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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first.

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

“Y/N…” Bruce immediately asked.

“They took her,” Alfred told him, distress clear in his tone.

Damian’s head whipped to his father to watch his reaction.

But Bruce’s jaw only tightened and he sped the batmobile even faster.

Returning faster to Wayne Manor than ever before, Bruce jumped out of the batmobile and up the secret entrance to get to the main house.

Damian was hot on his heels. He’d already sent an encrypted message to his brothers, informing them of the situation. It was only a matter of time before they were at the manor as well. Though Damian suspected Jason would not come, instead already starting to scour the streets of Gotham for Y/N and her captors.

Alfred was already waiting for them. “Master Wayne, I am so sorry.”

Bruce ignored him and walked to the master bedroom. Y/N would’ve been sleeping when the attack occurred. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been awake, she had no training in self defense. She was merely an innocent civilian.

“Father,” Damian muttered quietly.

Bruce turned around to find his son ripping a shuriken out of the door frame.

They shared a look, both recognizing the particular shape and color.

“The League…” Damian muttered quietly, saying what they both were thinking.

——————

Y/N was barely awake.

They clearly had drugged her with something to make her more compliant. Everything was foggy and muffled.

Yet they still tied her hands and ankles together, as if her brain could even manage to get her body to move.

But Y/N could feel the effects of the drugs losing their strength, yet keeping their hold on her.

She squinted as she looked around. The air felt different. It was colder and dryer, making Y/N believe that she was no longer in Gotham. Little did she know, she wasn’t even in the country any longer.

“I do not know what he sees in you,” a woman hummed from somewhere in the room.

Y/N blinked as he listened, but her eyes could not adjust to the low lighting and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her head.

“You are weak. Ripped from your own bed without so much as a fight.”

Then she heard the grunts and clashing of metal.

The woman smiled. “Right as expected, my son.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed at ‘my son.’ Then she finally lifted her head and took in her surroundings. There were swords and other weapons stored everywhere, and there was armor hung from the walls.

“Talia?” She whispered.

The woman chuckled. “Weak, but not utterly foolish.”

Then the door of the room was thrown open.

Y/N looked to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

“My son, finally returned," Talia greeted with a smirk.

“Mother.” Then his gaze flickered to Y/N. Very subtly, he was scanning her body to access any possible injuries.

His gaze turned back to his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have forgotten where you come from, Damian. You are not just the heir to the Wayne family. Before anything else, you are my son and the heir to Ra's al Ghul’s throne.”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Damian said with a gesture to Y/N.

“She has everything to do with this,” Talia snapped. “She has made you weak.”

Damian said nothing.

“She has taken you both from me,” Talia growled.

“Father does not love you,” he growled.

“A small lapse in judgment on his part, but not something that cannot be remedied. Our love gave us you, and I fully believe he will return to me.”

“His heart belongs to someone else. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can give up your fantasy.” Then he hesitated to say the next part. “I never plan on returning to The League of Shadows. I wish to stay with father.”

Talia’s amusement vanished at her sons words.

The next second, she unsheathed her sword. “Perhaps I should just kill her and remind you of your place, my son.”

With that, Damian rushed forward and intercepted Talia’s attack with his own sword.

“Do not touch her,” Damian growled.

Their swords continued to clash as the mother and son fought each other. The fight raged on for what felt like forever. Too evenly matched, but also both too terrible at hiding that neither actually wanted to kill the other.

In the distance, Y/N could hear even more fighting. She could only assume it was Bruce fighting his way to her and his son.

Talia and Damian’s swords locked again, both of their stances shaking from the hold.

“Do you really think you and your father stand a chance against the entire League? Why do you think we lured you all the way here? You are outnumbered.” Talia hissed.

“You think us foolish enough to come alone?” Damian smirked right before there was a boom that shook the entire compound.

Talia’s focus slipped half a second, allowing Damian a window to go on the offense.

He flipped his mother’s sword out of her grip and held his own to her throat.

“Yield,” he growled down to her.

“You truly choose her over your own mother?” The hurt in her eyes was clear.

“You abandoned me, used me as a tool to disrupt father’s life. She taught me that there is more to life than killing and destroying. She loves me and care for me, even when I gave her no reason to do so.”

“And it will be the death of you,” Talia warned.

He glared at her. “Yield!”

But he knew she would never. So he whipped out a dart and blew it to her neck – a sedative. It knocked her out within seconds.

Waiting until he was sure it had worked, Damian sheathed his sword once again and ran to Y/N’s side.

With a knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

“D-Damian,” her voice was still slurred from the drugs and she was weak. How long had she been here without food or water? “I don’t think I can walk."

Damian helped her to her feet. “Y/N, please try,” he begged as he wrapped her around around his shoulders. He was still just a boy, one that was shorter than her. But he wouldn’t give up that easily.

There was another explosion.

“What’s-What’s happening?” Y/N asked as she dragged her feet and held on tightly.

“That would be Todd, most likely taking his job of distracting to an unnecessary level.”

“You all came?” She asked in shock.

“Of course,” Damian scoffed.

Suddenly an object came flying at them and Y/N cried out in pain.

“No!” Damian bellowed as he looked up to see that another League member was attempting to stop their escape. And with it, they had thrown a shuriken that had landed in Y/N’s side.

She dropped to the ground.

Damian screamed as he unsheathed his sword once again and charged the assassin. It wouldn’t take him long. He knew that every minute spent fighting was a minute Y/N was bleeding out and edging closer to death.

He didn’t hold back like he had with his mother and quickly disarmed the enemy. Then thrusting his sword into a nonfatal area of his body, enough to neutralize him.

Damian rushed back to Y/N’s side, where a pool of blood was forming from her wound.

He knew it was useless, but he still tried to lift Y/N into his arms to carry her. He cried out in both panic and frustration.

The building had now caught aflame due to Jason’s explosions. Damian would need to call for backup, hoping one of his older brothers could help.

Then a shadow was cast over him.

Damian tensed, believing it to be another attack.

But he looked up to find his father standing before them.

However, Bruce’s gaze was on his unconscious girlfriend.

With the arrival of his father, Damian’s cold and calculating disposition melted.

“She’s hurt,” his voice trembled and tears formed in his eyes. “Help her.”

Damian rarely cried. He cried less than grown men. He was raised that way. It didn’t help that his father was not a great example of healthy emotional expression.

But Bruce knew what his sons tears were for: Damian was frustrated, he felt weak, and he thought he had failed his mission. But most of all, Bruce knew his son was crying for fear of Y/N’s death. Because the boy had grown to love her.

As if there were a world when Bruce wouldn’t give his own life to save Y/N.

Bruce bent down and carefully brought Y/N into his arms.

Damian heard her mutter his father’s name, though still delirious from both the drugs he’s sure his mother pumped into her and the blood loss.

“Red Robin, get the jet to my coordinates immediately,” Bruce instructed through his comms.

Damian wondered how his father could be so calm when the woman he loved was bleeding out in his arms. This wasn’t bat business, this was personal. But Bruce spoke like it was just another night of patrol.

A few minuets later, Damian and Bruce had fought their way through the flames and burning compound.

Tim lowered the platform of the jet.

Damian made sure his father and Y/N got on before he followed. He turned and gave one last look at the burning compound that would no longer exist come morning. He did not fear for his mother’s life. He knew someone from the League would come for her – if she didn’t save herself first.

When he boarded the jet, his father already had Y/N on the surgical table that elevated from the jet floor.

Bruce had taken off his cowl, allowing Damian and his brothers to study his expressions.

Damian had been wrong about his father handling the situation like any other mission. For now he could see the terror and worry in his father’s eyes, despite him trying to control his emotions.

Damian looked to Jason, who still had his Red Hood helmet on.

“My grandfather?” He asked his brother.

“Escaped,” Jason muttered.

Damian stepped forward to help Bruce with Y/N’s injuries.

“She’ll be OK,” he muttered to his father.

All of them had high-level medical training to know.

Thankfully the assassin’s aim was not great and didn’t land in lethal place on Y/N’s body. But she still lost a lot of blood and would need many stitches.

All the brother’s shared a look when Bruce ignored the statement.

———

Y/N woke up to someone gripping her hand. She recognized from the smell and the feel of the bedding that she was in Bruce’s bed at the manor.

She winced as she opened her eyes to find Bruce was the one holding her hand as he sat in a chair only inches away from the side of the bed.

“Hi,” she whispered to him with a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said back with a smirk.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Then Y/N looked past Bruce to realize there was someone else in the room.

Damian passed out on the velvet chaise that was pushed against the windows.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Bruce told her. “Dick had to convince him just to take a shower for 5 minutes when we first got back.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the revelation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice as he said it made Y/N’s gaze snap back to him. Had it shook? Or was she imagining it?

Y/N squeezed his hand that was still wrapped around hers.

“I know,” she told him with a sympathetic look.

He hid it well, but Y/N knew Bruce. And she knew that her being kidnapped from his own home probably drove him mad with guilt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already designed an entirely new security system to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Bruce took in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He wanted to say that he always feared her being with him would put her in danger like this.

He wanted to say that maybe she should stay away from him.

He wanted to say that him and the kids didn’t deserve her.

He wanted to say that the only reason this happened is because Talia hated that she loved her son better than she ever did.

But Bruce had never been good at saying how he actually felt – or even acknowledging he had any feelings at all.

So Y/N brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Bruce, I know,” she said once again.

“I won’t let it happen again. I promise you,” he told her evenly.

“Bruce, I knew what I signed up for when you told me you were Batman. If I wasn’t willing to face the reality of it, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“No one would’ve blamed you if you hadn’t.”

There was a knock at the door and then it opened a second later.

Damian jumped awake at the sound. But then he quickly brought his attention to Y/N. “You’re awake.”

But everyone’s attention was on Dick, who was standing at the open doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted Y/N, surprised to see that she was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. But I’ll be alright.”

He seemed to relax from her answer.

Then he winced when he looked at Bruce. “They put the signal up.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

He was about to open his mouth to ask them to handle it, not wanting to leave Y/N alone now that she had woken up.

“Go, Bruce. I’ll be OK.” Y/N told him, reading his mind.

“I think it’s the Joker,” Dick added with a serious frown.

“Bruce, go.” Y/N repeated.

And he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, deciding he didn’t care if his two sons were witnesses to the intimacy.

Then Bruce kissed her forward. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Alfred will be here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Y/N nodded.

Bruce stood up and acknowledged Damian and Dick. “Let’s go.”

Once they were ways down the hall, Bruce heard Damian stop.

“Father?”

Bruce and Dick both turned to face Damian.

“I wish to stay with Y/N.”

Bruce and Dick shared a look, and then Dick decided to give the two a moment alone and muttered something about waiting in the cave.

Bruce walked back to his youngest son.

Damian’s gaze was glued on the floor. “Mother truly would’ve killed her?”

Bruce sighed. “Most likely, yes.” He saw no point in lying to his son.

“Because she knows that you and I love her?”

“Yes.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. But Bruce knew he had more to say.

“I used to think I had to earn it.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mother’s love. I had to earn it. Win in combat. Successfully execute a target. Outsmart a puzzle or challenge.” Damian looked up at his father with a broken expression. “Her love always came with a price.”

Bruce kneeled down to his son.

The boy shook his head. “But Y/N made me realize that I don’t have to earn anyone’s love. I don’t have to prove that I’m worthy of it.” He bit his lip. “She’s not my father or my brother. She didn’t have to love me. But she does…even when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Everyone is deserving of love, Damian.” Bruce gripped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not teaching you that myself.”

Damian nodded. “So, may I please stay with her tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.” But then he quickly corrected himself. “Unless of course, you require my assistance, father.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I think we will manage, Damian.” Then he squeezed his shoulder. “Look after her for me, alright?”

