#you know when toilet paper humor was peak humor

[sorrygotthesesacks]

I had this idea pop into my head...for reasons I can't remember...and all I remember is thinking "hmm, that, but with Silbek."

And now I can't remember the idea or what made the idea pop into my head and I am sad.

(as if I needed another idea)

But also: fake dating

(which is not the idea that popped into my head but I am a sucker for many of the tropes. Of course, that trope doesn't work as well with Silbek since they're kinda already dating but just don't know it.)

#too many fanfic ideas #except for the one that got away #why do ideas come to me when I'm driving #of course I am sad and it was probably the most cringe-fail idea to ever pop into my head #I take that back because there is still Bakuraxteacup #one day I will share that stupid thing here in all its cringey glory #which was the point #but it's still kinda embarrassing #yet I shared it on That Other App #it was like I was dared to though #also that cringey thing I wrote when I was super young #you know when toilet paper humor was peak humor #I love going off on a complete and total tangent in the tags #what was I talking about again? #OH I REMEMBER IT NOW

[bunnycvnts]

new bf!rafe getting babied while he’s sick & falling deeper in love

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

his room was dark despite being midday, thanks to the blackout curtains shielding an array of windows lining his bedroom walls. you tiptoed carefully into the room, easing the door shut gently with your foot, your hands occupied by the tray of goodies for your sick boyfriend. on the tray was a bowl of soup, tissues, two cool washcloths, and a freshly refilled water bottle.

earlier that day, it didn’t take long for you to realize rafe had come down with something. he had been moodier than normal, sneezing and coughing unnecessarily loud, and his nose had been rubbed raw from toilet paper. you ushered him quickly into his room, telling him to nap while you ran out to grab a few things. the trip took longer than you’d thought, and by the time you arrived back to tannyhill, the boy was out cold.

rafe felt the bed dip with weight, and a groan left his lips. his eyes fluttered open and closed repeatedly as you took his temperature. “‘m fine, babe. seriously. jus’ have a cold or something.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the thermometer showing a whopping 101.5 temperature, indicating a fever.

“mhm, i know. just humor me. will make me feel better knowing you’re getting some rest.” you knew how he was. he wouldn’t do anything for himself, but if it meant doing it for you…well, he could manage that. anything to please his girl. rafe nodded his head slightly, prompting you to carry on with your nurse facade.

offering the warm soup, he was quick to deny it, claiming his stomach was turning, and he definitely didn’t have any sort of appetite, so you left it on the tray resting on his desk. a moan of relief followed the cold cloth resting against his forehead and sliding down his skin.

“feels nice,” he grumbled out. your lips formed into a pout, as if you were looking at a sad puppy. he was just so cute, you couldn’t help but lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “i know, baby.”

rafes mouth upturned at the petname, always a sucker for verbal affection. his brain felt like mush, and he wasn’t entirely sure that you weren’t some figment of his imagination. a moment of weakness, leading him to conjure up someone who knew how to relieve some of the pain he was feeling and make his heart melt at the same time.

you helped him sit up, slipping some medicine into his mouth, followed by water to help him swallow it down. his chest was bare, a light sheen of sweat sweeping across his skin. you were quick to grab the second cloth and gently run it down his chest, cleaning him off and easing the heat he felt. goosebumps rose on his skin at the cold cloth, despite his moans of relief.

his eyes had remained mostly closed, peaking at you sometimes when you’d stop touching him, wondering where you’d gone, but each time he was met with a sweet kiss to his cheek and another swipe of the cold cloth among various areas of his skin. his heart felt heavy with love as you cared for him, gazing at you each time you turned away to grab different items for him. you were like an angel, swooping down and holding his heart in your hands, bringing it back to health.

when the cloth ran warm from his heat, you placed it back on the tray, so you could use it again later after running it under some water. your hand met his forehead, trying to gauge his temperature, even though you already knew what it was.

“my poor baby, bet you feel so icky right now.” you pouted down at him, watching as his cheeks flushed deeper.

“stop it. i’m fine.” his words did nothing to stop the smile forming on his lips. he was a sucker for your sweet words. he forced his eyes open to look at you, raising his arms out to gesture you in.

“baby, you have a fever. i know you’re too warm; cuddling won’t help.” despite your response to his gesture, it didn’t take much to convince you, which you proved as you lay next to him when he grumbled at you. rafe rested his head on your skin, feeling the coolness of it against his cheek. “just for a sec, promise. jus’ a second.”

you laid there for the rest of the night, as he had quickly fallen back asleep on you. your soft skin and scent, which he loved so much, provided more comfort than a cool washcloth or some warm soup ever could.

taglist: @sunkissedrafe

#kind of a follow up to my last newbf!rafe post #i love sick rafe #i love him #obx #obx cast #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx imagine #obx x reader #dark rafe cameron #obx smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron concepts

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

#my writing #christmasriverswrites #jaytim #dickdami #tim and damian #pre-relationship #college au #no capes #new for 2020! #barely edited; life is rough right now 🙃

[tw-anchor]

39. Trust Your Abilities

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x15: Galvanize

Word Count: 6,559

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, dramatic Stiles, Peter’s severed finger

Author’s Note: Y’all I have had the worst luck these past couple of months. I must have broken a mirror or something without knowing. Please enjoy! Make sure you reblog, like, and tell me what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Peter was lucky to have Olivia and Derek. Most people wouldn't help someone who had murdered and injured more than one of their family members. In fact, if Peter wasn't her father, Olivia wouldn't even be in the same vicinity as him, let alone help Derek sew his finger back on.

But, that's where she found herself. She hovered behind Derek as he and Peter sat at the table in Derek's loft; Derek had taken upon himself to sew Peter's finger back on after the Calaveras' head honcho cut it off. Thankfully, Peter put the finger on ice once Braeden got the two of them out of the hunters' grasp.

Olivia wasn't afraid of blood, but even the sight of her cousin sewing on her father's finger caused some nausea. Thankfully, it was over soon; Derek worked quickly, ignoring Peter's complaints in a way that Olivia couldn't. If she hadn't known the year Peter was born, she would have thought he was six years old. Peter Hale could dish out the pain without a problem, but he certainly couldn't take it.

"Ow," Peter hissed as Derek finished up his almost-perfect sutures. "Don't you have any anesthetic?"

Derek gave him a blank look, setting the small pair of medical scissors on the table next to him. "Yep."

Olivia snickered. "You know, I really thought you'd have a higher pain tolerance,"

Peter rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up," he turned back to Derek and with a whine to his voice, asked, "Are you at least going to tell me what I risked life and digit for?"

"Yeah, actually, I'd like to know that, too," Olivia added, crossing her arms over her chest. "And, you know, why I had to hire a mercenary to get you guys out of there..."

"I'm going to show you," Derek got up from his seat and took only a minute or so while he went up to his room and came back down. He carried a cylinder box made out of some sort of wood, with a triskele carved into the lid; he opened it and carefully slid out its contents. "After the fire, that's all that was left of her."

Talia Hale's claws clattered onto the table and Olivia almost flinched. Even though Talia was long dead, she could still feel power radiating off the claws. And that power? It felt like her Aunt Talia. It wasn't necessarily a tether like her pack members, but there was a slight glow to them on her mental map that caused her pause.

That's why Derek went, she realized privately.

Peter's eyes narrowed in recognition as he looked at his sister's claws. "Talia. I can't decide if that's touching or morbid," he raised an eyebrow at Derek. "I guess the real question is, what are you planning on doing with them?"

Derek hesitated before answering. "I have to ask her something," he finally revealed. "and from what I've heard, this is the only way possible."

Realization dawned on Peter's face. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Why do you think I sewed your finger back on?" Derek's lips turned up slightly into a smirk.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. She hadn't known what Derek was going to do with Talia's claws, but from context clues, she figured it out. Peter would connect to Talia's claws and then do the alpha ritual on Derek, where he peaked into Derek's subconsciousness through his spinal cord. It was a painful procedure and each time Olivia witnessed it, some part of her heart ached.

Even though she did want to know what Derek spoke to Talia about, she couldn't watch him go through with the ritual. It honestly didn't matter much, either way, because she had to get going in order to fetch Stiles from his house so they could get to school on time.

"That's my cue," she patted Derek on the shoulder before heading to the door. "I'll call you later, Der."

"Have fun at school," he mumbled in reply.

Much to her surprise, when she got to her car, Isaac was waiting for her in the passenger seat.

"What are you doing here?" she wasn't upset about his presence, but merely curious.

She slid into her seat and buckled her seatbelt, starting her car. She pulled away from Derek's building and took a left, heading into town so she could pick them up some breakfast. It would butter Stiles up to Isaac's attendance.

Isaac shrugged. "Scott took his bike, so I thought I'd get a ride with you."

"You walked all the way to Derek's loft from Scott's house to get a ride to school?" Olivia laughed.

"Well, any opportunity to annoy Stiles, and I'm there," Isaac chuckled with her.

Olivia shook her head in amusement. Only Isaac...

After a quick stop at the McDonald's drive-through, Olivia was pulling to a stop at the curb in front of Stiles' house. Isaac clambered into the backseat, almost hitting her in the face two separate times with his long legs, as Stiles bounced out of the front door and made his way down the sidewalk.

"Good morning, beautiful!" he was very cheerful today and Olivia knew it wasn't because it was from his lack of nightmares—because he certainly had one. No, he was happy because today was Mischief Day, the day before Halloween. "Mwah!"

The placement of his lips against her cheek with a noisy kiss made Olivia grin. "Morning, sweetcheeks."

"Good morning!"

As soon as Stiles heard Isaac's voice, he deflated. He whipped around and faced the backseat, a scowl on his face. "Ugh, what are you doing here?" he complained; as he reached for the handle of his door, Olivia locked the doors and pulled away from the curb. "Livvy, let me out. I'll drive myself."

"No, you won't," she said firmly. "Wednesdays are my days to drive."

"Well, why'd you bring Isaac?"

"I brought myself," Isaac told him smugly. He reached into the McDonald's bag and pulled out Stiles' breakfast sandwich amongst the wrappers from his biscuit and Olivia's bagel, tossing it at him. "Breakfast."

"Thank you," Stiles grumbled at Olivia as he turned to face the front once again. He unwrapped his sandwich with a grouchy look on his face. "Now Mischief Day is ruined."

"No, it isn't, Mr. Mischief," Olivia rolled her eyes. "If anything, Isaac riding with us is mischief..."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Oh, get over yourself," Isaac rolled his eyes; Olivia caught the action through her rear-view mirror and tried to hide her grin.

"You get over yourself."

"No, you get over your—"

"Okay, both of you, shut it," Olivia interrupted their ridiculous argument. "I don't want to hear another word from either of you until we get to school."

"But—"

"Shush."

"Yes, Mom."

"Isaac Lahey."

Olivia wasn't as annoyed as she portrayed herself. It was actually kind of amusing to see Isaac and Stiles fully chastised for their little spat. Nevertheless, the only noise throughout the rest of the drive to the school was some alternative song that Stiles had turned on

"Look," Isaac spoke as Olivia was parking. "the twins are here."

Olivia and Stiles followed his gaze and saw that he was right. Ethan and Aiden's bikes were parked neatly in the two spaces next to Scott's. Scott had already abandoned his bike and was talking to them, looking affronted.

Stiles' face hardened and in that moment, he and Isaac had something to agree on; they both could not stand Ethan and Aiden.

Stiles and Isaac rushed out of the car and Olivia briskly followed them, making sure that her car was locked securely.

"You're back in school?" they heard Scott ask the twins.

"No, just to talk," Ethan answered him.

"Oh, that's kind of a change of pace for you guys," Stiles snarked as he came to a stop on Scott's right; Isaac joined the alpha's other side. "Usually you're just hurting, maiming, and killing."

Aiden chose to ignore Stiles, keeping his eyes on Scott. "You need a pack, we need an alpha."

"Yeah, absolutely not," Stiles answered for Scott. "That's hilarious, though."

Aiden narrowed his eyes at Stiles while reminding Scott, "You came to use for help. We helped."

"You beat him up, two to one," Olivia spoke up, her voice hardening. "And then when he was down, you had to be stopped by your brother."

"Yeah, in my opinion, that was actually counter-productive," Stiles added as he took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Why would I say yes?" Scott asked, though he looked to be humoring the twins, more than actually considering them as pack members.

"We add strength, we'd make you more powerful," Aiden pitched. "There's no reason to say no."

Stiles rolled his eyes, Olivia scoffed, and Isaac sneered at them, "I can think of one. Like the two of your holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd." Olivia nodded in agreement with Isaac, her heart aching at the thought of her dead pack mate. "In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now."

Aiden growled at them, his eyes glowing ice-blue. "You wanna try?"

Olivia couldn't believe his audacity. She held out a firm hand, sending her own purple-tinted glare at him. "You need to back up," she ordered firmly, allowing her voice to shift and take control of him.

Aiden's eyes dimed back to their normal brown, but his glare stayed.

"Sorry, but they don't trust you," Scott glanced between Ethan and Aiden, his gaze lingering on the latter and his wicked temper. "And neither do I."

The four of them walked past the twins without another word—though, Isaac did send them a triumphant smirk as he passed.

As soon as they walked into the school, Stiles was decked in the face with a roll of toilet paper.

"All right, that's my fucking face!" he growled as he whipped the roll back at Greenberg. He patted Scott on the chest as they continued on to his locker. "Hey, dude, good decision, buddy. Good alpha decision."

Scott winced sheepishly. "I hope so."

"No, you know so," Olivia loved Scott, but he wished that he would see people the way they were, not the way he hoped them to be. Ethan and Aiden had a large part in Boyd's death, like Isaac had just mentioned, and they were also part of the pack who killed Erica. Sometimes, people couldn't be redeemed.

"Exactly," Isaac pointed at her in agreement.

Stiles, who had successfully closed the door to his mind after Malia's transformation back to a human girl, easily dialed his combination and unlocked his locker. He started unpacking his very full backpack, unloading his various Mischief Day pranks.

Scott nudged Olivia while Stiles was focused on his bag. "Hey, what did you say her name was again?" he nodded down the hall and Olivia saw that he was looking at Kira, who was at her own locker.

"Kira Yukimura," she informed him. "She's really sweet. Why?"

Scott shrugged. "Just wondering."

Isaac and Olivia exchanged an amused look. "Right, okay."

Stiles glanced at them. "What are you guys looking at?" he followed their gaze, saw Kira, and then looked back at Scott, "You looking at her?"

Scott immediately looked away from Kira, flustered. "Her? Who her?"

"Her-her," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Kira. You like her?"

"I thought you were into Lydia now," Isaac mentioned idly; Olivia smirked when Scott's eyes widened in shock.

"What? No!" he shook his head quickly. "I mean, may—no! She's okay, they're both okay...Kira's new."

Stiles shook his head and carefully placed a carton of eggs into his locker. "Yeah, that made a lot of sense, buddy. Just ask her out."

"Who, Lydia?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "He meant Kira, Scott."

"Now?"

"Yes, now," Isaac encouraged him.

"Right now?"

"Right now," Stiles slammed his locker shut after grabbing his econ textbook and turned to face Scott head on. "Scott, I don't think you get it yet. You're an alpha. You're the apex predator—"

"Please don't call him a predator while trying to convince him to ask Kira out," Olivia interjected with a gentle shudder.

"Makes sense," Stiles nodded at her before going back to Scott. "My point is, everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants."

Scott raised his eyebrows, confused. "The hot girl?"

"You are the hottest girl," Stiles poked him in the chest with a wink.

His words must have finally gotten through to Scott, because the alpha nodded with a small, but cute smile on his face. He looked up at Isaac and announced, "I'm the hot girl."

Isaac nodded seriously. "Yes, you are."

Scott giggled cutely before walking away.

Olivia watched him go, shaking her head. "You three are the oddest people I've ever met."

Isaac laughed at her and followed Scott while Stiles scoffed, "Says you," he grabbed her hand as they walked down the hallway to her locker. "Aren't you the teenager whose favorite ice cream is vanilla?"

"You know I don't like ice cream that much," they reached her locker and she swiftly unlocked it. "Now, should I be jealous that you called Scott the hottest girl while I was standing right next to you, or...?"

"No," Stiles leaned against her neighbor's locker, smiling down at her. "Want to know why?"

"Why, Stiles?"

"Because hot doesn't even begin to describe you, Livvy," he cooed sweetly, making her giggle.

"You're lucky I love you," she poked his cheek. "otherwise, you'd be too cheesy for me."

"You like cheese."

"On my pizza," Olivia shut her locker with a laugh, cradling her econ textbook in the crook of her right arm. "Now, did you want to catch the show are you gonna sit around all day and miss it?"

Stiles' eyes lit up at the reminder. Last night, or early this morning, Stiles and Scott had come to the school to prank Coach. It was his birthday and apparently the best friend duo had been pranking him on Mischief Day since they entered high school. It was a sort of tradition for them and Stiles said it was always good fun, but Olivia had never witnessed one of these pranks herself.

She would never tell Stiles, but she was kind of excited about it.

"Yes!" he grabbed her free hand and started pulling her down the hall.

When they entered Coach's classroom, Stiles had insisted on sitting in the front row, so he had a good seat for all the chaos that he and Scott had reined upon Coach. Olivia sat behind him and when Lydia and Scott came into the classroom together, a moment or so later, they sat next to them. The bell rang and there was still no sign of Coach—but then, they heard what was going on next door.

What sounded like furniture collapsing to the floor came from Coach's office. Not a second later, they heard him shout, "Son of a bitch!"

Stiles broke out into a round of snickers, his whole body shaking, and Scott grinned in amusement. Olivia let a smile appear on her lips as she glanced at Lydia, who shook her head, an expression that somehow held both annoyance and amusement painted on her face.

The door that connected Coach's office and the classroom was forced open and then slammed quickly as Coach entered the room. "Mischief Night, Devil's Night," he grumbled, glaring at the students as most of them laughed. "I don't care what you call it. You little punks are evil. You think it's funny that every Halloween my house gets egged?"

The general consensus was yes, everyone thought that Coach's house getting egged was funny.

"A man's house is supposed to be his castle! Mine's a freakin' omelet..." Coach turned to his desk and spotted the wrapped gift that Greenberg had deposited before he took his seat. "Oh, this? We're gonna do this again? I don't think so!"

Coach whipped the present onto the ground and stomped on it. A surprised look flashed onto his face when he heard glass breaking; Stiles' laughter increased into a small roar.

Coach picked up the present, a mug with his picture on it, which was now broken, and glanced at the card. "Happy birthday," he read. "Love, Greenberg."

The slightly chastised look on Coach's face made Olivia laugh. Her giggles died down when Lydia's tether pulsed. She turned to her cousin and saw her on her phone, swatting the air around her head.

"Lyds, what are you doing?" she leaned over to her desk and whispered.

"There's a fly," Lydia mumbled in response.

Olivia narrowed her eyes and looked around; she didn't see any flies.

-

-

When Stiles had gone to get his wallet out of his backpack so he could buy his lunch, he definitely didn't expect the police to walk into the school. Many of the deputies were led by his dad, while some of the suited agents walking around were brought by Agent McCall. Even more shocking than the force's appearance was the reason for their visit.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Stiles rushed after Noah after being given a distracted response about why they were at the school. "The William Barrow? The shrapnel bomber? He was spotted nearby?"

Noah turned and stopped, giving the students who were on their lunch break and surrounded the hallways a nervous look. "A little closer than nearby, actually," he corrected Stiles, lowering his voice.

Agent McCall walked by them, the vice-principal at his side. "How do we get down to the basement? I need to know where every entrance is. I don't want anybody coming in or out of the school."

This was more serious than Stiles thought.

"Dad," he looked at his dad with wide eyes. "what's really going on here?"

It didn't take long to discover what was happening. Noah quickly explained that William Barrow had come into the hospital for surgery but had instead escaped. They followed him to the school and they were trying to find him before he ended up killing more people. The scariest part about William Barrow was the fact that he went after kids with glowing eyes.

That meant that Olivia, Scott, and Isaac were in trouble.

He quickly found his friends at the table in the cafeteria where he left them and ushed them out of the overcrowded room. Scott wasn't with them, but he told Olivia, Lydia, Isaac, and Allison what was going on and what—or who—William Barrow was after.

"Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" Isaac repeated in disbelief as the five of them wandered along an empty hallway on the second floor of the school. "He said those exact words?"

"Yeah," Stiles squeezed Olivia's hand, assuring himself that she was safe next to him. "and no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies—which, in any other circumstance, would be all kinds of awesome."

"Maggots coming from the body is a thing, but I've never heard of flies in the stomach," Olivia muttered thoughtfully.

Lydia stopped walking abruptly. "Did you say flies?"

The rest of them stopped with her.

"Lydia?" Allison prompted an explanation from the redhead.

"All day I have been hearing this sound," Lydia explained, pressing her lips together in frustration. "It's like this...buzzing..."

Olivia frowned in realization while Allison asked, "Like the sound of flies?"

That's why Lydia's tether lit up in econ, Olivia realized in dismay, her banshee powers were picking up Barrow at the school.

Lydia nodded grimly. "Exactly like the sound of flies."

It was quickly decided that they needed to split up and find Scott, since he was missing in action. With three floors to search, Allison and Isaac took the top, Lydia and Olivia took the second, and Stiles took the floor level. While they were trying to find Scott, they also had to avoid the police, who were doing their own search for Barrow.

Five minutes before the lunch period was over, Stiles found Scott outside of Mr. Yukimura's classroom. "Hey, dude, where the fuck have you been?"

Scott opened his mouth, but didn't get to answer, as Olivia and Lydia came storming up to them.

"The police are leaving," Lydia told them. "Why are they leaving?"

Scott winced in surprise. "The police?"

"They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here," Stiles told her.

Olivia shook her head in disagreement. "No, he has to be here," she insisted, her eyes traveling to her cousin. "Tell him, Lydia."

Stiles gave the redhead an expectant look.

"The sound, the buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder."

Stiles heart sank. "How loud?"

Olivia's eyes flashed purple. "Loud enough that I can hear it."

Yeah, okay, Stiles glanced between them, that's pretty loud.

Within minutes, Stiles found himself chasing his dad and Agent McCall—along with other deputies and FBI agents—to the parking lot. "Dad, Dad, you can't leave yet!"

"We got an eyewitness that puts Barrow by the train station," he dad explained.

"Let's go, Stilinski!"

Noah went to follow McCall, but Stiles stopped him.

"Dad, please...Lydia said that he's still here."

Noah's eyes widened slightly. "Did she see him?"

"Not exactly, no," Stiles grimaced; he hadn't exactly told him what Lydia was yet. "Well, not at all, actually. But she has a feeling. A supernatural feeling."

Noah turned his eyes away from Stiles in order to look at Olivia and Lydia, who had followed Stiles out of the school. While Lydia looked away, acting like she wasn't listening to their conversation, Olivia slapped on a sweet smile and waved at him.

He waved back at her and then looked back at Stiles. "Lydia wasn't on the chess board."

"She is now."

"Kanima?"

Why did his dad think everyone was a kanima? "Banshee."

"Oh, God."

"I know how it sounds, but basically, it means that she can sense when someone's close to death," Stiles explained rapidly. "And you know what Livvy is, okay, and she's got a bad feeling, too."

"Do these feelings tell them that I'm about to kill you?" Noah retorted, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Stiles looked back at Olivia and Lydia, and this time, it was Lydia who waved at Noah.

"All right, look," Noah leveled him with a calm, yet stern, stare. "I'm not saying I don't believe, but right now, I'm going with eyewitness over banshee and anchoram. We're leaving the deputies here. The school's on lockdown till three o'clock. Nobody come in, nobody comes out. Buddy, that's the best I've got right now. That's the best I can give you."

"You're leaving me here," Stiles objected as Noah turned and ran away from him, joining McCall and his agents. "That is not—that is the worst!"

Betrayal, in its purest form. That's what he was feeling at the moment. How dare his dad just leave him here, ignoring his warning about Barrow? Why didn't he just drop him off at the firehouse when he was an infant? It was the same type of abandonment!

Okay, he was being dramatic, but still...

Well, finding William Barrow was up to them, now.

-

-

Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia met with Allison in an empty classroom. While Scott and Isaac, along with Ethan and Aiden, would search the basement and floor level, and Olivia, Lydia, and Stiles would search the upper levels, Allison would be sneaking out of school in order to go home and search through the Argent's bestiary for some kind of explanation on Barrow's stomach flies and ability to wake up from full-blown anesthesia.

"The bestiary is literally a thousand pages long," Allison stated as she opened one of the windows leading to outside. "if I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of people's bodies, it could take me all night."

"If you go to the find button in the word document, you should be able to search for flies," Olivia pointed out.

Lydia nodded in agreement. "And remember, the word in archaic Latin for fly is musca."

"Got it," Allison climbed out the window.

Lydia turned to Olivia and Stiles. "Where do we start?"

"Upstairs," Stiles answered. "Let's go."

An hour later, after searching the second floor for any sign of Barrow, they moved onto the third floor. The drawing room was the second room they searched on the floor, right after the room that was reserved for painting.

Olivia soon received a text message from Isaac, informing her that he and Scott were moving onto the floor level while Aiden and Ethan finished up the basement.

"Are they still in the basement?" Lydia asked her.

"Scott and Isaac moved on, but Ethan and Aiden are," Olivia answered, slipping her phone back into her bag. "The twins had to search the boiler room and then they're meeting up with Scott and Isaac."

"Fuck!" Stiles' sudden curse caught Olivia and Lydia's attention. "All the wolves, the majority of the students with glowing eyes are either in the basement or the first floor. An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole fucking school."

Olivia cocked her head and disappeared into her mental map. There were no whispers warning her about her or her pack mates, no names floating through her head. Every tether on her map was safe, other than the slight pulsing from Peter and Derek's—which she assumed was because they were either still doing the alpha ritual or they were recovering from it. So, they were safe from Barrow, right?

But Lydia was still hearing that buzzing. She could hear it, too, if she dived into her cousin's tether. Barrow was still in the school, somewhere, but her powers weren't warning her about anything...

Why aren't there any warnings? She thought, almost frantically. William Barrow is here.

While lost in her head, Olivia missed the significant look that Lydia and Stiles shared. "We have to get them out," Stiles proclaimed. "We have to get everyone out."

"How do we do that?"

Like any other problem in their very problematic lives, Stiles had an answer. Within the next few minutes, he had pulled the fire alarm and was caught by Coach, who claimed that if he was younger, he would have punched him. He had also earned himself a week full of detention.

School ended while students piled out of the building for the drill, which meant that the lockdown was over. Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia joined Scott, Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden near the parking lot to see if they found any sign of Barrow.

"We didn't find anything," Aiden reported.

Scott nodded in agreement. "Not even a scent."

"It's three o'clock, so school's over," Stiles sighed. "If there was a bomb, wouldn't he have set it off by now?"

"I've got nothing," Olivia clenched her jaw, wishing that her abilities were giving her something to work with. "I'm not getting any warnings..."

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean everybody's safe?"

"That's what she means," Isaac snapped at him in Olivia's defense. He then glanced at Lydia, thoughtfully. "but if you are hearing the flies..."

Lydia shook her head, just as lost as everyone else. "I don't know," she said sadly. "I just don't know."

-

Sirius knew that something was wrong with his girls. Lydia was hiding in her room and Olivia's face was snuggled into his fur as the two of them laid on her bed. The way her dog squirmed underneath her ear gave Olivia the hint that her anxiety was rubbing off on him. It made her feel bad; she rolled away from Sirius and onto her stomach, resting her chin on her forearms as her eyes landed on her boyfriend's figure across the room.

Stiles had opted to come over to her house instead of his, even though he would have been more comfortable in his house, with his own walls made up like a crime board. Even though Olivia had objected at first, it hadn't taken much coaxing for Stiles to convince her to allow him to set up a brand-new crime board on the large corkboard of her wall, which usually held pictures of her friends and family. She just couldn't resist the weirdo, especially when he pulled out four different balls of colored string—blue, yellow, green, and red—out of his backpack.

"Do you always keep those in there?" she had asked him. He had blinked back at her, almost innocently, and answered, "Yeah, why?"

So, now she watched the love of her life in his element; solving cases was what he was best at. Like her own personal, sexy Sherlock Holmes—she much preferred him to Benedict Cumberbatch.

"Okay, so green is solved, yellow is to-be-determined, and red is unsolved," Olivia hummed as Stiles pinned yet another piece of red string to connect a picture of William Barrow and one of the Eichen House. "What does blue mean?"

There were about three pieces of blue string that hadn't made much sense to her. The rest, she could somewhat follow.

"Blue is pretty," Stiles turned and winked at her. Her heart warmed, remembering the last time he told her that—his favorite color was blue, like her eyes.

"Well, yeah," she smiled as he sauntered over to her, plopping down onto the bed beside her. Sirius scurried off the bed, unnerved by the bounciness of the mattress. "but what does it mean in term of the investigation?"

"Nothing really," Stiles admitted. He leaned closer to her and brushed his lips on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow; her heart started racing. "It's different for each crime board. Today, it's the same as red."

Olivia pressed her lips against his, pulling back quickly. "You only have red on the board."

"Yes," Stiles rolled his eyes and laid on his back with a sigh. "I'm aware of that, thanks, baby."

Olivia shuffled closer to him and shifted so half of her body leaned against his. "I don't get it," she admitted, resting her chin on his chest as she studied his face. "Lydia felt Barrow at the school. And I did, too, it's just...I feel like my powers weren't working."

Stiles frowned and brushed his thumbs over her flushed cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"The tethers, none of them were giving any hint of trouble. When I looked at them, I knew that everyone in the pack was safe. Yet, when I dived into Lydia's, I could hear the flies buzzing. Just like her," she sighed in frustration. "It's so contradicting, it's maddening. And we didn't even find any physical proof of Barrow being there."

"Livvy, you've been right about this kind of stuff before. So has Lydia," Stiles comforted her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer against him. "and maybe the fact that you weren't feeling anything and Lydia was is a hint."

"What do you mean?"

"You know if your pack members are in trouble...What if someone who's not in the pack is who Barrow was after?"

Olivia cocked her head thoughtfully. "That makes sense," she mused. "but still, if he was at the school, the wolves didn't scent him."

"What if he didn't smell like himself? What if he changed his scent somehow?" Stiles bounced another idea off of her. "I mean, you said yourself that Lydia was right. Barrow was there. What if he, fuck, what if he changed into someone's gym clothes. Or he used some girl's perfume...What if he—"

Olivia sat up, her eyes widening in realization. "The chemistry lab. He could use chemicals to completely hide his scent. If they were strong enough, it'd be like he never stepped foot into the school."

Stiles grinned widely at her. "We are geniuses," he pecked her on the lips and then patted her butt. "Get Lydia. We need to go to the school."

-

Since Mr. Harris' tragic death, there hadn't been a science department head. If he was still alive, getting into the large closet of the school's chemicals would be infinitely harder because Harris was known to stay late after school. Now, though, with Stiles' lock-picking skills, it was easy to break into the senior chemistry lab where the closet was located.

Now, Mr. Harris was a dick, but he was the only science teacher who knew what he was doing at Beacon Hills High School. With science being Olivia's favorite subject, he had been her favorite teacher, of sorts—she purely respected him for his knowledge, not his attitude. For the first time since his death, Olivia didn't mind that he was gone.

Yeah, she knew how horrible that sounded. Ultimately, though, Mr. Harris had helped Kate Argent set the Hale house on fire—who went around telling random women ways to get away with arson? —and the fire led to most of the things that had gone wrong in her life.

"So, what are we looking for?" Lydia asked as they entered the room. Though Stiles and Olivia had brought her up to speed on why they were going to the school, some of the details were still kind of lost on her. She watched as Olivia frowned at the chemical closet and opened it, the key already in the doorknob. "That's supposed to be locked."

"Yeah, exactly," Stiles muttered, walking into the closet. "Notice anything else?"

Lydia inhaled and studied the closet. "It smells like chemicals," she realized. "You guys were right, they wouldn't have been able to catch his scent."

Olivia hummed and pulled out her phone, turning on its flashlight and pointing it at the floor. The three of them flinched when they saw the small puddle of blood on the floor; Stiles even got a little green around the gills, which wasn't surprising due to his slight fear of blood.

"Gross," he groaned quietly. "He was here, preforming very minor surgery on himself."

"Lydia, you were right," Olivia reached for her cousin's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Your instincts were right."

"Then why don't I feel good about this?"

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

"Kids with glowing eyes," Olivia mused. "but they're not part of the pack. Which narrows it down it down to..."

Lydia shrugged. "I have no idea."

"We gotta figure it out," Stiles decided. "Spread out, start looking for anything."

The girls did as he said, leaving the chemical closet. While Stiles started on one side of the classroom, looking through some of the lab tables, Lydia walked toward the teacher's desk, and Olivia searched some of the cabinets that held the lab equipment.

