#walks out of photoshop screaming and covered in blood

[jackfuckingtwist]

We shall triumph. Our time together does not end here.

[btsmakesmehappy]

Palate Cleanser | 5

Genre: Agent au, friends with benefit (sort of), Stranger to lover, Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Agent!Taehyung x Baker!reader

Word Count: 6,7k

Rating: 18+ (M)

Warning: Guns. Violence. Minor characters died. Possessive Tae. Cursing.

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 completed

Series Masterlist: The Company

Summary: Taehyung needs something to take his mind off his broken heart. His best friend, Jimin, suggests that he should meet another woman and the first woman he met was you. Would you help him even though you have your own problem, that you hate men?

A/N: To my beloved beta readers: @arizonapoppy​ who gave me the most encouragement and to @hesperantha​ who literally made me want to join your screaming reading lmao. thankyou so much!!

“Why are you here again?” you asked, trying to sound mad. You put your hands on your hips as Taehyung walked through your door to the couch, throwing down his jacket and other belongings on his way.

Taehyung chuckled as he plopped himself on the couch. “You know, muffin, you’re thinking way too much. I know that deep down you are happy that I am here.”

You scoffed, walking to the couch and sitting beside him. “I’m not!”

He then took the remote from the table and turned on the TV, scrolling casually through Netflix. “Sure.”

You pouted and grabbed his arm to attract his attention. “I’m not!”

Taehyung just smiled. He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose softly, catching you off guard. “You can say whatever you want, muffin. But you can’t lie to your heart. ”

You have been crying since Wendy dragged you to the Hall’s storage room. The room is in the back of the hall, almost outside. It’s weird for you that such an expensive hall has a room like this. The place is deserted and you feel that no one will ever hear your voice. You even take a peek at the broken window beside you, there’s no one out there to save you.

Taehyung was right after all.

That damn Park Chanyeol is fucking dangerous.

At the thought of Taehyung, you cry even harder. You are too young to die. You have just met a man who might be the love of your life and you have never told him that you love him. You miss Taehyung. You want to tell him that you love him. No, love may be too much. You want to be with Taehyung at any rate.

“For the love of God, stop crying already!” Wendy yells at you, yanking your hair.

How can you stop crying? You’re tied in a chair with a gun pointed to your head. If this isn’t the worst nightmare you’ve ever had, it is getting worse. Your stomach hurts. You try to control yourself, to stop the tears falling from your eyes. But they are just pouring like a waterfall.

“Wha-What will you do to me?” you ask cautiously.

“Oh, honey. Don’t ask something you don’t want to know,” she chuckles.

Suddenly, the door opens and a man barges in. He is in a suit too, and looks like another guest at this party. He holds a paper in his hand tightly. His face looks mad for some reason and he stops when he sees you. “Y/N?”

You look at him carefully. “Baekho?” You know this man. You went to college with him. Or close to it -- your college building is kind of merged with your culinary school so you saw him often. Hell, he even asked you out back then. Truth be told, you didn’t like him. He was snobby and when you rejected him, he hated it. He spread rumors about you in the building, which you didn’t care for. To you, he was just a rich annoying guy who had a bunch of men lurking behind him. And you remember one of the men -- it was Chanyeol.

His eyes widen when he looks at your state. “What? What is this?”

The door closes abruptly, making you jolt in surprise. “Nice reunion, right guys?” Chanyeol says happily. He walks closer to you. Your body is shaking. He touches your cheeks softly, which makes you wince in disgust. “I think it is more perfect than what I was planning before, with Y/N watching.”

Baekho glares at him. “What the fuck? Did you send this?” He asks as he holds the paper in the air. You can’t see what’s on the paper, but it looks like it might be a photo.

Chanyeol chuckles. “Of course I did! Who else knows about your bad past except me?”

Baekho grits his teeth. “What do you want? Do you want to share that photo with the public? Is that what you want?” He scoffs. “You really think that you can stop me from joining politics?”

Chanyeol laughs maniacally and walks to him. “I don’t fucking care about your career.” He pulls his gun and aims it at Baekho. “I just want you to die.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What the hell, Chanyeol? Are you crazy? Why do you want to kill your friend?”

Wendy slaps you across the face with her gun. “Shut the fuck up.” You can feel the tingling pain on your cheek and the bitterness of blood on the corner of your lips.

Chanyeol scoffs. “Friends? I have never thought of him as a friend.” His gun is still pointing to Baekho, who has already fallen on his knees. He’s hyperventilating and clutching his chest. “He just used me as a slave, back then.”

“What?” Your voice is weak. It doesn’t make any sense. Did he plan all of this just to take revenge on Baekho?

“You should be happy too, Y/N! He was the one who spread that groundless rumor about you! He even made your photoshopped naked photo.” He glares back to Baekho. “He is trash.”

This sudden fact makes you squint your eyes in confusion.  “That doesn’t mean you can kill him!”

“It is too late.” Chanyeol smiles weakly. You hear a click from his gun.

You squeeze your eyes shut when you hear a shot, followed by the other shots. The smell of gunpowder fills the room, mixed with the smell of dust. It is nauseating. The pain in your stomach worsens, twisting it, nearly forcing you to throw the contents on the floor. You want to vomit everything; wipe away what you just saw.

With the sound of the door opened abruptly, the sound of firing guns doesn’t stop, it is even getting worse. You hear the cries of the people around you. You clutch your bound hands into fists; your nails digging into your palms in what you are sure will be permanent half moons, if you survive this.

You cast your head down. At this point, you can’t cry anymore. You want to run away, but you’re tied. You literally can’t do anything. You pray that it will end soon.

You are almost sure you are going to die tonight.

Maybe it is the fear, maybe it is nausea, or maybe it is the fact that you are losing your mind, your mind turns blank and subconsciously mutters incoherent words, or worse, sings nursery rhymes, trying to calm your nerves.

Pat­-a-­cake, pat-­a-­cake, baker's man

Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Pat it, and roll it, and mark it with a "B"

And put it in the oven for baby and me

 Pat-­a-­cake, pat­-a­-cake, baker's man

Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Mix it, and stir it, and bake it just right

Good from the first 'til the very last bite

 Pat-­a-­cake, pat­-a-­cake baker's man

Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Make it with chocolate, and make it with cream

Make it the prettiest you've ever seen

 Somehow the voices around you are quiet. But still, you are afraid to open your eyes, until you feel a soft pat on your shoulder. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

You slowly open your eyes, to find a familiar man in front of you. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Hoseok?”

Hoseok sighs in relief. “Thank God, I thought you’d gone crazy.” He laughs. “Wait, let me untie you.”

He does, and you rise from your chair, legs wobbly, and look around the room. Wendy, who was beside you, is held down to the ground by some man, there’s blood seeping from her back. Another agent forces Chanyeol to walk outside. His hands are tied behind him; Chanyeol doesn’t even glance at you. And Baekho...

You can’t see him clearly, as he is covered with a white cloth. The way his blood drips from his unconscious body, you know that he’s dead. A man died. A man killed another man in the same room as you are. You put your hand on your mouth, willing yourself not to vomit in this place.

Hoseok runs to your side and holds your arms gently. “Are you okay? Can you walk?” You nod weakly. Your mind is still processing all of these things.

Why is Hoseok here? Who is he? What the fuck is going on?

Another man walks over to you. His dark eyes show concern. “Y/N, right? Let me walk you outside. There's an ambulance waiting outside to check on you.” You nod again, having no will to argue or refuse. The man puts his hand on your back while the other hand holds your arm, guiding you outside. It’s already dark outside, crowded with police and also the other people who are just curious about what happened.

He then walks you to the ambulance and the paramedics quickly examine you. Luckily, there are no major injuries. You only have a little wound in the corner of your mouth and a graze on your shoulder from the firing incident. After the paramedic treats you, the man covers your shoulder with a blanket and hands you a cup of water. “Thank you,” you whisper.

The man smiles, his eyes turning into thin lines. “You’re welcome. Taehyung will be here soon.” He pats your shoulder.

At the sound of his name, your head perks up. “Taehyung?” You look at him in confusion. What is Taehyung doing here?

Just when you want to ask him about Taehyung, you see his familiar form run towards him. “Jimin! Where is Y/N?” he asks hurriedly.

Your eyes widen with the sudden arrival of Taehyung. His hair is messy, his forehead is wet with sweat, his breaths are uneven. He carries a rifle slung over his shoulder by a strap. His eyes fall on you and he sighs in relief. He drops his rifle to the ground and runs to you.

Without even thinking, you run to him too, dropping the glass and letting the blanket fall to the ground. The two of you meet in the middle. Taehyung pulls you into his embrace, kissing your face over and over. “Oh my God, muffin. Are you okay?” he asks with worry.

Hearing his voice and feeling the way he hugs you, you feel more alive than ever. You are relieved, you feel safe. And with that realization, your eyes flood with tears. “Tae... I’m sorry.” Your body shakes uncontrollably.

Taehyung feels his heart sinking to his feet. He hates it the most when you cry. “No, muffin. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should be the one to protect you. I am sorry.” He hugs you tighter, running his hand on your head, stroking lovingly to calm you down. “I am glad that you are okay.”

“There’s a dead man,” you sob, burying your face in his chest.

“Shh... I know, muffin.” He pulls away from you, taking your face in his hand. His heart drops when he sees the wound on your face. He grits his teeth; he is so going to kill Chanyeol. How dare he hurt you?

You search his face. “Tae?”

Taehyung realizes your confusion and shakes his head profusely to clear his mind. Right now, the most important thing is you, you are alive in front of him. He leans in and gives a chaste kiss on your lips, not wanting to hurt you more. He wipes the tears on your face and pulls you into his hug again. Chanyeol can wait.

What matters most now is you.

An awkward cough erupts behind you, making you and Taehyung pull away from each other. “Sorry to disturb you guys. Jin wants to talk to you,” the man named Jimin says as he hands the phone to Taehyung.

Taehyung walks you to the back of the ambulance to let you sit there. Jimin wraps you again with a blanket. Taehyung’s hand still holds your hand tightly, not wanting to let you go, even for just a bit. He puts the phone up to his ear with his free hand. “Yes, Jin-hyung?”

You look at Taehyung warily and divert your attention to the other man beside you, who is looking at you with twinkling eyes. He looks curious and happy at the same time. “Oh, right. I’m Jimin. Tae’s friend.”

“I’m Y/N. I am...” Your voice quietens. “I-I am also Tae’s friend.” You have never talked about your relationship with him. You know that maybe boyfriend is too much, but a friend?

Jimin smiles knowingly. Anyone who saw you and Taehyung would think the same as him. How you and Taehyung hugged each other for dear life, how you look at each other, how you hold each other’s hands tightly, it’s not just any friendship. Jimin is happy for his friend. Even before Hawaii, Taehyung has never been like this. You must be someone special for him to make him fall so deep like this.

“I don’t want to!” Taehyung snaps, making you and Jimin look at him curiously. “Y/N is not going to the HQ.”

You are perplexed at the sound of your name. After the fog of the shootout, your mind starts functioning again. You collect the puzzle pieces. Taehyung told you that he is an agent, and he used that big gun. He is an agent, and you just now realize it, that Taehyung has never lied to you even once.

You squeeze his hand to make him look at you. “Tae, I’m fine,” you say softly. “If that’s something I must do, I can do it.”

Taehyung grits his teeth in displeasure and sighs. “Fine. 30 minutes.”

Taehyung opened the trunk of Jungkook’s car, grabbing a rifle from the case. He touched the rifle softly, unsure of what to do. His fingers trembled. A memory from the war 5 years ago filled his head. He heard the sudden cry from a child in the flashback.  He balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes.

Jimin walked silently behind him and patted his shoulder. “Are you okay? Can you do this?”

His war flashback turned into a dying girl covered in blood on the beach in Hawaii. His love, who almost died 2 years ago. Who he loved so dearly and yet never loved him back. A woman who will never be his.

And then he saw you, slowly walking into his life.

You with a pout on your face and a blush that formed on your cheeks when he flirted with you. You, with a smile plastered on your face when he came to your apartment and hid that smile quickly when he looked at you. You, with tears flowing like a waterfall every time you watched Disney movies.

You, who always accepted him with open arms.

He opened his eyes and turned to Jimin. “Chim, please keep her safe…” he begged as his hands gripped Jimin’s shoulder tightly.

Jimin smiled at him knowingly. “Of course I will, Tae.” He pulled Taehyung into a hug and stroked his back to reassure him. “I am so happy that you found someone.”

Taehyung gulped, trying to hold his tears. “I don’t want to lose her. She is everything to me now.”

“I know.” Jimin then pulled away from his best friend and gave him a smack on his back. “Now go save your woman!”

The ride to the Company’s HQ is quiet. Hoseok drives with his eyes on the road, sometimes peeking in the rearview mirror. Jimin sits beside him; he looks like he’s holding himself from talking to you and Taehyung.

And Taehyung?

He has been holding your hand since you first saw him a while ago. He soothes your hand softly to calm you down, and sometimes bring your hand to his lips. You can’t guess what’s inside his head, his dark eyes are unreadable.

You step out of the car when Hoseok stops in the driveway. Your feet stumble; Taehyung drags you through the security, silently showing his badge to the guards. You’ve never thought you would set foot in this building. The last time you went here, you only stayed in front of the building.

The people inside the building walk quickly, looking busy. You thought that you would see people in suits walking around with guns in their hands, but instead it looks like a usual office. They even have a private Starbucks in the lobby, next to a stall that you assume as a burger joint. You frown your eyebrows. Duh, Y/N! Do you think you’d find a donut shop there?

You walk to the elevator after a woman in the receptionist area gives you access with a card. Still, the elevator ride is quiet, only filled with the sound of Jimin tapping his feet impatiently beside you.

“Alright! I give up!” Jimin says to Hoseok. Jimin then hands a 10000 won bill to Hoseok. “I just can’t keep quiet like this. This is killing me!”

Hoseok slips the bill into his chest pocket. “Aha! I knew you would lose, Park Jimin!” His smile spreads to his face.

Jimin snorts. “Fine! I lost! I don’t care anymore!” He then shifts his gaze to you. “So how did you meet Tae?”

You blink your eyes several times, confused with the sudden question. Jimin’s face looks so happy, it almost intimidates you. “Wh-What?”

“You know what I meant!” Jimin says. “I knew a little already from Hoseok, but I still want to hear from your side of the story! Did Taehyung force you to meet him? Or you were the one who chased him?”

“Alright, Chim. Not a good time.” Taehyung interrupts as you arrive on the 7th floor. “And what do you think you are doing?” You step out of the elevator, following Taehyung.

Jimin whines as he follows both of you. “I’m just curious! I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“PARK JIMIN!” Taehyung yells, you can see his cheeks turn bright red. The tightness in your chest loosens; you were nervous before, but this unfamiliar banter somehow eases your nerves. Jimin and Hoseok genuinely care for Taehyung; they’re not just being complete dickheads. You giggle softly at Taehyung’s sudden shyness, which he realizes. “Please don’t join him to tease me.” He tugs your hand softly.

He tries to sound mad, but in fact, he is a little grateful to Jimin and Hoseok. They are trying to help you feel comfortable, and he is happy about that. But still, it is embarrassing for him.

Taehyung stops in front of a big grey door; he raises a hand to open the door, but stops midair. He then turns his face to you. “Are you sure about this?”

You gently squeeze his hand. “I’m okay, Tae. And besides, I am not doing anything wrong. I shouldn’t be afraid, right?” you ask, waiting for reassurance.

Taehyung bites his lips. “Well, it can be a little scary sometimes.”

You gulp. Maybe this is a bad idea? Taehyung didn’t want you to do it in the first place, shouldn’t you just follow him? But, you thought he would get into trouble if he keeps doing this. And you don’t want him to be.

Hoseok pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m going inside too. It’s only an interview, don’t be intimidated by Jin-hyung.” He smiles and opens the door, letting you enter the room first.

You take a quick glance at Taehyung’s face when Hoseok closes the door. “Taehyung is not coming?”

Hoseok smiles comfortingly. “He is too emotional at this point, so, No.” He points you to a seat in front of him. “You want a drink? Coffee or tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Suddenly the door opens and a man with broad shoulders enters. “Hi! You must be Y/N. I’m Jin.” He takes a seat beside Hoseok, opening his laptop. “Let’s just do this as fast as possible, okay?”

The questioning starts. They ask you simple questions at first, like your name, age, occupation, and anything that identifies you. After that Hoseok starts asking about Chanyeol and your kidnapping.

“How would you describe your relationship with Park Chanyeol? How often did you meet each other?”

“I think we were friends? We went to the same school before, I helped him one time. We then met again after many years when he handed his magazine to me at my bakery. Then we went to dinner that night, had some conversations. A few days later, he came rushing to my shop handing me a proposal for this event. And before the event, he came to the store once. That’s it,” you explain.

“So, you had no other relationship with him?” Jin asks.

You shake your head. You then suddenly think about Baekho. “Although, I also know Baekho.”

Jin and Hoseok turn stiff. “You know Lee Baekho?”

You look at their reaction, silently regretting telling them. Did I say something wrong? “Yes. He went to the same school too. Not in culinary, but I saw him once or twice maybe?”

Jin moves his laptop aside, directly looking at you. “How do you describe your relationship with Lee Baekho then, Miss Y/N?”

You gulp, absolutely getting intimidated by him. “I just know him. He also asked me out in the past. But I rejected him.”

“And?” Jin pushes.

You fiddle with your shirt unconsciously. “He didn’t take it well. He kinda harassed me about it, and spread a rumor about me.”

“What kind of rumor?”

“I don’t know the specific reason because we were in different social circles. But someone said he edited my face onto nudes?”

“And you were mad about it?”

“But it’s not like I could do anything. He had too much power in the school, like that guy Chanyeol? He was one of his friends -- well, he said that he was a slave though.”

Jin nods. “Okay, let me rephrase this.” He then stands up and walks to you. “So, you were mad when he did that to you in the past, and you couldn't do anything to defend yourself.”

“Yeah?” You answer timidly, not sure what he is trying to say.

Jin looks down at you with suspicion. “Were you or were you not planning this with Chanyeol?” he snaps.

Your eyes widen. “What?” You almost yell. “No! Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Revenge maybe?” He shrugs his hands.

“What?” Does this guy think you are complicit? “Look, I studied hard in my 2 years in school, I couldn’t bother to date any guy. I don’t fucking care what he did to me because it was just a rumor, it would die eventually. I don’t really care about what people said behind my back.”

“But still, you have a motive.”

“That’s just baseless!” you snap back. “I never met him even once after I graduated. And I’m doing great right now. Why would I throw away my life to just kill him?” Your eyes divert to Hoseok in front of you, who is also speechless.

Jin slaps the table hard, making you wince. “Then why are you suddenly approaching Taehyung? Or maybe you know that Taehyung is an agent and used him for your own gain? Making an alibi?”

You are perplexed and mad, and almost crying in frustration. It is just too much for you to comprehend. You can’t understand why this man suddenly put you in the corner. Whatever you said, he turned it back to you. You’re supposed to be a victim, but why did he treat you as a criminal?

Just before you answer anything, Taehyung barges into the room, looking mad. “That’s enough, Hyung.” He grabs your hand tightly, pulling you to the door.

“Kim Taehyung! You can’t just do this as you like. This is still an interrogation, and it’s far from over. She’s under suspicion!” Jin yells, grabbing Taehyung’s arm.

He jerks his hand away. “She’s a victim! Why are you being so hard on her?”

Jin snorts. “It’s just a common procedure. She might be lying.”

Taehyung looks at him with a stare that could freeze the Han River solid. “Not every woman is going to lie to you, Hyung” he whispers, making Jin wince. “I trust Y/N. And besides, I was the one who chased after her.”

“Maybe she made you think like that,” Jin says, folding his arms across his chest.

Hoseok, sensing the sour situation, stood up. “Alright-alright. Enough with this. Tae, we have finished the interrogation for now, so you can take Y/N home.” Without waiting a second, Taehyung grabs your hand, leading you quickly outside.

Back in the room, Hoseok turns to face Jin. “And you. That’s too far, Hyung. You barely had evidence, and yet you pushed her. It’s just not right.”

Jin clenches his fists and sighs. He then takes his laptop and stomps away, not wanting to say anything.

Hoseok is left alone in the interrogation room, looking around the bare walls of the empty room. He sighs. What the fuck just happened?  He walks out of the room. Maybe Jin was right, you were suspicious, you even have a motive. But that doesn’t mean that you want to kill Baekho.

Hoseok doesn’t need any more quarrels in his team. The only thing they should think about is whether Baekhyun is involved in this and why Jiseok suddenly tipped them that someone targeted Baekho.

Jin is losing his mind, he needs to move on too. He chuckles. Why do people around him always have a problem?

You walk in the middle of the night back to your apartment, draped in Taehyung’s jacket. You are not feeling the cold as the warmth and the scent from his jacket envelop you, calming you down. But even in the chilly wind, his hands are still the warmest things. He holds your hand in his, a steady reassurance of his presence.

As Taehyung opens your apartment door with his key, you suddenly remember that you have no stuff with you. You dropped your phone in the hall and your purse was still in the rental car. You turn to him. “Ehm. I think I need to go back to the hall. My purse is in the car,” you say cautiously.

He throws the key to the kitchen table and walks to the couch. “We will get your purse tomorrow. Just rest for tonight.”

“But, I also need to return the car before midnight. They’ll charge me more if I don’t,” you say as you follow close behind him. Your face bumps his back when he suddenly stops.

He turns to face you, you can see his eyes burn with fury, making you step backward. “Are you seriously thinking about that stupid rental car right now? You almost fucking died!”

“I know, but I am really fine! See?” You show him your hands and feet, waving them vigorously between you.

“That’s because I shot a fucking woman beside you,” he hisses. “Why are you so stubborn?”

You wince, completely aghast by his sudden rampage. “I am not. You see...”

“Listen to me!” he yells and runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

There is an awkward silence in your apartment. All you hear is the hum as the refrigerator switches on. You don’t understand what he is thinking, why he is behaving like this. You do know that he is worried about you, but still, you can’t comprehend why he does this to this extent. Even before, he was being overprotective of you, and now after this incident, it’s tripled.

He sighs and says again in a much softer tone. “Please listen to me, muffin.”

“Why?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

Your tears form on the edges of your eyes, threatening to fall. “Why are you like this?” you ask in a whisper.

Taehyung's heart sinks at seeing your tears. “Muffin...” He reaches out his hand to wipe your tears, but you brush his hand away.

“Just answer me...” You know he’s holding something back. There’s a piece of him that he isn’t sharing with you, and you just wish he would be honest.

“I just don’t want to lose you...”

You sigh, so frustrated with him. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve heard that from someone before and it didn’t go well.” Taehyung twists his lips, already regretting having said it. “And what happened tonight showed you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

“Is this because of that girl? That one in the diner? What happened between you two anyway? You clearly are still thinking about her!”

His body turns stiff. “What are you talking about?”

You tighten your hands into fists and cast your head down. “I am not that girl, Taehyung. I can’t be her. You should know that.”

You are saying nonsense things right now; the words pour out of your mouth without thinking. Maybe it is because of so many things happening tonight, or maybe because there are so many things in your heart and your mind. Or maybe it has been in your head several times, but never left your mouth.

Maybe Taehyung just sees you as a replacement for his past love. Maybe he really thinks of you as a palate cleanser. Maybe he just does those sweet things to other women. Maybe you are the only one who wants more. Why are you thinking so highly of yourself?

His eyes widened in bewilderment. “Of course I know that!” He grabs your hand softly. “I never thought of you as her, Y/N. Never once. Well, maybe at first I just used you to help me forget her, but what we had is beyond that.”

You jerk your head up to meet his eyes. “Then why are you doing this?”

Taehyung’s hand lingers on your cheek. Instead of answering you, he leans in and pecks your lips softly. He pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly. It is so unfair. Not only does he read you like an open book, he even has a cheat code. He knows how to comfort you. So unfair.

“The one we met in the diner, I almost lost her, and I meant it literally. She was hurt in the mission. She was bleeding so much, she even went into cardiac arrest. She was on the verge of death.” He sinks his head to your shoulder. “It was traumatizing to have my close friend in that state. I just... I don’t want to lose anyone ever again. Furthermore, I don’t want to lose you.”

He takes a deep breath, taking in your scents. “I am sorry that I made you think like that, Y/N. But I really never think of you that way.” He looks into your eyes. “Please believe me.”

If you were your past-self, you would be pushing him away now. You would call him a liar. You would never give him a chance. But since you’ve met him, you decided to start trusting him, trusting people more. He opens your heart and your mind. You hug him back. “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung kisses your head softly. “I am sorry I yelled at you.” You melt into his touch, sinking your face deeper. “Let’s just rest for tonight, okay?”

You nod weakly. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He pulls away and pats your head lovingly. He takes your hand, guiding you to your bed.

Maybe you’re naive to trust him this much, after getting taken in by a classmate of all people. You still don’t know much about Taehyung’s line of work, his dangerous, well-dressed friends, and his apparently deadly skill with a gun. Maybe it is wrong, a bad decision, or maybe it is even the right decision. You don’t know. But you have to do what your heart tells you to do. You decide to trust him.

The following morning you wake up early and have time to think. If your old self from 5 years ago could see you right now, she would slap you in the face so hard you’d see stars. Maybe she would drag you to a convent, so you wouldn’t meet any men. But before she drags you, you would actually hug her. You would tell her that hating men will not be the answer. You would tell her that everything is going to be okay. You would tell her that she would find someone too, that she should give herself a chance to love someone.

Taehyung snuggles closely to your body, his hands holding your waist, his limbs nestle against your skin, protecting you from the outside world. He breathes slowly, still deep in his sleep. His hair is in disarray, a small pout pasted on his beautiful face. You look at his face carefully, finding the fine hairs around his mouth cute.

You run your fingers through his hair. You always like his hair. It is kind of curly and bouncy. It is not the first time you feel envious of his hair. His hair is shiny and soft compared to yours. Sure, maybe it is because you usually bleached it by yourself at home with Hani’s help before, and now your hair is dry and split. Maybe you should ask him where he gets his done.

Taehyung stirs with your touch, opening his eyes slowly. “Hey.” He sinks his head to your chest, hugging you tightly.

You can’t get enough of this.

“Hey to you too.” You stroke his hair. “Don’t you need to go to work? I think your phone has been ringing several times already”

“Don’t wanna,” he murmurs in your chest.

You smile at his antics. “Won’t you get into trouble?”

He hugs you tightly. “Don’t care.”

You giggle, hugging him back. “Oh, right. I need to find my phone.”

“It’s in my jacket.”

You gawk and hit him softly on the shoulder. “And why didn't you give it to me yesterday!”

Taehyung hums in your chest. “Oh, I also forget to tell Hani about you. She might be worried sick.”

You push him away abruptly. “And you couldn't say anything until just now?” You slide from your bed, walking to his jacket to find your phone. “Jesus, I can’t understand you.” You quickly dial Hani’s number to reassure her.

Taehyung sits as he watches you trying to explain yourself to your best friend on the phone. He can even hear Hani’s yelling faintly. He smiles mischievously when you put your middle finger towards him and glare. Even just that small action of you, it makes his heart racing.

It is weird. He can’t understand it.

He thought that he only had one chance to love someone, and when he lost her, he was almost sure he wouldn’t love or even meet anyone. But it changed when he met you. It changed when you decided to help him.

How come he became so attached to you? How come he wants you so damn much? How come you always take his breath away?

Taehyung rises from the bed and walks closer to you.

Maybe it's fate, when he found your bakery and met you for the first time. Maybe it’s chemistry, when you talked to him and slept with him the first time. Maybe it’s jealousy when he saw you with Chanyeol and when he hugged you.

Taehyung was never a hopeless romantic, but hell yeah. Maybe it’s love.