Damian relaxed and quickly nodded his head. “Of course, father.”

When Bruce returned hours later, Damian was cuddled next to Y/N in the bed. But clearly laying in a position to be mindful of her injuries. Both were fast asleep. The bright television was the only thing lighting the room, as it played a Pixar movie.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I got him,” Dick whispered to him before stepping into the room and carefully lifting the boy in his arms, clearing the space in the bed for Bruce to join Y/N.

Bruce moved about the room as he changed into cotton shorts and went without a shirt.

Y/N woke slightly as he joined her in bed.

“Everything OK?” She whispered sleepily.

“Everything’s fine. Did Damian keep you company?”

Y/N smiled and shifted her body so she was cuddle into him. “Yes…my little protector.”

Bruce smiled at that. “Don’t let him hear the ‘little’ part…”

She chuckled. “Good call.”

And then she was fast asleep once again.

-----------------------

Please, please, please let me know what you think!

#bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x batmom #damian wayne x batmom!reader #batmom #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman reader insert #batman x reader #damian wayne & batmom!reader #damian wayne & batmom #talia al ghul #damian al ghul #batman universe

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Note

while your currently drunk you can think about what it would be like to go clubbing with keigo. His possessive nature would def jump out wanting to keep you close at all times. you’d rock against his body as he holds you close keeping a keen eye but also enjoying the way your body sways over him. if he’s also inebriated who’s to say he won’t press you against the nearest wall rubbing himself against you and whispering in your ear how he could take you right here and now 🥰🥰 just a lil something

i am seeing this sober (and with my hangover cured lmao) BUT lemme tell u... the clubbing keigo brainrot is oh so 😩💕

(nsfw)

warnings: dubcon, a little yandere keigo, alcohol, drunk reader, drunk keigo, public sex, dacryphilia

...

Keigo is particularly possessive. Not necessarily in a way that is a cause for alarm, but more so something of note.

You've come to expect the way he hovers close to you in public. How he always wants to have his hands on you, whether that be the firm press of his palm on your lower back, or a tight grip on your waist with his chin hooked over your should. Really, any way he can, he stakes his claim.

It's a little more overt and shameless when the environment allows it to be.

Occasionally, there are small clubbing events for heroes and their company to unwind. Usually open bar. Frequently messy. But cell phones are confiscated at the door, so it's more than welcomed. Heroes really never get a chance to be, so why not be sloppy together?

Keigo loves to take you to them. He loves getting the chance to show you off and let anyone who looks your way that you are his. He curbs the urge in public, sure, but here? It doesn't matter. Here, there's hungry eyes that follow your every move, but they wouldn't dare try anything. Keigo doesn't let you out of his sight. Doesn't stop touching you, and he makes sure that anyone who looks sees how fucked you are for him.

After a few drinks, you’re bolder. Your words slur a bit, not enough to make him worry, but just enough for the sway and circling of your hips to be a little freer. You can get a bit bashful around so many pros, but with the stain of liquor on your lips you’re more than happy to dance the night away.

Keigo adores it. Loves that he gets to hold your hips almost to the point of bruising as you giggle and twirl to the club beats. He loves how unrestrained you both get to be, loves how you rock against him, back arching and neck craning to nuzzle of your nose against his jaw. He can’t tell if you’re just being sweet and gracious or quietly asking for more.

He has subtle restraint, he always does, but with a few shots having burned his throat earlier in the evening... it’s easier to indulge. He guiltlessly drags you back into him, grinding against your ass. You roll your hips back into his, leaning into his wandering touches. He can feel your breath hitch as his hands slip lower and plays with the hem of your dress.

Keigo wishes he had an ounce of shame (no, he really doesn’t, this is way too good) as he backs you into a darker corner, wings ruffled and raised. He gets a little rougher, pushing you up against the velour-covered wall, chest first. You flatten to it and brace yourself with sweaty palms. Sweet as can be, you flash him wobbly, wanting smile. You grind back into him, spine curved perfectly under the satin of your dress.

He knows people are watching, and honestly? Let them. Let them see how desperate you are. The strobing lights and neon obscure you enough that the details of you will be hidden, but they’ll know. Keigo’s wings ruffle at the thought debauching you in front of the impromptu, wanting crowd.

He lays his body over yours, feathers shuddering in time with his heavy breath. You’re rolling your hips back into his crotch, his cock is hard enough that he’s leaking (who knew the thought of casual ownership got him off this much?)

His lips drag over your neck, teething at the soft juncture of your shoulder. You moan his name, voice cracking with desire that makes him wild. His forearm braces next to yours, and he presses you into the wall, makes you feel the weight of all of him, wings and lean muscle.

He pulls from your neck with a growl and can’t help but pleased with the fat bruise he left behind.

“I should bruise you a collar of these,” He drips into your ear, teeth tugging at your earlobe. “If fucking you here doesn’t show everyone whose you are, that would get the message across, don’t you think?”

Your breath hitches from under the palm he slips over your lower tummy.

“Please, Kei’.”

He doesn’t know what exact thing you’re begging for, but he’ll give you everything. Anything. He rucks up your dress, and a hand slipping down the front of your panties and teasing along your slit, debating.

If he were at home, he’d take the time to prepare. He prefers to work you open on his fingers and tongue for a good while before fucking you. He doesn’t feel... right fucking you without you cumming once, twice, three times (as many times as you can stand), Under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

His hold slips from your hip to your jaw, turning your gaze to his and goddammit, if the sight doesn’t take his breath away. Your eyes are glassy, pupils wide and inky, and your lips are parted, perfectly. Wanting and waiting.

(He briefly debates fucking your throat but decides against it. He’d prefer to lick you clean on the limo ride home.)

Keigo presses his lips to yours, stealing your breath and licking into your mouth. It’s sloppy, he can feel the spit dripping down your chin as he massages your tongue with his. It’s fucking filthy and he loves it. The liquor is just making him ab bit more... honest.

He pulls away to unbutton his pants, untucking his breezy shirt to pull out his cock with a few lazy strokes. The little whine you give has him back on you, covering your body with his and teasing you sex with a single finger over your panties.

“I’d make you beg,” he muses, softly against your ear again, “But I have a feeling you’re a little too impatient to do so properly.”

You sputter something, whether it’s a denial or affirmation, Keigo doesn’t care. He’s already pulling your panties to the side, and slipping two fingers between your lips, hardly prep at all things considered.

Keigo spits down onto his dick and calls it good enough.

You rock back into him, shuddering and panting. You’re unabashed in it, ignoring the eyes in the room, all of your attention on him. The thought makes his cock twitch in his hand, and he can’t wait any longer.

He hikes one of your legs up high and spears into you in one swift motion with a beat of his wings.

Your breath punches from your lungs and your palms smack against wall. You’re already weak in his arms, from the alcohol and Keigo’s thick cock splitting you. Despite the lack of preparation, you’re less tense than you could be. Thank god for vodka.

All the same, Keigo starts slow. He wants you to hurt when this is over. He wants you to bear his bruises and imprints. You should be limping when he’s done with you. He’ll take care of you at home, patch you up how you both like so much, but for now--

He wants to leave an... impression.

Keigo picks up at his pace, gasping out a breath as he bottoms out, grinding against your ass and insides in a way that has you clenching and slurring out little pleas for more. And god, he’s happy to oblige.

He picks up his tempo, hand slipping tightening around your jaw, tucking your face to his and nipping at your lips. Your claw at the wall in front of you, but all of your leverage is in Keigo’s hands, and he uses it well.

The beat of the of the club music is the perfect tempo, the thump of it mostly disguises the slap of his hips against yours. But even the shadows of the rainbow lights can’t hide how he’s fucking ruining you. You’re hiccupping out cries for ‘more, please Keigo!’ loud enough that a few of his fucking colleagues have inched closer. It makes something in Keigo burn and he quickly goes for your neck again.

And sinks his teeth in hard enough for you to sob.

It has you clenching around him, and he knows he isn’t going to last much longer. The rhythm has his insides clenching, and he wants nothing more than to fill you up--

The thought of it, of you leaking with him, has white explode around the edges of his vision.

He spills inside of you, thick and hot and you gasp at the feeling. You fumble for his hand, and Keigo clasps yours easily, squeezing. The cant of his hips goes sloppy, just like the two of you.

Softened, he slips out of you. But Keigo is quick to replace his cock with two fingers, plugging you and tsking.

“You didn’t cum, did you, dove?”

You shake your head, still half-crying and needy, “N-no, I d-didn’t.”

“Can you keep yourself upright if I fuck you on my fingers?” Keigo muses, though it’s a genuine question. “Be honest.”

You swallow and rub at your wet, streaky cheeks, “I d-dunno. ‘M really shaky, Kei’.”

He already knows that, but it’s cute that you tell him like he’s not the cause of it.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got me then, isn’t it?” Keigo kisses your cheek, too kind for how filthy you are. “I’ll keep you up, sweetheart.”

You nod, give a little ‘thank you’ that gets broken as he spread his fingers in your cunt. His own cum drips down his wrist and he can't bother to care. He can’t bother to care about anything that isn’t the sweet little whines or the flush that is dusting your cheeks beneath tears and smeared makeup.

He bullies the bundle of nerves inside you without any care other than making you fall apart. Maybe it’s bad, the desire he has to force you to come undone by his hand in front of his peers. You’re his partner, and a bit illusive consider the relative secrecy of your relationship.

What a goddamn introduction.

He slips another hand around your front and rolls your clit beneath to fingers. Keigo can’t help sucking another bruise into your neck, like the first one wasn’t enough of a statement.

He speeds up his treatment as you breath gets more ragged, as you repeat his name to the flash of the strobes and lean back into him. You tense around him as you cum, crying out with a thump of your head against the wall. He holds you through it, not slowing or faltering as you shake and sputter.

Carefully, Keigo lets down the leg he’s had pinned. He anticipates how they falter, and already has an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Thank you,” You murmur, your voice gentle and soft. Far too soft for what you’d just done. It’s sweet though, the way you’re pliant for him as he straightens you up.

You’re filthy, thighs covered in a mix of him and you. Keigo’s damp in his own boxer briefs and it’s not exactly... comfortably. And certainly not ideal for dancing.

You turn toward him. Your arms wrap around his neck and god, you’re too cute as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you’re sobering up, or maybe you’re cock drunk, he isn’t sure. But it’s the same comfort that you need. He smooths a hand up your back, laying kisses over your temples and hair lines.

His colleagues are still watching, maybe more than before, because Hawks has a reputation for being a greedy, impulsive bastard, but what he doesn’t have is any reputation for being sweet.

The vulnerability of it has him moving his wings to encircle the two of you. A bit of much-needed privacy.

“How about I call us a ride home?” Flying drunk is never good idea. (He found out the hard way.)

You nod, gripping the front of his shirt, “I don’t think I can’t dance anymore.”

“I imagine you can’t, huh, dovey?” He teases with another peck to your cheek.

You whine and beat his chest with your fist for a moment without a hint of ire. The night is still relatively young but given the drink in your veins and the cum in your cunt, perhaps it would be best to turn in for the evening.

(Or Keigo could fuck your throat on the ride home. The thought is still appealing.)

You mutter something unintelligible against his neck, and Keigo silently reminds himself to make sure you drink a bottle or two of water before bed. Maybe he can get a snack in your belly before you knock out for the night.

