being without him just hurt so much. School wasn’t easy for you either, you had your own bullies to handle. The thought of weathering their verbal abuse alone just had tears springing to your eyes as you laid in bed at night waiting for a text, an email, a call, anything.  

 Junpei did none of the above. He did not text you. He did not email you. And her most certainly did not call you. Had you read him wrong all this time? Were his feelings simply not the same? Did he detest you as much as he did all the others?

 A few nights later you finally did receive a message from him. It was a simple five word phrase via text message. A warning that made your stomach churn with nauseating anxiety. Don’t come to school tomorrow.  

 What was he planning? Should you tell someone? The principal? The police? Your parents? Junpei wasn’t capable of something terrible like that, was he? There was no way he could hurt anyone, right? Was this why he had been absent? He was planning something terrible? On top of that, should you heed his warning and miss school?

 You urgently messaged him back, asking why. Begging for him to come clean to you. However, there was no response. No other messages came. You attempted to call him but his phone had been turned off. Did you go to his apartment? Run there despite the setting sun to find out what was going through his head? Why wouldn’t he just talk to you? Let you help him?!

 All night you tossed and turned, mind reeling with every possible scenario you could think of. Nothing made sense anymore. You couldn’t think of a single way to stop him besides to be there in person. Even if it puts you in danger. Even if you got hurt. It was worth it to save him, even if it was from himself. You’d go and you’d find him and you’d stop him.

 When you arrived at school, sleep deprived and exhausted, you kept a sharp eye out for your friend. You sat down towards the back of the auditorium as the morning assembly began. It seemed as if Shouta was getting some sort of award today, some acknowledgment for an achievement that he likely paid for. You struggled to stay awake, the feeling only getting worse when you finally did see Junpei enter the back of the room. You attempted to call out for him, but something was wrong. You couldn’t move, your body slipping into unconsciousness.

 When you awoke, the first thing you noticed was everyone around you sleeping and what sounded like a fight happening outside in the hallway. You stood, ignoring the shouts of Sotomura-sensei for you to stay down, and ran to try and figure out what was happening.

 Once outside, you raced down the hall, skidding to a halt when you saw Junpei along with two men standing beside the stairwell. The odd looking one had an arm around Junpei, the other freakishly stretched to pin the other teenager to the wall. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. Whatever Junpei had done to make you fall asleep was affecting your senses. In fact you weren’t even sure that what you were seeing was real.

 Junpei had morphed into some kind of monster, “Junpei!” You screamed for him as the other two started fighting, running to gather his misshapen body into your arms. “Junpei?” But he was gone.

 Someone was telling you to run, but you couldn’t move. Your legs would not listen to your brain as you sobbed into the mop of black hair on top of the malformed Junpei’s head. Your grip on him would have no doubt been painful if he were still alive to feel any. You begged, begged, anyone who was listening to bring him back. You’d do anything, absolutely anything, just bring Junpei back! Just bring him back to you, safe and sound! Let you take care of him again like old times! Please! Please? Please…

 No one answered your cries. Of course they didn’t. Why would they? In a world so cold and cruel, why would they bring your love back to you? You could feel your soul withering, shuddering with grief as your heart shrank more and more into your chest until you felt nothing. Nothing at all. Just complete and total numbness. He was gone. He was gone and he was never coming back. .

Tag lists are now on reblogs! You can join by filling out the form linked in my pinned navigation post!

[dimigex]

Healing Hands - Chapter Nine - YamaSaku

Now available on Fanfiction and Archive.

Good news: there's two sections of Tenzo and Sakura interaction in this one, and we're going to get significantly more in the coming chapters.

Snippet below the cut, but this chapter is over 11K words so it's probably better to read it on one of the other sites.

After dropping an armful of files across her desk, Sakura slumped into her chair. The lamp spread a halo of pale light across the papers that had begun to resemble precarious mountains with styrofoam cup trees at the bases. Despite working three hours past the end of her shift, Sakura still needed to spend several more to complete her charting. It had taken a month in her new position to realize that she needed one day each week devoted to paperwork.

Despite that, Sakura's efforts didn't seem enough. She had to update her patient's charts like she'd done before, but now, she also had to oversee a variety of administrative tasks that ended up on her desk. There were budget reports to review, staff schedules to create, training programs to consider, and any number of things that she'd never had to worry about in the past. Since talking to Kakashi about finding an assistant, Sakura couldn't help but wonder if she should do the same. Kazuko was a natural with the administrative side, but she would need someone with an aptitude for medical ninjutsu to fill her position eventually.

The scrape of fabric drew Sakura's attention from her self-pitying thoughts. Though she no longer wore the jonin uniform beneath her lab coat, a weapon pouch circled her thigh. Some habits remained in peace or war. She pulled a kunai from the leather holster and spun her chair, ready to release the weapon at the first sign of danger. A form materialized from a dark corner of the room, grey eyes smiling. "They never warn you about the paperwork, do they?"

Recognizing Kakashi, Sakura lowered the kunai and tucked it away. The man lounged on the arm of the couch, long legs stretched in front of him like he'd been waiting for a while. The robes and hat were nowhere to be seen, but Sakura envisioned the weight dragging at his shoulders. Besides, the new jonin uniform was different enough from Sakura's version of Kakashi that it had become a sign of his office anyway. She bowed her head in greeting. "What can I do for you, Hokage-sama?"

Kakashi snorted and pushed to his feet. "Drop the title, firstly."

As Kakashi moved closer to her desk, Sakura humored him with a smile that strained at her patience. She'd been working for fourteen hours today, and while she liked Kakashi well enough, Sakura wanted to know what new chaos he was bringing into her life. There was no way that Kakashi was making a social visit at this time of night, so he needed something. He eyed the stacks of paper, nearly knocking one over when he got too close. Sakura batted the hands away from her work. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Your desk doesn't look much different from mine." Kakashi's eyes conveyed a deeper sense of amusement. Sakura realized that she could read the man's emotions much better without the sharingan or headband that slanted across his face. Something about the comparison and teasing tone drew a flush of annoyance onto Sakura's cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, Sakura reined her temper under control. She and Kakashi were friends and former teammates, which offered her some leniency, but he was still the hokage. "I'm sorry," she said, further moderating her tone. "What I meant to say is that I'm terribly busy and—"

"And, you don't have time to enjoy my company," Kakashi finished Sakura's argument before she could articulate the sentiment more gently. The man's lips twitched into a smile beneath his mask when he held up a hand to stop her rebuttal. "I understand, I really do. But, I need a favor."

"A favor," Sakura repeated, grimacing at the aftertaste that the word left in her mouth. She had more than enough work piled on her desk without accepting more, especially not knowing what she was getting into. But, she wasn't sure if this was the type of task that she could refuse. "What kind of favor?"

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck and offered an apology with his eyes. "The kind that takes up more of your time, unfortunately."

Sakura groaned before she could stop herself. Of course it was time consuming. But, she couldn't tell Kakashi no, even if she wanted to. He crossed the office, producing a stack of files from somewhere that she couldn't see. There couldn't have been more than twenty, slim folders, but they hit Sakura's desk like stone. Kakashi rested his fingertips on top of them. "These are the files on my current Anbu."

A quip died on the tip of Sakura's tongue as she reached for the top cover, frowning. "I thought there would be more of them. And, shouldn't they say top secret or something? These look like every other shinobi file that crosses my desk."

"That's the point," Kakashi teased, drawing his hand back and crossing his arms over his chest. "Can you think of anything that would make them more likely to be read than putting a warning across the front? This way, they hide in plain sight."

Nodding along with the logic, Sakura pulled the first file from the stack and flipped it open. A painfully young shinobi stared back at her. She didn't recognize him; the boy could have been anyone. Sakura did a double take when she skimmed the medical information and saw that he was six years older than her. Her gaze shifted back to Kakashi. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

Kakashi stared down at the photo for a moment, then sighed. "I've been thinking about the concerns you raised with Yamato, and you were right. We aren't at war any longer; I need to know that my Anbu are sound, physically and mentally."

"Did you check on him?" Sakura had nearly gone to Kakashi half a dozen different times to ask, but she'd forced herself to trust him. If he said that he would take care of the situation with Yamato, he would. But, she had a difficult time holding back.

Kakashi remained silent as Sakura closed the file and replaced it on the stack. Then, his chin dipped in a sharp nod. Sakura let the silence drag out until Kakashi continued, answering her unasked question. "The mission clearly affected him, but I think he's bouncing back."

A knot of tension released in Sakura's chest. When Tsunade left the village, she'd given Sakura a copy of Kakashi's file in case she ever needed it. Sakura had left it unopened for weeks, not wanting to pry into the man's past without reason. But, after the questions about Yamato, Sakura had thumbed through the document to get an idea of how well the two men knew each other. The history that leapt to life from the pages shocked her.

Not only had Yamato and Kakashi known each other during their Anbu days, they'd served on the same team. They had completed countless missions together over the years. As curious as she was, Sakura forced herself not to read the notes. Knowing the basics of their history was enough to soothe some of Sakura's worries. Kakashi knew Yamato far better than she did. If he thought that Yamato was okay, he probably was.

Kakashi nodded toward files, breaking Sakura's train of thought. "Tsunade had been taking care of the physicals, and the evaluations hadn't seemed that important until the other day."

They hadn't seemed that important until you suggested that one of my friends was struggling. Sakura heard the words that Kakashi wasn't ready to admit, even if he didn't. She framed her next question with care, half afraid of the anwer. "Does your visit exempt Yamato from this round of physicals?"

Sakura knew that Kakashi wanted to pretend that Yamato couldn't possibly be struggling, but her questions had planted the doubts too deeply. He shook his head after a few seconds of consideration. "No, as head of Anbu, Yamato needs to be evaluated as well."

Sakura tried to keep her mouth from falling open at the revelation, but the beginnings of a surprised gasp slid between her lips. Kakashi snorted under his breath. "Have you even looked at his file? I assumed that you'd scoured every detail before you came to me with questions."

"I didn't realize I could," Sakura began, then stopped short. On a subconscious level she'd known that she could get the file if she wanted it, but it wasn't easy to reach. When Sakura had agreed to take over medical oversight for Anbu, she'd been granted access to the files. But, she hadn't thought to make use of them. Something about using Yamato's past that way felt like an invasion of privacy. She didn't want to do that until she had a solid reason.

Nudging the files over so that they spread across the desk like a fan, Kakashi fished through them and came up with one that appeared identical to the others. When he flipped it open, Sakura studied Yamato's almost familiar features in the picture. It must have been recent, there were lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth that she didn't remember from when they'd first met. Still, it looked healthier than the man that she'd recently signed off to return to active duty.

Ignoring the sense of guilt that gnawed at her stomach, Sakura frowned at Kakashi. "What am I looking for?"

Long fingers slid across the page, coming to rest just above the years of service. Sakura's mouth dropped as she frowned at the number. "That can't be right," she argued, doing some quick backward math. "He would have had to join Anbu when he was ten; nobody joins that young."

"Eleven, actually," Kakashi corrected. He shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner that suggested that he cared more than he wanted to admit. "What makes you an expert on Anbu ages, anyway? I was only thirteen when I joined; you were barely a genin by then."

At thirteen, Sakura had been afraid to work out too hard lest she get bulky muscles that Sasuke wouldn't like. Her crush had determined every aspect of her life, consuming it. The idea of living through the things that she'd learned about Anbu during the past few weeks while at that age was horrifying.

Unbidden, Sakura studied Kakashi. She couldn't help but wonder how different he must have been to survive Anbu. Her heart ached for the innocence that he and Yamato had surely given up to be in the black ops so young. Had they ever had a normal life, even by shinobi standards? Had they left genin teams behind? Had they lost their friends and first crushes in the process? She didn't want to think about it. "You were just kids."

"We were shinobi in a time of war," Kakashi countered with a shrug. A dusting of pink showed above the edges of his mask, but Sakura wasn't sure if it was annoyance or embarrassment that colored his cheeks. Kakashi closed Yamato's file. "I wasn't looking for pity, for either of us. I just want you to know that Yamato has been doing this long enough to live through some dark days. He knows how to handle it."

Sakura nodded, but she couldn't help but wonder if living through more trauma made a person better at hiding their struggles than dealing with them. She wondered what darkness Kakashi's easygoing nature hid. Deciding that she'd rather not know until she needed to, Sakura pushed the files back into a stack. "I'll clear my schedule to get these done. You'll have the results by the end of next week."

Kakashi eye smiled, tension flowing out of his posture at the easy acceptance. "Thank you. I wish it wasn't more work on top of what you already have."

"Some things are important enough to take precedence," Sakura answered, waving away Kakashi's apology. This would give her a chance to dig deeper into Yamato's mental state as well as familiarize herself with the other Anbu. If she could save even one of them, it was worth however much time it took.

(Find the rest on FF and A03, linked above)

[recallingrealities]

Aligned, Chapter 2 (Zelda Spellman x Reader)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

Chapter 2: Selene 

Zelda Spellman x reader 

(momentary inferred NSFW)

You typically had no issue feeling grounded. Masterfully artful in your practice of quieting the mind, you found serenity. In this moment, you found yourself entranced by a surge of new energies. There was so much unseen and old resonance among the Academy’s grounds. It excites you to be surrounded by so much beautiful unknown. It was a dream. As if your stomach was full of dragonflies; buzzing and ricocheting against one another  within your chest. You had decided you would take up Ambrose on that tour, but you kept it very professional, not wanting the young man to get the wrong idea and waste away the evening. Your room had already been prepared in the sense it was ready for you to retire to it. Your boxes awaited you on your desk. However, you felt secure they could wait until after you’d explored the grounds to organize their contents properly.

After a lovely dinner with a small collection of faculty, you deemed it time to return to your things. You have come to the decision that one part you enjoyed particularly with homemaking, was the opportunity to reinfuse your space and belongings with fresh energy. There was a power in everything having a place, and so, you decided to collate each book in accordance to its author. If they were nameless, you placed them accordingly before A, by title. Was it necessary for you to acknowledge each book with so much intricacy and care? Likely not. A spell could do the trick, and the packing would take significantly less time. Alas, you found yourself tied to the intimacy of tracing each cover, and honor the care it took to bind it. After placing the last text and observing your work, you took time to arrange your candles particularly. 

You were becoming overly aware of how many of these tasks you could have completed with magic. Down to the smallest action, like striking the match and taking care to tend to each flame. It was the intention, you affirmed. The collection of small, intense energies, that had been a piece of your personal growth. You discovered this in meditation. Yes, any witch could use magic to accomplish the same task in quicker time, but even with the small amount of items you had placed in the room, you undoubtedly felt the fresh surge of energy; bustling and reverberating in your new space. It was indulgent, and relaxing. Even if you had only unpacked a little, there would still be plenty of time tomorrow. 

Though you had decided to move in darkness, it wasn’t unlike witches to hold strange sleep schedules. The thought had crossed your mind several times that it was destined; your intuition that willed your wakefulness. The Goddess herself had intricately weaved and planned for your exact placement of each item, at its precise moment in time. Perhaps it was the intensity of your faith. But even if it had not been her will entirely, it was her trueness to her own divine femininity, her own divine self that aligned the wills of those who followed her in Serendipity. Your trueness and dedication to what the Goddess had taught you over time, has you feeling as if you are glowing. You are honored enough to witness and note her teachings around you, and it is then you feel how much you’ve grown.

You felt a warm hum of humility pass over you, such wholesome and fully embodied realizations were so satiating to you that you couldn’t help but swell with gratitude. It was that energy that fed back into the space around you; you detected. It charged your spirit and drifted to your candles so they held tall, steady flames.

You realized that you had no idea what time it was, the moonlight pouring through the space between your rich velvet drapes. It could be late that evening still, or early the next  morning and you would be none the wiser - completely content with being guided through the unknown of your intuition.

After a beat of harmonious silence there was a sharp knock at the door. Not necessarily loud, but distinguished enough to send a wave of energy towards you, breaking the silence you were swimming in. It was then, the sight hit you hard. Your fingers gripped the side of the desk, catching yourself as your legs buckled. All under a startling vision of the High Priestess, which was now filling up your entire consciousness.

 She gave you a fiendish grin, running her tongue across her teeth before dragging her manicured nails down your inner thigh. Her left hand was gripping you with a bruising force, your thighs trembled beneath her touch. The graze arose in stinging red lines, hot and aggravated with prickling pleasure. She smirked before her lips moved towards the hem of your skirt, her hot breath just below your rear before the second knock rang through your chamber, breaking the vision.

You clear your throat and turn to face the door, leaning against your desk in a quick attempt to ease your composure.You realized now that the back of your thighs were in fact trembling. You had... felt her somehow. The sight was enrapturing, but this electrified you. 

“Do come in”

Your words chime in sync to the Directrix’s entering. The way she commanded the energy of the room to fall on her was impeccable. You were empathic, no doubt. Intuition was a part of the sight, but her energy was as clear to you as a demand you might have received from the Goddess. A level of intensity to this day, you haven’t grown used to.

“I came to check on the status of your new office - it has been some time since its last resident lived here.” 

She touched the wallpaper observantly, her firm powerful voice, directed towards you. She turned and gently shut the door with the back of her right heel..

“Does everything appear to be in order?” 

“Yes, High Priestess” 

You said clear and softly. You knew your appearance remained cool and collected, but you were finding it difficult to find your words with the sudden heat that was knotting in your throat. 

“I see you’ve begun moving into your office. How charming.”

Her words articulated quickly and carefully. To be honest you could hardly keep up. You couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic, but you preferred to sense it as genuineness. At this point you were focused on solely regrounding yourself.

“And your living quarters, is it to your pleasure?”

At that you attempt to soften a hard gulp, as the word pleasure escaped her lips. ‘Holy fuck’ you think to herself. You realized the insanity of these few moments. Just a beat ago, you were fine, and even now appeared so - and yet, you feel as though you can’t get that… premonition? out of your mind. It was making it insatiably hard for you to focus. You had never had a vision take you like this before. Though they were sudden, yes, you had learned to try and ignore them, just long enough so not to impose your will on the situation. Though you knew your relaxed shoulders and calm breath disguised it, you knew you were distracted. Wondering how and when does that happen? You hardly even knew her-.

It was then you realized you had not replied.

“If I am being honest with you Ms. Spellman-”

You pause, standing from the edge of your desk, walking towards the bookshelf that held the classic “hidden room” behind it. You rested a hand on the aged, ashen wood before giving her a breathy smile.

“I hadn’t even thought to look. I am sure it’s marvelous.”

You felt your cheeks warm slightly. 

Zelda held a cigarette fashioned to her holder, and leaned over to light in on the candle next to her. A smile subtly showed on her lips as she held the cigarette to it. 

“Thank you. For checking up on me. It is… incredibly hospitable of you to check in on someone you barely know. Tell me… what time is it? If I am being quite frank with you, I have lost complete awareness of the time”

You let out a slight chuckle, one you felt escape from you residually. Between the dim floating lights of your candles and the moon’s gaping rays, it was beautiful in here. Of course, you were content, between getting lost in the ambience, and now, the beauty standing by your doorway. You did however, feel it would be best, contextually to know when Ms. Spellman decided to check in on you. You cock your head to the side, allowing yourself to smile, your teeth grazing the side of your cheek.

“Please, sit down. You have no reason to loom at the door.” 

Your feel as though you’ve finally relaxed, now swimming in this mysterious energy that was your new Priestess. As she breathed twirls of smoke, the room smelled of Mahogany, Tobacco, and warm cinnamon. It intrigued the Spellman the way warmth seemed to radiate off you now. It had seemed she wasn’t the only one with keenness for consideration. 

“Well, tell me this. Do you think yourself a wolf, or a hungered cat?”

Zelda moved to sit on the arm of the leather chair. The question seemed nontraditional at the very least.

“I suppose a cat; but I’ve always felt drawn to the moon. What do felines have to do with mornings?” 

You smile. You are enjoying watching her statured composure relax as the hours weaned. She was still the same composed woman as before, but it was as if you saw her muscles relax around her neck and shoulders among the warm glow of candles. The blanket of serene moonlight was bouncing off her skin, you could almost see her heartbeat pulsing in her neck. Were you staring at her and had she noticed?

“A hungered cat knows when to find the early bird”

Her eyes met yours, as she pulled another long breath. The crackling embers reflected in her softened gaze. She was so intense… but so were you, and she noted the reflection of your eyes, only a steps distance from her. She didn’t feel as though you were reading her memories this time. Only that they were beautiful. 

You couldn’t help but grin yourself, moving to tuck a displaced lock behind your ear, shaking your head before returning your eyes to her.

“To answer your question” she purred “It's early. Before the birds but I suppose at a perfect hour to admire the moon as well”. 

You felt your breath waver as you watched her lips relax into a smile. You had never seen her smile before. And though this moment came without warning, or formality, it was simple… and utterly romantic. You took a moment to exist in the quietness, only hearing the gentle wind and the waving maple apexed below your window.

You allowed your mind to wonder if the Goddess had planned this timing so beautifully. Or perhaps Lillith knew you would set the mood yourself, a fan of letting your candelabras burn low almost every evening.

Zelda couldn’t help but let her eyes drift across your silhouette as you gazed out the window. Your head was turned away just so, to let the moon drape your figure and fair skin. She couldn’t tell if it was the moonlight, or your aura that entranced her. A faint hue of indigo drifted from you in her mind's eye. She wasn’t fantastic with reading aura, one of her less polished skills, but it had seemed to radiate off of you, almost obvious. She had noticed it earlier when you had first stepped foot in her office.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes before she flicked the cigarette into the wastebin beside her. The quiet tssst, drew your eyes drift peacefully back to her. 