You turn your phone off and face him. “Well, thanks to you, she didn’t sleep at all last night. I can’t even understand her voice with her crying loudly like that. She also wanted to yell at you but first, she wanted to thank you. But still, you shouldn’t forget about Hani, she-“

Suddenly, Taehyung kisses you, interrupting your tirade, catching you off-guard. He kisses hard and quick. He then pulls away, to look at your face. “I-I think I am in love with you,” he says as he rests his forehead on yours.

His declaration makes you stunned. So out of the blue. So Taehyung. You do know that you both feel something about each other. But you never thought that you would hear it from him.

That he loves you.

Your heart is racing as your tears begin to fall. How many times have you cried in front of him since you’ve met? You’ve lost count. You don’t care. You can’t believe those words have this so much effect on you. You can’t believe how he affects you this much.

Taehyung senses your silence and looks at your face. “I am sorry, is that a bad thing for me to do?” He starts to panic as he wipes your tears.

You shake your head quickly. “No. Not at all. I just can’t believe I would hear it.” You smile softly.

“But I don’t want to rush anything. I want to do this carefully. I know you are still in the process of moving on. And so am I,” he blabs. “Oh. Not that I am still in love with that girl. I just thought-“

It’s your turn to stop his talk. You peck his lips quickly, making him blush. “That’s fine with me.” You grin from ear to ear, feeling drunk with happiness. “I think I’m in love with you too.”

He pulls you into his chest, holding you tightly. “Should we go on a date, then?”

You chuckle. “Fine by me. Maybe another place besides that diner?”

He smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Good call.” He leans in to give you another kiss. And after countless kisses you shared with him, it might be your most favorite one. That one kiss that declared a love for each other.

You never thought you would have this feeling.

Happiness. Love. Longing.

Sure, life is full of unexpected things. You thought you would just ride the bus for 2 stops, but you ended up sitting for another 4 stops because you dozed off. You thought you would just sit for a coffee, but then you ended up ordering a slice of cake because it looked delicious. You thought you would just eat the bread for a palate cleanser between the wine, but you ended enjoying the bread more than the wine. You turned to a man for comfort and to comfort him back, but ended up falling in love with him.

It was unexpected.

But you don’t dislike that a bit.

Maybe Hani was right, you did need a palate cleanser.

And now, your palate is pretty cleansed, and you are ready for the main course. Or maybe...

“How about another piece of bread?” you smile at Taehyung, as you drag him to the kitchen for the favorite part of your day, breakfast with him.

Epilogue

“You must be kidding me! That can’t be possible!” Jin yells.

Jungkook who has the report in his hand, winces. “I know Hyung. But that’s what the forensic report said.” He points to the part of the report which states: respiratory arrest-asphyxia. “The gunshot was fired after he died, apparently.”

“But when he was killed?” Yoongi asks back.

Hoseok thinks for a bit. “You know, Y/N said that Baekho was hyperventilating before he was shot. Maybe he had some disease? Or maybe he was poisoned?”

Jin runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Alright then, Jungkook you go back to the forensics and investigate his cause of death. Yoongi will check the CCTV recordings, to see if he was drugged before he was in the warehouse. We still need to check on Baekhyun’s whereabouts too.”

As the other agents scatter from Jin’s office, Jungkook lingers longer. “Can you assign someone else to the forensics?” he asks warily.

Jin looks at him suspiciously. “Look, Kook. I want to help you, but the fact is we are in a bigger case than we thought. Please don’t make me yell at you. You are a professional.”

Jungkook sighs. “You are right. I am sorry. I‘ll investigate it immediately.” He nods and walks out of the office. He hates to go to the forensic department, but he can’t avoid it forever. He repeats Jin’s words to himself. He needs to be professional.

He must face her.

Go check the other series because *sst... It’s all connected!

Series Masterlist: The Company

Taglist: @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ @w0lfqu33n​ @gee-nee​ @jaienn​ @nctssidehoe​

[after-avenging-hours]

Virtue & Valor [3]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 4334

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language, Hydra fuckery,

“20 minutes from the drop site.”

You look up from the tablet with the mission file that you’d been reading as you stand at the back of the jet. The other agents start to move, grabbing their gear, tucking various weapons into different straps and harnesses across their bodies.

“How does it feel to be back out of the ice, Cap,” one of the agents asks, a twisted smile on his lips as he slaps a hand to the Captain’s shoulder. “You’d been in there quite a while. What was it like? Did you ever dream while you were in there or is it just completely blank in there the whole time?” he taps a finger to the Captain's temple.

“Do you ever shut up, Rumlow?” you question in annoyance. The Captain doesn’t respond to the questions, just continues to look forward as if he hasn’t heard anything.

Rumlow turns his gaze to you, that ever-present smirk still on his mouth as he scoffs. “How’s it going with the Misses, over there?” he asks the Captain with a jerk of his thumb in your direction. “I certainly wouldn’t mind having a handler as hot as that one. I bet she takes real good care of you, doesn’t she?”

You roll your eyes at his childish antics. “Come, Soldat. It’s time to gear up.”

“Mommy’s calling,” Rumlow teases, slipping his hand off the Captain’s shoulder.

The Captain moves fluidly, like a shadow in the night, as he steps over to you to grab his gear. His black tactical uniform allows him to blend in with the other agents. There’s just one obvious difference between his uniform and theirs. The blood-red logo on the center of his chest grabs your attention. The black, soulless eyes of the skull look back at you in the same way the Captain’s eyes do. Tentacles curl out from underneath the skull, like writhing snakes.

“Ya gotov otvechat,” the Captain tells you, his voice cracked and hollow, as he stands at attention. Ready to comply.

You feel empty inside as your response tumbles passed your lips. “Hail Hydra.”

You wake with a start to the sound of a knock on your bedroom door. You sit up a little blearily and wipe at your eyes. “Come in,” you respond, briefly wondering why Steve would knock on his own bedroom door.

However, Steve isn’t the one that steps into the room. It’s the redhead. Natasha.

You swing your feet over the side of the bed and stand up, eyeing her warily.

She raises her hands up as a sign of coming in peace. “We’re not here to hurt you,” she tells you. “We only want to help.”

“Help?” you repeat with a scoff. “You think that telling me my marriage is a lie is going to help?”

“Hydra is keeping you complicit by feeding you a fantasy. Only the truth can set you free. You have to trust me on this,” she urges.

“Well, I don’t trust you.”

“You did once before.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stands her ground. “You and I have known each other for a long time.” You slowly walk around the bed, taking your place in front of her and mimic her pose. “We trained together when I first got to SHIELD.”

“I’ve never worked for any SHIELD. I’m just a PE teacher,” you insist.

She raises a brow as the corner of her mouth tilts. “I’ve never heard of any PE teachers that teach Mixed Martial Arts to a bunch of teenagers.”

You frown, wondering what else Steve has told these people.

“Hydra built you the picture-perfect life. Mixing just enough of your base personality with new memories and a happily-ever-after storyline to keep you from questioning your reality. You know that this isn’t right. You know that the picture is photoshopped. You just have to be willing to accept it.”

You don’t give her a response, so she keeps going.

“Sam and I are only guests here. We can’t navigate this world the way you and Steve potentially can, but you have to be willing to take back your control. If Hydra has been able to do all of this to your mind, imagine what they’re doing to your body! The longer it takes for you to wake up the more powerful their grasp on you becomes.”

“Enough!” you shout. You dart forward, not even thinking about what you’re doing. Grabbing her by the side of the neck and shoulder, you slam her face-first onto the mattress. Before she can react, your hand dives underneath her shirt, grasping the handle of the gun that’s tucked into the back of her jeans. You then jump back, holding the gun with deadly accuracy at her head.

She raises her hands in surrender as she slowly straightens back up, now eyeing you warily.

Your breathing comes out in heavy puffs, but your hands remain steady as adrenaline surges through you. It takes a couple more seconds before your mind finally catches up with your actions. You take a stumbling step back, arms lowering slightly. “How- How did I know you had this gun on you? How did I even do that?”

“Because we’ve been training together for years,” she tells you calmly. “Because you’re an Avenger.”

“I’m not!” you argue, but your voice waivers. “I’m just me! I’ve never even held a gun before!”

“Then why does it feel so familiar?”

Your breath catches at her words. Because she’s right. It does feel familiar. And that terrifies you. Your hands tremble before you drop them completely. Your thumb moves on its own to click the safety back into place as if you’ve done it a thousand times.

“Val…” Natasha calls hesitantly.

“Get out,” you whisper brokenly.

“We only want to help-” she tries one more time.

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!” you scream, flying into a rage so intense that your vision turns red.

“Okay,” Natasha responds softly, keeping her hands raised. She moves slowly so as not to startle you, even though you keep the gun lowered at your side. She backs out of the room and soon she’s out of your sight.

You choke on your next breath, the rage draining out of you and leaving behind an empty sort of ache. Your hold loosens on the gun and it falls with a dull thud to the carpet at your feet. “Oh my God…” you gasp out before covering your mouth. You feel like you’re going to be sick. Your body is shaking by the time the first sob forces its way out of your throat.

“Hey,” you hear his soft voice moments before Steve’s arms wrap around you and pull you into his warm embrace.

You allow yourself to completely breakdown against him, the tears falling from your closed eyes and soaking into his shirt. He gently rocks you back and forth, running his hands soothingly over your back. You feel like your whole world has just cracked and it’s mere seconds away from completely shattering. You’re barely holding on by a thread.

You must cry until you’ve completely exhausted yourself because you don’t remember when the crying stopped, but you’re now waking up to the morning sunlight filtering in through the curtains. It takes a few blinks before you realize that something’s not right. Normally Steve would have woken you up by now.

You turn to look over your shoulder, but there’s an obvious lack of another body on the bed. In fact, both his pillow and the extra blanket that’s normally folded over the foot of the bed are missing, too. You frown, feeling that sense of dread pooling deep in your gut. Pushing yourself out from the warmth and general safety of the covers, you look for the strength needed to try to face whatever comes at you today.

You find yourself curling your arms over your stomach as you make your way down the hall as a means of self-comfort and protection. When you surpass the kitchen and head straight for the living room, you find Steve exactly where you expected. He’s standing in front of the couch, folding up the blanket from your bed.

“Why did you sleep out here?” you ask in a hushed voice as if talking any louder will ignite the tension that seems to weigh over you and will cause it to explode.

Steve keeps his gaze focused on his task, not even giving you a glance. “Had a lot on my mind. Didn’t want to keep you awake.”

You feel like a frayed piece of cloth that’s coming apart at the seams. Pulling on the thread just makes it unravel even more, but you can’t seem to stop it. “Steve, please tell me you don’t actually believe anything those people said yesterday,” you beg.

He releases a long sigh, setting the blanket down on top of his pillow. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” He finally lifts his gaze and meets yours.

You don’t like what you see. The seed of doubt has been planted inside of him and it’s had all night to grow. The uncertainty in his eyes cuts you to pieces like a thousand tiny daggers.

“Believe in us,” you tell him, your voice wavering emotionally. “Believe in the vows we took for each other.”

“And what if we didn’t really take them?” he cuts in.

Your lips tremble as you desperately fight for composure. “Wouldn’t you rather be happy if you were given the option?” you ask him the same question he asked you just yesterday.

His eyes turn sad and it makes your heart crack. “Not if the happiness is a lie.”

“Steve…” The crack in your heart splinters before it completely shatters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his gaze once more. As if the words will be enough to fix what’s just broken.

You want this to be a dream. Some sort of twisted nightmare. You want to wake up back in bed and back in his arms. To feel his sleepy morning kisses against your lips and his feather-light touch over your skin. You don’t want this. Whatever this is.

Before you can decide what you want to say next, there’s another knock on the front door. Steve must read the panic on your face as he moves to answer it. “It’s not them,” he tells you.

Your brow furrows as you wonder how he could possibly know that. You follow him to the hall, but hang back as he pulls open the door.

“Package for Steve Rogers,” says the delivery carrier on the other side of the door.

“That’s me,” Steve confirms taking the package from the man. He tucks it under his arm, giving a gentle thanks to the delivery man before closing the door.

“What is it?” you find yourself asking. It’s a relatively large, but flat box. Almost like a pizza box, but bigger.

Steve moves passed you toward the kitchen. “Natasha said they’d send something that could help restore our lost memories. Some type of data package.”

“A data package…” you repeat doubtfully. “That showed up as a box from a delivery guy… because we live in a computer…” You’re hoping the words sound as ridiculous to him as they do to you.

“Won’t know until we open it,” he shrugs, disregarding your tone. He sets the box down on the kitchen table and grabs a pair of scissors. He slices through the tape and lifts the top lid of the box.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting but it’s certainly not whatever you were looking at. “What is that?”

“It’s a shield,” Steve tells you, looking over the large circular disc. “Captain America’s shield.”

“How is that a data package?” you question. Every little thing seems to only raise more questions than answers.

“I’m not sure…” Steve takes a second to look it over before reaching forward to run his fingers over the white star in the center. He inhales sharply, his spine straightening as his eyes glaze over.

“Steve?” You call out, startled by the sudden change in him. You’re not sure if you should be doing something, but before you can take any sort of action, Steve rips his hand off the shield and stumbles back a few steps. “Are you okay?” you place your hand on his arm to help stabilize him.

He jolts away from your touch as if it burns. “I’m fine,” he gives a curt response in a tone you don’t recognize. “I remember the truth. I remember who we really are.”

When he finally meets your gaze, it’s not your husband that looks back at you. In fact, if his features weren’t so familiar to you, you’d think you were looking at a complete stranger. Gone is the soft, gentle, and sweet art teacher. In his place stands someone who’s hard, disciplined, and stoic.

“Steve…” you choke on his name, shaking your head. “Don’t. Please don’t do this.”

“It’s time to wake up, Val. Everything around us has been created and molded by Hydra. We can’t stay here any longer, but I can’t get you out of here until you fully understand what we’re up against.”

“No,” you deny. “That’s not possible! This isn’t a fake world! This is our home! This is our life!”

“Enough!” Steve insists, quickly growing annoyed with your denial. “None of this is real! You’re not my wife!”

You rear back as if he’d just slapped you.

Seeing the look on your face, Steve makes an attempt to soften his features. “Look, everything will make more sense after you touch the shield.”

“No!” you protest, taking several steps back and cross your arms over your chest as if you expect him to come at you and force you to touch it. “No, if this is what it’s done to you… then I don’t want that.”

“You can’t stay here forever!”

“Why not?!” You argue. “We were happy! Why can’t you just be happy with the way things were?”

“Because it was an illusion! A trick to keep us distracted from what’s really happening here.”

“Nothing is happening here, Steve! Except for you deciding to throw away our marriage because of two complete strangers that showed up at our doorstep!”

“They’re not strangers! And you would know that if you would just touch the God damn shield!”

The tension between you both has gone from a flickering flame to a full-on raging inferno. You can’t remember the last time the two of you have had such an explosive argument and that thought only seems to piss you off even more. You hate that any little blank space within your memory only seems to tip the scales of truth further toward Steve’s perspective.

“I won’t! I won’t touch it and I won’t give up on us!”

“Aren’t you listening?! There is no us! Not in the way that you think. Only in the way that Hydra made you believe. Everything we had was based on a lie. It’s nothing but a pretty piece of artwork created by someone as a means to keep us trapped here. There was no wedding, no honeymoon, no marriage. You can’t give up on something that was never there.”

“Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you feel absolutely nothing for me?” you challenge him. “Look me in the eye and tell me that because you now remember the so-called ‘truth’, all the nights we’ve spent wrapped in each other’s arms, every stolen kiss between class periods, every moment you were fucking inside me… is now completely meaningless to you. Tell me that none of that matters.”

“Val…” he winces like he’s in physical pain, some of the fight deflating out of him.

“Tell me, Steve,” you urge through clenched teeth. “Tell me I don’t matter.”

“You,” he starts before his voice falters. His jaw ticks as he tries to keep himself composed. “You are my responsibility. I got us into this mess and I’ll find a way to get us out. But I need you to be stronger than this. You’re an Avenger, so start acting like one.”

He squares his shoulders and moves to grab his wallet and keys from the bowl on the counter. His actions throw you for a loop as you stare after him when he makes his way toward the garage door. “Where are you going?” you ask in disbelief that he’s just walking out on this conversation.

He opens the door and glances briefly at you over his shoulder. “I need to clear my head.” The door closes behind him with a resounding slam. You next hear the mechanical whirring of the garage door opening moments before the rumbling purr of Steve’s motorcycle starts up. Soon he has become no more than a sound fading into the distance as he takes off and leaves you behind.

You can’t believe that he just left. The shock is slowly eaten away by the fire of rage within you. It bubbles and pops like molten lava as it feeds and grows on the frustration and pain that are also tumbling inside you. It builds and mixes into a volatile cocktail until you feel like you’re about to burst at the seams. Unable to keep these feelings inside you any longer, you erupt in a sharp scream of rage and swipe the box off the kitchen table.

The shield separates from the cardboard mid-air and clatters to the floor with a metallic twang. The sound, though not particularly loud, seems to slice straight through you. It’s a unique sound but is also somehow familiar to you. It seems to ring in your ears and bounce around your head.

You release a pitiful whine as you raise your hands to your ears in a vain attempt to make the sound stop before you crumble to your knees on the kitchen floor. The more you try to resist, the more your head begins to ache. “No…” you squeeze your eyes tight and shake your head, willing the sound to leave you alone. “Stop,” you beg. “I don’t want this.”

You envision brief glimpses of the shield flying through the air before it collides with various objects and releases that same twang. The shield is so clear in your mind, but everything else from the memories seems to be just out of reach. You can’t let go of the deeply seeded feeling that these truly are memories, though. Your memories.

Your eyes snap open as you release a startled gasp. Your eyes land once more on the shield where it rests just a few paces away from you. You’re not sure how much time passes as you sit on the kitchen floor just staring at it in a battle of wills. You almost feel like you’re getting drawn in by it. Compelled to just reach out and touch it, despite how much you really don’t want to.

Like following a whisper in the back of your mind, you find yourself inching closer. You’re not even sure if you’ve blinked the entire time as you come to a stop with your hand stretched over the shield. You pause and find yourself hesitating. You know that there’s no going back once you’ve touched it. You can continue to stay in this blissful ignorance, but without Steve, there’s nothing left for you here.

At least after you’ve touched it you know that you’ll get to go where ever he’s going. Maybe you can do something to salvage what’s left of your tattered relationship.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quietly, though you’re not entirely sure who it’s meant for. Be it, your broken heart, or maybe just as a goodbye to the life that you thought you could have here.

You close your eyes, allowing a single tear to slide down your cheek before you press your hand down onto the cold metal.

Images flash in lightning speed across your closed eyelids. You thought it might play out in your mind like a movie on fast forward, but it doesn’t. It’s more like small snippets here and there in no particular order. You see Steve in his Captain America suit, jumping out of the back of a plane. You see Natasha in an all-black stealth suit taking down enemies in combat with swift elegance. You see Sam flying above you with a pair of metal wings. There’s a man walking out of a red and gold robotic suit of armor. Tony. A flash of lightning followed by a flying hammer and a man in a red cape. Thor. 

Bit by bit the snippets begin to come together, forming your life story. You remember the fall of SHIELD shortly followed by your recruitment to the Avengers. You remember training with the team and going on missions. Fighting side by side with every single one of them.

You remember the mission briefing with Steve the day before the two of you left the compound. You remember the fear that shot through your veins when the Quinjet took its first hit. And the pain that exploded throughout your whole body when it crashed.

Your hand rips off the shield. You take a few heavy breaths, your eyes opening once more as the memories settle in place within your mind. You give yourself another moment to let your heart rate slow before you pick yourself up off the floor. You scoop up the shield as well and let it rest against the wall.

You release a soft groan, and rub your forehead. You decide that a hot shower might be a good way to calm your reeling mind and help you plan your next steps. Your head feels extremely full now that your original memories are back, but the planted ones are still in there, as well. It’s strange how the planted ones feel no different from the real memories. It's like having two completely separate lives and memories jammed into one brain. You almost feel like there’s not enough space to store it all.

While you’re in the middle of lathering shampoo into your hair, you come to the realization that besides the planted memories, you can’t recall anything else after the plane crash. You don’t remember getting rescued or retrieved from the crash. You don’t remember any sort of Hydra facility. You certainly don’t recall any sort of mental download into this world. Your ‘real-life’ memories go directly from the moment of the crash to touching the shield.

Now that you’re a little more aware of what a memory alteration might feel like, you can’t help but notice that there seems to be a few blanks left. Something that’s still getting blocked somehow. You’re not sure what to make of that.

You finish up your shower and throw on some clothes. Steve hasn’t returned yet, so you head back for the kitchen to start on breakfast. It feels strange to go through your normal morning routine, knowing that everything is fake. Do you even need to eat in this world? However, the only other option is to basically sit and wait for him to come back, and you’re far too jittery for that, so cooking food is the best way to keep yourself moving.

The menial task and thoughts of Steve has your mind wandering a little as you try to grapple with the return of your memories and how that changes the way you feel about him. Or more accurately, how it doesn’t seem to change your feelings at all. It’s true that you hadn’t been in any sort of relationship prior to leaving for the mission, but thinking about going back to a strictly platonic and professional relationship makes you ache. When you try to separate memory from feeling, it still feels like you’re in love with him. It makes you wonder if maybe he’ll feel the same.

Time seems to drag as you wait for Steve’s return. You make your breakfast, eat the food, and then clean up the dishes. You dispose of the cardboard box that the shield arrived in, and then straighten up the rest of the kitchen. You begin to feel like you should be doing something more than your normal routine. Maybe figure out how to help Steve find a way out. But you don’t even know where to begin. You now wish that you had stuck around a little longer when Nat and Sam had been here. You don’t really know the first thing of what’s really going on here.

You’re a little worried that any sort of deviation from what’s normal might tip off Hydra to the change that has occurred to you and Steve. There’s no way to know what kind of level of monitoring they could have here. What if they already know? What if they’ve been watching you this whole time?

The paranoia doesn’t exactly help matters at all, so you attempt to push it aside and continue to wait for Steve. You hope that he may have more answers. You’re in the middle of folding laundry in the bedroom to keep yourself distracted when you hear the rumble of Steve’s motorcycle returning to the house.

Setting down the t-shirt, you move back to the kitchen. When he steps through the door, he meets your gaze first before looking toward the table. His brows furrow when he notes that the shield is missing before he spots it leaning against the wall. He turns his gaze back to you, giving you a curious look.

You try to keep your expression neutral, wanting to try to get a read on him before you decide to bring up anything about your relationship. You understand that there are more important things at stake. You have to be willing to put your heart on hold for now. “So, what’s the plan, Cap?” you ask him directly.

Part 4

[dorki-c]

Metanoia

Characters: Dabi and reader

Relationship: Dabi X Pro-hero! Reader

Quote: “Metanoia”

Gift for: @glitterfreezed (Aka photoshop goddess) THANK YOU for being one of my very first moots on this crazy platform! I really hope you enjoy this one shot (as I spent way too much time on it XD) and for anybody reading this: GO CHECK OUT GLITTERS PLAYLISTS!! They are honestly amazing!

Tw: Kidnapping, Use of Guns, Slight nudity

Going on patrol lately has been boring.

Sure, (y/n) wouldn’t pass it up for helping little old ladies get across the road or helping itty bitty children find their parents within a crowd.

But besides that, there was little to nothing to do- no paperwork, no criminals terrorising the streets, or vigilantes on loose- the streets were cleared and scrubbed down from any crime lately.

It was strange.

Nothing has been the same ever since Kamino ward as well.

The moment you found out your lover was a villain; you took great lengths to create distance from him. Not sparing him a second glance or another phone call- let’s not forget you blocked his number- although doing these things made you seem like an asshole; you are a hero.

Heroes do not date Villains.

Its absolutely forbidden.

Though should you have stayed with him, something could’ve happened- he could’ve used you for blackmail, ransom, and maybe trafficking- as terrifying as it sounds, at least your far from your old apartment.

At least your away from that freak. That sadistic freakshow, with his stupid smirk and (beautiful) weird ass scars.

Luckily, the clock had ticked to the hour that announced your release from countless wasted minutes of scrolling through your phone as two feet laid disrespectfully on the hero agencies desk where nobody pointed out the blatant rudeness she was showing.

Even if she wanted to stay here, the female should get home soon. Even if there was no problem during the day, that doesn’t reassure that there will be trouble when walking through the evening.

Where you had the inkling of protection that is provided to you by your muscle memory, nobody should rely on themselves to do a simple task like walking home when there is such a thing as societies creepy-crawly insects withering across the nooks and crannies of cities and flooding the deepest rabbit holes with their sickening ideals.

Just thinking about them brings revolting nausea into the churning acid within the insides of your body as it screams out to stay aware of the footsteps you take, of the glances you throw out, and of your hands gripping the cheap handbag- that you bought on a whim from that one charity shop around the corner of the apartment building- when a hand of yours dipped inside the bag to grip the weapon that laid unaware of whose blood it could spill today.

The three walled mirror room moved down from whatever floor it was on and when opening the doors, a small (and annoying) ping was heard through the (also) small lobby area.

When approaching your apartment door with your guard up and one of your hands swiftly opening the rusted door handle allowing a small gust of air to run into the vacant apartment, the eyes of a human watchdog sporadically darted from one place to another.

Making sure she can securely (slam) open the door, the pro hero steps in one footstep at a time like one of the cliché spy movies before throwing her bag down and yanking the heavy weapon out of her bag.

Its matte black exterior elongated to show the vertical and horizontal bits and pieces of the weapon as (Y/n) rested one of her fingers on the trigger whilst fiddling with the safety lock to make it unlock.

Once unlocking the safety lock of the gun, she leaned it towards the ground, turned around for a brief second to retrieve the key from her apartment door, then kicked said door shut with the heel of her foot.

Even when she investigates her almost empty apartment three times without a peaceful resolve at the end, the female is already sitting on her couch scrolling through another apartment renting website for herself.

It’s pathetic.

She’s on the run from her ex-boyfriend because she knows that if she gets caught by him, there will be a low chance of her escaping from his grasp again. It was quite evident from his group’s little broadcast that if anyone “tries to catch us, you’re going to be caught first.”

What if that applies to people wanting to escape from them?

.

.

.

Stripping herself of the day’s tiredness, the female wore the loosest clothing within her wardrobe and ventured out to the shit-tip of her kitchen- the sink only had a few dishes in it, but, otherwise the trash looked like it got taken out once a year and there were so many letters scattered in piles over the counters.

Sighing at the sight, letting a hand of hers travel up her shirt to soothe an itch on her back, (y/n) shook her head at her own mess and still continued to go towards the fridge to dig through it in order to find the cheap- most definitely shitty- microwavable food she bought from the store only three days ago because to be completely honest, she’s saving up for buying a ticket out of this shit country and living in another one.

Ripping the film cover off of the food’s plastic container, she shoved her shitty food in the microwave and let the annoying beep sound through the apartment while (y/n) went into the small living room, grabbed some shorts that were sunbathing under the flickering yellow bulb and put them on in order to take out the trash.

When entering back into the apartment however, a flash of darkness alerted her body to go limp.

What was this feeling of restraint around her arms and legs? Moving one of her wrists- in an attempt to pull them out of the bindings- a harsh rub of a frictional material bit across the sensitive layer of the underside of your wrist, where it elicited a hiss to very subtly slip from your lips.

That seemingly helped beg a question in your curious mind. “Are my eyes covered?” Although when opening your eyes, a flurry of white blinded you causing a multitude of red freckles to dance across the pale illumination.

Whoever thought not putting a blindfold on you was a smart idea, it seems clear to me that they didn’t watch enough spy movies.

Okay, time to take a look of your surroundings.