(Or, maybe, Keigo could have his own ‘snack’ by cleaning your cunt with his tongue as you doze off--)

Keigo purrs with his thoughts as he tucks his wings to his back, ushering you to the exit, all the while feeling the (horny, jealous, surprised) stares of his colleagues at his back.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #drabble #hawks imagines #hawks smut #hawks #ANYWAYS #god... it's been awhile since i've written smut #feels GOOD #still managed to make it soft #but lemme tell ya i have so much clubbing brain rot #and possessive kei makes my brain go BRRRR

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technowoah · 3 years

Note

thinking about angst prompt 'you're right. you're useless' with c!jschlatt where all reader does is try to help him and they eventually get to a breaking point because all they do it give and give and give and get nothing in return so schlatt just turns around and scares the fuck out of them :D

Have a Heart

You end up helping Schlatt after hating his guts. And even though you give every thing to your new president he dosent seem to fucking care

- c!schlatt x reader

- gender neutral reader!

- prompt: 25) "You're right. You are useless" (angst list)

⚠︎: swearing, drinking, smoking, angst, mentions of vomit, c!dream makes an appearance 🤭 not proofread

An// I LOVE THIS SCENARIO UGHH! THANKS FOR REQUESTING AS WELL BUB! I HOPE YOU ENJOY!

"Where's my fucking decree at?!"

"It's in my room Schlatt, please stop yelling." You tried to calm the ram-man down by talking calmer than him, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

"In your room?! Sounds like another fucking excuse that you didn't even finish them." Schlatt waved around his hands which one of them contained a lit cigarette in them. "Look at Tubbo he re-wrote one of my decrees before the festival, which is tomorrow may I add, and gave it to me. You havent even done anything I asked you." He scoffed.

You closed your eyes and held back a huge eye roll. You had done everything that Schlatt asked you to do, the decree was actually sitting on your desk in your room. This has been happening ever since Schlatt became president. He was more nicer, well as nice as Schlatt can get, but now he's been drinking like a moster and it never fails that he shows up to an important meeting drunk and makes you and Tubbo do all the work while Quackity and George are running free doing God knows what.

You had been loyal to Schlatt even when you didn't want to be, you had swallowed your pride along time ago. Every. Single. Task you do. And Every. Single. Time you get more put down that you already do.

Your head was hung low while he still spoke. "Hey! Were you listening to me shithead?! I need those papers by tonight!" Schlatt dug his finger into your chest pushing you back a little.

"Also get me my beer and bring it to the meeting room because apparently that's all you're good for." He finally left the long hallway, stumbling a bit as he walked.

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding until you saw him walk away. You walked away to find Schlatg that beer and try to put on a smile for the meeting you are currently dreading. Quickly you stopped by your room to grab the stack of paper Schlatt was yelling about earlier and grabbed a beer from a random room. Schlatt always has alcohol and cigarettes in every room just in case he needs one.

Dragging your feet along the marble floored hallways you mad your way to the meeting room. You didn't want to get there first or even last so your mind switched up from speed walking to continuing your slow pace. You started to walk faster when you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!"

You turned around to see Tubbo waving behind you. You stopped in your pursuit to greet your friend.

"Hey Tubbo!"

"Going to the meeting I see." He smiled.

"Sadly yes." You sighed. "I already got yelled at twice today so-"

"Hey! It's better than three!"

"Tubbo!"

"Im sorry! But am I wrong?" Tubbo laughed a little.

"Well I wish it was zero. I give everything to that bastard and I get nothing." You breathed out.

"Really?! I get a lot of-" Tubbo stopped talking after the shock on your face was prominent. "You know what nevermind!" He waved off.

"Of course he would favor you." You walked off keeping a brisk pace with Tubbo apologizing for Schlatt's favoritism right behind you.

Once you reached the door to the meeting room you slowly opened the door to be greeted with, once again, a drunken president and his right hand man looking smug as ever when he had no right to be.

Schlatt's cabinet was a mess. Quackity was only the vice president because he partnered with Schlatt and George became, well, the vice president to the vice president. George was barely around anyways. Then Tubbo and you came from L'Manburg, hating Schlatt's guts at firsy you two learned to be okay with the treatment. And while apparently, Tubbo had better treatment than you, you still gave that president everything you had.

Everything you worked for was for that drunken man sitting at the head of the table. You basically devoted your life to him, writing decrees that represents Schlatts policies because "you dare not write something Wilbur would". You had pulled him from sleeping at his desk at nights, cleaned up his spilled wine and beer, picked up cigarettes from the clean marble floors. He pushed you around and you let it happen too, some people woukd say you've become weak and they were sadly right.

"Aye! Look who it is!" Schlatt slurred his words together. "There's my beer!"

"And your decrees!" You plopped the papers down on the desk as he snatched the beer bottle out of your hand.

"You have an attitude with me?" Schlatt asked quickly.

"No! No why?"

"'Cause you just threw my decrees on the table like they are some sort of scrap." Schlatt tried to find the right words. "Some sort of shit like its not important! Fuckin' have some nerve huh?"

You didn't respond and went to go sit by Tubbo across from Quackity. Schlatt apparently noticed and took it upon himself to say something.

"Asshole! You gonna respond to me?! I am your president!"

You fought the urge to snap back at him so you bit your lip as he continues to yell and make everyone in the room uncomfortable, even Quackity.

"Dammit!" Schlatt slammed the table. "Fuck you! I could kill you! I have so much power over you! I can control everyone in this damned kingdom that I'm second best to! This kingdom was owned by a tyrant! I saved all of you! And all you have to do is respond!"

He stood up during half of his breakdown, but you didn't know when. You could hear every single word he said, but your eyes were threatening to spill tears and you could feel Tubbo's hand grab yours underneath the table.

Schlatt huffed smoothed put his suit and sat back down in his chair.

"So! We're here for the festival."

------------------------

You softly closed your bedroom door not wanting to make more drama by slamming it. This whole week you held in your emotions and tears, but today was the breaking point for you. Your back slid down the door and you started crying, and crying. There was no need to try and deafen your sobs, because you couldn't even if you tried.

Your mind kept reminding you of every single event if today.

First. Tubbo didnt tell you he was still in contact with the former citizens of L'Manburg, and the only way you found out was that today at the festival you saw them and you asked Tubbo. He finally told you with his head hung low as you two stood on the podium. You felt betrayed.

Second. Schlatt gave you an extremely hard time making sure everything was intact for today's festivities. You were stressed out of your mind.

Third. The festival went down hill hard and fast. So fast everything seemed like a blur. Tubbo gave his speech, really fidgety may you add, and then Schlatt and Quackity began trapping him in cement, you tried stopping him, but you were pushed away multiple times. You knew who Technoblade was, so when you heard Schlatt call him up to the podium you started to freak out. Your heart started to pound out of your chest when he brought out an explosive crossbow and pointed it right at Tubbo's chest.

The next thing you know a huge, bright, colorful explosion went off and with you on the podium with Tubbo's murderer sparks flew and hit you, Schlatt and Quackity making all of you have some sort of burn marks. Tubbo was gone, soon to be revived again for his last life on this earth, but seeing him die like that was the breaking point for you.

You stayed on the ground with your knees to your chest sobbing loudly. It was too much for you. Your lungs felt like they had no air inside of them, and your heart felt like a million weights were hung on it. You kept crying until you heard a harsh knock on the door, that felt like they were trying to break down the door than get someone's attention.

"Stop sobbing so damn loud!" Of course it was Schlatt you rolled your eyes and stayed on the floor.

"Leave me alone!" You cried out.

"Damn you sound like you're in pain huh?" You heard him from the other side of the door.

It was silent until the door was forced open and you were pushed with the door on your side. You sat up again to see Schlatt, who was out of breath, above you and had another beer bottle in hand.

"Why did you open ny door?" You asked softly.

"Why didn't you let me in?"

"Cause you didnt ask."

"Excuse me!?" Schlatt grew angry.

"You heard me." You stood up facing the taller man with horns. He was scary, but somehow you got the confidence today.

"I dont think you know who you're talking to shithead!" Schlatt got closer, but this time you stood your ground.

"Im talking to a drunken, egotistical, ram-man who let someone kill the only person I had left!" You yelled in his face while tears fell on your cheeks.

"You do got some nerve! I saved you!" He turned around, his back facing you.

"You made my life hell!" You yelled at him. "You- you made my life worse! You made me feel like I have no purpose, but to serve you and your ragtag cabinet! You made me feel like a useless sack of shit, you-!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT! YOU ARE USELESS!" Schlatt quickly turned around his faced filled with pure anger and his eyes bloodshot. He was breathing heavily and all the confidence left your body as soon as he stumbled towards you.

"You're fucking useless! You're even worse than Tubbo and he was working against me!" Schlatt then let out a strained stream and smashed his bottle on the floor letting the left over alcohol spill onto the floor.

"Do me a favor and leave, go. I dont need you! I dont need this damned place given to me by chance! By a fucking vice president that dosent even do his damn job! I dont need you! You! You and those bastards ruined everything!" Schlatt yelled and then rushed out of the room while holding his mouth.

You followed him quickly into the hallway and watched as he stumbled into the nearest bathroom to throw up the alcohol consumption of today. The tears kept coming as you ran down the hallway hoping that you can get as far away from these ivory buildings as your feet can take you.

----------------------

Your feet hung off the edge of the prime path and underneath there was a small river. You had stared at the water running for about ten minutes since you got there. You noticed immediately when you set foot on the prime path that you had no where else to go except for pogtopia you learned about.

You sighed tilting your head up towards the night sky.

"Lonely?" A voice asked next to you.

You turned your head and saw the well known man dressed in green. Dream had his mask on, as usual, but hood was down letting his blonde hair show.

"Yeah actually." You responded not looking at him.

"I know what happened at the festival."

"Everyone does." You scoffed.

"What happened with Schlatt?" He asked and you turned your head with a confused look on your face. "Dont think I don't know anything that goes on around here."

"I don't know how you found out, but long story short I'm not allowed back there. I dont wanna go back there." You said while standing up facing the man.

"I have someone that can give you a place to stay. If you want to take the offer. Also I wanted to check up on you. You were so close to Tubbo and its hard to lose a friend." Dream spoke softly, but you could still hear him loud and clear even through the mask.

"Thank you. I would want to take the offer for a place to stay." You airly laughed. "I dont want to see Schlatt or Quackity again."

Dream chuckled while giving you a paper with an adress on it before getting ready to leave.

"Don't worry. He'll be dead soon." Dream said before turning around and walking down the prime path.

You should've stayed.

Taglist(s)

MCYT Imagines: @annshit @bobaducky @malfoysslutt @egorldevi

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slutauthority · 3 years

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“Bi-Femme: On Being a Traitor and/or a Revolutionary.” by Leah Lilith Albrecht-Samarasinha

Anything That Moves, Fall 1996. Issue 12, pp. 37-39

(google drive link to scan of print.) courtesy of @anythingthatmovesarchive

(TW for: NSFW, d slur, f slur, q slur, LGBTphobia, nazi mention, racism, misogyny)

“My mama is a very smart woman. When I was 12 years old and I told her I was bisexual, all she said was, “Fine. As long as they don’t look like truck drivers.” I don’t mean that she was smart because she didn’t want me to date butch girls. She was smart because I think she knew that I was going to do it anyway. I was going to grow up to be a femme. “

Right at that moment I had bulbous acne, thick glasses with brown plastic frames and Latin-South Asian hair that my white mom tried to brush straight every day, resulting in a huge, frizzed-out ‘fro. But I also loved to swirl around in long hippie skirts and sneak on makeup and her Chanel Number 5 every chance I got. I had moments, hormone-filled ones, where I would sway and sigh and think how much I liked being a girl. As should be no surprise, I also didn’t shave my legs, was the smartest kid in my class as well as a budding lesbian-separatist, and beat up the boys who tried to feel me up on my way to homeroom. I wasn’t anybody’s stupid little girl, and we both knew it.

Mom and I both dimly knew that I wasn’t a classic, short-haired babydyke, and that there was something weird about me saying I was queer but not playing baseball. When I grew up and became a pro-sex feminist, I tried to recast it all in terms of being a classic example of young femme-dykiness.