“I should allow you to make up your room - I am extinguishing any chance of you getting sleep before the sun rises. Though I must say, I am grateful-” 

She restored her posture, and voice to that of a more astute regality. 

“to have enjoyed a moment of peace with you. I feel as though enjoying peace and quiet can be a rarity in this day and age, let alone quiet with accompaniment.”

Though she didn’t say it, you knew she had felt in those minutes, she had gotten to know you better, and you her. The brashness of your vision had faded from your mind for that moment, and you felt grateful to have witnessed a glimpse of what you think had been her unaltered self.

“It is said in silence one learns more about the world than in a lifetime of study” 

You stand gently, ambling past her to open the door in courtesy. It was now you realized, you felt honored to have seen her like this, to have spent more than a moment, bewildered in her presence. 

“I see now how meditation has been so enriching for you now”

 She sighed gently and drifted towards the threshold, before pausing. She was only inches away from you.

“Goodnight Y/N”

[libradusk]

5 For Fives | (2)

Chapter Title: Rusted Protocol

Word Count: 9,466 (sorry!)

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Reader

Summary: You kept your word, even after it entangled you in a web of emotions you had long since choked back

Warnings: Death and injury resulting from the Battle of Kamino, Anakin smuggles alcohol to his beloved troops and they get rowdy

a/n: Its time for lots of mutual pining and the physical fallout that results from it

Chapter 1

You stayed true to your word about looking out for him.

At first it had been unintentional and you hadn’t expected to run into him again so soon, but fate seemed to have other plans to weave complications within your military career. After the events on Rishi your superiors had deemed it optimal for you to continue your work amongst the front lines. Now not only were you expected to continue your expected obligations as a knight of the order, but you were also tasked with ensuring the Kaminoans were supplied with frequent updates and reports on the 501st’s development as a unit - all in an effort to ensure both Rex and Anakin had the additional support they needed as the war effort intensified, they had assured you. Between your placement with the 501st and your long standing commitment to helping Shaak Ti on Kamino, your wartime life had fallen into a solid routine at this point - easily trumping the short-lived serenity that the military base inspections had once granted you.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you could even have stretched to describe it as providing a sense of security you had lacked before- with your role in the war demanding your constant shipment between battalions prior to Rishi upheaving everything. You couldn’t deny that being almost constantly surrounded by recognisable faces was a pleasant distraction to the fog of dread that unrelentingly constricted around your chest as of late - even though you now found your days busier than ever before.

Easing into your newfound role was helped by the fact you already knew how Rex and his General treated their boys, so becoming accustomed to the antics of the 501st did not take long at all. The war had all but torn whatever tranquillity the Jedi Order had once represented away from you by now, but it still felt pleasant to be immersed within a new form of close-knit brotherhood all the same.

Anakin had even quipped several times that you made an excellent babysitter for Ahsoka when he wasn’t around, suggesting that perhaps he should even think about transferring her tutelage to you after the war was done with. These snide but ultimately harmless comments always concluded by putting the sharp-tongued Padawan into a foul mood, or having her turn to you to stand in as the voice of reason when only your little trio was present for their spats- you found yourself feeling Obi Wan’s absence much more deeply in these moments.

But joining Skywalker’s battalion was so different to how it had been for you before. Warm and reliable, even a little unconventional compared to other Jedi-led battalions - but above all else, it felt so wonderful to fight alongside two generals that you knew valued the lives of their comrades as deeply as you did.

It was just as heartening a bonus to know that your troops returned that same sentiment to you.

Despite the newfound joys your found-family has granted you however, there remains a constant distraction pecking incessantly at the strings of your heart. As guarded as you have been trained to force it to be, it can’t help but flutter with the knowledge that, hiding amongst the ranks of brothers, lay Fives and his charming smirk.

---------

You’re in the middle having lunch with Ahsoka when you finally get to see his face again.

The Coruscant base mess hall is practically buzzing with activity, the sight of which had initially been a little overwhelming the first time the young Padawan had dragged you by the wrist for a lunch date away from her master - but by now you had become accustomed to sharing the close quarters with so many other bodies. It had been around a month since the Battle of the Rishi Moon and though the events that had transpired formally were still raw in your mind, the rest of the army appeared to, at least at a surface level, have settled back into steadfast adaptation - business as usual you supposed, though it didn’t make the thought taste any less bitter each time the memory played over your thoughts.

Your quickly blossoming friendship with Ahsoka had helped the transition back to normality considerably. She was always so excitable and eager to learn from you, yet the teen also carried a sweetness and indisputable intelligence that had made it all the more easy for you to become attached to her. In certain ways she reminded you of how you had once been - a little more naive and inexperienced and completely starstruck to be working under Master Ti for the first time. Growing up during the wartime would never be an easy experience for any teenager, but even so, you hoped it never jaded her the way you feared it had you and many of her other seniors.

It's the wave of Ahsoka’s fingertips that leads your gaze to him and you actually jump a little internally at the realisation of who exactly it is you’re looking at. Fives sits a mere few tables over from your own, seated alongside Echo - who you recognise from the hand-print staining his cuirass, as well as several other clones that you struggle to distinguish with the same ease. The young togruta in front of you senses your lapse in concentration almost instantly, quickly silencing the tale she’s spinning about Anakin’s recent misadventures with an irritated frown. She huffs as she shoots a glance over her shoulder at the distraction that you have so rudely favoured over her epic tale, the striped lekku framing her face whipping slightly with the force of the movement. You bite back a cringe at how the action catches the eye of several troopers surrounding you - noting internally that you ought to suggest Anakin to add subtlety to Ahsoka’s list of lessons.

This thought quickly dissipates as your eyes lock with Fives’. The first thing you note is that his beard has properly grown in now, it curves over his chin in what you can tell is a meticulously sculpted goatee. Normally you would consider the style ridiculously vapid - but it suits him in a way you can’t quite articulate - especially considering he has the literal same face as each of the boys sat around him. His smile is just as you remember it to be however, as he shoots it your way with sparkling recognition. For a fleeting moment Echo seems to mimic Ahsoka in the way he reacts to his brother’s own distraction, lifting his hands mid-sentence in frustrated exasperation. Though once his eyes register that there are two Jedi staring in their direction, the realisation in his squint gives way to wide-eyed panic. Echo’s palms make contact with the table so violently that it startles the man next to him enough for him to choke on his meal. Fives remains unphased by Echo’s outburst however, his attention unwavering from you even as his tightly-strung brother yells for him to stop slouching over his dinner and sit up straight in the presence of a Jedi.

A trooper sporting cobalt blue lines tattooed across his face turns to the flustered clone before you can intervene. You don’t catch whatever it is he mutters as his elbow digs into Echo’s ribs, but the comment reduces the whole table to boisterous laughter. Judging by the way Echo’s cheeks flare red, you can only assume it was made at his expense.

Even with the pandemonium erupting in front of him and the threat of being struck by a trigger-happy spoonful of potatoes, Fives’ honeyed gaze remains transfixed on you.

It's only when Ahsoka’s own incredulous expression turns to face you with a snort once more that you’re able to tear your own away.

---------

At the bequest of Anakin’s orders, Ahsoka had been banned from leaving the Coruscant military base that following evening. This of course meant that while he was out on “business” - the vague nature of which had not gone unnoticed by you or Ahsoka - he had instructed you to make sure his apprentice kept her focus on her studies and out of trouble. You hadn’t worried much, recognising that despite what protest she offered, Ahsoka was disciplined enough to be left to complete her own evening tasks - despite the few past examples that would have argued otherwise. Content with that knowledge, you had retreated to your quarters to complete the last of your own evening duties, though by the time you sent off your last report to Shaak Ti on Kamonia the evening hours had long since fallen.

You stand from the desk with a sigh, mind still buzzing with numbers and jargon. You were confident that you could still see the lines of data detailing the training progress of the 501st behind closed lids, the glare from the data pad still stinging as you paw at your eyes.

There was no point in trying to sleep just yet, not while your mind was still so alive with the knowledge of casualties and combat drills - what you needed was fresh air - that was for certain.

It was a mercifully short walk from the wing where your quarters were situated to one of the base’s exits. After navigating across the dimly lit courtyard, you slip away to the outskirts of the base, settling yourself on a stretch of banking that looked out towards the neon skyline of Galactic City.

Coruscant was a bizarre paradox of a planet - boasting a population of over a trillion and a bustling cityscape to cater to tastes across the entire galaxy… and yet its night sky always seemed so lonely as it shrouded the base each night. The stars shine coldly against an inky backdrop, distant and dying - peacefully burning out in blissful ignorance to the violence that continued to rage around them.

You almost envied them, cliché as it may be.

You remain that way for a while longer, resting upon folded legs, almost in a state of tentative meditation under the starlight. All the while your mind continues to swim with thoughts of battle and responsibility and recurring nightmares of cold, cold metal corridors that stretch endlessly sterile and looming each time you dare to close your eyes.

And then, like a lifeline, you feel it shifting through the force around you. Gilded and bubbling with a distinct energy you hadn’t felt properly since Rishi.

“Come out from the shadows, I know that you’re there.”

You don’t turn to face them as you speak, but you feel the prickle of shock that flashes through their aura. Only when the sound of a familiar breathy chuckle tickles past your ears does your gaze spin from the cityscape.

One could have mistaken Fives’ behaviour as bordering sheepish as he steps towards you, arms raised in a limp mock-surrender. He cracks a toothy grin and you find yourself smiling back despite the tenseness that has settled instinctively across your posture.

“You really should know better than to sneak up on a Jedi, what if I had mistaken you for an assassin and cut you down?” your tone is purposefully light and he laughs, daring to venture forward further, rolling out his shoulders as he does so.

“Guilty as charged,” Fives’ hands fold behind his back now as he stands to his full height, there's at least a foot between you still and you suppose it's his way of maintaining a semblance of propriety, “Guess I’ve still not quite gotten the hang of following orders yet.”

It's your turn to laugh now, the noise that leaves you is short and breathy but it appears to relax him a little more nonetheless.

“I suppose that makes you the perfect candidate to work alongside Master Skywalker then.” You stand to face him now, smoothing out your robes and nodding to the cleaning rag that is currently wedged down the side of his utility belt.

“Unless this is a new uniform protocol I wasn’t notified about, I’m going to assume you should be finishing munitions cleaning duty and not skulking around outside base - am I correct with my assumption, Fives?”

You have to bite down on another giggle as the trooper’s face flashes with panic for a second before its forced back behind a smirk, ochre eyes now gleaming with impish fortitude. You can sense him attempting to push down his hesitation as he strides to stand directly beside you now, gazing out towards the city where your own focus had rested prior. You risk a prolonged glance at his profile as he does, admiring the way dark lashes frame his eyes and cast feathered shadows across his cheekbones in the moonlight. There's an odd, but not uncomfortable silence in the moments that follow between you before he speaks again.

“There’s something on your mind to drag you out here, isn’t there?”

You note that he’s dropped the ‘sir’ honorific now and you’re not sure if it's an attempt to make you feel more comfortable, if he’s testing his limits with you or if he just doesn't give a damn.

Whatever it is in actuality doesn’t end up mattering in the slightest, because his words crack your composure all the same. Soon the words begin spilling forth without a semblance of control in sight, and you proceed to spend the next precious few hours unloading everything to him.

The futility of war, your growing disenchantment with the Jedi order and frustrations with the Republic's involvement in its affairs - hypocrisy, fear and grief - it all tumbles from where it's been forced to keep hidden for months on end - coaxed out by Fives’ patient encouragement and kind eyes. By the time your self-discipline finally catches up to snuff out the fire in your chest you feel hollow with exhaustion. Your body is all but folded in on itself as you kneel atop the banking with the city continuing to burn ever brighter in the distance behind you.

A nudge against your thigh alerts you to the way Fives’ knee is pressed warmly against your own from where he is seated beside you. The feeling is almost electric, but it is quickly strangled by the guilt that crawls over you as your senses return.

“I should not have done that,” your voice scratches from your throat and you realise that at some point during your one-sided conversation you had started silently crying, “that was not right of me - as your Jedi and… as a person you don’t know properly - it was most inappropriate and I’m so sorry.”

Those burning eyes never stray from your face, steadfast even as you duck your head to scrape a clammy hand over your cheeks. You clear your throat and move to stand, ready to march back to your quarters and await the morning, with which you will no doubt be court-martialed for inappropriate conduct and blaspheming both the Jedi and the Republic in one spectacular meltdown once word gets out.

A warm tug against your wrist halts you mid stride. The shadow of a gloved hand grips you firmly, and you follow the path of the armour that begins at its own wrist, your gaze slowly climbing over the lines of Fives’ forearm before resting on his chest - unable to meet his eyes for fear that more secrets would slip from your lips.

“But you are a person I know,” you don’t need to see his face to know that he's smiling again, it's sinking into his words like honey, “- or at least a person I would like to know, Jedi or not.”

You find the courage to meet his gaze now, blaming the utter brazenness of such a loaded statement for your change of heart. His expression is the warmest you’ve ever seen it, haloed by the skyline that now miraculously appears even further away than it had before. Another lump swells in your throat at the sight.

“This war is hell and I don’t need to be a veteran like Rex to see that much - don’t have to be an expert to know that it can’t be healthy having to keep everything you’re feelin’ locked away in the name of some order either.”

His free hand comes to settle on your shoulder. The gesture feels all too familiar to the one he gave you aboard the Resolute after Rishi and you’re stunned to silence with the fear that if you were to answer him, you would begin to cry once again. Fives’ thumb runs tenderly over your shoulder blade before he squeezes it comfortingly, his smile stretching to a thin, pursed line as he appears to retreat into his thoughts for a moment afterwards.

“Anyway, considering us clones are literally engineered to withstand emotional trauma, ‘least I can do is lend an ear to the person that helped save mine and my brother’s lives on Rishi, eh?”

He says it with such frivolous conviction that you can’t help but shake your head in disbelief, but a smile finally fights its way back on your face once more.

“You’re bizarre Fives, wonderful but bizarre.”

He grins so widely at the comment that you’re surprised it doesn't reach up towards the tattoo on his forehead. He lets go of your wrist to shoot you a haphazard salute and your own hand curls around it to replace the lost contact, as if trying to preserve the warmth his palms provided.

Stop it. Your mind all but screams at you in warning. You know that attachment is forbidden.

But for the first time in forever you decide to push the voice back, filing it away amidst the rest of the baggage that has yet to crawl its way out. It sparks a contrasting mixture of solace and apprehension in your gut that you’re not sure you’re ready to confront, but choose to embrace anyway.

It ends up being the first of many nights you spend cloaked under the Coruscant night together in the weeks that follow, serving as a secret respite in which you don’t need to be a Jedi knight and he doesn’t have to play the part of a soldier.

You are just yourselves: two companions framed by the glow of Galactic City, and that knowledge is as liberating as it is utterly terrifying - though it is never enough to prevent your hands from edging closer together still with each night that passes.

---------

When the time called for your return to Kamino you found yourself missing your midnight rendezvous terribly. As wonderful as it felt to be reunited with Shaak Ti - and the validation that came coupled with knowledge that she had personally requested your assistance - you had hoped that your return to the aquatic planet would have provided more of a distraction to your feelings, as they continued to grow more troublesome the longer your feet were planted on Coruscant soil.

Kamino at first glance did indeed grant you the neutral, reflective space you had hoped for, with its sterilised atmosphere and focus on regimented routine. In an idealised reality this would have concluded by leading you back to your senses once more - ensuring your return to conforming to the Jedi belief that your role left you with no room for attachments, the same conduct that had been rooted within so many others before you and would continue long after you were gone.

But it became quickly apparent that your heart and ingrained principles were locked in a war of their own. Try as you did, it seemed that no matter how often you meditated, how hard you pushed your training or how much time you dedicated to aiding Master Ti with her research within the cloning facility, the rawness of your emotions refused to cooperate alongside your conscience.

The fact that the night sky across Kamino seemed so dull compared to Coruscant’s only helped strengthen your yearning to return to the urbanised planet - regardless whatever indifference you had once painted it with.

Though by now, you knew deep down that it was pointless to attempt to convince yourself that homesickness for the planet was the main target of your pining.

You can only hope that he misses you too.

---------

It isn’t until months later, amidst the threat of another Separatist invasion, that you get to reunite with the 501st once more. It's almost poetic in the most ridiculous way, with how it's the droid army that drags you together again.

Master Ti seems to sense your growing anticipation from the moment you both receive the news that it's the 501st that are being deployed to strengthen the blockade.

“You are not guarding yourself well enough, young Jedi.” Her tone is stern, but it's laced with gentle concern as you both walk towards the airfield. The sky is sombre and overcast with navy bunches of clouds, they hang forebodingly over the platform where Kenobi and Skywalker are currently occupied unloading their troops. It takes effort to fight back a sigh of frustration as you peer at her from the corner of your eye. You can feel her glancing back against the confines of her own periphery.

“You have no need to be nervous. After all, you have fought alongside the clone army countless times now, have you not?” the edge of her robes brush against you as she edges slightly closer, the fabric billowing elegantly with the wind. A serene smile graces her features and it contrasts starkly with the quizzical expression the Prime Minister sports as he leers at you over the peaks of her montrals.

“The 501st know your strengths as you know their own. Your anxiety has no place amongst allies and friends.”

You force a smile in her direction, nodding absentmindedly before turning your attention to the bearded General striding towards you both, Skywalker in tow close behind him. The pleasantries exchanged between your groups are mercifully brief, with Lama Su dictating most of the course of conversation with the Jedi. Everyone seems oddly calm given the circumstances that Kamino currently faces, but you can’t deny that it is nice to see the familiar faces of the two men once again - though you can’t help the twinge of disappointment that flickers as you note Ahsoka’s absence between them.

It's eventually decided that you are to be stationed within the cloning facility, to protect the key route towards the barracks from the inside. The irony of protecting the process responsible for commodifying your living troops isn't lost on you, but you continue to bite your tongue the same way you had been for what seemed like eons now, and make haste on your retreat back towards the base after dedicating best wishes to each of the generals. It is going to be a bloody battle and you’re confident that everyone around you can feel it too. There's an unease penetrating the air of the base and you catch yourself scanning over the waves of men as they begin to fill the monochrome hallways. It is impossible to not wonder how many will lose their lives just to ensure that more of their brothers can be spawned to replace them while their armour still held warmth.

It's during that miserable train of thought that you finally feel it again: a familiar marigold warmth that bubbles and spikes through the force with an intrepidation that you know can only belong to one particular person. You’re drawn to it like a bee to nectar as you weave through the sprawling hallways.

This time it's Fives’ turn to be surprised as you slip easily behind where he and Echo idle as they happily wave off the shrinking figure of an elderly maintenance worker. The bearded trooper visibly startles at the call of his name, almost hurtling his helmet at the back of an unlucky droid’s head in the process. Echo instantly stiffens his posture in your presence, though the chuckle he bites back at his counterpart’s expense does not go unnoticed by either you or Fives. The sourness instinctively tainting his face quickly dissolves as he turns to face you, that signature smile creasing across his features in its wake. The trooper appears almost dazed as he exclaims your name breathily, as though your very presence has knocked the wind from his lungs.

Echo shoots him a flabbergasted expression in response, clearly past the point of correcting his brother for his lack of decorum. The thought alone pulls a chuckle of amusement from you. You find yourself almost lost for words for a moment then, as amidst the happiness it dawns on you just how much you have missed the 501st, how much you have missed Fives.

So much for not forming attachments.

“I take it you’ll be fighting alongside us again then, sir?”

The answer to Fives’ question is so obvious that you elect to let Echo’s facepalm answer it for you. The way his ears tint pink at the comment betrays the confident smirk that has yet to fade from his lips. It paints such a charming picture that you can’t help but laugh a little louder at his detriment. Surprisingly, it only seems to stretch his grin wider, that same rosy hue flaring across his cheeks in tandem with it now.

“I’ve missed that sound.”

His voice is uncharacteristically small this time, so much so you’re not sure the thought was intended to be spoken aloud. You’re grateful that Echo manages to distract Fives with a well aimed elbow jab to the armpit - right where the armour cuts off - because you’re certain that after processing that comment your face has flushed a colour to rival his own.

“Di’kut! You’ll get yourself court-martialed if you keep speaking so improperly to every General that talks to you!”

Fives seems largely unphased by his brother’s fretting, simply cocking an eyebrow at the uptight trooper before shooting you a quick knowing look, nursing his new injury all the while.

The two of them certainly paint a colourful picture with their interactions, it's a beautiful contrast to the barren ambience of Kamino.

“I am not your general, Echo,” your tone is soft as you step closer to the pair, “I ask that you think of me as a fellow soldier-in-arms, as your brothers do - at least for this fight if nothing else.”

Your smile wilts as you glance past the two men to take in your surroundings once more, noting the abundance of young cadets being shepherded in formation through the crowded space - each of their expressions resolute, yet still hinting towards the fear you knew dwelled beneath them. There's a pregnant pause before you force yourself to speak again, but neither of the brothers make any move to interrupt.

“I’ve spent countless months on Kamino throughout this war, I’ve helped Master Ti to train hundreds of your brothers and I’m sure that I’ve produced enough reports to put the entire Kaminoan government to shame by now.” Your focus wavers as you mull over the words on your tongue, head now clouded with more unpleasant truths than you were prepared to speak of, “I suppose… this place is as much my second home as it is yours at this point.”

The last of your words hang hollow in your throat. How many of their brothers had you seen born here in two short years? How many had you overseen the training of, only to stand back in complacency as they were shipped off as cannon fodder before they even had the chance to develop a proper personality?

All in the name of duty and war.

The anxiety permeating across the base suddenly begins to buzz so loudly that it deafens you.