First of all, Y/n glanced down to see if she had any major injuries- nope, the only thing missing from her body was her clothes and if that didn’t count as being kinky, then (y/n) doesn’t know what it counts as- along with her feet barely touching the carpeted floor, her ankles were tied to what she assumes to be a wooden chair.

Looking off to the side after shifting her gaze from her feet to her forearm her eyes picked out the surroundings behind her and the type of seat she was sitting in. Wow, whoever kidnapped you, really knows how to do it inefficiently.

Though, if they’ve used cheap ass rope and tied you up to a wooden chair- out of all the chairs in the world, they choose a wooden chair- along with forgetting to put a blindfold on you, they probably didn’t take any precaution when kidnapping you because the criminals probably have back up on hold.

Meaning there was more than one culprit involved and that they don’t expect you to get out of this area due to being outnumbered.

Moving your head upwards once more, the outlines of what seems to be a closet and a drawer were all that you could observe before some sort of jiggling sound was emitted through the silent room.

It wasn’t till the door opened that it revealed somebody that (y/n) didn’t expect. A hitch lodged itself like a six-foot down corpse where only grave looters would be able to find it. Was she seeing a ghost? Perhaps. Did she care? Maybe, however she was trained to not overreact in a situation like this.

“Well, look what we have here…” The metal contraptions that held the person’s tough layer of skin nudged a little in the direction of the muscle’s movement. “…A squirming itty-bitty hero.” The venomous hiss of their voice slipped real close to her ear as the lamp pointing obnoxiously into her right eye was turned off.

“So, this was your doing?” Snapped the hero as the villain sat down on her lap and gently grasped her chin- just like the old days- where his fucked up (handsome) grin shone brighter than the hero on her first debut. Dodging the question, the male let his weight lean onto the female’s thighs as she harshly craned her jutted out facial bone away from his hold.

“Oh, and it looks like your still as feisty as ever.”

“Yeah, I am. Got a problem with it, villain?” The hiss made the patchwork villain only recoil an inch backwards before narrowing his pupils at the nickname and gripping the very first thing his eyes land on, your neck, where the surface of his skin was smouldering to the touch.

“I wouldn’t say that if I was in your position.” He proclaimed as the slimming of her lips straightened out to a thin line, “Now, I’m here to offer you a position and…” From somewhere on his body, he pulled a gun- one of the many similar pistols that you hoarded in your apartment for safe keeping- then pointed it straight at your thinly protected heart where the brush of stainless chilled metal tingled the very fabric of your body.

“…it would be wise of you to listen.” Sure, a gun was pointed literally at her chest- lets not forget that she’s being forced into this position of unwillingness- but hopefully, some otherworldly deity will let (y/n) live one more second.

“Okay, good girl?” You’ve never committed to metanoia before, but at this point, you might as well.

[ratedbangtann]

Picture Perfect || KTH

As a plus size model, you're used to your fair share of ignorance and shaming. By now, it's water off a duck's back; you're a strong woman, hardened to it. But then there were those on the other end of the scale, who simply adored you and your body. Much like photographer, Kim Taehyung...

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Plus Size Reader (but please feel free to enjoy if you aren’t!) Word count: 7.8k Warnings: Fatphobia, derogatory terms, rude assholes, shy Tae (at first), slight manipulation (but opportunity to back out), taeconda, oral sex (m receiving), light spanking, BBW fetishizing, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

A/N: Welcome to another plus size reader fic! If you don’t consider yourself to be plus size, don’t worry - feel free to enjoy it anyway! 

***************************************

“You’re joking, right?” the ignorant voice of the photographer bellowed through the studio. You stood with your arms folded over your chest, pissed off at the vile and sleazy guy in front of you. Your agent beside you positively seething too. She had got you this gig, and the brand owners were more than happy to have you involved. And yet this prick…

“Problem, Mr. Carter?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. This is a lingerie shoot,” he said, incredulous as if his point were obvious.

“Yes, it is,” she stated, clearly impatient.

“I’m not photographing… her in lingerie,” he looked toward you in disgust, nose scrunched and forehead creasing all the way up to his non-existent hairline.

“Got a problem with me, have you?” you piped up. Already today you had had your hair and make-up done, and you were in your first set under your bathrobe ready for the shoot. And now, this asshole was refusing to photograph you as if it were his shoot?

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Don’t particularly wanna see some fat chick in a thong.”

Oh, how your blood boiled.

“Mr. Carter, is something the matter?” A gentleman you recognised to be the lingerie company’s co-CEO wandered over, with his business partner in tow. From what you could gather, they were a married couple; Cynthia designed the lines whilst Carlisle handled the business. They were a great team, and rapidly becoming some of the biggest names in the lingerie business.

“Sir, I’m sorry but I’m not photographing this. You must have a more attractive model…”

You’d dealt with pricks like this through your entire career; assholes who wrinkled their nose in disgust at your curves, your beautiful jiggly bits, your stretch marks, cellulite… You’d had to deal with being photoshopped to within an inch of your life and cut out of group shots completely. You’d been turned down for editorial spreads and commercials alike since day one. You’d grown a thick skin to it but it still pissed you off when someone was just as rude to you as this dickhead.

You loved your body, were proud of it. Sure, you were plus size. You weren’t skinny and slim or even simply just “thicc” but you were beautiful, and you’d made quite the name for yourself in the modelling world.

“I don’t see anything unattractive about Ms. _____,” Carlisle looked you up and down, turning back to Mr. Carter; Robert, you thought you heard someone say.

“I’m not photographing a fat girl!” he almost yelled, his fragile masculinity in tatters confronted by three women and a very in-tune and open minded man. You half expected him to stomp his foot like a child having a tantrum.

“Well then we’ll just have to find somebody who will, won’t we?” Carlisle smiled a sickly sweet smile at Robert. The kind that could rot your teeth.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his face turning red with rage.

“You’re fired, Mr. Carter. I suggest an attitude adjustment if you’d ever like to work in this town again,” Carlisle remained calm, gesturing to the door. The livid little man stormed out of the room, grabbing his kit along the way and slamming the door to the studio behind him, the few members of staff scattered around watching on in silence. “I’m so sorry about him. Ms. _____,” he turned to you, apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“That’s quite alright, he’s not my first ignorant asshole,” you smiled back.

“Shit, where the hell are we going to find a photographer at such short notice? _____ is already made up, we only rented the studio for the day and we could-“ Cynthia was panicking, rambling with her hands flinging about through the air as she paced back and forth.

“Honey, honey, relax… Let me make some calls. I know this guy, an old friend of mine. I’m sure he’s in town. Give me ten minutes,” he steadied her movements with his large hand on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she took a deep breath. How cute.

Carlisle left the room, phone pressed to his ear as he tried to get hold of whoever he knew. Cynthia turned to you, then.

“I really am sorry for that guy… If I’d have known he was like that I wouldn’t have hired him,” she scratched the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it, Cynthia, I’ve had a lot worse. Right, Mia?” Your agent beside you nodded with an unsatisfactory grimace on her face, recalling the amount of times she’d had to find you other shoots after being cast aside.

“90 percent the male specimen, of course,” she grumbled. Ah, Mia; her opinions were nothing if not colourful. Cynthia chuckled though, nodding in understanding.

“Well we’re honoured to have you model for us, ____. The new line is inclusive of all sizes and shapes, some to accentuate parts of the body whilst others to help discourage insecurities. We could think of no one better to showcase our hard work,” she smiled so brightly, genuinely excited to have you on board.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure! The sets are stunning, I’ve been a fan of your brand for a long time now.” The three of you stood chatting away for a little while, now with nothing to do until a photographer could be found.

“Honey, he’s on his way,” Carlisle stepped into the room with a smirk on his face. “I told you I could handle it.”

“And this is why I married you,” she laughs, pecking his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Oh, how sweet… If only you had the time to find yourself a kind and affectionate man like that. Alas, your career didn’t allow time for much of a social life.

“He’s the other side of town so it could still be a little while, but what do you say we get some drinks from the Starbucks across the street and some lunch in the meantime?” Carlisle suggested. Well, that was one way to kill some time…

*****

“Ah, Taehyung! How are you, man?” Carlisle’s voice was loud and boisterous as he chewed on his muffin, standing up to greet whoever had just walked into the studio. You turned to look, but Carlisle was a tall and broad man, covering most of the photographer’s frame.

“Doing well, Carl, how are you?” He sounded excited, like he was happy to see his friend once again.

“Yeah, pretty good! Have you met the wife yet?”

“Can’t say I have…”

“Ah, you must. Come on over… Cynthia!” he called to her, her head perking up from the table and chairs you were sat at covered in Starbucks wrappers. “Taehyung, this is my wonderful wife and designer of all our products; Cynthia Blake.”

Carlisle had shown the young photographer over to your table, now standing at the head and looking down at Cynthia, who stood up to shake Taehyung’s hand. He seemed a relatively shy looking man, camera bag slung over his back, black beret in place on his head. His hair curled out from underneath it in wild tendrils, framing his golden face.

He looked more like he’d be interested in artistic photography of scenery and still-life objects, judging by his clothing. Wide-leg cream pants, a black plain t-shirt and a brown suede waistcoat didn’t quite scream fashion photography, but you’d learned not to judge someone so soon in your years in modelling.

“Kim Taehyung, miss. Pleased to meet you, finally. Carlisle has told me a lot about you,” he bowed his head as he shook her hand. And then he was being introduced to Mia and yourself.

“…and this is ____, our model for the day,” Cynthia proudly showed you off to him, still sat in your bathrobe with full hair and make-up.

Your eyes met, and suddenly you could see his face so much clearer. Those beautiful big round eyes, that’s you could now see were slightly different in shape; one double lid, one mono-lid. His jawline that curved delicately and sharpened at his chin, 5 o’clock shadow evident. The freckles that landed on the end of his nose and in the waterline of his eyes; gentle little beauty marks…

You hadn’t noticed his eyes widen. It was almost like recognition, like he knew you from a past life. But he kept his composure and mumbled a shy hello, quieter than when he’d greeted Cynthia.

“Hi, Taehyung was it?” you shook his hand, noting the long fingers adorned in many rings and just how soft his palm was in yours. You tried to shake the feeling of attraction that was bubbling away inside you but it was difficult; you weren’t sure you had ever seen a man so devastatingly handsome.

“Y-yeah… pleasure to meet you. You look… stunning,” he chuckled nervously and turned back to Carlisle. “I’ll just need a few minutes to set up and we can get started.”

“Yeah, take your time, Tae,” he grinned, showing him over to the backdrops and light fixtures.

“He likes you,” Mia nudged your side, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up, he’s just shy…”

“______, he basically undressed you with his eyes! You saw it too, right Cynthia?” she turned for backup. Cynthia sat back down with a smile on her face.

“Oh, I saw it.”

“How professional of you both,” you teased, shaking your head with laughter. “I’m going to ask make up to do a touch up. I think lunch may have ruined my lips.”

Ignoring their little jeers and smug comments, you headed off to the little room to the left, filled with the garments you would be modelling throughout the day and a little dresser for the make-up artist to work her magic on you.

*****

“Alright, _____ if I could have you sat on the stool in the middle there… perfect. Cynthia, what are we achieving with this set?” Taehyung asked, wanting to know how he should ask you to convey the white lingerie with pretty white fluffy parts dangling from various places.

“Innocence and purity. The set itself is called ‘purity’, so something like that?” she gave her directions, and you worked your magic.

Now that you had taken off your robe and were parading around in the flattering white set, you felt your confidence sky-rocketing as it always did during a shoot. Nothing made you feel more powerful than having all eyes on you; especially in some of the prettiest and most body-friendly lingerie you had ever seen.

“Beautiful,” Taehyung commented, crouching down to get the perfect shots and play around with the lighting a little. Cynthia and Carlisle stood to the side, watching each photo pop up on the laptop set up. “It’s nice to work with a professional, you seem to need very little direction,” he complimented.

“She’s been in this game long enough,” Mia answered for you, you staying completely composed as he snapped away, flash dazzling.

“If you could just stand up for me, we’ll get rid of the stool there to get a few more shots of the lingerie itself.” Taehyung fiddled with some settings on his camera, while a staff member removed the stool from the shot. “Fantastic, if you could face the camera for a few, and then turn, we’ll get every angle.”

It was amazing, really; Taehyung staying as professional as composed as he was. Because Mia and Cynthia had been right. He was into you, very much so. The second he saw you, he thought you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth. Watching you pose so innocently and with absolute picturesque tranquillity in the most beautiful underwear he could imagine was affecting him more than the artist inside him would like to admit.

He’d done hundreds of shoots over the years, including nude and lingerie shoots and never, ever had he had such a problem focussing as he did today. But then, none of those shoots were of you.

“Tae, I think that’s plenty for Purity. _____, would you mind getting changed again for me, love? The deep green set will look beautiful with your skin tone, I suggest that one next,” Cynthia called to you.

“Ah, Evergreen?” you asked.

“That’s the one!” she clapped excitedly, filled with utter glee seeing her collection finally being tried out on a model. It was all becoming real for her; her second line of lingerie would be hitting the shelves very soon.

You headed back into the little room to change, Evergreen being a little more revealing and sultrier than Purity had been. The bra was a stunning forest green lace with almost a half-corset attached – fantastic support and helped to smooth out insecurities in the back. The briefs were high waisted and made in the same lace, with suspender clips dangling from them. And of course, to match; a stunning set of black suspenders, heels and a mesh black robe to go over the top. Modest, but not modest enough.

When you walked back out, Taehyung audibly gasped. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the blood travelling south. He averted his gaze, willing himself to calm down. Mia giggled to herself; aw, bless him, she thought.

“I knew it would look beautiful against your skin tone!” Cynthia clapped.

“Um, okay… can we have the stool back please, backdrop change, the ivy to drape over the back. _____, if you wouldn’t mind heading back over to the set and taking a seat,” Taehyung didn’t properly look up at you, giving you general directions and pretending to fiddle with his camera. And now you started to see it…

He was nervous.

The staff draped the ivy artistically over the backdrop, letting it hang down behind you to fit in with the evergreen vibe. You sat back down, getting into a slightly different position than before.

“What kind of look are we going for this time, Cyn?” you asked. This wasn’t going to be another innocent look.

“Um, more like a wood nymph, at one with nature, a little temptress perhaps?” she asked, whilst a hair stylist faffed with fitting little daisies into your hair.

Again, you did as instructed; dark, sultry eyes stared into the camera, as if tempting a human into the forest. You looked absolutely delectable, and it was causing huge issues for poor Taehyung. Well, one particularly huge issue. Thankfully for him, the way he crouched to take your photo hid it well. But it made life so much more difficult.

Mentally, he was cursing himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d worked with hundreds of models. Why were you the only one he’d ever…

In fact, for the rest of the shoot, the poor guy struggled. Each new set of lingerie posed new challenges, showing off your gorgeous body in new and different ways with different expressions and stories to accompany each one.

“Beautiful, truly! Wow. These photos will look stunning on the website!” Cynthia was positively beaming by the end. “That’s a wrap!”

Taehyung breathed a sigh of relief as he knelt down to start taking his camera apart, slotting the bits and pieces into each compartment of his bag. You simply stepped off the set, heading over to the laptop to flick through the photos.

Mia, however, was being her devious self. She had seen the photos, knew they were stunning. But she had also seen Taehyung’s reactions to each set, each pose. She knew about his big problem, and found it oh, so amusing to meddle.

“Taehyung, may I have a moment of your time?” she asked him, standing over him with a large smile on her face. Taehyung swallowed hard and nodded, standing upright to follow her over to the table at the back of the room where you’d earlier been sat drinking your Starbucks.

“I wondered if I may ask what kind of work you usually do? I know this was a favour for a friend of ours, but what is your style?” she asked him, pulling a chair for him to sit opposite her.

“Usually editorial fashion shoots, a lot of scenery and travel in my spare time though,” he smiled sweetly, a little more comfortable now that he no longer had his problem nor did he have to focus on you and your beautiful curves, the stunning lingerie, thinking of what he would do given the chance…

No, Tae. You’re drifting again. Focus, he told himself.

“I see, it’s just… _____ has been looking for just the right photographer to do some nude shots. Tasteful of course, we’re not talking playboy but…”

Tae’s blood ran cold. The flush in his cheeks must have drained, skin paling at the thought. Mia was still talking, but he could barely listen.

“I mean she’s been wanting to focus on a body positivity campaign for a while, but she hasn’t quite figured out who to trust to photograph her in just the right way, do you know what I mean?”

Tae cleared his throat, bringing himself back down to reality. “Uh yeah, sure…”

“Your shots today were stunning and I’m sure she agrees. I was thinking perhaps you could give those photos a go? You can be as artistic or as simple as you like with them, but I trust your judgement. Googled you to check out your other work too. Impressive, truly.” Mia was rambling on, but Tae could hardly take in a word of what she was saying.

“Th-thank you…” he mumbled, forcing a smile.

“So... are you interested?” she asked, “we can draw up a contract quite easily, _____ is very easy to work with.”

“S-sure… Yeah, okay. Sounds great,” he agreed, all whilst his head was screaming at him for being a moron. If he couldn’t control his damn hard on today, how on earth would he cope with full nudity? You were utterly bewitching. This couldn’t end well, surely?

“Fantastic! I’ve got some calls to make, would you mind letting her know you’re up for it?” she asked, pulling her phone from her back pocket and already standing up and sauntering out of the door to make her calls in the hall. Tae didn’t have a chance to object.

So instead, he got up to find you. You were no longer working your way through the photos, and the majority of the set had been cleared away. You were nowhere to be seen.

“Carlisle, where did _____ go?” he asked the couple who were packing things into cases.

“Oh, she’s in the back room, probably packing her things away, changing. Do you need something?” he asked.

“Her agent said she wanted another shoot with me, I just wanted a word about it,” he nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“Oh, well just go knock, honey. I’m sure she’d be happy to chat,” Cynthia smiled motioning toward the door you’d walked through only moments ago. With that, she slung a satchel over her shoulder and picked up a case of props and set pieces. “We’re off, we have so much to do. Really thought, Taehyung, thank you so, so much for helping out today.”

“Yeah, thanks man. Such short notice too, you really did us a favour. The photos are beautiful. I’ll drop your cheque over to wherever you’re staying, just text me the address. I’m sorry we can’t hang out this evening. You free Thursday?” Carlisle was busy picking up cases and trunks and bags to leave with as he spoke, but Tae knew just how genuine he was about meeting.

“Yeah, Thursday evening would be great, perhaps dinner if you’re both available?” he smiled sweetly.

“Absolutely, we’ll be in touch! Thanks so much, Tae! Bloody life saver,” Carlisle patted his back, scurrying out of the studio along with his wife and the rest of the staff that were left behind.

For a moment, Tae stood in the silence, letting himself breathe deep. He was readying himself to talk to you, to approach you after he’d spent nearly four hours photographing you in skimpy and gorgeous outfits. Christ, how was he ever going to do a nude photoshoot for you?

Professionalism. That’s all it took.

He sauntered over to the door you were hidden behind and knocked perhaps a little heavier than intended. He heard something clatter inside and a quiet “shit” as if you’d dropped something.

“Yep, come in!” you called when you’d picked the rail up. Thankfully you’d already packed the lingerie into a small case on the floor – freebies from Cynthia as extra payment – so it was just the empty rail that had tipped. The door clicked open and shut again and you turned, expecting to see Mia.

“Oh, sorry… I assumed you were dressed. I’ll come back,” Taehyung’s deep voice sounded so shocked to see you still in the lingerie set from the last photos; a pretty deep purple set; high waisted purple mesh thong with white daisies dotted all over and a pretty bralette with surprising support to match. Cynthia had called it Asters, a type of purple daisy to combine the two elements together.

“Wait, it’s fine. I mean, I’ve been wearing… not much else all afternoon,” you chuckled, unashamed. Tae couldn’t really argue with that. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, just… well your agent was talking to me, about a shoot you wanted to do. She said I should ask you about it?” he averted his gaze but stayed in the doorway. You were a little too close for his own comfort; the room you were in was no bigger than an average closet, and the dressing table took up most of it, let alone the rail.

“Oh, she did?” you asked, taking a seat on the stool in front of the table. “What shoot?”

He really couldn’t look you in the eye, let alone anywhere else. If his problem arose again, there was no way of hiding it. He did his best to direct his through process to professionalism once again.

“Yeah, some kind of artsy nude shoot, for a body positivity campaign?”

You watched in amusement as he looked everywhere in the tiny room other than at you. This is exactly what Mia had been talking about earlier. Halfway through the shoot, she’d handed you a bottle of water and told you to watch him; he couldn’t look you in the eye. He really was attracted to you. How cute.

The more you looked, the more you had noticed it. He blushed at the slightest eye contact, willing himself to calm the hell down with some deep breaths. And each time sent a tiny little thrill through you, so you played up to you, practically ‘making love to the camera’ as the old industry professionals used to say.

“Oh, that? Hmm, yeah. I don’t know about that anymore…” you lied. You knew exactly what you were doing, leading the horse to water but… would he drink?

“Oh… She said you were really excited about it, I just thought-“

“Yeah I don’t think people would like it. No one wants to see me naked,” you scoffed. Another lie. You had a huge online following who would love the positivity it spread, congratulate you on it, call you a queen and a goddess.

“I-I’m sure that’s not true,” he stuttered, eyes flicking up to meet yours just for a second. He blushed again and you had to do your very best not to giggle.

“I guess I just don’t feel too sexy, lately. Despite this,” you gestured to your attire, his gaze following your hand. Honestly, like a moth to a flame…

He realised what he’d done as his gaze reached your ample thighs and quickly readjusted his view, back up to a very interesting spot on the wall above your head.

“Well, um… I’m sorry you feel like that, you really are sexy,” he mumbled. Bingo.

“Do you think so?” you asked innocently, feigning disbelief.

“Y-yeah… I mean, your photos today came out really, um… beautiful.”

“Well, you’re just a good photographer,” you laughed softly, watching him so carefully.

“Photographers are only as good as their subjects, Miss _____,” he smiled at you then, sweet and unmenacing. This guy was too pure for his own good, surely. “Truthfully, you’re a beautiful woman. You had so much confidence on set today, I had no idea you weren’t feeling it…”

You smiled down at your hands in your lap, purposefully twiddling them before placing your palms flat on your thighs, rubbing them up and down slowly. His eyes followed them, his jaw hanging open just a little as he lost himself in thought.

Thoughts of how soft your thighs might feel under his touch, how goosebumps might raise at the feeling of his rings on the warm flesh. Thoughts of how soft and supple you would feel, how pretty and puffy you might be between them…

“D-do you think I should do the campaign?” you interrupted his train of thought.

“Definitely,” he said with such conviction. He hadn’t meant to; not really. But… here he was. And he stood his ground.

“And you’d be okay with that?” you asked, innocently.

“Of course, I’m interested in making art.” He tried to sound firm, confident but the little quiver of his bottom lip gave him away.

“Making art… with me?” Oh, you were really pushing him now. Was that a hint of seduction he heard in your tone? Or was he imagining things?

“S-sure…” he wavered. “I’d be honoured.” Why did he say that?! He mentally cursed himself.

“Honoured?” you giggled to yourself, “that’s sweet. I’m sure you’re quite the artist.” He shrugged, starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the small room with you, being so close and so pathetically entranced by the smallest things you did.

When you stood up, he practically tumbled backwards, back hitting the door with a thump.

“Oh, shoot… are you okay?” you asked, rushing forward to help him as he groaned at the sudden contact. But that didn’t help the situation at all, sending him into further panic at the now close proximity.

“F-fine, sorry…”

“Taehyung, you look nervous…” you softened your voice, stepping towards him with mostly concern on your face, but just a hint of playfulness. He dare not believe that’s what he saw though.

“I-I…” he stuttered, not knowing what to say and oh god, you were so close to him now. So close he could smell your perfume; something expensive, perhaps Chanel?

“What is it?” you pressed, but he was starting to lose his resolve. He had to say something, surely. Anything… Right now, he just looked like a bumbling moron.

“I-I just, um…”

“Tell me, maybe I can help…”

“Fuck, you just… you turn me on, okay? Fuck,” he cursed, looking away from you to stare into the top corner of the room, feeling ashamed of himself. He was better than this. A professional. What had you reduced him to?

You simply smirked, stepping even closer to him, until your chests were almost touching.

“I can see that…” you whispered, eyes drifting down. Low and behold, there was the outline of a rather big problem. Tae couldn’t even look, knowing exactly what you were referring to and feeling nothing but shame.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I swear I’m more professional than this, I just-“ You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him and his eyes went wide, looking down at the digit with surprise.

“You turn me on too,” you smirk, biting down on your bottom lip, still painted from the shoot.

“I-I… I do?”

“Oh yes… Wanna know how much?” you asked cheekily, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, slowly guiding his hand but giving him plenty of opportunity to pull away should he want to. But he didn’t want to. Not at all.

You coaxed his fingertips to grade over the mesh of the lingerie, pressing them to your mound where a tiny little patch of wetness had seeped through the cotton lining inside and stained the material in a dewy wetness.

“Oh, shit…” he breathed, finally looking down at where his hand just barely touched you.

“And that’s just the outside,” you taunted, bottom lip pressed between your teeth. He looked down into your eyes for a moment, wondering if he should… But you answered the question for him, before he’d even had a chance to think it.

Hurriedly, you pressed your lips to his, noting immediately how soft they felt against your own and how hesitant they were in that first split second. But in the end his reaction was visceral, softened lips pushing against yours with all the pent up sexual tension he’d been harbouring for hours.

The hand you barely had a grasp on snaked around your waist, pulling you to him and colliding your full and soft body into his. He wanted to feel every inch of you, every part he’d been photographing all day. And you were going to let him.

When you didn’t immediately shove him away from you, he conceded to his own desires, letting himself become completely hazed with lust. He ran his tongue along your bottom lip, testing the waters before he went in to totally devour your mouth. Pressed against him this way, you could feel his body responding. Of course, he was already stiff beneath those cream trousers, but pushing against your thigh you could feel the size of him, mouth watering. You wondered if perhaps he might like to feel just what your mouth could do for him.

Wasting no more time, you pushed the suede waistcoat from his shoulders, slipping it off and throwing it haphazardly over the rail to your left. And not forgetting that adorable beret too, his hair flopping freely in beautiful curls that fell into his hooded eyes. His assault on your lips never faltered, his grip on your waist only loosening to remove the waistcoat.

You pulled barely millimetres away from his lips, hands gripping at his shirt to at least keep his chest pressed to yours as they both heaved with breathlessness.

“Wanna taste you…” you whispered, hot breath fanning over his lips. Your filthy words sent a thrill down his spine, and before he could utter another syllable your hands were dropping to his zipper, pulling it down and popping the button on his trousers. The loose fit fell down high thighs unaided, pooling at his feet to reveal a pair of light grey boxers, his cock straining marvellously against them.

Gently you ghosted your fingertips over his length, earning a shudder and a sharp intake of breath. “Shit,” he whispered, chasing your lips again with a frantic kiss, large hands holding onto your cheeks to stop you from evading him.

You pushed your hand into the waistband, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock and feeling just how thick he was; your fingers couldn’t meet no matter how much you stretched them.

“_____, are you sure you want this?” he asked, doing his very best not to rut his hips into your hand.

“I’ve never slept with someone I worked with before, but absolutely. You’ve been driving me crazy, Taehyung…” you whined, slowly pumping your hand along his shaft, neglecting his tip. “Do you want me?” As silly question really, given your current state.

“So much,” he groaned, the pleasure of your fist starting to affect him. You giggled mischievously and dropped to your knees, leaving him staring down at you as you pulled his underwear down, freeing his dick with a triumphant bounce. He really was above average, and the idea of swallowing what you could was making you drool.