"Lydia," Stiles noticed that Lydia drifted toward the chalk board absentmindedly and saw that she was staring at a set of three numbers. "what are those?"

19. 53. 88.

"Atomic numbers," Lydia answered as he and Olivia moved to her side.

"Is it a formula?"

"No," it was Olivia who spoke this time. "Nineteen's Potassium. Fifty-three is Iodine. Eighty-eight is Radium. The first two make Potassium Iodide."

Olivia picked up a piece of chalk and started writing the atomic symbols next to their corresponding numbers.

19—K

"Potassium is K?" Stiles interrupted her writing.

Olivia nodded. "From Kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name."

53—I

"What's Radium?"

88—RA

"RA."

KIRA.

"Kira," Olivia breathed, her heart starting to race. "That's why none of the tethers were giving me anything."

"Guys," Lydia spoke up, giving them a horrified look. "Scott went to Kira's house for dinner."

-

When they got to Kira's house, Scott was knocked out, laying on the street next to his bike. Kira was no where to be found and when Stiles was finally able to wake Scott, he confirmed their suspicions.

"Barrow, he took Kira!" he exclaimed breathlessly as Stiles and Lydia helped him to his feet.

"We know. He was after her the whole time," Stiles patted him on the back. He glanced at Olivia, who had been talking to Isaac on the phone to see if he and Allison found anything in the bestiary. "What'd he say?"

"They didn't find anything," she reported, ending the call. "Just some stuff about flies and the dead. Nothing else."

"Well, we have to think of something," Scott said nervously. "He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there," Lydia's voice deepened when it shook from the anxiety she was feeling. "How did I know that?"

"You heard the flies," Stiles said. "What do you hear now?"

Lydia was silent for a moment, listening, before she shook her head. "Nothing," she scoffed, disappointed in herself. "I feel like I can do this. But I don't know what to do. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, and I don't know how to trigger it. I just—I sweat to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

Screaming, the most known way of communication from a banshee. "Then scream, Lydia," Olivia urged her. "Scream."

The scream that burst from Lydia's lips was the loudest any of them had been yet. While Olivia covered her ears and flinched back, she mused that it might have been because it was the first time Lydia was actually cooperating with her abilities. Despite the pain that being a banshee could bring her cousin, she was proud of Lydia for using her powers for good.

Lydia's tether flared and shook, but it held strong. Lydia was strong.

A full minute later, Lydia's screamed died down. The redhead didn't move, still turned away from Olivia, Stiles, and Scott. A noise caught her attention, the buzzing noise. She followed it, looking up at the streetlight hanging above her. She quickly turned around, causing Stiles to flinch.

"It's not flies," she told them. "it's electricity."

As Scott looked up at the light, Stiles twisted his lips. "Wait a second," he thought aloud. "Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

"What substation?"

He squinted, trying to remember the information from some of the papers he pinned to the crime board in Olivia's room. "The one by the Iron Works."

-

Scott drove ahead of them on his bike, arriving at the power substation in the Iron works couple minutes before Olivia pulled up with Stiles and Lydia in her car. Scott had already run into the building and Stiles was jumping out of his seat the second Olivia shifted into park.

"Okay, wait here," he told Olivia and Lydia. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Stiles, I'm coming with you—"

Stiles cut Olivia off before she could protest more. "I have only one bat, Livvy. Please, please just wait."

Olivia felt her heart starting to ache from the panic pumping through her. "Stiles, if you die, I'll kill you."

Stiles only winked at her before running off into the building. Lydia climbed into the passenger seat while they waited, tightly squeezing her hand. It wasn't long before Scott's red tether was pulsing painfully and seconds later, Stiles' and Isaac's started up, too.

Scott, Stiles, Isaac...Scott, Scott, Scott...Isaac, Isaac, Isaac...Stiles, Stiles, Stiles...

There was an explosion; bright lights came from the inside of the substation and then everything went black.

"SCOTT? ISAAC? STILES?"

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

[this-is-where-i-put-my-dark-shit]

Your Savior is Here Ch 3

Homelander POV

I’m only a wall away and I’m already nervous. I’m watching her through the wall, making sure she doesn’t cause any trouble. She doesn’t, she just sits back in and relaxes deeper into the water, her face falling into a soft blank expression. Sweet little thing, I don’t know how long I will be able to control myself around her. She’s just so perfect. After her hair had been washed those matted wads had turned into perfect ringlets. I ran my fingers through them and nearly came in my pants at the sweet hums she was unconsciously making. I wanted nothing more than to sit there all day and play with her hair, maybe we can do that another day.

I force myself to look away and down at the note pad in front of me where I’ve been scribbling rules down for her. She will need rules to make sure she doesn’t fall back into any old habits, it’s not as if I would actually let her leave to get whatever shit she was on before. If it wasn’t for her brutal honestly I would think she was lying about being sober but if she has the guts to admit her discomfort about taking a bath to me, she’s not one to lie. She’s such a good girl. But to keep her so good she will need rules, I am the person who can give her those rules, who can take care of her!

Looking around my apartment I know there isn’t much for a little girl like her to do but that’s why we need to sit down and talk, I need to know what she likes before I just start buying things with the usually useless money Vought keeps shoveling into my account. Coloring books and color pencils, legos, a tablet, are just a few things I can think of that maybe she would like to play with while I’m out. That intern is already out on another mission for things I need, I’ll be sending him right back out again once he returns.

She doesn’t have much time left alone, I find myself looking at her again, another minute or so. I consider giving her an extra minute or two to enjoy that look on her face but as I watch she frowns. A sigh leaves those full lips and the most unexpected words come out, “Fucking prick.”

I can hear it clear as day, I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or not but I feel myself tense. Of course she is talking about me, who else could she be talking about? I tense, confused on what I could have done to make her say such things after I gave her the privilege of bathing alone. Maybe I shouldn’t have left her, I hold myself back from marching in there and demanding why she would say such things. I take a deep breath and remind myself this will take awhile, she doesn’t know how to handle people taking care of her yet, she will learn, I will teach her! Though I am nervous now about what I will have to do, discipline is such a hard thing that I never thought I would have a problem with. I could murder everyone in this building and not feel a thing but for some reason the idea of disciplining her puts me on edge. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want her to not like me.

But I have to do this.

With a deep breath I call to her, “It’s time to get out.” She shoots up out of the water, exposing herself to me without even knowing it. I bite my lip to keep myself from moaning at the sight of her beauty. Her petite figure does more to me than it should, her chest isn’t very large, each breast would fit in my hand easily. Her slim curves aren’t natural, I’m sure it’s more to do with starvation than God’s design, she would look delicious with a few pounds added on. It shouldn’t take long for me to get her to where she is meant to be, a healthy weight with a little extra for good measure, but even than she won’t be much compared to me. I force myself to speak again, “There is a towel sitting on the toilet, you can use that. I have some clothes for you out here when you are dried off. I’ll let you do it on your own for now.”

She scrambles to find the towel and wrap it around herself. With rough hands she dries her chest than drags the towel down to wipe off each leg as if she is in a porno. My jaw is on the floor as she moves to her back and the full curve of her ass, just beautiful. She wraps up her hair and leaves it there for a moment before pulling it out to reveal her messy curls in all their glory. The towel is wrapped around her once again, she hesitates in the bathroom for a long moment until I call out to her again.

“No need to be bashful love, I can see through everything,” I hope to ease her anxiety by making it know to her but from the way her arms tighten around herself and her eyes go wide, I don’t think it works. Her heart is racing as she peaks out of the bathroom into the kitchen in my direction. I give her my best smile, “How was your alone time?”

“It was good, thank you. Can I have some clothes please?”

For the briefest second I consider telling her no, as if I don’t have one of my T-shirts and boxers ready for her on the counter. But I stop myself, “Of course sweet girl. I have them right here,” I offer her the stack of clothes.

“Can I change in the bathroom or do I have to do it out here?”

“I will look away again if that helps.”

She nods, “Yes please.”

I have to stop myself from preening at her politeness, I turn around and stare into the kitchen as she shuffles around behind me. It only takes a moment and once she is done she lets me turn around. I want to hold her. I want to pick her up and never let her down, she is just too precious. She is swallowed up by my shirt, the sleeves reach her elbows and the hem reaches the middle of her thigh. The boxers aren’t even visible from underneath the shirt.

“You look beautiful.”

“Can I have pants or something?”

That, I can easily say no to, “You don’t need them. You won’t be going anywhere, plus this is much more comfortable. I have a sweatshirt in the closet if you get chilly though.”

She just sighs, “Okay.” Her eyes dart around nervously, unsure of what do to do with herself. I’m probably not helping by just continuing my staring but it’s so hard to stop. “Were we going to talk about something?”

I shake my head to get myself to focus without much luck, “Yes, please take a seat right there, or would you prefer the couch?” The living room sounds better to me, our shoulders pressed together as we look over the rules together, as distracting as it would be I wouldn’t mind.

“Right here is fine.”

Of course. She hops up on to the stool on the other side of the island, keeping three feet of marble in between us. I could throw this island to the side so I can touch her again but walking around seems like the less dramatic option, I go with that. With my papers in hand, I step around and stand at her side to show her what I wrote out.

“What are these?”

“A few rules I’ve thought of, things I thought you might like, and a extra page for things you want.”

She attempts to take them but I only hand her the blank sheet and a pen, “Things that I want?”

“Yea, some snacks, things to distract you, anything like that. I have these next few days off but after that I will be out and about a lot so I want to make sure you can stay busy. First, lets take a look at these rules, these are just the ones I could think of on short notice, more will come as time goes on. Number one, as you know, is no cursing or talking back. I like your sharp tongue but there is a difference between fun teasing and attitude, there will be none of that. Number two, you are not allowed to leave without permission. Three, no excessive amounts of sugar and absolutely no caffeine. Four, no sharp objects or cooking. I will leave meals in the fridge for you that you can microwave or I will be here to feed you. Five, TV time is limited to an hour per day unless I say otherwise. Do you have any questions?”

Natasha stares up at me, blinks, looks down at the counter before dropping her head to the slab of stone.

As concerned as I am, I need to keep a firm response, “Do you understand?”

She takes a deep breath before looking up at me, “Yes, I do understand.”

“Good! Now I have a few questions for you!”

“Okay.”

“How about you tell me about yourself first? Likes, dislikes, favorite hobbies?”

She scoffs, “I was high on the street, I loved shooting up and passing out or loosing my mind for a few days year after year. I hated when someone would try some stuff while I was so out of it I couldn’t walk straight. That’s how I learned to not trust sober dealers. The sober guys are the ones you need to worry about. And for hobbies, I mostly scavenged for neat things and places to sleep.”

I purse my lips and do my best keep myself under control, she didn’t curse which is impressive, but she is still able to keep that sass that I adore. “So we will find some new hobbies!”

“I guess we will have to.”

And for the first time I hear the most amazing thing, she chuckles. It’s a forced and void of almost all genuine humor, but her lips stretch into a smile, showing her teeth and brightening my whole world. We stare at each other, chuckling at nothing in particular. Her fingers run though her curls as a yawn escapes her.

“I got a head of myself didn’t I? You were supposed to get a nap before this. Whatever his name is won’t be back with lunch for a little while longer. Go rest for a bit.”

“Where?”

“On the couch or bed, whatever you prefer.”

“Okay.” She stands and looks between the two unsure. With her face no longer distracting me I get my bearings and remember what I’m supposed to do. Fucking prick. It must have been a fluke, there is no way she was talking about me, right? Talking about me or not she broke a rule. But I hadn’t officially laid the rules out for her. Though I had told her before I brought her home, she should have known better. I need to make my decision now, once she falls asleep and I see her peaceful face again I won’t be able to bring myself to do it.

“Natasha.”

She turns to look at me, eyes wide with suspicion.

“Come here.”

She does, hands clenched at her side and jaw right, she still listen.

“May I see your hand?”

“What for?”

I raise my brows at her, “Your hand.”

Her small hand is weakly thrusted out in front of her into my own stretched out hand. I remove my gloves and take her hand in both of mine, feeling her rough palm against my softer ones. I memorize each line and bump, noting on her ring finger there are four lines instead of just three. With a gentle amount of force, gentle for me at least, I take that unique little finger and snap it. The digit is bending backwards at almost a 90 degree angle. I’m sure the sight of the mangled finger registers before the pain.

She screams of course but I’m not done. I use one hand to hold her wrist still while my other snaps another, her pinky finger. The poor thing is wiggling helplessly in my grasp but I can’t just let her go without setting them. Her free hand is wailing on my arm but it feels like nothing more than gentle taps, her crying is breaking my heart but there needs to be punishments for when she breaks the rules. I take each finger again, standing each one up right, before reaching into the other bag I have on the counter for two finger splits the intern got for me.

“Let me go!” She screams as she tugs away from me, fighting with all of her little might.

With the sternest voice I can manage with her I snap back, “If you fight me on this I’m going to break your whole hand.”

That gets her to stop, “Why are you doing this?”

“Fucking prick,” I respond as I begin working on her fingers. I slip the foam lined split over her ring finger first, then a smaller one for her pinky, “I’m not going to ask who you were referring to cause it would just upset me. You are not allowed to curse. Ever. No mumbling them under your breath or cursing when you think I’m not around. I can hear everything. I can see everything. Always keep that in mind, do you understand?” I wrap medical tape around each split to keep it on before pushing that stuff aside to really look at her.

“I thought you wanted to take care of me,” She mumbles out between sobs, cradling her damaged hand to her chest.

“I am. I am setting boundaries for you and punishing you when appropriate. I won’t be as gentle on you next time.”

My girl scoffs, “This is you being gentle?”

I never expected her to be so ungrateful! I chuckle, “You do realize what I could do. I could break every single bone in your body, one at a time. And if you don’t listen like the good girl I know you can be, that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.” My voice raises higher than I mean to and her heart is beating like crazy in her chest, she’s scared, good. “You aren’t afraid to die so I can’t use that to keep you in line but you are afraid to get hurt so that’s my only option.”

“You could let me go and find someone who will listen!” She snarls back with a surprising amount of strength.

“I don’t want anyone else! I only want you! You just need to listen! I’m not asking for much, just listen and let me take care of you. That’s all I want!” Why doesn’t she understand that? All I want is to give her all of my love and attention but she doesn’t get it! I will just have to try harder, give her more love and attention than she will be able to handle! “Give me your hand again.”

She just glares.

“I won’t break anything else as long as you listen.” With that she gives me her injured hand again, “I don’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t hurt you without a reason.” I hold those two fingers to my lips and gently kiss the pain away. “So can you just be good for me?”

“Or you could just get a dog.”

My grip tightens on her hand, not enough to break anything else but enough to hurt, “You are the only thing I want sweet girl. Now are you going to listen or do I need to break another finger?”

Her cheeks puff out, their pink hue slowly fading and her tear streaks are drying, “I’ll listen.”

“That’s my good girl,” I pull her close, releasing her hand to cup her face with both hands. Her arms curl around herself in a attempt to protect herself from whatever she thinks I’m going to do. I stare down at her for a long moment before leading in and placing my lips of her forehead, taking a extra second to breath in her clean scent and to memorize the feeling of my lips against her skin.

“Can I go lay down?” She mumbles softly. I pull away with a sigh, fresh tears are streaming down her face, breaking my heart in two.

I brush some hair out of her face, “Of course sweet girl.” I take her good hand and lead her back towards the bedroom, feeling her hesitation but a gentle tug gets her going along. With little effort I pick her small frame up in one arm as I use the other to pull back the covers before tucking her gently underneath the heavy blanket. She curls up on her side, facing away from where I sit on the edge of the bed, I stand and walk to the other side. She turns away from me again. I don’t say anything, she’s mad about her first punishment in probably a long time, I should give her some space for a little while. So I walk away, I turn off the lights in the bathroom and the kitchen, and the living room until the room is just lit by the sun from outside. I walk back across the room to her, sure that those few minutes should be enough time for her to cool down but she’s still just laying there with her eyes open.

I take off my boots and remove my cape so I can lay down on the other side of the bed. She’s facing the opposite direction so I just reach out a hand and being to gently rub her back in hopes of it soothing her racing heart. Instead she chokes out a whimper. The poor thing curls into a tight ball and begins to cry.

“What’s wrong my girl?” I hum, scooting closer to her.

“I’m fine,” Natasha lies as she scoots farther away from me.

I grab her arm and pull her back, forcing her to lay flat on her back. Her arm comes up and covers her eyes but I see the deep frown on her face. I don’t like that at all. She’s crying. I take her arm away, holding both of her wrists in on hand while the other caresses her cheek. Her eyes are closed tight.

I don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be good, please don’t do this to me. I won’t swear, I won’t be bad, please, please, don’t do this to me!”

“Do what? I don’t know what you are talking about, stop crying and speak clearly please,” I coo to her as softly as I can.

She huffs and heaves as she tries to catch her breath, “I don’t want to do anything with you.”

I don’t know what I should be more offended by: that she doesn’t want to have sex with me or that she thinks I’m going to rape her.

Against her obvious wishes I pull her into my arms and hold her in a tight embrace, “I’m not going to force myself on you. As much as I want you I am not going to do that to you.”

“Then why did you crawl in bed with me?” Her breathing becomes more normal.

“You looked like you needed some help falling asleep, I figured me rubbing your back would help.” I adjust us so I am lying on my back with her head is resting on my chest, one arm holding her to me, the other is drawing small circles on her back. “There, now get some rest, okay?”

She sniffles, “You aren’t going to try anything?”

“I promise.”

“How can I believe that?”

“I won’t ever lie to you Natasha,” Something pops into my head as the words come out of my mouth, something I am so stupid to not have mentioned earlier. “Rule number seven, you can never ever lie to me. The other rules I can forgive in seconds but lying, I don’t want you to ever see me that angry, understand?”

“Yes.”

I place another kiss on the top of her head, “Good girl.”

……..

We are there for two hours before someone came knocking a ruined the moment. She was finally asleep, curled up so nicely in my arms and her face, even slightly tear stained, looked so peaceful. I didn’t sleep at all, I took these quiet minutes to run my fingers over every inch of her face, tracing her lips, her eyes, the line of her nose. I was concerned at first, my obsession with this girl, my girl, has come out of nowhere and grown into a monster even faster but I have come to the realization this is the best out come that could have happened. It’s much better than my mommy obsession on that witch. This time I am in control. I will no longer be bending over backwards for someone who will never love me. Natasha will love me, maybe not right away but have no doubt she will love me, depend on me, be happy with just me.

There’s the knock again.

Natasha stirs, pulling away to sit up and get her bearings, “Who is that?”

“It’s what’s-his-name, he has your lunch, or I guess almost dinner. He took longer than he was supposed to. You can stay here, I’m going to go talk to him.” I begrudgingly climb out of my bed and walk across the apartment to open one of the doors. The intern is there, a tall scraggly boy in a ill fitting suit and thick lensed glasses, “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry Sir, I just had to explain to my supervisor where I was going,” He apologizes in a weak voice.

“It’s fine, I have another list for you. If anyone asks what you are doing just tell them The Homelander sent you on a few errands and if they have a problem with it they can talk to me, okay?”

He nods.

I take the bags he offers, gives him my next list of demands and slam the door in his face. Natasha is sitting up in bed, still dazed from her nap, sweet thing. “Are you hungry?”

She nods but doesn’t move towards me.

Her hesitation to come anywhere near me is obvious, I’m sure it’s because of the broken fingers but we can get over that. I wave her over, “Time to eat sweet girl, I’m sure you are starving.” With that she climbs out of bed and shuffles over to me. I once again have her on a stool at the counter, I place the bowl of soup in front of her with a small amount of French bread and a sprite. She stares at it, then looks to me unsure. “You can eat!”

So she does. She pecks at her food like a bird, taking small bites of her bread and sips her broth even slower. Sitting on the stool a foot away, I watch her munch away at her dinner, there is nothing else I could be doing right now, everything about her just mesmerizes me.

She must have noticed this awhile ago, “Are you ever going to be done staring?”

I shrug, “It’s only our first day together, I haven’t been able to watch you for long.”

“If you continue to do it, you’ll grow bored of it.”

“I don’t think that day will come anytime soon. You are welcome to stare back but I’ve been told I’m a master at staring contests.”

She scoffs but says nothing, just continues munching.

“What?” I find myself smiling as her face scrunches up in failed attempts to keep her mouth shut. “As I said, you can keep the snark, just keep it clean and respectful.”

She turns to me, our knees brushing under the over hanging counter, “Have you ever wondered that you only win because people are afraid to keep eye contact with you for more than 30 seconds because you might burn out their eyes?”

“That’s a fair point!” I’m grinning ear to ear. “Are you brave enough try it against me?”

“Are you going to break another one of my fingers or melt my eyes if I win?”

“Of course not, I like your eyes far too much to do such a thing!”

She raises her brows and holds up her injured hand, “And my fingers?”

“Will remains as they are as long as you are a good girl.”

“Fine,” She agrees, “But if I win, I want something.”

Anything, I respond in my mind, anything to keep you talking to me this playfully forever. “What?”

“Something to take this pain away,” Natasha waves her hand in my face.

“The pain is supposed to be a reminder that you disobeyed me. Taking away the pain would completely defeat the purpose of me doing it. Plus I don’t need you relapsing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Nothing strong or permanent. Just some Advil to get me through today. This day has been traumatic enough without a constant ache in my hand. Please?”

Oh my god she said the magic word, I should say yes. “How in the world has today been traumatic?”

“Do I need to go through the whole list?”

I nod, just wanting to hear her keep talking.

“First, you butchered a cartel down from where I lived. You threatened to murder me, flew off and called the cops. Then you come back all smiley and kidnapped me. Forced me to take a bath in front of you, broke two of my fingers and…” She trails off as she reaches the present.

“And now I have you all clean, dressed in fresh clothes and I am feeding you chicken noodle soup. I really am a monster, aren’t I?” Her words don’t hurt, I know I put her through a lot today but we just need to get pass these first few days and figure out our rhythm, once we do that, life will be smooth sailing. She just needed to learn how to appreciate what I do for her and learn how to love me.

I’m sure we will figure it out in no time.

“Fine,” I agree, “But if I win I want something too.”

“What?”

“A kiss,” Before she can whine about such a prize I tap my cheek, “Right here.”

“Just a kiss on the cheek.”

Just a kiss on the cheek. That wouldn’t be just anything. It would be the first sign of affection between us that she does herself, it would be a moment of pure bliss.

“Yes.”

She sighs as she thinks it over, rolling the idea around in her mind as she tips her head from side to side, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. “Okay.”

“Every morning,” The perfect start to the day.

“Wait, what?”

“And every night,” The perfect end to the day.

She gives me a cute glare, “Only once.”

I pout in return, “But I want one everyday.”

“Fine, but then I want medicine everyday until my hand heals.”

I roll the idea of saying no around in my head, “Okay deal.”

Her eyes light up, she slams her spoon down as she shifts in her seat to look at me fully, “Deal.”

“Are we starting now?”

“Figured we might as well.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment, I should probably take a moment to prepare myself for one of the most valuable challenge of my life, but I’m already starting without her. “Ready, set, go!” Those golden green eyes are wide open, only a foot and a half away from me, her mouth is set in a firm line, she wants to win this. Part of me wants to let her, she would looks so happy I’m sure, maybe even do a little happy dance after her victory. But that kiss is dangling in front of me and I don’t think I can turn it down.

Our eyes are locked. Hers’ are obviously stressed from her dramatic start, eyelids slowly twitching, itching to meet in the middle to the eye a millisecond of rest. My girl doesn’t give in, it’s just unfortunate for her that my stare seems to make people uncomfortable. Even with my eyes on hers’ I see the way she twitches, how she shifts in her chair as if that can fix the hole my stare is burning into her. I’ve been staring at her for hours now, I don’t think she realized what this would do to me, her eyes scan over me with terribly hidden approval of my looks gives me more pleasure than it should.

She is too precious.

She blinks.

I grin, “I win.”

Natasha groans as she throws herself to the floor in cute attempt at a tantrum. “Oh my god, just kill me.”

“I could never!” I gasp, she looks up at me unimpressed. “I would like my prize now.”

“Best two out of three!”

I hum as I roll the idea back and forth in my mind, “We can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She pouts.

“Yes. You’ll get another chance to win some medicine and I’ll have the chance to win my two kisses a day.”

“Fine.”

My cheeks begin hurting from smiling so much in one day, “Perfect. Now finish your food. I’ll give you the grand tour and we can talk a bit more.”

“Am I allowed to ask you questions?” Natasha wonders after she takes another small bite of her bread.

“Of course.”

“Can I ask about the woman before me?”

I chuckle, “You don’t hold back, do you? Going right for the big question in your head.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Not a no, just not right now. Once we get to know each other a bit more, you can ask again.”

“Okay, can I ask to leave?”

“Of course!” Her brows go up, “I’m going to say no every single time but you can ask!” She deflates, pouring into her soup. “How about I ask some more questions?”

“Sure.”

#the boys #the homelander #the homelander x reader #hughie campbell #the others will come eventually #possesive behavior

[trashcanband4]

Therapy Sessions Ch. 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: NeganxOc. Setting: The Sanctuary. Warnings: None other than Negan being OOC. Summary: Negan begins attempting to get to know the OC (Kelly.).

The next day she woke up to an empty bed and a note left on the dining table. As she picked it up she read aloud, “You are to stay here until I return. Make yourself at home but touch my stash of food and you will be sorry.” She scoffed and tossed the note back on the table.

“Right, so what am I supposed to do here all day?” As she looked around the room she spotted a few books, a small stereo and some CD’s on a shelf sitting to the right of the door, but none of them peaked her interest. Finally she popped a cd into the stereo and started working out.

She had just finished doing cool down stretches when Negan walked in. Lucille propped up on his shoulder. “Good morning.” Negan told her seeing that she wasn’t still in bed like he expected she’d be given the events of the previous night and how late they went to sleep. If he had the chance to sleep in he’d definitely take it, but he had a community to run.

“Mornin’.” She answered as she sat down on the foot of the bed, leaving the dining chairs at the table for Negan. He walked into the room and leaned the sparkling clean Lucille against the bookshelf by the door then sat down in the dining chair crossing his legs at the knees.

“So what’s in store for me today?” she asked bringing her socked feet up onto the bed to sit cross-legged.

“You and I have the rest of the day together and I intend on spending every second of it picking at your dead little soul.” He replied as he sat down in the armchair.

“Why?” she asked, emotionlessly, as usual.

“Because what’s dead doesn’t stay dead these days.” He replied with a cocky smile.

“You think you can bring me back to life?” she asked, her voice turning hard as she crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to tell him that the walls she had built up, walls constructed from the fallen bodies of her loved ones, were impossible to tear down. However she kept her mouth shut, because telling him that would be letting him in and that wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m going to try.” He answered finding it ironic that while he was going to attempt to fix her, Daryl was being held in a tiny room in which Negan intended on breaking the man.

“Good luck with that.” She shrugged and dropped her arms from across her chest.

“Tell me about who you were before the world got flushed down the shitter.” He told her as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees.

“And if I don’t want to?” she asked flatly.

“Then I’ll ask you to tell me what you did for a living.” He countered.

“And if I say that I don’t want to answer that question either?” she asked already getting tired of him and his pointless questions.

“Then I’ll tell you that I am being very generous keeping you in here with me. I could easily put you in the room next to Daryl’s where you can listen to him screaming and crying as fucking Easy Street play’s on loop and you will be fed the same shitty as fuck dog food sandwiches as him.” He told her as his face turned cold and his eyes glaring.

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest again. “Fine, before the dead came back to eat the living, I was a wife and mother. I was chasing two kids around a three bedroom house, changing diapers and getting baby food thrown in my face. My husband worked two jobs to make ends meet. Things were hard, but I wouldn’t and couldn’t have asked for a better family.”

“Do you have children back at Alexandria?” he asked and she simply shook her head no. “What happened to them?”

“Near the beginning my youngest was taken from me by a virus that spread through our community like wildfire. We didn’t have the resources to handle it. The poor baby didn’t stand a chance. He’d always had a weak immune system. He was three.” She answered not looking at Negan, but at her hands in her lap as she picked at her cuticles. “My oldest, was taken from me by some ass holes that called themselves the wolves. I was helping stock the pantry and my husband was out on a supply run when they attacked. She was home alone. The wolves slit her throat.” She glanced up at Negan then back down to her hands. “She was nine.”

“So is that when you started shutting down?” he asked quietly.

“No, I felt every single bit of that shit.” She answered honestly.

“You mentioned a husband. He dead now?” Negan pressed.

“After we lost our son things between us became…strained. We only stayed together because of our daughter. So when we lost her-” she cut herself off not wanting to elaborate too much. “Let’s just say things got really, really ugly. He eventually left the community. I don’t know where he went and I don’t care to.” The whole time she answered his questions her voice stayed the same, flat, uncaring tone as usual.

“Damn… that all sucks.” he sighed and rubbed at his chin.

“The world sucks now.” She shrugged one shoulder.

“You’re not wrong about that.” He replied as he leaned back in the chair again and brought his booted foot up to rest on his knee.“Let’s lighten things up a bit.” He said and Kelly stopped picking at her cuticles. “Coffee or tea?”

“French Vanilla chai tea.” She answered quickly.

“I’m a black coffee guy myself. What TV shows were you into before?” he told her information about himself even though she didn’t ask.

“The Big Bang Theory, South Park and as embarrassing as it is to admit, The Bold and The Beautiful.” She answered.

“The Bold and The Beautiful was that shitty soap opera right?” he asked and she nodded. “I wasn’t much into tv myself. Did you have a celebrity crush?” He picked up a baseball that was on the floor next to the dining chair and started tossing it in the air and catching it.

“It was always a tie between Channing Tatum and Jensen Ackels.” She answered and for the first time Negan heard what he thought was a smile in her voice.

“Seriously, Jensen Ackles?” he asked as he stopped tossing the ball and cocked a brow at her.

“Hey, dude was hot as hell.” She argued with a small smile that was no where near reaching her eyes, but it was a start. “Just saying.”

“You know Lucille used to tell me that Jensen reminded her of me what I was younger.” He commented quirking Kelly’s interest for the first time.

“You’re bat talks to you?” she asked and he knew she meant it sarcastically but the tone wasn’t there.

“Lucille was my wife. My real wife… before all of this.” He explained and Kelly just made an “Ah” face. “Dog or Cat?” he asked going back to this or that questions.

“Dog, you?” she asked figuring that if he was going to get to know her and keep her in his room for the foreseeable future, she should start getting to know him too.

“Dog. Cats are too fuckin’ moody.” He replied. “Toast or eggs?”

“Eggs.” She answered then motioned for him to answer. He smirked a little, thinking it a good thing that she wanted him to answer his questions too.

“Toast.” Negan answered than asked, “Cardio or Weights?”

“Cardio. Stamina matters these days.” She answered.

“Weights.” He smirked again.

“Cake or pie?”

“Neither. I don’t do sweets.” She answered.

“What’s the matter with you? Sweets are what make life worth living.” He asked dramatically with a shake of his head.

“I’ve never had a sweet tooth. Even as I kid I didn’t eat a lot of candy.” She said with a shrug.

“So what did you do on your birthday, stick candles in a pot roast?” he asked and she cracked the smallest of smiles.

“I had a cake, I just didn’t eat it.” she answered as she dropped her feet to hang off of the side of the bed, not quite touching the floor. “What about you, cake or pie?”

“Classic apple pie with the sugared lattice on top.” He answered. “So you don’t eat sweets at all, none, ever?” he asked stuck on the sweets thing.

She sighed and tilted her head back, people always had this reaction when she told them that she never ate chewy or hard candies or cake or cookies. “I will eat mint chocolate chip ice cream every other blue moon, but that’s it.”

“Mint chocolate chip? Out of all the awesome ice cream flavors you chose the most disgusting one.”

Kelly just rolled her eyes at him. “Okay so out of all the awesome ice cream flavors what’s your favorite Mr. Judgmental?” she asked sarcastically.

“Butter pecan all the way baby.” He answered with a shit eating grin that showed off his dimples and perfect teeth.

“Now that’s disgusting.” She said with a point at him. “Bath or shower?” she flipped things around and asked him a question. He didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in the conversation.

“Shower.” He answered.

“Same, I never understood how someone could soak in a soup of their own filth.” She added and he smiled at her, thinking the same thing. “Hamburger or taco?”

“Hamburger.” He answered without missing a beat.

“Yeah you look like a hamburger guy.” She said giving him an appraising gaze.

“Let me guess, tacos?” he asked and she nodded. “Most important quality in a partner, Intelligence or sense of humor?”

“Why can’t I have both?” she asked and he shook his head at her. “Fine, sense of humor.”

“Intelligence.” He answered “Cups in the cupboard right side up or up side down?”

“Up side down. It’s more stable and causes fewer chips.” She answered. “Toilet paper on the dispenser facing up or down?”