“With respect, sir - we appear to have lost you.”

Fives taps his knuckles against your own so subtly that you truly only register it when his aura is close enough to wrap around yours. It's just enough to ground you back to reality and as a deep breath pushes itself from your lungs, you finally notice the set of concerned golden eyes locked on your own. His face is trained in a look he's given you all too often by now, but under the sharpness of the lighting it makes your blood flare with hot, fresh shame.

---------

The battle itself erupts quicker than anyone in the base expects, and it soon becomes all too apparent that Grievous and his forces have plans that extend beyond just an aerial assault on the blockade.

You had been ordered by Shaak Ti to remain strictly within the cloning complex and to concentrate on protecting the branching pathway that led towards the cadet barracks, though as things currently stood, it seemed that the majority of the action was taking place on the upper levels. By now the entire building was under lockdown, its previously monochromatic hallways now dark and looming, bathed only in the bloody flow of the emergency lights. The dulled atmosphere tightened your senses considerably, and through the blaring of the alarm system you could make out the sounds of combat erupting in the levels above you, as well as the screams of your men as they fell. Your grip around your saber hilt tightens until it's almost painful and you attempt to focus on the sensation to quell the pounding instinct to climb up to the upper floor and join the fight there yourself. There was a shortage of manpower across your particular sector, so you knew the importance you held in remaining as their main line of defence.

The rhythmic sound of metallic footfall halts you before the urge truly vanishes, dominating even the scream of the alarm in your ears. A sizeable squadron of droids approaching from your northern flank, you deduce. The sounds of combat are almost deafening at this point, only seeming to increase in pitch with each pulsation of the alarm above you. It all makes it incredibly difficult to get a clear sense of exactly how many droids you’re faced with, or what equipment they are sporting. You trust your competency in battle enough to see you through the majority of them, cutting down battle droids was nothing new at this point after all - but with the nearest troopers occupied with holding down the barracks hidden further down the base and evacuating the cadets stationed there, you’re painfully aware that if things were to go south the way they had on Rishi, your chances of rescue were much slimmer.

A grenade detonates atop the overlooking bridge and the resulting force is enough to shake even the ground beneath your own feet and send a cloud of smoke rippling down through the ceiling. You steady your stance, unflinching even as the grip on your weapon bites your knuckles white against the skin. Your heart thumps to the beat of an army’s march within your chest, the sound counting down to the second you’ll be forced to pounce.

It's at that moment that another set of footsteps echoes throughout the crumbling hallway that branches off behind you. You whip around towards its source, igniting your saber and slicing through the billowing clouds of dust and duracrete particles. Your heart drops to your stomach the moment a terrified group of young cadets come into view. The one closest flinches at the bright glow of your weapon, its light casting across his face and highlighting the shimmer of fresh tear tracks marred across his cheeks. The rest of the group are clustered behind him, herded together like lost lambs trying so desperately to dress themselves as brave wolves in the face of danger.

The clanking grows ever closer as you stare at the children, a lump hardening in your throat at the sight of them before it is replaced by a hot rush of fury.

They will not die here, you will not allow it.

You silently gesture at them to keep moving, praying to the stars that the path down the corridor would give way to more of their older brothers with the power to spirit them away to safety.

Run. Please for the love of the maker just run and don’t look back - you are children, not heroes. You can only hope that your stare brands the thought into their minds as you raise a rigid finger to your lips, each and every muscle wound tight with queasy apprehension.

Your posture slacks slightly with relief as the cadets file away down the passageway despite the flash of reluctance that threatens to halt their movements. One of them, the shortest of the group - an oddity that would consider him a malformation by Kaminoan standards - glances back over his shoulder at you as he runs. You attempt to smile in response - grateful that the distance and poor visibility means that he cannot see the tremor dance across your hands as you raise your stance once more.

A sea of glowing eyes pierces through the murky corridor the second the cadets are out of sight. You inhale deeply and attempt to calm your mind and ease the blood thumping in your ears until only one thought continues to echo through your mind like a mantra: the less of them that make it past you, the more chance your troops have of fending them off. The barracks are no doubt their prime target and you’re all too aware that the Republic defence is spread incredibly thin across this section of the base. Cornering the defenceless and the young is low, even for the Separatists. The thought fuels the force behind your wrist as you jerk to cleave into the durasteel coated wall beside you, nerves snapping to attention and priming themselves for battle. The footsteps and phantom lights halt as the sound of your saber tearing across the surface ripples through the air, accompanied by a crescendo of molten amber and sparks as you step slowly forward - all in an attempt to create as much noise and attract as much of their attention as possible.

The metallic bite of adrenaline fills your mouth as you leap to cleave into the first droid, it takes mere seconds after that before the scream of the alarm is drowned out by the sound of blasterfire.

---------

Fives’ head continues to spin even after the barrack’s air supply runs clear enough for him to remove it from the confines of his helmet. It had been a hard-won victory over the Separatists, the state of the base, as well as the numerous body bags littering the compound were evidence enough of that. His heart ached with the knowledge that 99 had sacrificed his life to assist him and his brothers, yet the pain twisted deeper still knowing that the elderly clone’s life would no doubt fade into obscurity alongside his thousands of fallen kin before him.

His ears are still ringing despite the ceasefire and he’s pretty sure there’s a bruising lump forming where he had hit his head dodging a stray bolt of enemy fire. At least now he could fully appreciate why Rex was so fond of his helmet, though his tattoo would likely need retouching where the skin had split on impact.

More pain, great.

Beside him the cadets he and Echo had taken into their care marched with thinly veiled excitement, the adrenaline still fresh from their first taste of real combat. It was difficult for Fives to return the shy grin one flashed at him with the sterile glare of a freshly laid shroud framing the background behind the boy. Maintenance droids had stacked the corpses like dominoes against the walls and try as he might, it was difficult for Fives not to see it as a macabre premonition of things likely to come for the young soldier. The helmet under his arm felt more like a lead weight now.

Fives knew as well as any other clone that they were bred to fight and die for the glory of the Republic - that there was no choice but to make peace with the fact they would always be seen as mere numbers by both their creators and enemies alike. But there was something that sat uncomfortably cold behind his subconscious as he watched the cadets, barely tall enough to wield the blasters they had been given earlier without struggling, jive and stumble alongside each other amidst the bodies and debris that littered their path.

Perhaps his favourite Jedi and their frustrations over the commodification of his brothers’ lives had rubbed off on him more than they should.

The panic didn't set in until his group passed through a forked corridor, its walls sporting the telltale scorch marks of a lightsaber blade that had prompted a particularly outspoken cadet to speak up. His voice is disturbingly calm as he mentions that it had been thanks to a lone Jedi that he and his squadron had managed to escape safely. The comment is delivered in an almost offhand manner that only serves to spiral Fives’ thoughts downwards as he recalls you mentioning where exactly you were being stationed before the fight had begun.

Fives’ anxiety increases tenfold as his eyes meet with the sheer carnage splayed amongst the walkway. Droids of varying models lay dented and bisected, scattered and still smoking in places across the metallic graveyard. The floor beneath them is so marked by blasterfire that his footprints leave sooty marks as he navigates around them, the taste of blaster residue hanging bitter on his tongue.

There are almost as many as his entire team faced at the barrack’s entrance.

He can hear the heaviness of his breathing even without the helmet amplifying the sound.

“There doesn't appear to be a body amongst the droids.”

Echo’s statement may have sounded hollow by anyone else’s standards, but Fives could quickly deduce the intention behind his brother’s statement, even with the visor of Echo’s helmet obscuring his face.

It did little to ease the dread poisoning his heartbeat as he continued to will himself forward towards the exit of the facility.

There was blood mixed within the oil that stuck to his boots.

---------

He can barely hold back a shaky laugh of relief when he spots you across the airfield. You’re propped up atop a pile of supply crates that are currently functioning as a makeshift medical bay, the more severe battle casualties being loaded onto the ship directly behind you.

Echo is scarcely able to stop him before he takes off running the entire length of the platform it takes to get to you, hissing all the while that they should both hurry to regroup with Commander Cody and Captain Rex who no doubt had already finalised their own reports to their Jedi Generals - his concerns remain unheeded.

Any protocol sewn into his mind is quickly pushed aside the moment your face comes into clear view once more, your name slipping past his lips alongside a thankful prayer that you’re alive and in mostly one piece.

You’re clearly worse for wear after what Fives assumes was your one-man show against a droid squadron: your clothes are singed with blaster fire and your entire body appears to slump with a heavy fatigue, chest still heaving from the strain of battle. Fives can't help but recoil backwards slightly as his eyes wander to the large bacta-dressing that Kix has just finished applying to your shoulder.

“Slippery droid clipped my bad shoulder and I took a few more shots as a result - but I’ll be fine, it's nowhere near as bad as what I took on Rishi, I can promise you that.” you smile up at him and even with Kix’s tattooed head obscuring half of the expression from his view Fives still thinks you look beautiful, the way the Kaminoan sunset bathes your skin in its glow only serving to quicken the pace of his heartbeat even further. For once in his life, Fives is lost for words. He's only able to shake his head in awestruck disbelief, relief and affection manifesting in an exhale that carries the bundle of emotions across his entire body.

“Yep, nothing good ol’ bacta can’t fix.” Kix’s voice rings triumphant as he pulls back from his work, clearly pleased with the notion as he gathers his tools from atop the supply crate next to him. Fives’ eyes catch yours as you flash him a knowing grin, eyes twinkling with undeniable mirth despite the exhaustion clouding them.

It takes every ounce of his self restraint to hold him back from kissing you right then.

Ironically enough it's also your voice that grounds him back to reality.

“You really should go and report to Rex and Cody, Kix mentioned that they were looking to tell you something important.” A nod of your head alerts Fives to the cross-armed figure behind him and the realisation that Echo has been standing there impatiently the entire time.

“Besides, Echo looks like he’s about ready to implode with how long you’ve kept him waiting.”

---------

It was honestly surprising to find yourself back on Coruscant so soon after the Battle of Kamino’s conclusion, and at Shaak Ti’s orders no less. You were certain that now of all times she would need your continued assistance, at the very least for the cleanup process if nothing else. Yet despite it all she had been insistent that the 501st needed you more, having noted with an uncharacteristically wry smile that there were now two new ARC troopers she needed a report conducting upon and that you were the perfect candidate to fulfil her request - and you certainly weren't going to argue with her any further after that, lest you read too much into it.

The 501st wasted no time in celebrating Echo and Fives’ promotion to ARC trooper status. The doors to the barracks had barely sealed shut before they had begun to parade the boys and their new armour around the crowded space. It sparked a sense of relief in you seeing them gallivanting around with boyish glee, clearly intent on making the most of what leave they had been granted. Hopefully it provided some updraft to their morale following their efforts to defend Kamino, they had all certainly earned it.

Rex had even dipped his boots into the festivities, making a lighthearted jest when you pointed out how the boys’ new armour components contrasted so blatantly with their older, more battle-worn kit. The captain claimed that they would soon grow into it the same way they had with their “shiny” uniform on Rishi (though he did lament the lack of Rishi eel blood to stain Echo’s armour with this time around). You vividly recall having to swiftly duck out of the way as someone spun Fives around a little too suddenly, resulting in the collision between his new pauldron and an unfortunate trooper sending the latter man stumbling your way. Rex hadn’t been as fortunate, and you were positive that the look his face sported as he found himself flattened to the ground would continue to make you laugh for as long as you remained alive - not that anyone would ever get away with bringing it up again.

You had a suspicion that the bottle of liquor the boys had passed around after Rex had left was smuggled in by Anakin himself, and you had made a note to blame him for the universal groan of disappointment that followed when you politely declined the invitation to share it. Hardcase was especially apparent with his dismay, practically throwing himself at your feet in protest.

“But you’re an honorary member of the 501st! You have to drink with us!” he had sloshed the bottle towards you as if he were a drunken senator emphasising his point to an equally inebriated audience. You were certain your clothes still smelled faintly of sunfruit liquor in places where the rowdy soldier had splashed you with it.

You also didn't miss the way Fives’ molten gaze had followed the stray droplets that had landed on your neck, nor the way he licked his lips as they cascaded down your collar.

You excused yourself for the night shortly after that, reminding the men to behave as best they possibly could as you did. You all knew that wouldn't be the case - they needed to let off a battalion’s worth of steam and had every intention of painting Galactic City red with the force of it.

Sleep continuously evaded you even long after the last of the troopers dragged themselves in from 79’s. You made the decision to take up post at your usual spot overlooking the city skyline, seating yourself upon the banking with an amused smile and a rare sense of contentment running through your veins. The chill of a passing breeze prompted you to pull the thick covering of your cloak closer to your body, its material providing the only warmth besides what little your sleepwear did. You hadn't bothered to change before wandering outside, confident that you would remain undetected as you always did - with the on-duty guards too preoccupied with ensuring their drunken brothers didn’t wake up the rest of the base with their shenanigans to concern themselves with a sober Jedi minding their own business. The murmur of hushed voices below you steals your attention moments later and you can just about make out the figure of a trooper as he leans in to kiss a blue-skinned twi’lek goodnight. You raise your eyebrows at the sight, a knowing smile stretching across your face despite there being no one with you to share the secret with.

Or so you thought. A fumbled curse echoes through the shadows and your heart leaps for a second at the sound, hands twitching automatically to your waist until you realise who it is that is responsible for it.

“I’m honestly surprised you’re lucid enough to come and find me, Fives.” You hope that your lighthearted tone hides the self consciousness that comes with being found in your sleepwear with little more than a cloak to hide behind. If he's clocked on to your embarrassment he doesn’t show it, his attention locked onto the bottle between his fingers as he stops to take a particularly hearty swig of it. You don't bother to hide your laughter as he almost stumbles over a loose rock while traversing towards you, though a surprised shriek almost tears from your lungs once he gets close enough that you can make out what he's wearing.

“Where in the kriffing hell did you get that?!” the pitch of your question rises to a quiet scream between bubbling laughter as you attempt to muffle yourself behind your palm.

Fives stands before you in his tight-fitting blacks, sans armour but sporting the addition of a very threadbare and crumpled civilian jacket that you know for a fact he didn't get from the base. He blinks a few times before raking his eyes over your own figure and tilting his head shamelessly at the sight. Heat flares across your cheeks at the gesture and locking eyes with him reveals that he’s really quite coherent despite what your first impression suggested otherwise.

“You talkin’ about the liquor or my disguise?”

He strikes what you think is meant to be a seductive pose as he angles his head and peers at you from behind his lashes, grin glinting under the starlight.

What an absolute buffoon this man is. You must be in love.

“I’ve never seen you wear that before and I hope I never have to see it again! That thing looks like it stinks.”

He slaps a hand over his chest in mock-offence at the scathing critique, but the stupid lopsided smirk he wears gives him away instantly.

“I’ll have you know, sirrr-” he drawls out the honorific almost mockingly as he leans closer towards you before attempting the sentence over again, “I’ll have you know that I washed this fine garment by hand in 79’s refresher myself!”

He looks so proud of himself as he says it that you can���t help but feel another swell of ridiculous affection bloom in your chest. You shake your head in disbelief and somehow he seems to take it as an invitation to join you, lowering himself inelegantly into the spot beside you. Both of your knees touch together, as they always do - but without the layer of armour his body seems to burn as it presses against your own. It's not an unwelcome sensation by any means.

Fives nudges the half-empty glass bottle towards you eagerly and you grasp hold of it with a sigh. It’s surface feels surprisingly clammy to the touch and it makes you wonder just how long he's been nursing the drink before seeking you out.

“Persuaded the cantina owner to bet it on an arm wrestlin’ match.” the explanation rolls off his tongue with ease, as though he was merely describing the weather. A snort escapes you at the absurdity of the thought.

“And the jacket?”

He bobs his head for a moment, brow trained on the ground as he appears to mull over his options for an explanation. He settles on capturing you with a smug expression as a gloveless finger taps against the side of his nose, eyes gleaming with tipsy glee all the while.

“Now that is a secret I will take to the grave. But what I can tell you is that our distinguished Captain does a terrible job of checking the barracks, ‘cos I’ve had this little number stashed away for weeks.” He slaps the surface of his thighs to mark an end to the anecdote before rocking against you, a wicked grin sliding over his face as he does.

“Now are you going to finally join me in celebrating my promotion or what?”

You scoff in good humour before raising the bottle towards your lips, Fives’ focus flickering between your mouth and eyes as you do.

“Unbelievable. You are truly the most unique man in this army Fives, I don’t think I’ll ever meet another person like you ever again in my lifetime.”

The liquor burns as it slips down your gullet and your lips continue to buzz even as you choke back the last of the mouthful. It's certainly not sunfruit flavoured and you splutter pathetically for a moment before recoiling backwards to glare at the offending bottle.

“Stars above! Are you sure you weren't duped into drinking speeder fuel? I can hardly feel my lips now!”

Fives has to plant a hand into the ground beneath him to support the belting laughter wrecking through his lungs. You can feel the vibration of it rattling across your own body with the way he's curled up against you and it feels wonderful, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of entertaining his mockery. Instead you childishly jab your fingers into his ribs, a giggle slipping past the reaches of your own smile as he lets a squawk of protest at the intrusion.

It's then that you realise that somewhere amidst your laughter you’ve both ended up lying on the ground. Fives’ face twists into a pout when you lift a finger to his lips to quieten him.

“Shhhhh, what would Echo think if he caught you sneaking alcohol to your disciplined Jedi knight?”

Your smile is twisted with challenge as you whisper, the alcohol settling into a warm buzz across your stomach and mind now. He cocks a dark brow in response and you feel his bottom lip twitch under your touch.

“I think that Echo is passed out in his bunk - alongside the rest of the 501st.”

A shiver passes through you as the heat of his breath wraps around your digits. It's still not enough to make you relent.

“And why exactly are you not with them? I expected you to come back in an even worse state than they have, especially considering it's meant to be your big night too.”

His expression drops to something warmer then and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound ever more loudly in your ears.

“...’cos I wanted to make sure I was sober enough to come ‘n see you.” He murmurs in a voice that seems small and ill fitting for the Fives you know, but it still makes your pulse skyrocket as it reaches your ears. He’s staring at you so intensely now that you aren’t sure you can just blame the alcohol for making you feel so vulnerable. There’s a charged silence that falls between you as he slowly reaches to curl his fingers around your wrist and guide your hand from his face. With the barrier between you snatched away you feel even more naked than before, but a glance over his face in the close proximity reveals he’s blushing just as deeply as you are.

“Wonder what General Skywalker would say if he saw his fellow Jedi knight fraternising with his own ARC trooper?” his tone is still playful, but it quivers slightly and gives away just how nervous he is beneath the bravado. The grip he has around your wrist flexes as you shuffle closer towards him in an act so bold it threatens to catch you off guard.

“Anakin Skywalker owes me for covering for him far too many times as it is.”

That certainly wasn't a lie, but your conviction was at least enough to shake a chuckle across the stiff slopes of Fives’ shoulders. You catch the way his Adam's apple bobs with anticipation for a moment before he leans in even closer, lips practically brushing your own as he speaks,

“Well I suppose we’re as guilty as each other then. A perfect match, I’d say.”

A tilt of your head is all it takes to finally close the gap between you both. Your mouth slots against his own with a desperation that encompasses the months of yearning and unspoken affection that had been brewing between you for far too long. He groans in satisfaction against your lips before threading his fingers in a hold across your jaw to pull you almost bruisingly close. It's all you can do to fist your hands in the material of his blacks as the air is stolen from your lungs, clawing at his chest as his tongue dips hotly against your lower lip. He tastes sharp and smoky with the remnants of the liquor that sticks to his tongue - and in that moment you decide that it has suddenly transformed into your favourite taste across the whole galaxy.

You’re convinced you’ve branded him with a piece of your very heart because it aches when you’re forced to pull away, the need for oxygen finally too overwhelming. Fives looks awestruck as he stares back, breathless and dumbfounded for a beautiful moment before he pulls you close again, narrowly avoiding knocking your foreheads together as he laughs with such delight that it almost brings a sentimental tear to your eye.

“Wow, just… wow,” his voice is giddy with happiness, “I've dreamed of doing that forever, never dared dream it would ever be as amazing as that though.”

You let out a snort of air that morphs into a chuckle as his nose scrunches in protest at the sensation.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or take that as a challenge from you Fives.”

You capture his lips once more, effectively cutting off whatever snarky response was brewing behind them. He melts into the embrace, the hand that cupped your jaw now grasping the back of your neck to keep you locked against him - he needn’t worry, for you’re certain it would take an entire army’s force to ever pry you from his hold again. His other arm winds itself around your waist, the gesture carrying a sense of security with it that soothes the weariness netted in your muscles. A sigh is coaxed from you as his kisses drift to mark a clumsy pattern across your jawline and neck, the roughness of his goatee grazing your skin and leaving a prickle of goosebumps in its wake.

“I love you,” the confession vibrates against your flesh, Fives’ face searing with heat as he tucks it in the crook of your shoulder. His heart hammers against his rib cage as he curls around you,

“call me naive or drunk or - or whatever you want, but it's true and I mean it.”

You can't help but try and tug him closer still as adoration flutters over you in golden waves, swearing that in that moment even the barren ground beneath you seemed to ripple with the force of it.

The bottle lays long forgotten off to the side of you both, the last of Fives’ winnings trickling stickily over the edge of the banking to sink into the cliff side below.

[saikagerights]

Newlyweds- A Saiino Fanfiction

Gee has this idea transformed into its own monster. Last week I had the idea of writing out a few headcanons about Sai that were meant to be separated from the journal, which is also the reason why I haven’t updated.