Thing was, much as I wanted to be a true-blue Virgin Mother of the Amazon nation when I was 12 due to all the lesbian feminist theory I was reading (yes, at 12, I even had a subscription to off our backs), I knew I was still attracted to some boys, and that it was too strong to just go away. And as I got into my teens, I dated a lot of boys. All of them identified as bisexual or gay. Most of them were very, very femme. People regularly thought we were both women when we kissed on the sidewalk. At the same time, I fell and stayed deeply in love with my first girlfriend, for three-and-a-half years. I got involved in anarcho-punk for four years for a lot of reasons, but a big one I didn’t want to admit to most people was that the punk warehouse in my town where I got into the scene was the first place I encountered butch girls. My queer, feminist blood was making itself present.

I’ve defined myself as femme for the past two years, since I moved to New York and borrowed my roommate’s copies of The Persistent Desire and Stone Butch Blues and everything fell into place (thank you, Ananda LaVita). I am a feminist, woman-centered and identified woman who generally feels at my most powerful and confident when I have my eyeliner and lipstick on and am dressed in my own homemade Brooklyn-Asian-vintage-ex-punk-grrrl femme aesthetic. But throughout those two years of coming out, I kept on fucking femmy queer boys. And even though right now I’m thinking about ceasing to sleep with boys, as a period of “separatism for health”, I doubt my desire for anti-racist, anti-sexist queer boys of color, at least, will go away. So what I want to know is, am I still allowed to call myself a femme if I’m bi? Am I a traitor to the Lesbian Nation, flying in the face of all the work women have done to reclaim and celebrate femme-butch desire?

Being (and being very forceful about saying) that I am bisexual, femme, pro-sex and queer, has gotten me quite a lot of attitude. This is what it boils down to: I am really a straight girl wannabe. It’s bad enough that I wear eyeliner and say I’m a dyke. But fucking boys, too? Please, how much more of a traitor to the lesbian nation could you be? I must be one of those flaky “bi-curious” girls whose boyfriend wants to watch. Besides, goes a voice that is slightly more tolerant, femme women are supposed to stand by their butches – hell, femmes really don’t exist apart from butches. Femmes want real butches, definitely not men. Femmes are not bisexual; all the many, many femme girls who started out by fucking boys had horrible experiences with them and just didn’t know what they were missing and once they discovered girls, switched loyalties and never went back. Femininity in women is radical only when it is broken loose of men. I should simplify my life because the revolution hasn’t happened yet. I’m a freak, a slut, my head is in my pussy, woe be unto me – which isn’t too different from being called a slutty badgirl by Ralph Reed. But hey – maybe there’s something to this coalition building between puritan feminists and the radical right after all!

Basically, I could only be a success as a femme if I was as “penis-pure and proud” as a Dworkin clone. And in pro-sex discourse about pre-Stonewall North American lesbian existence, “femme” has been overwhelmingly defined as meaning a lesbian, woman-only existence. Pat Califia, in her poem “Diagnostic Tests,” says “You can tell she’s a femme/Because no man will ever/lay a hand on her again/Now that she’s with another woman.” This sentiment is repeated endlessly throughout The Femme Mystique. Activists and writers have fought for the past 15 years to reclaim butch-femme from the garbage heap lesbian feminism threw it in, to reclaim it as a “deeply lesbian language of stance, dress, gesture, loving, courage and autonomy.” In a lot of ways, I feel like a traitor pushing the boundaries they have struggled so hard (and still do) to gain acceptance for. It’s a typical second-generation anything – immigrant, pro-sex queer activist – thang.

I’m going to do it anyway because it’s not a betrayal. Joan Nestle, Madeleine Davis and Amber Hollibaugh, all queens of high femme who came out before Stonewall, have spoken of femme desire as a love for “that combination of toughness and softness, that combination of masculinity and femininity.” As Davis put it in their article “The Femme Tapes.” Davis, Hollibaugh and Nestle include both male and female gender rebels within this definition. Femme, they say, seems perhaps to originate in a feminine love of queer sexual deviance, in general, of, as I’ve put it, “the boys inside my girls, and the girls inside my boys.” In Davis’s sexual history as a femme, “some of my partners were very feminine men…Even when I was coming out, I went back and forth some. I went out with a couple of guys who were faggots, who were effeminate.” Joan Nestle affirms, “The first adult person I loved and lusted after was a gay man.”

Femme-dyke sexuality as experienced with a man is far from a neutral category. It exists often as a place full of more conflict and danger than pleasure. For me and many other femmes, the core of femme sexuality lies in femme hunger, in a particularly femme strength of sexual openness, vulnerability and need. For me, it can be summed up by the image of “her fist/slams into my cunt up through my cervix/and grabs my heart/I don’t mind.” Femme sexuality lies in “that desperate need to be fucked senseless…(which) we have and would put up with some incredible shit to get.”

“There is no place she cannot touch me. My body is literally open to any way she infers her sexual need… My body is completely in sync with her, but I’m not deciding where she’s gonna touch me.” When I have sex, I need to feel the touching burn through the layers of numbness I have wrapped around myself. I need intensity; I need to get filled up and fed. To open up, give it all up and be loved, not hated for my intensity, for how much pleasure I can feel and how vulnerable it makes me. And I am doing this as a cultural woman. It is vulnerability that can be both incredibly powerful and incredibly terrifying. I should be hated for this.

Giving this deep vulnerability to a man is not an easy or uncomplicated act in a society of patriarchy where men, to various degrees mediated by their race, class, disability and sexuality, hold the power of sexual violence over women and attempt to deny the power of sexual self-determination over us. In a world where the slut, the whore and the shameless hussy are pissed on, it is in many, many ways much saner to give that gift of womanhood to a butch woman who won’t hate me for it than to give it to a man I may never be as sure of. Davis, Hollibaugh and Nestle speak of desiring faggots and butch women equally, at first, but coming to realize that this vulnerability was only safe with women. They went on to live, by all accounts I have been able to find, exclusively lesbian lives. Did the potential remain?

I do not believe that in all cases these women’s desires was “just a bisexual phase”. Some of them probably did just wake up one day and not want boys any more. But I think many might have needed to make a bargain among limited choices. Many might have still retained a desire for sexually rebellious men, but needed to assert total loyalty to butch women to help them survive.

A lot of that bargain centers around issues of visibility and the privilege of passing. The argument goes that no one seeing me or another femme on the street (long hair, nails, vintage dresses and combat boots and all), holding hands with my boyfriend (even if he’s a lisping faggot wearing a Tribe 8 t-shirt and magenta fishnets) will know that we’re queer. All the passerby will see is a boy and a girl.

The argument goes on to say that my femininity allows me the privilege of passing as heterosexual in general, at all times in which I am not with butch women or in queer spaces defined by their presence. These people defined queer as butch women or femme men – people who they saw as gender rebels, whose gender choice was an inversion of hegemonic standards.

I have problems with this argument. First of all, it equates “dyke” with “butch” and “queer,” something that’s as common as mud in queer communities. “In the lesbian community, butches are our image of dykes,” writes Arlene Istar in her article “Femme-dyke.”

“Lesbians are never described as women who wear dresses and high heels, or have long nails or hair…Oh, we all know there are lesbians like that, but somehow they are different, not like “us”, somehow not authentic.”

But butchness and femmeness, is and of themselves, have nothing to do with how many women a girl’s fucked, how much she prioritizes men over women in her life or how “good a feminist” (however you want to define that) she is. This ideology of dykeness conflates “femme” with “heterosexual feminine,” and “not really queer.” Well, I’m sure as hell nobody’s “spritzhead girlfriend,” as Hothead Paisan would put it. And femme is queer. Drop a femme into a straight bridal shower and she’ll stand out, believe me. I walk the streets with dyke attitude, scanning faces, staying alert, able to face harassment and give it back.

Second, at the core of this argument lies the idea, put forth by writer like Michaelangelo Signorile, that being “out” is the strategy to end all strategies of fighting homophobia. This idea doesn’t cut it for me. It’s an idea that comes from a place of unexamined privilege, where one can be shielded from knowing the limits of individual, personal strategies for change. I agree that those strategies are important. But I also believe in the necessity of talking to people, and doing mass political organization to counter their homophobia.

And I want to ask: What about myriad ways of being? What about the fact that “the standard of queerness” I’m most aware of – shaved head, leather jacket, big boots – can read as “Nazi skin” and is also an overwhelmingly white aesthetic? I believe in outness as a politic of asserting the right to walk down the street looking like what one is as a gender rebel – no matter what that is. And I am part of that.

I want a world liberated from the blood and shackles of imposed, false sexes and genders and the differences in power and privilege awarded those genders. People would play with gender there, but one could choose one’s own gender switch after a while, make it up as s/he went along. What sexual organs one had would be very little, if anything, to do with one’s gender expression. In that world, I could fuck partners who might have penises they were born with, might have ones they’d gotten surgery for, might have bought, or might not have at all.

People tell me that we’re here – we’re not in that world, and I should take what is allowed me by the queer hegemony. But I say that the revolution isn’t gonna come in a big, one-shot, dramatic confrontation with “the enemy”. It’s being birthed out of the struggles we do right here, right now. It’s specific, personal and dirt. And it’s not going to be helped into existence by anything less than the raw, honest, specific truth of what we need and desire.

The truth I have discovered of my desire, in this Asian mutt’s middle-class passing slut 1996 New York body, is that femme is an attraction to queerness in any form that satisfies hunger. I believe that understanding this is crucial to opening up femme identity to independence from butch identity – as standing separate from our more visible partners. Butch girls can fuck boys casually, without threatening their dyke identities? Well, I want that right too, as well as the right to define what that sex means to me. Butches have historically written and spoken the stories of their identities and desires much more than femmes. Femmes have written too few of our own stories and when we have, our loyalty to women has pressured us to simplify and lie.

So this is the beginning of a new story. It starts like this: me saying that no, honey-girl, fucking girls and boys in silver platform heels and liquid eyeliner doesn’t make me a traitor. It means I’m continuing in the tradition, taking the sexual and gender rebellion of my femme foremothers one step further, to what I need it be.

-- Leah Lilith Albrecht-Samarasinha is a student, writer, anarcho-feminist, student activist and all around fantabulous babe. Her work has appeared in Riot Grrrl NYC, Notes on the City, Release and various xines. She lives in Brooklyn. “BI-Femme” has been accepted for publication in an upcoming anthology entitled “Femme: Generations/Histories/Visions.

#butch/femme #bi safe #butch/femme discourse #bi tag #love that this was published in 1996 tbh #I was born and this article unknowningly modeled my life lmaooo #wlw tag

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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main masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq

hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

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magioftheseas · 2 years

Text

2021 Magi Fic Summary

I don’t see why only artists do summaries! I’m gonna do one too! So I’m just going to list a short sample from any fic I posted each month! A year in fic!

2021 sure was A Year, and there’s some variety. The usual dgrp and jshk, but with more p5 this year and even a couple of extra fandoms. I’d say I was pretty accomplished, especially in terms of zineworks, fanweeks, and the longer fics. Here’s to next year!

January - By Chance (NDRV3)

“Hey—can you hear me? Are you alright?”

It should be meaningless. Just a video game character reciting the same lines of text. No variation, no matter how many times the game gets rebooted. Everything—including this person was just lines of code locked in a purgatory of repetition, all at the mercy of mere clicks of the button.

He clicks through, and eventually, Komaeda Nagito reaches out. Offers his hand. It’s not to him, not really. Even in this position, he’s all too aware that he’s just playing another mindless character. One that grips Komaeda Nagito’s hand uncomfortably tight and pulls himself up. One that just—like everyone else in this world—just wants to feel special and important.