In no mood to waste time teasing, you enveloped the first few inches in warm wetness, suckling as if he were the sweetest lollipop despite the salty tang of pre-cum. Your tongue swirled around him a few times before lying flat under his shaft so you could lean further forward to take more of his length.

Above you, Tae was stunned into silence, heavy breaths all that wold pass his lips. He watched you like a hawk, terrified that should he look away, you and your wonderful mouth would disappear. His hands braced himself on the door behind him, keeping him upright as pleasure ripped through his body.

You took what you could into his throat before your gag reflex started to show itself, having to still use an entire fist around his base to completely envelope him. Your first twisted and pumped in rhythm with the way your head bobbed on his cock, every so often hollowing your cheeks to create a harsher drag that had him hissing between clenched teeth.

“A-ah, shit…” he cried, his head throwing back against the door with a thud and squeezing his eyes shut. “How are you this, good? Jesus…”

The giggle that his cock muffled sent a new wave of desire flooding through him. He didn’t even know that were possible, but somehow the more time you spent sucking, pumping and sheathing his cock in your mouth and throat, the more his grip on reality loosened and he found himself swimming in arousal.

It didn’t seem fair that he was getting such incredible head whilst you were sat before him, already soaking your panties and being devoid of any stimulation; where were his manners? If he was unable to be a professional right now, he would at least a gentleman.

Begrudgingly, he pushed at your shoulders, hands finding yours that gripped his thighs, nails digging into the flesh. He pulled you back to a standing position and threw himself at you, lips and teeth crashing against your own desperately.

“Hardly fair that I get all the attention here, is it sweat pea?” The pet name was so innocent in any other context, but here and now you heard it very differently. His tone was gravelling and darker than before, shrouded in animalistic need.

“Oh, I don’t mind. You did us a favour today, after all. Think of it as… extra payment?” You grinned, hands gripping the black t-shirt he still wore and eyes scanning the lips millimetres from yours you’d just been attached to.

“No need, love. Carlisle is paying a bonus. You owe me nothing at all.”

“Ah, well in that case perhaps you should just fuck me then, hm? Even the score a little…” you laughed, attaching yourself back to those beautiful lips for another heated kiss. The room around you felt even smaller this way, perhaps because the body heat radiating off the pair of you was making the tiny little room unbearably stuffy.

He pushed you backwards until your butt hit the edge of the dressing table, stool kicked underneath it. Taehyung never retracted his mouth from yours, not even when he started to fiddle with the straps of the bralette and pull them down your arms. With no clasps to undo, he simply pulled the material over your head, letting your stunning breasts free for him to grab with both hands, mouth dipping down to immediately suck at one of your nipples.

“Mmf, Taehyung…” you moaned, breathier than you’d expected but the feeling had stolen your breath away completely. Your past lovers had been so greedy with no real idea what they were doing, frantically attempting to hold as much of your as they could in their hands, but Taehyung had a purpose, like he was far more skilled and perhaps used to the company of a much larger girl. Every swirl of his tongue, every tactful squeeze of your breasts was used almost like a weapon against you.

In such close proximity you could feel his erection against your tummy, pressing against the softness. You wondered if he liked that; the way your extra pounds felt against his still-wet shaft. He seemed to enjoy your body the way it was, rolls and all, so perhaps the feeling of your chub on his aching cock was nothing short of heavenly.

Your suspicions were confirmed when his hips rocked against you, stomach rippling under his movements as he groaned against your nipple, biting down on the hardened nub just a little.

“You like that, huh? Like how my body feels against you?” you teased, stroking the curls out of his eyes with gentility. He just growled in response, sucking harder at your nipple to have you crying out. You took that as a yes. “Tae please… Need more,” you begged, the wetness between your thighs growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Without detaching his lips from your breast, he shoved a hand into your panties, fingers immediately coated in slick as he pressed two to your clit and began to swirl them in circles. Every single move felt calculated, but they couldn’t possibly be, with how fast things were moving and how quickly he responded to you. He must just be insanely skilled or intuitive. You weren’t sure you’d be able to let this man out of sight after today.

He kept up his ministrations for a little while before growing tired of waiting, impatience getting the better of him. His hands were on your waist and flipping you around quickly, forcing you to hold yourself up on your elbows while he made light work of slipping the high-waisted thong from your body.

The sight before him lit a fire in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t stop himself from lightly swatting at your exposed ass, marvelling the way it jiggled and bouncing at the slightest touch. For good measure, you wiggled your hips a little, cheeks rippling to the effect.

“Wow…” he sighed, hands roaming over your cheeks and letting one dip between your legs, parting them enough to slip two fingers through your folds and into your entrance. You groaned at the feeling, finally, finally, having something inside you. Sure, you’d prefer his cock, but he had to prep you. He was so large, you had to get used to something before he let himself bury deep inside you. And lord, the rings on his fingers felt heavenly.

“Fuck, you’re so tight…” he whispered, pushing a third finger into you and spreading you open.

“Tae, please. I’m ready, please…” you pleaded, pushing your hips back against his fingers as he curled them inside you. A jolt of electricity shot through your pelvis, forcing you forward again as Taehyung chuckled darkly behind you.

“Where’s that confidence gone, hm? Did you think you were in control?” he jeered, curling his fingers again and making your legs shake with pleasure. “Beg me again. Beg for my cock.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Please! Please, I need it. Need your cock, Tae. Please…” You tried to keep your voice down, aware there might still be people outside but only Taehyung knew the only person who hadn’t left yet was Mia. And she was making phone calls outside.

“You sound beautiful when you’re needy, love. But I have to admit, I don’t think I could wait much longer,” he confessed, now lining the tip of his cock with your entrance after pulling his fingers from you. You mewled a pathetic response, interrupted by the satisfying stretch of him pushing into you.

“Oh, my god…” you hummed, his hands gripping the flesh of your hips so tight he could leave bruises. He kept himself composed enough to slowly but surely bottom out, wanting nothing more than to smack his hips against yours. But he was a gentleman, and he would remain thoughtful enough to keep your comfortable.

You felt yourself falling deeper into the throws of bliss as he dragged himself out again slowly, only to push back a little faster and finding a rhythm that felt unbelievably good for both of you. Your spine tingled with elation, every deep thrust hitting just where you needed him to. His skill seemed to transcend not only from foreplay but to fucking you silly too.

“You’ve driven me… mmf… fucking crazy all day,” he muttered, articulated with a particularly hard thrust. In his head, Taehyung was counting his blessings and thanking his lucky stars that he could be balls deep in you right now. Had you never made any kind of move on him, his desires would have merely fizzled out. God bless your confidence.

He leaned over your back a little more, pistoning his hips as you pushed up to meet him, his lips trailing along your shoulder and neck. You couldn’t stop the soft moans escaping your lips, hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, to hold him against you and tangle in the ends of his curls as he kissed along the flesh.

“Every set of lingerie… fuck, it looked so good on you. You’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful…” he mumbled between kisses, holding your hips still to slap his against you. The sounds filling the tiny room were some of the lewdest you had ever heard, absolutely hypnotic.

Having Taehyung looming over you this way, fucking himself so far into you and sloppily biting and sucking at your shoulder and neck, you could have sworn you were dreaming. It was too perfect, felt too damn good. Never had a man made you orgasm simply with penetration, but you could feel it building, his skill and his size playing huge parts in your undoing.

His thrusts never faltered, never once slowed. He changed his angle a few times, but never ceased his movements. And before long, you were on the brink of falling apart.

“T-Tae… Gonna cum…” you warned, turning your head to look him in the eye over your shoulder.

“Me too, baby… You feel so good, I can’t help it. Cum for me, yeah?” he panted, pushing your hair out of your face and reconnecting his lips to yours in a sultry, slow and passionate make out. You mewled at the contact, letting him invade all of your sense at once and finally, the coil that had been building in your abdomen wound too tight, and you snapped.

Your legs shuddered, your back arched and your loud moans were swallowed whole by his kiss. Pleasure burst through your entire body, every nerve ending lighting up like a firework and detonating at the exact same moment.

Your pussy clenched around him so hard that Tae struggled to keep his rhythm, simply being dragged back in by your walls instead but the fight was inconceivably good, pulling him to the edge too. He frantically chased that high, whimpering against your lips as he continued to kiss you, wanting nothing more than to feel as close to you as he could.

You came back down just in time for his release, able to savour the warmth that filled you as he came. He was sure he had never cum so hard let alone as much; the pair of you were very aware of the way his cock squelched now with each slide while he slowed his hips. You could feel the mix of your arousal and his cum starting to seep from where the two of you were still connected, sliding down your inner thighs.

His hips stopped rolling, and the both of you stayed very still for a moment, catching your breath and coming back to reality. His forehead rest on your shoulder while you held yourself up, turning to press a light kiss to his temple and nuzzle into the soft mop of curls. And then he was chuckling to himself, running his fingers down the length of your arm.

“What’s funny?” you grinned; his laugh was infectious.

“I just… I swear, I’m more professional than this.” You laughed again with him, a blush creeping onto your already flushed face.

“Me too, usually…” you sniggered. He kissed your shoulder again and straightened up, allowing you to turn around and perch on the edge of the dressing table. You fixed your hair out of your eyes while he pulled his underwear and trousers up from where they pooled around his ankles. He looked around the room to find the bathrobe you’d worn earlier that day, draping around your shoulders with care so you could cover yourself.

“I was kind of lying earlier… I do want to do that campaign, I was just-“

“Manipulating me? I figured…” he smirked, slipping back into his waistcoat and picking up his beret.

“Then why did you-?”

“Swept up in the moment, I suppose. And I didn’t actually catch on until your hands were on my dick,” he shrugged, earning a laugh from you. “All I knew was I wanted you, you were in lingerie and getting closer…” He laughed with you, fixing his beret to his head and tucking his curls back into it. A comfortable silence settled over you both, post-coital smiles stretched across your faces.

“So that campaign… Are you interested?” you asked, folding your arms over your covered chest. His face contorted into one of exaggerated thought, his finger tapping at his chin.

“A day with you alone in a studio, creating beautiful art whilst you’re completely nude… Hm, this is a hard decision,” he mocked. You swatted his arm playfully, both laughing together. You liked how comfortable you felt with him, how wide the smile on your face was. It was intriguing; perhaps you could see yourself enjoying his company in future, not just his sexual prowess.

He stepped toward you, wrapping an arm around your waist casually and drawing a soft line down your jaw with his finger.

“I was actually hoping that you might be free for a drink, or dinner sometime soon. But yes, I’ve be honoured to photograph you for your campaign.”

“Well then if I may be so bold; what are you doing once you leave this studio?” you asked, straightening his beret for him.

“A lonely pizza and a bottle of beer for one. But I think I may have just had a better offer…” his voice lowered to something akin to seductive again, the smirk returning to his face.

“I think you might have. Let me change into some actual clothes, maybe we can grab dinner?”

“Absolutely. Anywhere you choose,” he smiled, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet impromptu kiss. You sank into it, before pushing him back to head over to the little case you’d been packing, pulling out the casual dress you’d worn to the studio that morning. Taehyung made no move to leave the little dressing room, leaning his back against the door and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You’re sticking around?” you asked.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to miss the show…”

[rae-arts777]

Who are you?

Summary: welcome, meet ultimate despair Dorothy and Makoto

Notes: what’s this? Rae wrote her Danganronpa X GrePre crossover that’s not as dark as the last one that will never see the light of day? :000