It is still coming btw, I just wanted it to write this out first. This fic had started out as a few ramblings, so I personally had problems with structure. Luckily, I found my way through and made a cohesive story.

Anyway, I had to restructure this so many times, but I was hoping to use this as a way to cheer up @bauschblog. I hope it doesn’t look rushed.

Hope you enjoy!

*edit. I wrote and posted this days ago, but it never appeared in the tags, so I am posting a second time and deleting the first post. Thank you for your patience

Also available on AO3

If you ever asked Ino if she got what she wanted in life, then you would receive a yes and a no.

She was now as happy as she could be, newly married to who she would’ve called a literal dream years ago. A gorgeous man willing to walk to the ends of the Earth for her.

But that happiness was derived from pain and loss. She would never be able to share that happiness with her father, and she now shared the burdens of her husband, who had lost more than anyone else she knew.

But that didn’t make her love him any less.

Sai was a far cry from the young man she met. Over the years he had learned more and more about the bonds and emotions he had lost, many things she taught him first hand, and she couldn’t be more proud of his progress.

He was once empty, but now it was her job to fill him with as much love and care she could muster. And that’s what she found herself doing, seated beside him and resting her head against his left shoulder as he was immersed in a new sketch. This time it was a pot of primroses he had gathered from the shop below him. She secretly hoped it was a gift for her, as he would occasionally drop his pencil to awkwardly stroke at her head.

Observing his quiet focus made her reflect on her marriage so far. It had only been a month since their wedding, so she had yet to come down completely from cloud nine and she was sure that Sai was feeling something similar. Although it might be starkly different from hers. It didn’t take that long for them to marry either. They still had a lot of time ahead of them, and Ino was delighted to discover more about her enigmatic love.

Part of her joy came from observing common quirks that only a wife could. Like how he was so meticulously organized with his supplies but still fumbled with arrangements in the shop. Or how he’d gently stroke her face when he had to work early, not attentive enough to realize that she was only feigning sleep.

The amount of love she had for her new husband was immeasurable , but with the discovery of these cute habits only came the realization of darker secrets.

Sai was unresponsive at times.

When she would call out to him and would receive nothing but silence in return. It wasn’t as if he was ignoring her, he was simply far into the depths of his own mind.

She then tried to gently repeat her call. And if that didn’t work, her volume would increase, tone sharp and direct. That would usually do the trick and her husband’s head would snap towards her, indicating that she now had his full attention. He’d give a soft hum of inquiry, then his eyes would shamefully cast downward as it dawned upon him that he had done it again.

Ino knew that this was a common occurrence of those in her field of work, especially those who have seen war. There were times when she felt as if father’s guidance was needed more than ever, like on days when the responsibility of leading her clan had weighed most on her. But Sai wasn’t like most shinobi, something that she was reminded of every day. He had made leaps and bounds with his ability to express himself, but there were some things that couldn’t be improved with just awareness and lessons on sociality.

Just like how his fingers would flex and he would grasp at air in moments of silence as if they yearned for something to feel secure. Her left hand would gladly supplement the presence of his brush when he needed it most. In private she would allow him to let his itching fingers run through her long bright blond hair, rubbing the ends of strands between the pads of his thumb and index finger until he was content. His hands would then begin to wander to other parts of her body, desire beginning to cloud his mind and slowly overtake him until he wrapped her up into it.

Ino could hardly articulate how wonderful it felt for him to be able to physically love her. It seemed so long ago when he’d freeze up any time she touched him, but now he was capable of proving to her that his natural instincts were that of any man. She adored nights of tangled limbs and resting on his still heaving chest that took it’s time to settle into a steady rhythm as he drifted into a blissful and dreamless slumber.

Without the exhaustion and comfort that came from sex, Sai was probably the most restless sleeper imaginable. The smallest rustle or bump in the night would force him awake, as if alerted to a nearby enemy. It was a stark contrast from how she slept on missions as a genin, among two of the heaviest sleepers in the entire world. But even then, she felt that neither her or her boys could sleep as soundly as they used to. Unrest and insomnia were another common trait for experienced shinobi, which tended to be spurred on by night terrors.

The first one she experienced with him was shortly after he moved in with her, frightened awake at the feeling of arms constricting her body and hands grasping brutishly at the fabric of her night shirt. The loud air-starved noise her throat produced was enough to yank him from his subconscious, jerking away from her. Ino couldn’t see Sai’s hunched form sitting on the edge of the bed that clearly in the dark, but she could very well hear his slightly ragged breathing tear through the silence. He was too far from her to reach with a soft call, frozen in place with his head in his hands. As desperate as she was to reach out to him, she knew that she had to be cautious when dealing with him in this state. Testing the waters, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt a shiver coarse through his body upon the contact, so she gave him time to get used to the touch. She gradually added to that, scooting her body over to him so that she sat behind him, legs dangling off the bed encompassing his. She waited once more until his breathing settled before she fully took the plunge, resting her chest on his sweat soaked back and wrapping her arms around his torso.

After that incident, Sai had admitted to her that these dreams had become common shortly after their mission in the Land of Silence, serving as another hangoff from Gengo. Ino could never forgive that man for taking advantage of her Sai like that and even a year later he is still experiencing effects from his influence. The same could be said about Danzo, who’s authority still had her husband within its grasp even in death. She believed that the more in touch with his emotion Sai became, the more likely his sense of duty were to weigh on him like this, only to lead to more nightmares.

Ino wasn’t sure how often Sai experienced them, but she knew that it was difficult for him to return to sleep, as she often awoke to him intently staring at her or even missing from bed completely. The panic that settled into her chest would quickly be dispersed when she felt his presence still within their walls. It had become a routine of hers to search for him and use all of her power of suggestion to get him back into bed.

The worst kind of nights were when soft words and kisses were simply not enough and he pleaded for her to return to bed alone that night.

As much as she worried for his well being, there were selfish reasons behind her insistence. She realized early on that she couldn’t sleep soundly without him beside her and it had only comforted her further when he had assured her in his own way that she was “imperative in improving his sleep practices since they began their courtship.”

Crowds were also a struggle for him. This was something she learned after attending weddings attached by the hand. Upon arrival, his body tensed beside her and his eyes darted around as if surveying the area for possible threats. It couldn’t be helped when they suddenly became the center of attention. A quick squeeze of the hand would direct his eyes down to her and the glance she cast that was meant to keep him cemented in the atmosphere. With that, he would relax into a comfortable vigilance for the rest of the event as he partook in festivities. They would later find a secluded place to exist frozen in time while the rest of the world persisted. It seemed as if his introverted nature had only complemented her extroverted status in times like that.

Not everyone could understand this, though. The prospect of marrying Sai came at the cost of angering her clan’s elders. After the mysterious fate of Fuu had been revealed to her clan, they immediately dismissed the idea of their next patriarch being another member of Danzo’s ranks. But for all she was concerned, she was marrying Sai whether they liked it or not. Luckily for her, the entire Ino-Shika-Cho trio had all decided their betrothed to be from beyond the realm of tradition, In a political sense, the Yamanaka clan elders couldn’t complain about foriegn affairs like the Nara and Akimichi clan, making Sai the lesser of three evils in this case. They accepted the union only on the condition that they regulate his responsibilities as the newly dubbed patriarch. He accepted this condition with no question, and Ino was concerned to find him reading through every little stipulation with a critical eye.

“It is not that I am finding a reason to oppose marriage. I simply want to satisfy them so I can make you happy.”

She wanted to argue that it didn’t matter what the elders thought of them, but she was too moved by his determination to appease her that she didn’t dare complain.

But alas this couldn’t ease her worries over what came next.

The baby.

There wasn’t a physical baby in question, but there would be soon enough.

She was the clan’s matriarch just as she was its leader, which meant her responsibility was the same as it had always been. She had to produce an heir to continue her bloodline along with all of the values and traditions that she had been granted by her father. It would seem strange to any woman to just accept the decision of becoming a mother made well in advance, but it wasn’t just for the sake of her family. She wanted this as well, and the idea of raising a child with Sai made her heart race.

But she still wasn’t sure how Sai really felt about it all. She had been abundantly clear about this back when they had started dating, as she was already sure that the man would be the father of her children. But Sai was an objective man who was raised on the value of having a purpose to serve, and she was afraid that he took this as another objective, which was confirmed by his statement.

“I vow to uphold this responsibility.”

She still hadn’t gathered the courage to have that conversation yet. To properly tell him that raising a child was more than just another task to complete. There was emotional value that came alongside the immense responsibility and hardships, and Sai had to be ready to adapt to that, especially when it was barreling toward them with every passing day. She could allow him to look through books when the time came like he always did, but a good wife would at least try to give some perspective for him in a way he could understand.

It seemed like now was as good a time as any, when they were both sitting around in a blissful silence like this. Oh how she hated to break up a moment to bring up something awkward, but it had to be mentioned or she would never get her peace.

“Darling.”

The word seemed almost accidental, as it came out only a little bit above a whisper

She was dreadfully wrong to expect a non committed response from him, as he directed his head away from his sketchpad to look down at her, the lightest flicker of worry lining his features.

“Is everything alright? A soft voice from you usually means there is something wrong.”

She hated when he figured her out so easily. What happened to that clueless man she married?

“Is it so out of the ordinary for me to be nice to you?” She shifted her gaze to the wall. Her eyes narrowed, but she was unable to focus on anything in particular. “You must think I’m a monster or something.”

She waited for his hastened apology for misunderstanding, but was surprised to find him still staring at her when she pulled her eyes back up to him.

She clicked her tongue when he didn’t respond in the way she wanted. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid this any longer. She huffed out a sigh.

“It’s about the baby.”

“You want to conceive now?” His response was so immediate it was almost as if he had it on standby. The bubble of laughter that escaped her lips caught her off-guard.

There it was. The quickfire statement that was capable of ruining any conversation. It was almost as if that answer actually comforted her.

She swatted his shoulder, laughter dying down. “Of course not, you lech!” She returned to her previous position leaned against his shoulder. “You know it’s still too soon for that. We all have to meet about that, remember?”

His attention was then brought back to his drawing with a hum of agreement. That wasn’t able to conceal the blush that found its way to his cheeks, she noticed. Changing the topic to sex would be a good way to end the conversation, but no. She had to ask him.

“How do you feel about all of this?”

He pondered for a moment, looking down at his drawing as if there was something wrong with it. A crooked line or a misplaced shadow.

“I promised you I would uphold your obligation.”

“Sai, that’s no-”

“But I am still unsure if I have what it takes to be a father.” He interrupted her, unaware that he had just bewildered her.

“From the knowledge I’ve attained. Successfully raising a child means meeting their emotional needs along with their physical needs. It isn’t just about helping them survive, it’s also about giving them support and guidance as they develop into a person. It seems so complicated, but it’s supposed to be natural.”

Ino stared in awe at his ramblings. He really did understand.

His obsidian eyes suddenly targeted her, startling her from her stupor.

“I don’t know how I can do that for a child the way that I am. I hardly have the instincts of a normal person, let alone a father. I don’t have many positive childhood experiences to pass onto a child. But I will try my hardest.”

“Sai…” Ino was left speechless and sputtering. Sai understood everything. In fact, he held the same issues that she held. The worry drained from her mind, leaving her with pangs of guilt for underestimating him. She wondered where he found his conclusion. Surely no single book would be able to articulate that point to him.

“Naruto has confided me a lot these past few months about Hinata’s pregnancy. He is afraid that he won’t meet the standards of a good father because of his lack of fatherly figures growing up. I-”

He paused, finally noticing clear eyes focused intently on him, hanging onto every word. Sai centered his head forward to divert himself away from her immense pressure before continuing.

“I also am afraid that I don’t have a good reference for fatherly behavior. I’d hate for my child to withstand the same experiences as me, so I did more research and found-”

Her husband halted once more when he heard her sniffle. His head snapped in her direction to find tears clouding her eyes.

“It’s okay if that’s how you feel.” Ino choked on her words, trying to hold her husband in place with her hands on his cheeks. “That’s why we have to figure it out together.” She struggled to hold back a sob that was only freed when Sai brought a hand up to swipe away her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” Her shout was uncontrollable, as now she was wailing into her husband’s chest. Ino knew he was probably confused that the conversation took this turn, but she did appreciate that he still tried to sooth her with warm hands running along her back. He patiently waited until her sobs quieted before answering.

“I already promised you and I will try my hardest to fulfill that promise. I didn’t think I needed to doubt that.”

“What?!” Ino cried incredulously. She jerked away from him to stare him down, making zero attempt to conceal her dripping face. “I’m your WIFE! I’m supposed to know these things so I can help you!” She gripped both of his hands, bringing her knuckles together, voice softening once more.

“I was afraid you didn’t fully understand what we are up against.” Her eyes  dropped down to their conjoined hands.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I just want to be ready so I can support you when the time comes. The last thing I wish for is to make you worry about me.”

Her face scrunched up into a pout as she unhanded him to wipe at her face. “You idiot, I will always worry about you. And besides, no one can ever be ready for children. The only way this will work is if we are open and honest about this. I’m scared about this too, you know?”

His hands rose in front of his chest in surrender to her will. It was relieving to know that he still knew his place.

“From now on, we will tell each other all of our insecurities about this matter.”

Sai blinked, slowly realizing what that entailed.

“E-Everything?”

“Yup, everything. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t grow up with a father. Not every parent is the same. I think you’ll be great.” She closed her eyes as she continued. “ And if you are really struggling, then I can tell you all about what dad used to do with me.”

Ino’s chest swelled with pride at that, impressing herself with how well she handled that.

“I would love that!”

Her eyes slipped open to reveal a rather enthusiastic smile blooming on his face. It made her melt to see how far that smile had come. It seemed her influence also affected his charms as well.

He suddenly raised from the sofa before scooping her up into his arms. Ino panicked at the look on his face transformed before her. His eyes lidded into a trademark squint and his one sweet smile became a teeth bearing grin.

“Wh-What do you think you’re doing?!” She sputtered. Her panic increased as he had now abandoned the room . He hummed at that as they turned the corner towards their bedroom. Never a good sign.

“I know you said we had to wait, but I figured that we could perhaps get a head start.”

“Sai, wait-!”

They would be just fine. She just knew it.

[anavantgardener]

Frost and Mischief Ch. 8

Summary: The seven friends find their way into trouble after Elska’s note leads them on a dangerous path. Loki gets a little to close to losing his new friend for his own comfort.

Pairing: OC x Loki

Warnings: fluff, violence

Word Count: 3,776

-----

Return of the Witch

The Warriors Three, Sif, Thor, Loki, and Elska all found themselves in Thor's chambers, mulling over their next move. The parchment, now unfolded and smoothed out, lay in the center of their usual dinner table. Elska sat, legs crossed, in front of the hearth; she drew designs out of ice on the brick, watching them melt as soon as they hit the stone.

"Meet me at midnight. Alone."  Scrawled in calligraphic handwriting, an address in the middle district below the simplistic instructions.

Sif had relayed their encounter to the group, and Elska had told them of her brief experience, as well.

"I must go," Elska finally exclaimed from her spot on the floor.

"Absolutely not!" Thor stood from his seat, knocking the chair to the floor.

"You truly are insane to even think of the possibility," Fandral pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he spoke. Sif nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Essentially, you want to ignore this opportunity to uncover whatever scheme is taking place within our city?" Elska was astonished at their lack of understanding her point. "Asgard could be imminently threatened by whatever this meeting is in relation to, and yet you all see fit to wait it out and ignore all chance to halt it before it begins. Not to mention the repercussions of blatantly disregarding whoever did send this message." She tried to use her own safety as a means of convincing.

"At least here we can protect you, El," Volstagg was softer with her. At this, Hogun nodded.

"Yes, and at least here we won't learn a thing of whatever plot may be unfolding," while her words were sharp, her tone was that of a gentle warning. "I am going, and that is decided."

"Then we will accompany you," Thor stated matter-of-factly.

"Have you forgotten it specifically states I am to go alone?" Elska stood and pointed at the word on the parchment.

"Have you forgotten that you have a Master of Magic in your midst?" Loki, who had been silent up to this point, rose from his seat and crossed his arms.

At his words, the six others exchanged glances, all carrying different tones of worry and thrill.

Secretly, Elska was displeased with this development. Rather myself be the one in danger than my friends.

*****

Elska looked at the moondial by her window. An hour to midnight, enough time for her to get to the main hall a bit early. Before she opened her door to leave, she cast an enchantment ensuring she wouldn't be seen before she wanted to be.

Closing her door as silently as she could, Elska glanced around her surroundings to ensure she hadn't alerted any guards that might be nearby. Finding the coast to be clear, she began tiptoeing her way to the main hall, where Sif, the Warriors Three, Thor, and Loki had agreed to meet her.

Elska's head was on a constant swivel, her nerves on high alert. With each step she took, she grew more and more paranoid. Several times she could have sworn she heard someone behind her, but each time she looked, she saw no one. She probably would have arrived to the main hall even sooner had she not been attempting such stealth.

Rounding the final corner, she found her friends outfitted in complete armor and weaponry. They were apparently expecting a fight. Meeting each of their eyes, she gave a quick nod to the group.

"Well, shall we begin our trek?" She huffed, offering a small smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned and the group began to make its way out of the palace.

Elska could only guess at how long they'd been walking before they arrived to the farming villages at the outskirts of the middle district. Upon their arrival to the villages, Loki cast his enchantment over all except Elska, shrouding them in shadows and invisibility. She would continue this journey technically on her own.

As she walked on, she wished she knew enough about magic to detect its traces; at least she would know where they were as she ventured closer to the small cottage that was her destination. Their absence increased her anxiety tenfold.

Soon enough, she reached the address from her note. Awaiting her was the rogue guard who delivered the note.

"I believe you said the note was not from yourself, yet someone greater?" She summoned a smirk from deep within her, masking her fears.

Snorting, he opened the door and shoved her inside. Elska resisted the urge to look behind her and seek out signs of her friends; it would only alert her newfound company to their presence.

Entering the home, she was greeted by an unexpected sweet smell, as if someone had been baking some sort of pastry, and warmth from a large stone hearth. Candles scattered throughout the room Elska now found herself standing in, each one a different color than the last. Moving closer to the blazing hearth, the light exposed a figure in the corner of the room, seated, hands folded, eyes patient.

Turning to face the seated figure, Elska realized it was a woman. She was draped in golden silk, a crown of flowers and bones adorned her head. She looked to be the queen's age, and as she stood, approaching Elska, the light from the hearth brightened her face, revealing colorless eyes lacking both irises and pupils. Scars and tattoos alike peeked above the top of her drape.

"I have been long awaiting this moment," the woman breathed as she crept closer to Elska. "Watching you grow from worlds away."

"I suppose I should find myself flattered," Elska tried to back away, but found herself blocked by the guard who brought her.

"Funny girl," the woman motioned Elska to sit at a table in the center of the room. "Are you hungry?" She waved her hand over the table, various cakes and biscuits scattered over it.

"I cannot lie, they smell quite enticing," Elska spoke politely and articulately, seating herself, but not reaching for the offered desserts.

"But you are nervous they may be laced with some poison or potion," a smile playing on the woman's lips, she sat across from Elska as the words left her mouth. Her voice was pleasant, a soft melody.

"One could hardly blame me, my lady," Elska bowed her head. "A secret rendezvous with someone I haven't had the pleasure of meeting, I believe anyone would be on edge."

The beautiful woman laughed, a bell-like sound.

"My, you are polite, aren't you," she tilted her head.

Picking up a biscuit, Elska shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Perhaps it is my etiquette training in the palace," she said before taking a bite. The flavors danced across her tongue as a wonderful warmth spread throughout her body. A child-like giddiness filled her spirit, and she couldn't contain her smile.

Sensing her delight, the woman nodded, encouraging Elska to finish her biscuit.

"Tell me, Elska, have you heard the legend of Gullveig?" she asked the girl as she took another bite.

"Once," Elska replied, finishing off her biscuit and debating another. "Her torture led to the war between Asgard and Vanaheim."

"I believe you mean tortures," the woman corrected with a sickly sweet tone as she began, rising from her seat and making her way around the table. Running her thin fingers through Elska's hair, the woman's close presence sent shivers down the girl's spine, and she felt as if a snake was wrapping its body around her head. The emotion was vastly different from the one she felt just moments ago. "Three times Odin burned her, three times she lived through it. Now, she stands before you, carrying a new name. I am Heior," the woman, identity now divulged, finished her statement.

Elska's jaw dropped slightly as the recognition zipped through her mind. This was Gullveig, renowned seeress, highly talented in the ways of magic. Caught performing dangerous enchantments in Asgard, the All-father punished her by burning her three times over again. It only contributed to the already growing tension between the Vanir and Aesir gods.

Elska was dumbfound, clueless as to how to react.

"How sweet, she is struck silent in adoration," Gullveig danced over to her guard, clapping her hands. Tapping him on the nose, his appearance changed and Elska recognized him as the prisoner who she'd seen sentenced.

"I do not understand, the All-Father led us to believe you dead," as Elska tried to stand, she found herself unable to move, struggling and shaking as if there were straps keeping her in the chair. Her limbs felt as if they had been replaced with stone, and anxiety set in once more as her fingers began clawing at the wood her hands rested on. 

"Do not be afraid," Gullveig's voice was syrupy, a sort of sweetness that slowly trudged through each word. She drew out her words, and as she spoke, it felt like rocks were chafing against Elska's bones. The young woman writhed in her seat, fear constricting her ability to think logically, the spell being cast on her body contradicting the words being spoken to her.

"Please stop," Elska's voice came out in a gasp, the futility of her efforts setting in.