February - BREAKTIME (Omori)

“T-Thank you, Omori! That was... That was...” Basil heaves, Basil breathes, Basil musters up a laugh. “T-That was really close, but...you saved me! I just knew you would!”

Well. They were friends, after all.

So, he shrugs. Shakes his head to let Basil know it was nothing.

But, Basil embraces him so tightly that it can’t be called nothing.

March - The Captivating Voice That Is Not Yours (JSHK)

“He’s not what I’d call an angel, but he is a good teacher,” Nene had explained, and whatever bit of irritation flickered through her expression was drowned out by her beaming with pride. “Because of him, I’m good enough to share the stage with you, Aoi!”

“Nothing makes me happier to hear besides your singing,” Aoi murmured in return. That was genuine, even as caution crept back into her tone. “So, that teacher of yours… How did you find him?”

“It’s more that he found me.” For some reason, Nene got flustered. Despite how adorable she looked, a chill settled on Aoi’s shoulders as the songstress went on, “He heard me practicing. He said...that I had a lot of potential.”

Aoi had known that from the start. Yet, she hadn’t been able to help Nene at all.

It’s such a terrible feeling.

April - At The Point You Realize (P5)

“Geeeez, what are ya, my wife?”

“More like your mother,” is Ren’s simple response. “Son.”

Seriously, Ryuji could’ve died from how that made him choke.

“D-Dude?! No! Don’t make that shit so weird?! I don’t mind ya looking after me, but...” Despite himself, he chuckles. “For real, I really, really appreciate it! I like it, even, but you can’t go replacing my mom.”

“It’s a joke,” Ren said flatly.

May - Don't End This Dreaming (P5)

They eventually did go to that lake house. His dad went along, forcing a similar kind of smile. They took him to the lake where they watched keenly as he stepped into the water.

“Do you think about jumping in?” his dad would ask in a low voice, and he could only shrug helplessly. His dad laughed lightly. “Not much of a daredevil, huh? Definitely your mother’s kid.”

It’s not that he sounded resentful, but maybe he had sounded disappointed.

June - It’s Every Girl’s Dream (Beware of the Villainess)

“Nine.” She doesn’t know what face she’s making, but she hopes it’s one entirely unbefitting of a heroine. “I would say that we’re friends.”

Nine’s taken aback, but he’s too kind of a person to argue with something like that.

He’s not a villain. He’s not remotely a bad person. He’s soft-hearted and easily brought to tears. He’ll only bare his fangs at true villains—and at Yuri. Even though she’s supposed to be the heroine.

Truth be told, I like that about him.

July - The Capital Magical Defense Force (NDRV3)

“I’m fine,” Momota slurred. “Totally fine. I’m a goddamn Luminary, Shuuichi...” He says he’s fine while leaning into Saihara. It’s a bright sunny day. People are no doubt stealing glances, and Momota no doubt has to hide his exhausted face in his sidekick’s shoulder. It’s a good thing Harukawa isn’t here.

Ouma scoffed. Saihara shot him another glare.

“If you’re just here to mess with Momota-kun, you can leave.”

Saihara’s hands tighten on Momota. Goodness, it really is like Ouma is the supervillain tormenting the tired hero.

How boring.

August - Dregs Of Regret (DGS/GAA)

“What happened? What changed? Why...?”

The questions swirled round and round, but no answers awaited him. Instead, Asougi said nothing. Ryuunosuke shook his head as if that would alleviate the buzzing in his skull, but when he finally caught a glimpse of Asougi’s expression--

A complete stranger stared back coldly.

September - Back To December (P5)

“I’ll make the most of our time together before then.”

“Our time.” Akechi lets out a laugh, low and ugly and so very lovely for it. It’s nothing like the saccharine giggle of the second detective prince, but it’s so wonderfully Akechi Goro, even if it’s more muted than before.

“Your time,” Akechi then corrected him with a snarl, fitting an impressive amount of disdain into just that word.

October - Please Wait For Me (JSHK)

The grave is so polished that Amane can see his wretched reflection. Nanamine says nothing as he drops to his knees before it. As he prays and prays. She is silent and his reflection only grows more and more twisted.

He clasps his hands together tighter. Nearly pierces into his own knuckles with his nails.

“Amane-kun, have you been getting enough sleep?” Nanamine asks.

He answers her with a cold stare.

“I worry about you,” she goes on. “For that child’s sake.”

November - These Days, With You (DR1/SDR2)

Slowly and tentatively—he wasn’t sure where she was but he refused to think of it as her not being there, he might not be able to properly touch her or feel her heartbeat against his own, but—he brought his arms around her presence best he can all the same. Miserably, he thought about how he couldn’t even hold her close when he so dearly wanted to. But this was enough. It had to be enough. Even though...

“I can’t forget you. And...I can’t give up on them, either.”

“Of course not.” Another sigh against his ear, and this time, it felt chillier than death itself. “That’s just how you are. I’ve always loved that about you...but I resented it, too.” Her icy fingers combed through his hair, with colder lips that press to his temple. “I can only wish you luck.”

December - Matter Of Pride (YGO)

“For the next exam, if you are not the top of the class, you truly will disappoint me,” Kaiba went on. “If I wanted an idiot for a rival, I would pursue that dog of yours.”

“Don’t call him a dog,” he snapped. “And isn’t that unfair? Cards and academics are two different things.”

“A challenge is a challenge,” Kaiba said. “I expect you to meet that challenge, Yugi.”

“I-I’ll do my best,” his partner whimpered. “F-For Jou’s sake.”

#Persona 5 #new danganronpa v3 #super dangan ronpa 2 #dangan ronpa #Omori #great ace attorney #yugioh #jibaku shounen hanako kun #shuake #pegoryu #prideshipping #aoinene #Naezono #for the obvious ships #Magi fics #Some of these I don't think I cross-posted to tumblr #LOL WHOOPS

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wtfevenismypage · 4 years

Text

Observer, Not Profiler

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: panic attacks, Strong language, mentions of murder and rape.4

A/N: I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about when it comes to the fake profiling, if it’s possible, or if trauma is how it’s caused, plus I’m exhausted so just roll with it please

“We have less than two days to find this guy before he kills again. What the hell are wee gonna do?”

Everyone sat in silence, contemplating and thinking about Derek Morgan’s words.

Sighs are heard all around before A youthful genius speaks.

“What if we brought someone else in? A-another profiler? Hotch, what about that girl from a few years ago, her friends said she could tell anything about anyone from a single glance? What if we brought her in?”

Aaron Hotchner rushes to his computer, frantically typing things into the screen and looks at the rest of his team.

“That should fish her out.”

Running from the government was difficult. You couldn't be in one place for more than a year, Never make friends, stay quiet, change your numbers and any personal information every six months, and if you see the police... Run.

You’ve lived like this for six years, ever since you were fifteen.

The reason you’re running is simple, yet hilarious.

Your best friend told you to hack into the governments to see if birds really do spy on us for the government. Of course you never found an answer because they already kicked you out before getting to it.

Then they came for you, at least ten swat cops raided your house, held a gun to your head as they searched the rooms.

When a group of profilers came in, and watched as you told them what they ate for lunch the day before, when they showered last, when the last time they had sex was, and shocked faces spread all around as you did the same with the swat cops, even though they were covered.

You’re currently watching you’re small T.V in horror, watching the news come unraveled.

“This woman has brutally murdered thirteen people, please, if you know anything, don’t hesitate to call us.”

Your face was plastered all over the news, every channel had your face on it.

You’ve never killed a single person. The closest you ever got was kicking a CIA agent in the groin and banging his head against your knee, but that hurt you more than it hurt him.

The woman speaking was a blonde woman with blue eyes, she has a petite stature that tells a lot more than any normal human would think.

Jennifer.

That had to be her name. She was an interrogator when you were originally taken in.

Her face as you told everyone about the last time she had sex was hilarious.

It was even better when it was confirmed to be true.

You frantically run around, grabbing a bag of runaway essentials and an apple before rushing out of your apartment and running as fast as possible, trying to get as far away as possible from this old life.

The street was littered with cops, they were practically on every street corner, talking to everyone they can see.

Panic and stress fill your senses quickly, causing you to break into a run down an alley way.

Yet of course, a few cops see you and chase you, because they’re cops and they see everything apparently.

You keep running, even when you feel like you can’t run anymore you keep running because if you get caught you’ll see them again, you know you will.

You’ll see those profilers.

They’re still chasing, but you start to slow down, unable to speed your slow jog to a run.

One of the cops tackle you to the ground, pinning your arms behind your back before shouting a slur of words.

But you can’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears.

you were caught. They think you murdered someone. Multiple people even.

A single tear rolls down your face as they cuff you, lifting you to your feet and dragging you away.

The team stared at you from behind the two-way mirror, watching as you twiddle your thumbs and stare confused as your head jerks to the side quickly.

“What’s up with her head?”

“Anxious Ticking, she was diagnosed with extreme anxiety and minor Paranoia soon after being caught. Anxious ticking is a system of these. she’s been looking over her shoulders for six years, so it’s no wonder she has these symptoms.”

Spencer answer’s Morgan’s question while looking at the young girl.

He was so intrigued by you. Another child genius like himself, hacking into the government at 15, and you could tell anything about anyone just by looking at them, yet you didn't like being called a profiler.

He was truly puzzled by you.

Your head tics to the side again, and you feel a red heat smack itself on your cheeks.

You knew they were watching you from behind the mirror, you just didn't know who they were. And ticking was always your biggest insecurity. You hated doing it in front of other people.

The door clicks open and you jump in your seat. You look up to see who it is.

A dark man with thick black eyebrows, he has a little beard and mustache, just covering his chin and upper lip, his build is lean and muscly, but not super muscly.

“Derek. Y-Your name is Derek.”

He nods with a kind smile, sitting down in front of you.

“Your name is Y/n.”

You nod and look down at your wrists, which are chained together with handcuffs.

“I didn’t... I didn’t hurt anyone...”

You whisper out with a shaky breath and tears in your eyes.

He nods knowingly, leaning back on the chair he’s in.

“We know you didn’t. We had to get you out of hiding somehow. This was the only way.”

You stare at him for a long time, shock moving in with the fear in your stomach.

“W-why? So th-that you could a-arrest me for hacking into the- the gov-government?”

He looked at you, concern shielded by confusion as he stands, walking around you to the coffee machine. Your head swivels around, following his every move with your eyes, making sure he doesn't hurt you.

The rest of the team watches as Morgan speaks, asking you about your age.

“tw-twenty one. I’m... I’m twenty one.”

They were in awe as they watched your eyes study Morgan, you travel all over his body.

“Y-you’re thirty three...You’re name is D-Derek and you’re thirty... three.”

“How the hell does she do that?”

Everyone looked at Reid, hoping for an explanation.

“It could be an effect of a traumatic childhood, often times children learn to just pick up behaviors but there have been a few very rare cases where they learn to pick up more than that. It’s dependent on their intelligence and education though. I’ve never seen a case like this though. It isn’t just looking and getting their name magically, it’s studying everything and narrowing it down.”

“Cool party trick. But shouldn't we be asking about how she hacked into the government at 15?”

“Well for one, she’s terrified right now, she wouldn’t tell us if we asked her. Morgan’s trying to get her to calm down right now. And two, if she was skilled enough, she could hack into the government. The techies of the government should have caught her as soon as she made her first attempt. I don’t understand how she made it through all of the firewalls and blocks.”

The team continued to watch as your wrists painfully slam together twice, causing the coffee cup in your hand to splash onto your lap. An embarrassed blush crawls up your neck as you apologize three times.

Reid writes this down under your tics. So far he had head-jerking and wrist bumping.

“She doesn’t like when people watch her ticking. To her it’s embarrassing. Reassure her that it’s alright, chances are someone or multiple people have put her down about this.”