TW: death/blood/world destruction

Again it’s Danganronpa inspire.

~~~~~~~~

Makoto stop mid monologue about how TC were hypocrites. His expression went from a face full of anger, to boredom.

Lowering the sword he yawned and looked up at the ceiling, “Jesus Christ I told you this be boring. Let’s just get on with it already. Their expressions are so plain.”

Everyone in the room looked confused. Akemi looked at Laurent thinking this was part of TC’s plan, Laurent looking at the director thinking it was some act she made Makoto do.

“Hey, bitch I know you can hear me” Makoto continued “Get on with it, or I might just throw myself out the window from boredom”

Familiar laugh to half of TC echo through the room. Laurent’s eye widen, scanning the area fractionally looking. It wasn’t in his head, everyone heard it, even Oz was looking.

The doors swung open and out she step. Flipping her white hair over her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkling, her iconic pink lip stick vibrante as ever. But something was off. The way she smiled didnt set off any brightness or joy, it sent a chilling feeling down everyone’s spine.

“Gheez Makoto! Did you have to stop half way? I was actually enjoying your performance!!” Dorothy walked to him and threw her arms around the Japanese man smiling “ah! I could just tell every word you spoke plunge even more despair into all their hearts!! You’re such a good actor! Oh you’ve come such a long way from that kid I found on the streets!” She pulled at his cheeks cooing him.

Annoyed, Makoto pushed her off “It was boring. Their reactions were so predictable.”

Everyone stared in confusion. No one knew what was going on, how did they know each other? Dorothy was alive?

Laurent took a step towards her “Dorothy.? Is it really you?”

“Yup! In the flesh Laurie!” She smiled and grabbed Makoto’s shoulder “and you’ve all meet my little successor Makoto Edamura. Such a talented young man, is he not?”

Oz looked at his son “so this whole time...you-“

“Yes I knew.” Makoto cut him off “I’ve worked under her since you left”

“That long?!” Oz spoke in shock

“Better to teach them when they’re young right?” Dorothy laughed “again, such a talented young man. You have to admit, his performance was phenomenal!!”

Akemi spoke up “I do not understand. Who are you? What is going on?”

The one thing Laurent could agree on with this woman “what is going on.? How do you two know each other.?”

“Right I should probably reintroduce myself” Dorothy pulled out little hair pin, it was the head of a cartoon bear, the left white and the right black. She pinned it in her hair and took a bow

“Dorothy, I’m the ultimate despair. And this!” She gestured to Makoto “it’s Makoto Edmaura, my partner, and the second ultimate despair.” She patted his cheek smiling proudly.

Makoto’s expression remain blank. Everyone looking at the two like they’ve lost their minds.

Abby growled “ok virgin, enough with the games. Did you hit your head or something? Stop this.”

“You’re annoying.” Makoto snapped at her “when you were a suicidal manic you didn’t fear death. So boring. You couldn’t even appreciate the despair that came with death. People like you annoy me”

“I’m going to knock the sense into you!” Abby tried to get up was was still restrain.

However someone did take action.

“ENOUGH OF THIS.” Yao grabbed Makoto by the collar raising his fist “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I have enough.”

Makoto remained unpashed, sighing “shame, you would have been a good blacken for the game”

Dorothy nodded in agreement “well, looks like nothing can be done now.” She pulled out a remote and pressed a button.

A loud buzz was heard through the room. Before anyone knew it, spears came flying, shooting into Yao. He let go of Makoto who step back, a slight smile dancing upon his face.

Everyone looked in horror, as blood ran down the spears, Yao’s body twitching.

“T-the hell...?” He muttered “I don’t....how did you even....? You....damn....bastards...” The spears retracted, and Yao fell to the floor dead.

Ishigami let out of blood curling scream and threw an arm up to shield Akemi, who had her mouth covered in horror.

Laurent knelt down and checked for a pulse, praying this was some elaborate con Makoto set up to get even. There was no pulse. Yao was dead.

Laurent looked up at Dorothy with a pain expression “but...we don’t-“

“We don’t kill people? Old news. Old life. I can’t believe I stuck to those morals, how boring, death is so wonderful” an insane smile danced upon her lips “did you see it Laurie? That expression before he died? Such despair...ahhh!” She hugged herself laughing “such a wonderful feeling! I remember how amazing it felt when I thought I was going to die! The thrill! The excitement! Despair is truly such a wonderful thing!”

Liu step forward, his face stonecold “tell me what is your motivate here? What do you two so call ultimate despairs want?”

“It’s simple really” Makoto explained “as we speak right now, the whole world is falling apart.” He took the remote Dorothy had, making a TV appear. Switching on the channel, everyone’s face snuck into deeper despair.

The world was literally burning. People were rioting, there was death on every corner.

“No that’s not real...” Cythina spoke “there’s no way that’s real.”

“But it is.” Makoto said. “Of course we didn’t do it alone. We had some help.” He switch the board cast again.

Salazar walked away from Casano’s burning mansion, the sounds of gunfire behind him, people of LA rushing to kill each other for the name of despair.

Clark stood in front of his people giving a speech. The crowd erupted of cheers, as everyone took to the city. Fire roar, soaring as high as the planes that flew overhead dropping bombs. Clark watched with a smile as his kingdom fell into despair.

Thomas walked through an art gallery, covered in blood. He walked over to a painting, and smeared the blood on him onto the painting. He smiled recreating the painting in his image. Smiling at his proud work, he took the painting down, and walked out of the gallery. He sat on the bench waiting, and watch as the gallery exploded. People on fire running screaming. He pulled out his paintbrush and started to paint the beautiful despair that London had caught.

Cythina cried and shook her head “no! That can’t be real! Thomas would never do that! Never!”

“But Cythina” Dorothy grabbed her chin smiling “he did. Everything you see is live.”

“We almost forgot” makoto switched the channel “are special little warriors of hope”

Cohen along with the others who were sold the trading company, sat on top of piled of rumble, smiling and watching the adults demise. From their safe haven, they threw water balloons full of gasoline to spread fire below.

“If it was true why hasn’t someone come up to warn us?” Akemi said “I think we hear everything going on, and-“

“That’s cause you’re on an island.” Makoto pulled back the shades to reveal the ocean “that’s a whole other thing but it’s too boring to explain”

Akemi’s face dropped again. She covered her mouth thinking of her son back in Japan. Was he alive?

Oz growled, snatching the sword from Makoto; and pointed it to Dorothy.

“Enough! I don’t know what you’re playing but this is enough!”

“Careful Ozzy” Dorothy’s voice dropped “you don’t want to end up like Yao do you?” She gestured to his dead body.

Oz shook at the venom that dropped from her lips. Slowly lowering the sword he tried to keep a stonecold face.

“Please this isn’t real..” Laurent said stepping towards Makoto “edamame please. You got me ok? We’re even. You can drop the act.”

“If only it was an act” Makoto said “I assure you, this is all true, Laurie.” Makoto pulled out a picture and showed Laurent.

Dorothy with one hand upon a teen Makoto shoulder, and another on Miki Edmaura’s back, they were in the hospital. All of them smiling. There was a get well soon ballon along with flowers by Miki’s bedside.

Laurent wanted to believe it was photoshopped, but, something told him it was very much real.

“She was so nice” Makoto said “the one person I really cared for. But I knew in order for thing to move along, she had to go”

Everyone felt another harsh chill run through their bodies.

“Makoto....” Oz spoke “did you.....kill your mother...?”

“In a way I guess I did. The despair finished the job really. When you’re only child gets taken away to prison while you’re bedridden, it must leave a big empty hole in your heart. I think the despair killed her, not the sickness”

Abby felt herself shaking, in fear, this was not their Makoto.

“Who are you?!” Abby yelled “who the hell are you?!”

Makoto looked at her “My name is Makoto Edmaura, ultimate despair, successor of ultimate despair Dorothy.” A big smile spread across his face.

The first time they seen a smile on this despair Makoto. Makoto’s smile use to bring such brightness, and now...such darkness.

“Welcome contests!!!!” Dorothy spread out her arms smiling “to the very first killing game!!!! Broadcast live across the world!!”

Makoto laughed smiling “will you find that shining hope you think still exist? Or shall you plunge into the claws of despair?”

Anguished filled the room. Everyone stared hopelessly, their lives at the mercy of the ultimate despairs.

[youarejesting]

Curse.6 The last batch

[First] [Masterlist] [Next] Beta: @lunarlxve​, @sweetnspicy93 Rating: PG Pairing: Prince!Jin x Reader Genre: fantasy, romance, comedy, drama, mystery, and more good stuff

Summary: A modern-day fairy tale whereby seven young princes born under King Bang’s greed cannot find true love. Unless they break a special spell, called the ‘Bang curse’. In order to break the curse, Prince Seokjin must be loved by a ‘Blue’ blood, by a royal. That seems almost impossible when you have a pig nose. (based off the movie Penelope)

[Story Give Away]

The alarm on your phone was going off. The cursed Marimba pierced through your dreams with the same intensity it did your ears. You had come home late from the bar where you had barely made enough to cover rent and your bills. You weren't one to wake up before noon, you usually took night jobs as they paid more. You're sleep addled brain was trying to catch up to why you set your alarm so early today

Rolling over your back, you stretched and cracked each vertebrae into place. Opening a single eye, you attempted to read your phone screen and caught the alarm name through blurred vision. ‘Meet with Prince’. Snorting at the absurdity of such a name for an alarm and switched it off as quickly as possible, throwing the electronic device back onto the mattress, and nestling into the pillows to try to regain some of your lost sleep. At least that was the plan until your phone pinged.

Who the hell is texting you this early? Whoever it was, you were ready to give them a lengthy and highly inappropriate response. Sneering at your phone, you sat up with a guttural growl, your body teetering forward before you regained your balance, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just a reminder to all the ladies for the group meeting, it is today at Nine Thirty please be there on time for paperwork. The meeting with the prince is at Ten.” 

9:20

Realization fell over you, and you screamed, flailing out of bed, getting caught up in phone charger cords, blankets, and sheets. Crawling across the ground, you grabbed your closet doors, ripping them open and scrambling to grab the outfit you had picked out the night before. You paused, looking at the text, which told you to dress casually. You hummed, looking at the cute dress that would go well with the pink blazer. You instead chose a pair of ripped black jeans and a basic white Tee. 

Pulling them on, you splashed on the quickest and simplest makeup grabbing your bag and running. You ran across town, arriving out the front of the palace and getting pulled behind a van. Fists raised ready to throw hands at your attacker, you turned to see a weird-looking man and a small young lady biting her nails behind him, eyeing off the palace. “You are Suryeon, aren’t you?”

“What?” You shouted, lowering your fist as you remembered you were supposed to be pretending to be Suryeon to get a photo of the prince. “uh yeah. That’s me.” 

“You wore that?” The young woman asked, eyeing your outfit incredulously like she couldn’t comprehend anyone wearing these clothes.

“It said to dress casually, so I did?” Looking over her designer trousers pressed perfectly and the luxury brand shirt and jacket, she undeniably looked better, like royalty.

“Well put the jacket on, and head in you are running late,” You slipped the jacket on, and he explained, “When you want to take a picture, this button on the inside hem at your hip will trigger the camera to take a picture. The camera is here in the pin on your lapel.”

“Got it, Let’s go” you turned and ran off towards the gates when you heard them calling your name; you ignored them, they both seemed crazy, and you didn’t want to linger around them too long. This was just work, a job and your only task was to get a photo of the eldest prince that no one had ever seen.

You arrived in the waiting room and took the clipboard flicked through and signed on the bottom of every page without care, you read the words on the final page as you wrote the date. ‘If you agree to the terms within the contract and the repercussions if they are breached, please sign on the final line’. That was clear, but the line was not, there were three lines. Everyone was handing their documents over and you sighed, and signed the very last line and handed it over walking in last.

Everyone was staring at you as you walked in there. There were a total of perhaps twenty females, including you and Adora, who told everyone to get comfortable while she went to take the files away and said the chat room will be opened soon. The door closed behind her, and you looked around to see everyone’s eyes on you. Spotting a spare seat on the four-person couch, you sat down politely, respecting everyone’s space. 

The others were quick to stand up from their seats and walked away. One of the particularly rich-looking females sneered backing away from you as if you held her at gunpoint, “You have hair rollers in your hair?”

“Thank you for telling me,” You pulled the rollers free and shoved them in your bag.

“Cute bag, where did you get it?”

“The second-hand store,” you admitted before biting your lip regretting your words. “I like to dress like poor people, the street style, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t look like you are in the cool crowds, but it's all the new trends, the style you have is classified as grandmother style clothes compared to mine.”

They visibly squared their shoulders and glanced up from their phones suddenly all ears to this new trend. You walked around to the mirror, playing the room with your words trying to appear as wealthy and snobbish while dressed in absolute garbage compared. “Yeah, the trend is taking the ripped look to a whole new meaning. If you don’t look borderline homeless, you aren’t part of the cool crowd. I am only on the edge of cool because I am not ready to commit to such an extreme look.”

“The rollers are part of it, though. I had to trade my bejeweled ones for these because they were too fancy. You can try it if you want, the style is a poor leading lady. In dramas, they are always clumsy and messy, and they have the male lead come in and give them the makeover.” To say you were impressed was an understatement, the fact you had these women hanging on to every word you said. Perhaps you were a swindler in your past life. “If you want to marry a really wealthy man, the statistics say that the poorer and helpless the woman looks, they are more likely to go after them.”

“It makes them feel manly to provide for their woman, I am pretty sure in Hollywood they are calling it the ‘fixml’ which is like a side by side term they use for fixing up cars but means ‘Fix my love’. I wore the best with my rare one of only three made bags from this year's collection, and they shunned me. I had to learn quick” Seriously, you were making this up on the fly, perhaps you were an actor. This level of improvisation was amazing; you knew there were actors out there that wished for this skill.

One of the girls who looked really intrigued started inspecting your jeans commenting on how well it made you fit the ‘aesthetic’ and even let you put the rollers messily into her hair. You bluffed your way through it, telling her it accentuated certain parts of her face. 

“You see how this roll out here shows the almost childlike nature and makes you appear more youthful if I had to guess your age before this, I would say twenty-eight,” her mouth fell into a frown. “With this look, I would say a cheeky twenty-two.”

The other girls joined in complimenting her and trying out certain looks in the mirror. Everyone received a link for the chat room, all talk ceased, and they were on their phones. You were staring at your phone and trying to get it to load. Your phone was older and took longer to load up.

You were walking around the room trying to get some signal to help the app download quicker, the girls starting to murmur about the prince, your hand extended and you bumped into the side table. Your fingers curled around the nearest object to regain balance but soon you lost it and fell behind the couch taking the vase with you. 

There was a series of high pitched screams, each blood curdling and made you freeze behind the couch. Was this all a trap, lure women in with money and then kidnap them? Was the eldest prince a serial killer and had women brought to the castle for him to slaughter?

“Ah I promised I wouldn’t scare them away, I promised I would take this seriously.” The voice was kind of soft and sad. Whatever it was, the women had run off, the door shutting behind them. Peeking over the couch, the room was empty of the women, but there was a retreating figure. You had never thought there was any meaning to the term ‘prince figure’ but if there was a perfect example, this was it. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist, proportions other men would kill for, and women dreamed of in a man. 

So why did they run away, a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner swinging shut. Leaving you with just another mirror. You walked over to it and tried to see through the glass. There was no way to open it from this side, once it was closed. Or at least no obvious way to an outsider like yourself. The phone in your hand pinged a number of times, indicating that you had received the messages you had missed before all the ladies had run out. 

You sat on the couch, promptly lying across the cushions, reading through the texts sent between the ladies and the prince. You were prepared some unsolicited pictures of the prince. Something discriminating against him, there had to be something wrong; otherwise, there was something wrong with the ladies you had met today. Why would you run from such perfection? 

Even his voice was charming and beautiful, you wondered what he looked like. Imagining dark eyes and hair like his brothers wondering if you should try to Photoshop the brother’s faces together and try to come up with a face that felt right. Suddenly you wanted to see his face not for the photo, not for the money but simply to feed your curiosity.

It was when you started to read the messages from the rude women demanding that he show his face, and accusing him of being the ugly brother, some spouting past rumors that had once spread through the town that he was deformed or a cripple. You could almost imagine the voice you had heard earlier, getting frustrated, adopting a more clipped tone.

You reached the end, and all you could see was Adora, the woman running the meet going off at the prince for his behavior You couldn’t help but laugh at his response. “They made me mad ‘dora seriously you try being locked up all your life and have people spouting rumors about your cognitive ability and lack of limbs” You laughed at his words, you had felt the same way whilst reading the texts, empathizing with the prince. 

I decided to text him, show him some form of friendship. It must really suck to be locked away, never being able to hang out or have fun with friends. You honestly thought it was King Bang’s paranoia that had him locked away in fear that his eldest, who was to provide him with heirs and take the throne, would be killed.

But what would you send, you would have to think of an appropriate opening line for text. As you lounge on the sofa that was bigger and felt softer than your single thin foam mattress you had on the floor of your apartment. You called yourself a minimalist, but really money had just gotten tight, and you had to sell everything. 

Pausing between potential texts, you looked around spotting a gold candelabra, which would probably be worth a lot of money, but you shook your head. You just had to get a photo of the prince, and then you would get paid.

Turning back to your phone, you started the text.

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[emoboijk]

myg | roses

“The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.” (John Boyle O’Reilly) Being with someone doesn’t guarantee that you know they love you. —hanahaki disease au, flora & fauna series

3,619 words

p.cred 

The waiting room is beige with a dark brown carpet, the kind that has either always been that color or is that color as a result of years of use. There are paintings (ironically) of flowers on the walls, and potted plants stationed randomly between the chairs. A receptionist sits behind a counter, typing on a computer and answering the phone when it rings. Aside from her, there are seven people scattered about the room.

You're tucked into a corner by an end table that displays brochures for Hanahaki removal surgery alongside magazines with photoshopped celebrities on the cover. The ads for the surgery, as well as the photoshopped celebrities (one of which is Yoongi, actually), leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Both the boy in the fetal position and the girl running to and from the bathroom get called before you. By the time the emo kid blasting Linkin Park (how is he not deaf by now?) is called, you feel like you're going to vomit. 

The noticeable lack of texts doesn't help things. 

The nurse only gets out the first syllable of your name before you rush toward her. You're standing directly in front of her, possibly too close, by the time she gets the full thing out. 

"That's me," you mutter, tapping your foot anxiously as you wait for her to take you back. 

The exam room is beige, too. There are more ironic flower paintings (in pastels, of course, disgustingly) alongside truly awful paintings of sunsets. Sunrises? Sunsets? Doesn't matter. You answer the nurses' questions before she can ask them and you can tell that you're irritating her. Doesn't. Matter. 

Right as the door clicks behind her ("The doctor will be in—" "Soon, yeah, I got it. Would be sooner if you left.") your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

It's a news alert. A picture of Yoongi, well, August D actually and a girl. It looks like Jennie. Another rapper from his label. They're both wearing shades and casual clothing. He has his hand on her back. They're lost in a sea of paparazzi. 

You're surprised when a teardrop hits the screen. "Fuck." You drag your hand across your cheek. It's not even a big deal. It doesn't mean anything. Jennie is dating Kai, you know that. Yoongi wouldn't cheat, you know that, too. 

But logic doesn't stop the intense pain as another rose blooms in your lung. 

"Fuck," you say again. You drop your phone to clutch at your chest, the device clattering to the floor. 

Just then the door opens to reveal a very put-together doctor; he's a bit short but clean-shaven. When he smiles his teeth are very white and if you squint you can see the cakey-muddiness from his fake tan.

You immediately dislike him. 

The doctor picks up your phone, very obviously glances at the screen, and then clucks his tongue at you. "Pining over a celebrity, huh?" He shakes his head in disapproval. 

You want to spit in his eye. Instead, you lock your phone and tuck it into your pocket. 

"Where Dr. Park?" 

"Rushed to surgery, emergency patient. I'm Doctor Choi." He offers his hand for a shake but you refuse to take it. 

"I need more pills," you say. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Anti-growth pills. I'm out." 

"I have to assess your case." He clicks his tongue again like a parent at a misbehaving child. 

"I have roses in my lungs. I refuse to have the surgery. I didn't sleep last night and I haven't had solid food in days. I need anti-growth pills. I am currently out of them. Case. Assessed." You glare at him hard. You are not in the mood to mess around.

The doctor crosses his arms over his lap and looks at you like you're stupid. You are so close to slapping him; the only thing stopping you is your desperation for the prescription.

"And Dr. Park explained that your tolerance was going to build up? That at some point they wouldn't work anymore?" He says each word slowly as if you won't understand otherwise. 

You mimic his tone, "And that I will eventually die. Yes. She. Did." You crack your knuckles anxiously, "But they still work and I still need them." 

"Have you considered the surgery…" 

"No," you nearly scream. You feel like a rubber band pulled so tight it will snap. "I have not. And I never will. I have discussed all of this with Dr. Park, my primary physician, I do not need a lecture from you. I have chosen my treatment plan and am well-informed that it will ultimately lead to my death. But I am very much alive right now and I need those damn pills." 

The doctor sighs and you can see the image of himself he's crafted in his mind: the martyr, the self-sacrificing doctor. He writes the prescription. You snatch it and walk away before you have to hear any more of his diatribe. 

The Linkin Park guy is at the pharmacy. He's three spots ahead of you and his eyes are glazed over in thought. He must have it, too. You hope his situation is better than your own, but you know it's not. 

Hanahaki is universally shitty. 

And anyway, at least you have Yoongi. Technically.

"Hey, feeling better?" the pharmacist asks when you finally reach the counter. 

You stare hard at him. "If I were better, would I be here?" 

The pharmacist rolls his eyes. You know that this pharmacist (Kihyun) is capable of customer service; you just stood in line for ten minutes and watched him be nauseatingly polite to every customer. He has given up being anything but authentically annoyed with you. 

"Why are you such a bitch?" he asks, keying in the prescription. 

You shrug and lean against the counter. Why are you such a bitch? You don't think anyone has ever asked you that before. "It's easier, I guess." 

Kihyun looks away from the computer, "Isn't it exhausting?" 

"Yes." 

"Ten minutes," he says and you move out of the way. 

Linkin Park guy is looking at snack food, then at toys, then at wireless speakers. He holds one up to inspect before frowning in distaste. You watch him walk the length of every aisle (twice) before his name is called. Jeongguk. 

He still has that far away look on his face and you silently hope he'll be okay. Tears prick your eyes at the thought and you furrow your brow. 

You glance at your phone. Still nothing. 

When Kihyun calls your name he holds the white prescription bag just out of your reach. "You're dying, right?" 

"Yes," you say, holding your hand out impatiently. 

"How long?" he asks. His face is still cool and impassive but his voice is soft. For a moment he reminds you of Yoongi when you first met him, before the stylists and the publicists and the massive record label. Soft at the edges and warm. 

"Couple months maybe." You look away from him. But even when you're looking at the spinner rack of reading glasses…your vision gets blurry. 

"Don't you think…it's a waste to spend your last few months so angry?" 

You snatch the bag from him forcefully, nearly crumpling it in your hand. "Yes," you spit. You don't look back as you leave. 

You shouldn't be driving. That was clear two weeks ago when you splattered the inside of your windshield with blood and white petals. But you like driving because you don't have to think about anything but driving. You just have to focus on what you're doing. You're almost relaxed by the time you get home. 

You click the garage door fob and suck in a breath, all of your tension coming back with it. Yoongi's sleek black sports car is tucked neatly into the left side. 

You pull in beside it and sit with the garage door open and the car on, your knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. You know when you go inside that it's more than likely he'll be in his studio. He'll have on headphones and a cold cup of coffee on his desk, his eyes will be bloodshot and strained from staring at the screen. You know that if you don't duck your head in and say something it will probably be hours before you see him. 

It's been two days since he's been home. Which isn't unusual—he keeps a cot and toothpaste at his office—but usually, if he stays at the office for that long, it builds. He's either gone from nine-to-five or for a week at a time. Two days is an in-between number that you can't wrap your head around.

Your anxiety traps you in the car for nearly twenty minutes before your chest pain finally pushes you out. You stuff the pharmacy bag into your pocket and climb out. You hesitate at the door into the house and listen for him; once in a while you'll come home to him making dinner or cleaning the apartment or watching TV. You crack open the door and breathe a sigh of relief when you hear the shower running at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing into the kitchen you swallow three pills with a gulp of water and stash the rest on top of the fridge. 

You relax slightly now that the pills are hidden. You lean against the counter and can feel them begin to work. It's a weird sensation, the odd tingle that comes when the flowers wilt and the buds dissolve in your lungs. You asked once, when you weren't so angry, what was in the pills and how they worked. 

"It's…" Dr. Park was reluctant to tell you, but you're nothing if not persistent, "Essentially it's acid. Like a pesticide that burns the flowers." 

Talk about hardcore. 

Yoongi emerges from the shower with a towel around his waist at the same time you turn the corner into the hallway. You tense up when you first see him, lean and toned and freshly showered. You have to remind yourself to decompress. 

"Baby," Yoongi says softly, dragging his warm fingers across your neck and cheek and pressing his lips there softly. 

"You're home," you smile. His hand moves down your back and you wonder if he can feel how rigid you are. 

"Finally, huh?" he chuckles. Yoongi presses his forehead to your left temple and presses his nose into your cheek; a nuzzle. He smells like lavender soap and black coffee. His hand finds yours and he intertwines your fingers.

It's almost enough to convince you. 

In your bedroom, when he lets the towel drop from his waist, your heart skips at the idea that something might happen. You haven't slept with him in...weeks? You've been doing everything you can to keep your distance since the disease began progressing. 

You're relieved when he pulls on a pair of sweats. "How are you?" you ask and your voice is choked. 

He catches sight of you in the mirror, his expression concerned at the tone of your voice. You smile at him, not very convincingly, and he lets it go. 

"Exhausted," he sighs. He turns and presses his lips to the side of your mouth, "I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin. 

"It's okay," you peck his cheek. "Get some rest; I have some work." 

You flee from the room like it's on fire. Your chest aches with the absent words and lost touches. Yoongi watches you go and he aches, but he's not sure what for. 

You sit at the kitchen counter staring at a blank page on your laptop. Your eyes go in and out of focus and you concentrate on your breathing. 

"What's the point," you whisper, closing the laptop without working. You'll be dead in a month anyway. You hear the door to Yoongi's in-home studio click shut and it sounds like nothing more or less than the nail in your coffin. 

You thought, after you were first diagnosed, that time would move slower. That somehow, with flowers infesting your lungs, everything would take longer. But it's all just the same. 

You go to sleep at 10:30 and shift into consciousness when Yoongi's side of the bed dips around 3 or 4 AM. You wake up alone at 8:30. If he thinks of it, there will be a note from Yoongi on his pillow or the bathroom mirror or the fridge (Gone to work. Love you). You shower, brush your teeth, make some eggs and take your pills. Depending on how you're feeling you'll work or watch TV or scroll through August D fan sites. If you don't reach out first, you won't hear from him until the evening. 

He always texts you by 7 if he's not coming home, 9 if he's going to be late, not at all if he plans on being home. 

This is not a note-morning. You hadn't expected it to be. His album is weeks from being released; his brain is full to the brim with more important matters. 

But your chest still hurts. 

Your shower is cold and you're out of eggs. You gulp down three pills with the quarter pot of coffee Yoongi left for you and sit at the kitchen counter again. You spend too much of the day scrolling through celebrity Twitter, and you cough up bloody flower petals twice. 

Yoongi texts you at 7:01 PM. 

Min Genius: Still working on the album

Min Genius: Almost done just need another all-nighter

"And another and another and another," you whisper. Your lungs feel like fertilizer. 

Okay - drink lots of water and remember to eat! :)

He sends you a black heart emoji and it's like your floating but for the tether attached to your lungs. 

You climb into bed at 7:30 because you can't stop crying. Everything is so fucked up. When you told Dr. Park that you have Hanahaki and your unrequited love is your boyfriend...The memory sends a stab of pain through your chest and a fresh set of tears fall onto your pillow. 

You're so angry and afraid and anxious. You feel broken and unfixable like a shattered vase on the kitchen floor. You feel stupid for not telling him and for suffering in silence and for not knowing what to do. You feel trapped, caged in by your disease and your mental incapacity to believe that he loves you. 

You pass out two hours after you first lay down and you don't wake up when Yoongi slips into bed at 5 AM. 

You wake up the next morning thinking the thermostat must be broken; it's like a sauna. You blink away the overnight crust from your eyes, wincing because they're puffy from all the crying. Your chest heaves but you can't get a full breath. 

You flinch when you feel something sticky on your pillow, pulling away when you see that its blood. You gasp and then cough because your mouth is full of blood, splattering the sheets and the end table and the wall. You scramble away from the mess and find yourself practically sitting in Yoongi's lap. 

"Fuck," you whisper and there's already blood and rose petals sitting at the back of your throat. 

His voice is rough with sleep and he wraps an arm awkwardly, eyes still closed, around your torso. "Baby?" 

You stiffen. 

Yoongi squeezes your side gently and you can hear the smile in his voice, "Good morning." 

Shit, shit, shit. 

You cough violently and a spray of blood and white rose petals paints the wall. It looks like a violent slasher movie. You clamber out of his embrace, still choking and coughing and sputtering. You run out of the room and into the bathroom, crouched with your hands cupped around your mouth. You keep trying to swallow but it feels like your throat is blocked. 

You fall to your knees harshly and you know they will be bruised. You grip the toilet bowl like a life preserver, you heave and cover the inside in red. Your lungs burn with the strain and you feel painfully lightheaded. 

Once you can swallow again, you lean back and rest against the wall. You can hear Yoongi from the other room when he discovers the blood. 

"What the fu—" he starts and then he's shouting your name. He stumbles into the bathroom, all adrenaline and urgency. His hair is sticking up in the back and his face has gone ghostly white from shock. 

There's prickling in your chest and you know you have to move. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing the toilet and standing. 

You brush past him in the doorway and beeline for the kitchen with Yoongi at your heels. He's cursing under his breath, rapid-fire like when he performs. You stand on your tiptoes and retrieve the pharmacy bag on top of the fridge. 

You swallow a couple of pills with water, wincing at the taste of blood that goes down with it. When you look up, Yoongi is staring. 

You watch him impassively, refusing to be moved, trying to summon the anger and frustration you felt at the doctor's office or the pharmacy. You place the pill bottle on the counter. No need to hide it anymore. 

"Are you," he starts, swallowing a giant gulp of air and gathering his thoughts, "Are you sick?" 

You frown. "Yes." Duh. You wince; even in your head, disdainful sarcasm feels wrong when directed at Yoongi. 

"How…" Yoongi yanks a hand through his hair in frustration. He looks the same as he does before the beat drops on a diss track. 

Then, as you watch him trying to absorb this reality, it breaks through with a crash: the love you feel for him. It sends you to your knees and you can feel every thorn in the rose that blooms in your chest. 

So much for impassivity, frustration, and anger. 

Yoongi drops to his knees, too, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing. He tries to get you standing, but you resist. Your head hurts. 

His fingers move up your arms and then your neck, cupping your face and making you look at him. 

Your eyes meet for a long moment. You can see him searching your expression for answers. A frown cracks the perfect planes of his face. Yoongi's thumb presses gently against the corner of your lips before pulling away. 

There's blood on his finger. 

"What is going on?" 

Your heartbeat is in your ears like drums echoing. You keep your eyes on the inside of his wrist. "I have Hanahaki disease." 

Yoongi pulls away, sitting back on his legs. When you look up his eyes are closed and his frown seems permanently etched into his expression. His voice doesn't waver: "Who?" 