"Then listen," Gullveig eased whatever spell she'd been casting, but ensured the girl in front of her remained without movement. Seating herself across from Elska, she maintained eye contact with her.

Elska breathed a sigh of relief as she devoted all her efforts to focusing on what the seeress was saying, unable to determine just how nefarious Gullveig truly was..

"I know who you are, I know your heritage, I know the despicable thoughts filling the minds of every Asgardian when they look at you," Gullveig rested her head in her hands, giving Elska a falsely pitiful pout. "I have had my eye trained on you for nearly three hundred years, just waiting to see what such an interesting hybrid would become."

"You see me as a weapon?" Elska asked, the wheels in her mind spinning.

"If the All-father were smart, he would, too," Gullveig stated. "The Asgardian people, they have not the slightest clue of what you are capable of, the power of the giants and Valkyries running deep through your veins. You could freeze their hearts with one look, so why don't you? What stays your hand?"

Aside from my inability to master my own capabilities? Elska quipped to herself.

"My love for my home, my desire to see Asgard thrive with acceptance," Elska surprised herself with her ability to compose comprehensive sentences. "I know it starts with me."

"Please, you know they will never see you as one of their own," Gullveig rolled her eyes.

"They do not have to," Elska began. "Why should they? I am no Asgardian, you said yourself my blood is that of Jotunheim and the Valkyries. One needs not be the same to be accepted."

"Your words are purely deception," Gullveig shrugged. "Perhaps your mind believes what you speak, but your heart does not. You know what you desire, and you know it is unattainable in Asgard. That is why I offer you the chance to end the Realm Eternal, side by side with me."

Elska could not help but consider what the witch was saying for at least a moment; did Elska truly believe that she could achieve acceptance within Asgard? And if she didn't, what then? What would come of her once the Warriors Three and the princes grew tired of her, realizing the truth of her abominable heritage.

Abominable, yet a heritage she was proud to have.

"This is a golden opportunity to reclaim your life, to take your fate back from Odin and those insolent royals, to make your destiny whatever you wish it to be," the seeress's eyes were wide with passion, emphasizing her point.

"They are not as insolent as you think," Elska said under her breath, her thoughts drifting back to her friends waiting just outside.

Outraged by her comment, Gullveig rewarded Elska's statement with a stinging slap across the face.

"My fate belongs to the Norns, and I am quite comfortable with that," Elska's words were steel as her face jerked back towards the witch. As Elska's anger rose, she glared at the woman in front of her. Her words were packed with bravery even as her eyes brimmed with tears, cheek still aflame from where she was hit.

Gullveig released a ferocious scream of anger. As she stood, she slammed her fists down, causing Elska to flinch. Readying her hand for another slap, the seeress was halted as a loud series of bangs came from above them. Heads whipped upward as the noise continued. Beside them, seemingly out of nowhere, the hearth fire grew and grew. Gullveig and the thief began backing away.

“Loki…” Elska whispered so only she could hear, knowing the sudden increase in flames must have been his doing. Still unable to move, she felt the heat begin to blister her skin.

"What in the Nine Realms is this?" Gullveig screamed, an insane look in her eye. Grabbing her henchman's arm, she snapped her fingers and they vanished, leaving Elska alone to burn in the growing blaze.

Letting her emotions overcome her, Elska became frantic. Her friends were not aware she had been cursed, they wouldn’t know she hadn’t the ability to move, to escape the raging fire on her own. She did not know which was worse, the pain, the fear, or the regret in coming to this meeting. Despite the hatred the All-father felt for her, Elska began praying that he deliver her friends out of this situation. Did the Aesir acknowledge prayers from Devourers?

Then, Elska felt herself being pulled from her seat and hoisted over someone's shoulder. Unable to see who had a hold of her, she began shrieking. 

This is it, they’ve come back to kill me, keep me quiet, she thought to herself, waiting for the end, but it never came. As she was carried out into the night, her unknown captor set her down in a grassy area behind the cottage. Still powerless over her limbs, she watched helplessly as the mystery being ran back to the house.

Eyes fixated on the house, Elska heard stirrings in the grass around her. As her gaze continued, she watched as the flames were tamed, dying down to embers. Eventually two men retreated from the wreckage, making their way toward her and she realized they were the two princes. Reaching her, Loki allowed his enchantment on the beings around her to fall, and Elska realized that the stirrings she heard a few minutes ago were only Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg standing guard around her shuddering body.

"What in Odin's name were you thinking, challenging her like that?" Loki yelled at her as she cried. "She would have killed you in an instant, you’re damn lucky we were there." Loki gave her the same look a parent gives a child who has just touched a hot kettle. The others stood silent, watching the scene before them unfold.

"Why are you just laying there?" he asked, frustration evident in his tone.

"I cannot move," Elska said in a weepy whisper. Realizing her situation, Loki knelt next to her and placed his hands on the side of her face. Closing his eyes, Elska watched as his lips moved, but no sound came out. The counter spell. Within moments, she had regained her mobility.

Mobility regained, she rose and pulled Sif and Thor, the two closest to her, into a tight hug. She threw her arms around the young prince, pulling him close to her. Within seconds, Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral joined the bundle. Noticing Loki had yet to come over, Volstagg reached the couple feet over to the man and yanked him into the embrace. Stunned, Loki's arms sat at his sides before he registered what was happening. Slowly, he lifted his arms and leaned his head on the shoulder of the body in front of him.

"I did not know what would happen," Elska already felt the guilt seep through her bones as she whispered to her friends, still clinging to them. "I never thought this would become something so big."

"None of us did," Sif whispered back.

"We are all safe, and that is what matters," Volstagg added as the friends stood in the embrace, appreciating the safety and companionship of the moment.

*****

On their way back to the palace, the seven debated how best to inform the All-Father of the night's occurrences. They came to the conclusion that the best choice was to first inform the queen, then allow her to inform the king while they awaited the consequences.

Once they finally returned, Vosltagg, Fandral, Hogun and Sif returned to their own chambers for the night. Thor and Loki, however, accompanied Elska to hers. Immediately upon arriving to her room, Elska went to her bathing chambers and retrieved a healing salve for her burns. Lathering and wrapping her wounds, she returned to her main chamber and stood at the window, looking out at Asgard. The eldest prince came over and took Elska's hands in his own, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"If we had lost you tonight, had Gullveig successfully stolen you away in any sense of the word, the people of this realm would have mourned you, whether you believe that or not," Thor released her hands and stood. "Sif, the Warriors Three, myself and my brother, we would have mourned you. I know you already know this, but I must emphasize it to you. You are our friend." He paused. "Besides, who else would be there to ice over our enemies." He gave a hearty laugh.

Then, he bid her goodnight, leaving Elska alone with Loki once again. The exhausted man was sitting at the foot of her bed, leaning against the bedpost with his eyes closed.

"Loki?" she whispered, walking over to sit by him.

"Hm?" he remained in his relaxed state.

"I am scared," Elska looked at her hands, ignoring the desire to peel the skin off her quickly healing blisters.

"It took you long enough," Loki quipped, getting a pathetic laugh out of Elska. "You are safe now, and I think you have learned you are not alone in this fight."

"I know," her eyelids were growing heavy as she climbed into her bed, sinking under the covers. "I am so sorry, Loki. You do not deserve how horrid I have been to you."

"There is no need for apology," he opened his eyes, watching her struggle to maintain consciousness. A light smile appeared on his lips as he maneuvered himself closer to her. "I most definitely have deserved at least a bit of it."

"I find myself quite baffled by you, my prince," she whispered.

"And I, you," Loki's voice equally quiet. "Perhaps time will ease such notions." Watching the young woman's eyes flutter one last time, he ensured she was adequately covered before standing up to leave. "Goodnight, my dear friend."

"Sweet dreams," Elska's words were barely comprehensible.

*****

Loki, Thor, and Elska had told the queen of the night's events first thing in the morning. Hearing their story, Queen Frigga brought down a wrath of punishment on the three so severe one would have thought Ragnarok came right then and there. Truthfully, Elska found the situation oddly comforting in that it felt... familial. Here she was being scolded alongside the two princes as if she was the queen's own daughter. Although, where the other two handled the situation with ease, Elska had been quite frightened by the queen's anger - she'd never seen such an emotion from the woman.

The queen had relayed every bit of their story, down to the tiniest detail, to her husband. Upon hearing it, he immediately sent for the prisoner they previously thought was the thief. Now that they knew the magic that had likely been cast, it did not take very long for Loki to reverse it. Elska was not allowed to interfere in the counter-spelling; Once King Odin learned Gullveig had sought after an alliance with her, he trusted Elska even less than before.

"I cannot believe she has returned." the All-father said, rubbing his beard. He had repeated that sentiment a minimum of four times since hearing of Gullveig's appearance the night prior.

I would think the All-father was accustomed to old enemies plotting their revenge, Elska remarked to herself.

"We knew she was not dead," Queen Frigga replied. "We always knew it was a possibility."

I suppose that's an easy detail to keep from your city, the lady in waiting seethed,

"And what in the Nine Realms could she want you for?" he spat in Elska's general direction, refusing to look at her.

"Perhaps she is like the queen in that she does not underestimate my ability," Elska's nerves of steel had apparently returned. After a gentle nudge from the queen, she continued, more politely this time. "She said she had been watching me for hundreds of years, curious what someone of my heritage could turn out like. She believes I have some sort of exceeding power. I believe, in referring to me, she preferred the word 'weapon.'" She cocked her head with a mischievous grin on the last word.

"I see," King Odin paid her gesture no mind, still stroking his beard as if it were the key to the biggest secrets in the Nine Realms. "We will need to increase guard numbers in every district immediately. Do not spread this information around, though. If our people find out about this, their fear will only complicate the matter."

"If you believe that, then you truly underestimate the strength of your own people," Elska snapped at the All-Father. "Do you honestly have so little faith in them?" She began approaching the throne only to feel a hand hold her back, this time Thor's. Looking over to him, he gave her a gentle shake of his head, attempting to dissuade her from her current course of action.

"Are you quite finished?" King Odin glared daggers at the young woman.

"Yes, my king," Elska spoke through gritted teeth.

"Good, then," as the king spoke, Loki returned with a guard who now looked quite bent out of shape.

"I present to you our guard turned prisoner turned guard," the youngest prince informed the group as he grew closer.

"It is good to be able to speak once again, All-Father," the guard knelt before the king. "I have information that may be of use."

[areiton]

mark me yours

There are marks--soulmarks and heart marks and life marks--that are deep and abiding and written into the soul, that define the person they mark.

Or: They aren't soulmates. And Rhodey doesn't give a damn--Tony is his. And he--he has always been Tony's.

A/N: This is almost 5k so Read on AO3? Or watch for the read more! 

~*~ 

His heart mark is wings. Gunmetal grey and delicately articulated gearwork. They aren't feathers--the wings that spread like a whispered promise across James Rhodes wrists are created, built and he loves them, illogically and fiercely. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony is passed out the first time Rhodey sees his heart mark, gearwork metal shrapnel embedded bloody in his chest. It makes him stop because that heartmark means tragedy, means blood and death and destruction. They're a dirty bloody promise that is a bitter juxtaposition of Rhodey's gunmetal grey wings. 

He wants to weep, seeing them, and understands, abruptly, why Tony never bares his mark, why he never talks about it about his destiny. 

His fingers tremble and shake and steady. He cleans the vomit from his face, hands gentle, wrestles him into bed and stays close while Tony sleeps, arms around him like sheltering wings. 

 ~*~

 His mama said heart marks were you and everything tied up in your soul that made you into a person. 

Soul marks were different. Soul marks belonged to someone else, marked you as theirs. Not everyone had them. They were prized, rare marks for those souls who belonged to someone else. 

He didn't have one. And he'd never wanted one, was happy with his heart mark and small fading marks of friends and family. 

Tony did. He wore them like armor, both his soul marks flaunted and bared for the world to see, a kind of taunt and challenge both. 

Rhodey touches them once, when they're sitting in his lab and Tony is waving his hands, effusive and effervescent, his favorite way for Tony to be, and they catch his gaze, pull his attention and he reaches, not really planning to, and his fingers brushing against Tony's marks--a star, black with red and gold spiderwebbed throughout. A gleaming blue and red shield with a hint of Tony's signature gearwork on the edges. 

His fingers are gentle, light curious brushes and Tony goes still under them, watching Rhodey's face and when he pulls away, asks, soft and shy the way he only ever is when they're alone, "Do you mind them?" 

"No," he says and it isn't a lie. 

He has never minded anything about Tony. 

 ~*~ 

The marks belong to Steve Rogers and James Barnes. The greatest--most tragic--soul-bound lovers in history. And Tony wears their marks, bright and brilliant and tragic. 

Soulmarks are a claim, a belonging, but they weren't a promise. 

They were never that.

But he loved Tony Stark,  illogically and fiercely.

 ~*~

 Loving Tony wasn’t easy. 

It was fighting his self destructive tendencies, dragging him from labs to sleep and from sleep to class, it was sitting at Howard Stark’s table and smiling without punching the bastard in the face and holding Tony after, when he was drunk and weeping furiously. 

It was watching him fuck his way through half the university and doing nothing to stop him. 

But sometimes it was easy. Listening to him babble about robots and AI’s, about holograms and programming that made his head spin. Building rockets together and fighting about the best way to improve them, to improve planes. Watching bad TV while Tony listened with his head pillowed on Rhodey’s thigh, hair soft under his fingers, a hand wrapped around Rhodey’s ankle, possessive and grounding and gentle. 

Loving Tony wasn’t easy--but when sleepy brown eyes blinked at him, bright and brilliant and soft in the way Tony ever was with him, Rhodey couldn’t help but think it was worth it. 

 ~*~ 

 There were a lot of people in and out of Tony's bed. People who didn't care about the marks on his arms, the ones that didn't want anything but a good time and a story to tell. He never minded those people because they took the good times and the presents that meant nothing and vanished into nothing. 

But there were others.  

Tiberius Stone with his cold cold eyes greedy gripping hands and the mark on his ankle that Tony swore was his. 

There was Sunset with her beautiful smiles and the delicate purr in her voice when she said marks didn't matter. 

There was the parade of hopefuls tattooing Tony's marks on their own arms, nevermind that wasn't how soul marks worked. 

They weren't matched sets--they were brands of ownership. Tony carried the brands of dead men and whatever the hell his own mark looked like, he didn't know and never would. His soulmates died before he was born. 

"You could wear mine," Tony says one drunk night after Ty has vanished with the payoff Obie shoved at him. 

"What even would that look like?" Rhodey asks, and Tony blinks vodka blurry eyes.

 ~*~ 

 He thinks, if he ever wore Tony's mark on his skin, he'd want it to be his mark as much as Tony's. He'd want to belong and own, claim and be claimed. 

But that's not how marks work and he tucks it down deep, where it can't taunt and tease with what he can't have. 

 ~*~ 

 They kiss, once. 

It's a memory he takes out, shakes out and examines, in the years after--a shiny diamond of perfection so rough and sharp it cuts. 

But in the moment--in the moment JARVIS is a soft unfamiliar hum around and above them and Howard's expectations are a distant worry and Tony is bright with a joy so pure and untouched it makes him ache and when they collide, it's like waves coming together, all fierce and giving and wrapping into each other and Tony is giddy in his arms and his mouth is red and chapped and wide open laughing and 

They kiss. 

Because in that moment he can't imagine doing anything else.

In that moment, and every other moment, he wants this. They kiss and it's wild and electric and soft and gentle. They kiss and Tony whimpers under his lips and licks into his mouth and leans up into him, hands hard and begging and he pulls away first. 

They kiss and the best part isn't Tony's lips or taste or hands. Its the look, soft and dazed and trusting when he smiles up at Rhodey after. 

They kiss--and Tony is his for a heartbeat. 

 ~*~

 He crosses the room in conversation with his CO, ignoring the bustle and chatter of the airmen at their leisure. He tunes most of it out, these days--years of living on bases and in general quarters and hip deep with fifty men has given him the ability to tune out almost everything. 

Not the voice, cocky and smug, on the TV. 

He's never been able to tune out Tony. 

He looks up, a second spared, and drinks him in. Thinner, and tired around the eyes, his hair slicked back and tame in that way Rhodey loathes, too expensive suit. 

He looks like, sounds like, Howard in miniature and it makes his stomach turn. 

Rhodey answers his CO, follows him from the room. It's the first glimpse he's had of Tony for two years, the last he'll have for another six months and it leaves him shaking and achy and furious all over again.

 ~*~ 

 He gets the news when he’s in Philly and he’s on the road in ten minutes. It takes him just over two hours to get to New York, a trip that should take almost three hours, and he still feels impatient, fury and fear crawling under his skin as he slams into the house. 

Tony is in his arms before he can speak, before he can say, I’m so sorry, or what can I do, or any of the other useless things he thought up on the too long drive. Tony is in his arms and Stane is glaring and he’s shaking, and Rhodey’s arms tighten around him, and he whispers, “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” 

He doesn’t leave. Not during the drinking, not during the storm of tears, not during the furious destruction of Howard’s office or the shower he has to help Tony with or dressing him for the funeral, or any of the bullshit that follows. 

He stays close, and he wonders if the wings on his wrist are those of a guardian angel, because he would. 

He would stand between Tony and the world, spread his wings and protect him forever, if only Tony would let him. 

 ~*~ 

 He hates Steve Rogers. 

The man pushes, prods, judges and dismisses, and Tony--Tony stares at him, like this man is the whole world, and Rhodey hates him. 

He sees it once, the marks on Rogers’ arms--the black star with red and gold cracks. And the one on his other arm, a mandala of gear work and twisting metal and he recognizes it, sees Tony’s arc reactor in the twisting turning pieces and layers and it’s so heartbreakingly perfect and right it makes him violent. 

He hates it, seeing Tony’s mark on someone who doesn’t want him. 

Because this is what they don’t talk about, with soulmates--it’s a brand, a claim of ownership, and it’s not a guarantee. 

Tony never talks to Steve, about the mark he covers, never presses for a relationship Rogers doesn’t want. 

He covers his own marks, and his eyes are dimmer, sadder, and he leans into Rhodey, sometimes, after Steve leaves, but he never talks about it. 

 ~*~ 

 “I wish you could fly with me,” Rhodey tells him, when they’re young and stupid and he thinks it will always be easy, being with Tony. Before they fight over SI and the Air Force, before the years of silence, before everything. 

Tony traced his wings, his heart mark and it wasn’t strange--it was normal, natural, completely fine to trust Tony with this piece of himself. “I will, one day.” 

He didn’t know, then, that it was a promise. 

But he looks at the Iron Man suit and he sees them, flying together. 

He puts on the War Machine armor and they do. 

Tony traced his wings, when they were young and stupid and didn’t know any better, and now, they fly together, with wings that Tony built for him, and he loves him, loves him, loves him. 

Heart marks are you, and he isn’t sure if his wings are those of a guardian angel or a fighter pilot or the avenging warrior but he thinks--whatever they are, he is what Tony has made him. 

 ~*~

 Tony grins at him, over debriefs and busy rooms, and Rhodey smirks back and races him to the suits. 

Rhodey sees the hurt and grief in Tony’s eyes, when Steve turns away from him, and he tugs Tony into the suit, and they fly. Race each other across the endless blue, soaring so high he thinks they could touch the empty black, and plunging down, listening to each other’s laughter and shrieks and steady heartbeats and Tony is there, always, pulling him out of a endless dive before he can crash into the earth. 

Tony chases him higher and follows him when he falls, and Rhodey thinks--they have each other, and they will always be safe. 

Tony will never let him fall. 

 ~*~ 

 He can’t speak, only smiles for the cameras and his CO and the airmen and the weight of the bar on his chest is choking and crushing, and he can’t speak. 

The words he can’t say tremble behind clenched teeth and tight pressed lips, until he stumbles into Tony’s workshop and a smile, guileless and bright and so fucking pleased, beams up at him, and he--he doesn’t speak. 

He doesn’t speak. 

He screams. 

 ~*~ 

 It’s still new and raw, this thing where they can work together. He stands stiff at Tony’s side, head pounding, and it feels not quite right, the way it has always felt to stand at Tony’s side for SI and the military, when all he has ever wanted was to stand at Tony’s side, with no strings or motivations, just them. 

It’s new and it’s raw and it’s what he wanted, when they were kids and young enough to want things, this, serving as the liaison between the military and SI, and it’s never sat right. 

He thinks of that night, of shouts and threats and ultimatums and screaming, and walking out, and Tony’s furious tears. 

He closes his eyes and smiles and congratulates Tony when the missile works perfect, and it doesn’t sit right, there is something wrong buzzes under his skin  like a bee and his marks itch. 

He smiles weakly when Tony sends him to a different Humvee and then the world explodes. 

 ~*~ 

 They get drunk, after Steve finally tells Tony, flat out and undeniable, no.

Rhodey wasn’t in New York for it, but he gets Pepper’s call, frantic, and flies out immediately. He lands on the roof of Stark Tower and pulls Tony into his arms and the other man is crying, these big silent tears, soundless sobs that shake him in Rhodey’s arms. 

It always shocks him, how small Tony is in his arms, when he has always felt larger than life. 

He holds him until the tears slow and stop and then they drink, cheap whiskey and bottom shelf tequila, the only goal the sweet oblivion of intoxication, and when he’s tipsy and leaning on Rhodey’s legs, head tipped back at the sky, Tony asks, “Why doesn’t he love me?” 

There’s an answer. A real one, about marks and destiny and fate and choice, and he should probably say it. 

He thinks, even stone cold sober, he wouldn’t. 

He says, “Because he’s a fucking idiot.” 

Tony blinks at him, blurry beautiful broken. “Anyone who doesn’t love you? A fucking idiot, baby.” 