Spencer informs Morgan through the ear piece while you rub at the now warm spots on your legs.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize for it, it’s a natural instinct, we’ve seen it before.”

You turn to the two way mirror, once again made aware of the other people watching you.

“I... Ho-how many people are... Wa-watching?”

You ask, voice shaking in a low whisper that you only wanted him to hear.

“There’s six people out there, the rest of my team. You saw three of us six years ago, but two people since then have resigned.”

You nod at his words, feeling tiny again as your wrists slam together again.

There was Jason, he seemed scary, a serious look was on his face but his words were kind, he tried to calm you down.

Next was Derek, He was emotionally charged, he yelled at you every time you moved, but it was only in fear that you were going to hurt anyone else.

Then Elle. She was so kind despite carrying a gun, she held a normal conversation with you as if you were a scared girl, and not a criminal like everyone else treated you.

Next was Aaron, He scared you the most. he held a gun to you the entire time and spoke to you like you were scum, he treated you with confusion and sent tears to your eyes.

Lastly was the nameless genius. You never were able to figure out his name, you knew that he was a genius as you were, but you couldn’t tell a single thing about him.

“Is Elle there? can I talk to her?”

You speak, a small smile creeping onto your face. He chuckles and smiles, leaning forward in his chair.

“Unfortunately Agent Greenaway has resigned.”

The smile falls as you begin twiddling your thumbs again.

“W... What about the long haired man? He was very t-tall, and skinn-skinny... He-he’s smart... very smart... Am I... Am I able to talk to him?”

Derek thinks for a moment before standing up.

“let me check with the team.”

He walks away, through the door and leaving you alone in the room.

“She wants to talk with Reid.”

Morgan states as he walks into the room with the rest of his team, looking at Reid who looks pretty terrified.

“She doesn’t know his name.”

“Well it has been six years.”

“She has an eidetic memory. And it would be difficult for anyone to forget any little detail from the day she started running.”

“So should we send Reid in?”

“It’s up to you Reid. She doesn’t prove to be a threat.”

Reid stands up and looks at the girl with tears in her eyes one last time before slowly stepping into the room.

You jump at least three feat when the door clicks open, staring at the new man with wide eyes. He apologizes and sits down in front of you.

“Yo-your name is... It’s... I can’t... I can’t read you. I can’t ev-even tell how old you are...”

His eyes widen as he smiles a little bit, trying to calm your nerves.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smile a little at finally discovering his name, you’ve been thinking about it ever since you got away.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

The tears that cloud your vision finally fall, dripping onto the table.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I’m cry-crying...”

You stutter out, looking down to wipe your tears away.

“No need to apologize, it’s understandable considering the amount of stress you’re receiving right now.”

“Um... Am I... Am I going to jail?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, thinking about what to say before scratching his head.”

“No I don’t believe so, There was no big harm done with the hacking, so The worst you’ll have to deal with is quite a bit of questioning. No, what we brought you in for is help. We understand you have the ability to profile people with a single loo-”

“No.”

You speak in a loud tone which causes Reid to jump a little, and the rest of the team is put on edge at your sudden tone.

“I’m not... I’m not a pro- a profi... I’m not one of you.”

You curse yourself in your head for yelling, you really didn’t want any of this attention.

“I understand that. I’m sorry, You are able to identify anything about a person by just looking at them, and we need your help with that.”

You look at the mirror, staring at your own reflection for a while before asking a question.

“I don’t have a choice do I?”

His lips stretch into a thin line, his cheeks puffing out where his lips end, and he shakes his head.

“Of course you have a choice. You can say no, and you’ll be free to live your life, or you can help us, we’ll pay you a respectable amount, make sure you have a place to stay for a few months, and make sure you can see your friends again.”

Tears flowed down your face freely when he said you could see your friends. Your friends were your entire life before this. After your parents kicked you out for being an athiest, you lived with your best friend since the age of 13.

“I... I’ll help... I’ll help.”

He genuinely smiles, holding his hand out with a small item in his hands.

“Go ahead and unchain yourself, when you’re ready the rest of the team and I are right outside and we’ll brief you.”

He drops the key in front of you before standing, awkwardly waving, and then he walks out leaving you alone in the room.

You try to pick the key up, but seeing as both hands are chained underneath the table, so you sit awkwardly, your gaze switching between your hands, the key and the door, but you can’t call out for Spencer, the panic in your lungs are taking all the air, not letting you speak.

“Should someone help her?”

“No. I would like to see how she gets out of this.”

Hotch tells Morgan before watching you kick the other end of the table, bouncing the key towards you.

It slides into your lap, which you quickly thrust your hips up to get to your hands, and you get yourself out of the cuffs.

Your fist quickly comes into contact with your forehead, another new tic.

You look at the mirror again before walking to the door and grabbing the knob, twisting it open and looking inside.

Your eyes flashed over the six people multiple times, identifying their names and ages. Some from memory, and others from your knowledge.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us. If you’ll follow us please. Dave, I want you and Morgan at the crime scene again. JJ, set up a press conference. Reid And Prentiss, You two and I are working on victimology with Miss Y/n.”

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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Remember Me

Mark Lee X Reader X Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) | Smut, Fluff, Angst | 14k | Soulmate AU, Friends-to-Lovers AU

CHAPTER 2 OF 2. Part 1 is here.

Summary: “The mysterious cuts and bruises that suddenly appear are actually injuries that your soulmate has obtained, and you share the same marks on your skin.” For Donghyuck and Mark, it's not just an old saying, it's not merely a concept, it's the truth. But as they grow older in a world where everyone puts their faith in the marks that attach their hearts to their soulmates, they have to stop believing.

Notes: This used to be an EXO Fanfic of mine called Remember Me but I want to share this story with my NCT family as well, so I rewrote several things and added more scenes to fit Mark and Haechan’s personalities better.

It takes Lee Donghyuck approximately ten times to ask Mark Lee to join their soccer game before he realizes that maybe Mark just really hates playing soccer. Or just doing sports in general, for that matter.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to!” Mark shouts, cheeks reddening in anger. Donghyuck holds up both hands in the air, backing away. Mark is twenty-one years-old while Donghyuck is a year younger. Since Mark needed to be treated at the facility for his injuries back when he was in high school, he had to repeat another year and so he registered late in his new university in Seoul. Seeing how he’s a freshman like him with no friend other than Zhong Chenle in college, Donghyuck thinks they should get along better. Donghyuck has always been friendly and nice to anyone around him—Yukhei would agree on this straight away—but sadly, not everyone replies to him in the same way.

“Okay, okay,” Donghyuck says, laughing softly at Mark’s little burst of anger. “Chill, man. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought that maybe you wanted to play because, you know, you kept looking at us—”

“I wasn’t looking,” Mark harshly responds, tearing his gaze away from the other boy to glance at the girl who owns his heart since forever. “Well, I wasn’t actually looking at you anyway.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at Mark’s last line that’s almost too quiet to hear. He’s pretty sure that Mark kept stealing glances at the field a moment earlier, so if it weren’t because of Donghyuck and Yukhei playing soccer with their upperclassmen, who was he staring at?

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says anyway, and he means it even when his tone sounds too playful. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you can just come over, okay?”

“I don’t do soccer,” Mark bitterly responds as he picks up his book back and places it on his lap. “Now can you leave me alone, please? I want to read in silence.”

Donghyuck scrunches up his nose at his attitude but decides to be the better man. “Alright,” he says, giving him the space he needs. “My name’s Lee Donghyuck, by the way. Nice to meet you, Grumpy Pants!” he exclaims with a cheeky grin before he runs back to the field. Mark Lee is unapproachable, but that only makes him more interesting to Lee Donghyuck.

***

It takes eleven minutes after the whistle has been blown for Donghyuck to score his third goal that day and she cheers loudly with her hands in the air before she realizes that she’s supposed to stare at her crush secretly. She clears her throat and tries to calm her racing heart as she sits back on the bleachers. Her eyes are still following the boy with the number 66 on the back of his jersey and her heart warms when she sees how his fluffy brown hair flutters under the wind.

That boy’s name is Lee Donghyuck. He’s one year younger than she is and he’s probably the brightest, and the funniest person she has ever met. He’s a bit weird, though, because every time he talks to her, he always speaks like he has known her for his whole life. And he does look familiar somehow, but she can’t remember why.

Last spring was the first time she met him. She was looking around the campus’ ground, getting to know the environment better before she enrolled in the university by the next semester. And then a ball hit her on the head, making her tumble to the ground.

“Oh, shit! Sorry! Are you okay?” A boy ran to her with a familiar smile and beautiful sun-kissed skin that glistened slightly with sweat. He helped her stand on her own feet and kept apologizing for two times more until he saw her face and began to shout her name over and over again, voice getting louder each time.

“Holy shit, it’s really you! I can’t believe this!” Without permission, he suddenly leaned in and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet as he laughed wholeheartedly. “Jesus Christ, Noona, it’s been years!” He was crushing her with his hug and she felt strange, afraid even. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again! I’ve been looking for you every—”

Out of fear and discomfort, she hastily pushed him away. “D-don’t touch me!” she said, backing away and a wounded look fell upon his face.

“N-noona, it’s me,” he said, attempting to calm her down by reaching out a hand. “It’s me, Donghyuck. We used to play together, remember? At the beach? In Jeju?”

Frowning was her response and nothing more, not remembering his identity at all and that made her sad because that boy seemed like he was really hoping for her to remember him. “I’m—I’m sorry but I don’t know you,” she said and the boy seemed heartbroken for a few seconds before he shook his head and smiled brightly once more.

“Oh wow, then this must’ve been super awkward.” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head before he offered her his hand. She could tell he was shaken up by it but he didn’t make it seem obvious. “I’m Lee Donghyuck. I’m sorry for being so weird. You just remind me so much of my old friend. But I got your name right, didn’t I?”

She nodded her head once, shaking his hand. “How do you know my name?”

“Let’s just say I’m a bit psychic,” Donghyuck replied, grinning boyishly and something stirred in her heart. She felt like she knew him but at the same time, she didn’t. It was weird but Donghyuck never worried about such a matter. He kept on talking to her, sporting his cheery grins and beautiful eye-smile as he did and his presence somehow filled the pang that had been so hollow in her heart.

“Yo, Sleepyhead!” Wong Yukhei calls as he scurries over to her side. He’s breathing hard, beads of sweat forming and rolling down his temple. The man is 183cm tall with silky dark brown hair and a voice deeper than any man she’s ever known. “What’cha doin’, girl? Been here long?”

“Hey, Yukhei,” she greets with a smile, offering him her canned orange juice and Yukhei drinks it in one gulp without hesitation. “Just hanging out. Did you guys win?” she asks, trying to pretend like she wasn’t paying attention to the game (which is somewhat true because she only paid attention to Donghyuck).

“Oh, come on, we all know you were watching the game,” Yukhei says as he flops down next to her seat. “Or were you watching me?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Wong Yukhei is always blatant with his flirting but nobody ever takes him seriously. It’s common knowledge that Yukhei never wants to have a relationship with anyone other than his Soulmate. People tend to date anyone they want while they wait for their Soulmates to appear but Yukhei is a different case. Yukhei only wants the girl who owns the same scar as he has on his wrist.

“Hey, just a friendly advice here,” Yukhei says, “I know you really really really like Hyuck but fucking hell, woman, do you really need to stare at him all day long with that dopey, lovesick look on your face?”

“Hey!” She hisses, slapping his back. “Shut up, okay? And I wasn’t staring at him. I was watching the game.”

“Sureeee,” Yukhei slurs the last syllable. “Then what’s the score? No peeking at the scoreboard.”

She can’t answer. Seeing how Yukhei keeps on mocking her, she eventually sighs and buries her face in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“So obvious. Too obvious, even.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Honey, I think even my grandma knows you have a crush on him.”