Your chest feels heavy but every other part of you feels lighter. You're going to tell him and then he'll know. You won't have to keep it a secret.

Tears are spilling down your cheeks unbidden and you open your mouth to tell him, to relieve the pressure you've been feeling, but the words won't come. 

Yoongi's eyes snap open. "Who is it?" he demands. 

You're choking. "You." 

Silence. 

And blood in your mouth, petals on your teeth. Standing in a quick movement, clenching your jaw to keep the everything in, you storm past him in a rush. 

You clutch the toilet bowl like it's salvation like if you just grip it hard enough you won't vomit, you won't die. The smell is awful, rancid and rusty and a layer of rose-scent that just makes it worse. 

You press your cheek against the toilet seat and sigh because it's cold and your skin is burning. You wonder absently if this is where you'll die, hugging a toilet, suffocating on your own fucked-up-ness. 

"I don't understand." 

You don't move your head, can't move your head. It's exhausting and your body feels like dead weight. Is this what dying is like? You watch a drop of water plink into the bloody toilet water and realize that you're crying again. 

"I love you," Yoongi says. It soft and a whisper, like a secret. The third time he's ever sad it out loud.

You frown because you don't believe him. 

You don't think he's lying, of course, you just don't believe him. You don't think he really knows. You think that he's formed a habit of living with you and doesn't know any better. You think he's convinced himself that he loves you but it isn't true. You think…you think…you think…

"You don't think I love you?" he whispers from by your side. You don't know how or when he got there, but his fingers are weaving through your hair to get it out of your face. You can see a couple of strands with blood and bile on them in the corner of your eye. 

It takes a few moments for the pain in his voice to get through to you. When you try to make eye contact, your vision blurry and hazy, he looks like he might cry.

"I love you," he whispers again, pressing his lips to the side of your mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He kisses your whole face, rests his forehead against your shoulder, says it so many times you lose count. He squeezes your hand and it keeps you there with him, keeps you from drifting off, "Believe me." 

Yoongi moves your head so that your forehead presses against his. You open your eyes tiredly and he whispers, "Say you'll try." 

There's nothing you wouldn't do for him. 

"Okay." And you breathed a little easier. 

author notes—deep sigh

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[durandtm]

TIMOTHEE CHALOMET, 19, NONBINARY, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, CAMPBELL “CAMP” DURAND! according to their records, they’re a SECOND YEAR, specializing in ADVANCED ENCRYPTION and DRIVER’S ED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (dark circles under eyes, the scent of eucalyptus, running late, looking disinterested or confused, constantly writing). when it’s the (aquarius)’s birthday on FEBRUARY 18, they always request FRIED PICKLES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kara, 26, she/her, pst ⍀

HIS STORY.

+ Home is on the southwestern side of France where the scenery consisted of salt farms and old windmills. Many of the village's buildings were whitewashed, and some, even the farmhouses, had ornamental towers reminiscent of the 16th century. Their town of Ars-en-Ré was a commune on the Île de Ré in the Charente-Maritime. Whitewashed buildings there would often accent their buildings with grayish blues and whatever flowers they could grow. + Campbell Durand lived with his mother, Camila, and father, Hal, in a quaint guesthouse belonging to a fish and lobster farmer. + Boats went in and out of the harbor all day via a long channel between the marshes, and that was where you could find Hal from dusk to dawn. + A distinct feature of the town was its strange black and white church steeple. It had been a useful mariner's way-finder for centuries. Camila Durand would often go out to the steeple. She enjoyed the quiet walk over, the feel of the water’s breeze against her skin, and proudly overlooked her boys at work. Campbell would wave violently toward her, smile brightening his face, stomach rumbling for dinner, as she silently guided them home. + If Campbell was not in school, he was in and out of the harbor with his father. He would do at least one run in the morning before school and two after. On days with higher run expectancies or days when men would not show up due to poor weather conditions, Campbell would miss school, much to his and his mother’s dismay, to work with his father. + “Camp,” he began to be called. It was easier to shout one syllable than two over the deafening sound of the waters and men working. + The boy’s scent was slightly fishy, mixed with saltwater and sweat. Regardless of whether or not his peers’ families were in the same industries or higher middle class, this was unique to him and often kept him from experiencing close friendships.   + Once a year at most, Camila Durand went into the city. The trip’s purpose was to collect necessities, and despite her desire to take her son, Hal insisted Camp remain in Ars-en-Ré. + When Camila was pregnant with their second child, Camp was finally allowed to accompany his mother to the city to carry things for her. He stopped at a street vendor whose wooden display was covered with beautiful flowers and bottles filled with perfumes and oils. When the smell of eucalyptus grabbed his attention, Camila smiled; eucalyptus grew plentifully in Southern France and was the base note of her everyday perfume, a luxury item she was able to pick out for her wedding. She bought the eucalyptus oil for her son, a secret to be kept from Hal. Camp would use it when he got to school and hoped it wore off by the time he left. + Camp’s hair was a hectic mess of curls. His mother liked to wrap them around her index finger mindlessly, creating a sensitivity and exclusivity around the act. While he had an affinity for it and could often be found with a hand in his hair, he would never let anyone but his mother touch it, remaining true even into young adulthood. + Eventually, Camp’s curls grew long and people would tell his parents that he was such a “pretty girl.”  Camila tucked his long curls behind his ears like she did her own for as long as she could, but eventually, his father’s ego got the best of him. It was like Campbell’s masculinity was meant to be a reflection of his own. If Campbell was not masculine enough, Hal felt it meant he wasn’t masculine enough. + This led to the desire, manipulation, and force-of-hand Hal had in having another son. + Getting pregnant again was a long, hard road for Camila. Her first miscarriage was found out by Campbell climbing into her bed to find a mess of blood. Hal reprimanded Camp for screaming, even though it was the sounding alarm that saved her life at the time. Hal rushed out the door with Camila in his arms, slamming the door shut behind them. Things were never explained to Campbell, leaving him confused. When his mother arrived home safely, he quickly held to the relief and asked no questions. It wasn’t until she began to show, two pregnancies and one miscarriage later, that he found out his parents were still trying. + When it was time for the baby to come, delivery was even more difficult than the act of getting pregnant. The complications took her life. + After his mother had passed, there was nothing tying Campbell and Hal together. He fell into a quiet, depressive state and spent his entire earnings at the harbor on a laptop like the ones all of the kids at school had. + Camp barely tried at school, though he succeeded with flying colors. + When he got home, he would remain tucked away in his room, playing video games, coding, learning and unlearning algorithms, and the like. He often would stay up all night, sleep becoming less and less of a priority as his eyes remained glued to the blue light of his screen. + His father began drinking when he got home. The two sat at the dinner table together. They didn’t talk. If anything was to be said, it was Hal, telling Camp that he would waste his life away on that computer and never make anything of himself. + Camp began hacking. It started out as a result of having beaten all of his video games and having no money to buy more. It became his own sort of game. It started small, the computers of classmates, then teachers, then strangers, then businesses, then local government, then banks, and eventually, secret intelligence branches. + The boy had no ambitions, no goals, no ulterior motive, no end game. He was told that there would be very serious consequences for his actions, but the agency was in America, a country in which he was not legally adult, and he felt untouchable. His 18th birthday wasn’t far so they did with him what they would have done with any juvenile delinquent in his position and offered him a “bright future” that started with Gallagher Academy. The Fall semester would begin in September of 2019, and along with it, would begin Camp’s new life. + He packed his bags, gave his father a reluctant hug, ignoring his proud ramblings of how he would make something of himself after all and that his mother would be so proud, and was on his way. He would wake up and go to sleep missing the quiet safety of the home his mother had once occupied. He would miss the certainty of his father’s mundane routines and joining him for quiet dinners of cabbage and meat stew when he got home.

HIS PERSONALITY.

(insightful, patient, weird, rebelling, lone wolf, great listener, always running late, 1000 moods, needs space)

+ Kaiju films are they’re favorite (Kaiju is a Japenese genre of films featuring giant monsters that are usually attacking major cities) + Also loves Ghostbusters + Always has a movie they want you to watch + Barely sleeps, leaving dark circles permanently under their eyes + Computer is so old it glitches. + Dreams of a car with a neon under-glow, though they don’t know where they’d drive it + Included a major of driver’s ed because they have never driven a car, nor has their family ever owned one, and driving fast sounds cool + Ends up using it as a coping mechanism. some people punch things when they’re mad, others cry, he drives. fast. dangerously. recklessly. but it’s okay because technically they’re studying + Drinks absinthe as a way of remaining close to their father, who they think they’re destined to be regardless of what fancy school invited them to the states and thinks they’re “talented” and “genius” + Listens to Mariana’s Trench in the background of whatever they’re doing + Has tattoo ideas, but no tattoos: UFO, bermuda triangle, third eye, a mask, illuminati symbol + Talks to you for hours about conspiracy theories + Writes poetry + Likes feeling the breeze with their eyes closed (it reminds them of their mother doing the same at the church steeple, looking over them at the harbor) + Keeps a notebook separate from their poetry, meant for deep thoughts, connecting thoughts and ideas, and inspiration + Photoshopped your head on a meme and sent it to you at 3am + Gets heartbroken 30 times a week by falling for people they look at + Has trust issues + Often unmotivated and disinterested + Feels like they have to adapt to every person they meet to be liked, so they’re often silent at first, figuring out how to mold themselves into the kind of person they need to be around you + Labeled themselves as nonbinary as soon as they were no longer under the strict rule of masculinity presented by their father + Wants to use they/them pronouns, but is too scared to ask. Feels like it’s a “burden” to ask people to go through the trouble of being thoughtful. They don’t want people thinking about them at all + Figuring things out takes them a little longer + Only comes out of their shell around people that are gentle and easy-going + They are tolerant and composed to balance their intense energy when it gets to be too much and needs people to do the same + Can not flirt if their life depended on it + Can be social but born a lone wolf + Only clingy when having the time of  their lives with you, trust you with their heart and soul, or realize they can help you drastically with something and wish to focus on their effort to help you + Need people to sense and feel where the lines between “seeming” and “being” blur and that can figure out who the person is behind the anonymous mask + There’s always some kind of mask to see through + Cognitive AF + Come across emotionless because it is hard to allow themselves to be seen as vulnerable by other people + They hide from their own self + Highly selective and self-aware + They find it hard to ask for help + It’s not all fun and laughs + They adore someone who will inspire confidence in them and the courage to be in the moment and embody their own complexities. Someone who takes them seriously enough but will also keep the conversation light and free-flowing. They will only crush their own walls if you literally allow them to go ahead and ask for the help they deserve + They want people who can allow them to escape and be an actual human anchor for their souls + They do not like to be forced when it comes to sharing what is important to them. They will only do that on their own time or not at all + They know the difference between who is a friend vs. who is a best friend vs. who is a mere acquaintance vs. who is a person they view romantically. These lines do not blur or cross + Once on that level, it’s like having a secret language of communication + Harsh with their words. They are not polite because their words happen outside of emotions + How they communicate with others often has nothing to do with how they’re feeling on the inside + Come across as senseless and illogical and absolutely nuts + Likes to say “I told you so” + Get in their head while you’re talking, so they sometimes have to pretend that they understood

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 19 - Four Letters, Three words

I walked through the gallery, allowing one foot to be placed in front of the other.

"How? How can you not remember me?!" the man cried out once I answered.

"I... I don't know, I just..."

"After everything, dio mio, you have to go and lose yourself?!"

I looked at some pictures hanging in the hallway I turned down. They were unexpected, for a gallery, but they were something to look at and think about at least.

"Maybe calm down, just... Start from the beginning..."

"There isn't a beginning to start from!"

I raised a hand, but he grabbed it before I could gesture for him to settle down. He made an angry grumble, releasing my hand and stepping back. He stormed off into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

I ran my fingers along the wallpaper as I explored. It was painful, almost every step leading me to feel pain shooting through my side. But it was at least better, at least to me, than laying on a couch with a giant spotlight trained on me.

That man eventually approached me a few minutes later, sitting down on the couch next to me. He sat down a glass of red wine and a small plate of food.

"Eat, bella. You must regain your strength."

I was hesitant, and ignored the gnawing feeling of hunger. He watched me with baited breath, a calmed look across his face.

Eventually he sighed, then picked up the wine and tipped some into his mouth. Once he swallowed without hesitation, he picked up small samplings of food and ate some as well. He chewed, swallowed, and turned the fork towards me.

"I am not hungry tonight, as I have too much work to do." He waved a finger slightly, and brushed his fingers through his bangs. "But I hope that will prove to you that I do not intend to harm you."

I slid my fingers across a gilded frame. A picture titled "Bouquet" sat before me. A small golden plaque beneath it, hammered into the wall as though the picture was meant to sit there forever. I wondered if the piece had been manipulated in Photoshop, or if they were somehow real.

I heard a click behind me, making me turn around. There was nothing there, making me swallow and wonder if it was possible for any ghosts to be in Union. That is, if I was still in Union.

I glanced over the blue dress, reddened by blood and rose petals cascading down. I looked as a gust of wind seem to carry them in motion away from the woman's body. I saw the scissors in her hand, a mask, or what could be her face, in another. She leaned elegantly against a table, silent elegance in portrayal in her existence.

I sighed, thinking to myself. These were all pricking at the back of my mind, but I couldn't reach them in the darkness. I had seen some of these pictures before, but where or when continually escaped me.

I turned and continued down the hallway. I kept exploring the empty, darkened building, hoping to find some shred as to who that man was. I tried to find the answers as to why he, these pictures, and my own life kept escaping me.

-Stefano's P.O.V.-

"Son of a bitch!" I shouted aloud.

I threw my enlarger across the room, anger taking hold of me.

"How?!"

I tore down a clothes line that held drying pictures, scattering still developing photos and used gloves.

"How?!"

I picked up a blurry image of one of the men that had come to Union. I tore it in half and threw it into the sink.

"How can she not remember me?!"

I stood in the silence of my dark room, extending it further and making it turn into a hallway. I had been granted the most wonderful gift, finding I was able to shape this world as I pleased. I had everything I could have possibly asked for.

I sank to my knees. I buried my face in my hands, screaming incoherently. I jumped between English and Italian with reckless abandon, just wanting whatever was listening to know how much agony I was in.

Was this some sort of twisted fate? My price for the ability to create my work?

Her memories for unlimited materials.

Was this his doing? That man...

No, he was even less than that. If he was behind this, I would slice him into pieces where he stood the next time he faced me.

He promised me everything I could ever want, for that girl. The little girl in pink pajamas and a short black bob of hair. He called her "the core," and she was apparently far too important to allow to wander the streets.

I grumbled to myself, turning to a counter as I stood. "(My dear beauty... Please, I would do anything for you, and you knew it. Did you forget me because you came her, to this town? Or did they manipulate you, like they tried to do to me?)"

I knew my pride was to strong to admit it aloud, but I had forgotten who I was. I forgot my work, what inspired me most. I forgot my life when I came to this town, and I couldn't remember the one person who had stolen my affections.

She was living in Union with me, and I didn't even notice.

I slid my hand over one of my pieces. The proof of her as my art sitting next to the piece of the man in the chair. Ryan Turner, I believe. It was cathartic to kill someone who had the same name as the man who hurt her. I still need to make a nameplate for this work, but for now I could be satisfied.

I quietly inhaled. Counting to ten, slowly exhaling to calm myself. I smiled down at her picture. She was here, at least. The night I had been taken, I had simply taken her home and asked her to be my date for the next time my gallery showed. Once she was safely home, I decided to go to a Mu Center, or whatever they were called. I didn't want my correspondence with them to go any further.

"Stefano..."

I jerked my head to where I heard her. There was nothing there, almost as usual.

"A-ah..."

I closed my eye, pushing my hands into my head.

"N-no, no not again..."

"Ah, p-please..."

"Stop it, stop... You're not real..."

"I love you! Ah, I... I love you!!"

The sound she made as her orgasm crashed over her body took over my head. Our first night together, haunting me. Soon would come my second night with her, in the gallery. Then would be her shrieking. The sound of her trying to scream when almost no one could hear. The time I wasn't there to help her. The time I doubted her, the time I thought she had instantly went to someone else. I had abandoned her that night, and the terror in her eyes has been following me like a demon in the night.

"I... I love you..."

The ache I've been plagued with. The yearning for her touch. The want for her voice.

I backed away from her photo.

I love you.

"Stefano..."

I love you!

I covered my face, seething in anger.

"I... I l-love you, Stefano..."

I slammed my fist on the counter. I could almost hear the shattering

"Bella...!" I shouted.

I fell to the ground, holding onto the counter as my knees hit the tile. I held my hand over my mouth, feeling a burn in my heart. I tried to keep from hyperventilating.

It wasn't so gentle, so soft. Not anymore. It burned in pain, cracking my heart open and making it burst again and again and again.

"(My muse,)" I muttered in my native tongue. "(My dear, my beauty, my one...)"

"Stefano--!"

"I know, my dear, I know."

I slid my hand from my mouth. I pressed it over my chest. I could feel my heartbeat through the skin, beating its way out of my chest.

A few days ago, I had brought her to my gallery. I lay her along a couch and placed a curtain over her. I couldn't keep from posing her briefly, so excited my muse has returned for me. I took several pictures of her beaten and bloodied body as she slept.

It angered me that someone has hurt her, but I felt turmoil as she looked so... Beautiful.

Someone had gone over my work. I laughed at the time; it felt like "L. H. O. O. Q." in a way, someone adding a new part to my art and throwing her back into the world. Oh, my poor muse stumbling through that door so bloodied and frightened. Oh, how lovely that she was so frightened she couldn't recognized me...

But now I know so much better. I didn't want to know better.

I wanted my Rose.

The woman who cracked open the cavity in my chest and created the most wonderful art through me. The woman who would force me to make art from myself if I wished to see it. I wanted the Rose who kissed me, and made me question myself. I wanted the woman who made me hurt when I wasn't with her.

I wanted the Rose that trusted me. The Rose that called me in the night to tell me her nightmare, the Rose that held me when someone fired a gun and shot off fireworks.

We had already been through so much when they took me. We had been staying at each others house every other day, and she had stayed with me for so many days before I had gone.

I walked away from my red room, slipping a piece of paper out of my pocket. I slid out the black letter from the envelope. I sneered at it, having received the duplicate letter that ensnared me in this town after the world began to fall apart and I discovered my gift.

I remembered leaving her home, and going back to mine to get everything I needed. I decided to get some work around my house done now that I could relax since my gallery had been unveiled. After I had changed my sheets, I found that letter again. I read over the letter and decided I should head to one of those centers to tell them I wasn't interested. That was the only way I could opt out of that service, since they had such strange exiting details.

When I entered the Mu Center I had found, I walked to the receptionist and gave my full name. After I began discussing leaving the letters program, or whatever it was I was involved with.

And after that I couldn't remember a thing.

I woke in a place I somehow recognized. It was like a dream, a studio house with two floors. I could remember almost immediately weeks of moving into a new home. I had boxes of belongings to put away, and a welcome letter waiting on the table.

I couldn't remember what had changed my mind. I couldn't remember what made me decide to move to a new town. I couldn't remember more than being excited on moving into a new town.

I couldn't remember my Rose.

I grabbed my white pen out of my pocket. I growled quietly to myself in my anger, and threw the letter on a side table. I defiled the letter in my anger, scrawling violently across the paper. "LIES! ALL LIES!"

They lied to me about opting out of that ludicrous program. He lied that I would get everything I wanted. He lied about what he would give, about his religious front. He lied about even caring about what I wrote about in my letters.

He only gave a damn when he realized I was useful. He tried to sing me praise, false interest and fake encouragement.

I slammed the letter on the side table in the hallway. I walked away, my will slamming the metal bars down to lock it away forever. No one would see their words again, no one would be fooled with false promises and fake gods.

I walked away, feeling a little better now that I've ruined some of his "perfection." His perfection is useless and he was only a simpleton. I laughed quietly. I will speak to him, I will confront him. I will force him to give me back my muse's memories. I will force him to let go of her.

If he wanted to barter, so be it. I will get what I truly want, and I will not allow her to slip away from me again.

[codenamesazanka]

oh my god! if you’re interested in haute couture, I’ve gotta wonder if there’s any outfits/pieces you’d like to see shiggy in a rendition?

Oh no! Sorry, I confess, idk much about fashion, it’s just I like looking at the cool and pretty and sometimes weird-looking stuff, and only know the well-known stuff. But if I can try with my (uneducated ‘I think? i know what I’m talking about’) rambling thoughts… 

First up, on Shigaraki’s style. It’s strange? His whole design is to scream ‘I just don’t care’/NEET/failed human being, so it’s just a plain black shirt and pants at first. It seems ill-fitted too - those pants just won’t cover his ankles. I’ve seen people describe his outfit as ‘pajamas’ lol

But then the all black simplicity also feels deliberate. No need to worry about visible blood stains or grime. His clothes do fit him, it’s just loose enough for flexibility during movement and fighting, and of course the way it sorta hangs on and so draw attention to his bony frame gives him an aura of creepiness. But they’re still normal enough, which is why he can just walk out in public, especially if he slips a hoodie on. 

It fits his character well - a dismiss-able weirdo at first, but look closely and you’ll see he’s really dangerous. 

And then there are the hands. 

We now know the reason for why they’re there, but I feel like they also show how he’s a very careful guy (who, again, doesn’t seem so at first). People mostly pay attention (or so I assume) to the fact that its severed hands. But there’s an organization to where those hands are, he’s really good at putting all of them on fast, and they stay on him despite all the fighting he does. Like. They’re accessories? And seem overdone. But no, each has a meaning and he’s very strict about wearing them and it’s all calculated. 

What comes to mind at first was Rick Owens - the black, the drapery, the ‘strange-ness’. 

(Sorry for the google images screenshot - too lazy to photoshop individual photos together) 

But I feel like it’s not him. It stands out, emphasizes the weird too much. So, then, Alexander Wang? More causal and still can be simple black, but now it’s too neat and polished. Then idk any other designer lmao sorry. 

Shigaraki should keep his dumpster PJs? The long-coat he has right now works really well, though, because it’s still scruffy looking, the two belts is extra, and it flows behind him, very badass. It still allows him to fight, but not like a rando NEET punk; he’s much more distinctive, he’s in charge now.

So what I want to see him in is actual like, fancy decadence? The opposite of simple and practical, but he’s an evil king, after all, the spoiled heir to an empire. He can handle it all. For that, Balmain? Fall 2016. And even then, I want fancier.

Above all, of course, a crown. Guo Pei style:

or Jean-Paul Gaultier

or, I guess, maybe, Dolce&Gabbana 

[mellowgirl01]

🍷Sweet Wine🍷

Masterlist

Wordcount: 4209

Characters: 20692

People: Adam x Y/N x Eve

Made for: @ladyfluff

Tag: @may-bereblog @jaquellejohnson @mousee555 @ladyfluff @starkeeper43

Request:No

Date: 4/1/19

Summary:  No day but today-rent

A/N: I’m really sorry that the stroy has been 2 weeks late but it was quite difficult tothink back to the beginin gof the story when so much of it was about the past. Which is kinda like the point of the story. Thank you guys so so much for even just continuinf to read my stroies. It really does mean alot to me. Enjoy 💕💕

With a loud inhale of breath y/n rose from her bed to see that her lovers were no longer by her side. Seconds after she also heard one of her lovers yell out to someone named Ava. So much had happened in her head as she felt like she had been sleeping in that bed for days. But all that was flown out the window when a girl that looked strangely similar to the girl in her dreams marches in with a gun held up to her face saying something that she couldn’t really comprehend  because that face..just screamed

“..Madeline?..”

“Wha?”

Ava looked confused at y/n’s choice of words that was strange from how others would react to a girl with a gun in their hands who just barged into their room. But like the speed of light Eve came to the rescue and turned Ava around smacking the shit out of her and snatching the gun. She quickly emptied the bullets and threw the gun downstairs in frustration. She told Adam to get rid of the stupid thing a long time ago since it would cause him nothing but trouble and pain. Or at least the bad reminder of it. She never truly understood his thinking at some points but the gun was one thing that she had no need in wanting to understand nore the need to be around. Especially not in the hands of the Ava her sister who probably never grow up and feel the need too. So excited by the new world you would almost think she’d live in the sun of L.A

“Sheesh sis I was just mess-”

“THAT THING IS NOT A TOY AND TO HAVE IT AROUND MY DARLING IS SOMETHING YOU KNOW NOT TO MESS WITH!!! ESPECIALLY WHile- while Adam, the owner of it is out for us! Of all the things I let you mess around with Ava This. will never be. The one!”

“Ok ok, but I think you need to check her out she seems a bit on the loopy side.”

“Ava what on Earth are you on about she’s asleep-”

Eve turned her head to see y/n just sitting on the side of her bed with the messiest hair she had ever seen. She looked sweet in the dim light that came from within  the bedroom and even sweeter when she sees that her feet are dangling on the side of them bed, waiting to touch the cold wood floors.

“Oh..y/n.. Thank GOD!!!”

Running over to y/n she held her tight making her flop back onto the bed. This action of relief and a curious concern didn't really phase Y/n. What she was so confused about was why Eve acted the way she did, and why even though she had dreamt a dream so unrealistic and odd..felt so true. More of a memory that was lost among all others in a crowd of god knows what. All she knew was that she was back in the future or was it the present? Wrapping her arms around her Eve she inhaled her scent and kissed the crook of her neck. Eve let out a warmed sigh as she felt the sweet featherly kiss placed upon her swan like neck. Sitting up she pulled y/n up on her feet. Ava was more than confused and that would make 2 since y/n had absolutely no clue what in the hell was going on either.

“Ava please, let's all head downstairs so we can all introduce ourselves-”

“Ava?..but she looks so much like the woman in my dreams her name was Madeline?”

That was enough to stop Eve dead in her tracks as she was going to lead y/n softly down the stairs. Looking down to y/n she held her mouth open with her pale eyelashes blinking.

“How..how in the  hell do you know that name ? What dream?”

“The dream I had..it was so weird but It’s so much to talk about really..like years worth of information just piled into my head. My head actually hurts. That and my back.”

“Let’s go and sit down.”

Once in the living room she got out a blanket and made some tea that Adam bought for when y/n would wake up. Being thirsty was one thing but she also could have been really light headed and thank god that Adam had dim lights or els her head would have probably felt worse beyond compare. Getting comfortable on the couch while Ava roamed all around the place before finally jumping on the right side of y/n with a big grin plastered on her face. Ava sat, walked, and talked like more of a child but at the same time she seems like a lot of fun. y/n understood enough that this was Eve’s sister so she wanted to make a good first impression and try to get to know her. Since Ava seemed so keen on wanting to know more about y/n too.

“How long have you been human?”

“..since..birth?..I’m sorry but I don’t really understand your question? Everyone is ..human.”

Ava’s eyes widened as she understood then why Eve looked so shocked.

‘So this is y/n, their little lover that got away. She seems really nice and pretty. What shame she left them all so soon. And the way she did. Winder if..’

Getting up she walked her way over to a part of the living room and got down a really big dictionary. Sitting next to y/n again she opened the book and inside was’t the many many words that should have been printed down on the pages. Instead their were small polaroids of Adam and Eve and of separate pictures of them through the years. Ava didn’t know much about reincarnation nore much about y/n since she moved around alot and it was quite hard for her to get into contact with her sister. Ava did genuinely love her sister and respect her ..well at times but this time she just wanted to see her sister happy about a situation that was so very long ago. She knew that Eve had hope for the future but due to Adam sometimes bringing that kind of talk down and even Ava at times then the combination with the incident she decided that for now in this moment to not get into her schemes. She was there of course. And she saw the sadness in her sister’s eyes. What she didn’t know about was y/n’s past life or the details of such. To her they didn't matter anyways. All that mattered now was she wanted to make her sister and brother in law happy of her. Maybe even happy in general. As she flipped through the pages she could see the wheels turning int y/n’s small head. Then landing on a picture of Adam and Eve’s third wedding y/n stopped her from moving any further. Ava thought that this would be a good time to speak up.

“It wasn’t really the same time period but..it was close enough. Do you remember them now? Don’t you remember it all?”

“You say remember like it was something that happened a couple of years ago. These have to be photoshopped there's no way that Adam or Eve- no you know what no, Your the same person who ran into my room with a fucking gun why am I even talking to yo-?!!”

“Because that’s the reason. I’m a stranger right? Why would I need to lie to you? And if you need some more information then you might as well keep your voice down.”

Ava pulled y/n down to her chest and covered her mouth with her hand. Standing up she was quick to lead in into the basement. Unfortunately the basement door was locked. Adam didn’t trust Ava in the slightest with anything around his house which meant that keeping some really important blood secret from her was mandatory. But Ava don’t have time. Eve by now would have noticed that you both weren’t there where she had left you and surely wasn’t stupid. So she gave up on the stupid basement and crawled up the stairs quietly into Adam’s study.

“Ha, got cha.”

The door was open and she quickly gestured y/n inside of the room closing the door behind her as she was left to deal with a screaming Eve who ran up the stairs. Y/n could see from the candle that was lit in few areas that there was pictures of people up on the walls. Not even a spec of the natural wall was shown. Looking to the right of her she saw rolled up posters of the side of Adam’s desk. She paid no mind to them but as she was walking toward the closet she heard Ava and Eve start to scream from the outside about it not being any of Ava’s business. Nore should she have told y/n about them like this.

“So she still had the right to know, it was her old life after all dearest sister.”

“That’s not the point Ava !”

“Look beside the desk you’l-”

“AVA STOP IT!”

Fed up with all the yelling and screaming y/n marched over to the door swinging it open causing Ava to fall flat on her back.

“Come in here then and tell me what the hell is going on! How long have I been asleep, why did i see you both move so fast, how can you move that fast, HOW OLD ARE ALL OF YOU!!? And where the fuck is adam?!!”

“Right here love..”

He was dressed in scrubs and a medical mack covered his chin as he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, at least more than normal. Adam was pissed at the fact that Eva was half way in his study but that wasn’t important. The only important thing was in front of him standing right in the middle of the door way. Not just y/n but the truth. All going down and into the living room the lovers sat down on either side of y/n while Ava was told to preoccupied herself since the subject was more than highly private. Before Adam settled into the living room he went to the basement to get a trunk that looks rotted and more than worn out. Adam made a statement about taking better care of it through the years  but he was in a floor and the leather just gave and their was no way he could part with it when it kept everything inside of it so safe and dry. Y/N could smile a little at this. The side of Adam that was for one moment happy and really loved to show things off. To show himself rather.

“Your sister is as dimwitted as always if she thought that I would just let the most important valuables in my life be out in the open for her taking.”

He said while opening the trunk. Eve had her arm wrapped around y/n rubbing her arm.

“Well you had that gun out that I told you to throw away.”

“I was kinda hoping she would use it on herself.”

He mumbled. She kicked him in the side and Adam just rolled his eyes lifting the trunk’s door up. The first the thing that was on top was some fabric that had a really beautiful pattern. It was..yellow..Like a gold type of yellow…

“the dress..What the fuck is going on?”