 ~*~ 

 He screams until he’s got nothing left to say, and Tony screams back, all righteous fury and indignant disbelief, and he storms out. 

It’s different from their other fights. 

It feels different, and profound, and insurmountable. 

He storms out and it feels like leaving, like leaving. 

Pepper is standing upstairs, pale faced and trembling and he pauses. 

She’s all he’ll have, if Rhodey goes. It’s a terrifying thought. “Let me see your heart mark,” he says, brusque and somewhere in Philadelphia his mama is having a heart attack over his lack of manners. 

Two spots of pink color Pepper’s cheeks, but he waves a brisk hand, and she carefully unbuttons her blouse, pulls it aside to bare the mark on her left collarbone. 

It’s a pale pink, almost bleeding into the skin it’s so unobtrusive. Filigree metalwork in a delicate anatomical heart. 

He stares at it for so long Pepper huffs and drags her shirt to rights, buttons it up and Rhodey blinks at her. 

“Take care of him,” he chokes and then he leaves. 

~*~ 

The truth is--and this is a truth he doesn’t talk about, doesn’t tell anyone. It’s enough that he knows and Tony knows and neither of them ever speak of it--the truth is. He loves Tony. 

The truth is, he wants Tony on his skin. He sees Steve’s mark and Barnes’, sees Tony’s on Rogers’ skin and he hates it, hates them, and he aches for that metal work mandala. He aches for Tony, etched indelible and irremovable and permanent into his skin. 

He loves Tony and he thinks--if they wore each other’s marks, maybe Tony would love him too. 

He loves Tony and he thinks, viciously pleased, that Tony loves him and not because ink on their skin demanded it. Tony chose him, the way he had never chosen Barnes or Rogers. 

 ~*~ 

 They fuck, once.

Just the once. 

It’s in the five year stretch when they barely speak, shoved together only by the military and SI and circumstances neither can control. 

Rhodey thinks it’s because they’ve gone so long without the other, that they finally break. 

Stane vanishes during the aftermath of a successful weapons demonstration, off with Rhodey’s CO to negotiate prices or logistics or whatever the hell they chattered about that ended with Stark missiles in DOD hands. 

And they were left together, strangers who knew too much about each other, a strange and uncomfortable kind of intimacy. 

They drank, but not so much that he could blame it on that. 

They talked, but not so serious he could blame it on that. 

They walked, together, and at the door to his private bunk that was miles below what Tony was used to, what he had never in all the time Rhodey had known him complained about, Tony looked at him and said, “I miss you, Rhodes.” 

It was that. 

The way he said it, the way he shaped his name, the name Tony never used. 

It was that. 

He kissed Tony, hard and hungry and begging and Tony--Tony bent to it, sweet and pliant the way he had always dreamed Tony would be, biting and hungry the way he knew he’d be. 

He pushed Tony into his little room, onto his tiny, creaky bed, and sprawled across him, hungry and desperate and it was only Tony’s voice, begging and near tears that made him stop, slow. 

“Please,” Tony whispered into the space between their mouths, breathing the words into Rhodey’s hungry lips. “Please, I want it to last.”

“How long?” Rhodey whispered, and it felt like begging and his body flashed hot and desperate when Tony whimpered, wordless, against his mouth, an answer to honest to be spoken. 

They fucked, or maybe they made love, or maybe it was both. 

They shared that tiny creaky bed and Tony rode him, tears bright in his eyes, mark bloody and stark and open to his gaze, and Rhodey whispered into his hair, when Tony was asleep, sprawled sticky across his chest, whispered the words he wasn’t brave enough to say aloud. 

“I love you. Only you.” 

 ~*~ 

 He didn’t have a soulmark. 

He didn’t want one. 

He thought, sometimes, that he couldn’t have one--he had given his soul to Tony Stark too long ago to share it with anyone else. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony goes to DC after SHIELD falls, when the Potomac is still a mess of burning wreckage, when the Pentagon is scrambling and Congress is screaming for answers and SHIELD is trying desperately to put their burning house out while Natasha rained fire and fury, a life of shattered promises and betrayal, down like an avenging angel. 

Tony goes to DC, Rhodey flying at his side, because they aren’t together, Tony and Rogers, but they are soulmates, are marked into each other’s skin, and he can’t not go. 

He goes alone, into that crowded hospital room where Steve Rogers lays too big in a narrow bed, and he comes out, and Rhodey--

Rhodey looks at him, at the shock on his friend’s face, the way he is pale and drawn and trembling, and it doesn’t match the radiant smile on Steve’s face, that he is doing nothing to hide. 

Rhodey draws Tony into his arms and holds him, shuddering, as the hospital bustles around them and Steve Rogers grins like a man given a second shot at life, and Tony--Tony never cries. He just shakes, a fine full body shiver that makes Rhodey furious and worried and ache. 

He trembled, just like this, when his parents died, and when Rhodey found him in the desert. 

“Tell me,” he coaxes, because there is nothing he would not face, nothing he would not hear, for Tony. That he would not share, with Tony. 

Tony’s lips are hot against his throat and his fingers are wrinkling his uniform and he doesn’t cry, not once. “Barnes. He’s still alive.” 

 ~*~ 

 His mama told him that grief marks people. 

Not the way heart marks and soulmarks do, not even the fading fleeting marks made by friends and family and life. 

Grief marked you in a way that was harder to notice, not ink in the skin, but shadows on the soul. It was easy to hide, and easy to ignore. 

He never understood that, not really, not until Tony. 

Grief marked Tony in thousand dollar ties, knotted to perfection. Shiny shoes and tailored suits and sunglasses, ridiculous and over the top. 

He wore it in girls on his arm and boys in his bed and stains on his hands, blood and oil both, and exhaustion in his beautiful eyes and a smile that never reached his lips. 

As well as he knew Tony, as much as he loved him--it took years, for him to see the way that grief marked him, the way it was writ large in his exuberant sarcastic wit and hidden deep in his brilliance and inventions and only ever shed, truly banished for the space of a few hours, when Tony smiled at Rhodey, and laughed with Pepper and the world felt very far away. 

Maybe, he thinks, watching Tony sleep, it isn’t the world that is far away--maybe they are far from the world. 

 ~*~

 Sam Wilson doesn’t have a soulmark. He has a heart mark that Rhodes sees in snatches and half-caught glimpses, silver and blue and red whisps and swirls. He doesn’t ask, because he does have some manners and you don’t ask about people’s heart marks. 

He likes Sam, though. 

Likes that he’s friendly and loyal and steady, grounding compared to Steve and all his shit, compared to Bucky Barnes and his violence. 

Sam revolves around Steve, around Bucky by extension, and he doesn’t have a mark--not even a fleeting Life Mark--that makes him Steve’s but he is. 

Not because Steve is writ into his skin, but because he loves Steve, pure and simple and complicated. 

Rhodey likes Sam, because he understands that kind of loyalty, that kind of devotion. He’s lived it for longer than Wilson has been alive.   

 ~*~ 

 He tells Tony he loves him. 

It’s easy, a currency he has no problem spending because this is endless, his love for Tony. 

He tells Tony he loves him when they’re idiots, young and dumb and still in college. He tells him when he holds Tony after the funeral, shaking and sobbing. 

He spits it with curses when he drags Tony home from the bar, when he cleans up the mess Ty left behind, when he falls into Rhodey’s bed and curls close, drunk and sobbing. 

He murmurs it when they’re happy and screams it when they fight, and chokes on it when they don’t speak for five long years. 

He doesn’t say it, after Afghanistan, but he doesn’t need to, doesn’t need paltry words that will never convey everything he feels. 

And when Steve runs, chases Bucky for years while Tony fights his demons and sobriety and all the people who say he isn’t enough, the Avengers are not enough--he says it. 

“I will always love you,” he murmurs. 

Tony curls in his arms and he thinks, there was a time Tony didn’t believe him. 

He does,  now. 

 ~*~

 He arrests Steve, in a European city falling apart, and there’s something viciously pleased, petty and small and undeniable, seeing Steve Rogers in custody, seeing Barnes locked away. 

These men who never wanted the one thing he can’t live without. 

He arrests them and it all goes to hell. There’s a moment, when Tony faces off with the Winter Solider in nothing but a three-piece suit and a back-up gauntlet that Rhodey thinks his heart actually stops. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Tony says. They’re waiting, hovering in the air above a German airport and he’s giving Rhodey an out. 

Since the day they met, Tony has been giving Rhodey an out. 

“I’m not doing this because I have to,” he says. “I’m doing this because I’ve had your back in every bar brawl and fight you’ve gotten yourself into since you were fourteen. I’m  not going to back down now.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, but then--he doesn’t need to. 

The fight is vicious, brutal. 

Steve and Barnes are running and like he can’t quite help himself, Tony is chasing and Rhodey is a step behind, desperate to protect him, because Tony has never had a lick of sense when it comes to the men inked into his soul. 

When he falls--

When he falls, he says, “Tony.” 

When he falls, he hears Tony’s scream, and he thinks, no, no, god no, don’t make me leave him. 

He says, “Tony,” like a prayer, like a benediction and plea and prayer and he falls. 

 ~*~

 “You’re in my spot,” Tony says. There are dried tear-tracks on his face, and he looks beautiful and like hell and he’s bitching and Rhodey knows what that means. 

“About time we switched it up.” There have been too many times he’s stood at the bedside and watched Tony, broken and bleeding.  

Tony makes a noise that starts as a laugh and hitches into a sob, and Rhodey pulls him close, holds him as Tony cries. 

“You fucking idiot,” he weeps and Rhodey makes a soft noise of agreement. “You should have gone home.” 

“I was where I wanted to be,” he murmurs, and kisses Tony’s hair. “I’m always where I want to be, when I’m at your side.” 

“Fucking idiot,” he says. 

“You love me,” Rhodey teases, loopy on the good drugs and Tony’s face goes soft the way it does, when he’s very honest. 

“I do.” 

 ~*~ 

 His heart mark is gunmetal wings, spread on his wrists, and he knew, always, that the sky belong to him. 

He loves it, loves flying, but there is nothing quite like flying with Tony. Soaring across wide open blue, chasing each other and hearing that delighted laugh in his ear, and the gasp Tony makes, when Rhodey nudges him, wraps around him and plunges toward the ground, a free fall that is broken only when Tony throws out his hands and spins them back toward the never-ending sky. 

He flies and they fall, together. 

Tony asks, once, curious, eyes bright, if it scared him, to fall with him. 

Rhodey laughed and shook his head, “I’ve been falling with you most of my life, Tones. It’s always going to terrify me, but not the way you think.” 

“How, then?” 

Rhodey shrugs. “You know that moment when we’re falling and your stomach is flipping and you know you’re safe but you feel more alive than any other time in your life?” 

Tony nods and Rhodey smiles. “That’s how you always make me feel.” 

 ~*~ 

 He comes back from Siberia, brought back by Peter and Happy and FRIDAY. He comes home broken, bleeding and heartbroken in a way that he wasn’t even after Afghanistan and DC. 

He comes home beaten. 

Peter scoots their hospital beds together and Rhodey twists their fingers together, and wishes he could hold him, when Tony stares, blank and dry-eyed. 

“I don’t want them,” he says, finally. “I’m done wanting my soulmates to love me.” 

 ~*~ 

 There are marks--soulmarks and heart marks and life marks--that are deep and abiding and written into the soul, that define the person they mark. 

He has gunmetal wings, delicately articulated metal arches, on his wrists--Tony was marked into his soul, into who he was, before he ever dreamed of soulmarks. 

And Tony was never writ into his skin with fleeting life marks--but he didn’t need to be. 

He wishes, sometimes, that Tony wore his soulmark--but he thinks, this, this isn’t so bad. Tony in his bed, his smile bright and welcoming in the workshop, his mouth open and wet and panting for him, and the marks he wears on his skin--bloody metal shrapnel that means he survived, that he will survive, will always come home, the mark of two loves who rejected him, and still his heart beats, full of love, the life marks that Peter and Happy and his bots and Pepper all leave in his skin, a life full and happy and good--they don’t define him. They tell a story, but Tony--Tony defines himself. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony shows it to him, when they’re laying in bed. Rhodey’s fingers are pulling, druggingly slow, through his hair, and he’s considering the advantages of the man he loves, naked in his arms, and mourning the refractory period of his youth and Tony says, “What do you think of this?” 

He blinks, because it doesn’t immediately make sense. 

It focuses slowly. 

Wings. Gunmetal grey and scarlet, edged in gold. Made of delicate metal work and gears, turning in a eye-defying mandala. 

He stares at it, this beautiful mark that is both of them, and Tony says. “I want to get them. Your wings and my mark--I want them.” 

He doesn’t speak, can’t speak, just leans down and kisses him, desperate and begging and adoring. 

 ~*~ 

 The tattoo is beautiful, delicate and intricate and breathtaking. It sprawls across his hip, a wide arch of metal and wings that he can’t help but touch. 

He gets the same tattoo, places them on his forearms, where Tony carries the soulmarks of Rogers and Barnes. 

“It’s better,” he says. “That we chose each other.” 

Tony smiles, gentle and brilliant and Rhodey draw him close, kisses him, soft and sure. “I’ll always choose you. 

[rinusagitora]

All very ghoulish (2/10)

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Karin Kurosaki, Ichigo Kurosaki, Rukia Kuchiki, Kisuke Urahara, Momo Hinamori, Izuru Kira, Tessai Tsukabishi, Ururu Tsumugiya, Tier Harribel, Kenpachi Zaraki, Genryuusai Yamamoto, Toushirou Hitsugaya, Masaki Kurosaki, Mayuri Kurotsuchi, Nemu Kurotsuchi, Yuzu Kurosaki

Pairings: minor KiraHina

Words: 6,100+

Summary: Monster!AU collab w/ @back-in-a-bit. SFW version;  Chaos overtakes London, and Karin undergoes a strange procedure.

AO3: works/16307414/chapters/49021901#workskin (NSFW)

Momo Hinamori felt like she rode roller coasters more often than not.

For the last four decades, she was Sousuke Aizen's loyal wife, and then only two years ago, he was incarcerated for being one evil son of a bitch, and she hadn't gotten back on her feet since then. Her nightmares persisted. Her ribs still hurt, even though she healed months ago. It was very much like he leached on her bones.

Momo Hinamori was once a monster with serrated teeth and a fire in her core. Presently, she was just embers, coddled in her new husband's mink coat and bottle-fed with packs and packs of cigarettes.

Thankfully, strip clubs allowed indoor smoking. She was never caught without something made of nicotine and ordinarily poisonous chemicals between her lips. Their invoices came in clean like linen and were filed strongly smelling like tobacco.

Still, Shinji pet her hair like a cat, or his child, even though she stank and looked at him like he was a cannibal.

“You should go home tonight, sweetie,” he said. “You’ve done more than enough for the girls tonight. Go back home to your husband.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Momo gathered her purse and coat, headed outside, and she hailed a taxi on the street. "Caridge Park Apartments, please," she said.

"Caridge Park," the driver copied. "Care if I listen to the radio?"

"Go ahead."

Momo's head laid against the glass. A news station turned on. Momo didn't care much for the news, so she tuned it out and instead fiddled with her phone.

She received a text message over Kik from a family friend, Nemu Kurotsuchi. Gin Ichimaru had critically injured her husband Izuru when they defected and attempted to destroy the Seireitei coven. Nemu used her magic to heal him. Izuru and Nemu were good friends ever since, almost like father and daughter. Momo was fond of Nemu as well. While they only spoke in private, Nemu was a brilliant, sweet young woman, and it wasn't uncommon for them to text back and forth.

Nemu's text worried Momo, however. Nemu had only sent and apology.

The sun was just over the horizon. The speaker mentioned an explosion at a call center, the call center her dear brother worked at, and it felt like her guts dislodged. It felt like her teeth were knocked out all over again.

"I-I'm sorry, can you turn that off? I need to make a call," Momo said.

"Sure thing."

Momo quickly dialed Toushirou and it immediately went to voicemail. Momo swore time stopped. Her and Toushirou weren't close, not like when they were kids, but she loved him enough to think about him every day. She called her husband next. She didn't even bother with salutations. "My brother's workplace just blew up," she croaked.

"Oh my God," Izuru said over the receiver. "Momo, where are you?"

"I need you to call Rangiku for me. Tell her to get in touch with Akon right away. I'll call you when I'm done. I love you."

Momo crushed her phone in her hand. With the speed of a viper, she slammed the metal shards in the driver's face, and forced heat into her hands. The cab swerved into a phone tower. The horn blared.

Momo was completely unaffected. She calmly kicked off her heels and stepped into the glass-ridden street, where she molted her human skin. Her arms, four, to be exact, pushed down her skin to her ankles, where she emerged with cloven hooves. The tips of her inward fire licked the open lesions across her chest and shoulders, which cast a discordant light onto her face. She pulled her mink coat over her body, ignored the smell of singed fur, and vanished with a spark.

The explosion was no accident. Momo had questions for Nemu.

---

Toushirou's life normally amounted to nothing less than a circus, but between his strange dreams and sleep deprivation, it felt like he was on acid in a funhouse, jabbed and taunted by various spooks as he stumbled across the simplest entrapments. His body protested but Toushirou intended for his pain to be kept under lock and key.

He rolled his shoulders. They ground in their sockets, a sound much like when the bones of shapeshifters shifted into place. It never failed to make his stomach churn.

He was sick. At the same time, he refused to treat the symptoms. It was a demonic thing. Any indication of weakness was a recipe for cannibalism. After Sousuke Aizen, Gin Ichimaru, Tousen Kaname couped and killed at least a dozen of their coven members, Toushirou didn’t dare test his luck. He remembered all too well he wasn’t the only thing which lurked in the darkness, as ironic as it was.

Toushirou distracted himself from such miserable thoughts. The coven group chat displayed several new messages. Juushirou was abuzz about Mayuri's latest disappearance, as if that oddball didn't have a new act every weekend. Toushirou made sure to let Juushirou know not to worry about that clown privately. Toushirou was one of the newest members of their coven, after his former coven was incorporated into Seireitei due to their small number's inability to handle the increase of ghoul attacks, and since he was so new and youthful, he was still leered at. He knew it was necessary to make friends. Juushirou, a handsome and ancient fae, was amiable and liked by almost everyone. He was a great in for Toushirou.

He glanced at himself in the mirror by the door one last time. His suit was starched, his bedhead handsome. Telecommunications wasn't his favorite occupation, but it was better than his managerial position at McDonalds. It wasn't like his demonic pride was intact in the first place.

At five in the morning, traffic was a blur of barren red lights until the intersection a block away from the call center where he was employed. Brittany Coschtz pulled up in her little Prius, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with her shiny pink hair pulled back into a messy bun, and her smile wide as the Amazon River. She was pretty. Toushirou let himself go in recent years when he compared himself to her. His neck sinews smoothed out, his chest was undefined. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but imagine sexual exchanges.

Brittany pulled ahead of him once the light turned green. His wood shrank. Toushirou missed the flat expanse of his groin.

In the parking lot, Toushirou paused when he came upon the security guard in the middle of a heated argument with an older woman.

Seconds later, Toushirou disregarded the encounter. It wasn't the first time someone trespassed and was warded off by security. His job was to train entry-level phone staff. It wasn't his concern.

"Good morning class," Toushirou said when he finally arrived to the training room. "Cell phones away, it's not like there's service down here anyways."

Phones were tucked away before he confiscated them. He began to boot up his desktop. "We're starting with escalations today. Bring up the curriculum and select the first hyperlink under escalations."

"Toushirou, did you see the chick outside?"

He rolled his eyes. Of course they wouldn't share his apathy to the subject. "Yes. I walked right past her and Dwight talking. He's got it covered. Don't worry about it."

"I saw Brittnay pull in earlier, but I didn't see her come in. Is she okay?"

"Everything is fine. Let's just get to work. Dwight has been working security here for sixteen years. He's more than capable of taking care of trespassers."

"Yeah, but like... did you see her teeth? She had like giant fangs. Are they fake?"

That did concern Toushirou. He hadn't picked up any ghoulish malevolence, though. Who knew what it was.

All said and done, Toushirou was disconcerted. What if they were to be attacked within the hour? Toushirou worked so long to preserve the life he crafted for himself. It took years to reach a comfortable job, to blend into humanity. He wasn't sure he had the patience to completely change his identity in the event he had to protect himself.

"Alright, everyone open the curriculum and go to week three and start on Situational Calls Overview. We'll go over it as a class in half an hour. If you forgot to clock in, make sure to send me a time card correction now so I can fix it."

Not a second later, the sound of crushed rocks ripped through the room. The force of the shockwave sent Toushirou into the opposite wall. He was covered in brick dust, it tasted like ash.

Toushirou became livid.

He grew a webbed crown and serrated teeth from his head. His fingers and toes lengthened and tapered off, crystalline scales sprout from his pores. His tailbone grew like a new spine into a thick tail like a lizard's.

He snarled at the two wretched ghouls. They fucking stank. It made his sinuses buzz from the irritant. His claws itched to fucking gut them.

He lunged with an open hand wound back to take out its head. His claws tore through the ghoul's side. He spun and slammed his heel into the gut of the other ghoul. Alas, the severe internal damage to both monsters unfazed them.

"Stubborn cunts!" Toushirou bellowed. He kicked one of them square in the ribs an he used it as a springboard to kick its partner with his razor-sharp toes.

He was pushed off his perch. His chest heaved like he was hyperventilating. Toushirou with his ancient tongues struggled to articulate something that described the feeling. Mechanically, he pushed himself up, and he slipped in a pool of oil. His blood.

The ghouls descended. He shrieked and flailed.

Toushirou would not let himself die at the hands of some fucking byproduct.