“Oh my God,” she sobs to her hands and when she lifts her face, her cheeks are in flame. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I can’t date him anyway, Not until I’m sure that he’s my Soulmate.”

Yukhei furrows his brows. “I didn’t know you were like me.”

“I just think it’s a safer option, you know?” She utters, huffing to the air. “Why would you waste your time dating someone who’s not your Soulmate when you know it’s not gonna work out in the end? Better choose the one so you won’t hurt anyone.”

Yukhei nods proudly and pats her head. “I feel you, Sister. I feel you.”

“Shut up, you’re gross,” she says, punching Yukhei playfully by his shoulder but the said man groans loudly and dramatically acts like she just struck his arm with a javelin. Yukhei stands up and barks, “Sure, when it’s Wong Yukhei, you go around and punch him like a sag of potatoes but when it’s Lee Donghyuck, you worship him like a freaking Greek God! Real fair, Sweetheart, real fair!” Then he throws a flying kiss toward her direction before she has the chance to actually kill Wong Yukhei. She just hopes that Donghyuck didn’t hear him.

She sits back on the bleachers, her heart thumping loudly but Donghyuck never stares back. He’s always like that when he’s too focused on his game. It’s part of his charm, really.

It’s only Mark Lee who does, staring at her from across the field. He’s a fellow freshman she once met at the library, helping her with finding her books. She always thinks he looks kind of familiar as well but she doesn’t know why. Perhaps some kind of a déjà vu?

She didn’t see him sitting there before (her eyes were too focused on Donghyuck, like always) and Mark never really goes out of his class at break times anyway. He used to always spend his days in the library, working there and reading suspense or science-fiction novels even when he’s read them a thousand times already. This is the first time she’s ever seen him out on the field. Perhaps he’s watching the game too?

She smiles and waves her hand at him. “Hey, library guy!” she mouths, grinning but Mark never mirrors her smile in the same way. He always seems sad, she notices, like he’s trying to achieve something but something forbids him from doing so. She wonders what he craves so badly that he has to force himself away from enjoying his life like he’s supposed to.

***

It’s twelve past twelve on a Sunday afternoon when Zhong Chenle passes a watermelon to Mark’s lap and speaks, “Bro, I know it’s not my business but your ex-girlfriend has a huge crush on that kid Lee Donghyuck.”

With a knife in his hand, ready to slice the watermelon into small pieces, Mark freezes and looks at Chenle with heavy pressure in his eyes.

“Whoa, dude!” Chenle immediately backs away, gulping when he realizes he just made Mark upset when the man is holding a knife in his hand. “Be careful with that shit, okay? You look like you’re about to kill someone!”

“Not someone, just you,” Mark replies, looking away and begins to slice the fruit.

Chenle takes his seat back with more caution in his steps, just in case. “Look, Mark, I don’t want to make you mad.”

“A bit too late for that,” Mark replies, jabbing the knife into the fruit, and Chenle almost shrieks, fidgeting on his seat. The Chinese boy winces a little as he prepares to receive a strike from his friend but it never came. Instead, his friend throws him a small smile and Chenle knows Mark’s been kidding around. Chenle can never understand his sense of humor.

“You have a terrible sense of humor, has anyone ever told you that?” He calms his heart down. “You’re still not over her, huh?” Chenle asks, receiving a freshly cut watermelon from the slightly shorter guy. Mark doesn’t answer him and instead, he grabs his own piece of watermelon and strolls over to lounge on the couch. The sun is blazing outside, sitting on its throne, and burns everything considering it’s the middle of summer and even with this thin layer of clothes he’s wearing, Mark just can’t stop sweating.

“Dude?” Chenle calls, following him to the couch, and steals a glance at him. Mark is just there, sitting and staring at the fruit without doing anything much other than breathing. “Hello? Earth to Mark, you alright there, buddy?”

Mark slowly moves his gaze back at him and for the first time in forever, he pulls on a gentle, but heartbreaking smile. “I would’ve gotten over her if I could but it’s hard.”

Chenle hums quietly. “You guys loved each other that much, huh?”

“Loved?” Mark chuckles, proffering his piece of watermelon to his friend’s hand in case Chenle wants more. He does. “It wasn’t just love. She was my everything.” The Chinese boy snorts at that but he can actually sense the truth behind Mark’s words, which is why Chenle chooses to stay mute. “I was about to propose to her, you know?” Mark confesses, crestfallen. “We were nothing but stupid brats going on about love and crappy things like that and I had this stupid ring with me that I wanted to give her. I was about to make a promise to be with her forever. I didn’t care whether she was my Soulmate or not. I didn’t care if we were too young to be engaged. I just loved her so much—I still do but…”

But she forgot about you, Chenle wants to say but he decides to keep himself in silence. While Mark was hurting physically during that period after the accident, she was losing her mind. She had recurring nightmares and she lost almost every part of her memories. She lost her childhood, she lost her friends, and most of all, she lost him. She couldn’t see Mark. He never existed in her world. Her loss of memories had helped her to recover quicker than him and her parents also made her go to many therapy sessions in her last few months at the hospital. She’s now healthy and happy and Mark is grateful for that but, of course, a huge part of him died with her that night before the first snow fell upon their smiles.

Chenle forms a question after a while. “Why don’t you try and approach her again, then? You know, start over. Maybe she could fall in love with you again.”

Mark absentmindedly touches the skin around his nape. “It’s better this way,” he says, smiling weakly to the ground. “She’s happier without me in her life.”

“But you’re hurting,” Chenle counters. “And I’m not sure you’re gonna get better tomorrow if you keep being like this.”

“You’re right, I’m never gonna get better.” Mark laughs softly. “I’m gonna remember this forever and I’m gonna live through this every day. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I remember is how I agreed to go with her to town that night. If I hadn’t gone to her grandmother’s place, if I hadn’t gone with her outside—”

Chenle shakes his head. “You didn’t know what would happen—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Mark shouts breathlessly, his hand going over his heart. “It happened and I lost her. That’s it, Chenle. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Chenle looks conflicted and hesitant for a few seconds before he reaches out and pats Mark on the shoulder. “Everything will get better,” he says, trying to spread joy to his friend. “You’ll forget her when you meet your Soulmate. Try to live your life like me, buddy. No good will come from worrying over things that have been done.”

Mark returns his smile but his eyes stay cold.

His dreams always consist of her smile and how her eyes once turned crescents when she whispered, “I love you too, Mark Lee.” His dreams always reel in the way she held him close that night, how she wanted to make him feel happy, how she wanted to be with him, how much she missed and loved him.

It never happens in real life anymore. Mark Lee never existed in her life that way. And that is why Mark stops waking up with a smile on his face.

“Chenle,” Mark starts, “Are you friends with that guy?”

“Who, Donghyuck? Yeah, he’s cool. Gets pretty whiny and annoying most of the times, but—”

“There’s something I want you to tell him.”

“O… kay…” Chenle is startled by the sudden gravitas in his tone. “What is it?”

“She believes in Soulmates,” Mark says, smiling to himself and somehow Chenle can see the disappointment and frustration in his eyes. “She has a scar on the back of her neck. So if he doesn’t have the same scar, it’s better for him to just stay away since he’ll end up hurting them both in the future.”

Chenle analyzes his friend’s expression but he’s still left clueless. “And you’re okay if he turns out to be the one for her?”

Mark glances at him, smiling while his eyes show nothing but a pang of guilt and pain. “At this point, Chenle,” he murmurs, “I actually wish for it to happen.”

***

“So she believes in Soulmates too, huh?” Donghyuck asks, his shoulders are slumped forward in disappointment. It’s Friday the 13th and while everyone is feeling spooked out over the infamous urban legend, Donghyuck is feeling upset over an entirely different reason. “Damn it!”

Yukhei snorts. “Dude, everyone believes in Soulmates; it’s only you who don’t. It’s basically, like, written in the law or something.” When Donghyuck shoots him a look, Yukhei just huffs. “All I’m saying is it’s not just a myth, dude. This shit happens.”

Donghyuck knows that but he’s really interested in her—well, he’s always been interested in her, since back then when they were young even. Donghyuck didn’t think he’d be able to meet her again but well, luck is apparently on his side. Not that much, though, because she forgot about what they used to have. Donghyuck learned along the way that she’d gotten into an accident in high school and that was how she lost her memories. He understands the situation and he’s willing to restart everything again because even after all this time, Donghyuck still likes her. And for these past few months, Donghyuck has become so close to her once again and it’s like they’re back to that time where they used to play together on the beach with sands under their feet. She still smiles and gazes at him in the way she did back then and Donghyuck thinks her beauty lasts for eternity.

She even said one time, as he was trying to catch his breath after his soccer practice, that he reminded her of the sun, the way he shone so brightly when he played on the field, how his every movement and smile drew attention from the crowd.

“You should be called Haechan,” she said sheepishly, bumping her shoulder against his in a playful manner. “I think it fits you more. What do you think?”

His heart was racing for an entirely different reason. He couldn’t believe that even when she had lost her memories, she still repeated the same thing in the exact same way. So Donghyuck swallowed hard, trying his best to appear nonchalant, and said, “I think that’s the stupidest pet name someone has ever given to me, but it’s okay. You can call me that.”

It would be great if they could be something more. But well, if she believes in Soulmate and if Donghyuck turns out to not be the one she’s waiting for then they probably shouldn’t start anything to begin with.

“This whole Soulmate thing sucks balls!” Donghyuck whines, kicking a pebble stone to the side of the street as he walks next to his tall friend on the sidewalk. “I really want to try and be with her, you know? I didn’t try anything back then because we were too young to understand our feelings but now we’re older and I really, really like her but God-fucking-dammit, Yukhei, what if I’m not her Soulmate? What if she won’t accept me?”

Yukhei pats his friend on the back. “Well, you still have your chance, Hyuck. Maybe someday, she’ll fall and bruise her knees or something and you’ll get the same scar—her scar. Who knows, right? Maybe you are her Soulmate.”

Donghyuck doesn’t put a lot of wish on that. He’s never much of a believer anyway. “She doesn’t seem to have scars now, though,” he says, “So how can we tell who her Soulmate is?”

“But you don’t have scars too, do you?”

“Actually, I—”

“Donghyuck-Hyung!” A skinny boy with fluffy blond hair, calls from somewhere behind him. Donghyuck turns around and grins when he sees the boy approaching him. “Hey, asswipe! What’s up?”

“I told you not to call me that.” But Chenle reciprocated by giving him his personal high five. After a quick chatter, Chenle drops his smile and displays a solemn look on his face. “Hyung, there’s something I need to tell you.”

***

It’s on the next day, June 14th, when Donghyuck literally steals Yukhei’s key (he thinks Yukhei wouldn’t mind anyway) and drives his motorcycle for less than a mile, heading south. Donghyuck doesn’t waste any more time. Since he heard what Chenle told him yesterday, Donghyuck has been so anxious. He needs to see her now and he needs to see her fast.

That afternoon isn’t actually chilly, but Donghyuck brings his black leather jacket with him—just for luck. He wears a thin white shirt underneath it and a black full covered helmet on his head. He’s brought another helmet with him, not caring about the possibility of her rejecting his proposal of an impromptu date. Donghyuck has always been that confident.

Getting the address of her house isn’t actually easy, but it’s not the hardest question in the world either. When he stops in front of her house, his wristwatch says it’s 02.14 p.m. He still has enough time to go watch a movie with her and have dinner together—if she agrees to go on a date with him in the first place.

Jumping out from his—or rather, Yukhei’s—motorcycle, Donghyuck takes off his helmet and ruffles his short hair, pushing back his fringe with his lean fingers. He doesn’t say it often but he thinks he looks a bit hotter when his forehead shows and if he’s going to charm this girl off her feet, he needs all the luck he can get. And that is why he’s putting his RayBan sunglasses on too.