y/n started to tear up and set her back to the couch biting her lips into a curl. Both of the lovers were more than heartbroken at the sight of this. The hurt and confused expressions flip flopped as Adam took out the dress and laide it in her arms. Sitting in front of y/n on the floor he placed a red key in her hands and even though there was more thing in there the most important thing of all was the thing that settled it all. THat made everything real. That made y/n’s heart skink to the very pit of her stomach. Adam unrolled a large painting of All three of them in a portrait that replaced the one that was hanging in the manner all those years ago.

“Vanilla french was your choice of perfume..On your dress it lingered..I kept that same perfume for years and that's all that We’ve ever known. The beauty of the past. Or what little memory that was had of it, if you did have that dream then that would explain why you wouldn’t wake up for three days, we told you job that you were just awfully sick and needed a vacation. Sorry..”

“Three days? No wonder why my head hurt so much. My mend went through three years of history and past things that weren’t mine within three days..”

“But they are yours love.”

“Is it? Eve all of this shit is the past me..Everything!! From the dress to the perfume to almost near everything! That girl that you're looking for isn’t here and i’m me!!! If you can’t love who I am and are just burned with the memory of who that girl wss then I..I can’t be with you.”

“Y/n Please-”

“No! I can take somethings but if you want me to stay with you then you have to tell me everything and tell me if you fell in love with me and not just some thought of me! It’s not fair! I have fallen in love with who you both are, truly I have but if you cannot take in that realization and leave this past then I can’t love you it’s not right nor is it fair to me!! I’m never gonna be her.”

Eve was about to speak but Adam stopped her and rubbed her leg sighing.

“..We don’t eat, we don’t go out because we are what we are. When we found you.”

“We found that the nightmares subsided a little...we knew that you would be different. We knew that things of course would change like all things do. We wanted to over time say what we needed too. We knew we couldn’t hid from you forever love.”

“Fine..what about the real reason as to why you feel for me though?”

“..we..I did fall for the past you..”

“And? That’s all I get?”

“Eve loved you for you. This you that is.”

Silence filled the room and y/n shoved the dress and the key onto Adam and gets up to walk to the doorway. With tears filling her eyes she huffed and with a broken voice told Eve

“You know where I live..If you need me then just come by..Don’t ..call me.”

She got all of her clothes and things and left. She didn't want to look back..She was her own person. SHe had her own mind, her own heart. Her own damn soul and if he could only think about the past then there was nothing that she could do to change his mind. He had to for himself if he loved her like he said. But the bitter truth was that she loved him. But due to the circumstances she now had to love him from afar.

Adam and Eve both had their conversations and had the conversations. Why Adam could just for a while get out of the past and for once look forward. Why he was scared to do such a thing and why he saw the world the way that he did. They even argued about it few times.

“This funk..this stage that you can’t seem to reason with. Do you even want to be happy anymore Adam? It’s been 4 months since you last talked to her.She still misses you..Why can’t you go to her now?”

“It’s true, I am in love with this past that I have created. A time where the only one living it happily was me. Nowadays My time seems to be slipping away from me and while I do miss her I don’t ..I never. Wanted her to see me like this. I wanted to be stronger but instead I let myself slip into this fantasies and this state of if we all just got together again it would be how it was before.”

“It was, Yet the one thing that was different is everything. Do you fear change?”

“My darling nowadays. I fear everything and nothing. I am everywhere and yet I get nowhere.”

“Your in a place of your own. That I have always got Adam. But this time it  should be different. I think that you should be thinking of ways that you can apologize. To her.”

“I have..and I’m working on it.”

“Alright..Just please don’t take too long, unlike us my love. She doesn’t have forever.”

He sighed. That day he knew that it was either his warped mind of past of the future. So set up a conversation with himself. He needed to really get this shit over with. While he would always be himself and knew that neither of the women he loved wanted to change him. He hurt them, and like man he had to say that he did it and find a way to make things right. Some things are just worth giving up. Especially thing that could be replaced with memories more blissful. More loving, freeing..something that would last forever and more. He looked at himself in the mirror and took a deep breath. Dressed in his finest he asked for Eve to take y/n out and head to a spot where he would meet up with them. He even brought Ian to help him out and carry some stuff with him to the spot. Once Adam saw Eve sit down in the empty parking lot with y/n he took off his glasses and looked at Ian.

“I normally don’t allow others into such a business like this Ian but..your the only person that I know...For this I really do thank you. Your my only fr-frrr-fr. Oh bloody hell.”

“Hey don’t worry man, I know what you mean. It really does mean a lot that you invited me to help rather. I won’t let you down.”

“Just remember my cue and that's all don’t overwhelm yourself. Oh, and don’t speak.”

Getting out of the car Adam unlocked the trunk of the car to get out and even smaller one. Walking over to where Eve and y/n were he was only spotted when he was about 5 feet away. That being it was really dark out and not even the street lights could save them. Why of all places did Adam chose this spot Eve would never know, but not for long. Once y/n laid her eyes on him she could feel her heart race. He could hear it and tried his best not to go to her and just kiss her. Even in the dark she shined like an angel. He hopped that the stunt would earn him a kiss on the cheek or at least some form of contact. It was of course safe to say that Adam had been touch starved and not even Eve after all the bickering and what not didn’t feel as though it was a rather appropriate time. Feelings were hurt through the past months and things just needed to be settled before any ounce of something physical could be exchanged. As he placed the little trunk in front of y/n and his wife he took in a deep breath. He knew that this approach was rather corny and would all around be humiliating in a scene but that’s the reason why he was doing it. This apology wasn't for him to feel comfort. It wasn’t for him at all. So no matter the cost he would get his girls back no matter what. As Ian opened the trunk y/n never swayed her eyes from Adam and his moppie fuigar. The look of something being wrong never left his face it seems. She knew that he had not taken care of himself scene that day she left, Knowing Eve she might have helped him along the way but didn’t force him into anything that he didn’t want to do. As he looked at her he would see the same. She took care of herself outside wise but as for the inside he knew that she was a wreck, how could he not have he knew it all too well what she felt. Eve the same. Getting out a crumpled piece of paper from his leather jacket he said aloud.

“Dearly beloveds. I have called out to you all for a reason that is very important to me..While there are some things that I cannot change, there will few that I can but don’t want to and like any stubborn old fool this will cause pain to those around me that I hold dear. Even if it be not good for me or my mind..The many things that I have taken for granted could be all put into some sort of book. Pages too many to read in just one sit, but the thing that I should have never taken for granted was you.”

He looked up to y/n and crumbled back up the paper no longer needing it, throwing it in the trunk with all the other things that lay in it.

“You who even through the pain has still loved me for all that I am. But i never took the time to love and or get to know who you are. Beautiful, smart, a rush of life runs through your veins and I was the fool who chose not to really look at any of it. I chose to instead think of the past while I could have lived in the glorious moment of you now..For that i’m a dick, a jackass, and a horrible lover no matter what you say. I knew what I Was doing and if you hadn't stopped me dead in my tracks I would have kept on going. I’m so so very sorry for that my love. But I know that my words can only do so much..So, In salute of the past I think it is only fitting to now let the be clean from our memories. All of us. Ian?”

Ian got out his glasses and put them on making both y/n and Eve giggle in the process since he had such a  hard time doing so and trying to look cool. Ian finally got them on and gave his lighter to Adam who was scowling at him. Then getting out his flask he dumped all of the liquid that sat inside onto the dress and things below it. Eve was shocked by this so was y/n, the next action only made their jaws drop even further as they saw Adam find the lighter into the trunk. Setting everything all into a blaze. While the smell of the perfume was a little off and kinda grows. The gesture was all that mattered. Standing up y/n looked into Adam’s face and marched up to him. Widen his arms expecting a hug he got a slap to the face.

“Well i deserved that- mmm”

With the sting came a sweet tasted of the most sweetest wine he could have ever tasted. Rich as always but this flavor was something new and worth the wait. Finally he had made right. Slowly pulling away from Adam’s tight grip y/n looked up into his eyes since he was a giant and she only so small.

“I love you Adam.”

“And I love you y/n”

Eve sat there smiling a toothless grin then looked to poor Ian who was sniffling. No wonder why he put on his shades. Just like Adam the guy was nothing but a softie.

Dropping Ian off and moving swiftly towards the Victorian. On their was a new thought ran into Adam’s mind. Looking into the back of the car he noticed that his little love bird was fast asleep in the back of the car.

“So..new beginnings right?”

“Adam, tomorrow please..let it wait till the next day and just let us end today with love and a smile..I love you star man. Now let’s just get home so that we can go to sleep. “

“You got it major tom.”

[reifromrfa]

RFA guys + Minor Duo react to MC having Superpowers

Hi anon!!! I haven’t watched Stranger Things but I looked up Eleven’s telekinesis video and also basing this from Jean Grey from X-men and Matilda :)) Also, I was halfway through this hc when @justanuser1​ ‘s request came in about MC having superpowers so I kind of just combined them, I hope you guys don’t mind! 😃

Hope you guys like it! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Yoosung

He’s rushing home because he can’t wait to see you

So he’s back a little earlier than you expected

And what does Yoosung see when he opens the door?

Carrots being chopped by the kitchen knife

Just the kitchen knife

He watches as the knife hovers in the air and comes down on the vegetables

You had your back turned and you were listening to music so you didn’t see your pale husband

But you heard his blood-curling scream

The whole neighborhood heard him ;;;

“Yoosungie, it’s not what you think!”

“MC THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED WE ARE MOVING OUT”

“Yoosung—“

“NO. NOPE. PACK YOUR VALUABLES WE’RE MOVING OUT RIGHT NOW.”

“No we’re not! It was me! It’s my fault!”

You calm him down long enough to explain about your powers and you thought it would freak him out more

Nope

YOU ARE NOW THE COOLEST GIRLFRIEND EVER

This guy is such a huge geek that he immediately fanboys over you and asks you a million questions

“But Yoosung this has to be a secret.”

“Of course! I know how superheroes work.”

And you’re laughing because he goes from panicked to adoring in 5 seconds

He loves that you have powers but he still freaks out whenever he sees things hovering in your house

He adjusts eventually though, and now that he knows he encourages you practicing your powers at home

Always goes to get a physical check-up with you though, because he doesn’t want you straining yourself physically and in movies don’t people who use their powers too much end up suffering physically?

And Yoosung will always be careful not to brag about you too much because he doesn’t want anybody else to find out about your powers

He enjoys playing pranks on Saeyoung with you though

REVENGE!!!! ┻━┻ ︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

Zen

Sometimes he’s not sure if he’s had too much to drink or if his girlfriend has superpowers

Because things are floating around in the apartment you guys shared

He tries to stay sober most of the time but then the floating would stop

But then he comes home after only having one beer with his coworkers

And suddenly his keys are hovering in the air in front of him?

He’s genuinely freaked out

Until he hears you giggling

“Jagiya, do you have telekinesis?”

And you’re shocked but then you confess that you do

He thinks you’re amazing

Because he had prophetic dreams ever since he could remember and now he feels like you guys are connected

And he’s even happier that you guys have something that’s both unique, that you have a secret only he knows of

He loves it when you use your abilities around the house, it’s so fascinating to him

He would try to research on it with you on his days off, because he also wants to find out more about your abilities and how it would affect you

Ehem this guy may also have to look up how to keep you from making objects fly around in moments of extreme pleasure (  ͡°  ͜ ʖ  ͡°)

“Babe, I’m going to rock your world.”

Pretty sure it’ll be the other way around, Zenny~

Jumin

You confess to him that you telekinesis over dinner

And you’re super nervous, watching his every move

But your husband just continues to eat his dinner, unperturbed

It’s like you told him something about the weather instead of saying you have supernatural abilities

“Honey, did you just hear what I said?��

He would look at you and say, “Of course I did. I find it highly interesting and I have a lot of questions but if I asked them now you wouldn’t be able to finish your meal. Is it alright if we discuss this after we’ve had our meal?”

Your well-being always comes first

So after dinner, he begins his barrage of questions

“Does it affect you negatively in any way? Do you feel tired after using your powers? How much weight can you lift with your abilities?”

And you answer him as best as you could, because there isn’t exactly a guide book for telekinesis ;;;

And he knows that too

Jumin also knows he can’t ask anybody about this because it’s too dangerous for you; he knew a lot of people would try to kidnap you and use you for their own profit

So you two learn about your abilities together

He’s so fascinated by you —everything about you

And he already thought you were perfect

But now you’re more than perfect, if that was possible

He makes sure nobody comes into your apartment when you’re there, not even the maid because what would happen if she accidentally saw hovering objects? ;;;

Also tightens security; your safety is his number one priority

Saeyoung

He always wondered why you had so many profile pictures in the RFA app

And they're all of different women with very different features

You tell him it's photos of your friends

??? O-kaaaaaaay…

He starts researching about your “friends” and is shocked to find out they all have the same birthdays

And “they" all work from home

And “they" all listed Honey Buddha Chips as their favorite food

But “they” all have different names though

This guy already knows what’s going on, but to be sure, he calls out to you using one of your “friends” names

And you turn around, “Hm?”

Ahhh holy shit ;;;;

You freeze as you realize what you just did

And Saeyoung comes up behind you and hugs you tight from behind

“I know what you are…” he would whisper in your ear

“Say it. Out loud.”

“…a vampire.”

Lol what Saeyoung no

But then your hair gets shorter and you get taller and suddenly Saeyoung is hugging Edward Cullen from Twilight????

Miind. Blown.

This guy doesn’t let you go though and he only presses his lips against yours

“Saeyoung, aren’t you weirded out by me?”

ARE YOU KIDDING?

THIS GUY WORSHIPS YOU

Your ability to transform into anyone —anyone at all —is the coolest thing ever

Apparently you had so many identities because a few government people were looking for you and you had to be prepared, just in case one cover gets blown

Agent 707 on the job!

Hacks into the government database and makes sure all data about you is deleted, all leads wiped clean

He will protect you at all costs, but he also loves cosplaying with you

Lol if you can call actually transforming into Jumin cosplaying

You scare him a lot by transforming into Vanderwood and creeping up behind him

That is until Vanderwood walks in on you looking like him but hugging Saeyoung ;;;

Poor Vanderwood is scarred for life

Lol Saeyoung is too tbh AHAHA he hates it when you transform into Vanderwood ;;;

And now Saeyoung makes Vanderwood swear never to tell another living soul about your abilities ;;;

Jihyun/V

He has to remind himself that yes, he’s gotten the treatment for his eyes

Yes, he’s not seeing things

Yes, you’re actually floating in the air in front of him

You were nervous about telling him about the fact that you can fly, but you also didn’t like keeping secrets from him

V is quiet for a long time

And then he grabs his camera and takes a photo of you

He loves you and accepts you for what you are and what you can do

In fact, he wants you to become his new muse

“But V, nobody can know about my powers” ;;;

“Ah, people know I’m very good with Photoshop anyway.”

He loves taking photos of you while you’re flying around the house and sometimes you’d even surprise him by flying behind him and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek

He thinks of you as his angel and sometimes he realizes that he’s staring at you too long, grinning like a fool

A fool in love

He’d make sure to get curtains for the windows in his house though, to make sure no one ever finds out about your powers

He would love to work on an exhibit with photos of you flying

He would call his exhibit, “Angel from Heaven”

Saeran

He always wonders why you were always so damn cold

Even when all the aircons, fans, windows are closed and he’s sweating profusely, your skin is still cold to the touch

Until finally you tell him you never feel hot or sweat because you have superpowers

And he just blinks at you

And you create a small flurry around him and Saeran is shook

He’s never one for words but you can see it in his eyes that he’s awed by you

“Show me more.”

And so you do

When Saeyoung isn’t home, you freeze the floor of his bunker and Saeran immediately slips, falling on his butt

And you’re laughing because he’s angrily avoiding your gaze, cheeks red

You teach him how to skate and you two end up slipping a lot, but that’s okay because Saeran is actually laughing and having fun

You also make him bing su (shaved ice desserts?) right from your fingertips and top it off with loads of sweet toppings and he’s the happiest man alive

Seriously, he will never let you go, this man wants you all to himself

He would never tell anyone your secret of course, except Saeyoung

And he would encourage you to be yourself when you’re at home, not holding back your powers or anything

He’s secretly glad that you have powers so you can defend yourself, but he’s also scared someone might take you away from him (because he’s afraid something bad will happen to Saeyoung one of these days too) so whenever you’re not looking, he’ll go through private companies’ databases to make sure no one knows about you

Vanderwood

You were curled up in bed by the time he finished cleaning the apartment you shared

And as he stepped out of the shower, he hears you cry out

“No! Get away!”

Vanderwood rushes out of the bathroom wrapped only in his towel and he immediately scans the room for signs of any intruders

But he sees that you’re still in bed, eyes shut tight and he realizes you’re only having a nightmare

It looks like you’re reaching for something though, because your hands are pointed at the ceiling and holy shit everything in the room was hovering in the air

Vanderwood just stands there and blinks, not knowing what to do

“Help!”

Everything starts shaking and Vanderwood rushes to your side and grabs your shoulders

“MC! MC, wake up!”

And when you open your eyes everything falls to the floor

And you're staring into the anxious eyes of your boyfriend

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but what’s going—”

You see the mess around you and realize you must have used your powers in your sleep

Lol now Vanderwood would have to clean the room again hahahaha

So you tell Vanderwood everything and he only sighs

“I thought I had secrets,” he would mutter

He’s more worried about you now because if the wrong people found out about you, you’d get taken away

He knows how these things work, he’s a secret agent

So he always makes it a point to check whether anybody has any leads on you but thankfully there aren’t

Insists that you don’t walk around alone at night and asks Saeyoung to fortify the defenses around the apartment

He’s amazed at your powers but mostly this man would be concerned for your safety because he doesn’t want anybody to perform experiments on you

Of course he’s also fucking turned on because he’s into weapons and his girlfriend doesn’t even need weapons, you could defend yourself with just your thoughts omfg

Check out my other Mysme writings here!

Mango Shake/Ko-fi is always very much appreciated (ᵔᴥᵔ)

I’d be honored to write your story <3

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[captainvictoryboat]

Behind The Scenes 4 (8/?)

Author’s note: I have been writing more and OMG i filed out a 6th composition book and Behind The Scenes has officailly moved on to a 7th composition book.

This whole thing is in Jin’s pov so the italics are a flashback.

WARNINGS: physical abuse, alcohol

Word Count: 2562

Summary: Jin isnt handling things too well

ALL PARTS

He sat at his desk all alone in his dim, stuffy bedroom. It wasn’t too late in the night, only 9pm. Everything ended early and the first thing he did was lock himself in his room as he had the past few weeks. He could hear the voices of the younger ones out in the kitchen, laughing and bickering, but he wanted no part of it. Instead he stared down at his cellphone that lay lifeless on his desk.

He stared at his phone, waiting for it to ring. All he wanted was a call from Mina yelling at him for more money or to say how horrible of a person he was. He didn’t care what she hated about him all he wanted was a call from her that meant that he wasn’t completely cut off from Jinjin. Even if all he would hear was her telling him that he couldn’t see Jinjin anymore and would only get updates, that was all that mattered.

The last few nights he has called, texted, emailed and did just about anything to contact Mina. It wasn’t to apologize to her, but to try and talk to Jinjin, explain to his son that he wasn’t a monster. All efforts to speak to his ex failed. He was sure he wasn’t blocked by her, but he knew that she wasn’t opening his messages and just not responding to him at all. “The fact that she hasn’t blocked me has to be a sliver of hope in all this, right?”

Jin sat in his chair dreading the idea of not seeing Jinjin. He once went two years without seeing him and it almost broke him. He didn’t know if he could go through that again. If it weren’t for the busy schedule, he would try to go back to their house and check on him.

He looked back at the phone. The lack of notifications taunted him. he turned on the screen and dragged his finger to where he brought up Mina’s contact. The image of her stupid smiling face photoshopped with a mustache and horns stared back at him. “I need to try some more.” He told himself. Things probably won’t be any different, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

He clicked her name and the call began. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi, you reached Mina. I can’t pick up but text me or give me a call later.” He called again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached Mina. I can’t pick up but-“ Again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached Mina-“ Again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached-“ he called again and again and again, but each time had the same results.

He sat in defeat, his sobbing face in his hands, fingers gripping into his scalp. It was no use. She wasn’t picking up and it was starting to drive him crazy. There was an ugly feeling inside him. He felt like he was going to throw up any second. He didn’t know what to do to make it go away.

“Maybe calling mom would help?” he thought. “Maybe she was able to get through to Jinjin.” He grabbed his phone and scrolled to her contact. Her smiling face made him feel warm inside. He pressed talk and within two rings she picked up.

“Hello?” her soft voice asked

“Hey mom, it’s me again.” Jin tried to cover up the fact that he had been crying.

“Oh Seokjin.” And there is was. That disappointed tone. She had been speaking to him like that for a while now. Jin hated it, it always made him feel like he was shit. No matter what he did he couldn’t bring back her sing song voice.

“How have you been?”

“The same.” Her voice was so cold and empty. It really hurt the way she spoke at him. Mother’s weren’t supposed to be this way. She was never this way with him, not before Mina.

“Have you been able to get ahold of her?” he was almost scared to ask. The last thing he did was want to bring her into their drama again but he felt he had no other choice.

“…Yes, a few days ago.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me? What did she say? Did you get to talk to Jinjin? Have you told her to answer my calls?”

She let out a long sigh. “She wanted me to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“… She wants you to leave her and Jinjin alone. There is no point in bothering them anymore, Jinjin wants nothing to do with you. She doesn’t want your money or anything else from you. She and Jinjin left the house. She didn’t tell me where, but don’t try calling them either because she is going to change her number.”

He felt his heart stop. “wha- wh- what?”

“You really fucked things up this time.” she spat.

“Mom!”

“What? You expect me to sit here and feel bad for you? You really want me to take your side in this?!? Do you think that I am really want her or Jinjin around someone like you?”

“What do you mean like me?”

“You’’re just like your father!”

Jin’s hand slammed down on the desk. “I am nothing like him!”

“You are exactly like him! I thought that after everything we went through that you wouldn’t-” she let out another sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you.”

“Mom!”

“You know better than to treat others the way you do!”

He opened his mouth to defend himself but nothing came out.

“Seokjin, as you mother, I love you with all my heart, but there are some things i can’t overlook and this is one of them. For the sake of Jinjin and Mina, I hope they never see you again. If only I did the same back-“

That’s when he hung up on her. He gripped on to the phone as he began to cry again. His nose was too runny, he couldn’t breathe. Everything inside him was hurting. He felt like he was dying. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He was too aware of the others out in the dorm. Instead, he gripped onto his phone tighter and began hammering it into his desk. He smashed it harder and harder as he sobbed silently. The bangs of the cellphone were probably just as loud as if he would have screamed, but pounding sounds would keep other others away unlike bloodcurdling cries. He could feel the screen giving out. He heard the crack and soon felt the tiny shards digging into his palm. It wasn’t until a single drop of blood landed on his desk that he threw the cellphone across the room. “I am not like him.”

-

Little seven year old Jin stood in his most favorite room in the entire house, the kitchen. Unlike other boys his age who loved their bedroom because “that’s where the toys are”, Jin loved the kitchen because that is where the food was made.

He was sitting down at the table doing his homework as mom moved all over in search of some aprons.

“Ah-ha!” she smiled as she found her two pink aprons hiding under the sink. She slid one on and then went over to him. “Here you go sweetie!”

“But it’s pink. That’s a girl color!”

“Oh please, you look adorable in pink! Plus, if you don’t put this on, I wont let you make the cake.”

He stared at the girly apron. He hated it, but what else could he do about it? The last thing he wanted to do was break the birthday tradition. He did a small eye roll and put it on (all by himself, he didn’t even need to mom to remind him how to tie it). His mother’s apron was still too big for him, the hem almost reaching the floor.

“Oh don’t you look so cute!” she quealed as she pinched his cheek, “Let’s get started. What flavor does the birthday boy want?”

“Chocolate!”

“Sounds great! Let’s get everything.”

His mom went over to the taller cabinets for the small stuff and he scurried to the lower levels to gather the bowls like the strong boy he was. They rendezvoused  back to the table and further prepared for the task ahead of them.

Just as they were about to start mixing, Jin heard the front door open followed by a familiar jingle of keys. “Dad!”

He jumped off his seat and ran to the door. “Daddy!”

There at the entrance of the home stood his father, hunching over to place down his suitcase. Jin went for the knees and hugged both his father’s legs as tight as he could.

“Hi seokjin.” His dad said with the huff from almost being knocked over.

“Hi dad!”

Jin could feel his father’s hands hooking under his arms and soon he was lifted in to the air.

“Dad, since it is my birthday, mom and I are going to make cake! Your going to eat some right?!?”

His father’s dry lips kissed the top of his head. “Oh for sure Seokjin, especially since you are going to make it!” his words sounded cheerful, but his face didn’’t show it.

Now in his arms, being carried towards the kitchen, Jin studied his father’s face. Greasy creased forehead, tired eyes, slightly messy hair. Yup, that was his dad and not some evil clone like he saw in the movie last night.

“Why don’t you help us make the cake? Making cake is fun!”

“Not this time, daddy is too tired today.” He mumbled as he walked into the kitchen. “Hi Jagi.” He said to his wife.

“Oh finally you are home!.” She went up to him opening her arms to give him a hug, a kiss being the second part of her greeting.

“Ew!” Jin gagged when he saw their lips touch. “Dad now you have cooties!”

His dad looked down at him and before Jin could figure out why his face was coming so close, his dad’s lips once again landed on his head. “Now you have them too!”

“No!” he squealed and squirmed.” Immediately he wiped away the germ infest slobber that was in his haIr.

His father let out a chuckle and that was when he set jin back down, setting him free to wander about.

His mother’s smile quickly disappear when she saw her husband walking towards the fridge. “How was work?” her voice was softer now

His father said nothing as he dug into the fridge, eventually pulling out a six pack.

“That bad huh?”

“I’ll be in front of the tv if anyone needs me.” His father said before he left the room.

Jin could see his mother fidgeting with her fingers, her lips tightened, the creases on her forehead grew deeper, her eyes widening. She always did that when ever she saw his dad with beer. “Awesome, she isn’t a clone either!”

As if a switch went off in her head, his mother’s face brightened up again. “Why don’t we get started on the cake.

Back to the battle plan, they worked together to get everything done. “Ok remember, dry with dry, wet with wet, then mix it all together for the perfect set!” she recited as she whisked the soon to be delicious concoction together.

“So how was school today?”

“It was fun! It was career day!”

“Really? Who went to your school?”

“Uuuuuuh, a doctor, a police man and a fire man and a chef and , uh, a nurse, and um, I forgot.”

“That’s so interesting! What did you think? Do you want to be like any of them?”

“Nah!”

“No? Why?”

“I want to be an actor! That way I can be all of them in different movies!”

Her smile widened. “Oh my baby is going to be such a handsome actor! I can see you face on posters already!”

He loved seeing his mothers reaction, now he wanted to see what his dad thought. “I’m gonna go tell dad!” he said as he jumped off the chair that allowed him to reach the counter.

“Seokjin, wait!”

He ignored his mothers words and ran for the living room. He followed the sound of the tv until he spotted his father on the couch.  He was quick to jump over the the five empty cans and made it to his fathers side with ease.

“Dad!”

“Uh?” his father didn’t look at him, he was too busy watching tv

“daddy, we had carreer day today! I want to be an actor when I grow up!”

Unlike the encouraging words his mom gave him, his father had a different reaction. The man’s lead hand slapped him across the face.

Jin let out a scream the second he felt the pain of thousands of needles sting his cheek

“No son of mine if going to be an actor!” his fathers tone remained groggy. “you’re going to be like me. You’re gonna have a real job.”

Jin continued to cry as the pain on his face intensified. No matter how hard he held his cheek, the throbbing wouldn't go away.

“Shut up! I cant hear the tv!” He father screamed. Again his heavy hand flew through the air and Jin was struck in the temple. He fell to the ground in a daze and the pain worsened.

“don’t hit him!” jin was able to make out his mother’s voice over his cries.

The tv turned off and his father stood up. “What did you just say?” he growled

Through his blurry vision, Jin could see his mothers feet in between him and his father. “I said don’t hit him!” she said with more authority

“he is my son and I do whatever I want to him!”

Jin witnessed his father push his mom to the side. Her tiny frame went flying, knocking into the book shelf. Jin felt his body being lifted up ,only to be knocked down again by a blow to the gut. Suddenly there was a fist coming at him and soon he felt pain all over. There was too much going on, he couldn’t process anything . all he could gather was his father’s enraged face and his crying mom trying to pry off this beast of a man. Jin was wrong. The man in his home wasn’t his father, just a monster that looked like him.

-

Three black eyes, a broken nose (that would later get fixed with plastic surgery), a broken wrist, and bruises upon bruises scattered from head to toe. Those were the injuries sustained from the first attack Jin could remember. Even after all these years he wasn’t able to erase that day from his head.

“Pft! “Evil clone” my ass”. He mumbled at that stupid coping mechanism of his youth. That being the only way his small mind could understand the asshole his father was “I’m not like him.”

Jin wiped away the last of the tears that ran down his face. He walked out of the room and to the next. His strong hand knocked on the heavy door at the end of the hall.

He waited patiently until Rap monster opened the door. His leader looked at him with an expressionless faces. “What do you want?” he asked with an annoyed tone

“I need a favor.”

*my next “update” might not be the next part. I think i am going to put together a playlist of songs that either inspired me to write certain scenes or songs that related to the story. Idk why i want to post it i just really want to haha. Just a small heads up that the next title/ the next thing i add to the masterlist might not be the next scene.

[garbagepersonwithgarbageideas]

d(r)ead

“Fear that has a reason” is gentle. But “true fear” has no reason. It stems from not emotion, but instinct. True fear is reasonless, limitless. We cannot escape our instincts.

Chapter I : It’s Not Over Yet

Byakuya Kuchiki didn’t know where he was. All around him was definite darkness and a heavy weight on his body.

My body?

He remembered seeing Renji crushed by the rubble of the sixth division barracks, Rukia’s snapped neck and his own disembowelled abdomen. The two Quincies who were the source of their suffering, were speaking to each other as if they were discussing tonight’s dinner menu, oblivious to the sight before them.

He couldn’t hear them. His mind grew fuzzy and his body felt weak. His blood poured out and stained the once white wall and ground of the barracks.

Yet all he could think was how sorry he felt. For Renji. For Rukia.

Am I dead?

Byakuya couldn’t move. He could only stare into the darkness, but it more so felt that the darkness was staring back at him. He felt empty, but heavy. His mind was blank but racing with millions of thoughts.

He decided to focus on his breathing. A deep inhale, and a deeper exhale. His eyes fluttered and he felt some autonomy over his body. He raised his hands to his face and flexed his fingers. Scarred, callous, but working.

He noticed his clothes were gone. His hand drifted down his sparsely hair-covered chest and abdomen. There were no signs of its earlier trauma. His hair completely down, no sign of his hair pieces. His pale limbs a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.

Another breath, and another blink.

This time he could walk.

He was told that to die in action was expected of a Shinigami, especially that of a Captain-class one. But was this expected? Was this death? Was he not supposed to be reincarnated?

Byakuya recalled the stories and myths he heard growing up about dying as a nobleman. That death would swift, that to have lived and served the Kuchiki family was one of the greatest accomplishments a man could have.

But what were his accomplishments? His strength? In being a shadow of his grandfather, a captain before him? Or a man holding to family principles like his father?