His bloodied palms slapped against his chest. From his back grew wings, and with a single thrust he launched himself into the air.

---

The train stopped every-fucking-where in the UK, and when Karin, Ichigo, and Rukia realized that, they collectively agreed to take a nap. Karin had trouble sleeping, however.

Rukia was a petite woman who met them at the station. Her and Ichigo were good friends. Strangely enough, Karin was never told about Rukia, but Ichigo was absent-minded and forgot about a lot of things, especially things which kept them in the loop.

Like the one time he and some friends he had in high school were exploring a storm drain when it suddenly flooded. Ichigo was pummeled by debris and forgot to tell his family about it. Subsequently, he constantly forgot to change his bandages, and about a month and a half after the flood when Karin realized he was injured, she helped redress his wounds and happened upon an exponentially worse wound. Of course, he chalked up the pain to bruising. Karin's brother was a dumbass.

As tired as Karin was, she was nervous to meet Kisuke Urahara. She replayed her earlier conversation with Rukia once again.

"Rukia, are you from Seireitei?" Karin asked as they were led into a private carriage.

"Of course I am. You won't find any other covens where we're going. Our leader doesn't tolerate the division of power. Yamamoto's power is absolute, and he's become more iron-fisted with this ghoul infestation."

"Infestation?"

"I know it's getting bad back in Karakura, but in London, I can't go anywhere outside of an armored, insulated car. The ghouls are so great in number that they swarm upon catching our scent."

"And we have to go there in order to meet Urahara?" Karin asked.

"Yes. Although, I'm not sure why he needs you, Karin," Rukia replied.

"He asked for the strongest of us. Karin is in heat," Ichigo said.

"Oh, that explains the smell, at least," Rukia replied. Karin wasn't one to be ashamed over her base needs, but she wished Ichigo wasn't so open about her maturation. It felt like there was a revolving door into her sex life. For someone like Karin, who preferred all facets of her life neatly compartmentalized, the overlap was absolute hell.

Ichigo quickly changed the subject. "Any guesses why Urahara wants the strongest of us?"

"Honestly? Sacrifice," Rukia postulated. Karin never came into contact with a full-blooded demon in the past, and especially not when she needed something from them. Uryuu told her how demons adored bloodshed and debt though. They loved it even more than a starved vampire loved blood.

"Cheerful today, aren't you?" Ichigo mumbled.

"You asked."

"I really hope they haven't asked for the strongest to send on a mission or some shit. Those ghouls are getting nastier. I don't want to get caught up in that alone," Karin confessed. She was rarely scared, never for herself, but Karin feared the unknown above all else.

Like when her mother passed away. Karin vividly remembered Masaki's funeral, where she refused to cry because if she started, she wasn't sure she could stop. Her father obsessed over the bills for awhile, and because of that, Karin lost a lot of sleep over the thought of homelessness, and then her grades dropped. She was so scared to unbottle her fear that the only way she kept from bursting like a hot dog over an open flame was to hurt hersel. There was still a scar on her stomach.

Rukia reached between them and held her hands like her big sister Yuzu did. "You won't be alone," Rukia assured Karin, "I promise."

Karin, unsure how to respond to sincere and earnest affection, changed the subject. "So who is this Urahara guy?"

"He's a demon exiled from the Seireitei coven. He's largely hailed as a genius though, so we had no choice but to reach out to him about the ghoul infestation. Here we are now," Rukia explained.

"How bad is it in London, then?" Karin asked.

"Martial Law is being discussed by Parliament."

"You've gotta be shitting me.... It's gotten that bad already?" Ichigo said. "Oh god, I thought we had it bad."

"It's torture, honestly. I haven't been able to go to work since I almost always end up getting ambushed whenever I leave my flat. If I don't apply medicated lotion, which I happen to be allergic to, I can't even go outside because they catch my scent." Rukia pulled up her sleeve and showed her bright red hives. Karin swallowed a thick lump in her throat.

"Jesus Christ," Ichigo said. "Rukia, why didn't you tell me? We have fae in our coven. They'll certainly have something for you to alleviate some pain."

"I consulted one of our own fae, Juushirou Ukitake. Even with undiluted blood, he couldn't help me. Our witches allied with our coven can't even help."

"Look, let me talk to Orihime. She has considerable healing powers. We'll see what we can do for you."

"This is sweet and all," Karin said, "but how're we gonna meet up with this Urahara guy?"

"There will be an armored truck for us at the station," Rukia said. "The driver knows where to take us."

"This isn't sketchy or anything…" Karin grumbled.

Four and a half hours after that, Karin was still nervous like the conversation was fresh. When they pulled to a stop in London, and Karin saw a windowless van outside her window, she felt sick.

---

Tessai Tsukabishi and Kisuke Urahara were in the kitchen when Toushirou Hitsugaya crashed through the ceiling onto Tessai.

"Fuck," Kisuke cursed. Tessai very coolly laid Toushirou on his back. The boy's lips were an unearthly green from hypovolemia. "Get the kids. Let them know we'll be having guests. Remind them to use the incense while they're waiting," he said. "I'll fix this kid up in the meantime."

"Alright, dear, holler if you need anything."

Kisuke opened his shirt. His insides crawled towards Toushirou.

---

Karin's head collided with the truck's interior and she cursed at the top of her lungs. "Careful up there! You're gonna bash my fucking brains in!"

"Karin… calm down," Ichigo told her. She spun towards him, her nostrils flared, and he looked away.

"That's what I fucking thought," she grumbled.

"We shouldn't be much longer," Rukia assured them.

Sure enough, the truck came to a stop, and the engine was killed. Karin, Rukia, and Ichigo happily crawled out of the back of the truck. A chill went down Karin’s spine. A reanimated corpse certainly explained the haphazard driving. If Kisuke Urahara wasn't above reanimation, though, what did he have in mind for her?

"This way," Rukia said. They entered through the back door of a green, two-story house, closed off with a warped wooden fence even taller than her brother. Someone the smell of mosquito repellent permeated from the very ground itself.

They followed Rukia down a bare concrete staircase to a dimly-lit, half-finished basement. There were six other people crammed together around a short poker table and covered in a fog of incense.

"Welcome. I'm glad you could make it," said a young woman, around Karin's age, with dark hair and ice-blue eyes. "My name is Ururu Tsumugiya. I'm one of Kisuke's children. He had a last minute patient come in so he had to take care of that first. He should be done shortly, however. In the meantime, have a seat."

Rukia pulled up a chair, but Ichigo and Karin shared a look that told them both the other one was more comfortable standing.

"No offense, but the tension is thick as hell here," Ichigo announced.

"That's because Toushirou Hitsugaya was attacked by ghouls this morning at his place of employment," said a youthful woman, with blond hair and rows of jagged teeth. "He's here now. Kisuke Urahara is patching him up."

Ichigo and Rukia became visibly disturbed. "Tier… this can't be true," Rukia said. "What happened?"

"That's all we know so far," Tier said.

"If you ask me, if he kicks the bucket, it's his own fault for not being able to defend himself," said a giant, black-haired man.

"Karin… these are Genryuusai Yamamoto, Kenpachi Zaraki, Yachiru Kusajishi, Ururu, Tier Harribel, and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Rukia quickly explained to Karin. "This can't be true, though. Hitsugaya is one of our strongest entities! He couldn't have been overpowered by ghouls."

"He's not going to die," Tier said coolly, "But it's the truth."

"We're in quite a dire situation," Genryuusai said. He was certainly as intense as Rukia made him out to be. Even when he lamented, Karin felt like he was angry with her specifically. She decided she didn't like Genryuusai Yamamoto. Karin figured he was under a lot of stress, but he was also inconsiderate enough to not reign in his malevolence.

"Is this really your strongest, Ichigo? I'm surprised," Kenpachi Zaraki said. "I was under the impression you were the strongest."

"She's in heat," Ichigo said.

"Hey, I am right here, people. Instead of bringing it up to my brother, bring it up to me," Karin snapped.

"She's right," Tier said with a nasty glare aimed at Kenpachi, "if you have questions concerning Karin, ask her." He uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

"I'm sure she'd be much more comfortable if you stopped bringing up her maturation, Ichigo."

Karin, and most the other table, leapt to action at the sudden intrusion. Ururu was suddenly in front of them. The hollow barrel of a gun obscured Karin's vision.

"Alright, everyone calm down. I didn't mean to startle everyone…" Kisuke said. Slowly, weapons were lowered.

"These are certainly trying times, if every single one of you are on edge," Kisuke said as he took a seat. "I'm glad to announce I've found a way to eradicate this problem, however."

"And how is that?" Genryuusai asked.

"If you let him speak, he would tell you," Tier quipped.

"This… isn't going to be to your liking. Tier, Kenpachi, and Karin. You three are the strongest from your current covens. We are going to combine your powers, essentially."

"That's it?" Kenpachi asked.

"Well… no. This is an extremely experimental procedure, so I have no idea how it works to begin with, and I have no idea how the three of you will come out."

"These extreme measures for… for a ghoul infestation?" Ichigo exclaimed. "Absolutely not! I'm not letting my sister go through this thing without knowing what the hell she's gonna come out like."

"There's more to this infestation than he's letting on," Yamamoto announced.

Kisuke interlaced his fingers and laid his chin on them. "Unfortunately…. This hasn't been proven yet, but I believe there is a certain individual within our ranks responsible for the increased ghoul activity."

"You mean someone had begun puppeteering them?" Rukia said.

"Aye."

"Well, who is it?" Yamamoto spat.

"I'm not sure…. It could be Sousuke Aizen, Mayuri Kurotsuchi, and Shuutara Senjumaru. They are the only individuals with the means to achieve this caliber of invasion. I have no clues to which one it might be. But all of them are shrewd and powerful. We need extra firepower to take down the villainous one."

And if they didn't, they would all be attacked, one by one, until they were all annihilated.

"I'm in," Karin said. "I don't care what you think, Ichigo. We have to do this."

Ichigo stood stiller than a statue, stunned by Karin's resolution. It hurt her to see him that way. As much as Karin loved her family, there were problems bigger than them to begin with.

Tier sighed. "I suppose I'm obligated to protect my people, as well."

"I'm just down for a good fight," Kenpachi said.

"Then let's get the three of you ready."

---

Momo crashed into Nemu's family room. Mayuri Kurotsuchi was instantly neutralized by a ball of fire. It wasn't enough to kill him. All Momo wanted was to question Nemu why she apologized right before Toushirou blew up.

For the time being, at least.

Nemu cowered beneath a desk as Momo stormed over. Normally, the sight would have made Momo's heart quiver, because she knew what that kind of terror felt like, the icy terror of angry loved ones who you adored with every bit of soul. But family didn't murder their loved ones. Momo was no saint in that department, but she hadn't killed anyone knowing their innocence.

"What the fuck do you know about my brother?" Momo bellowed as she grabbed Nemu and lifted her into the air. "If I don't think you're being honest, I'll hurt you."

"I'm sorry," Nemu wept. "I tried talking him out of it. I know how much Toushirou means to you, but Mayuri refused to listen to me. He said Toushirou is too much of a threat."

"For what?"

"He wants to take over London, and then Europe from there. He's making ghouls for an army. He says making the strongest of the Seireitei into ghouls will increase his manpower several fold."

"You're lying!" Momo snapped. "Demons cannot be made into ghouls. They're a mindless byproduct of our feeding on humans."

"He's a genius. He found a way to splice DNA or something. I got so scared I couldn't hear anymore." Nemu attempted to pry Momo's hand off her neck. "You know what it's like. You know he'll kill me if I try to run away."

"So you fucking killed my family?" In her fit, Momo threw Nemu across the room. She readied a ball of fire. "You never told us a thing. You know Izuru and I would have done anything for you! But you never said anything."

"I'm sorry," Nemu cried. "I didn't want him to hurt me."

Momo faltered. She understood, better than anyone else. She understood, because Sousuke was the same.

"I hate myself for siccing ghouls on Toushirou, but I didn't have any other choice." Nemu stood and hugged Momo. "I love you so much, Momo. I didn't know what to do."

Momo picked Nemu up. She tenderly held her. "I forgive you," she said. "Let's get you out of here, honey. We'll get you help, okay?"

Suddenly, Momo's head exploded with a monumental headache. Blood flowed down their faces. The two toppled to the floor, where Momo saw Mayuri loom over them.

"Get up, Nemu," he ordered, "that's not going to keep her down long."

Nemu stood. Momo may as well have cried with Nemu as they dragged her down a flight of stairs. Momo knew she was bound to be turned into a ghoul like Toushirou, so she wailed, despite how her ears rang.

"Help me," she pleaded. Nemu only cried and apologized between her hyperventilations.

"Help me," Momo pleaded, as they threw her battered body onto a steel gurney. "Please, help me."

Nemu escaped to a chair by the door. Momo's head lolled to the side to watch Mayuri flick a hypodermic needle with his freakish manicure. Inside, a green mass, green like watered grass, swam. Momo could only beg to be let go as he approached with that awful serum.

When he stuck Momo's arm, her entire world crashed around her for the second time in her life.

Momo was murdered and her body enslaved by a sick motherfucker. First her soul, then her body followed. She hoped death would be total that time around as her arm rot at the injection site.

"Come, Nemu, we have other work that needs to be done," Mayuri said. Momo was left with a heavy sense of dread.

And anger. Again, Momo was betrayed by someone who was supposed to love her, it made her a fool, but she was tired of her compassion misused by cruel, selfish bastards.

"Burn," she growled. They all could burn for all she cared.

"Burn." She gushed fire, like a geyer.

"Burn." Her flames touched the plaster ceiling and blackened golf ball sized spots.

"Burn."

Fire, white from rage, burst out of her body, whirled around the room like a typhoon, and blew apart Mayuri's house. Momo pushed rubble off her body. She stung from head to toe from her burns. Nonetheless, the cops were on their way. She had to go.

---

"Karin-chan?"

Masaki sat in front of Karin. In the mirror behind her mother, Karin saw herself as a child again, with short hair mussed from her baseball cap and a band-aid on her cheek and weird, gangly limbs and her adult fangs too big in her mouth.

"Are you okay, my dear?" Masaki asked.

Karin wanted to tell Masaki she died more than a decade ago. But it was like the day before her mother's death. Karin wanted to throw herself into her mother's arms and never let go.

"I'm okay," Karin said. The mirror and the walls bled kanji characters. Kill her, it read.

Karin's heart sank in her stomach.

"I'm gonna take a bath," Karin said.

"Leave the door unlocked," Masaki told her.

Karin dashed upstairs and turned on the bath water. She cursed quietly. What the hell was happening? Where the hell was she, if she was somewhere which demanded her mother's murder?

Was it part of Kisuke's ritual? If so, what the hell was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to kill her mother, or find another way to defeat her and abide by a secret moral of the quest?

Either way, Karin was nauseated. Obviously she wasn't a stranger to murder. She killed many ghouls, had some accidents when she was immature. It was different when it was someone close to her.

The stairs creaked. The back of Karin's neck bristled like an animal alerted to danger. She locked the bathroom door.

How the hell was she supposed to get out of there?

The walls bled murder again. The bathroom door rattled violently. "Karin-chan," it boomed with a perverted rendition of her mother's voice, "I told you not to lock the door! Open up this second!" Karin dug through the vanity. Whoever was on the other side of that door wasn't Karin's mother. Masaki passed away years ago. The Masaki beyond the door was only a nightmare.

Karin popped out the razor blades from one of the fresh razors. She fit them between the fingers of her right hand. Sweat beaded down her neck and stained her shirt.

Gingerly, she reached out to unlock the door, when it splintered. She screamed and backpedalled, only to be pounced on. Blearily, she saw Masaki's hair curtain her from the light above. Drool, foul to the nose, fell on her cheek, and despite the water in her eyes, she made out jagged laniary.

Karin slapped the beast. It reared back thanks to the cut she gave it. Karin rushed past it for the kitchen. She dropped the razors in the sink and picked up their largest knife from its seat in the knife block. The creature topped down the stairs with elongated limbs. Karin saw, with her eyes clear of wood, she doled significant damage to its face.Karin readied her knife as it charged. When it leapt into the air to tackle Karin, it fell onto the knife.

Karin let the beast down. Although winded, Karin cried fresh. Her mother's hair was beautiful.

She tossed the knife into the sink, wiped her hands on her pants, and exited through the front door.

---

Karin popped out of the membrane she floated in. She hoisted herself up, rolled her shoulders, squeezed out the excess fluid in her hair, and sighed.

She felt different. Hungrier.

Karin stumbled through the surreal landscape. Ichigo waited by the door. He wrapped her in a pink shroud.

“I’m so hungry,” Karin mumbled.

“Okay, let’s get you something to eat. Come with me. Let’s get you washed off and something in your stomach.”

Karin’s body felt ill fit. Karin scrubbed herself with all kinds of suds and soaps and perfumes but the feeling didn’t fade.

She stepped out, pressed a towel against her hair, and wrapped it around her torso. Ichigo was outside with sweats, boxers, and a sports bra. She dressed, and when Karin returned outside, he wrapped her waist in a gait belt.

“Kisuke says vertigo will be an issue until you eat. Otherwise, are you okay?” Ichigo asked.

“Yes,” Karin whispered.

“What was it like in there?”

"I don't want to talk about it."

“You had to be the worst of the worst, didn’t you?”

Karin nodded. Ichigo's eyes were straight ahead. He looked sad, and it didn't evoke the sympathy it did before.

“Come on, let’s get you some food.” Ichigo guided her by her gait belt. She did stumble once on their way to the kitchen up a flight of stairs, but otherwise, the trip wasn't anything noteworthy.

She was sat at the island counter in a dim, windowless kitchen. Ururu, Kisuke's daughter, entered a moment later.

"I was hoping you would be the one to make it out. God knows that derelict Kenpachi wouldn't have been very useful."

"I wouldn't say that. I can still feel him in me, his bloodlust," Karin said before Ichigo tossed her a disposable blood package. "He may not be the most cooperative to you, but he'll prove essential in the future."

Tier was quite rational and analytic. She was kind enough to have shared her experience with Karin.

"I've been wondering how exactly these ghouls are increasing in number so quickly. I can't think of any current events that would lead to such a flux of byproducts," Ururu said.

"Geez… you're right. Sousuke Aizen's experiments are almost all dead now. There hasn't been anyone capable of such destruction gone AWOL either," Ichigo chimed.

"Yet," Karin said. "I'm sure we have a mole in our ranks."

"Who do you think it is?" Ururu asked.

"I don't know. All I know is someone knew to sic a ghoul on Toushirou, and they knew exactly where to sic them. He smelled like he took great measures to blend in with humanity. He couldn't have been caught by surprise. And who else would know when and where are ride would come pick us up?"

"Holy shit," Ichigo cursed. "Does your dad know about this?"

"I'm sure he's figured it out."

"So he's using us to find evidence so he doesn't make claims that Yamamoto is gonna say are outlandish."

"That's where my money is, and whoever it is, Urahara knows we'll need something like you, Karin, to stop them," Ururu replied. Her phone vibrated in her shirt pocket. "Just a minute. Urahara and Company, this is Ururu."

Ururu's eyes widened. "Bring Momo here. We'll operate immediately. Thanks, Shuuhei." Ururu clapped her phone shut. "I have to prep the operating room. Looks like we have an unusual situation come up."

"Best of luck," Karin said.

---

Momo was not a happy fucking camper, especially when her body still regenerated. Her favorite fucking coat altogether evaporated too.

All she fucking wanted was to use someone's phone for two seconds to call Izuru.

"Drop your phone. If I have to tell you one more time, I'm gonna fucking burn you," she snarled.

It was a child. They cried like Nemu cried, like a scared kid. Momo had time for guilt after she killed Mayuri.

"Drop. Your phone. I will count to three. I will kill you if I don't have your phone."

The kid tried to run. She pounced and burnt hair filled her nostrils as she bent to pick up their fucking phone. Dumbass kid, she grumbled.

"Baby, I'm really fucked up. I blew myself to shit."

"Momo, oh my God you're alive! Where are you?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Stay put, baby, we're looking for you. Keep an eye out of Shuuhei's dogs, okay?"

"Izuru, I'm really fucked up."

"Look, we found Toushirou. He's being treated by Urahara. We'll take you there to get fixed up, okay? Just hang in there. Talk to me."

"I didn't mean to worry you." Momo's legs gave out on the grass. "I just got so mad. Nemu sent me a text apologizing right after I heard Toushirou got blown the fuck up." She wept. "Izuru, her and Mayuri are behind the ghoul attacks. He spliced DNA or something. I think he tried to turn me into one. I would've been real fucked if I didn't blow up.”

"You did good, baby. You did so good. Just hang in there. You're gonna be okay. Baby, tell me about your day at work."

"She was crying when he stuck me, you know, with that stupid ghoul DNA. She doesn't know what else to do. Don't be mad with her." Momo's regeneration couldn't keep up. She would expire soon, so she had to make sure Izuru knew everything that happened. "Tell her we still love her."

"No, you have to tell her yourself. Stay awake for us, baby. Tell me about work."

Momo's face was licked by a dog. She stared into it's eight, sweet, soulful eyes. "The only good men are dogs. I missed you, Venom."

"Venom is there? Venom, take her to Kisuke Urahara! Flatworm, feed her a piece of you!"

Flatworm was a Labradoodle-flatworm-dog with the ability of high speed regeneration. If part of its tongue was eaten, the consumer would shave death off for a good hour, and Venom, a rottweiler-spider-shaped dog, coughed up silk and wrapped Momo in it upon Shuuhei's command. It was cool and soft. Momo hummed peacefully and let the darkness of sleep take her.