“Down, what kind of psycho puts it on facing up?” he asked with a smile.

“My ex-husband. It drove me absolutely batty. That and leaving his socks right next to the laundry basket instead of in it.” She said getting more rapped up in the conversation than she had meant to.

“Well, as you can see I’m a pretty tidy guy so we should get along just fine.” His statement brought her back down to earth, remembering that she was once again going to be sharing a bed with this man. A man she hardly knew anything about. Noticing her sudden silence and her eyes that stared down at the floor he stood up from the chair and moved to sit next to her, a few inches of space between them. “What are you thinkin’ about, Dead Girl?” he asked as he bumped his shoulder against hers as if they had been friends for years.

“I…am… thinking about how I don’t think you’re going to be able to…fix, me. I know I’m fucked up. I watched you turn two men’s head into tomato soup and yet I still have no problem sharing a bed with you. A normal person, someone in their right mind, wouldn’t have willingly climbed into your truck, slept in your bed, or be sitting here with you like you couldn’t be the literal death of me.” She finally looked across her shoulder at his bright hazels looking at her as he listening closely. “If you can’t fix me will you at least make my death quick and painless?”

“I’m not going to kill you, darlin’. I refuse to except that you are un-repairable.” He replied.

She sighed and fell backwards onto the bed. “I hate this, you making me remember my past, trying to get into my head…”

“Well,” he started as he turned around and threw one of his legs over hers, straddling her, “there could be perks for both of us.”

She bit her lip as she placed her hands on his chest then slid them up to rest on each side of his neck, making him smirk cockily. “You can get into my head, or you can get into my pants. You can’t have both.” She patted him on the shoulder then slid down off of the bed, her nose brushing the crotch of his pants as she did. “Sorry Charlie.” She said as she stood up then turned to face him.

“Okay, then I’ll ask you some more questions.” He said as she moved around to sit in the middle of the bed.

“God, you’re borning.” She groaned then sat down in the dining chair to answer more pointless, boring questions.

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#neganxreader #neganxoc #Negan x oc #negan x reader #negan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead negan #twd fanfiction #twd negan #Twd negan fanfiction #twd oc fanfiction #the walking dead negan fanfiction #Neganxoc slow burn #negan x oc slow burn #negan slowburn #neganxoc slowburn #neganxreader slowburn #twd negan slowburn #negan fan #negan fic #negan fanfiction

[laughing-with-god]

Pandemonium X

Words: 3.2k

“We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.” ~ Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita.

You have always upheld yourself to a certain code of ethics.  

Never have you considered lying to those closest to you.  

However, justice was not something that can easily be weighed out by a simple Libra scale.  Should you risk telling the truth at the major risk (not even a risk really, when you know for certain that it will happen) that utter mayhem will occur in response?  Or do you keep a secret in hopes of trading off your friends’ comfort for the trade of your -now- guilty conscious?

Should you tell her about Jungkook?

But, as you thought harder about it, you realised YOU didn’t even know what you would tell Kat.  Even if you admitted to some sort of relationship with Jungkook, what would she say if she ever caught you with the other brothers?  And if you became official in the eyes of Kat, would the whole school also have to know that you’ve entered a relationship with him? Not to mention, you were certain that the issue between Kat and Jimin was far from ever being water under the bridge.  You cringed as an image of those two meeting once again popped inside your mind’s eye. No. Just….no.

Many people have lived double lives before, why can’t you be one of them?  Besides, this was a temporary solution to the conundrum that was your student debt.  You just needed your tuition to be paid off and then you’d drop all seven of them in a blink of an eye.  And with seven grand a week, you’d be a lot closer to the departure than most other sugar babies could dream of.  

You sighed and set your phone aside.

“Who is it?”  Jungkook asked while shuffling your body a bit closer to his.  You took a deep breath and put on a facade of an unbothered persona.  If lying husbands who had affairs for years on end with illegitimate children can lie to their wives, why can’t you give it a go?

His lithe form felt hard against your much softer one as his muscular arms pulled you closer, as if you weighed nothing.  

“Nothing.”  You answered.  Jungkook ‘tssk-ed’ and pushed his face closer to yours, eyes wide and peering intensely at you with disbelief, face innocently prodding at you for answers.  You rolled your eyes at this attempted puppy face. “No one of importance, anyway. Just my roommate asking about some humus in the fridge and if it expired.”  You shrugged.

Jungkook just giggled at this utterly boring detail and got a dreamy look on his face.  “I wonder what it’s like to be roomates with you.” His musical tone purred.

“Not that great.”  You admitted, “I have constant meltdowns and she’s always on my ass for my habits.”

“Like what?”  Jungkook asked with his interest peaked.  

“I’m just messy, and I play my music too loud and I sleep in too much and I forget to lock the door and silly shit like that.”  You listed off.

“What a god awful roommate to be.”  Kook chuckled. “I should offer your roommate a deal and pay her to kick you out so you can live with me.”  

You laughed.  

“I feel like I couldn’t put up with your habits, my sweet little boy of a man.”  You cackled, picturing it so vividly in your head. Said manchild raised a brow in signal for you to clarify.  “You probably use axe spray as febreeze or use paper towels as toilet paper when you run out.”

Jungkook rolled those big brown eyes before grumbling. “I’m not that hopeless.”  

“Yeah, you probably just pay a poor little old maid to do all your bidding.”  How could you forget that this dork of a man was the heir to a wealthy business chain and probably had a whole staff waiting on him hand and foot since before he was able to even crawl?

“I have you know, that Maria is more than just a maid to me.  She’s like a mother,” Jungkook snobbishly defended. You snorted.  

“Puh-lease.  What’s her birthday?”  You interrogated.

“........why does it matter?”  Jungkook gave up at the revelation of his lack of knowledge towards the beloved ‘Maria’.  

You snickered at the poor rich kid before opening your mouth to rebuttal, however before you got the chance to say anything, you were interrupted by the waitress dumping a large amount of breakfast food onto your table.  

You pulled away from Jungkook (as much as he would allow) in order to stuff your face. And with that your brunch was continued in a comfortable silence, his toned arm never letting you pull too far away from him.  

--

Much to his dismay, Jungkook had to drop you off.  

He had wanted so badly to continue the day with you, but you had protested as you had many things to do.  

Even now, he was pouting like a child denied candy as he pulled into your dorm parking lot.  The overly expensive car groaned to a stop and thus began the awkward goodbyes.

All was silent in the vehicle as you clicked off your seatbelt.  

Jungkook was stoic in his stubborn act of silence and glaring through the windshield, all the while still pouting.  

“You act like I’m never going to see you again.”  You chuckled before leaning over the passenger seat to violate his personal space, hovering an inch by his face.  Ever so childish, the manchild refused to turn to even face you. “Baby, I’m not off to war.”

“You still could’ve hung out with me for a few more hours .”  He whined, the sound weirdly intimate to your ears and a noise that you doubt you’ve heard the last of.  

You plopped an overly loud kiss on his cheek, before leaning back and opening your door to exit.  “Still more than what your brothers got.”

You stepped out and straightened up before leaning down the opened door to say one last thing to the now attentive fuckboy.   

“By the way, let’s keep what happened last night to ourselves.  We both know your brothers will go batshit if they find out.” You winked cheekily as Jungkook stuttered, right before you slammed the door shut.  

--

“If you tell me that you didn’t get dicked down last night, I want you to turn around and exit right away.”  

These were the words that welcomed you as you stepped into your cozy and under-sized dorm.  You laughed and pulled your shoes off before joining your gloomy roommate on the sofa.

Kat shoveled in some more soggy cheerios into her mouth while glaring at you with those icy blue eyes.  

“Last night was a blur Kat.  But I swear nothing happened.”  You attempted to brush it off as you leaned back into the lumpily-cushioned couch.

“Bitch!  I call foul!  I see a picture of you kissing one of the many fuckboys at our school, you don’t return at all last night and you come in early afternoon wearing a hoodie that I know for damn sure that you don’t own.”  You laughed at how fucked you were. There was no way that you could get anything past the observant eye of Kat. But to your credit; it wasn’t like your cover-ups were that elaborate. You were still in Jungkook’s hoodie for god’s sake and you still haven’t offered an explanation to the picture that Kat saw.  It didn’t take much detective work on your roommate’s part.

“Okay fine, I had a few drinks and kissed him.  Then I went to his house and we just watched a movie and fell asleep.  I swear nothing happened and I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“Feel free to walk right out that door.  You seriously didn’t take up the opportunity to get some dick?!”  Kat was flabbergasted and you just laughed at her half offended and humored expression.  

“Kat, I would pull out my eyes before I let a fuckboy inside this tight ass pussy.  Shit is reserved for worthy candidates, okay?” It was Kat’s turn to laugh boisterously and you mentally patted yourself on the back for averting the questioning with humor.  You were a pro at it. “Listen, I’m going to jump in the shower real quick and try to wash off any axe spray lingering on me. Afterwards lets watch a movie or something, sound good?”  

Kat just nodded and slurped up the last of the milk in her bowl while you retreated to the bathroom to wash up.  

Before you can even strip or start the water, your phone rang with an onslaught of numerous notifications all at once.  You flipped your phone over from its’ place on the bathroom counter to see whom was harassing you. It was the group chat.  The hoes didn’t forget about their pimp.

‘......what were you doing last night, (Y/n)?’  Taehyung.

‘What’s with the creepy questions, Tae?’ Hoseok.  

‘...oh….you know…..just wondering’ Taehyung.  

‘(Y/n), did you still want to have brunch?’ Jimin.

‘It would be more of a lunch now.’  Jin.

‘I didn’t want to annoy her since she could’ve been sleeping, so I figured I’d wait till she woke up and texted to the chat.  You know….LIKE A GENTLEMAN.’ Jimin

‘And what is it that you’re doing now, exactly?’  Yoongi

‘This chat is a pain in my ass.’ Namjoon.

You giggled while reading the brothers interaction with each other.  It was humorous when you could observe it from behind the safety of your screen, immaginging Yoongi’s sarcastic voice or Namjoon’s montone and brooding voice.  

‘I second that notion, Namjoon.’  You sent.

‘Baby!  You’re up!  Let me take you out, okay?’Jimin.

‘Yeah….about that….I kinda forgot about brunch all together and already ate….?’  You feebly lied.

‘....Oh really?’  Taehyung asked.

A sinking feeling came to you.  Why is it that Taehyung could bring the most absurd reactions to you without even being there in person?  You could even picture his stupid grin. From behind a 

phone screen you still got the feeling that he knew something that you did not.  And with that stunt he pulled earlier with your mother, you learned real quick not to underestimate the fucker.  

‘Yuppers.’  You blandly answered.  

What came next to the group chat was a picture sent from Taehyung.  

It was a screenshot from someone’s snapchat story.  It was slightly blurry and you clicked on it to enlargen the image to observe it closer.  

It was of you and Jungkook, kissing behind the house where the party took place and it had the caption of ‘Lmao Kookie getting some!’  

You were fucked.  

Your phone buzzed more and more with what you were certain would be enraged texts from the others.  

‘I swear to god, I’ll kill you Jungkook.’  Yoongi.

‘Why wouldn’t you tell us that she was at a college party?!’ Jin.

‘Baby!  You shouldn’t be at parties like that!  Something bad could happen to a young thing like you!”  Jimin.

“Yeah, something like Jungkook’s fukboy tendencies….’ Yoongi.  

“Hey!  I’m not a fuckboy!”  Jungkook.

‘Lmao, (Y/n) you’re not the first innocent girl to get tongue harassed by Jungkook.  I’m SO sorry you had to experience that.’ Jin.

‘I heard his technique was sloppy.’  Taehyung.

‘Fuck you all in the ass.  For the record, (Y/n) kissed me!  And spent the night at my place AND we got brunch this morning.  Suck on that, I win.’ Jungkook.

Your jaw dropped in horror.  

Didn’t you tell him not to inform his brothers?!  He might as well have said, ‘fuck you, i’m the shit, (Y/n).’  

You were regretting the whole night with Jungkook.  You should’ve known that the testosterone would’ve gotten to his pea-sized brain.  All men really were useless.

‘Why tf would u kiss a boy when you could have a man?’ Namjoon.

Revenge reared it’s ugly head as you thought of a way to get back at the manchild who so easily went against his word after just sheer moments of you telling him NOT to tell.  

‘Idk Namjoon.  Perhaps you can take me out for dinner tonight and show me how a REAL man acts?’

‘Wait is she serious?’ Taehyung.  

‘What is that supposed to mean, baby?  Am I not man enough for you? Did our night mean nothing to you?’  Jungkook.

‘It did UNTIL YOU BETRAYED ME!  Wtf! YOU UTTER STEROID HEAD ASS I TOLD YOU NOT TO TELL AND NOW ALL YOUR BROTHERS ARE GONNA BE ON OUR ASS!’

‘....Tae already found a picture tho?’  Jungkook.

‘DID HE FIND EVIDENCE THAT I SPENT THE NIGHT AT YOUR HOUSE AND HAD BRUNCH? NO!  ISTG YOU’D BE THE WORST PARTNER IN CRIME!’

‘......What time should I pick you up?’  Namjoon.

--

Intensity didn’t even begin to explain the aura that Namjoon gave off.  

Although you were a grown woman who never backed down from anyone, somehow Namjoon had the power to make you feel anxious.  A thing you rarely felt towards a person.

You had invited the older man in a burst of anger, a desire to irritate Jungkook and had thought little about what it would be like to even share a meal with the male.  But now that the time of his arrival was nearing, you just couldn’t help but have an internal panic attack at the doom of being one-one-one with him.

Brief your interacting with him may be, he never failed to leave a lasting impression.  He stood out from his brothers. Even that day when they were fighting in the conference room, he had stayed back and observed the chaos with those calculating eyes of his.  His deep baritone voice and his instant habit of calling you ‘Lolita’ when you first met. The nickname made you feel odd. Not in a bad nor a good way, just...odd. It was almost belittling you, like calling you a child.  As from the novel, the character was a child. But it was also a child whom the main character was obsessed with. Enchanted, even. Was it insulting or degrading? Or was it just a unorthodox way he showed fondness?

‘I’m outside.’  

You heart dropped and a tingling feeling dawned upon you.  

Reluctantly, you left your dorm and went to meet your own personal ‘Mr. Humbert’.  

It was rather easy to spot the Audi in the sea of crappy college student’s cars.

As you approached the car, you saw the tall and broad shouldered man get out from his side of the car.  He was dressed in a nice suit without the tie and the first three buttons of his top undone, honey skin peaking out from underneath.  His hair was still cold silver, but put together rather nicely, although a few strands were standing our freely in the front.

He smirked, one dimple making an appearance as he rounded to the other side of the luxury vehicle to open the passenger door for you.  

The smell of another fancy cologne hit your nostrils and the closer you got to him, the size difference between you two became more apparent.  You felt utterly small next to him. It wasn’t so much his size, as much as it was about his domineering vibe.

“Good evening, Nympet.”  His bottomless voice pierced your ears.  

“Listen, let’s keep this dinner short.  I may or may not have a presentation due that I haven’t even begun.”  You tried to play it off aloof, and even rude in a pathetic effort to not give him the upperhand in the power dynamic.  You just nodded at him and slipped into the car after telling him of your ‘presentation’.

“My nymphet is a brat.”  He muttered before shutting the door or giving you the chance to holler at him.

--

The restaurant was fancy and you never felt as inadequate as you did then; standing next to Namjoon in a cheap Forever 21 dress as your date of the night ordered the staff to take you two to the ‘private lounge’.  

Have you ever seen a 1920’s gangster movie?  

You know those scenes in those bars/restaurants where the booths are u-shaped and red while the lighting was dim and smoke from peoples cigars would fog up the room?

This was apparently the theme of this ‘private lounge’.  

It looked straight out of a scene from the Godfather or something.

Namjoon guided you to one of the booths, with you sitting on one side and him on the other.  

With a snap of his large fingers, Namjoon ordered the waiter to get you two the best red wine they had, his dark chocolate voice was commanding and you got the sense that even if the waiter wasn’t getting paid for this, he would still obey Namjoon’s orders.

And thus you were left alone as the waiter disappeared, leaving you in the lion’s den.  

His almond eyes were very dark and bored into yours, the intensity almost leaving you breathless.  You got the sense that he was analyzing you. You didn’t want to give him the impression that he was scaring you so you just stared right back with what bravery you could muster.  

His face was oval shaped and reminded you of those statues or carvings that you would see at museums.  His skin was olive-toned and he shared one thing in common with his brother Taehyung; they both had strong, Romanian features.    

“You know, I should punish you for attempting to lie to me.”  Namjoon purred, deep within his throat. The sound caused shivers but you quickly regained your composure and straightened up.  

“Punish?  Mr. Kim, I think we need to address your obvious control problem.”  You snarked.

“It’s natural for a guy like myself to want to control a girl like you.”  

You snorted, the noise completely breaking whatever ‘mafia-vibe’ the booth had going on.  

“What the fuck does that mean?”  

Namjoon leaned back in his seat and the waiter magically  materialized to pour wine into both of your guys’ glasses.  Namjoon licked his lip and waited for the nuisance to leave, before picking up his glass and snapping his eyes back up to meet yours.  

“Well, your obviously a submissive person.  And I’m a dominant person.” He stated very colorless, before taking a sip of his drink.

Insulted you screeched, “I’m not a submissive!  What are you on? Leave that weird BDSM stuff in the bedroom.”  

“But, my little nymphet….you know it’s true.”  His eyes bored so heavily into yours, making you unable to look away as the only thing that pierced your ears was the sound of his animalistic voice that unraveled your nerves,  “ Behind your humorous act of aggression and sheer defiance, I know that there’s a submissive side that’s just begging to be taken care of. No one puts up such a character unless they have such an opposite persona lingering unconsciously inside them.  Let me take care of you. Let me do it baby. You must be so tired of acting so headstrong all the time. With me, you’ll never have to do that again. I’ll be aggressive for you. I’ll take care of every little thing. Like a good dom does.” He paused to take another sip.  “I’m quite offended on your little BDSM comment, by the way. A sub and dom relationship is quite sacred actually. We thrive off each other. The trust you will put onto me is exhilarating and the care I will put onto you will be addicting. It’s a give and take.”

You gulped.

In no way was your time with Namjoon going to be like the time spent with Jungkook.  

 (Author’s Note; GANG GANG! IM SO SORRY IV’E BEEN DEAD FOR SO LONG WRITERS, BLOCK SUCKS.  Also thanks so much for 600 followers!  the gif choice is a bit weird but I’m a huge Clark Gable fan (Nam even reminds me a bit of him lmao) and its kinda the mood that the boys have to Y/n when Kook kissed her. Let me know what you think of this chapter and Nam’s philosophy on dom/sub dynamics.)

#pandemonium #yandere bts #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #min yoongi #yandere taehyung #yandere jimin #yandere jungkook #yandere yoongi #yandere namjoon #YANDERE JIN #yandere hoseok #bts jhope #jhope #btsv #loveatfirstsight #kpop #daddy jungkook #daddy jimin #daddy namjoon #daddy taehyung #daddy yoongi #daddy jin #daddy hoseok #love #yandere

[satoruvt]

bathroom talks

it’s uhh.. been a fat minute..

pairing → katsuki bakugou x reader

word count → 746

summary → going to a bathroom during a party to cry probably isn’t the best idea, considering anyone could come in at any second.

song inspo → 505 by arctic monkeys and some slow dancing in the dark by joji

The door shuts behind you with a flick of your wrist, and as it shuts your body collapses against it. Not here, you think. Not now.

Your legs tremble as you make your way to the mirror, hands leaning on the counter by the sink. You run some cold water, cupping your hands under the faucet to splash the water back up into your face. You dry your hands. Your body doesn’t feel like your body anymore. People bustling outside only add to your sudden panic, because you know they’re out there. Everyone’s watching, waiting, pitying you for what happened. Poor thing, they all think, even if they don’t say it. And it’s hell.

The bathroom floor is cold, but not uncomfortable. Your back is against the wall of the bathtub and before you even know it’s coming there are tears in your eyes and streaming down your face and all you can think is God, this keeps happening. You make no moves to stop crying, though, just sniffle as the music resumes playing from when it stopped. The light blurs. You feel like falling through the floor.

The chorus hits and it’s gotten louder. The baseline resonates through the walls, through your bones, only adding to the ache in your lungs. You can only think about how stupid they were, and then how stupid you were to keep thinking things were okay. A million times the thought had crossed your mind that they loved someone else, too, but you kept it to yourself. You were overthinking, just paranoid. Things were fine. Until they weren’t.

Someone bangs through the door, suddenly, and the breath is knocked from your body. A wild head of blonde hair is all you see for a moment, and then you meet the fury-filled red eyes of Katsuki Bakugou.

You hadn’t talked to him much. A few times, sure, arguing about who might be stronger or delegating battle plans (even with how stubborn the kid could be). Enough to know him some, not enough to call him a close friend.

He stares at you for a second, and you think he’s trying to determine what he wants to do. You wipe your eyes, quick and rough, trying to get rid of any gross eye boogers and salty tears while you can. “Oh,” you think you hear Bakugou say, and make a move to get up.

“Sorry, uh, I was just about to leave,” you murmur, standing up. You catch your reflection in the mirror and scoff, though there’s no humor to it. Face blotchy and red, eyes bloodshot. Awesome.

“No you weren’t,” Bakugou says defiantly, and you’re taken aback when he shuts the door. You thought maybe he’d just leave, but there he is, standing in front of you, eyes a little less angry than before but still carrying that fire they always do. You knew he wasn’t a bad person - a little rough around the edges for sure, some anger issues, but not bad. Never bad.

The music is louder. It’s reaching its peak, the last chorus, the synthesizer growing and bass pounding like a bad headache in your ears. It’s bittersweet.

Bakugou steps closer to you, hesitantly, and then pulls you into an abrupt hug. You’re not sure what it is, but suddenly you’re crying harder, clinging onto him like he’s someone you know. There’s something familiar yet distant that lies in the way he curls into you just as you do to him.

As the music is at it’s loudest, drums beating and voices screaming along, you take one last sniffle and step back from Bakugou. You can’t read the emotions on his face when you look at him, but he hands you some toilet paper and you dab at your face with it.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking beat your ass, Y/N,” he says as he rests his hand on the door handle. You chuckle, then nod when he just sits and glares at you.

He opens the door and you call after him before he’s gone completely, noting the lack of music for the time being. All you hear are people talking.

“Bakugou!”

He turns, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you,” you say, as softly as you can while still being heard. If he wants to say something, he doesn’t show it, and instead leaves you in the bathroom again with a slight nod and something a little extra in those always-angry eyes of his.

#hhi i cant tell u the amount of times #i've been at school #and i've accidentally made eye contact w andrew #and i've wanted to cry and throw up simultaneously #anyways #hope yall enjoy #its been a while #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #x reader #reader insert

[thismads]

1-102 thanks

1.) what’s a song you depict with your childhood? Best of both world - Hannah montana PLS 2.) did you have a memorable childhood pet? yes my angels may they rest in heaven3.) have you ever been drunk? nope, alcohol is useless and stupid4.) have you ever tried drugs?  nope, drugs are useless and stupid 5.) have you ever completely regretted what you’ve said? nope I rarely does, even when i’m angry i’m honest and people that tells that you don’t mean what you say when you’re angry you always do, it’s  just that you’re more honest when you’re angry6.) have you ever made someone cry? yes, I selena gomezed my old justin bieber :D 7.) has someone ever made you cry? yes8.) have you ever been in love? if so, describe the moment you knew it. yes, and I knew it when I couldn’t feel my cheek from smiling when he only said hi 9.) which came first the chicken or the egg? chicken, next :D 10.) are you part of the lgbtq+ community? do you support them? nope i’m not a part of it but yes I support them 298456543256543% they are superior i said what i said 11.) how many siblings do you have? 1, this little shithead i’d b nothing without :D12.) have you ever been in love with someone you couldn’t love? yes13.) are you a good cook? ask @lordbieber he would ask me to cook for him all the time haha but fr I tend to be a good cook tbh14.) what is your favorite tv show? Buffy The Vampire Slayer15.) what is the last movie you cried during? Sleepers16.) what are songs you’ve cried to when you first heard them? (if any) Anyone - Demi fucking goddess Lovato17.) do you have a middle name? Marie 18.) have you been out of your country? yes19.) are you a chocolate fan or not? DUH DOES A BLIND PERSON WANTS TO SEE20.) how many people have you kissed? a girl never reveal those ;) 21.) what is your favorite album? any P!nk’s old albums22.) what is your dream car? a porsche or Maserati23.) what is your lucky/favorite number? 624.) what is your favorite flower? roses and cherry blossoms25.) books or movies, why? books lmaoooo just because it’s superior, it comes from 26.) have you ever been on a blind date? yes thank you ophelie :D 27.) has one of your friends ever backstabbed you? DUH more than I could count28.) have you ever backstabbed one of your friends? never29.) what thing do you symbolize love with? hurting30.) do you have neat handwriting? nope 31.) do you have a friend with benefits? aaaaah lmao nope32.) do you want a friend with benefits? nope i’m too much of a helpless dumb and depressive romantic bitch :D 33.) if you could be anything in the world, what would you be? right now? toilet paper cause this shit’s gold these day LMAOOO jk but idk .. a star or a planet, as far away as possible form human kind34.) have you ever been blackout drunk? nope, hate alcohol, useless and stupid35.) have you ever met someone famous? Yes36.) how many concerts have you been to? 037.) which concerts have you been to? none38.) do you have a hidden talent? I exude dumb bitch energy for decades to come without anyone asking :D 39.) what do you do when you’re stressed? die lmao no but sleep or listening to music40.) do you think money can buy love? dunno i’ve always been a broke ass bitch :D 41.) how old would you date? up to 2 year older than me42.) have you ever done something illegal? yes43.) what is your biggest fear? spiders, horror movies and not being able to breathe44.) what is an unusual fear you have? fuits seeds lmaooo I hate those they creep me out lmaoo lemon seeds? HORROR MOVIE45.) can you drive? nope46.) do you believe in supernatural creatures? i’m here so DUH yes47.) do you believe in karma? yes and everyone should48.) what is one quality you need in your partner? loyalty, honesty and sense of humor 49.) do looks matter? yes, cause if the man looks like a hobo I won’t be too turned on lmao50.) does size matter? height speaking? yes. i’m 5′1 but other than that I mean we can manage ;) 51.) who is the last person you forgave? myself xx52.) what is your favorite ice cream flavor? vanilla 53.) what languages can you speak besides english? french, and a lil bit of spanish and italian54.) ever been on a plane? yes, best time of my life55.) ever been on a boat? yes, worst time of my life56.) is there anyone you’ve lost touch with that you wish you hadn’t? nope57.) are there any friendships you regret? nope all of the people that are in my life are meant to be there and those who aren’t must not be there at this exact moment of my life :D58.) are there any friendships you wish you could make? duh.. where is madison beer 59.) have you ever stayed awake for 24 (+) hours? yes60.) have you ever walked outside after 12 am? yes61.) have you ever seen a sunrise completely through? yes62.) are you scared of rollercoasters? nope not at all my biggest dream is too jump off a plane63.) on a scale of 1-10 how stressed are you usually? I’m not very stressed.. unless it’s school lmaoo but i’d say my peak is 2 64.) do you have any plans this weekend? It’s a quarantine time bebe so I plan on breathing which is already more than enough65.) do you miss anyone right now? yes66.) who do you wish you were talking to right now? aaaah secrets67.) if you could have any superpower, what would it be? controlling the 4th elements68.) who is your favorite superhero? Henry Cavill, yes he saves life with his accent and features I SAID WHAT I SAID69.) are you dirty minded? yes lmaoo soz xx70.) what is your favorite song from every decade starting at that 80’s?80′s (my fave era about music) : Part time lover - Stevie Wonder &  Hotel california by the eagles / 90′s: Unbreak my heart : Toni Braxton / 2000′s: Lose yourself - Eminem & back to black - Amy Winehouse 10′s ugh there’s so many bops atm i’m 71.) how many kids, if any, do you want? 272.) who is your biggest OTP? Me and pasta73.) what is your favorite food? pasta74.) do you want to be married one day? Yes75.) dogs or cats? cats76.) do you drink enough water daily? Nope I don’t drink water on a daily77.) have you ever seen a shooting star? yes the most beautiful thing the life has given us78.) if you had the opportunity to go to the moon, would you? fly me to the moon and let me play among the starssss YES I WOULD BYE WORLD79.) how many best friends do you have? I have a lot of good friends but @thisamick‘s my main bitch80.) when was the last time you cried? Idk I was watching Sleepers!81.) have you ever laughed so hard you peed yourself? YES82.) have you ever made anyone laugh so hard they peed? Yes I did it was the funniest shit83.) if you could travel any where in the world, where would you go? California 84.) what are 3 words you would use to describe yourself?  Loyal, funny and @thisamick said perfect but it’s all a lie so I’d say honest :D85.) do you consider yourself a loyal person? one of the most loyal person u’ll ever find86.) what is your favorite season and why? Fall, because the colors, the weather, the mood, the leaves on the ground, all of it87.) have you ever told anyone you loved them, and didn’t mean it? nope never omg what a horrible move88.) do you know how to play any instruments? I wish but nope89.) do like like falling asleep to music or not? yesss omg my fave, a daily routine, a lifestyle90.) what are you allergic to? life and people91.) have you ever wanted to be someone else for a day just so you could see what there life is like? yessss92.) if you could be any character from your favorite tv show would you, and if so, who would you be? yes I would def be Buffy93.) if you could be best friends with any celebrity who would it be and why? Madison Beer or Angelina Jolie94.) are you outgoing? when you know me yes95.) have you ever wanted to kiss someone, but weren’t brave enough to? duh yes96.) are you a good flirt? tbh yes lmao97.) have you ever been turned down, or have you ever turned anyone down? yes and no at least I don’t think I ever did?98.) which planet is your favorite? Jupiter or Saturn99.) are you superstitious? no100.) are you a good listener? yes 101.) are you a good kisser? hun I leave a indelible mark baby ;) 102.) would you kiss any of your friends? girl friends? yes // boy friends? nope

#THIS TOOK ME DECADESSSSSSS #IM #ask #k

[avenging-fandoms]

Chris Evans A-Z

requested: *Can I request 3 smutty a-z’s? I would like Tom hiddleston, Dan Howell and Chris Evans if its not too much trouble. Thank you

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

chris is so kind and gentle after sex. he’s rubbing your back, giving you small kisses, cleaning you up and bringing you water. “chris..” “no no, don’t do that. i like taking care of you”

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his favorite body part of you is your hips and thighs. he loved gripping them and pulling you in, or gripping your thigh under the table and see you squirm. also, your ass. he said himself he’s an ass man, so when you wear leggings or a dress that hugs you tightly, he can’t wait to take you home and just devour you like you are his prey.

his favorite body part of himself was his shoulders, only because when you bite down on them it makes him go wild.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

chris is a very sweet and caring guy, so i think in the bedroom he’s so dirty. his innocent facade washing away, and his dominate side comes out to play. chris loves to see his cum drip out of you, to see it all over your face and on your tongue.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

chris loves marking or being marked. seeing the hickies he left on you the night before made him want to make more. he also liked to mark them where only he can see them, like on your breasts and hips. he liked to be marked and to let people know he was yours. there would be articles about his hickies online and he’d just smile, knowing now everyone knew he was yours and you were his. he loved to see the paparazzi photos of his back that had hickies and scratch marks on them, tweeting it himself with the caption ‘i got in a bad fight, i guess’

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

my man chris is HELLA experienced and know what the fuck he’s doing. he knows how to curl his fingers to make you moan loudly, the positions that’ll make you cum so fast.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

sadly tumblr’s a pussy and doesn’t allow visuals, but here’s a link to it. he loves to see your face just twist with pleasure, your eyes filled with lust as you stare into his. “your sounds are so pretty. come on, louder. i know you can moan louder, angel”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

it really depends where he is. if he’s on set, he’ll be giggling because you two have to be quiet or you’ll get caught, and in public like under the table he’s smiling as you’re trying to contain your sounds. “i can’t wait to get home and hear those pretty sounds. kind of regretting starting this because now i can’t hear your sounds”

but at home he’s so serious. he won’t take a joke, doesn’t find it humorous when you tease him. he doesn’t find it cute how you hold in your moans either, you knowing he loves them.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

i don’t think chris any public hair at all. he probably, most likely, gets it lasered off. the curtains do match the drapes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

he’s so serious, his hand gripping your jaw with his eyes locked with yours. he loves to kiss you passionately, moaning into your mouth. your nails digging into his skin, his lips creating bruises on your neck, him moaning into your skin as you bite hi shoulder.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

imagine his head buried in his pillow as he throws it back, his pink lips releasing the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. you peak your head in, chris moaning your name. his hand pumps his cock at a fast pace, his chest moving up and down quickly. you walk in, making chris jump, but he doesn’t stop. his eyes lock with yours, moaning your name. you smirk, kissing him slowly as your hand rubs up and down his stomach. he moans into your mouth as your hand goes over his, pumping his cock with your hand over his. he moans deeply into your mouth as you smile, chris cumming all over your hand. you pull away, licking your hand and licking chris clean. he hums, throwing his head back. you throw him toilet paper, washing your hand. 