Byakuya didn’t do any of that. His strength was what killed him. He became a Captain because that was to be expected of him. He defiled his family by marrying a commoner and adopting her estranged sister. He broke Soul Society’s laws for Rukia, something he vowed his parents to never do. Before he realized it, a feeling dripped over him, a feeling he buried deep and tried to forget.

Shame.

The drips felt real, almost as if it was raining. He opened his hands and saw no drops, no wetness, just fading scars and callouses along his palms.

Then a loud, echoing scream. His ears rang with how deafening it was, but he recognized the voice.

As his head jerked to where the sound came from, his throat went dry. For all the autonomy he had over his body, his mind felt like a being of its own by replaying the nightmare Äs Nödt gave him. Rukia’s decaying body, her skin ripped off from her bones, but this time by his own father, her eyes plucked out of their socket by his grandfather. Her scalp was partially ripped out.

And before he could stop himself, Byakuya threw up bile into the darkness.

Ichigo looked mortified at the sight of Renji and Rukia’s unconscious bodies floating to the top of the White Bone Hell hot spring. Tenjiro Kirinji couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This kid is a fucking prude.

“You’ve never seen ass or something Kurosaki?”

“What the fuck man?! What the hell are they doing here? I thought you guys were supposed to be healing them!”

Another eye roll came and Kirinji recited the explanation of his hot springs. The White Bone Hell pond would remove toxic reiatsu, the Blood Bone Hell pond would replenish reiatsu.

“Ya know, Byakuya’s here too,” and he pulled the comatose Byakuya out of the water. Ichigo stared, horrified at the fully bandaged captain. Before he knew it. Kirinji threw him to Blood Bone Hell pond.

“He had his fill here. Time for the boy to get a taste of something else.”

Byakuya stared at his hands. Was he not vomiting a few moments ago? Did he not just witness his grandfather and father mutilating the corpse of his sister?

The atmosphere changed. The darkness was… brighter for some reason. It felt like the night sky now. Faint stars above and below, twinkling at him.

He also felt warmth.

Another breath.

As he took slow steps, he felt himself being embraced. He knew these hands, he knew this body.

Hisana?

Instinctively he turned around. Hisana looked up at him, smiling and cupping his cheek in her hand.

And for that moment, Byakuya succumbed to her embrace.

Note: I don’t have photoshop on my laptop at the moment, so suffer with my half-assed attempt at a chapter image. The quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Äs Nödt as he fought Byakuya for the first time. This “story” has a definite end (technically 2-3 more chapters), but it’s my attempt at working on existential thoughts/themes applied to Byakuya’s character, more specifically, the Terror Management Theory.

The terror of absolute annihilation creates such a profound - albeit subconscious - anxiety in people that they spend their lives attempting to make sense of it. On large scales, societies build symbols: laws, religious meaning systems, cultures, and belief systems to explain the significance of life, define what makes certain characteristics, skills, and talents extraordinary, reward others whom they find exemplify certain attributes, and punish or kill others who do not adhere to their cultural worldview. On an individual level, self-esteem provides a buffer against death-related anxiety.

I like to listen to certain songs as I write, and for this chapter I recommend: The Mole by Hans Zimmer, Metro by Princess Century and the Skream remix of “It’s Not Over Yet” by the Klaxons (which is where the chapter title came from).

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter six: $136

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

i was gonna hold back on posting this but im impatient. if you thought this was going to be subtle in any way you should know ive never been subtle a day in my life. please read the end notes chill thank you

warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts, small mention of blood (in the past)

enjoy!!

Connor has made a lot of mistakes in his life. Sure, everyone does, but most people aren’t as giant fuck ups as Connor is.

Right now, at the very top of his ‘what the fuck were you thinking’ list, is letting Evan Hansen fall asleep on him.

He wouldn’t have pushed Evan off of him or anything like that, he’s not a monster, but god. He regrets letting Evan stay like that for almost three hours. Curled up against him and breathing gently and looking all calm and at peace while he slept. His hair had been ridiculously soft and he smelt like pine and— 

Connor covers his face with his hands.

Evan fell asleep on his shoulder almost two weeks ago and it’s literally occupied so many of Connor’s thoughts that he’s going to scream.

The universe is really fucking cruel. Of course he’d develop a painful crush on the guy that he’s paying to pretend to be his friend. Hilarious.

He’s been trying to keep it subtle. Under wraps. Don’t smile too much at Evan. Don’t laugh too much. Don’t touch him. At all. No physical contact at all whatsoever unless Evan initiates it first.

There has been a few times where Evan has looked up at Connor with a smile and Connor has actually thought he was about to combust. And then he had to go to AP Literature and pretend his heart wasn’t about to explode.

Alana Beck had given him a weird look when he walked into the room. He’d sat down and buried his face in his arms and pretended he was tired.

So yeah. Connor might have a minor crush on his fake best friend. No big deal. Shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s had crushes before and handled them fine. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it is.

It’s different in every way. He starts every day at Evan’s locker. He eats lunch with Evan if they have the same lunch hour. He smiles at Evan in the hallway and Evan waves at him with a grin that Connor pretends isn’t fake because it hurts less. He ends his day at Evan’s locker. On Wednesdays, they go to the computer lab and print out Evan’s letter for his therapist. They plan their hang outs softly in the hallways, because Larry could still be checking Connor’s messages, even though Connor changes his password every two weeks. Connor texts Evan about anything. Random things. Random facts he finds online that Evan replies to with his own random facts.

The difference is Evan.

Evan is so many things. It’s a never ending list that Connor keeps adding to mentally because he loves to torture himself. And it hurts, because he’s so many things that Connor will never actually have in his life. He’s not sure how long he can actually keep up this fake friends thing. Purely because of the money. He’s starting to run out of his own money and has been slipping money from his mom’s purse or Larry’s wallet whenever he gets the chance, but it’s still risky.

Not that Connor won’t risk it for another few hours with Evan.

It’s kind of pathetic. It’s definitely pathetic.

But has Connor ever been anything other than pathetic?

Connor stares at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. And now he’s awake. At four in the morning on a Monday. He’s awake at four in the morning thinking about a boy with a heart stopping smile and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Connor doesn’t actually know if he’s ever been gayer than he is in this exact moment in time.

Eventually he just gets out of bed because what’s the fucking point of lying around. A tiny part of his mind thinks ‘hey you could do homework right now’. Connor laughs at that part of his brain and grabs a sketchbook off his desk.

He actually managed to clean up some of his room. Some of his clothes are now in drawers instead of covering his floor. But he has succeeded in finding a bunch of empty sketchbooks, from back when he thought he was going to be drawing a lot more then he ended up doing.

He might have run out of purple in his watercolor palette, but at least he has about six empty sketchbooks that he can fill with garbage.

Connor puts in his headphones and sits on the floor, leaning against the edge of his bed, and draws mindlessly. He sort of lets the music inspire him, but he also just draws whatever comes to mind. He vaguely remembers someone once saying that he should draw interactions between people in his sketchbook, so he makes an attempt to not just draw a bunch of busts facing three quarters to the left.

He finds a random highlighter under his desk. He stares at it for a second before uncapping it and randomly adding neon yellow wherever he feels like it. Because it’s his sketchbook and he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

He’s still drawing when Zoe appears in his doorway.

Connor pulls out an earbud and looks up at her. “What?”

“Was just going to wake you up,” she says flatly. “Guess I don’t have to. Get your ass down to breakfast. We have to leave early today. Band.”

Connor rolls his eyes and closes his sketchbook. He tosses it on his bed. Whatever.

—«·»—

“You okay?” Evan asks when he joins Connor at the locker.

Connor shrugs. “Tired.”

“Is that all?” Evan furrows his eyebrows and there’s a crease in his forehead and Connor looks away.

“Yeah.” He is tired. He can feel his sleep schedule falling out of place, and it’s not just Evan. That’s not a good sign because then he has to reset it and that’s fucking annoying. “Here,” he says, holding out a ten. “My half for the pizza.”

There’s a second before Evan takes it. “You know I can’t eat all that pizza by myself anyway.” Connor thinks he might be trying for a light tone, but it seems forced.

Of course it’s forced. They aren’t actually friends, Evan just puts up with Connor.

Connor clenches his jaw.

Maybe the first thing on his list of mistakes should be asking Evan Hansen to be his fake friend.

—«·»—

Connor leans against Evan’s locker as he waits. Weird how much of his life revolves around Evan now. He’ll decide if that’s healthy or not later.

“Sup, dude,” Jared says, walking up to Connor.

Connor nods to him. He’s too tired to deal with Jared, but he’ll do his best. But only for Evan.

“Seen the acorn?” Jared asks.

Connor tries not to grimace. “Not since lunch.”

“Hello.” Alana joins them by the locker. The small hallway is getting crowded. “Are you waiting for Evan?”

Jared and Connor exchange a glance.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “How’d you guess?”

“This is Evan’s locker,” Alana says.

“Oh.”

“Why are we waiting for Evan?” Zoe asks.

Connor rolls his eyes. Where did she come from? “There was no ‘we’ here. It was just me.” He shoots a glare to Jared.

Jared scoffs. “You can’t hog my best friend.”

Connor raises his eyebrow. “Best friend?”

“Am I not bringing you home then?” Zoe asks, crossing her arms. “Because I don’t have rehearsal and I’m not waiting.”

“I’m good,” Connor says. “I’ll figure something out.”

Zoe makes a face. “Okay. Have fun.”

Alana turns and watches Zoe vanish into the crowd of students. “Zoe does a lot.”

“So do you,” Connor points out. “Did you need Evan?” For some reason, he doesn’t want Alana or Jared here. He wants Evan by himself. Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Alan shifts uncomfortably. “Not necessarily. I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Evan says.

Connor turns to see Evan behind him. Alana lifts a hand to wave.

“S-sorry for making you wait,” Evan apologizes.

Connor steps aside to let Evan into his locker. “It’s fine,” he promises.

Evan glances to Jared. “Wh-what’s up?”

“Just checking in on my…bud.” Jared awkwardly punches Evan in the shoulder.

Evan stares at him. “I’ll tell my mom,” he says after a moment.

“Cool cool cool chill.” Jared runs a hand over his hair. “Nice.”

Connor squints at Jared. “Are you having a stroke?”

Jared flips him off.

“How— how are you?” Evan asks Alana. “We haven’t, um, really—”

“Talked?” Alana interrupts. She shrugs. “I’m alright. Yourself?”

Evan glances to Connor. “Okay. Did you— were you just saying hi?”

Alana rocks back on her heals. “I actually had a question about student council? Or two. Either way it should only be a minute of your time!”

Evan blinks. “S-student council?”

She nods. “If you don’t mind! I actually have to run to make a poster but if you want to talk tomorrow—”

“Talk now,” Jared says, butting in. “I’ve got you, girl, I’m a master at illegal photoshop.” He points his thumb at himself. “Tell me what you need and I can get it to you in like fifteen.”

Alana eyes Jared suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

Jared scoffs. “Am I sure? Do you even know me?”

“Yes.”

Evan bites his lower lip to hold back a smile and Connor has to look away before it makes him smile.

Jared scowls. “Seriously, I’ve got you. It’s not hard, it’s some fucking text and a clipart picture. I’m not busting out inDesign or anything. Chill, talk to Evan, meet me in the computer lab when you’re done.”

Alana looks at him for a long moment before she says, “Okay. I’m trusting you.” She pulls out a notebook and quickly writes down instructions. Connor watches her write in fascination. He doesn’t pay enough attention in literature to know her handwriting and it’s a lot less neat than he thought it’d be. There’s a dramatic tilt to it and the letters loop and blur together.

Alana tears the page from her notebook and hands it to Jared. “Do what you can while I talk to Evan,” she says seriously. “Don’t send anything to print until I okay it, besides, we need the vice principal’s signature before we can start hanging these up. Don’t make this harder for me.”

Jared rolls his eyes and folds up the paper. “I get it I get it. I’m not five. See you losers. And Alana. See you in a bit.” He shoots them finger guns before turning and walking down the hallway toward the computer lab.

Alana looks at Connor.

Connor looks back.

Evan looks at Connor.

Connor gets the message.

“See you later, Ev,” Connor says.

Evan gives him a small smile. “I’ll text you.”

Connor hums as he walks away, doing a little salute to Alana as he turns.

Now what the fuck to do? He doesn’t want to go home yet and he doesn’t have a heavy enough jacket to go to the playground. It’s the last week of October and Mother Nature decided a bit of ice was needed before Halloween. The temperature keeps dipping below freezing and it’s some bullshit.

He glances back over his shoulder to see Evan and Alana at the end of the hallway. Alana is gesturing as Evan nods along. Connor’s stomach twists and bitter thoughts start to cloud his mind, but he shoves them away and focuses on the boringly beige color of the lockers. One after another. Exactly the same.

He finds his feet bringing him toward the computer lab. Even though it’s Monday, not Wednesday. Even though Jared is there. For some reason, the computer lab is the most comforting place in this dump.

That’s fucking depressing.

Connor shoulders the door open. Maybe if he sticks around in here Evan will show up with Alana. Or something.

So much of his day should not be devoted to thinking about Evan Hansen, but here he is.

Jared is sitting at one of the computers, bag on the floor and feet up on the table. He has a browser and about thirty tabs open. He chews on a pen as he types.

Jared glances up at Connor. He lowers the pen. “The fuck do you want?”

“Bored.” Connor kicks one of the chairs that’s not pushed in. “Why do you care?”

“Bored without Evan to harass?” Jared mutters.

Connor furrows his eyebrows. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“What do you think you heard?” Jared asks. “Cause it’s probably exactly that.”

Connor scoffs. “Okay. Nice one, douchebag.”

“Oh, shit, name calling!” Jared spins away from the computer and glares at Connor. “Are we name calling now? Is that what we’re doing?”

“I’m not harassing, Evan.” Connor crosses his arms. “Can’t say the same for you.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’ve known the guy for like twelve years, I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Connor grits his teeth and digs his fingers into his jacket. “Do you? Do you really?”

“What?!” Jared snaps, standing up. “Do you have something you want to fucking say to me?”

Connor laughs sharply. “I have a few fucking things to say to you.”

“Go for it, bro,” Jared throws his arms out, “no one’s going to stop you!”

“Do you really think Evan is your best friend?” Connor is surprised that those are the first words out of his mouth. They taste sour and feel like acid. His insides are being eaten up by vicious venom and he’s drowning in bitterly cold thoughts.

“I’ve known him since we were five,” Jared says.

“And I’ve known Zoe since she was fucking born,” Connor snaps. “And she would be happier if I were dead so I wouldn’t hold us up as a great example for friendship. That’s not good enough.”

“Okay, okay! You think you’re Evan’s best friend?” Jared counters. “Because that’s bullshit. That’s bullshit and we both fucking know it. Because I know what this is and it’s not friendship.”

It isn’t and that hurts more than anything Jared could ever say to Connor. More than anything anyone could say to him. More than things Zoe has yelled at him, more than what Larry has spit.

More than things Connor has told himself when everything was dark and there was no way out.

Because it’s so fucking easy to pretend. To pretend that this is real and tangible and not— not what it is. Fake. A lie. A fabrication. Something that could be torn apart at any moment. It’s been two months, but it’s nothing more than a web that Connor and Evan have crafted. Nothing actually ties them together.

Connor is still lost. And Connor is still alone.

He almost chokes on his words and their bitterness. “You can’t get mad at me when all you’ve done for years is be a shitty friend,” he hisses.

“At least I’m not paying him and pretending!” Jared practically yells.

Connor digs his nails into the palm of his hand and he is so glad he and Jared are on opposite sides of the room. He has so many things he wants to yell or scream and just eject into the universe.

None of them can make it to his throat.

“Oh fuck you,” he snaps, spinning on his heel and storming toward the door. He throws them open and stalks down the hall, trying to breathe and stop the spiraling.

Before the doors shut, he can hear Jared shout, “Fuck you!”

—«·»—

It’s bitterly cold outside and Connor can’t feel his hands.

He goes to the playground. He sits on the top of the jungle gym and stares at the overgrown field. He remembers when they played bad games of soccer and tripped on the ditches in the grass. He looks at the parking lot. Old and forgotten. Cracked and run down.

There’s the pothole where Zoe dripped and fell on her face. She bit her bottom lip when she fell and cut up her face and was bleeding everywhere. Connor had been called down to the nurse’s office while the school called their mom because Zoe was hysterical. The blood was actually kind of cool (Zoe would think so too later when she wasn’t in pain) but Connor sat next to Zoe and held her hand while she cried and the nurse cleaned up the blood.

Connor sighs and pulls his knees up to his chest.

The more time he spends here — the more time he spends here when he isn’t high — the harder it is to not think of the memories. To not think of times when things weren’t constantly garbage.

Like the sewer grate a few feet away from where Zoe fell. Everyone used to say there was an alligator living down there. Everyone would gather around it and throw rocks inside, any rocks that would fit, to feed the alligator. Because a rock eating alligator living in the sewers made sense to a group of first graders.

Everything makes more sense when you’re a first grader. You say you’re going to marry someone because your friend wants to marry them and then you get in a fight because you can’t both marry the same person and you spill juice all over the place and learn how to add numbers together using shitty timed math tests.

When Connor was a first grader his biggest problem was usually what his mom packed him for snacks.

Now it’s a game of ‘is today the day I just fucking jump off a bridge or what?’

Unfortunately, jumping off a jungle gym built for seven year olds probably won’t even break his arm.

And now he’s back to Evan.

Connor wants to laugh. Or scream. Or tear his hair out. He is nothing to Evan and somehow Evan is almost everything to him and that is as fucking pathetic as he can get.

Instead he just bites down on his wrist. It doesn’t even hurt through his jacket, but it’s something to do. Something other than just—

Screaming on an abandoned playground.

People don’t typically give a shit but also someone would probably call the cops.

Jared wasn’t right but he also wasn’t wrong. And Connor wants to violently rip out the part of himself that likes Evan Hansen. The part of him that turns to mush when Evan smiles like that. The part of him that keeps cycling back to Evan’s hair, Evan’s eyes, Evan’s freckles, Evan’s voice, Evan’s laugh— 

Connor wants to destroy the parts of himself that like Evan.

He would have to destroy all himself.

He bites down harder on his jacket and tries not to think. Thinking can only hurt more.

Evan gives Connor a worried look the next day. Connor meets him by his locker, just because it’s what they do. If it were up to him, he would be at home. Asleep. Or in the library. Asleep. Or reading. Or not…here. Not with Evan. With his polos and his smile and his hair and his eyes.

He got his cast off almost a week ago, but it’s still strange to see Evan with two bare arms. And for Evan to not have Connor’s name scribbled on him like some five year old got a hold of a Sharpie. Connor is both relieved and misses it.

It fucking sucks. But what doesn’t?

“You didn’t answer my texts last night,” Evan says slowly. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Connor grumbles. He lets his hair fall into his face because it means he has to see less of the world. And maybe it looks scarier or something. He wants to be left alone today. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

He’s not lying. When his body was so cold that he thought he was going to be unable to move, he climbed down from the top of the jungle gym and walked home. The heat in the house made his skin tingle as he warmed up and his mom tried to talk to him but he just shook his head and went up to his room. He pushed everything but his comforter off his bed and went to sleep. He woke up around eleven, made a quesadilla in the microwave, ate it, watched YouTube for four hours, woke up, and stumbled into the car so Zoe could drive him to school.

It hadn’t really occurred to him to check his phone. Wasn’t like he had friends or anything.

Evan chews on his lip. “Okay,” he says softly. “Just like… Um, talk to me? If you need to?”

Connor meets Evan’s eyes and his heart leaps to his throat. Evan needs to stop…all of that. Especially the concerned look in his eyes, like he cares.

Evan is a good actor.

—«·»—

They have lunch hour together on Tuesdays. Usually Connor sits with Evan.

His head won’t stop spinning.

He hides in the back of the library and tries to do the assignment for literature. He reads the same paragraph four times before he buries his face in the pages. Hot tears prickle the corner of his eyes.

Fuck.

He should’ve skipped. He should’ve stayed home. He should’ve done anything else. Other than be here. This is bad, school is bad. The only thing worth it would be Evan, but he’s avoiding Evan because his mind is awful but his mind is right.

Alana gives him a worried look when he sits down in literature. Their class only has fourteen kids, but he still sits in the back in silence unless the teacher asks him specifically a question.

Today, Connor changes his seat.

He sits in the back corner. More isolated than usual. His head hurts, probably because he forced himself not to cry because he hates crying, and his brain keeps twisting into something darker and darker.

He looks up from his arms when a book is put down on the desk next to him.

Alana doesn’t say anything. She just puts her backpack down on the floor and spreads out her pens before she opens her notebook up.

Connor watches her write in her tilted looping letters for a moment before he puts his head back down.

—«·»—

Zoe has rehearsal. Connor walks home.

He doesn’t stop at Evan’s locker. He should. He really fucking should.

If anyone talks to him he’s going to snap. He’s going to break and yell and— he can’t.

He has a plan for when he gets home. Steal a loaf of bread from the kitchen. Maybe the butter. Go up to his room. Sit in bed and eat bread. Pass out. Wake up whenever. Eat. Go back to bed. School? Whatever.

His mom isn’t in the kitchen when he unlocks the door. Good. He grabs the least offensive loaf of bread from the cabinet and a random third of a stick of butter from the last time Cynthia baked and a butter knife from the drawer. He climbs the stairs silently and goes to his room and wishes that he had a door. He pulls out his laptop and opens a random YouTube video and lets it fade into background noise as he eats bread.

Fucking life.

He’s on his third slice when the doorbell rings. Connor looks down at his bed and accepts his fate of a lifetime of crumb filled sheets. The doorbell rings again.

“Mom?” he shouts.

There’s no response and the doorbell rings again.

“We fucking get it,” Connor mutters. He puts down the knife on his desk and climbs out of bed. He takes his time getting to the front door, hoping whoever is there will just go the fuck away. He frowns when he sees Zoe in the window. She meets his eye and flips him off.

“What did you forget your keys?” Connor asks as he opens the door.

“No, dumbass, but you forgot your friend.” Zoe jerks her thumb over her shoulder toward her car. Evan is standing by the passenger side door. “Nice going, dipshit,” she mutters shouldering him roughly as she passes him to get into the house.

Connor glances over his shoulder at her before looking back to Evan.

Evan is just staring at him. He doesn’t look like he’s going to move any time soon.

Conor sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Okay. Okay.

He pulls on his shoes and shouts to Zoe that he’s leaving the door open. She just sort of yells back at him and he figures that’s enough. Then he steps outside and walks toward Evan and, probably, death.

“What’s wrong?” Evan says as soon as Connor gets close.

“Nothing is wrong,” Connor says.

Evan scowls. “I— Come on, I know you better than that by now. We’re— We’ve…” He shakes his head. “I-I thought about it. A lot. I was worried I did something wrong. I went through everything I’ve done in the past two days— the past week. A-and I had nothing. You’ve been acting— Alana came to me asking how you were because of something that happened in lit so just…” He glares at Connor. Connor’s been trying so hard to not think about his eyes. “I told you to talk to me.”

“You aren’t my therapist, Ev,” Connor mutters. “You don’t need to hear this shit.”

“I’ll tell you if I can’t handle it,” Evan says with more confidence behind his words than Connor thinks he’s heard before. “But I told you to talk to me and you— you’re just isolating yourself. That’s not going to help.”

Connor tugs a hand through his hair. “Seriously it’s just— it happens sometimes. It’s not a big deal we don’t have to make into one.”

Evan crosses his arms. “Okay. Fine. If something is wrong, just tell me that. Tell me things are shitty. That’s all you have to say, because I get it. Tell me when you aren’t okay, don’t just be a dick.”

That’s a hell of a promise to make but… “Okay.”

Evan nods and pulls his backpack on. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I just… Figured we should talk than sooner than later.”

Connor looks from the car to Evan. “Do you…need a ride home?”

“I can walk,” Evan says. “I have sch-scholarship essays waiting at home for me. I’m not in a rush.”

“You wouldn’t be bothering Zoe,” Connor says softly. “I’ll take you.”

“I thought…” Evan trails off.

“I know where my license is. Larry isn’t as good at hiding things as he thinks.” Connor turns back to the house. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Connor ducks back inside the house. “Zoe I’m stealing the car!” he shouts, grabbing her keys from the bowl by the door.

“What?!”

He goes back to Larry’s office and digs through the files in the bottom desk drawer until he pulls his license from a manila folder.

Zoe stands at the front door with her arms crossed over her chest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m driving Evan home.” Connor tries to push past her, but Zoe pushes right back.

“You aren’t allowed to drive.”

Connor holds up his license. “Get fucked.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Did you break into Dad’s office?”

“There was no breaking and I live in this house, so move and let me take Evan home.” Zoe stands her ground. “I’m not high, Zo. And I know how to fucking drive. It’ll be fifteen minutes, the world won’t end.”

Zoe closes her eyes. “I… Just pay attention. Be safe. Don’t crash or anything.”

“Yeah yeah I’ll protect the car,” Connor mutters. “Stop being Mom.”

Zoe grimaces. “Okay. Drive him home. Whatever.” She steps to the side. “Not my fault if Dad grounds you for life.”

“Who cares.” Connor closes the front door on her. Evan looks up from his phone as the door slams shut. Connor holds up the keys. “Get in.”

“When was the last time you drove?” Evan asks, climbing into the passenger seat.

“God it’s been months.” Connor opens the door. He’s going to have to adjust the seat and mirrors and that’s going to piss Zoe off big time. “It’s probably like riding a bike or something.”

Evan nods slowly. “Okay… I think that’s reassuring?”

Connor rolls his eyes as he moves back the seat. “I’m not going to crash.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Evan says honestly as Connor buckles in and starts the car. “The biggest thing I’m worried about is you hitting a curb or forgetting the turn signal.”

“Fuck turn signals.” Connor flicks the turn signal down before he turns right out of the driveway. “Shit.”  

Evan laughs.

Unlike Zoe, Connor doesn’t always listen to music when he drives. He’s perfectly fine driving in silence, even though it makes her want to scream. She hated it when he drove in silence, making it a point to always have headphones on her in case he had a day where he wanted to drive without music on.

It gives Connor time to think. Sometimes that’s harder with music on.

As they sit in almost weirdly comfortable silence, Connor glances at Evan out of the corner of his eyes. Evan is playing with the hem of his shirt and staring ahead at nothing.

Connor sighs. “I’m sorry. For today. And yesterday.”

Evan glances over to him. “…thank you. It’s…okay. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

For some reason it’s hard to swallow. Connor clears his throat. “So did you bribe Zoe into giving you a ride?”

“I-I stayed after for a little bit to talk to Alana,” Evan murmurs. “And then we passed the band room and I saw Zoe, s-so I thought…” He shrugs. “She might’ve thought it was weird but she was fine with it.”

“She wasn’t too much of an ass, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Connor adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “You know… She didn’t ask too many questions or anything?”   

Evan shifts uncomfortably. “I-I mean… She was— it was fine.”

Connor decides he’ll interrogate Zoe later. “Cool. How’s Alana?”

“Very busy,” Evan says seriously. “More student council stuff.”

“She trying to recruit you?”

“Uh…not exactly.” Connor raises his eyebrows as Evan worries his bottom lip. “She had an idea for a club she wants to start next semester and uh…wants my help with it.”

“You?” Evan winces. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” Connor backtracks. “I just…you don’t do many extracurriculars or anything so it’s a surprise. Does she want  you on the board or something?”

“Yes.” Evan coughs. “She… Yeah it’s, um, I-I don’t know if I’ll do it yet but I… Helping her start it up? I can do that. That doesn’t require much so I’m…okay with that.”

Connor nods. “Cool. I hope it’s…fun.” He ignores the twisting in his gut.   

“Did Alana talk to you?” Evan asks suddenly.

Connor glances to him before looking back to the road. “No? Why?”

“Oh she just…” Evan gestures with one of his hands. “At the beginning of the school year we were talking about something and she wanted to talk to you about something and she said she was going to— I mean she had a question for you and I told her that maybe it wasn’t the best idea and, well I mean, she said she was going to ask you anyway so I just wasn’t sure if she ever did or…”

“She didn’t,” Connor says slowly. “What was the question?” He remembers Alana asking him all sorts of questions when he came back to school after his attempt. He also remembers ignoring them. He’s pretty sure there were a few times when he just walked away.

Evan goes quiet. Connor stops at a stop sign and looks both ways, pausing for longer than he usually would because drivers on this road don’t give a fuck.

“She wanted you to tell the student body your story,” Evan blurts out.

Connor is really glad they’re at a stop sign. “What?!”

Evan pulls on the collar of his shirt. “She— Um, she asked if you would be, or if I might be interested in um— Because of the stigma around mental health and suicide that maybe it would— I told her no.”

Connor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he says after a moment. He opens his eyes and looks to Evan. “Seriously. I don’t… No one else needs to know that shit. My story— no one wants to hear that shit.”

“I think that was her point,” Evan says softly.

Connor meets his eyes for a second and then looks back to the road, pressing the gas. “Not my story,” he repeats. “I don’t want or need that kind of attention.”

“I know.” Evan sighs. “I was really worried that she— Alana can be, um…persistent.”

“Tell me about it,” Connor mutters. He turns into Evan’s driveway. “Here you go, Hansen.”

Evan gives him a weak smile and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thanks. I’ll text you.”

“I’ll text you back,” Connor promises.

Evan lights up and Connor shoves his heart back into the darkness of his chest.

From: dickbag To: assface      we have to talk

From: assface To: dickbag      fuc k u

Connor rolls his eyes. He can’t even believe he’s trying but he is and Jared is being Jared.

From: dickbag To: assface      right back at you      but seriously. today

He leans against Evan’s locker, flipping his phone over in his hands as he waits for a response. He might not give a shit about Jared, but for some reason Evan does, so he’s going to try to fix this. Because that’s what a good person would do.

Connor’s lived too much of his life in the gray zone. Gray thoughts, gray clothing, gray morality— he can do one nice thing if it’ll make Evan happier.

From: assface To: dickbag      y should i

From: dickbag To: assface      evan

From: assface To: dickbag      fuck off      where??

Connor rolls his eyes.

“Hi,” Evan says, arms full of textbooks. “Band?”

Connor nods. “Yeah. Something about an audition or something? I don’t know, she wanted time in the practice rooms and I don’t have a say in anything.”

Evan gives him a crooked smile. “I don’t think being here a little early is too bad.”

Connor looks back down at his phone with a shrug.

From: dickbag To: assface      computer lab      evan will be there for a little bit we can talk after he leaves

From: assface To: dickbage      fine      but still fuk u

Connor really should’ve just blocked Jared’s number as soon as he got it.

—«·»—

“Jared!” Evan says in surprise when him and Connor walk into the computer lab. “W-what are you doing here?”

Jared looks up from the computer. “StuCo stuff for Lana. I guess this morning the council decided to change some of the info on the posters so,” he gestures to the screen, “here the fuck I am.”

“Doesn’t Alana have people for that?” Connor asks as Evan pulls out his laptop.

“Her people don’t do shit. Does this picture look bad?”

Connor squints at the screen. “It looks like bad clipart.”

“Perfect.” Jared saves the document.

“Sent,” Evan says. He shuts his laptop. “I’ll be right back.”

Connor nods to him.

Jared coughs awkwardly as Evan leaves for the printers.

When Evan comes back with his letter in his hands, he glances between Jared and Connor. “Everything…okay?”

“Super chill,” Jared confirms, clicking randomly on the poster.

“Jared is shit at choosing fonts,” Connor says.

Jared flips Connor off and Evan smiles. Win.

“I have to go,” Evan says, putting away his laptop and pulling on his backpack. “My, um, my mom is actually bringing me today so?” He gestures over his shoulder. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Whatever,” Jared says.

Connor glares at him before saying, “Yeah sure. I’ll text you.”

Evan bounces on his toes before he leaves the room.

Connor turns to Jared with a raised eyebrow. “Fucking smooth.”

Jared keeps his eyes on the screen. “Uh huh.”

“You’re a giant asshole, you know that, right?”

Jared pushes his glasses up his nose. “So are you.” He closes his illegal photoshop and spins to face Connor. “Here we are. Two assholes in a computer lab.”

They stare at each other for a long minute.

“You told me to be here,” Jared points out.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Connor mutters. “Okay. I’m..sorry.” Jared whistles. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not sorry I called you a dick because you are a dick. And you’re a bad friend. Like a really shitty one. But I’ll apologize for yelling.”  

“That was a horrible apology,” Jared muses. “But fine. I’m sorry I said you were harassing Evan. But I still think what you’re doing is fucking…bad? I don’t know it feels bad. It’s a bad plan.”

“You told us that and still helped.”  

Jared spins in the chair before standing up. “Okay, yeah. I did. But honestly I didn’t think either of you would get invested and—”

“What do you mean?” Connor interrupts.

Jared searches his face. “You know…?”

“No?”

He sighs. “I thought this shit would last like a week, okay? And now we’re getting into more long term usage instead of the eight days I had assumed.” He pauses. “You’re using him.”

“Yeah and you pretend to use him.” Connor crosses his arms. “Are we really so fucking different?”

Jared runs his hand through his hair. “Just two guys, being dicks to Evan Hansen. We should probably be better about that, huh?”

“Probably.” Connor holds out his hand to Jared. “Truce?”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Not friends?” he asks as he shakes Connor’s hand. “Okay. Truce.”