Momo gratefully swallowed a piece of Flatworm's tongue. She would live for another day.

Izuru and Shuuhei rolled her onto a makeshift gurney they threw together with a canvas drop and a dolly. Izuru held her hand in the back, pleaded with her to stay conscious a minute more. When Momo was rolled out of the truck, they were grey shapes that took her inside and put her beneath a bright light.

Yuzu choked. She futilely attempted to pry her attacker off.

"How cute. You're very cute, Yuzu Kurosaki. Even when you smell like fish, you’re cute."

Addie's body rest upon the stained and rank sheets of her bed. Yuzu couldn't bear to look at the carnage. Not then, not ever. It was as futile as her escape, though. The image was burned into her brain.

"Don't worry, cute little Yuzu. You won't be in pain for much longer."

He brandished a thick syringe. She kicked her legs. As if she could avoid her fate, a cynical part of her thought. Her diluted vampire blood left her defenseless. When it plunged into her neck, she went limp.

"It'll be over soon," he promised her.

It was euphoric and nightmarish. Her arms and her legs went numb, her vision tunneled.

Yuzu realized she was dying.

"I know it's scary, but you can now serve a greater purpose." Her mystery attacker told her as he pet her hair.

Yuzu looked to the young woman who stood silently in the corner. She silently begged to be helped.

The young woman didn't even flinch. She only whispered to herself.

"Nemu, pick her up and let's go," her captor said after he shoved a bag over her head. "We've got things to do."

[failtoplan]

Future Imperfect - On Capitalism, Technology and Ideology

Looking out from the 31st floor balcony, it doesn’t seem high until you look down. Shenzhen stretches 80 kilometres east to west, but is only 10 deep, North-South. The city snakes laterally, littorally, between the hills of the Hong Kong border, along  Shenzhen Bay to the Pearl River delta, like a badly kept concrete lawn, with clumps of seventy and eighty story towers sprouting like steel weeds. The 115 story Ping An Tower, the worlds 4th largest, the town’s own tall poppy. When night falls, the entire town lights up like a circuit board, streaming with steel and light. The immaculately kept, perpetually swept, cycle path along the Dasha river is filled with office workers on dockless rental bikes, hired by the half hour, headed to one of the city’s many tech clusters, downstream, deeper into Nanshan district. They’ve phased out almost all the old taxis, replaced with a fully electric fleet. The same for the buses. Pretty much every transaction, from street-corner noodles to legal fees are carried out with QR codes and digital wallets. Cashless, silent, sleek.

This is not ‘The Future’, but it is ‘A Future’. Two days a week I commute from Shenzhen to Hong Kong. The journey takes around an hour and a half, but the time travelled is greater than the distance covered. After getting stamped out of Mainland China and into Hong Kong at the vast Shenzhen Bay checkpoint, coaches and cars spiral up onto the five-and-a-half-kilometre bay bridge to cross over to the New Territories. As we roll up the overpass onto the bridge, the plaiting of concrete weaves carriageways from right-to-left and left-to-right. The first sign that they do things differently here. At least for now.

Hong Kong, like Tokyo, represents a certain obsolete near-future in the collective imagination. Having had its image and form repeatedly appropriated by Hollywood as a stand-in for numerous dystopias, the familiarity can make it seem almost underwhelming. Hong Kong looks exactly like ‘Hong Kong’ - a trait it shares with New York. It also feels like yesterday’s vision of tomorrow. The stuttering neon signs and diesel-streaked streets, PoMo towers and marble-lined lobbies are a particularly sharp contrast with Shenzhen’s unironic modernity. From its peak in 1993, Hong Kong has declined from twenty-seven to less than three percent of China’s GDP. But beyond the numbers, it feels like a city in decline. Slowly, megaprojects such as the Hong Kong-Macao-Zhuhai bridge and the China High-speed Rail Link are stitching the territory together with the mainland, bringing Hong Kong’s greatest fear ever-closer, becoming just another mid-sized Chinese city. With the perceived erosion of its Rule of law, the Special Administrative Region has become a contested space. The acute confrontation over the ‘two systems’ principle, is also representative of a bigger conflict between two ideas. Two visions of what the future could be.

Words can be problematic; they are both the obstacle to articulating a thought and the best way to try. This clash of ideas, in which Hong Kong is just one front, isn’t easily reduced to opposing pairs as the Cold War once was. Capitalism’s ‘victory’ over Communism was always an artificial, lexigraphic binary that pitted an economic system against a total political, social and economic order. ‘Capitalism’ is synecdochic, an easy shorthand for ‘democratic capitalism’ and the free and limited, markets, open societies and shared small-L liberal consensus regarding the primacy of the individual. Democratic Capitalism is Limited Capitalism. And it was ‘Limited Capitalism’ that ‘won’. The front line crossed by the arcing span of the Shenzhen Bay Bridge is not the battle between capitalism and communism. Socialism with Chinese characteristics is Capitalism unencumbered by Democracy. It is the front  line between Total and Limited Capitalism.

Limited Capitalism was never an outright winner, but in its rhetoric, it strived to achieve the illusion of permanence. The rights of the individual – the societal sidekick to the economic superhero - has never been inevitable and maybe not even natural. Increasingly this relic of our post-Enlightenment experiments feels like a humanistic blip. In the face of Brexit and Trump, Bolsanaro and Orban, I have found myself increasingly having to defend the ‘pragmatism of the primacy of the individual’ to friends not just in Singapore and Shanghai, but Boston and Berlin. Yes, it is the freedom to screw up, but it is also the freedom not to be screwed with.

When measured in terms of human development Limited Capitalism has been a great success. But ‘Capitalist Democracy’ is a productive tension, not a synonymic pair. Capitalism privileges results, Democracy, the process. One is fast, the other is slow. The market is majoritarian, while the democratic enshrines the individual, not merely responsible to a simple majority. This makes elections, perversely, the least important aspect of a democracy. Limited Capitalism is an uneasy hybrid. You are free to consume, you are free to participate, but the between the two there is no equivalence. The human flourishing this has propagated cannot be measured by statistics alone. It is this tension that universalised the franchise, enshrined judicial independent and – aspirationally -declared Universal Human Rights. Less tangibly and more significantly it gives each of us a hope of genuine human dignity and all of us some faith in a societal-level trust. Maybe it was easier to win hearts and minds in the late 20th century with Right to Buy than the Rights of Man, but failing to promote the civil alongside the economic conflates consumption with participation, creating the opportunity for Total Capitalism.

-- Shenzhen’s subway tunnels are lined with motion-synced LED screens that animate adverts outside the carriage windows selling pizza and pet food station to station. My connected TV won’t switch on without first showing me a short film promoting the latest toilet paper or plastic surgery procedure. Pop-up ads and promotions are a pervasive part of every single product or service, physical or virtual that I use. Upsell, cross-sell, resell. The imperative to consume is everywhere, the Chinese Dream constantly reinforced as the route to individualisation and self-actualisation. Judged by the old Communist clichés of a “decadent West,” focussed on temerarious consumption, contemporary China is the most “western” place I have ever lived or been. One where I am no more and no less than the sum of my purchases. I buy therefore I am.

At the same time deep integration of seamless technology has evolved a new species of human as consumer, Homo Emptus. The local branch of KFC lets me buy a Family Bucket with nothing more than my face, using cameras linked directly to my virtual wallet which holds my credit cards and fictive cash. Recently I was walking through the precinct by my block, when a young woman ran up to me, apologising. Her cleaner’s phone had stopped receiving transfers and she didn’t have the cash to pay. Did I have any? Pulling a handful of 100 yuan notes out of my pocket, she pulled out her phone, scanned my wallet and transferred me the 300 kuai which I had in cash. In less than a minute I had become a human ATM. It was demeaning and thrilling at the same time, I imagine not dissimilar to the excitement felt by the freshly humiliated submissive.

Sometimes living here can feel like magic. But if you only immerse in the wonder, you miss the cost. Recently, a group of cyclists in Shanghai rode past a police officer, stopped by the side of the road, deep in an animated discussion with the driver they had just pulled over. The group, aware the policeman was otherwise occupied, slowly rolled through the red signal ahead, traffic light on a quiet Saturday morning. Fifteen minutes later by the time they had reached their café stop and pulled out their phones to pay, they had all been fined. Facial recognition cameras mounted on top of the police car had ID-ed them and then allowed the officer digitally ensure justice was done. When we are defined only by our consumption, this make complete sense, our economic life is simply ‘life’, giving the state unprecedented control in return for our convenience. Seamlessness may be fast, but to protect Limited Capitalism, we need seams.

The reality is though that our willingness to conflate commercial choice with civil freedoms has makes it easy for us to walk backwards into Total Capitalism. Using ‘Capitalism’ as a shorthand for so long has meant a lack of focus on the social and political dimensions that has allowing the market to perform as a poor stand-in for the whole. This has led to declining trust in the very institutions that underpin both our societal freedom and our consumer choice. The recent World Values Survey shows a minority in both Europe and the US of people born after 1970 believe it is ‘essential to live in a democracy.’ If this is the case then we have collectively failed to remind ourselves what ‘democracy’ really entails. It has also led to the bizarre inversion for many on the neoliberal right who see any democratic limit placed on the market as ‘undemocratic’

The rising indifference to the democratic can be seen in part as a consequence of Limited Capitalism’s success. Just as a fish does not know that it is wet, we take for granted the protections afforded the individual. We have collectively and systemically failed to remind ourselves of the importance of the water we all swim in. Political leaders and populist demagogues who owe their very existence to the small L liberalism that underpins Limited Capitalism have failed to give credit, choosing instead to pee in the pond for short term gain. Taking our collective socio-political foundations for granted has led to their erosion. Ignoring them has also reduced the success of a state to its economy alone. Whilst freedom of speech won’t feed my children, GDP won’t make them happier or more morally rich. This tyranny of the economic means that states which favour the fast and the outcome will be judged the best performing, outshining those that optimise for the slow, the process, the individual. By judging a state by its economy rather than their humanity, we set up a framework in which the Total Capitalism is not only increasingly easy to admire, but objectively ‘better’, with no way to quantify its glaring qualitative flaws. The fallacy that our economic lives are an adequate stand-in for our civic ones provides the ideological misdirection to pull the trick off. Only what is counted is valued.

Total Capitalism, by succeeding on these terms, promotes a worrying model of growth and unfreedom, chipping away at the old liberal consensus. As pervasive technologies allow ever-greater accumulation of information, we are reaching an inflection point, two divergent versions of how this data is used and its implications for how we live. Progress marches an there is a decision to be made, inaction is not possible. A battle that is waged by only one side, even one of ideas, is not without bloodshed; it is a massacre.

Unencumbered by the limits that the state apparatus of Limited Capitalism places on it, technology can quickly become dystopian. The Limited Capitalist model is not just a check on economic entities – as the EU has proved with its fines on Google and Microsoft - but also on governments. And it adds an implicit societal dimension to the economic role. When Apple refused to provide a back door to iPhone for the FBI, it was asserting its social responsibility, not just its economic function. It helped that these two impulses were congruent here, but the difference between that and the case of the Shanghai cyclists is stark. Tencent, makers of the ubiquitous WeChat Wallet in question, were doing nothing wrong by allowing the state to pick pockets; they were fulfilling their duty, legally obliged to do so in the People’s Republic. The FBI’s response to Apple’s refusal was that American lives might be lost, but people died enshrining the rights Apple was upholding. Do we still believe the defence of the individual is worth dying for?

It would be worth asking that question to the millions of minority Muslims constantly surveilled, or interred in camps in Xinjiang. Advanced monitoring technologies, sharpened to scalpel-like precision, have created an unprecedented digital panopticon. The whole region is monitored at a level of detail that previously would have taken vast armies of watchers and handlers. Now instead, the state has the ability to micromanage human life at a macroscale;  facial recognition, device tracking and digital monitoring turn an entire country-sized region into a prison colony. Xinjiang is not just a tragedy though; it is a testbed. China has rolled the same systems across the entirety of its domestic train network as well as at every airport, port and major public area. More disturbingly, it is a showroom for the implementation of its own particular strain of Total Capitalism. A sinister demonstration of how to unshackle the market from democracy, providing economic liberation whilst maintaining total control. For parts of the world that were previously faced with the choice between an all-inclusive version of modernity, open society and all, China offers an alluring alternative, a cake-and-eat-it model powered by pervasive technologies and financed by Belt and Road loans. And it is one that has succeeded by our own ‘Capitalist’ yardstick.

Total Capitalism is by no means inevitable, and its vision of the future not the only one. Technology is neutral and can be used co-opted for community as well as commerciality. The liberal limits within Liberal, Democratic, Limited Capitalism have allowed it to do both. But our willingness to collapse the social, political and economic into one big flat now have left us at a critical juncture. Hong Kong’s fight is an imperfect allegory for the decision that we need to make about what we should measure and what really matters, particularly in the developed world. We cannot take for granted what we already have. An era is only named after it has long passed. It is up to us to decide if we are to witness the end of this one.

[evetriestowrite]

if you ever loved me

My submission for @raenawrites October Writing Contest! I’m not toooo sure how I feel about this one, I struggled to cut it down to meet the word count, but I’m glad I managed to produce something that I could turn in.

word count: 2,024

You wore two masks at once.

I thought I could tell, at a glance, just the sort of person you were. Popular, rude, unpleasant. If I ever dared enter your presence, it would be reluctant. I saw a sort of rebellion in contradicting you, in ignoring you, in trying to refute your power.

You held a steady grip over the majority of our class, and they would come to you when you called. I was rather stubborn, and refused to. I was so certain I knew everything about you, about your motivations and your character. I thought I knew who you were when you were on your own.

Some people are just bad apples, Claire. Olivia Denver is one of them.

My mother’s words twisted and poisoned my every perception of you. When I fell at practice and you came to help with an urgency I’d never seen before, I assumed your bad intentions with absolutely no proof. An exception to the rule, I decided. Perhaps it was my first glimpse under the mask.

On the exterior, I continued to pretend you didn’t exist, but my mind refused to comply. My daydreams became filled with a face I wished I didn’t recognise, with uncomfortable closeness, and your heart beating, and beating, and beating in my chest.

I pushed it down inside me, somewhere hidden, somewhere I couldn’t even imagine the depth of.

You were still there. Just two desks to my right, whispering with your head bent low to the girl next to you. I ignored my heart as it came undone.

I thought that I was burning, because I’d never felt like this before, and your face, god, your face-

I thought that you were setting me alight.

I had never been one for parties. They had always seemed to achingly loud and painfully chaotic, a mess of drunken love and ruin. This time, though, I was determined to attend; perhaps it was my knowledge that you’d be there too. Despite the sharp sting that accompanied your face, seeing you appeared to be the only thing that kept me going through the dark.

I dressed up, did my hair. I walked to the house by myself and stood in a corner, watching everybody dance. The freedom of it all was so enticing, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to move. My feet were never built to dance.

I took another sip of my drink and turned away from the room, in a half-hearted attempt to find a bathroom.

That’s when I saw you.

You leaned against a wall, half soaked in the darkness. Your long dark hair was twisted up into a neat bun, eyes gazing at nothing, cheekbones underlined in shadows. My heart stopped.

I watched, frozen, as your gaze shifted to meet mine. You took a step- slow, but so sudden- and moved carefully towards where I stood.

“Claire,” you said softly. In this light from a single table lamp I could see that your eyes were red and your makeup was streaked with tears. There was a wild sort of desperation in your voice, one that I despised, one that meant you were afraid.

You were afraid of me.

I couldn’t quite remember how to open my mouth.

“I need to talk to you.” you said, and my lungs seized up with panic. Every possibility of wrongdoing and every accidental consequence of my once insignificant actions rose up inside me, choking me, destroying me.

I nodded, but you didn’t speak. Instead, you led me up a flight of stairs and towards an empty room.

I stepped inside, hardly able to keep myself from crumbling completely. You shut and locked the door, the resounding click proof of my fate.

When you looked back at me, you looked so different. Like a new person. It felt like a layer of subjectivity had been ripped from your face, like a mask was missing.

In this moment, you were so beautiful. A few escaped strands of hair caressed the sharp outline of your face, lips full, brown eyes glinting in the pale light. You were close to me- so dizzyingly close- and from this position I could see all of the threads of green laced into your iris, and they were so deep I thought they might swallow me whole, and I thought-

I thought I was drowning.

“Claire, I-” you started. “I like you. I really like you. In fact, I think- I think I might love you. And it hurts so much that I can’t hold it in anymore, and I’m sorry but I just have to tell you.”

My heart hovered somewhere between breaking and unbreaking, doing and undoing, and my whole body yelled out at me to just lean in.

I didn’t have to.

You did.

And then your hands were in my hair and mine were on your hips, and the world seemed to stand totally still. I had always thought that change happened gradually, a gradient that was so slow to alter it was almost impossible to notice, and yet in that moment I could feel my world shifting and editing, growing instantly into something beautiful and uncontrollable, something totally out of my reach. And I didn’t care.

Because you were right there.

You pulled back, gasping for air.

“What was that?” I asked, smiling more than I would perhaps have liked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No. I mean...” I struggled to find a way to articulate the terror and pain and extraordinary love. “I liked it. I really liked it.”

“Oh.” you said, smile growing.

This time I leaned in.

Shortly after I stumbled home that night, my heart still in the process of breaking, we began to text for the first time.

What we said other was neither here nor there. All I needed to know was that you cared. In your own strange, distant way, you *cared.* For a while I didn’t even mind that you refused to tell anyone.

I’m not ready, Claire. Just give me a little time, ok?

I accepted readily. You were mine, and that was enough. I didn’t need any more than that.

Until I did.

Until it had been three months since that night at the party and we’d hardly spoken in person, let alone kissed.

It was selfish of me, I know that. Going public would hurt you a thousand times more than it would hurt me. You had a reputation. You had a past that you just wouldn’t share. You had a million shards of secrets that you wouldn’t let me see. A protective mechanism, I suppose. Something lingering below this second layer that was so warm and sweet and gentle.

I was falling in love with you, I have to admit. But something that resonated deep inside me whispered that you weren’t falling back. That I was an experiment, something you could discard. It wasn’t true, I know that. I think I’ve always known that.

But when you showed me your broken side, that night, I panicked. This closeness suddenly felt too close. Everything seemed to come crashing down, because you had always been so perfect and now here we were, both tearing at the seams.

And very suddenly, I knew how we’d end. And I knew how we’d end and I knew how we’d end, this awful certainty drilled into my bones.

You waited for me to recover. To accept that there was something beneath all of this that you just couldn’t show anyone else, because they just wouldn’t understand.

I didn’t understand. I should have, or at least pretended to. What I shouldn’t have done was send you a text telling you that I couldn’t do this anymore.

And it was a complete lie, and I knew that, and it hurt me more than anything else.

I gazed on from a safe distance as you fell to pieces in the aftermath. It would have been narcissistic in a sick kind of way to imagine that all of that hurt was caused by me, but I recognised my responsibility in it.

I watched you with a kind of morbid fascination, never intervening. I heard a girl crying in the bathroom of a party once, and I think it was you. I saw you stumbling out of a house with your shoes missing and your balance knocked by all of the alcohol, making it to the end of the street before your friend had to pick you up in her arms and carry you home. I saw you breaking into individual pieces of the person you once were.

And I’m so sorry, because it was January and I was sitting on a beach at three am, wallowing in self pity, and you saw me from your window. And you came downstairs, and you sat beside me, and suddenly everything else was stripped away.

You looked at me with this shattered love in your eyes, and that hurt more than anything because despite it all, I knew everything you felt was still right there. All that pain and love and utter stupidity that comes with young romance.

You knew that there was nothing that could be done to save us except sit, and soak in the pale moonlight for a little while.

“Claire?” You said softly. “I wanted to ask you something.”

My heart started to beat a little faster. I nodded.

“Was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Us.”

“Oh.” I suddenly understood the gravity of her question, and began to panic under the weight of it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. But that’s not what I asked.”

We sat in the echoing silence for a few moments, before I managed to gather the words to reply.

“You’re amazing, Olivia. You really are. But...” I trailed off, turning to look her in the eyes in a desperate attempt to get her to understand. “It was one kiss. I wish it was more, but that’s all it was.”

You broke eye contact, moving to gaze out at the horizon instead. Slowly, out there in the distance, the sky was starting to turn purple. “We could always make it two.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You answered me with a series of quiet words that neither of us wanted to hear.

“I can’t.”

I knew it was coming. We both did, right from the start. We were no star crossed lovers. Just a pair of star struck teenagers who were desperate to hold someone.

“Olivia, I really was in love with you. But I’ve done my time in the shadows. Sneaking around and hiding, that’s not who I want to be anymore. I’m sorry, and I understand it’s selfish, but... oh, I don’t know. I don’t seem to know anything, lately.”

And then you laughed. It was so sudden and bizarre, given the circumstances, but it was beautiful.

“What was that about?” I asked, smiling.

“You’re always hiding something, Claire. Small things. There’s the tiniest of details that you try to disguise, but sometimes you let them show. I don’t know if it’s intentional, or an accident, but it’s like you’re a different person, underneath. Like just now, you’re usually always so sure of yourself, but there’s moments when that person just slips away and you’re so self deprecating all of a sudden. It’s funny.”

I looked at you in a way that I had a dozen times before, but this was the first time that I really saw you. Your face, bathed in gentle purple light, and the way that your mouth was perpetually turned up at the corners. And I knew that this was you. Beneath all of the pretence and hatred and pain, this was the person you should have been.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I always will be.”

“You don’t have to be. Because if you are, then I will be too, and it’ll go around and around for eternity. I don’t want us to be apologising forever.”

And I think that’s beautiful. I think that’s very you.