“you just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“well, it is your fault. i saw that photo you posted on instagram and i got horny”

“but you don’t have-”

“that’s what you think. come over and give me another sweet kiss of yours”

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

hair pulling, daddy kink! scratching kink, lingerie kink, spanking (duh) praise kink (both ways)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

he loves to do it in public. not like behind a tree, but under a table, in a bathroom, in his trailer. but he loves to be in private, so you two could be as loud and kinky as you please. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

kissing his neck, biting his shoulder, whispering in his ear, ‘you look good, sir’ ‘i want you, sir’ hickies/scratching

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

as much as he loves ass, he wouldn’t do anal. he doesn’t think it would be comfortable. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

he loves to give oral, he loves to see you squirm, have your thighs shaking next to his head as he curls his fingers the right way that makes you cum hard.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

it really depends on how he’s feeling. if he’s tired, like in the morning, it’s slow, your lips sloppily kissing. after a night out, or him filming, he wants fast and rough sex.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he loves them. on set, during shoots, he wants to feel you, and you think it’s hot when he fucks you while he’s in his captain america costume

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

of course, that dork likes to say in his head ‘yolo’ like a 12 year old. he’ll try things at least once, and if neither you or him like it, you don’t do it again. he likes to take risks, like in a movie theater in the dark.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

depends on his day. if it’s one where he was filming, just 1 round and for about 35-40 minutes. on a day where he’s off, 4 throughout the day and each one lasting about 45-60 minutes.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

he’s torn. he definitely likes to pleasure you all on his own, but he also loves using a vibrator that he presses against your clit while he rubs it, making you a moaning mess that will make you squirt, and it makes him so happy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

so fucking much, it’s annoying. he loves to hear your whining, pushing his hand further into your pants or into your skirt. chris loved to see your face and hear your begs to finger you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

chris will make small grunts and moans while getting a handjob/blowjob and during sex. when he’s cumming, he moans and groans so loudly in your neck, grunting and panting as he’s riding out his orgasm.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

one time you two went to a movie in disguise, all the way in the back of the empty movie theater. it was the reclining seats, so something was bound to happen, and it did. in the beginning of the movie, your hand rested on his thigh, and it slowly rubbed up and down his thigh. about 30 minutes into the movie, chris takes your hand and presses it against his bulge, and you smirk. you lean into him and he kisses your forehead as you slowly jerk him off. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

chris is a good 5 inches soft. when he’s hard, 6 1/2 inches.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

depends. sometimes he can only last an hour, 45 minutes, other times he can go all day.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s one to stroke your hair, kiss you, talk softly to you about his day or what’s coming up, or how each of you are feeling. after cleaning both of you up, he falls asleep about an hour or 2 after. 

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans headcanon #chris evans headcanons #chris evans blurb #captain america #captian america the winter soldier #captain america civil war #steve rogers #marvel #Avengers #avengers infinity war #avengers endgame

[filmflowersbangtan]

Unbound

pairing: yoongi x reader 

genre: angst, smut, fluff | (anti?) soulmate au | fwb to lovers au

warnings: a lot of swearing | smoking (cigarettes are bad for you, kids) | spanking | a tiny bit of dom!yoongi | a lot of talk about love

word count: 21k+ (I got carried away with this one)

--

The world is an unfair place.  

This was what you told yourself every day until the moment you left home at seventeen to find something bigger, better, and more comprehensible. You were leaving your home to venture out to a city that you’d never slept in. A city that was vast and limitless and stretched as far as the eye could see. You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew what you were looking for – people that were like you. People who didn’t follow the idiotic laws and traditions that everyone else abided by blindly. People who thought of themselves as autonomous beings, not robots who were forced to love whoever’s name showed up on their skin.  

For years, you thought that you were the only one in the entire world that didn’t believe that “the System was always right.” Soulmates are things that the majority of Earth’s population don’t question. No one wonders why a certain person’s name is marked on their skin. They simply go along with it. It’s something that was meant to happen, they say. It’s out of our control.  

Ever since you were small, the way that people believed in the System didn’t make sense to you. They followed it strictly like a religion. They married their soulmates and only their soulmates. Dating anyone that wasn’t the person marked on your skin was sacrilegious, and it was enough to have them shunned by their friends and even their family. Governments made it illegal to engage in sexual relations with anyone that you weren’t promised to. It was all so nauseating.  

Girls like you don’t belong in a world like this one where you speak up during class discussion about how you don’t think laws should be made around soulmates, and then have your peers whisper about how the only reason why you believe such things is because you are promiscuous. And then teachers ignore your hand in class when before they were delighted to call on you. Then neighbors start to whisper, glaring at your parents, hissing under their breath about how they raised such a “loose girl.” Boys approach you in secrecy, thinking that since you aren’t interested in soulmates, maybe you’re interested in something more fun. Something less binding.  

You were foolish once to think that when the pretty boy of your class, the boy that all the girls ogled over, asked you to meet him under the bleachers after school that it would be different. It wasn’t. You pushed him away when he advanced, called him an asshole, and stormed off. That wasn’t what he told the school.  

The weeks that led up to you packing your things, hopping in your shitty car, and peeling off to the biggest city that was far enough away from that little, miserable town was riddled with you seeing the weariness on your parents’ faces, scrubbing dirty words off your locker until your fingernails broke, and punching that pretty boy in the face over and over and over again until you saw red. It was wildly satisfying to see the blood gushing from his nose and pooling down into his mouth. A maniacal smile broke onto your face as a teacher hauled you away. 

Driving away with the windows down with the breeze whipping your hair all over your head and your hand out the window was the happiest you had ever felt. You were finally free.

The city was different than anything you could’ve imagined. Neon signs blinked and twinkled and flashed. Giant billboards advertising everything from skin crème and fast food restaurants to expensive matte lipstick stretched across buildings that reached toward that sky. All kinds of noise, some that you didn’t even know existed before arriving, created a cacophonous buzz all around you that made it difficult for to focus but easier to think. Throngs of people bustled across wide streets and down sidewalks. Here, you were no one. You weren’t a “loose girl.” You weren’t whatever those awful kids scribbled across your locker in permanent marker. You loved it.  

You slept in your car for a few days. Or weeks. You didn’t know. Every day bled into the next as you tried to make the money that you had saved in a Mason jar stretch until… Until what? You didn’t know the answer to that, either.  

The people here were restless and selfish. They were so preoccupied with their own lives that they didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s. And for some strange reason, you admired that. You were just a kid trying to discover herself, trying to understand why the world was an unfair place, but in the meantime, you had to grow up. And if you didn’t already have a thick skin from the situation back at home, the city definitely forced you to grow one.

All of this was an adventure, and that adventure reached its peak when you serendipitously stumbled upon what appeared to be a house party. The house was bursting with people and you had to park your rusty car all the way down the street since the amount of vehicles present was overwhelming. There were even cars parked haphazardly on the lawn.  

You checked your appearance in the side mirror of your car. Messy hair, no makeup. Glancing down at yourself, you realized that maybe you weren’t dressed properly for a party. Your jacket was an old army one that was a few sizes too big, spilling past your fingertips. The knees of your jeans had holes in them. But you still walked into the party, exuding fake confidence. Those who saw you must’ve been drunk or believed that you actually belonged there because no one batted an eye.  

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and something that smelled faintly like must. Bodies pressed against one another, sweaty and sticky and unsteady on their feet. All these people looked so much older than you. You had never been in a space with so much smoke before. What were you doing here?

There was food and drinks arranged on the countertops in the kitchen. You ate ravenously, gulped down drinks that burned your chest. Time was liquified and weighted. The night blinked before your eyes like the opposite of a camera’s flash. Somehow you were in a room, sitting on a couch, strangers’ shoulders pressed on both sides of you. Someone passed you something that looked like a cigarette. You lifted it to your lips and inhaled. It scorched your throat. Everyone laughed. After coughing a lung out, you were laughing, too. And then the guy next to you had his mouth on yours. His hands in your hair.  

There was a shout. The guy pulled away from you, said, “Shit, Lisa, it’s not what it looks like!” There was still a lazy smile on your face, but it was snapped away when a pretty girl stalked over to you, shoulders and mouth tense with anger. Her fist cracked against your nose.

The room swelled with noise and waves of pain spiked through the center of your face. And then someone grabbed your wrist with calloused fingertips, tugging you out and into the hallway into less opaque clouds of smoke, through all the bodies that parted at the sight of the dark blood leaking through the gaps between your fingers, despite how tightly you were pressing your fingers together against your nose like a dam.  

You were pulled into a bathroom. Hands pushed down on your shoulders, forcing you to sit on the lid of the toilet. You blinked – once, twice, three times – gathering your scattered thoughts and drinking in your surroundings.  

It was a girl that saved you from the mess of the party. Her hair was dyed a bright copper like a newly minted penny. She had features that were sharp but soft. She was a girl that looked like she could break someone’s heart but be their shoulder to cry on simultaneously. Because of these contradictions, you trusted her. There was no way that someone who was this three-dimensional was a dishonest person.

She shut the door and locked it, separating you both from the party. “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell thumped through the walls. The bathroom had an eerie feel about it, like people weren’t meant to use it for its practical purpose. Like instead they came here to cry or hide, have dirty sex or stop nosebleeds. On the bottom left corner of the mirror above the sink, someone had scrawled I was here.

“Rule number one, kid. You can’t go around kissing people’s boyfriends.” The girl was hastily unwinding an excessive amount of toilet paper from the roll and pushed your hand aside to tend to your nose. You winced when she dabbed at the blood, sharp pain shooting throughout the nerves of your face. “Oh, yeah, that’s going to bruise up nice and good in the morning.”  

“What’s a boyfriend?” Your voice was nasally and thick with tissue and blood. Your head was tilted back at an angle that was quickly making your neck stiff.  

She paused, dumbfounded. “You seriously don’t know what a boyfriend is? Where are you from?” She was wearing a shirt that was essentially a bra, and it gave you full view of the name marked on her sternum, dark and permanent. There was a neat line tattooed through it, like a teacher correcting a mistake, just as dark and just as permanent. She noticed you staring but didn’t appear to be bothered by it.  

“A very, very small town. Nothing exciting like this.” At the mention of your hometown, you thought of that beautiful boy that you punched in the face, causing it to bleed similarly to the way that you were doing in this random bathroom with its walls covered in graffiti. Suddenly, you were laughing at the irony. Laughing so hard that the pretty, copper-haired girl scrunched her eyebrows together in either confusion or uncertainty.  

She tossed away the bloody tissues once the bleeding slowed and washed her hands. “I’m glad that you find humor in this situation of yours. I’m Hyuna, by the way.”

“I’m ___.” 

She turned to face you and shook the excess water off her hands, leaning back against the sink. “How old are you, kid?”

The tissue stuffed in your nose made you sound congested. “Seventeen.”

Her eyes widened. “Seventeen? What the hell are you doing here?”

You shrugged. “I got expelled from school and left home. And then I ended up here.”  

She was studying you. “And where do you live now?”

You looked down at the cracks in the tiles of the floor. There were crushed cigarette butts in a corner along with dead flies. You briefly wondered if anyone actually lived in this house or if it was strictly for parties. “I’m in my car. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” she deadpanned. “Right.”

You glanced up at her. She was still watching you with a stern look in her eyes. Her glittery eyeshadow glimmered softly in the dim yellow lighting.  “Are you going to tell me to go home?” you said.  

She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “Do you want to go home?”  

You shook your head.  

“Then I won’t tell you to go home. Simple.” She pushed off the sink. “I was like you once. Luckily, I know a place where you can sleep tonight that isn’t your car.”

Hyuna didn’t have a car. She and her friends walked to the party, but she told them that she would meet “back at the house.” They were all too occupied with their conversations or partners or drinks to mind what she had to say or even notice that you were with her.  

“Can I smoke in here?” she said after she settled in your passenger seat. You had never had anyone in it before, and you were hyper aware of the mess that was the backseat and the passenger side floor. She kicked aside some empty fast food containers, unfazed.  

“Yeah,” you said, gripping the steering wheel tighter than what was needed.  

She cranked down the window and lit her cigarette. It was the skinny kind. The kind that someone had to have rolled themselves with their own papers and tobacco. She pressed it to her lips, holding it daintily between two slim fingers. “Turn left here.”

You flipped on the blinkers and turned. “Can I ask you a question?”  

“Sure.” She inhaled the smoke, the skinny end burning scarlet.  

“Why do you have a line through your mark?” You glanced at her face, gauging her expression in case the question was  too personal.  

But her visage was neutral, maybe even a little bored, and she exhaled, the smoke billowing around her face before dissipating like a small ghost. “I’m Unbound. I don’t let the System choose who I can be with. Who I can love. Turn right at the light.”

Excitement was expanding inside your chest, and you were so focused on keeping a neutral expression that you almost missed the turn. “Isn’t that a little illegal, though?”

She lifted the right side of her mouth in a sort of I-don’t-care gesture. “That entire party was illegal. All of them are Unbound.” She inhaled the cigarette. Exhaled. Tapped the ashes out the window. “We’re a movement. This is the house right here.”  

You hit the brakes so hard that the tires squeaked on the asphalt. Hyuna doesn’t bother waiting for you to park before she stepped out onto the sidewalk. You parked and cut the engine, scrambling out to follow her. She stopped on the walkway to wait for you.  

“So this is my humble abode.” There was affection in her eyes as she gazed at the two-story house before her. The paint was peeling severely and there were a few shingles missing from the roof. “I know the paint looks terrible. I keep pitching color ideas to the guys for when we do paint another coat, but none of them like baby pink or banana yellow. Oh, well.” With that, she stalked up the porch steps, the wood creaking under her feet.  

Stray cats were curled up on the weathered welcome mat. She simply stepped over them after unlocking the door with a key that was tucked in the soil of the pot of a yellowing fern. “We had a girl who used to live here named Sana. She loved the cats so much that she fed them every day. Now, even after she’s moved out, they won’t leave us alone.” She kicked off her heels inside. They landed on top of a heap of shoes of all shapes, sizes, and types. You thought that this was where shoes went to die.  

“I like cats,” you said. You slipped off your sneakers and neatly placed them outside of the pile so that maybe you could find them later.  

“Good. Maybe you can get them to pay rent someday.”   

The house was fairly large. It would’ve appeared bigger if there wasn’t so much…stuff. Each nook of the house had something there. Hyuna conducted an impromptu tour, giving facts as she waltzed through the place like it was a museum. In the living room, “No smoking in here. House rule. My rule. Cigarette smoke is a bitch to wash out of nice curtains.” There was a wide, oriental rug spread across the floor, an upright piano shoved in the space between a plush couch with sinking cushions and a door that Hyuna said led to the basement. There was an armchair that once looked comfy but was now pitifully held together by duct tape, and a television with a thin coating of dust across the top and the gray curved glass. Someone had drawn a smiley face in the dust with their finger. A Magic 8 ball sat atop the television, dust-free. According to Hyuna, its name was Genie and it was forbidden for it to have a speck on it. Another house rule.  

In the kitchen, “There is a couch in here because we couldn’t fit another in the basement or the living room.” The kitchen was separated from the living room by a simple archway. The black-and-white checkered linoleum floor was cracked in places, and a leg on the table had a weary paperback book under it to keep it level with the rest of them. The door by the refrigerator led to the backyard, and it didn’t have a lock, so at night a chair was pushed under the knob.  

The tiny downstairs bathroom next to the kitchen: “The toilet in here has a fifty-fifty chance of working. So if you have to shit, use the upstairs.” Basement: “That washer and dryer don’t work. No one wants to haul them up those awful stairs, so they’re doomed for eternity down here.” There were several wilting cardboard boxes with Christmas decorations spilling out and furniture that looked like they would never see the light of day again. Upstairs bathroom: “This is the only shower in the house. It’s a bloodbath trying to get in here in the mornings.”

She led you to a door at the end of the hallway upstairs. “This is the spare bedroom for any new residents. Now this is your room. Until, you know, you decide that it’s not anymore.”  

The walls were covered in various handwritings; quotes and signatures left behind by previous occupants in a rainbow of colors. The only pieces of furniture in this room were two mattresses stacked on top of each other like an old, discarded cake on the floor. That was it. This was the emptiest room in the entire house. And it was now yours.  

“Thank you,” was all you could muster up to say. This was all so much. These random acts of kindness from this gorgeous stranger. Saving you from a party. Cleaning up the bloody mess that was your face. Giving you a place to stay. You were so grateful you could cry.  

“Please don’t cry,” she said, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline. But it was too late. Tears were stumbling lamely down your cheeks and you wiped them away with the back of your hands. “Oh, come here.” She pulled you into a hug. A hug that made you miss your own mother so much that it ached. Maybe you should call her tomorrow just to let her know you’re okay. Hyuna held you for a while, and as she rubbed calming circles on your back, she muttered in your hair, “I think it’s best if you take a shower now. You smell a little ripe.”

You scrubbed every inch of your body until the water that swirled down the drain no longer had a brown tinge to it. You dug dried blood from under your fingernails and washed your scalp until it was sensitive and raw. You dressed in fresh clothes that Hyuna lent you, and when you emerged from the bathroom, steam curling out the doorway, there were voices downstairs. They were all male, and they tumbled over one another. Hyuna’s voice was distinct amongst them. You didn’t bother to introduce yourself. You’d deal with that in the morning. Right now, you were beyond exhausted.  

The mattresses were now fitted with blankets and pillows had been neatly placed at the head against the wall. You were grateful. So grateful that you flopped on the bed face down, immediately greeting sleep.  

The morning came with a house just as alive and bustling as the city downtown. Conversations were in full force downstairs. There was a belly laugh that was joined by a softer, quieter chuckle. Hyuna’s voice, “Guys! Hoseok worked a late shift last night! Quiet it down!” Another, deeper, gruffer voice: “You’re the one yelling.”  

Your stomach squeezed at the smell of a hearty breakfast sizzling on the stove, but your body was still draped in exhaustion. The sun was extremely bright and wide awake outside the window. The blinds were no good at keeping the light at bay due to the several missing slats, but you were determined to go back to sleep. You pushed a pillow over your face and rolled over so that the sun was glaring on your back instead of your face. Your face was pulsing with pain from the last night’s punch, but even that didn’t deter you from wanting to go back to sleep.

Hyuna: “Kookie, can you go wake up the newbie? She’s in the guest room. Her food’s getting cold.”

A soft, gentle voice: “Should I just bring it up to her room instead? I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping.”

A deep, jovial voice: “I’ll wake her!”

Hyuna: “Thanks, Tae.”

Feet stomped up the stairs. You braced yourself for the door opening, but you still weren’t ready for the shouting that came with it. “Time to eat!”  

You jerked up, almost leaping out of the bed. The guy standing in the doorway was beaming at you like he didn’t almost stop your heart in shock. You blinked, orienting yourself. “Okay.”  

He turned on his heel and retreated towards the stairs.  

A door down the hall creaked open. An annoyed voice laced with fatigue said, “My God, Tae. Could you be any louder?”

“Sorry, Hobi!” Taehyung called up from downstairs.  

Hyuna, from wherever she was: “I told him to not be so loud!”

The tired man said, almost unkindly, “Thanks, Hyuna. You were of great help.” The door shut again unceremoniously.  

Once you made it downstairs, Hyuna, the guy who woke you, and two other boys were sitting at the table in the kitchen. They were all staring at you. You were very aware of your messy hair and swelling of your nose.  

Hyuna was sitting at the table with her back to the window. The sunlight beaming in made the edges of her hair glow gold. “Guys, this is ___. ___, this is Taehyung.” She gestured towards the loud boy who woke you. He nodded once at you with a soft smile in his eyes as he chewed on some scrambled eggs. “This is Jimin.” She directed her open palm at a pretty guy with even prettier lips, who was in the middle of taking a large bite out of a slice a toast. He smiled at you in acknowledgement around the bread. “And Jungkook.” A boy with round, tender eyes gave you a polite, closed-lipped smile. “And that grumpy man upstairs is Hoseok. He works late shifts as a pizza delivery boy, but some people forget this fact.” A sharp glare was directed at Taehyung who was genuinely taken aback by the accusation.  

No one said anything about the conspicuous contusion on your nose, which you were thankful for. You took a seat at the table where there was a plate of untouched food. You didn’t hesitate to dig in, eating ravenously.  

“Are eggs vegetarian?” Taehyung pondered over the fluffy scrambled eggs on his plate, poking them with the prongs of his fork.  

Jimin sighed. “You ask this every time you have eggs. You’re gonna eat them anyway. Just eat them.”

Hyuna said, “I think they’re vegetarian if you want them to be.”

“But eggs are considered dairy. Right?” said Taehyung.  

“Sure,” Jimin said, scraping up the last crumbs on his plate.  

Taehyung looked to Jungkook for help. The doe-eyed boy lifted up his glass of orange juice and took his time drinking it. You noticed a name marked down the side of his palm, but a slash, thick and black, went straight through it. Just like Hyuna’s. Taehyung, too, had a mark, slightly behind his left ear marred by a similar line.  

You were Taehyung’s next victim, but before he opened his mouth, you asked another question. “Do you all have that line through your marks?”  

“Of course,” Jimin said with a smile. “We’re all Unbound here.” He pushed back his right sleeve and bared his forearm, the soft, inner part facing the ceiling to expose his very own mark, neatly tucked in the crook of his elbow that was also slashed through. You noticed Jungkook smiling to himself at this.  

“Do you have a mark?” Taehyung asked.  

“No. She’s only seventeen,” Hyuna answered.

“Well, when do you turn eighteen?” said Taehyung.

“Today,” you admitted.

Silence hung over the table until Jimin and Taehyung shouted, “Happy Birthday!” in unison.  

“Oh shit. Happy birthday, kid. Why didn’t you tell me?” Hyuna said, almost disbelieving.  

“It never came up.”

Jungkook muttered a quiet “happy birthday” to you and reached across the table to pat you on your hand.  

A door upstairs creaked open. “Goddammit, guys.” Then Hoseok appeared in the archway, hair disheveled and eyes barely open. “Whose birthday is it?”

You raised your hand.  

He nodded, eyes squinting to get adjusted to the morning sun pouring in through the large kitchen windows. He wasn’t fazed at all by a new face sitting at the table, which made you wonder how often people came and went through this place. “Cool.”  

That night, while you were in the shower, you scoured every inch of your body. Your clavicle, sternum, the back of your hand, behind your ear, the crook of your elbow. Everywhere. But there was no mark. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or terrified. Burdened or happy? You should be happy, right? Yeah. You were happy.  

Every birthday after that, no mark.  

Now, at twenty years old, still nothing. Maybe you’re one of those people that don’t get their mark until years after their eighteenth birthday. Or maybe you belong to the infinitesimal percentage of the population that don’t get a name at all. Whatever. That soulmate shit isn’t your thing anyway. Asinine laws, ridiculous societal pressures. Things will be easier this way.

There’s a tiny alley between the flower shop where you work and the tattoo parlor next door, and you lean against the cool brick wall, inhaling a cigarette. A door slams and Yoongi steps out of the tattoo parlor, fishing a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. It’s strange how often his smoke breaks sync with yours, but you never say anything about it.  

He’s quiet most days. Others, he would sometimes mention something fleeting like, “The weather is nice today,” while looking at everything but you. And you would reply with, “Yeah. Weatherman said it’s supposed to hold up all week,” while occupying your vision with anything but him. And then he would mutter a, “Nice.” Then you both would finish your cigarettes in a silence that isn’t quite awkward but isn’t entirely pleasant, either. And you would part to your respective workplaces.  

“Saw you and your hippie friends in the paper this morning,” says Yoongi. Guess it’s one of those days where he talks.  

“I don’t think we’re hippies, but, yeah. We were at that Unbound protest last week.”  

He leans back against the wall beside you. There’s enough space so that your shoulders aren’t in danger of touching.  

“Got a light?” he says. His voice is chilly and rich. You can feel it in your bones like an autumn wind.

Without a word, you pull out a book of matches from your pocket. He sets a cigarette between his lips as you strike a match and he cups the flame. He sneaks a look at you, the fire flickering in his dark irises. You avert your eyes. The end of his cigarette burns, and he inhales. He thanks you, smoke shooting from his nose not unattractively. You shake the match until the flame extinguishes and nod in reply.  

You think that the silence that you plunge into is permanent, one of those habitual holes in small talk that you both stumble into until you decide to return to work, but he says, “A lot of people don��t like people like you.”  

You raise an eyebrow, shooting a look at him. He meets your gaze and doesn’t look away. It’s almost unsettling. “People like me?”

He taps his cigarette. A breeze suggestive of the oncoming spring slithers through the alley and brushes the ashes away. “Anti-soulmate people. They think you’re trying to topple the System.”

“We’re trying to change things. No one likes change.”

“And what’s that change about? How is it that you’re going to get rid of something that happens naturally?” He’s watching you steadily. Challenging you. 

“Just because a mark shows up on your skin doesn’t mean that it should dictate who you love.”

“You don’t think it’s natural for someone to fall in love with the person they’re promised to?”

You tap your cigarette, scoffing at the word “promise.” The ashes tumble away. “No. I do not.”

“Why not?” He places his cigarette to his lips. Inhales. His eyes never leave your face.  

“If we believe that someone is our soulmate, and we go be with them, we’re just following instructions. All free will is gone.”  

His eyebrows scrunch together in disagreement. “So, if I actually fall in love with my soulmate, then it’s not my doing?”  

“I think if you see that name on your skin, you’re automatically programmed to want to like the person just because society told you that it’s the correct thing to do.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief and laughs. “That sounds like nonsense to me. It’s someone’s choice to fall in love.”  

“But are they really in love? Or are they tricking themselves into thinking they are because they are ‘destined’ to be together? Society tells us that the name marked on our skin is the love of our life. Right? So. If I grew up with that notion without ever challenging it, then of course I’ll think that I’m in love with my soulmate. Without a doubt.”  

He takes his cigarette between his teeth, knocking it up and down. Down and up. His eyes fall away from yours. The corner of your mouth twitches ever so slightly in victory.  

“So, what you’re saying is, no one who has ever matched with their soulmate is in love with them?” he says, not letting up.  

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that no one should be forced into a relationship with someone simply because a name pops up on their body. It shouldn’t be law that I have to marry the person that I’m ‘promised’ to. It shouldn’t be illegal to be with someone who is not marked on my skin.”

He mulls this over. The cigarette going up and down and down and up between his teeth. “I see what you’re saying.” He properly takes the cigarette between his fingers, sucks, and tosses what’s left of it. He blows the smoke out from and nose and mouth, crushes the butt that smolders on the ground with his shoe. “See you around.” And then he heads back into the tattoo parlor.  

The remainder of the day, you think of Yoongi. The door is open in the shop to let in the air, the feel of it not quite spring but too warm for winter, and you think of him as you wrap flowers in white paper for the customers who enter in an effort to grasp spring before it’s yet to arrive. You think of him as you tie ribbons around bouquets of chrysanthemum and baby’s breath, your fingers fumbling and the material slipping from your grasp. And it pisses you off.  

You’ve barely known him for the few weeks that you worked at the shop, and it had been uneventful. But now he wants to have a conversation with you, and when he does, it’s about soulmates. A subject that has become polarizing currently with the Unbound movement growing bigger. Usually tattoo artists take sides with the Unbound since they are the ones slashing marks, but Yoongi defended soulmates. It reminds you of your hometown and how those people treated you, and now just the thought of him pisses you off.  

“Looks like somebody had a pleasant day,” Hyuna says at the sight of you.  

She is on the couch in the living room, legs draped over the armrest and guitar resting on her stomach, idly picking a melody with her fingertips. Her head is on Hoseok’s thigh, who is poring over a newspaper with a picture of the anti-soulmate protest on the front page, large and in color. You recognize your face and Hyuna’s and Taehyung’s in the frame. Jungkook and Jimin are on the floor, engrossed with the video game console that Jungkook recently bought. You can tell by the small, pleased smile on his face that Jimin is letting Jungkook win.

You step over a pair of sneakers abandoned in the doorway and drop on the couch next to Hoseok. “I had a lovely chat with a guy who is pro-soulmates,” you say, resting your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. He doesn’t react. People touching him is something that he has grown used to long ago.  

Hyuna makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, her fingers still undulating across the guitar strings in an improvised melody. “Sorry that happened to you.”

You shrug in dismissal like it doesn’t bother you. Like Yoongi’s existence didn’t torture each thought that sprung up after the conversation with him.   

On the television, Jimin’s little character dies again. Jungkook smiles at him, large and triumphant. There is a shimmer in his eyes that is unique when regarding the older boy, and a tangible heartbeat pulses in the space between them. Whenever you dare to look at them together, there is a strange intimacy that forces you to tear your eyes away. Like you’re intruding on something special. Jimin shoves Jungkook’s shoulder playfully, and the younger boy topples over onto the rug with a laugh.  

The front door opens, and from the living room you hear the stray cats outside begging for food before it closes. Hoseok mutters, “That damn Sana,” under his breath and turns a thin page. His mark is obvious on his thumb, starting at the knuckle and stretching up towards the fingernail. Unlike everyone else’s, his is completely blacked out like a censor bar. That’s something no one dares to ask about. There’s the familiar thump thump of shoes being kicked off, and then Taehyung emerges in the living room with a pot of fresh pink tulips in his hands.

“More flowers?” you say. This should bother you since every time Taehyung brings home flowers, you’re the one who’s left to take care of them because he’s shit at keeping them alive. The big kitchen window was lined with pots of dry soil and withered petals when you first arrived at the house. “Since you have such a green thumb, why don’t you work at that flower shop a few blocks down?” he had asked as you nursed that fern on the porch back to life. And then you got the job.

“Just these tulips. This is the last time.” He disappears into the kitchen to place them on the windowsill if he can somehow find room.  

“Um hm,” Hyuna says with a raised eyebrow at you. And then she jumps up, setting aside her guitar and stepping over the black cords that attach Jimin and Jungkook’s controllers to the game console to grab Genie. Her haste snatches both your and Hoseok’s attention, and Jimin and Jungkook groan when she briefly blocks the TV. “Genie, will Tae ever stop bringing home flowers and leaving them to ___ take care of?” She cranes her neck to peek in the kitchen from where she stands to see if Taehyung is listening, a mischievous glint in her eye.  

“Hey! Don’t bring Genie into this!” Taehyung says, storming into the living room. 

Over the years, you’ve learned that whenever there is a disagreement, or if someone is unsure about something, or someone just wants to mess with someone else, Genie is brought into the picture. For some strange reason that you can’t wrap your head around, Genie is the deemed as an actual mediator, like its answers hold some sort of weight. It’s completely silly to you, and you’ll never use it because of how ludicrous it is, but Genie brings this house joy, so you just go along with it.  

Now, Hyuna even has Jungkook and Jimin’s attention, who have paused their game. Taehyung is standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room, his arms limp by his sides. Hyuna shakes the Magic 8 ball, the liquid inside churning, and waits for the answer to show itself. She reads the answer aloud, “‘My reply is no.’”

Everyone erupts in laughter.  

“Genie has spoken,” Hyuna says. “I guess this isn’t the last time.”

“Yeah, we all knew that because he said that last time he brought in flowers,” you chime in.  

Hoseok says, “And the time before that.”

And Jimin adds with a laugh, “And the time before that.”

Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest petulantly, but he’s fighting back a smile because he knows it’s true. “I’m just trying to make this house beautiful. It’s not my fault that I don’t have a green thumb.”

“It’s not that you don’t have a green thumb, you’re just shit at taking care of anything that’s alive,” Jimin says.  

“Am not!”

“Remember that time you brought home that stray dog, but it ran away the next day?” Jungkook says, laughter bubbling up as he speaks.

“I remember that!” Hoseok claps jovially at the memory. “Poor dog took one look at all these damn plants and knew what his future was going to be like.”

“That’s not true. The dog just remembered where its home was,” Taehyung mumbles under his breath.

“Really?” Hyuna says, giving him a look. Then, to Genie, “The dog ran away because Taehyung is shit at keeping things alive, right?” She shakes the Magic 8 ball with all her might, and when she reads the answer, she laughed so hard that she doubled over.

“What? What did it say?” Taehyung says, exasperated. He grabs Genie from her, and he can’t help but to laugh when he reads the answer: “‘Yes – definitely.’”

-- 

The city is awash in a constant rain as spring arrives. It’s the kind of rain that mists and clings to your clothes. The inescapable kind that you can feel even after you’ve changed out of wet clothes into dry warm ones.

You don’t see Yoongi as much – thank God – because the rain prevents you from having your usual smoke breaks. Sometimes you would see him as you’re going in to work and he’s coming out, a perpetual look of boredom stuck to his eyes. Or you would see him out the window, the hood of his baggy sweatshirt pulled up over his head, smoking under the doorway of the tattoo parlor to stay dry. He never notices you as you sit behind the counter in the flower shop watching him, and you never realize that you’re staring until a customer comes in, shaking their umbrellas and asking, “What’s a good ‘I’m sorry’ flower that isn’t as cliché as a rose?”

On Wednesday, the rain decides to take a break and the dingy clouds split apart to let sunlight spill out. The alley is damp and chilly, and black, reflective puddles are riddled all over the ground. You stand next to one, leaning against the freezing wall with the zipper of your jacket pulled all the way up to your chin. You look down at the water. Your face, clear and disinterested, gazes back up at you.  

You place a cigarette between your lips. Strike a match. Light it. Like strange clockwork, or déjà vu, Yoongi steps out of the tattoo parlor with his hand reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. The hood of his jacket is pulled up over his cap. He’s watching the ground as he passes you, purposefully not making eye contact as he leans back against the wall, the puddle keeping a considerable distance between you both.

He places a cigarette in his mouth, and before he asks, you already have your book of matches out. You want today to be one of those days where he doesn’t talk. He leans forward, cupping the flame after you strike the match. A corner of his mouth is turned up, too miniscule to be mistaken for a smile, but not really a smirk, either. He nods in gratitude when you light the end of his cigarette. You drop the match in the puddle.

There’s that up and down of his cigarette again. His itch to say something is palpable. You speak first, just so that he doesn’t.  

“Do you really believe in that soulmate shit?” you say, picking at the chipped nail polish on your pinkie nail with your thumb, feigning disinterest.  

You feel him look over at you briefly before turning his face up at the sky. Dark clouds fringe the powder blue, ominously closing in. “I mean, none of this can be an absolute mistake. I believe marks show up on people’s skin because of some higher power. It’s predestined.” His voice is sonorous and smoky. You forgot how disconcerting it is.  

“I call bullshit.”  

Yoongi scoffs at your bluntness, but it’s followed by a chuckle. “What?”

“It’s a lottery, and most people come out unlucky. I’m not even sure why people call it the ‘System’ when there is no actual order to it. All over the world, for eons, around the time of someone’s eighteenth birthday, a name would appear somewhere on their body. For some, the names come sooner. For another, smaller percentage of people, a name doesn’t find its way on their skin until months or years after their eighteenth birthday. And there is less than one percent of people that don’t get a name at all. How is that a system? How is that predestined? It’s not fair at all. If I was that higher power that you’re talking about, I would make sure that the people that I match are first are compatible and capable of falling in love.”

After your rant, you glance over at Yoongi, who appears to be smiling. “What can I say? I’m a sappy motherfucker. I like the idea of having someone for me, and me being somebody’s special person. You can’t say you’ve never thought about it.”  

You don’t respond. Instead, you suck on your cigarette, the tip burning an angry red.  

He places his cigarette to his lips and takes a puff. The smoke drifts out of his nose and mouth as he says, “Do you maybe want to grab something to eat after work if it doesn’t rain?”

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in, but you keep a bored composure. You learned this skill from Hyuna long ago. “We can’t let people know that they’re affecting us,” she had said. “Especially if those people are men that are interested in you.”

“It will,” you say, glancing up at the slowly advancing clouds. You aren’t sure how the conversation took this turn. It makes you feel vulnerable.

“But if it doesn’t?” Somehow, despite his persistence, he doesn’t sound desperate. He sounds like if you say no, he won’t care, and that’s attractive. Maybe he’ll be a little disappointed, but he’ll get over it and maybe he won’t ask you for a light anymore. But maybe he will. Maybe he won’t be fazed if you say no at all. The possibilities secretly excite you. You aren’t sure why.

Your eyes meet his. There’s no anticipation, hope, or expectation in the dark pools of his pupils. There’s just…Yoongi. So you say, “Sure.”  

-

The end of your shift comes and Yoongi is outside the tattoo parlor, leaning against the door. He sees you and sticks his hand out, palm up and smiles when it comes away dry. The sky is severely overcast, the clouds hanging low as if fatigued. But no rain.  

“Okay,” you say, approaching him with your hands in your pockets. Your mouth twitches in an almost-smile. “No rain. Where to?”

“There’s this place by the river that has these amazing burritos. The width of them as big as my fist.” He makes a fist to demonstrate. “Do you like burritos?”

“I wouldn’t mind eating a burrito that size right now.”  

“I’ll lead the way.”  

The river isn’t far from the tattoo parlor and the flower shop, so you both walk. He asks about the Unbound movement, and you tell him. You ask him what made him become a tattoo artist and he says that he’s always been good at art. He asks you what made you want to work at a flower shop, and you say that you might as well by the way you were taking care of plants back home.  

“Really? That many people in one house?” Yoongi asks after you talk a little bit more about your place, stepping around a puddle tucked in the crevices of the sidewalk.  

“Yeah. It’s strangely comforting.”  

You arrive at the burrito shop and wait in queue. You’re skimming the menu board posted up on the wall above the cashier’s head as Yoongi says, “Growing up, it’s only been me and my older brother. I couldn’t imagine living in a place with five other people.”

“It’s an adjustment. There’s always something going on.”

He orders a steak burrito, and you get the chicken. The clouds are clearing up to reveal the sky blushing pink by the time you pay for your food and head outside towards the river. The air is still chilly and wet, and sheer steam swirls from the thick burritos wrapped in foil in your hands.

A waist-high brick wall runs down the length of the river, right next to the bike lane, and you and Yoongi sit on it, facing the water. Yoongi takes a hearty bite, but leaves his mouth open for the scorching food to cool. You find yourself giggling despite you pressing your lips together to suppress it. He laughs around the burrito when he meets your eyes.

“What made you go the anti-soulmate route?” he asks after he swallows.

You blow on your burrito before saying, “I grew up seeing the way my parents looked at each other. Like they were stuck, you know? It was obvious that they didn’t love each other. And then I found my mom’s old diary from when she was in high school in the attic. She was in love with this guy that was on the track team and they were in this secret relationship that they knew wasn’t going to last forever. She ended up getting her mark - my dad’s name - early and it broke her heart. They didn’t even have until her eighteenth birthday together.”

Yoongi is quiet. He stares out at the water, and says, “Damn. That’s deep.”

You’re idly kicking your legs. “Yeah. So that’s where it all started for me.”

“Have you ever been in love?” He tries to ask this as casually as he can, but you can hear the interest in his voice. He places a cigarette between his lips and smiles a bit when you lean over and light it for him.

“Love is just...inconvenient. Too messy. I have nothing against it. I just don’t think it’s for me.”

He’s squinting at you because the fiery sunset is right behind your frame, and he’s studying your face as he inhales his cigarette, its own tiny sunset burning bright red on the end. “You didn’t answer my question. Sounds like you’ve gotten your heart broken once,” he says, smoke billowing from his nose.

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to deny. You finger at the foil around your burrito to give your hands something to do.

He’s still eyeing you. “Twice?”

“Three times,” you mumble. Your appetite is now gone.

He whistles lowly. “You’ve got me beaten by a landslide.”

“But I’ve learned from my lessons. Have you?” You’re defensive now, and you can tell by the way that he glances at you that he can hear it in your voice.

He presses the hot end of the cigarette down into the brick wall, crushing it. He leans back onto his palms and says, “Building up walls and closing down openings for romantic love doesn’t mean you’ve learned any lessons. It means you’re running away.”

The burrito in your hands is unappealing now and you haven’t even eaten half of it. “You don’t know me.” You’re pouting and you know it. Whatever game that Yoongi’s playing, you’ve lost. And you hate it.

Yoongi chuckles and takes another bite of his burrito. “I’m not saying that I do.”

“What do you want from me?” If he wants to sleep with you, you just need him to be upfront about it. You don’t want him to try to get to know you if he doesn’t care.

He raises one eyebrow.

“Why do you take your breaks the same time that I do? Why ask me out for burritos? What do you want?”

He smiles, and that frustrates you. “Has no one ever wanted to be your friend?”

“That's not what I’m asking.”

“Why is everything a challenge with you?”

You take a bite of your burrito instead of answering. “Wow. This is good.”

“I get it,” Yoongi continues. “You think I want to fuck you.”

Your eyes flit up to meet his briefly. A warm sensation spreads through your chest like spilled ink on soft, white cloth. “That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you’re thinking.”

How does Yoongi - this stranger - know you so well already? He thinks he has you figured out. No. He does have you figured out. You’ve worked so hard over the years to pack on an impenetrable armor. But around Yoongi, that very armor cracks and splits right down the middle, exposing your most vulnerable parts. At this point, you can’t be pissed off anymore because now it seems that you’re just letting him.

“Look, ___. You’re pretty. Like really fucking pretty and I’m sure any guy would be lucky to sleep with you at a moment’s notice. But I actually want to get to know you.”

You frown. That warm sensation is prickly now like your ribs are sprouting thorns.

“Hard to believe, right?” he adds sarcastically.

“You don’t do one-night stands, then?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

Thick drops of rain tumble down from the sky. Gentle and easy at first, like a warning. The clouds must’ve snuck up during your conversation. Yoongi holds his hand out, palm up. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he tilts his face heavenwards. His Adam’s apple bops when he hums in thought.

“Guess it’s time to go home,” he says.

“Guess this is when we part.”

His dark eyes turn to you, and the thorns in your chest stab and stab and stab. “Yeah. Guess so.”

--

The entire second floor of the house smells like Chanel. The delicate, floral kind that Hyuna’s ridiculously rich grandma bought her for her birthday last year. Cyndi Lauper’s voice wafts from the only room with its door open. Hyuna must be getting ready for another date. Her second one this week.

You peek in. Her room is painted the baby pink that the guys won’t let her color the house. Fashion magazine cut outs are plastered all over the walls. Posters of gorgeous, soulless supermodels are taped up by the vanity that is cluttered with an array of perfumes and makeup.

She’s standing in front of the full-body mirror, hiking up the strapless shirt and smoothing down her skirt. She turns, assessing how her backside looks in the fabric.

“Your ass looks great,” you say with a smile, stepping in and sitting down on her impossibly soft bed.

She sighs in relief. “Oh thank God you’re home. None of the guys will ever say something so reassuring.” She takes a seat on the bench in front of her vanity and uncaps a red lipstick. “So, where have you been?”

“I was out with a guy.”

She calmly rolls the lipstick on in the mirror and waits until her mouth is a perfect red, red as bloodshed, until she turns to you in shock. “What? When was the last time that you’ve been with a guy? When was the last time that you’ve gotten laid?”

“Since after.”

Empathy flickers in her eyes until she remembers that you hate it when she pities you. “Oh, yeah. You were wild back then.”

You snort, but you’re thankful. You’d rather her make fun of you for sleeping around than have her dampen the mood by thinking too long about the breakup that caused it. “A little too wild.”

“At least you had fun.” She picks up that flamboyant, faceted glass perfume bottle and sprays her neck. Once, twice. Her top puts her slashed mark on full display. She’s proud of it.

“Does your grandma ever give you shit about you being Unbound?”

“Nah. She’s too old to give a fuck about trivial shit like that.” Once a week, Hyuna visits her grandma in her immense home in the country for tea. She always comes back with expensive gifts like a kid would come home on Halloween night with candy, passing things out to each person in the house: A Cartier watch for Hoseok, a pair of Gucci slippers for Tae… “Now tell me about this guy.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

You shrug and pick at a loose thread in the quilt. “There’s nothing to tell. We had burritos today and he pissed me off. That’s all.”

She fluffs her hair and checks her makeup in the vanity mirror as she says, “Boys that piss you off are only good for a few fucks. Nothing else. And sometimes even that is too much. You’ll get over him soon.”

You don’t mention how Yoongi has been the only thing that you could think about for the past few days. Conveniently, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” comes on, and the song steals Hyuna’s attention. She gets up and sings the lyrics with all the breath in her lungs, pulling you up from the bed for you to sing along with her. You reluctantly agree, and together you dance around and shout the lyrics.

One glance at the clock and Hyuna says, “Oh shit! I’m gonna be late. See ya, doll!” She plants a fat, red kiss on your cheek before snatching her purse from where it hangs on the back of the door and rushing downstairs. The cloud of dainty French perfume trails behind her.

You go into the hall and shout down, “Have fun!”

Downstairs, she already has the door open. The cats are curled up on the welcome mat, but she ignores them. They know by now that Hyuna is not the one to whine at. She’s digging through the pile for her favorite heels, cursing under her breath at the guys for not being neater with their stuff. You’re not sure if she brightens up because of the encouragement from you or because she finally finds her shoes. “Thank you!” She pulls them on as she heads out the door. She nearly trips on the threshold and yanks the door shut behind her.

You think about Hyuna and all her dates. Hyuna doesn’t let anyone get her down. She’s free and she’s bold and she’s who she wants to be. Why can’t you be like that? Why let a breakup that happened almost two years ago affect you today?

--

You’re sure Yoongi is still working as you lock up the flower shop. The sun has already settled under the horizon, leaving behind a smear of gold and a sky as purple as a bruise. You know that the tattoo parlor closes thirty minutes after the flower shop, so you lean against the telephone pole looming in front of it and wait. Yoongi steps out after the last patron leaves. He sifts through a ring of keys, searching for the correct one.

“You don’t do one-night stands,” you say.

He pauses and turns to you. The streetlight across the street doesn’t provide a sufficient amount of lighting for him to see your face, so he squints like that’ll help. “___?”

You take a step forward into a little more light. “You don’t do one-night stands. I don’t do relationships. Maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle.”

He lets your statement settle like the fine dust on the television in your living room. “You mean like...a no strings attached sort of deal?” He asks this like he’s never heard of such a thing. Like something so emotionless doesn’t actually exist.

“Yes. Unless you’re too much of a sappy motherfucker to do it.”

He laughs, and you painstakingly realize that you really like his smile. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” you repeat.

He twirls the key ring around his finger, making the keys spin and glint in the low lighting. This is similar to him knocking a cigarette up and down in his mouth. You can practically feel the thoughts whirring in his head.

“What?” you say.

“When do we start this sort of...agreement?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight. Unless you have something better to do?”

“Um, no, not at all.”

“Okay. My house isn’t far from here.” You gesture for him to follow you.

He does, tucking the keys into the pocket of his jacket and catching up with you. “Are there rules for this thing? I feel like there should be rules.”

“Sure there is.” You keep your voice light as you look over at him and say, “Don’t fall in love with me.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Some emotion that is drowned quickly in those dark irises of his before you can catch it. He chuckles and says, “Well, I guess my rule would have to be…” He ponders, turning his thoughts over in his head like a child meticulously searching for bugs under rocks. “Don’t ask me to take off my shirt.”

Curiosity surfaces, and it’s at the tip of your tongue before you swallow it down. That’s something you won’t ask him about just like you won’t ask Hoseok about the mark that’s blotted out like a bad memory on his thumb. “Done.”

Crickets chirp, hidden among the wet grass. Yoongi walks with his hands in his jacket pockets, and you walk a step ahead of him, unable to endure the awkwardness of it all. Maybe you made a mistake. You should take this whole thing back and say you were joking. Maybe you -

“What kind of music do you like?” His voice is as cool as the night.

You step over a puddle and say, “All kinds. But I mainly listen to whatever my housemates listen to.”

“Which is?”

“A lot of Bruce Springsteen and Cyndi Lauper.”

“Oh God.”

You laugh. “Don’t let Hoseok hear you say that. He’s, like, in love with Bruce Springsteen. What do you like?”

You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s thinking. It’s like you can physically feel him sticking his hand into his thoughts and trying to decipher which one is the best to pull out. “I like the Smiths a lot.”

You stop and turn. “Really?”

Yoongi jolts to a stop, nearly bumping into you. A smile is playing on his lips. “Yes.”

“I like them, too.”

Now he does smile. “Favorite song?”

“Let’s say it at the same time. Three, two -”

He says, “There is a Light that Never Goes Out” at the exact same time that you say, “This Charming Man.” He laughs, and you find yourself joining him. Your eyes meet, and something crackles there, but you turn away again.

“I do have to warn you, though,” you say, walking again.

“About?”

“My housemates are all Unbound. Like, all of them. So, please -”

“I won’t.”

You nod. His eyes are sincere. Whatever you both are about to do, he doesn’t want to mess it up.

You make it to the house sooner than you think, and it looms before you. It looks bigger now that you’re with Yoongi, like the place is going to swallow him up and spit him out. The light in the living room is on and so is the one on the porch. Your car is gone, so Hoseok must be working another late shift. Why are you so nervous?

“Never brought a guy home before?” he teases. Dammit. You must’ve shown emotion again. Or maybe it’s just Yoongi peering through that chasm in your armor again.

You don’t respond. Instead, you head up the porch steps and unlock the door, stepping around the motionless cats. As soon as the door is open, you hear the guys shouting something over each other. You can’t tell if they’re arguing or joking but either way, you’re afraid it’s going to scare Yoongi away.

He slowly shuts the door behind himself, looking towards the archway that leads to the living with caution as you pull off your shoes.

“They’re cool. They’re always loud,” you assure.

He takes off his shoes and places them outside the pile just like you did your very first night here. He follows you into the living room where Taehyung and Jungkook hold up a broom and Hyuna staggers and stumbles as she bends backwards under it. The place is littered with cheap beer cans and Jimin is taking a swig straight from a bottle of liquor.

“___!” Taehyung exclaims. He drops his end of the broom and the stick whacks Hyuna right in the stomach. She drops to the floor in exaggerated pain. “Asshole!” she yells at him. But everyone’s attention is on you now. And Yoongi.

“Who’s the cutie?” Taehyung asks. His eyes are glossy and unfocused.

“This is Yoongi. My -” Friend? Fuck? Acquaintance? You don’t know what to call him. “Just Yoongi.”

“Hi, Just Yoongi!” Jimin says, waving like a child. “I’m Jimin.”

Jungkook drops the broom and goes over to Jimin, enveloping him in a back hug. “That’s Jungkook in the overly baggy shirt,” you say, “And the girl struggling to get off the floor is Hyuna.”

You go over to help her up. It’s difficult because she refuses to use her legs to assist you, but once she’s on her feet, she places her hands on both your cheeks. Her fingertips are rough with callouses. “I think I’ve found the one, kiddo. I think I’ve finally found the one!” She struggles focusing on your eyes and her words are slurred. They must’ve been drinking for a while now.

“Is that what we’re celebrating?” You aren’t sure if Hyuna is serious or if it’s just her intoxication talking. Whenever she gets drunk, she thinks she’s in love with the last person she’s kissed.

“Yes!” Jungkook shouts. He’s only loud when he’s got liquor in his system. His cheeks are rosy and so is his smile as he rests his head on Jimin’s shoulder. “She’s in love!”

“We’re all in love!” Taehyung bellows. He picks up a random can of beer and finishes it. He crushes it in his fist with gusto - a party trick he’s been perfecting over the past few weeks.

Yoongi stands awkwardly in the archway, unsure of what to do.

“Hey… I forgot your name already, but what can you do?” Hyuna asks Yoongi. She still has your face in her hands, and she smells faintly like Chanel but a lot like beer. You peel her hands away.

“I’m sorry?” Yoongi says, a crease burrowing between his eyebrows.

“I wanna be in an all-girl rock band, but if you can play an instrument, maybe I’ll make an exception for you. ___ here is shit at any instrument that we have in this house.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan.

Yoongi runs his fingers through the hair at the top of his head. “I can play the piano a little.”

“You can?” you say.

“He can!” Jimin shouts like he knows Yoongi well. “Play something for us!”

Yoongi blinks. “Right now?”

“Yeah!”

“Uh…” Yoongi looks to you for help. You just nod your head. You really wish you can save him, but there’s no escaping a drunk Jimin. When he demands something, he gets it, even if that means shedding his dignity and whining. “What should I play?”

“‘Heartbeat’ by Wham!” says Taehyung.

Jimin says, “I fucking love that song!”

Hyuna asks, “Can you play it?”

Again, Yoongi looks to you. “Yeah. Of course.” The room watches as he passes the television and settles on the creaky piano bench. He lifts the fallboard and stretches his fingers over the keys. “How does the start of the song go?”

Taehyung tries to mimic the intro, but it just sounds like a drunken babble, but Yoongi gets it. He bangs out the opening chords with a few trial and errors, but when he finally gets it, Jimin screams in excitement like he never seen anyone play the piano before. You and Hyuna clap to keep rhythm and Jimin belts out the first verse. His voice still sounds nice despite him being inebriated.

When the chorus comes around, Taehyung, Hyuna, Jimin, and Jungkook shout and jump and twirl around the room to the lyrics. The room crackles with their effervescence and when Taehyung takes your hand and spins you around, you’re laughing hard like you’ve had a few drinks with them. Yoongi is laughing, too, but he doesn’t mess up the chords. He bangs out the solo and Taehyung says, “I think I may be in love with that man.”

Hyuna steals Taehyung away from you to dance with him, and Jimin and Jungkook are in a trance, lost within each other as they drunkenly shuffle in each other’s arms.

“Okay, okay. Song’s over,” you declare. “I’m gonna have to steal him back.”

“Boo!” Jungkook says, making Jimin laugh.

“Let’s go up to my room,” you murmur to Yoongi. He nods, thankful that you’re finally on his side. On your way out towards the stairs, Jimin shouts, “Use protection!” causing everyone to giggle.

Yoongi sighs once you close your bedroom door behind you both, shutting out the sound of someone trying - and horribly failing - to play a song until Hyuna exclaims, “Get the fuck off the keys!”

“Sorry about that,” you say, locking the door. “I didn’t know they were going to be drunk.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says, but there are beads of sweat at his temples before he wipes them away. “It was fun. Haven’t played the piano in a bit.”

The lamp on the nightstand is on, and Yoongi is interested in all the writings on the walls. He runs his fingertips over them like they have texture, and he stops when one quote scratched in harsh, black ink catches his eye. “You’re gonna carry that weight,” he reads aloud. “Was this person quoting the Beatles song, or is this referencing something more cryptic?”

You don’t care. His back is to you and as he thinks about this, you’re unzipping your jacket and letting it fall off your shoulders. Unbuttoning your pants and stepping out of them. “Yoongi.”

He turns at the sound of his name, and his eyes go wide at your lack of clothing. Like he didn’t think you were serious about fucking him.

“Come here,” you say, your voice low and sultry.

He does. He drinks you up, but his eyes are devoid of lust. He’s looking at you like an art curator would a painting that he wants to learn everything about. His gaze makes you feel naked but not physically.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. His hand comes up and glides across your collarbone. He smells like fresh rain and menthol cigarettes. You want him to devour you. You can imagine him in the pit of your stomach before his lips even touch you.

You’re not sure why him calling you beautiful feels like such a commitment. It scares you, but you close your eyes when his thumb brushes against the pulse fluttering under your jaw. His mouth is wet and warm on your throat. You close your eyes and let the sensation of his tongue pull you apart like sticky fingers plucking cotton candy fluff.

His fingers grip your hips, your waist, your throat. The tips are chilly against your heated flesh. All he’s doing is kissing you, but it feels like a tease. You haven’t been touched in so long, you don’t want him to take his time, but he does.

You grow impatient. You grab him by the chin so that he’s looking into your eyes and you say, “Fuck me.”

He licks his lips. His eyes dance, but not in an excited way. Almost like he’s...nervous? “Okay.”

He kisses you as you undo his jeans. Kisses you as he kicks them off. Kisses as he gets you on the bed. He’s between your legs, sucking hickies on your shoulder, and you’re so turned on that it’s unbearable.

“Condom?” he says, his voice strained.

“In the nightstand.”

He reaches in the drawer, almost knocking the lamp over when he slams it closed. He pushes down his briefs and tosses them to the floor. His cock is erect and wanting. He bites his lip as he rolls on the condom, and a crease is bunched up between his eyebrows as he focuses. Damn, he looks good.

“Ready?” he mutters into your ear as he settles between your legs.

“Yes.” You claw at his shirt, grasping it and screwing your eyes shut in immense pleasure. He fills you up slowly, pushing all the way to the hilt, whispering, “Fuuuuuck.”

“Shit. You feel so good,” you whine.

“As do you,” he strangles out, lightly biting you on your jaw. He thrusts, and you gasp, wrapping your legs around him, pushing your heels into his ass to make him go deeper, deeper, deeper.

No one has ever fucked you like this before. He fucks not like he wants to come, but like he’s trying to make you feel good. No one before has made your eyes roll the way that he is. No one has made your thighs tremble under their grip the way he does.

He unwraps your legs from around him and drapes one over his shoulder, hitting a spot at this angle that has you moaning pitifully. He holds your leg there by leaving a hand on your ankle while the other is pressed down flat against your abdomen, the fingers splayed wide like he doesn’t want you to squirm away. He rolls into you deliciously, his hips snapping like he’s doing it to a rhythm that only he can hear.

You’re pretty sure that everyone downstairs can hear you crying out pathetically, and you’re sure they’re going to make fun of you later, but they’re too drunk and you’re too elated to care right now.

He is sweating profusely, his hair clumping together on his forehead in dark strings, his breaths coming out ragged and husky. This make you wetter. You’re clay in his hands, and you don’t care how he molds you. Damn. You never let a guy take the reins like this. It was always you that was in control. Always you saying -

“Roll over. Get on your knees for me.” He doesn’t say this in a demanding voice, but yet, it turns you on like he just smacked your ass and told you to call him Daddy. Fuck.

You do as he says with no hesitation. Your limbs are trembling and you can barely stay up. Yoongi chuckles and his hands smooth down the dip of your back. Over the curve of your ass. “Damn,” he whispers.

You glance over your shoulder like you’re about to faint, your eyelids heavy. Your body is anticipating the push that’ll come with Yoongi entering you again, but he’s taking his time.

“Tell me what you like,” he says, voice velvet. You can feel the head of his cock against your slit as he rubs it against it, gathering the juices. You quiver violently, your core throbbing. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, and your eyelids drop shut. You just want him to put it in, but he doesn’t.

His hand slides up your ass, across the expanse of your back, over your shoulder, and settles loosely around your throat. “Hm? Tell me what you like,” he repeats.

Your thoughts are scattered, but somehow in your tattered state, you piece together a sentence. “I would like to be spanked.” You aren’t sure whether you should add “sir” or “daddy,” but he doesn’t mention anything about it. He simply says, “Okay,” and then there is the sting of his dry palm colliding with the flesh of your bottom.

You jerk forward with a gasp, but your cunt clenches up with want. You have never been spanked before. It was only a fantasy. But goddamn you want Yoongi to spank you until there is no more feeling in his ass or in his palm. Whichever comes first.

“Mm. What else?” he says.

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you hiccup. Which is the truth. You’ve never been given the opportunity to figure out what you like. It’s only been fuck and finish. No thoughts in between.

“It’s okay.” He leans forward, his body flush with yours and kisses your shoulder. He places himself at your entrance and pushes in. He moans, deep and low and raspy and with a few hard thrusts, you come undone.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh -” Twitching and gasping, tears stuttering down your cheeks, hands gripping the sheets beneath you like they’ll keep your sanity from floating away.

Yoongi goes slow, his hand placed on your lower back. He pulls out when he knows you’ve had enough and rubs himself. You can see it in the redness of his cheeks, in the tightness of his eyes, he’s about to come. You face him, lying on your stomach and taking him in your hand. His lower abdomen twitches as you work him, twisting your fist up and down around him. His breaths are shallow and his eyes are squeezed tight. His mouth is wet and swollen and it hangs open until he clenches his jaw tight enough to break teeth when he comes. You pump him fast as he spills into the condom. He fists your hair, gripping tight with a satisfying moan and you make a mental note to ask him to do this the next time you’re in bed.

“Shit,” he breathes when he can finally grasp a coherent thought before it flutters away.

“Yeah,” you say, settling back into the pillows.

He lays down beside you, throwing the blanket over your bodies. You wonder how he doesn’t feel suffocated in that shirt by the way he’s sweating.

You roll over onto your stomach to hug the pillows and press your cheek into the fabric. And you just look at him. There’s nothing that you want to say. Nothing that you need to do.

He doesn’t meet your gaze - he’s staring up at the ceiling - but can feel you watching him. “What are you thinking about?”

You smile lazily. “I’m just thinking that was the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

He turns his face to look at you. The streetlights cast a dull glow over his outline, but you can still see his eyes. “Really?” He’s smiling. Not proud or confident, just thankful for the compliment.

“Yeah. Damn. How many people have you fucked to get like that?” Your voice is light and playful, but Yoongi is tense now. Maybe you said something you shouldn’t have.

“Only two.”

You think about what he said by the river. How he alluded to only being in love twice. You make another rule with yourself to never bring up the past with him.

“It’s okay,” he says, sensing your unease. “It was a long time ago.”

A silence falls over you, heavy like a winter blanket. You’re not looking at him. Instead you’re looking past him at the little spot on the wall by the baseboard that doesn’t have any writing on it. It’s the emptiest spot on all four walls, and you’ve always wondered why no one has written anything there.

“Have you met your soulmate?” you ask.

Yoongi exhales through his nose, and toys with the hair on the top of his head. “Yeah.”

“What was it like?” You’re only asking because you’re curious. Your housemates never talk about these things. Your parents once said that when you meet your soulmate, there is this indescribable feeling that runs through you. Like electricity or liquid fire. But it doesn’t hurt, they said. It just feels...strange. You always wanted to know what that feels like.

He swallows and interlaces his fingers behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, it was… interesting, I guess. To be in front of this person that you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with. It can be heartbreaking, too.”

“Why would it be heartbreaking?”

“To know that there is a possibility that they might not want to spend their forever with you.”

You frown, thinking about what he said once before. “But I thought you said soulmates are predestined. That none of this can be an absolute mistake.”

“I did. And I meant that. I still do. But just because I believe this is predestined, doesn’t mean that someone is automatically going to fall in love with their soulmate. Maybe there is another reason why they are paired together. Maybe they were meant to have a kid, and that kid is meant to become someone great. I don’t know how the System works or why some people get the love of their lives and others don’t. No one knows. But I just want to believe that it means something.”

You drink it all that he says. “Even though we’re not soulmates, do you think there was a reason why we met?”

Yoongi sighs again, this time sounding like he’s finished with the conversation. He rolls onto his side, his back facing you. “Maybe.”

--

The morning comes with the smell of breakfast cooking downstairs and the spot beside you empty. You lay in bed for a while, gathering your thoughts. The spot between your thighs is sore when you stretch, but it’s the good kind of pain. A reminder that last night really happened.

You throw on a pair of cotton shorts and the baggiest sweatshirt that you can find in your closet. Taehyung is in the upstairs bathroom throwing up, so you head downstairs to wash your face in the bathroom by the kitchen. Hyuna is passed out on the couch, and Jimin is sprawled out across the floor. They both have pillows tucked under their heads and a blanket carefully pulled around them. Most likely Hoseok’s doing when he came home from work.

You stop when you see Yoongi sitting at the kitchen table, hair messy and sleep in his eyes. There’s a cigarette burning in his hand and he taps it on the plastic ashtray set in the center of the table as he and Hoseok chat about something. Hoseok is busy preparing breakfast, occasionally stopping to take a sip of coffee from his favorite cracked mug that says #1 DAD in bold, black letters.

Yoongi notices you and waves. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Hey,” he says.

You probably look like shit, but there’s that warm feeling permeating throughout your chest like fresh honey. “Hey.”

Hoseok glances over from where he’s scrambling eggs on the stove. “Morning, ___.”

“Morning.”

The bathroom door opens, and Jungkook steps out. He is squinting one eye while the other is completely shut, his defense against the glaring sun beaming through the kitchen windows and onto his face. His hair sticks up in all directions. “Fuck alcohol,” he mumbles.

You laugh and pat him on the shoulder. Hoseok grabs the bottle of aspirin he had left out on the counter. “Think fast,” he says and tosses it to Jungkook. Jungkook snatches it out of the air and shuffles into the kitchen. Hoseok pushes a glass of orange juice into Jungkook’s hand as the younger boy drops down into a seat at the table.

“Made coffee,” Hoseok says either to you or Yoongi. You’re not sure.

You thank him and shuffle into the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup. Yoongi finishes his cigarette and pushes out from his chair. He grabs his jacket that was draped over the back of his chair. “I have work soon,” he says.

“I’ll walk you out,” you say, following him out the kitchen with your mug in your hands.

He slips on his shoes, and you stand there awkwardly as he ties them, tightening your grip around the mug. “I had fun...last night.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He shrugs on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair. A breath of silence hangs as he looks at you. For a moment, you’re genuinely afraid that he’s going to kiss or hug you, but he turns away and opens the door.

The cats are there, begging for breakfast. Taehyung usually has two cans of tuna out for them when he gets up.

“See you around,” Yoongi says. He flashes a smile and then he leaves. You push the door closed behind him.

Hoseok and Jungkook are waiting expectantly when you return to the kitchen.

“So,” Hoseok says, scraping the eggs onto a large plate.

“So,” you say, putting your mug to your lips.

“New boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“One-night stand?” Jungkook asks, reaching for the plate of bacon set on the table.

“Not that either.”

“They’re just casually fucking,” says Taehyung who appears in the kitchen. His hair is dripping and water pools on his collarbone. A cotton towel is draped over his shoulder. “Damn, I’m never drinking like that again. What were we celebrating anyway?”

“Hyuna’s in love or some shit,” Jungkook mutters, crunching on a piece of bacon.

Hoseok snorts as he chops up some strawberries. Whenever he makes breakfast, he has to take it to the next level. That’s why he’s ‘number one dad.’ “Again?”

“Maybe she’s serious this time,” you comment, taking a sip of coffee. It burns down your throat, fresh and bitter.

All three men look at you dully.

“But who is that guy? If he’s not a one-night stand or a boyfriend?” Hoseok asks.

You shrug. “Just someone I’m with. Coitally.”

Taehyung sneaks up behind Hoseok and steals a strawberry slice. Popping it in his mouth, he says, “You guys were going at it last night. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you that animated in bed before.”

Your face gets hot, but you keep your expression neutral. “I’m glad it got you off, Tae,” you bite back.

Jungkook snickers. Hoseok makes a face. Taehyung raises his eyebrows suggestively. “If I weren’t so drunk, maybe I could’ve.”

Everyone collectively makes a disgusted noise.

--

The rain subsides and spring finally bursts throughout the city. The flower shop gets more business as more flowers are shipped in. On slower days, Yoongi skips his smoke break and comes in, shutting the door behind him. He flips the sign on the door over so that SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED faces the street and he fucks you against a wall in the back room where the bags of fertilizer and packets of seeds are stored.

He’s buckling up his belt as you fix your hair to the best of your ability without a mirror after one of your sessions.

“Can I ask you something?” you say.

He’s fitting his cap onto his head over his messy hair. “You’re always so full of questions.”

You ignore his comment. “If you’re so sappy as you say, then why agree to this no strings attached thing with me?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the omnipresent pack of cigarettes. He places one between his teeth. His eyes fit up to meet yours. “I don’t do one-night stands, and I like sex. I won’t fall in love with you. Don’t worry.”

You smirk and toss him your book of matches. He catches them and nods in gratitude before striking a match and igniting the end of his cigarette. “You busy tonight? Everyone’s going to a party so I’ll have the house to myself. Maybe we can fuck on the stairs or some freaky shit like that.”

Yoongi chuckles and inhales the toxic smoke. It drifts out of his nose and mouth as he says, “Sure. Sounds fun.”

--

“That’s not going to end good,” Taehyung says. He’s pondering over which tie in his closet would look the best with his grossly expensive Gucci shoes. In this house, it seems like everyone is always preparing to go somewhere.

Origami birds made from all kinds of paper hang from the ceiling. The window is open, inviting the spring evening inside the room. The birds twirl in the breeze. When Taehyung quit smoking around the same time he went vegetarian, he used to fold those origami birds every time he had the itch for a cigarette. Now, he doesn’t even think about smoking anymore and the sight of cigarettes don’t bother him, but he still keeps those birds hanging as a reminder of his accomplishment.

“What do you mean? Me and Yoongi are adults. We know how to handle our emotions.”

He shoots you a look, disbelief all over his face. “Do you really?”

It has been almost two months since you and Yoongi began your agreement. “Wouldn’t one of us have caught feelings by now?”

Taehyung makes a low noise in his throat like a disapproving mother. He pulls out a red tie with green palm trees and a green one with gold embroidery. “Just because it hasn’t happened now doesn’t mean it won’t. Red or green?” He holds up both ties to his chest.

“Green. But I don't think so. He’s cool.”

Taehyung takes the tie off the hanger and works it under his collar. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Always.”

--

The house is so quiet that you can hear the clock in the hallway ticking. Yoongi is going to be here any minute, and you don’t know what to do until then. You check your hair in the bathroom mirror for the fourth time. Touch up your lipstick for the third. You’re wearing your favorite cotton shorts, the ones that make your ass look spectacular and you rarely ever wear a bar but you’re wearing a lace one that puts your breasts on full display that you bought and never worn. You feel naked, and you haven’t ever walked around the house so exposed. It’s a little exciting.

You sit in the living room, drumming your fingers on the armrest. It’s almost nine o’ clock. Unable to sit still, you wipe Genie down despite him being spotless. You go into the kitchen and look at the chores listed on the blackboard on the refrigerator door. You’re next to wash clothes at the laundromat.

Finally, there’s a knock.

You hurry to the front door, heart racing. Yoongi has been over before. You’ve slept with him plenty of times. Why can’t your stomach stop turning?

He’s wearing all black even though it’s warm outside. “You look like you’re cold.”

“Thank you, so do you.”

He chuckles, and you open the door wider to let him in. As he’s taking off his shoes, he says, “What was it that you wanted to do? Fuck on the stairs or something? Doesn’t sound very practical.”

“Then let’s do it on the kitchen table.”

He curls his nose. “Where your housemates eat?”

“Oh my God, you’re so boring.”

He smiles and straightens up, approaching you slowly. “That’s not what you were saying in the flower shop.”

Your stomach tightens with want. You don’t realize that you’re backing away until you hit a wall. “So where do you want me?”

He kisses your throat, right over your jugular. You close your eyes and moan quietly. “Right here,” he mutters against your skin. He reaches down and picks up your leg, throwing it over his hip. “I want you right here.”

He ends up fucking you on the stairs like you wanted. On the couch in the kitchen instead of the table. On the living room floor. You moan as loud as you want. He spanks you as loud as he wants. You tell him to pull your hair when he takes you from behind and he does with pleasure.

After, while tangled up in each other’s limbs in your bed, Yoongi’s head is on your chest as you run your fingers through his hair. His eyes are closed, his arm tossed over your waist. You could lay like this forever.

You think about what Taehyung said to you earlier in the night. Suddenly, this position that you’re in feels too intimate, and you push him away, claiming that you’re hot. He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Have you ever heard of the hedgehog dilemma?” he asks, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and stretching. There’s a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and he pulls a stick from it, slipping it between his lips.

“I can’t say that I have.”

The muscles in his back are visible through his shirt. You have the urge to run a hand over them but snuff it. His voice is muffled around the cigarette. “It’s when a few hedgehogs move closer together to share warmth, but they have to stay away from each other because of their spikes. They want to get close, but because of the way they’re made, they have to stay apart.”

Your chest is tight. “Why are you telling me this?”

He gets up, naked from the waist down. “Just a thought that I had.” He leaves, probably to grab his clothes from wherever they’ve been discarded downstairs.

His words sink under your skin, settling there uncomfortably. It pisses you off. How he acts like he knows so much about you. Anger burns within you, and you toss the blankets off your frame and stomp out into the hallway. Yoongi is downstairs, pulling his jeans up over his briefs. You grasp the banister as you glare down at him and shout, “You don’t know me.”

He looks up, tucking the unlit cigarette behind his ear, an eyebrow raised. Unbothered. “Never said I did.”

You’re completely naked, but you’re too angry to care. “But you have that - that condescending tone in your voice whenever you say something like you know more about myself than I do.”

He ignores you and bends down to grab your shorts and bra. Holds them up for you to come down and take.

You don’t know why, but that pisses you off even more. You descend the stairs and snatch the clothes from him, yanking them on. He doesn’t watch you, but when your hands slip as you try to clasp the bra, he moves behind you and does it himself. He puts his lips to your ear, sliding his arms around your waist. He whispers, “Why is everything a challenge with you?”

You close your eyes as his fingers dip - slowly, slowly - down past the waistband of your shorts. You inhale sharply when his fingertips brush against that spot, and you grip dangerously on his forearm. “You called me a hedgehog,” you mumble between your teeth like a child.

He chuckles. It rumbles through his chest, and you can feel the vibrations in your back. “I didn’t.”

His thumb makes languid, tantalizing circles over your clit. Your grip tightens. “You a - alluded to it.”

“If you’re a hedgehog, then so am I.” His breath is hot and moist on your ear. A shiver racks through you.

A moan threatens to escape. This feels like another one of his games, and you’re losing once again. And just like an arrogant winner, he retrieves his hand from your shorts and moves for his shoes. A muscle in your jaw twitches.

“You’re such an asshole,” you huff.

He fits his feet in his sneakers with a smile. “Yeah?”

You fold your arms over your chest. “Yeah.”

He straightens to his full height, towering over you when he comes close. Mischief is smeared all over his grin. “I’m an asshole?”

“...Yoongi…” you say warily. In a blur of motion, he lifts you up and tosses you on his shoulder. You scream in actual shock. “What the hell!”

He laughs as he carries you up the stairs, not bothering to kick off his shoes. You bounce when he throws you on the bed, eyes wide. “I’m an asshole?” he repeats, grabbing your ankles and pulling you toward the foot of the bed. He kneels between your legs, running his hands down your thighs.

Now your skin is scorching. He’s challenging you, but this time you won’t cave so easily. “Yeah, you’re an asshole. The biggest a - ah, shit.” His mouth is warm and inviting as he kisses your core over your shorts. Damn. You’ve already lost.

His smile is dark and full of victory. “What was that?”

You tighten your fist around a handful of his hair. “Shut up and keep going.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You lift your hips as he slides your shorts down your legs, pupils dilated with sinful intentions, and you let him fluff your thoughts into clouds.

--

Spring is melting into a humid summer, but still Yoongi wears all black.

“You’re not hot?” you say, touching up your makeup in the bathroom mirror.

He watches you through the mirror from where he leans against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, probably wondering if all that glitter fluttering down into the sink is bad for the plumbing. “Nope.”

You’re not sure how you convinced him to come to an Unbound protest, and he surprisingly didn’t give you too much of a headache when you asked. His hair is a stark white blonde now. “I dye it a different color every summer,” he claimed at your incredulous expression when you opened the door for him.

“Ten minutes!” Hyuna shouts so that the entire house can hear. She, too, has a glitter-inspired makeup look. Glitter resembles stars, and stars represents the Unbound movement as a sort of ironic stab at how people say that soulmates are “written in the stars.” She even went so far as powdering it all over her hair, which glimmers bright and iridescent in the sunlight.

“Got it!” you call out, focusing hard on darkening your waterline with eyeliner.

In the mirror, you notice Yoongi staring hard at the floor, a crease between his eyebrows. If he had a cigarette, he would be knocking it up and down between his teeth.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Can I tell you something?”

The seriousness in his voice causes you to stop and turn to face him. “Yeah. Of course.”

He glances over his shoulder into the living room where Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook are making posters and picket signs on the floor. He steps in the bathroom enough to close the door behind him. “I’m not really comfortable around big crowds.”

You wonder why he agreed to come if that’s the case. “We’ll stay in the back then. Cool?”

He nods, but you can still sense his unease. “Sure.”

The turnout for this protest is bigger than all the others that you’ve ever been to. Your housemates are in their element, dancing and shouting and loving everyone that they meet. The sky is a perfect blue. The clouds have a perfect plump to them, like someone came along and fluffed them with careful fingers. Everyone is wearing glitter, holding up beautiful signs that say LOVE IS A CHOICE or MY LOVE DOESN’T HAVE A NAME or just a simple sign with a line going through the word “System.”

The protest is in the heart of downtown where all the neon lights and tremendous billboards mesmerized you all those years ago. Someone somewhere among the crowd brought a boombox, and they’re blasting “Like a Virgin” by Madonna. Like a movie, nearly everyone present know the lyrics and they scream them at the top of their lungs the way you and Hyuna did in her room to Cyndi Lauper, not caring that police cars sit opposite to the crowd, waiting for something disastrous to happen like guard dogs.

You’re having so much fun that you almost forget about Yoongi. He’s beside you, so close that your shoulder is rubbing his, and when you look at him, he gives you a smile but it’s pulled thin with anxiety.

“Hey,” you say, but you have to get close to his ear so that he can hear you. “You okay?”

He nods, but it’s jerky. The sun is beating down and he’s sweating. The throng of people surrounding you undulates like an ocean as people hug and dance and kiss. He’s not used to this. Guilt runs deep in your chest. You slide your fingers between his, clutching tight.

“I’m right here,” you say with a smile.

He blinks, eyes boring into your own like he’s searching for something. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it as if second-guessing himself. “Thanks,” he says instead.

It’s a tradition to have a party after a protest. It’s in that same house that you got drunk for the first time in when you were seventeen, where that girl gave you a bloody nose. Yoongi comes with you and your housemates despite you saying that it’s okay if he goes home.

The house is so packed that people spill into the lawn where a few cars are parked and red cups are spread like plastic wildflowers. Yoongi is leaning against a wall in the large living room bursting with bodies, smoking a cigarette. You were dancing with Hyuna to a Whitney Houston song, but then “This Charming Man” comes on. From across the room, you spot Yoongi and he grins, wide and knowing. You rush over to him, almost knocking a few people over.

“Come on, we have to dance!” you insist, taking one of his hands in yours.

He shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “I don’t dance!” he has to shout over Morrisey’s crooning.

“The song isn’t that long! Please?”

You’re a little drunk and so you’re not against begging. He knows this, and you can see him caving before he actually does. “Okay. Just this one song.”

You pull him on the dance floor. You can see the anxiety in his eyes, but you say, “Focus only on me, okay?” You take his cigarette and drop it in the drink of someone who squeezes by. You do most of the dancing, but Yoongi follows. He’s laughing as you twirl and jump and shimmy. It delights you to see him laugh this hard, and this realization stings like a lit match pressed against your skin.

He notices your shift in mood. “What’s wrong?”

The song is over, and “Take On Me” replaces it. You don’t want to dance anymore.

You take Yoongi’s hand and pull him through the bodies thick on the dance floor and into the graffiti-covered bathroom that you had a bloody nose in once. The bass of the song is heavy in the walls after you close the door.

“___, are you okay?” Yoongi is asking, but you don’t know what’s wrong.

Your chest heaves with the intensity of your breathing. You’re sweaty from dancing and covered in glitter. Yoongi even has glitter sprinkled all over his black T-shirt like a starry sky. Your glitter or everyone else’s? You’re not sure.

He’s standing in front of the mirror. He’s looking at you like maybe you’ve lost your mind or  you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You can’t tell. His eyes are so dark. So indecipherable.

The words I was here are still printed on the bottom left corner like they were just written a few minutes prior. Left behind like a lingering kiss. You wonder who that person was. Why didn’t they leave a name? Who was here? What does it mean?

But Yoongi is watching you with those gorgeous eyes. It’s just you and him. Him and you. Surrounded by walls covered in street art and words left behind by strangers that want to be remembered.

“___?” Yoongi says. He’s worried now. Or maybe he’s getting uncomfortable by the way you’re staring at him. Again, you can’t tell.

“Is the System perfect, or does it make mistakes?” you ask. Your fingertips tingle.

There’s that crease that appears endearingly between his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“Is it perfect, or does it make mistakes?”

He thinks about this. You like that he has to think about everything before he answers. “A little bit of both, I think,” he finally says. “What’s with you and your random questions?”

He’s smiling at your absurdity, but you grab him and push your mouth against his in a quick, almost innocuous kiss. It catches you both off guard. You’ve never kissed without the intentions of sex lurking behind it. You blame your irrationality on the beer that you drank. But he closes that space again, pulling you flush against his body, melting his mouth against yours.

Emotion swells as you kiss. The emotion doesn’t have a name, but it’s there, and your chest is full of it. You run your hands through his hair as your tongue dances around his, his own hands chastely gripping your waist and caressing the dip of your back.

“It makes perfect mistakes,” you say between kisses.

“Perfect mistakes,” he repeats like it makes any kind of sense.

Your head is full of those plump clouds that were in the sky earlier in the day, and when Yoongi whispers, “You’re my perfect mistake,” against your lips, it feels like flimsy nonsense. Hollow words strung together in a sentence with no meaning. But there is a weight in his eyes when he looks at you.

And when you wake up the next day alone in your bed, that weight hovers. Heavier than a hangover.

You look up, and you immediately notice that quote scratched in black ink on the wall. YOU’RE GONNA CARRY THAT WEIGHT. Beatles song, or something more cryptic?

--

Sitting on the back porch, iced tea in perspiring Mason jars, you and Hyuna watch on as the guys burn a couch in the backyard. It’s one of the couches from the basement that grew mold, and Hyuna ordered for it to be exterminated. Hoseok is in one of his many old band T-shirts, toying with a few strands of his perpetually frizzy hair as he watches Jungkook and Taehyung squirt lighter fluid all over the couch.

Hyuna’s legs are a perfect bronze, and she stretches her toes out over the edge of the porch. Her toenails are painted red like a hard candy.

“I’m gonna miss that couch,” you say. Jimin has the gas lighter. After a pulling the trigger a few times, finally there is a flame. The guys stand back as he brings the lighter close. The couch ignites, and Taehyung lets out a whoop.

“I won’t. That couch was ugly as shit. Why do you think it was in the basement?” She takes a swig of her iced tea.

You snicker at her comment. Jungkook turns to Hoseok and asks, “Do we have any marshmallows?” Hoseok says no.

The sun is steadily falling, an insanely hot day coming to an end. Diaphanous clouds drag across the sky, drained from the heat as well. Fireflies blink in the grass, bobbing as if disoriented. The fire grows, and the flame is fascinating, eating up the couch the way Yoongi has been painfully consuming your thoughts.

Hyuna sighs dreamily. She leans back on her palms, her hair spilling over her shoulders. “___, I really am in love.”

You rip your gaze from the burning couch to Hyuna’s face. “Seriously?” Hyuna? In love? She has always seemed so untouchable. You always thought that she went on so many dates just because she could, not because she was actively searching for a companion.

There’s a small, content smile on her face, and her eyes are distant. She must be thinking of the person that stole her heart. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been seeing him these past few months and I’ve really fallen for him.”

Taehyung and Jungkook are making a game of who can blow the fire the hardest. It’s stupid, but all the guys are having a good time. You try to focus on them. But now your mind has wandered back to Yoongi and that kiss in the bathroom that occurred just a week ago. You’ve seen him only once since then. He had come into the flower shop the next day and fucked you against the wall in the back room, but you haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t even called. Not like either of you talked on the phone much, anyway.

Your voice is thin when you ask Hyuna, “What’s he like?”

She sighs again, this time accompanied by a blush and a shy smile. “He’s sweet. He’s funny and he loves Diet Coke. One time I made him laugh so hard that it came out of his nose.” She laughs at the memory. “And he’s so cute. Like the cutest. And he kisses me like I’m precious, you know? He has a good, clean heart.”

You’re chewing on your lip hard. Hard enough to make it bleed. “How did you meet him?”

She turns to you, a grave expression falling over her face. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she mutters, even though the guys are too far away to hear.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well, one day I was curious about who my mark was -”

“Hyuna…”

“Hear me out. And so I went to the nearest match office, and they have like, everyone in the country listed in these files. ___, there were shelves and shelves of them! Like a library.”

The night is warm, but you’re cold. You pull your knees up to your chest and hug them.

“They’re all in alphabetical order, and so I go to his name. And he only lives a few minutes away! So I stop by his house, and I show him my mark. He showed me his, and it was my name. And you know that feeling that people talk about when they meet their soulmate?”

You want to cover your ears. You want her to stop talking. She doesn’t notice and continues on, “Well, it’s real. It was so strange, like we were connected. And he asked me why my mark was crossed out and we had this big discussion. He was so interested in the Unbound movement even though - ___? Hey, are you okay? Where are you going?”

The door slams after you rush into the house. The thorns in your ribs sprout again, and they stab and stab and stab. Everything in your chest hurts as you tug on your shoes. You almost step on the cats when you stumble out of the house. You don’t know where you’re going, but you go. Your eyes are misty and it blurs the world around you.

You find yourself in a phone booth, the door feeble and barely closing. The tears come at full force now, racking your body like crying is a monster that is bigger than you, pushing you around. You think about calling your mom. There’s a few quarters in your pocket, and you pull it out, bringing few balls of lint with them. You dial. The voice that answers isn’t your mother’s.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s me,” you say, your voice thick with tears.

“___? What’s wrong? Where are you?” It’s Yoongi. He sounds frantic. You didn’t know before dialing that you have his number memorized.

You blink to clear your vision enough to glance at your surroundings. “I’m in the phone booth in front of Hugo’s Diner.”

“Stay there. I’m coming.”

You sit on the curb in front of the diner, your chin in your hands and looking truly pathetic. It’s completely dark out now, and the streetlight above pools around you in a soft, white glow. A car pulls up across the street and parks. Yoongi steps out in a baggy sweatshirt and frayed jeans. He glances both ways before shuffling across the street to you.

“Hey, you okay?” he says.

You don’t know when you memorized his number or why you dialed it. He’s standing before you, waiting for you to reply while you sit on a curb in front of a dying diner next to a parking meter, trails of dried salt on your cheeks.

Why are you acting like it’s the end of the world? Hyuna is in love. That’s it. But she’s in love with the name on her skin, and that confuses you so much. You’ve looked up to Hyuna ever since you met her, and you’ve always admired the way she didn’t let the mark control her. Just like your other housemates. But if Hyuna fell in love with her mark, is there hope for you at all? You don’t have a mark, and all the boys that you’ve fallen in love with did, and they all broke your heart. Are people actually tuned to fall in love with their soulmate, and trying to defy it is futile?

But you aren’t capable of saying any of this, so instead you ask, “You have a car?”

He blinks, not expecting that response. “I’ve always had a car.”

“Since when?”

He sighs. “You and your questions. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You think of the dream in Hyuna’s eyes as she talked about her lover. Another bout of crying lurks in your chest, but you swallow it down. You don’t know Yoongi’s favorite drink or his favorite color or his favorite anything. Telling Yoongi why you’re out here looking pitiful will only make this situation worse. He’ll wonder why you’re making a big deal about something so miniscule. He’ll probably think that you’re jealous. Maybe a small fraction of you is.

“Do you like Diet Coke?” you ask.

Yoongi is probably annoyed with you. All you do is ask questions to deflect. He was right that day that you went out for burritos with him. You run away from love. You run away from everything. First from home, now from Hyuna… What next?

He drops down on the curb beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “Diet Coke is one of my least favorite drinks. Is there a reason for that question?”

You shrug half-heartedly. “We’ve been around each other for almost four months now, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m sure you know some things. But what do you want to know?”

He lets you ask him questions the entire drive back to his apartment. (“What’s your favorite season?” “Fall, maybe.” “What’s your favorite color?” “Blue.” “Not black?” “Haha.”) You ask questions as you walk with him up the stairs to his floor. Questions as he unlocks the door. Questions as you both take off your shoes.

Yoongi’s apartment is a one-room. There is barely any furniture besides a bed, a couch, and a tiny table accompanied by one chair. The majority of the space is taken up by a large, wooden desk with equipment you have never seen before and a keyboard. Beside the desk are a few milk crates filled to the brim with vinyl records. All kinds - from classical to hip hop to jazz. He says that he likes to create music, and he names and explains all the equipment. You watch his eyes sparkle as he talks. This is the most that he has ever said in one breath, and it makes you smile to yourself. He’s animated, passion oozing out of every pore. There’s a lilt in his voice that strangely resembles Hyuna’s when she was talking about her lover.

You wonder what life would be like if Yoongi’s name popped up on your skin one day. How would you feel? He would be yours, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty whenever you look in his eyes and feel -

He’s smiling as he says, “Did I lose you?”

You blink. “No, no. Not at all. What else do you like to do?”

He likes to build and fix things. Sometimes he will pull things apart just to have the opportunity to put them back together. This is also why he likes creating beats. It’s essentially just assembling sounds together to create something intricate and almost tangible, like building a dresser or a bed frame. Except much more beautiful. A million times more rewarding. Because it was something that he made. Not just something that he screwed together.

You like hearing him talk like this. You could listen to him all day.

“I feel like I’m talking a lot. I want to hear about you. What do you love?” he says.

You’re both standing in the living room where there is his desk with all its speakers and technology instead of a television. You were always good at asking questions. You’re shit at answering them.

“I’m good at taking care of flowers. And I’m good at making origami birds. Taehyung taught me how to fold them.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Not what you’re good at. What do you love? What’s your dream?”

You avert your gaze to the floor.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture raises goosebumps on your arm. “What’s your favorite color?”

That questions is easier to chew. “Um, purple?”

He only asks you the same questions that you asked him. Only asking the simple ones that don’t require too much thought or emotion. You both end up on his bed, you laying on your side facing him, tracing the blue veins in his wrist. He lays on his back, eyes up at the ceiling.

“After that kiss, why didn’t I see you for a while?” you ask him, your voice small. This had been on your mind for a while. It had been itching under your skin. It was an unanswered question that you think you know the answer to, but are somewhat afraid to face.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallows. “Just had some stuff to figure out.”

You both let his answer hover in that quiet space that settles between you.

--

You return to the house a week later once you’re finally able to confront Hyuna. You know how childishly you acted, and you’re prepared to apologize, but as soon as you step in the house, Hyuna pulls you into a hug and doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” she says into your hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You pull away from her. “What are you apologizing for? Being in love? That’s not something you should feel sorry about. I’m the asshole. I’m the one who made you feel guilty.”

There’s tears lingering on her waterline. You wipe them away when they fall. She smiles. “You’re not an asshole.”

“And you shouldn’t be sorry.”

She shyly tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “He met the guys. They love him. I told him that we’re soulmates, and they were confused at first, but everything’s fine.”

You’ve had the Unbound movement all wrong. It isn’t an anti-soulmates movement. It’s about pro-love. The Unbound movement is about being able to love whoever you want without the government interfering or society telling you that it’s wrong. It’s not about loving anyone except your soulmate.

Now tears are wobbling in your eyes. “I’m so fucking happy for you, Hyuna,” you say. “I really am.”

She gathers you into another hug, warm and comforting like a mother’s. “Hoseok made your favorite. Baked spaghetti. Let’s go eat.”

--

The trees shrug off their green and shed vibrant orange and reds and yellows as the city succumbs to fall. At this point, you’re at Yoongi’s apartment so often that one day he wordlessly pushed a spare key into your palm after sleeping together. He’s at your place just as much, and he stole everyone’s hearts when he fixed the toilet in the downstairs bathroom.

Thanksgiving is hectic at your house with Hoseok and Hyuna cooking as much food as possible and shooing Taehyung out of the kitchen because he’ll only burn something. Jungkook bakes a few pies and Jimin makes his special mashed potatoes, claiming that it tastes so good because he mixes in a bunch of love (to which you always roll your eyes). Yoongi comes over to eat and fuck you after when everyone is getting drunk downstairs. You call your parents the next day to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. They ask you to come home like every year, and you say you will just like you do every year.

Then the Christmas decorations are revived, pulled from the dilapidated cardboard boxes in the basement. Hoseok and Jungkook haul a tree from a tree farm and everyone fights with it as you all set it up. Yoongi comes over to help decorate and be bullied into playing “Last Christmas” on the piano. Just like every year, Hyuna takes photos with her Polaroid, and when the pictures print, she hangs them up on the tree. Jimin makes popcorn balls, and crushed popcorn is still being found in random places days later.

It doesn’t feel strange to have Yoongi be a part of all this. It’s natural. You’ve seen him almost every day since spring, so he’s fit well into your daily life. But Taehyung senses a shift.

“I thought you knew how to handle your emotions,” he says. He’s wrapped in a quilt and sitting cross-legged on the couch in the kitchen as you water the plants lined on the windowsill. The kitchen is the warmest room in the house, and you sometimes find him sleeping down here.

You frown. “I do. What makes you think that I don’t?”

“You’re in love.”

Your hand jerks in shock, and you get water on the windowsill. It spills over and drips onto the floor. You snatch a few paper towels from the roll. “What the fuck, Tae? I’m not.”

“People who are just fucking” - he uses air quotes - “don’t spend holidays with each other. People who are just fucking” - more air quotes - “don’t give each other keys to their places. People who are just-”

“If you do air quotes one more time…”

“Face it. You’re both in over your heads. If you like or love or whatever each other, be adults and confront your feelings.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he interrupts you. “I know when it comes to your feelings, you’re a track star. But you gotta learn to deal with them. Or you’re gonna let a good one get away.”

You toss and turn all night, unable to sleep. Restless, you reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. Usually on nights like this when you can’t sleep, you look at that empty spot on the wall and you focus on it until your eyes drift closed. But the spot is no longer empty. Two hedgehogs have been drawn there in permanent marker, close enough to touch but not touching at all. Because of their spines. Above their tiny heads, a small heart hovers.

A painful smile makes its way onto your face involuntarily. The thorns stab hard enough to draw blood. You throw the blankets off your body and head downstairs. It’s some time past midnight. The house is washed in silence, so you walk on your toes to the living room.

Genie sits on the television as spotless and lifeless as ever. You glance around. No one’s around. “This is so fucking stupid,” you whisper to yourself. You pick up Genie and close your eyes. “Am I in love with Yoongi?” And you shake and shake and shake the Magic 8-ball, shaking it like no one in the house dares to because they believe it’s fragile. When you stop, an answer bobs up to the surface. Better not tell you now, it reads. “Stupid fucking toy.” You replace it carefully so that no one in the morning will know that it’s been touched, but when you turn around to go to the kitchen, Jimin and Jungkook are staring at you.

“Jesus!” you gasp. “You both scared the shit out of me.”

Jungkook laughs, but there’s a sympathetic expression on Jimin’s face. “You know,” he says, “We only use Genie when we already know the answer to the question. Genie’s there to reassure us or to make us think about the answer harder.”

You watch them pass you for the stairs, dumbfounded. A door upstairs closes, and you mutter, “Fuck.”

--

You have to tell him. You have to tell him or it’ll devour you the way that flame ate the couch until there was no recognizable features of it remaining. You have to go to his apartment and tell him in person. Doing it over the phone isn’t good enough.

The first snow flutters down, fine as dust. But you sit in your car, unable to shift the gear into reverse. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? You did tell him not to fall in love with you. If he doesn’t feel the same way, you won’t know what to do. He’ll be heartbreak number four. You don’t know if you’ll be able to handle that. You don’t want to.

Suddenly, a searing pain, hot as heated iron, sprouts on your inner wrist. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. You clutch your wrist tightly, hoping that doing so will decrease the pain, but it continues. Sweat beads on your hairline. You push your puffy coat off your body and yank up the sleeve of your sweater, and the sight could make you cry, but you’re in so much shock that you can’t do anything.

There, on your left wrist, sprawled across the blue veins, is a mark. Dark and black and permanent. The letters are outlined in pink, irritated flesh like a fresh tattoo. Kim Namjoon, the name reads. Not Min Yoongi. Of course it doesn’t. Why would the System decide to be fair?

You don’t know how long you sit in your car for. Looking at the name that isn’t Yoongi’s.

A knock on the window shocks you back into your senses. It’s Hyuna. She’s peering in at you, worry etched all over her face. Her eyes falls to your exposed wrist. “Come inside,” she says gently.

Your housemates sit with you in the kitchen. Someone had placed an electric blanket over your shoulders. Someone else made you hot cocoa the way you like with toasted marshmallows and whipped cream. You can’t taste it, but you drink it anyway to feel the burn down your throat.

“No one talks about the pain,” Hoseok says.

“Yeah, it’s not just you,” says Jimin.

“But I don’t love this…this Kim Namjoon.” His name tastes like chalk in your mouth.

“We know,” Taehyung says empathetically. “You don’t have to.”

Now the tears are coming down your face, hot and persistent. You try to wipe them away, but they’re only replaced by more tears. “I was going to tell Yoongi today. I was going to tell him that I -” you choke on your tears. Hyuna rounds the table and bends down to hug you. But this time, her hugs won’t help.

The electric blanket is on its highest setting and your cocoa is steaming on the table, but you still feel cold.

“If you want to meet him, just let us know, okay? Sometimes it helps with the pain,” says Hoseok.

“Have all of you met your soulmate?”

They all nod solemnly. “I was curious,” Jimin says, glancing at Jungkook. “I think we all get curious. But after I met her, I realized she wasn’t the one.” He takes Jungkook’s hand, and Jungkook squeezes twice.

“I was in love with my soulmate once,” says Hoseok. Everyone turns to him. His eyes are casted to the floor, but you can still see the pain in them. “We grew up together. We were each other’s soulmates. I thought we were lucky. But she didn’t feel the same way. It fucked me up, yeah, but at least she’s happy with the person she’s with now.” His eyes flit up to meet yours. “I think you should do whatever feels right for you, ___.”  

--

If Yoongi isn’t home, you’ll wait for him. But if you don’t go to his place right now, you’ll probably chicken out. You know how you are. Everyone does. You’re best at running away.

He’s in the shower when you arrive. You take off your shoes, but you don’t take off your coat just in case you have to leave in a hurry. Just in case he says that he doesn’t love you back.

The bathroom door opens. Yoongi is shirtless, wearing only track pants. His hair is dripping. He’s humming a song that you don’t know, but stops when he sees you.

The first thought that comes into your head is, I’ve never seen him shirtless before. But your eyes fall to his chest, and you realize why.

His eyes are wide and pleading. “___. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to run you away.”

You’re too emotionally exhausted to be upset or sad. You’re still numb from crying earlier and your wrist still throbs. All you can do is stare.

You have seen marks on many people - across a sternum, tucked in an elbow, secretly behind an ear - but why out of all places did Yoongi’s have to be there? Your name, marked on the skin right across his heart. Like a sick joke.

“How long have you known?” you mutter. You arms hang by your sides limply like you’ve forgotten how to use them.

Water drips onto his shoulders. “Since I was eighteen.”

His mark showed up on his eighteenth birthday like a normal person. And out of all people, it had to be your name. “Did you approach me only because of your mark?”

He sighs and looks down at the floor. “It was a complete coincidence. You don’t have a file in the match office, so we met organically. I swear.”

“I don’t have file because I didn’t have a mark. Just got it today.”

“What?”

You push your coat and sweater sleeves up so that he can see the freshly engraved mark. “I just got it today.” Your voice breaks. Tears scratch at your throat like a caged animal. “And it’s not your fucking name.”

“___…”

“Yoongi, it’s not your fucking name and I’m so pissed because I -” You choke on the words, unable to finish them.

“Me, too.” He crosses the room, coming close. You can smell the soap on his skin and the shampoo in his hair. He tucks hair that fell in your face behind your ear and gives you a soft smile. “I really, really do.”

There are no more thorns in your chest. Only a dull, yearning ache. You warily bring your hand up and trace the letters on his chest with a trembling finger. Your name. You close your eyes. “I thought we made it a rule for you not to fall in love with me?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I guess I was doomed from the start.”

You kiss him. When you pull away, there’s that heaviness in his eyes again. Now you know what that means. “Make love to me,” you breathe into his mouth when he kisses you again.

He smiles against your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

After, you both lay on the bed, you with your head on chest. Your ear against his heart, listening to it beat underneath your name. He idly makes circles on your back with his fingertips. “Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“Should I meet him?”

His fingers pause. “Your match?”

You nod.

“Do you feel like you should?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to not meet him and wonder what kind of person he is.”

“Then you should.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze. “Okay.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

--

According to the file in the match office, Kim Namjoon lives three hours away from your home. He’s in university to be an architect, he comes from a wealthy home, and he has a phone number listed. You call and arrange a day to meet up. Hyuna and Taehyung agree to go on that drive with you.

The world is blanketed is a sheer sheet of fresh snow. Hyuna drives while Taehyung sits in the passenger seat, and you’re curled up under a blanket in the back, staring out the window.

“Are you nervous?” Taehyung asks, turning around a little in his seat to face you.

“A little.”

He smiles and reaches back to squeeze your knee.

An hour in the drive, Hyuna stops at a gas station. Taehyung gets out to buy snacks. Hyuna goes in to pay for the gas. There’s a phone booth on the side of the store, and you climb out the car with a handful of change.

Yoongi picks up the phone after a couple of rings.

“Hi,” you say.

You hear him on the other end, ruffling papers. He must be sketching a draft for a client. “Hey. Where are you?”

“An hour away from the city. We stopped to get gas.”

“Are you nervous?”

You sigh. Your breath comes out as a diaphanous cloud of white. “I really am.”

“Whatever happens, know that I love you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut, savoring his words. “Can you say that again?”

He laughs, deep and breathy. “I love you.”

A smile works its way onto you mouth. “I love you, too.”

“Listen, it’s going to be hard. Because you have a different name on your skin, we won’t be able to do anything...domestic.” You know. There are laws stating that if a couple isn’t promised to each other, they can’t be married. They can’t own a house together or have kids or be buried beside each other.

“Let’s pretend none of that exists. Just for right now.”

“Okay.” He laughs again, and you smile. “In another life, we’d meet at a club while the Smiths is playing.”

“Which song?”

“‘This Charming Man.’ And then I’d see you dancing to it, and I’d ask if I could buy you a drink.”

You snort. “Buy me a drink? You wouldn’t ask me to dance?”

“No,” he deadpans. “I don’t dance.”

“Okay, okay. You’d buy me a drink. And then what?”

“We’d talk all night. In that life, marks and soulmates don’t exist. We’d be free to do whatever we want. I could kiss you in public without anyone questioning it.”

“We could hold hands in the park.”

“Yeah. And I’d kiss you there, too. I’d kiss you everywhere.”

Taehyung knocks on the flimsy phone booth door. “You ready?” he mouths.

You nod. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, Yoongi.”

“Safe travels, my little hedgehog.”

You laugh and hang up the phone. Stepping out the booth, you say to Taehyung, “Let’s go home.”

He smiles knowingly. “Let’s go home."

**

m.list

#kreativewritersnet #bangtanwriters-net #btscreatorsnet #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts scenarios

[donnerpartyofone]

#4

In 2018, with the help of some concerned and informed people in my life, I discovered that I’m probably pretty autistic. The driving factors were not what you might expect (I didn’t, anyway)--chiefly, a kind of persistent clumsiness, disorientation, organizational difficulty, trouble learning certain practical tasks--but it helped explain a lot of things about me that one might otherwise consider “quirks”. I had always taken for granted, for instance, that I have a lot of trouble recognizing faces, including ubiquitously famous actors, or members of my own family. I have also been accused from time to time of taking things “too literally” (to which I usually reply something like, “But this is literally what’s going on in reality, how does literalness make it dismissible?” I really don’t get it). Also, most typically, I have never liked being touched. “You’re just like Dave Letterman!” my dad chortles, an interpretation I don’t mind. I think it might also be pretty autistic of me to be so averse to family. I don’t have the slightest inclination toward maternity, which one could guess from the previous passages, but it’s more than neurosis. I know intellectually that people care about their families; the same way most people burst with pleasure at the sight of a baby, any baby, they also respond automatically to the very idea of blood relatives. As a kid, I was always baffled by the obsession other kids seemed to have with their cousins, or how in love they could be with their grandparents. In my world, you obsess over people to whom you have something to say; people who share your taste in art, your politics, your philosophies, your passions and phobias. I don’t understand relationships that are based on blood alone, on being trapped in the same place and time by virtue of pure circumstances.

Today, as my friends are all having babies one after another, I find myself strangely fascinated by them. Some of these people have struggled all their lives to find a sense of belonging or purpose, and having children has given them a sense of meaning beyond anything they previously hoped for. As someone who continuously struggles to find a sense of purpose, which I base exclusively on my intellectual and artistic pursuits, I’m amazed by the idea that I could potentially put all my existential confusion behind me if I were willing or able to become a mother. I can estimate how profound it must feel to create life, and then to become responsible for turning that life into something good. But, I remain unable to attach meaning to the idea of something being “a part of me” on a purely biological basis. I have insurmountable trouble thinking of my biological predecessors as being “where I come from” on the identity level. I can’t imagine being so sentimental about being an organism in a colony of like-organisms, not the way I am about people who have brought me experience and taught me to think.

So, even if I were without the mother-related trauma heretofore detailed, I still think there is something about who I am as a person, that would have made me recoil from my grandmother. My mother’s mother was the platonic ideal grandmother, a plump, pleasant old lady with a syrupy southern drawl who seemed to have stepped out of a cookie commercial. Excessively generous with money, food and affection, she presented as a person any family would welcome in their household. However, I always detected something oppressive about her. I was raised to be guiltily dutiful toward her, so as a child, I thought my suspicion and repulsion was just a problem with me. It must make me an asshole, that I don’t want her to hug me with her entire body for such a long time that I can’t figure out what’s going on anymore and I’m suffocating from the heat. I must be a dick, that I don’t want someone chasing me around, staring at me, posing me and jostling me like a baby, which I haven’t been for years. Maybe it was my problem, that I didn’t want her to burst into the bathroom and shriek with glee at the sight of me on the toilet trying to take a single solitary piss. Maybe I was just being a jerky teenager when I froze in horror while my grandmother sat next to me at the dinner table, gazing smolderingly into my eyes like a lover and caressing my hair non-verbally when I was perfectly capable of having a respectful adult conversation.

As I grew up a little more, I began to pick up on the fact that she drove both of my parents nuts. All of this motherly pageantry was incredibly manipulative, and really a way of controlling people. The creepy coddling I received as her granddaughter was really something she did to everyone. She was bright, incredibly shrewd really, a person whose hard work and frugality produced a self-made millionaire, though this didn’t reflect in her humble home. She was a dyed in the wool republican who was capable of watching the Daily Show with appropriate delight. Actually, she had a weird sadistic sense of humor; I always thought she got a little too much joy out of seeing little boys get smacked in the nuts by speeding baseballs on America’s Funniest Home Videos. That probably bothered me because of how she unforgettably screamed with laughter at my flinching when she took me to get my ears pierced. Everything indicated that, regardless of her age and conservatism, she wasn’t a vulnerable, senile old biddy, but a keenly intelligent woman very much in touch with the real world. This made it endlessly disturbing to me that she so insisted that everyone around her act like a little baby, adults and children alike, so she could rule us all as the ultimate mommy. Her aversion to grownup conversations and self-reliance was a way of forcing everyone into a Rockwellian time capsule in which everything was predictable and hygienic, in which mother knows best. Literally any admission of imperfection could trigger an outburst that would enslave everyone to the process of cheering her up. I recently heard a story about a Christmas visit during which she and her husband were lavishing attention on my brother as if I wasn’t even there. Concerned that I might be lonely, my father suggested that they include me in this play session. At this recommendation, my grandmother burst into hysterical tears, and my parents had to spend the rest of the night apologizing for accusing her of being neglectful.

Eventually, I learned little by little that she was more than just a prototypically clingy old lady with a keen talent for doling out guilt. It was a little weirder than that, and ultimately, a lot darker. First, there were the things I had heard about my mother’s life as her daughter. I remember a story my mother told about a birthday party that her mother threw for her when she was little, sometime in grade school I think. Her mother said that she had hired a gypsy woman to tell everyone’s fortunes, which was extremely exciting. A little carnival tent was set up in the back yard, and all the kids lined up to hear about their futures. When my mother’s turn came up, she walked in, only to find her mother in there in a turban talking with a corny accent, as if her own child wouldn’t know who she was--let alone any of her friends. My mother told this story to explain how embarrassing her mother was, but what I picked up from this was less a funny story about how parents traditionally humiliate their kids, and more like evidence that my grandmother’s identity is completely rooted in her position as an apex matriarch, well beyond anyone else’s intelligence or control.

The way she infantilized me was not an ordinary byproduct of having a grandchild, but something she did to everyone in her life, historically, up to and including my adult parents. She certainly continued to do it to me as an adult, and she insisted on a childish sort of positivity that I could barely muster. I thought, if she wants us to have a relationship, I should talk about my life, which sometimes includes complaints--or simply categorizing things as just-ok, or business as usual. Of course, she found this extremely irritating for some reason, and would pressure me to change my story with declarations like “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SO MISERABLE!” One Christmas when I was really in a bind, I called to thank her for the holiday check she had sent me, saying that it gave me much-needed help in making my rent at that time. “Oh...well, I thought you would do something nice with it,” she said in a strange tone that let me know she was sort of angry with me for some reason. I had to sort of bend the truth into a story about some special treat I supposedly got myself in order to get her to cut it out.

A better example of what was really going on with her also had to do with Christmas. You know Christmas: If you’re a little kid, you get up at about four in the morning, you beeline for the tree and try to peak into the openings in the wrapping paper, you wake up your parents either by force or by the shockwaves coming off of your person, you all open presents together in a sleep-deprived daze, and you’re basically all back in bed by 10am. Well, this might happen with my mother, but once my grandmother was awake, a ritual began. First, she would get out her camera, and follow my mother back into the bedroom. There, my mother would get back into bed, and pretend to be asleep. Then my grandmother would take a picture of my mother “waking up.” Then, another picture of her theatrically delighted expression when she “remembers” that it’s Christmas. Then a picture of my mother entering the living room and exploding with joy when she sees the tree for “the first time”. Then pictures of the presents being opened, then etc...this whole completely artificial passion play of my grandmother’s little family having the perfect Christmas.

Much, much later, I would find out what all this debasement was probably really about. It had to do with my great aunt. I knew that this woman, who I have rarely ever met in my life, and her daughter both suffer from brutalizing clinical depression. The daughter actually has an electronic device in her brain that acts like a pacemaker for depressive episodes. I had never even heard of something like that before, but it made perfect sense to me that this person and I would be in the same gene pool. Naturally, though, my grandmother would not have found such a dour defect so sympathetic. My grandmother and her sister seemed to have some kind of amorphous feud going on. My grandmother complained relentlessly that her sister refused to spend enough time with her, and I usually thought about how unfair she was being to a woman who has had cancer multiple times, whose energy is leached away by depression, and whose daughter is also routinely sick and almost uncontrollably suicidal. Apparently there was a history of slights and passive aggressions between the two women, though none of it topped the thing I ultimately learned about their family. At some point in their lives, my long suffering great aunt admitted to her sister that she had been raped by their father. I never knew the man, but he was supposed to have been sort of a son of a bitch, and there were other reasons that this made all the sense in the world to me. I remembered a story about how, after he died, his daughters found years’ worth of private writing that he had produced. It sounded like they were really raunchy violent western stories, which my parents were naturally interested in seeing, until they discovered that my grandmother had burned it all. “It was PORNOGRAPHY!” she declared. It’s a little hard to tell whether she was simply appalled by this rather un-Rockwellian artistic deviance, or if she was especially bothered because she knew him to be real life predator. In any case, it would have been impossible to know, because when her sister confessed that their father had violated her, my grandmother basically gave her the finger. Or rather, she gave that whole upsetting topic the finger, and then insisted that her poor destroyed sister continue to be her faithful companion as if none of it had ever happened. “It’s so painful!” my grandmother cried when her sister refused her most recent invite to brunch, and it took everything in me not to say, “Yeah, well, can you think of any reasons by yourself why she might not be fucking dying to hang out with you all the time?”

So it became clear to me why my grandmother might be so controlling and belittling, why she might try to force everyone into a performance of endless childhood, why she might expel from her life anything that smacks of imperfection. It still remained very difficult for me to just suck it up and be what she wanted me to be, not so much because I’m especially proud of my personality--a personality that in every way would repel her if I were to reveal my private world of crime, horror movies, pornography, fetishism, occultism, anti-capitalist sentiment, and of course, suicidal ideation. I also had trouble being the granddaughter she needed because of this autism of mine; it doesn’t make any sense to me to dissimulate, I’ll never become a smooth enough liar to pretend to be somebody’s innocent little baby, even if it would benefit me to do so. Making things up makes no more sense to me, than it does for someone to say “I love you” without meaning “I’m impressed with your personality, your intelligence, your culture, your morality, your humor, your...” It doesn’t make sense to me for someone to say, “I don’t care who you are, I love you because you’re my baby.” I made my best efforts in her last years, but nothing will stop me from feeling guilty toward her for the rest of my life. The way that she died fucked me up so badly that I’m only beginning to realize it now.

#the big story #long post

[hawkeyebabe]

Congrats on the followers you really deserve so much love!!! For fics, I mean I'm a sucker for Royai angst so maybe some Riza helping Roy after he's blinded either before Marcoh can heal him or alternatively Marcoh has to use the rest of the stone healing Havoc. Honestly just hit me with that love and angst!

“I want love and angst”

You are following the right fucking blog, my friend. And uh, thank you? You’re so nice?

I got carried away with this request. Oops. I hope it gives you the feels you seek.

Beginning Yesterday

The people blurred together liked frayed bits of string twining with cloth. The noises they made, each and every person and every unique decibel emitting from the bustle around them, was nothing more than a buzz she could not discern. They faded…

She started forward, her body jerking, as her eyes snapped back open. Stay awake, Riza, she scolded herself. She allowed her eyes to scan the chaos, across the scape of tents and running uniforms, to anchor on the image of him beside her. His face was hardened to stone, but his eyes flicked around a few times before they looked downwards, his eyes almost appearing closed, before they fully opened again and he was staring straight ahead once more. He doesn’t know if he should close them or not…

Against her will, her own shut close as she was rippled with a wave of emotion. She hungered for that trench of adrenaline that held the uncanny ability to numb her of anything other than survival. Now, the gravity of their fate…of his…began to splinter her insides as the trench wore away. The feeling settled into a puddle in her gut and between that and her drained veins, she felt uncomfortably nauseous.

“The sun’s out, isn’t it?”

Her eyes cracked open at the sound of his voice. Rising to the sky, she studied the hue of it and observed the willowy wisps of the white clouds.

“Yes,” she answered him softly.

“I feel it.”

She hadn’t before, but suddenly at his observation, she did then too. The warmth of it soaked into her skin.

“Is it early?” he asked. “Have we been up all night?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know, sir,” she confessed. “I’m unsure myself. I’m unsure of when this day began, if it was during the day or not.”

She attempted to think back on it, to recall when they had gone down there…

She did not know and she abandoned the attempt of recollection only moments after seeking it. It was too exhausting, and she found she didn’t care enough to fight for it.

Looking in the reflection, she imagined to be staring at a poster for a theatre play over Frankenstein’s Monster. Stitches lined the front border of her neck like a rope. They had to reopen the deeper sections of her wound in order to properly disinfect it, having fears of the blade that had sliced her skin and the filth of the ground she once lay limp atop.

The skin now was a savage red, swollen and voracious and hideous. The scarring, they needn’t have said, would be substantial.

In her youth, her peers would share in a child’s myth about a young girl who went to school with the rest of her town, but was known for the ruby red ribbon that she kept tied round her neck. It was simple, and incredibly endearing. The ribbon was as identifying to the little girl as the color of her eyes or even her own name.

One of the town’s children, playing innocently, gave the little ruby red ribbon a tug and it whispered off the girl’s body like a secret. The head that sat atop the girl’s shoulders tumbled suddenly down and crashed against her shoulder, kept attached to her flesh by only a tag of skin. It was a silly child’s tale that the young would mutter to each other in an attempt to scare.

Riza’s eyes were cemented to the reflection’s neck, and she thought perhaps she ought to be wearing a ruby red ribbon.

She noticed that she’d been staring for quite some time and she forced herself to look away, reminding the muscles in her legs how to move as she programmed herself to walk out of the corridor’s bathroom.

Her palm softly pushed against the door as she opened it and stepped inside.

“I’ll ask one of the nurses tomorrow for some tea,” she said as she took her first step in. From the stream of moonlight through the window, she saw his chin lift at the sound of her voice, a miniscule movement that showed he heard who was speaking. She wanted him to know who had entered the room without her directly announcing it was she.

“I don’t know if you should be walking around,” he murmured. She sighed quietly, too quiet for him to hear, as she lowered herself down on her bed. The dim beams of the night sky played on the wall.

“They filled me with enough blood to keep me upright, Colonel, I assure you.”

“You haven’t slept.”

Exhaustion had been rampant, but rest alluded the two of them like shadows. Even after receiving aid, being admitted to a hospital and treated for their wounds, after the sun had long since set, they could not sleep.

“I’m awake enough.”

He did not continue his case. He’d hardly moved, so still she barely saw his chest rising with breath since they’d been settled in their room. Sitting upright, a thin layer of sheets pulled up over his lap, he sat throughout the day and now throughout the middle of the night and, like she, was unable to dismiss the unending rush of awareness.

Her ears perked at the puff of air pushed out of his nostrils in something that sounded like a weak laugh. She blinked a few times and looked over at him, her brow drawn together, as she looked at his half smiling face.

“Colonel?” she asked with concern.

He shook his head and lifted his chin upwards, and if he were still a seeing man, he would be looking at the ceiling. He gave a little self deprecating shrug.

“I need the bathroom,” he laughed weakly. The stoicism in his face finally cracked, for the first time in what seemed to be days, it cracked, and she saw him finally falter. His smile, so devoid of humor it burned her, grew as his head continued to shake in a kind of tortured disbelief, and she rose to her feet, closing the distance between their beds, summoning any remaining strength she had left to ignore the swelling hurricane of hurt inside her bones. She allowed her foot to scrape against the tile so he knew she was approaching before her hand rested under his elbow, and he only barely tensed at the contact.

“Fortunately, I’ve just been there,” she said gently. “So I know where it is.”

His face twisted and he dropped his head into his hand, his shoulders rising as his body flexed together. She felt the back of her throat burn, but she swallowed it down to disallow the sensation to affect the tone of her voice. They both were beginning to understand the gravity of his condition.

“Come on, Colonel.”

She pushed her hand into his elbow, a nudge, and his hand dropped away from his face. The sheets rustled as his legs swung over the bed and he stood himself up. She scanned his face, looking over him, watching his eyes bear blankly into the wall in front of them. The man she’d known for so long, longer than anyone she’d ever known, longer than she’d known her own father, was living in a void without color, without light, and she could not help him.

A rise of panic prodded at her mind, a question of if he would ever see again, of how on Earth will he adjust to this, how will she adjust to this, but she forced it down quicker than it made itself apparent to her. One thing mattered, one thing demanded her attention, and it was guiding him down the hall.

She stuck out a foot, putting it gently in front of her, so he’d feel the summon of her exit. He reciprocated the step and took another, even before she, and she had to be reminded of her admiration for him. He hadn’t given up, of course he hadn’t.

It didn’t mean, however, that he embraced the adjustment, and it showed in his struggle to keep his expression passive.

She pushed lightly against his arm, her hand now beneath his forearm and her other on the back of his tricep, to steer them from the edge of her bed as they continued their journey across the room.

Her eyes watched his feet as they moved, studying the floor for missed objects, and the dim light of the hallway peaked through the crack of the door they had suddenly come upon and she quickly shot her head up while simultaneously releasing his forearm to instead press quickly against his chest. He stopped immediately.

Severely scolding herself, hoarding the tension of the mental image of him crashing into the door, feeling his chest beneath her palm as though it were a hex, she silently twisted the knob of the door and pulled it open.

“Forget that we have to go through doors to exit a room?” he joked softly. He was donning half a smirk, and she knew he was attempting to save her from her own loathing.

“I don’t know what you expect of me, Colonel,” she tried to match his tone, reciprocating his quiet, teasing demeanor. “I can shoot guns, I can’t offer any other talents.”

“Well I don’t know why I’m keeping you around, then.”

They’d stepped into the hall, and she felt a distilled rush of relief at being back in the light so she could better protect him. The relief leaked away when she considered that he didn’t have the luxury of sharing in it.

The hallway was empty. She heard a nurse truffle papers distantly. Without incident, they stepped gradually to the bathroom, and she led them inside.

“Toilet’s right in front of you,” she said once the door shut behind them. “I’ll be outside.”

“Don’t you want to help me out with this, too?” he smiled. Smiling sadly back at him, she shook her head, almost doleful that he’d been jesting with her so much. He wasn’t projecting his emotions; he was hiding from them.

“I’d rather host a dinner party, sir,” she said. A corner of his mouth turned up, and she felt her sad smile turn a little more genuine. The door closed behind her as she stepped into the hall.

She released a heavy sigh, strangely feeling as though she hadn’t been allowed to breath until then, and her back hit the wall opposite the bathroom. Off instinct, she lifted her chin as she let her vulnerability escape her, but the lift of her head stretched the seam in her neck and she had to stop herself from gasping as her head fell back down. A hand lifted to ghost across the wound…

If there was any silver lining to the colonel’s predicament, it was her gratefulness that he wouldn’t have to know how frightening she appeared.

A minute passed before she heard the door creaking open and she whipped her head to see him slip into the hall. She started forward and grabbed his arm the way she had before.

“It’s fine,” he brushed off. “I can find my way out of a room the size of a box.”

“I know, but…”

“It’s fine, Lieutenant.”

She shut her mouth and looked at him a moment longer before starting them forward down the hall. She drove away the thought of him, hands flat against the interior of the bathroom, palming and shuffling his way to the door just to prove that he could.

“I didn’t mean for that to come out so harsh,” he said, his voice low enough to crackle.

“It didn’t.”

They glided down the hall with ease, walking at a pace they might otherwise match in different circumstances.

“You hate this, don’t you?”

Her eyebrows curled together and she looked up at him, somewhat hurt and mildly shocked by the question.

“What? Hate what?”

“Hate that you can’t protect me from this.”

Her heart stopped and she had to force herself not to falter in her steps. Her throat tightened and she looked away, slowing their rate as they came upon their door. That wasn’t what she thought he had meant.

Yet the statement struck a chord with her, a chord covered in a dust she didn’t wish to brush away because she feared it’s reflection. A surprising burn ghosted across the back of her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered as she pushed open the door. Placing a hand over on the shoulder furthest from her, she guided him through the door frame. “Yes, I do hate it.”

There was a pounding against the wall of her chest, and she realized it was her heart rate as she was smothered in the memory of how this had happened.

Katanas stuck into the palms of his hands like pins in a cushion, his arms cemented into floor, a forced alchemic reaction as blue pulses of electricity crackled throughout the air pockets around them, and a horror she had never felt before mauling her as she watched him be stolen away…

She shook her head quickly, banishing the memory from continuing. Never, not even in Laboratory Five, had she felt such absolute, uncontrollable terror. In the laboratory, she’d been devastated, she’d been told he was dead, but then? Hardly less than a day ago?

It was like watching him be tortured and killed before her very eyes while she did nothing, could do nothing, and only scream for him so loudly that still her throat scratched even though the time had long passed.

The intensity of her screams, the monsoon of what little blood that had been inside her pumping with an indiscernible heart rate, had crashed into her consciousness after he’d disappeared and the two people beside her, she couldn’t even recall who, had to catch her by her shoulders as she’d fallen to her knees.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as she led them to his bed. She guided his hand to the bottom frame so he’d understand why they’d stopped. His hand slipped out of hers as he lowered himself onto the mattress.

She decided that she didn’t possess the want to lie to him.

“What happened,” she said in answer. She took a few paces back and sat on her own bed, the springs creaking.

He hummed quietly in his throat in response.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what’s your prognosis?”

Her teeth showed in a smile, and although he wouldn’t see it, it was apparent in her voice.

“Prognosis, Colonel? My prognosis is I am…I am…astonished,” she laughed on the word, “that the two of us are even alive. That anybody is still alive. That we’re listening to the sounds of peace out the window as if it were another night, that I’m supposed to recognize safety, that I’m supposed to trust safety at its word, because frankly I can’t get used to the idea that I don’t need to be looking over my shoulder at every moment.”

She didn’t mean for the words to tumble out of her, but honesty seemed to be her only source of meditation and it was bursting at the borders of her mind. In any other circumstance, she would have never unveiled this much honestly, particularly when it alluded to her own wellbeing. She rarely shouldered her troubles on him. She glanced over at him, at his silence as he mulled over her truth.

His ear was turned to her, but not his face. Not his eyes.

Her breath hitched in her chest and her eyes turned wet when she came to her worst realization, the epiphany lacerating her body, colliding with her like she’d been hit with a train, as she felt tears threaten the corners of her eyes before falling silently down her cheeks.

She would never be able to look into his eyes again, because he would never look into hers.

The thought crushed her more than any other thought she’d had that night.

“You know, I went into it expecting to die,” he admitted after some time. “When we went down into the tunnels, I didn’t anticipate returning.”

She felt another hot tear fall as she whipped her head to look at him, astonished.

“What?”

“I was obtuse, unseeing due to my hatred. And I…”

It took him several long moments before continuing.

“And realistically, by default and statistic, I knew that at a bare minimum, one of our side wasn’t going to make it through the day. And I was determined that if anyone, it would be me.”

A confusing flare of anger tornadoed inside her, anger that he went into the battle with such a mindset, anger that he ordered her to remain alive but he himself wouldn’t follow such directions. Did he care for his life so little?

“But then, when you were…” he started.

He let the words float away.

“I thought that I was wrong,” he said. “I thought, it’s not me who’s not going to come home today. It’s you. It’s my lieutenant. And I hated myself so much for that, because the idea of losing you was…debilitating. I was so flippant, so uncareful…so I understand, what you said before. The gnawing feeling that we can’t sink into comfort, and that danger is still waiting for us in the shadows…I can’t escape it either.”

Another wave of emotion rose up her throat, but she forced down the tears. They were unnecessary, and they were a burden on what the two of them needed to do; leave this all behind them.

“Except,” he countered. “I have you to see for me. I can attempt to relinquish the hold on those fears, because I know you’re right here, always, and you’re watching my back.”

His head bowed.

“I am sorry that you have to carry for the two of us.”

“Don’t be absurd, Colonel. This has always been my job, and my purpose. If I didn’t have you to look out for, I would be nobody. Just a scared little girl petrified of her own skin.”

“You should have died.” His voice was nothing more than a steady murmur. “You should have.”

Her fingernails curled into her palm. She looked down to the hands in his lap, bandaged over the impales of Bradley’s sword.

“If that girl wasn’t there…this girl who was never part of the plan…I’d be alone in this room right now.”

“I don’t know if things happen for a reason, Colonel…but she was there, for whatever reason. And now I’m in better shape than you. Please…don’t dwell on that. I know it’s impossible to eradicate the events we went through from your mind, but that piece…forget it completely.”

He sighed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling with the breath, but he said nothing more of it.

“Tired, yet?” he finally asked. He was silhouetted against the window, dark enough that she couldn’t read his expression.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Are you in any pain?”

The tips of her fingers found place against her neck again, feeling the raise of the stitches in her skin. She slid her thumb across the line, reading it like a brailled book, comprehending the words forever sewn into flesh.

“Don’t lie to me, either, Lieutenant,” he said quietly. “Tell me.”

“Why do you want to burden yourself with things you don’t want to know?” The volume of her voice, a battle of who could be softer, was won by her.

“I do want to know.”

“Yes.”

A beat of hesitation precipitated his response.

“…Yes?”

“Yes, I am in pain,” she clarified. “It does hurt. But it wouldn’t feel right if it didn’t. It keeps me…focused. I wouldn’t wish to feel nothing.”

“You’re impossible,” he chuckled dismally. “I sometimes wish you weren’t.”

“You’re in pain, too, don’t forget.”

Her eyes flicked down at the movement of his hands, how he softly clenched his fists experimentally after she spoke.

“I suppose that’s true. I do forget.”

“Like I said; it wouldn’t feel right otherwise. You know the same.”

“Even though this is over…what we have to accomplish, this is only the beginning. I know you know that.”

“Yes…” she watched him carefully, unsure of his intentions.

“So…I’ll need you.”

She swallowed hard, continuing to study him. It was curious how she continued to nod, even though he wouldn’t know it. It was strange to hate nodding when she never had before.

“I’ll be here,” she said.

"Yes, but we didn’t anticipate…this.”

The roaming light of a car on the road outside slid across the room before disappearing. She heard its engine rumble past them.

“I need you to consider what that means,” he continued. “You won’t just be watching my back, you’ll be guiding it. I don’t trust anybody else…and not only that, but I can’t be…extended by anyone else. You are an extension of me, with you I’m not as blind as I would be otherwise. With you I can walk.”

The emotions she’d felt before, fear and anger and desolation, crumbled away like plaster. What he said, of course, went without needing to be said. Being his eyes became her duty the moment she saw the blankness in them. She’d already nested, already embraced, the purpose.

“You’ll run.”

His head turned towards her, and in the change of his position she saw his eyebrows draw together. The moonlight traced his profile.

“I’ve just followed you through hell, Colonel, why would I leave now? I’ll be there, throughout time, and you’ll run.”

His head shifted to the side, a tilt likely tugged by emotion, and she heard a slow and heavy inhale go through his nose. He gave one single nod and let a few moments pass between them.

“To the top, then,” he concluded.

#This was actually kind of a challenge to write #Anytime I get an angst request I lose my shit a little #royai #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #royai fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fanfic #fma fanfic #angst #god bless the angst

[baconpal]

so heres the long super paper mario post

strap in for why super paper mario is fucking bizarre and why that’s pretty much awesome

gonna be a good amounts of spoilers, so if you’re on desktop then hit that read more, and if your on mobile, then here’s your punishment for using this god awful app

super paper mario is a game that is incredibly difficult to put into words, but it leaves such a powerful, lasting impression on me and i can’t come to say anything first other than I love it so much, and if you havent played the game, please just go do it now, even if you have to pirate or emulate or something, just let yourself play this game. It’s one of those games that I really feel I can just recommend to anybody

it’s difficult to think of where to start with dissecting this thing so i’ll just start with the art since lookin at things is pretty easy

ART/WORLD DESIGN

every world in SPM is completely unique, not just in what type of environment, but it’s art style, and this is premised with the fact that none of these worlds are capable of existing together and are completely separate, and NOT part of a cohesive universe (LOOKIN AT YOU ODYSSEY I STILL THINK YOU LOOK STUPID)

The hub and the first 2 worlds are mostly just slight variants on the same general style of simplistic shapes and colors, with world 1 delving into more linework type aesthetics, and 2 focusing more on impressions and silhouettes, 

world 3 changes this completely with what is obviously an 8 bit kind of style, but instead of jarring over sized pixels, the world is composed of detailed tiles arranged to look like pixel art that imply a more real world, and not a gamey one, 

world 4 focuses on patterns and big patches of color to give the impression of the vast emptiness of both space and the surface of a barren planet, before giving you the “Whoa Zone”, with a striking mix of wire frame and futuristic UI style to it

world 5 takes the idea of nature being crude and simplistic and humanity being sharp, angular, and extreme and flips that on its head, with humanity and the space they occupy being these absolute memes with no sense of depth, and the plant life existing in a system of clean cut caves with futuristic technology and elegant historic values

world 6 simplifies a kind of colored Japanese painting aesthetic, down to the funny cylindrical cloud clusters and brushstroke trees

world 7 depicts what is essentially hell (yes there’s hell in this game keep your pants on) as a squarish blur of bright greens and warm reds and purples, and depicts heaven as fluffy land of clouds and Greek temples

and lastly, world 8 is inverted greyscale, where light is black and darkness is white, its simplistic and striking and i couldn’t think of a better style for the final area of a game so focused on the concept of light and dark

MUSIC

I’ll just try and keep it simple, the musics fucking cash money

The game makes great use of motifs when it needs to, where specific themes and instruments are used in other songs to suggest relationships and put battles and travels into perspective

And when it ISNT doing that, it’s just fucking funky stuff, with a weird trend of BOING and PLOP and SPLISH noises in the percussion because fuck you i guess

There’s a lot of good songs that do lots of interesting things, any of the like 5 final battle songs are great things to point to, but i’ll just go ahead and say the main theme of world 8 “Castle Bleck” is one of my favorites that isn’t super highly rated. It brings in the types of instruments that have been associated with the villain the entire game, but also throws in 2 very important things; a sudden triumphant burst of almost JRPG styled chiptune that pushes away the constantly building tension, which is then followed by the sound of a clock ticking, which is a musical motif only present in the songs “Memory” and “Promise” which is played whenever the memories of the player’s little guide thing and the main villain’s past lives together are alluded to. This one song holds a lot of weight, as well as simply being a fucking cool song.

GAMEPLAY

This is, sadly, the one place I’ll not mince any words and say the gameplay is not amazing by any standard, it’s pretty much a classic mario game if it had RPG stats, items, and random abilities granted through the character and partner systems. The 3D flipping mechanic is nothing astounding, though it is very interesting to see how worlds are constructed

One of the biggest flaws people will mark the game for in its gameplay is that it’s tedious, and while I have to agree, that’s because I’ve already played the game before, and the tedium only comes from not being completely invested in the experience anymore. I’ll get some specific examples in a bit, but there’s a few cases of “tedium” that i believe are 100% intentional and drive the story in an interesting way

STORY/WRITING/GAME DESIGN

Thats a fuckin broad section, but its pretty much everything else i have to say on the game, and where the most spoilers and random praise is gonna be

I’m not actually gonna talk about the whole story, more just the strong parts of it, under the assumption you’ve already played it or understand a story as simple as “villain wants to destroy world, hero wants that to not happen”

The writing and characters are just flawless, everyone is fun to be around, especially the bad guys, who you see more antics of than your own party. There’s goofy running plotlines about O’chunks and mimi essentially getting grounded and being forced to write essays about why they fucked up at beating mario, and big stinky brother dimentio teasting and bullying them and sneaking them out to do his bidding when The big Count Bleck is away

The game is full of referential humor to not just mario itself but all kinds of games, there’s skeletons in hell who are clearly just Marios from the mainline games who died in stupid ways, there’s an actual dragon quest turn based boss battle in hell too, and chapter 3 has an otaku villain who tried to get with peach in a simulated visual novel

but the humor exists not just in references, but in simple good scenarios, with things like “Having a game show in a bathroom when everyone's life is at stake” and “locating an ancient manuscript to use as toilet paper” or “flying through black holes to find a convenience store” and things of that nature

It also interacts with the players emotions in many interesting ways, one of the more lauded being chapter 2-3, where mario is forced into working off a massive debt of fictional money, and is required to do hard, boring labor. There isn’t anyway to avoid doing both the hitting a block 100 times and the running on a treadmill for a few minutes thing, but the constant feeling of “there has to be a faster way to do this” drives the player to prod around, find the secrets, and slowly discover how to break the system wide open and get to the end, and i love it for that

This entire game is some sort of bait and switch, to put it simply, while it’s already a bit of a departure from both mario itself and the paper series, the first 5 worlds are pretty fucking tame stuff, other than the void, which is a giant black and purple spot that sits in the sky, always, every single world has the void growing in its sky, and it does grow, every chapter it gets bigger and bigger and takes up the sky, but where this truly culminates into the “switch” part is chapter 6, which starts itself by presenting you with the most TEDIUS sounding chapter possible, fight 100 enemies in a row, and nothing else, and for 25 straight fights, that is all it is, so you’ve locked yourself into it at this point, you know whats up, but the void in the background begins to grow to the point of being the entire fucking background, and every enemy you face speaks as if they know they’re all going to die, and by the 30th fight, one of the villains comes to stall for time as the void completely swallows the world, and the party is sent back to the hub. When they decide to go back in to world 6, its empty, the entire world is a white void with a single black line making up the ground, and colorless destroyed structures occasionally peaking out of the ground.

and you walk on this white void for so long and you just feel nothing but regret and fear and no matter how fast you make yourself go you feel like you’ll never find anything, but you do eventually get your plot item and escape

then, Dimentio, one of the villains you’ve seen the least of, appears in the hub world, the safest place in the universe, and kills mario

he just fucking kills him

he puts mario in a box and fills the box with explosions and mario fucking dies and goes to hell because fuck you mario

then you go through all of chapter 7 just to escape hell (called the Underwhere cus how could we possibly be allowed to take hell seriously) and join up with your full party before confronting the final world, which i’ve already stated i just love the design off

the game just takes the comfortable ride you’re on and throws it into the fucking sun and burns you alive and i love it so much, even the very end of the game doesnt let up, where the main villain is overtaken by that absolute madman Dimentio (Whose name is a play on both Dimension and dementia), who clearly was powerful enough to have done the whole “ending of the world” himself, but did it this way for the theatrics of it

there’s a lot i could still say about the game, but this post is absolute rambling and its 2 in the morning but as usual, i just wanted to shit my thoughts onto the internet to people could maybe learn somethin about either the game or me and how i think and look at and respond to stuff, and as always, anybody who read this whole thing is cool and i love you a whole heck of a lot

#long ass post #Super Paper Mario

[clownfuckery]

A Monster for a Mate -  Chapter 3

PENNYWISE X OC

Previous Chapters:

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

—–

1. Step into the Light

Glug, glug. The water funneled into the drain as I stepped out of the Jacuzzi tub.  I patted my body dry and then folded the tower, placed it on top of the toilet seat cover, and sat to lather the lotion onto my body.  Its sweet almond vanilla scent filled the entire bathroom, and I let out a sigh of bliss.

“Nada mejor que esto” I purred, not even realizing I had spoken in my birth tongue.  Nothing can be better than this.

I now stood fully naked in front of the sink.  Taking a paper towel from the stack provided by the townhouse, I wiped the fog from the mirror that ran the length of the wall.  For a moment I stood there, staring at my reflection.  

My mother’s reflection.

“Ay, pero si son igualitas!” She looks exactly like you! people always exclaimed upon seeing us.  As a child, I couldn’t believe that one day I would grow to look anything like her.  She was unbelievably beautiful, with her raven black hair that tumbled in waves down to her waist, her piercing green eyes, and magnificent olive skin.  She was the epitome of grace, always boasting perfect manners and basking in the goodwill of all who met her.  Men parted for her when she passed, women stared with awe and envy, and I wanted nothing more than to be like her.

“Always look down, Luseres” she instructed me as we came to pray in the town’s cathedral every morning and every evening.  “We cannot dare to look at the Omnipotent.  We are vile, cursed, and we don’t deserve His forgiveness.  Now, fold your hands, and say your prayers”

She was exceedingly pious, my mother.  For her the cathedral was home, just as much as the one bedroom duplex in the center of town.  She always did penance, gave alms to the poor, kissed the hand of the priest, and recited Hail Mary’s as her fingers counted nimbly on her rosary.  Looking at her from the corner of my eye, I could see the tear glistening as it rolled down her cheek, could hear the tremble in her whispers, and watched as she gently hit her chest, repentant of some vile sin. She acted as though she were the one at fault, but deep down I knew:  Something was terribly wrong with me.  

I could feel it in the way she always made sure I was blessed with holy water, felt it in the way the priest’s hands trembled with fear when he made the sign of the cross upon my forehead.  I could feel it in the way she made sure there was a statue of the Holy Virgin in my room.  “She will protect you,” she said when she tucked me into bed, then laid down next to me.  Her sleep was always restless as though expecting some danger to suddenly swoop down on us.

She never spoke of my father.  All I knew was that he was a soldier who died during one of the riots in Buenos Aires in the late eighties.  I had no picture of him, and she wept if I ever tried to ask.  At night I had nightmares of bombs exploding, of blood flowing down city streets, of red eyes under black hood that stood menacingly around my bed.  Every night when I woke up screaming, she would fall at the feet of the Virgin and pray for the evil to be kept at bay.

“He can’t have her!” she cried out, pleading with the higher powers.

I slammed my fist into the counter, fighting back the tears.  I tried to still my shaking body as I looked into the mirror of the past.  I was the image of my mother, but I had none of the virtues that made her perfect in my eyes.  I was a vile thing, selfish and prideful, seeking only to satisfy my every whim.  Had she lived, she would have been revolted by the monster I had become.

I guess in the end he did have you, she would have said with disgust.

I stood up straight and took a deep breath, swallowing the memories.  With shock, I realized that I hadn’t thought of my mother in a very long time.  I had drowned her memory beneath a frozen layer of apathy that served to numb the pain.  Complacence and the joys of this world had only pushed her back to the recesses of my subconscious, to the point where she became only a shadow, a faint image of some distant past.  But in the few hours since setting feet on Derry I had thought of her already twice, the first being on the bridge when I looked within to bring my voice forth.

Why?

Was it the effects of the portal the Man in Black claimed this town to be?  Or was it due to the powerful force that seemed to conceal it from the rest of the world?

I proceeded with my nightly facial ritual, then let my hair down.  I threw on my silk robe and walked into the bedroom.  I turned off all the lights, leaving only the lamp on the bedside table still on.  I pulled back the covers of the bed and as I moved to climb onto it, I heard the faint sound of laughter.  I stopped and looked toward the door, hoping to see the shadow of someone passing by, but there was no movement in the hall.  Then I heard it again.

It was a high pitched, almost childlike cackle.

My brow furrowed when I realized it came from outside my window.  I rushed to the balcony and looked out, but there was no one there.  I reached for the curtain to shut it, but instead my hand clutched the fabric in shock.

A red balloon drifted gently, directly in front of my window.  It moved slowly as if floating.  As I looked, it passed in front of a building with a flag on its roof, and I noticed that the wind blew in the opposite direction.  With a gasp, I realized that the balloon was drifting against the wind, then a deeply unsettling thought passed through my mind:

What if it’s the same balloon from the clown at the Canal?

“You’re going batshit crazy Lus” I chuckled as I watched it drift down Main Street and disappear.  I drew the curtain closed and turned back to the bed.

Then my blood froze.

The clown was crouched on top of the dresser.  He sat perfectly still, with his eyes fixed on me.  The dim light from the bedside table caused him to be bathed in shadow, but I could still make out the intricate pattern of his white silver suit.  I took in the orange pompoms and red cords that adorned his torso and boots, the tassels at his ankles and wrists from which bells hung, the thick ruffles of his collar.  Looking up I contemplated his face.  He had a large bulbous head caked with grease paint and talcum powder.  His lips were a bright red with two extending lines that crossed his eyes and peaked above his brow.  The tip of his nose was painted with the same bright red, and his eyes… dear God, his eyes.  They were two raging flames that burned and sparkled in the near darkness

He was… mesmerizing.  

 “Hello little songbird.  Remember me?” he purred.  His voice was a mixture between raspy and shrill, a sort of disjointed infantile yet masculine voice.  It was unsettling, but at the same time perfectly reasonable and rather pleasant.

“Who are you?” I whispered.  He didn’t reply.  His eyes danced over me, looking me up and down as though I were an odd creature.

“Are you an Ancient?”

No answer.  His head moved side to side, studying me.

“Are you an Elemental?”

Silence.  More inquisitive looks.

“A… Glamour?”

His cocked his head at that, then he lifted a finger and wiggled it. 

“Ding, ding, ding!  Congratulations, you are kee-rrect!” he squealed.  

I took a step backwards. “What do you call yourself?”

His yellow eyes twinkled and his mouth opened in a wide smile.  I noticed the two large bunny-like front teeth which gave him a childlike appearance.  

“I’m Pennywise” he purred.  

“Pennywise” I breathed, feeling the way the name rolled off my tongue.  I was completely taken by him.  There was something fascinating and yet dreadful about him.   

“I never met a glamour before.  I am…”

“Luseres Vardanyan” he blurted out.  

I felt my body go ice cold. He had said my birth name. 

My mother’s name.

“How did you know?” I gasped.  When he didn’t reply I took a step towards him, trying to catch a clear view of him.  “Show yourself.  Step into the light”  

He jumped off the dresser and began sauntering towards me, slightly slouched and with his hands clasped together.  Like an animal walking up looking for food, the thought crossed through my mind.  He stopped at arm’s length, moving his head side to side, smiling at me.  I stood my ground.

“Oh, I know a bit about you” he singsonged “but I wanna know more” 

“If you’re trying to intimate me, it won’t work” I chuckled “you’re not the first shapeshifter I’ve come across”

He laughed deep in his throat, but there was no humor in his eyes.  His gaze was piercing, searching… seeing.  

“Oh, but none like old Pennywise I’m sure” he crooned.  His hand slowly reached out to me, ghosting over my face.  “I can see you. I can smell you.  I can taste every drop of fear that seeps into your bones when you lay awake at night. I know why you always leave the light on.  You’re afraid of the dark”  

I laughed long and hard.  He laughed along with me as though it were a great joke.

“Afraid? Me?  Please little clown, I’m an Untouchable.  I can walk through fire and not a single hair on my head will burn.  Nothing can harm me.  Not even you” I said, crossing my arms.

“Untouchable? Ooh that’s exciting!” he exclaimed, shaking his shoulders and making his bells jingle. “If you can’t be touched, then how can I do THIS?!”

I screamed.  His large gloved hand curled tightly around my throat and a searing pain exploded in my head.   I felt him push into my mind, and as much as I tried to fight against the intrusion, he easily overpowered me. I felt panic rising in my throat, and I clawed and tried to break free of his neck-breaking hold.

Suddenly he let go, and I nearly crumbled to the floor.  

“Guess you just got touched” he teased, and began laughing maniacally.  I took the opportunity and made a dash for the door, but he bested me by leaping in front of me, blocking my way.

“You can’t hurt me, you can’t hurt me” I kept muttering in dismay as I clumsily stumbled backwards and he mirrored my every movement.  We danced around the room until my back hit the dresser and I couldn’t stop the cry of alarm that escaped my throat.  Fuck.  I was trapped.  His hands roughly grabbed my face again and he held me in place as he pushed his nose into my neck and inhaled.

“Hmm…” he moaned, drinking me in “what you are running from, Lus?”

I felt my mind go numb as he entered me again.  

“There is something… oh yes, I see it… wait, what’s that? Hmm… daddy has to do things… dirty things…”

“Get out of my head” I snarled. 

“I can help you, little Lus.  I can make you disappear.  You will just simply…float away”

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, fighting against the pain that throbbed in my temples.  Mastering every ounce of strength, I reached forward and curled my hands around his neck, right through the ruffled collar, and with my mind I pushed back against him.  If my demise was about to come at the hands of an otherworldly horror, I was not going out without a fight.

“Show me what you are!” I demanded.  He growled down at me and pushed further in.  

“SHOW ME!”

And then I felt it, the electrifying pull of a magnet followed by a jolt as though two pieces were forcefully thrust together. I looked deep into his yellow eyes, he looked deep into mine, and then I saw…

…There was a well, an old well, and were seven blurry figures poised to strike as the clown cowered in fear… there was a paper boat racing toward its tragic destiny down a gutter swollen with rain… there were mangled bodies of children… countless bodies all piled in a bloody heap of limbs and shredded flesh… and then there were flashing images of a small budding town receding back into its past until it was no more than a small cluster of log cabins… and yet the pages of history kept flying backwards until there was an explosion in a darkened, prehistoric sky, and something came crashing down to Earth… and then… I saw It… there was darkness, and yet in the midst of that darkness were three swirling orange lights that raged and mewled, writhing in ravenous hunger…

“It was you” I whispered “you feed on them”

The clown recoiled as if burned, and the link was broken.    

“You come from the darkness behind the universe, from the Prim” I said with realization. “Now I understand.  That’s why this town is a portal, because it is your feeding ground.  I’ve heard of your kind and where you hail from, but I never believed you to be real.  They said that all eldritch creatures were dead, and yet here you are.  You must be the last one left”

He stared at me for what seemed like forever.  A thin line of drool began to flow copiously from the corner of his mouth.    

“Who brought you here?” he asked “are you an agent of the Other?”

“No.  I was brought by the Man in Black.  He calls himself Walter Padick”

“Man in black” he repeated, looking away as if contemplating the name.  I could almost see his thoughts racing in that huge head of his as he nodded, staring off absentmindedly.  “Robert Gray… Walter Padick” he murmured, barely above a breath.  Then his face lit up with realization and he turned to me once more, taking my face in his hands.  This time his touch was not rough or probing, yet not exactly gentle.  His demeanor was no longer antagonizing, but curious again.

“You’re a gift.  A most opportune gift” he purred.  He touched my hair, traced the contours of my face, and then I felt his thumb brushing over my lips.  His eyes danced over me, drinking me in.  Then to my surprise he brought his face close to mine, dangerously close.  He nuzzled my nose and I felt drool drip onto my chin. And then, for the first time, I smelled him.  The cacophony of smells that exploded in my senses was both pungent and delectable, like a toxic potion of wet earth, of hallowed ground defiled by the falling of the rain. I could smell the circus, with its jumble of buttered popcorn and all manners of tempting confections.  I smelled time on him, like the smell of vintage fabric inside some old granny’s wooden chest.  But beneath those scents, there was something tangy and endearingly sweet that I could taste it.  It was the unmistakable scent of lemon drops covered in sugar, my favorite candy as a child.  Overwhelmed, I buried my nose in the ruffles of his collar, wanting nothing more than to devour the source of that smell.

So captivated was I, so lost to this new wealth of sensations, that I did not notice when the ties of my robe slid open.  In the throes of my haze I felt a gentle tickling sensation that sent shards of heat surging to my head and the tips of my toes.  Had I enough sense of reality I would have realized that the pompoms of his suit were rubbing against my skin, particularly the one at his waist which was brushing against the juncture of my legs.  

I let out a sound that was either a whine or a moan, and felt his body vibrate as he growled deep in his throat.  His hands were at my hips, pressing into my skin as he held me against him.  He was so firm, so strong…

“Never had a mate before” I heard him whisper. 

At the words, I snapped out of my trance.  I gasped loudly upon seeing my naked state and yanked my robe closed. I quickly looked away, ashamed, horrified… and confused.  

“Open your mouth” I heard him order “let me see”

“What?” I asked incredulous.

I gasped when he opened my mouth with his thumbs and peered inside.  “Hmmm… mmm…oh yes” he mumbled as he turned my head this way and that way, opening my mouth wider and trying to see deep down into my throat.  He swooped in closer and sniffed.

“What are you doing?!” I babbled as his fingers prodded my mouth.  He let go and I shrank back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.  

“What the fuck was that?!” I yelled.  He reached out again and this time he squeezed my jaw.  I winced when I felt him pushing against its hinges as if testing out its strength.

“They’re strong” he remarked with satisfaction “oh you’ll do just nicely!”

Then to my astonishment, he jumped and clapped in sheer delight, laughing so hard it sounded like a hoarse shriek.

“What do you want from me?” I breathed “you obviously don’t want to eat me”  

He kissed me.  It was the most awkward and clumsiest kiss.  His lips were pursed together and he pressed them against mine.  He pulled back with a loud smacking sound and then he pinched my cheeks. 

“Don’t go anywhere, little songbird.  The fun has only just begun”

And with that, his eyes glowed blindingly bright.  I took one look, and the last thing I registered was the way my knees buckled and the rustle of silk as his strong arms scooped me up.

Then, darkness.

End of Chapter 3

Click here for the next chapter!

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Tagged: @hello-helianthus @floatingwithpennywise

A/N: If you wish to be tagged so you don’t miss any chapters, leave me a comment or send me an ask!  Please let me know what you guys think, it means SO MUCH!  The smut will begin soon in a couple of chapters from here, so don’t worry, it’s coming! ;-)

#pennywise #pennywise x oc #pennywise fanfic #pennywise fic #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #it movie #it 2017 #it movie 2017 #it #it stephen king #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise smut #stephen king #stephen king it #horror #romance #a monster for a mate #writing #my stuff #clownfuckery #clownfucker #clowndaddy #daddywise #pennyboi #claddy

[mandyfanfictionmcu]

Who I Am (pt 1)

A WinterWitch Fanfiction

A/N: This is my first fanfiction I’m posting on tumblr. Feedback is very much appreciated. This will be a severall-part-story. This is just something I’ m writing for the fun of it. Hope you enjoy! Love, Amanda

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Bucky Barnes (eventually) 

Warnings: self-hatred, self-blame, a fue curse words?

Words: 2517

 Who I Am (part 1)

Confined to the compound

Wanda’s PoV

 The television seemed to only hum silently, so distracted was she. Granted, it was nice, being alone. It was a relaxing change too be able to enjoy the silence, even if the tv was on, and not have everybody’s minds hammering at her own. It wasn’t like she read everybody’s mind whether she wanted to or not, she did not always hear a steady flow of thought as if the people in the room were speaking them out loud, but she could always sense them. The kind of way you can sense a hand placed inches from your back even though you can’t see it. She could always read their energy, whether they were sad or angry or happy or annoyed, but she couldn’t tell if they were annoyed at her until she dug into their minds, and she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. On the one hand she could now ignore their annoyance and try to convince herself that it wasn’t directed at her, but all the same, it was terrible to have to always feel everybody’s feelings hand debate internally whether or not they were for her or something else and wonder if she dared peak into their minds, afraid of finding that it was indeed her they were annoyed at.

But today she was all alone in the Avengers compound. Apart from Vision. But Vision’s thought and feeling, with him not exactly being human and all, were always steady. For some reason he didn’t have the same tendency to spike in anger or suddenly become severely depressed as the others did. Their feeling was like jabs from out of nowhere at her consciousness, but Visions flowed. Although he could become angry, it wasn’t at all the same. His feelings were more like shadows or echoes, and that made it so much more pleasant for her to be around him.

As of today, however, Wanda wasn’t sure she wanted to ever be around Vision again. His words as he attempted to cook her dinner still rang inside her head like a horrible bell.

“Not yours” 

No, not for her safety. Not for her safety was she stuck here at the compound. She had suspected that Tony had ordered Vision to keep her here. And she had been right. But it had not been, as she had come to think, and oddly come to terms with, to protect her.

When Vision had volunteered to go to the store to get more toilet paper (it had run out) she had realized that she had been right, Tony didn’t want her to leave. Vision never went anywhere. Sam would go on toilet-paper-runs sooner that Vision! Vision (and all the other avengers) had understood pretty soon that Visions appearance might disturb toilet-paper-shoppers and therefor he hardly ever left the compound. He couldn’t exactly pass as a normal pedestrian. But this morning he had left, and Wanda had realized that she was indeed on look-down.

So, naturally, first she had been angry. Did they think she couldn’t take care of herself? She realized however that in the event that she needed to “take care of herself” she might cause even more of a problem for herself. As the news reporter had stated this afternoon:

”...many seem to be angry at Wanda Maximoff herself for her interference in Lagos”...”

It hurt of course. And she was still bout angry and disgusted at herself for what had happened. It was her fault. All of it. That Steve and Tony were fighting and the Socovia Accords. Even if Natasha had sat down before she left for Vienna and told her that the UN would have come up with the Accords sooner or later and that they either way had probably been talking about them and planning them for ages, Wanda couldn’t help but blame herself.

So, it would have come as no surprise to her if she had been attacked for her actions in Lagos while out toilet-paper-shopping by someone who blamed her just as much as she blamed herself. And because she had already realized this she had told herself that Tony had looked her in the compound for this reason, to protect her from said fictional attacker and to prevent the government or the media from blaming her further if she was forced to use her magic in self-defense.

Now however... She had a hard time explaining even to herself how hurt she was. Vision had said that he “wanted people to see her the way he did but what he had said before that made his statement confusing. How did he see her? As a monster that didn’t have control of her own powers? As an even worse monster because he believed she didn’t care?

She had heard of course what Secretary Ross had said too:

”If I miss placed a couple of dirty megaton nukes you can bet there would be consequences.”

And she had agreed with him, but it had still hurt. Because he hadn’t been talking about weapons, he had been talking about human beings. But apparently that was the same thing in his eyes. And that was what she was, a weapon. So did Vision simply mean that she had adjusted to being a weapon so well and that he saw her as strong for dealing with her terrible powers?

In that case, she didn.t know if she wanted to be strong. She wanted to be a human being. She clung to the words Sam had shouted during his hour-long argument with Rodey:

”...we’re human being not weapons!”

She ran the words through her mind again, trying to find some comfort in them. Even if she wasn’t particularly close with Sam she had always liked him. He had a fun sense of humor and even if he was afraid of her powers he didn’t pip toe around her and treat her differently for it.

Turning the volume of the tv up higher, trying to block her own thought from her head, she jerked around as a fireball erupted outside of her window. Running to the window she stopped right in front of it as Vision came gliding up out of the floor.

“What is is?” she asked.

“Stay here please.” Vision responded.

Her thought ran wild inside her head. Vision glided out through the wall and of to check on the source of the explosion. Had they come for her?

A motion, a therein of thought sneaking up behind her.

She summoned her energy and spun around, launching the knife that lay on the table at the man in the doorway. It stopped and hovered right in front of his face before he lifted a hand and nocked it sideways. She let go of the energy and the knife fell to the floor as she realized who it was.

“I guess I should have knocked.” Said Clint with a tiny crocked smile on his face.

“Oh my god,” Wanda vispered, then raising her voice said “What are you doing here?”

”Disappointing my kids.” Clint walked forward, and for reasons best known to him shoot two seemingly useless arrows that fasted themselves on opposite sides of the room. “We were supposed to go waterskiing. Cap needs our help, come on.” He grabbed her hand and lead her towards the door.

They made it half way to the door before Visions voice rang out behind them, shilling Wanda’s bones to their core. She didn’t want this to become a fight.

“Clint. You should not be here.” 

Turning around slowly Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I retire for like what, five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

”Please consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Okay, they’re considered.” 

Suddenly, as Vision pasted between them, electricity shoot from the base of the arrows and Vision couldn’t move.

“Okay, we got to go.” Clint said, seeming both terrified and surprised that his plan had worked. He turned around, jogging towards the door. But Wanda didn’t move. She was fingering her shirtsleeves and looking down.

It was her fault. All of this. And now Vision was hurt to. And Clint, Clint who should have been waterskiing with his kids was being dragged into this mess to, all because she couldn’t control her powers. And whatever Cap needed her help with it would most likely involve using her power and then she’d mess that up to and they’d get in even more trouble and by the looks of it he had pissed of a lot of important people and if she helped him she would to and honestly she was scared of important people and yeah, of course she didn’t like them they hadn’t helped her or her brother when they had needed them and they had used her and turned her into what she was and most likely she would soon be too much of a problem to be kept alive and all of this ran through her head as Clint realized she wasn’t following him.

“It’s this way.” He said, pointing at the door.

She couldn’t sort out her thoughts. She wanted to scream out all the things she had been thinking, that Ross thought of her as merely a weapon and that in the eyes of no one was she a human being anymore and she didn’t want to fight, she had lost her brother to a fight that had been her fault and come to think of it Sacovia in general had been her fault cause she had let Stark take the septer and if she had just done what see was supposed to have done Ultron and Socovia would never have happened and if she had just conformed to being Hydras little weapon Pietro wouldn’t have died and maybe she should just sign the Accords and let people use her because she just messed thing up anyway.

But the only way she could word this at the moment was by saying:

“I’ve caused enough problems.” 

Clint sighed, and she felt, like she always felt, the change in his emotions as his mind reacted to his words. As he ran over to her she tried to understand what they meant. Pity? Anger? Annoyance? Did he think she was supposed to surrender? Come quietly? Do as he said but not as anyone else said? Did he want her to think for herself or blindly follow? Did he want her, think she could, forget about what she’d done? What he just going to tell her like Steve did that it wasn’t her fault? That she shouldn’t blame herself?

But he didn’t say that, instead he said something that made her feel, for the first time in a long time, stronger.

“You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, you can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get of your ass.” 

She could read the rest in his emotions. I’m not going to tell you it isn’t your fault because it partly is. But I’m not going to let you sit her and wallow in it. I’m going to make you get up and fight.

“Shit.” Clint’s emotions changed from a rallying confidence to panic in a heartbeat. It was like having a knife stabbed through her mind, especially as she had been reading him.

Behind her Vision broke free of the electric restraint and ran at Clint. He fired an arrow that went straight through Vision who a spit second became solid and slammed him in the chest, making him roll across the floor. The fight that followed was over fast. Wanda barely had time to get it through her head and make a decision of what she wanted to do and who she wanted to listen to before Vision had Clint with his back to him, his arms around his throat.

“Clint, you can’t overpower me.”

“I know I can”t. But she can.”

He shoot her a look, and wondered if he knew what battles had been raging in her head just a moment ago. But she had made up her mind as they fought, and however much she just wanted things to go back to the way they had been five days ago and wanted her friends to get along she wasn’t going to be anyone’s weapon. She was going to be a human being, and made amends for what she had messed up. And Vision wasn’t going to stop her.

The energy came easily to her hands when she called for it. Realizing what Clint had said Vision turned his head to look at her but she shut his feelings out of her mind and put every owns of energy she had into the conviction that she would make amends for her mistakes.

”Vision, that’s enough. Let him go. I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you.” 

But she was overpowering him, and Clint slipped through his arms as Visions knees buckled.

“I’m sorry.” She vispered, but she had made up her mind.  

“If you do this they will never stop being afraid of you.” 

There it was again. “They are afraid of you”. But this time, she had her answer ready.

”I can’t control their fear, only my own.”

Summoning all the anger she had felt today she pushed the energy, taking Vision with it, through the floor. She didn’t stop until the energy almost drained her. She couldn’t even see Vision anymore.

”Uh...” Clint seemed to almost not believe his eyes and she worried for a second that he wouldn’t want her to come along anymore, until he nudged her arm and continued, “Come on. We got one more stop.”

He turned and walked towards the door again. After being frozen on the spot for a moment she hurried after him. Panting she asked:

”One more stop?”

“Yeah, Sam wants us to pick up this guy in San Francisco.”

San Francisco?

”That’s like 40 hours!”

“We aren’t driving.” Clint laughed.

With Wanda trailing after him, jogging slightly to keep up, Clint lead the way down to the garage and order her aboard a jet. A little ashamed of herself for not realizing that this would of course be their means of travel she fastened her seatbelt and stared out of the window.

Vision had been her friend, and she had most definitely hurt him.

“Wanda.” Clint was looking at her. And she could sense by his mental state what he wanted to say to her.

No, she though. Please.

“I’m going to get some sleep.” She said, closing her eyes.

Clint didn’t say anything, but she could feel his thoughts as if they were vispers coming from behind a glass wall. They felt the way they always felt when someone was about to tell her all the things a nineteen-year-old should be doing, instead of battling the world. But she didn’t want to hear it. Because honestly, even if she had the chance to be normal, she wasn’t sure she even knew who she wished she could be anymore.

#winterwitch #wanda #wanda maximoff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x Wanda maximoff #Wanda x bucky #scarletwinter #ship #canon #otp #fanfiction #imagine #vision x wanda #vision #captain america civil war #avengers #avergers fanfiction #Clint barton x wanda #Clint barton #bucky x wanda #marvel #marvel fanfiction