He picks up his phone and dials her numbers. She answers on the second ring and it’s cute that her “Hello?” sounds more like a panic shout rather than a friendly greeting. “Hey, baby,” Donghyuck jokes with a grin, but it makes her gasp. He hears her stutter out his name in return. “Can you go out to your balcony for me?”

“W-why?” she asks, a bit breathlessly for some reason. Donghyuck secretly hopes his voice is the reason behind it. He likes to think he has that effect on her, because sometimes, when she wears her floral blue shirt combined with her white skirt, she has that same effect on him as well. That feeling of needing to breathe when you’re already breathing. It’s weird but he likes it.

“Just do it, please?” he begs, even displaying his puppy eyes though he knows she won’t be able to see them.

“Umm... O-okay then…”

A moment later, she appears on her veranda, wearing a short, casual navy blue summer dress with a white collar that looks like a sailor’s. Her hair is untied, flowing over her shoulders and Donghyuck can already tell that she’s about to tuck some strands of her hair behind her ears. He always loves it when she does that. He’ll love it even more if one day she gives him the chance to do it for her.

“Umm, I’m already out,” she nervously mumbles out, pushing her locks to the back of her ear. Her phone is strapped to her ear and she examines her surrounding until her eyes land on the man who’s leaning on a (stolen) bike.

“Hey,” Donghyuck smiles that one smile he knows could drive women crazy. He adds this thing with his eyebrows just in case she’s not affected by his smirk. “So, I woke up this morning and I thought of you. Wanna go out on a date with me?”

She gapes, her cellphone almost slides down from her hand. “I-I’m—” Even Donghyuck can see her blush from under there. “Donghyuck-ah, I—”

“How many times should I tell you?” Donghyuck sighs, playfully sending her a glare. “Just call me by that name you gave me.”

“D-didn’t you say it was stupid?”

“It’s stupid because it makes me feel special.” And he doesn’t lie, not in the slightest. “You make me feel special.”

Her face burns even more. “Look, I don’t think I can go—” She takes a look behind her, worriedly glancing to her room. “I’m supposed to stay in my room and—”

“Have you ever broken any rules before?” Donghyuck asks and if she hadn’t lost her memories, she’d say yes and tell him that that’s the exact reason why she got into that accident. But this new version of her only gnawed at her lip worriedly. “Come on, Noona. You don’t need to tell your parents.” He’s extremely persuasive, especially with that signature eyebrow-raise of his with his eyes twinkling mischievously after he took off his sunglasses. “Just come with me. I’ll take you back home before they even know you’re gone.”

It’s tempting. Donghyuck’s offers are always tempting and he looks really good in that leather jacket while sporting his messy pushed-back hair. She once thought Donghyuck looked the best wearing his soccer jersey on the field because he appeared so young and boyish that way. But this. This exact style. He reeks of masculinity and pure sex—

“Are you coming?” Donghyuck snaps her away from her reverie. She continues nibbling on her lip in anxiety, looking back again before she glances at the boy once more. “Okay, yes,” she finally says and Donghyuck tries not to jump and stab the air in victory. “I can’t go down from the stairs, though. My father’s in the living room.”

“Well then, jump,” he simply says, walking closer until he stands just below her balcony and tries to be as quiet as possible as he strolls through the bushes. “Come on, Noona. Jump. I’ll catch you.”

“T-there’s no way I can do that!” Her cheeks spark bright red. “I’m wearing a dress!”

“Well then, I’ll close my eyes.” He spreads his arms wide to catch her and simply closes his eyes like he said. “See?”

“How are you planning to catch me when you can’t even see me?!” She protests and Donghyuck wants to laugh because her shrieking voice is so pleasantly cute.

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, opening his eyes again just to gaze straight into her eyes. “I won’t let you fall. I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Something in the tone he uses lights a spark in her chest. “O-of course.”

“Then trust me.” Donghyuck smiles again and shuts his eyes closed. “Now jump.”

She still hesitates, thinking this over and over again with her hand pressed nervously against her chest. Finally, she decides to just get this over with. “I’m—I’m a bit heavy, though.”

“You’re not heavy, you’re pretty,” Donghyuck smoothly says and on any other occasion, she would have laughed because that’s probably the worst line to say at the moment. “Now come on. Jump.”

“But Haechannie—”

“Jump!”

And she does. With a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she jumps in her sailor dress with only her phone being held in her hand. She’s about to yelp but the fall is too fast that it ends before she can scream. True enough, Donghyuck manages to catch her with his arms and she falls with a small ‘oof’ to his chest.

“Hello Kitty panties?” Donghyuck teases, his spine being pressed against the ground and although it does hurt a little, everything is worth it since she is now lying on top of him. “Really, darling?”

She gapes, blushing madly, and lands a small slap on his chest to cover her embarrassment. “You said you wouldn’t look!” She makes too much rustling noises over the fuss, while Donghyuck tries to contain his laughter. He would’ve let her hit him again if he didn’t hear someone’s footsteps closing on them.

Her father is now walking through the front door.

Donghyuck does the most brilliant thing to do at the moment—according to him anyway—which is to roll to his side and hide both of their bodies behind the bushes. She ends up lying on the ground with Donghyuck’s body covering her. He holds her head close to his chest so she won’t knock herself on the ground. Her ear is pressed against his heart and she cannot focus when Donghyuck pulls her closer and warns her with a whisper, “Be quiet...”

Her father doesn’t take a detailed look around the place, probably wondering whether it was just the neighbor’s cat doing noisy things as always. He ends up leaving after picking up the newspaper that he forgets to retrieve in the morning.

When the sound of the front door being closed reaches their ears, they both let out a relieved sigh. “Holy shit, I thought I was about to die,” Donghyuck says, laughing when he sees her holding back her smile. “Your hair’s a mess.” He reaches out a hand and fixes her fringe and that’s when she realizes that she’s in such proximity to his face and she’s literally lying underneath him.

She immediately pulls away and stands up properly before she slightly bows with her face blazing hot. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you like that—”

“Hey, relax,” Donghyuck says, cleaning the dirt off his ripped jeans as he stands up as well. “It was my fault. And I was enjoying every second of it anyway so...” He grins that familiar boyish smile of his and although she pouts and pushes him playfully by the shoulder, inside her thumping heart, she feels alive.

“I can’t believe you saw my panties,” she mutters, fixing her hair as her cheeks continue to burn. “So embarrassing.”

“I think it’s cute.”

Her face is about to explode. “You promised you’d close your eyes!”

“I didn’t.” Donghyuck wiggles his eyebrow once in a teasing manner. “I only promised you I’d catch you. And I did, right? I didn’t let you fall.”

She looks away, trying her best to calm her racing heart. “Y-yes. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Now, come on,” Donghyuck says, taking her hand without permission (not that she’d mind) and guides her to his—Yukhei’s—ride. “I’m thinking of relishing our childhood memories and—” he stops when he sees her frowning and he looks flustered because, “God, I’m so stupid. Of course you wouldn’t remember.” His voice is quiet before he gets a grip of himself and clears his throat. “What I want to say is, there are two choices you can choose: First, it’s a safe option where we go out to the movies, choose whatever it is that’s lame enough so you’ll get bored and start talking to me during the play—hey, stop laughing!” Donghyuck pokes her on the cheek when she giggles at his words. “And then we’ll get dinner afterward before I take you home. Or second, and this is the more daring one, we go to the nearest beach and see whatever the hell that’s going to happen there and just let God decides where we go next.” He gives her another spare of his helmet. “So what do you wanna do?”

She thinks about it for a few seconds, just to build the hype, before she says, “I’ll go with the second option.”

“Well, I am hurt,” Donghyuck mutters. “You just thought talking to me during the movie would be boring, didn’t you? You’ve underestimated my interpersonal skills, woman.”

“It’s not that,” she replies, grinning as she sits behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m just worried that you’re gonna order pizza for dinner and I don’t think that’s gonna be romantic.”

“Ah, so you want our situation to be romantic, do you?” Donghyuck teases, her plan backfires. “I knew you’ve always had the hots for me.”

Her jaw hangs low on her blushing face. “That’s not what I—” And her words end up with a scream when Donghyuck suddenly drives off. She winds her arms tighter around his waist and Donghyuck laughs because she’s adorable in the way he finds to be the cutest form possible.

To her, this is the first date she’s ever experienced. She has never been with anyone before him and she likes Donghyuck so much because he seems so carefree and fun, while on the other side, dangerous and unpredictable. He’s a bit four-dimensional and she wants to know what’s hidden more under those multilayer personalities of his. But what attracts her the most is how she feels familiar and safe in his presence. She feels like she can trust him as if she’s known him for her whole life.

Had the accident never happened, she would’ve noticed how different Donghyuck is if being compared with her past boyfriend, Mark Lee. While Donghyuck is impulsive and daring, Mark has always been the cautious one. Mark is the guy who pays attention to every little thing that happens to her—even when she doesn’t realize it herself. While Donghyuck, on the other hand, is that person who desires simplicity. The boy who says, “I want you” instead of “I need you”. And that’s entirely different than how Mark, the boy who offers commitment and loyalty, had promised her once.

But memory is just a memory. Donghyuck used to live in the shadows of her mind, but now he’s alive and there’s no way he’s going to let her go for the second time.

It’s time for Mark to stay in the darkness and just let go of what he used to have.

This time, the table has turned.

***

Mark Lee sighs for the fifteenth time that day because his mother keeps on pestering him to go back to his daily therapy session but he’s not having any of it. Not today. He’s already tired of having to go to the doctor every day only to hear the line, “There hasn’t been many changes but don’t worry, we’ll get you better soon, Mark,” or maybe in some better days like yesterday, he got a “Good news, Mark! We can start the surgery by the end of the week! That is, of course, if you’re willing to follow the procedures and healthy enough to undergo the surgery.”

Mark is scared to his bones but he doesn’t tell anyone that. Being consumed with fear isn’t something he wants to be proud of and he knows that it won’t do anything other than making people worry about him more. He’s had enough of that. So he just smiles and tries to get better for his mother.

Not today, though. Today, he needs to let go.

This is why tonight, he puts on his sweater and strolls out of his house without telling anyone. He rarely breaks any rules but today, he just wants to get out and breathe the outside air as much as he wants to. He takes a deep breath and with trembles in his fingers, he reaches out for his brother’s bicycle. The memory of the accident is still clear in his head but he’s already promised himself he’d move on. And this is him, moving on.

He rides the bicycle slowly, still remembering to take care of his condition. He keeps pedaling until he reaches her new address. They used to live next to each other, but after the accident that happened with Mark, her family thought that it’d be better if they stay as far as possible from each other. But here he is now, standing in front of her gate with an anxious heart and shaky fingers, just like how it was when he picked her up for their first date.

Mark weakly smiles to himself. “Just say your goodbye and leave, Mark. Just do that and move on.”

He presses the doorbell and waits.

A moment later, she comes out wearing a knitted sweater Mark once gave her for their second anniversary and that sight of her made him feel like the earth is sinking below him. Why is she wearing that? He screams in his mind, as his eyes grow wide. As far as Mark knew, her parents tried to keep every little bit of Mark away from her, to keep her safe just in case it’d bring something painful to her shattered memories. Her mother probably mistook it for her own sweater and that was why she didn’t throw it away.

“I’ll call you later, okay, Haechannie?” she says, giggling to her cellphone as she walks toward the fence that separates her from him. “I know. Of course, I’ll brush my teeth. I’m not you.” She laughs quietly, muttering ‘one sec’ to Mark as she tries to drag open the gate. “Okay, hey, I really need to go. Someone’s here.”

Mark tries to stop the wounded look from appearing on his face. Someone, Mark thinks, smiling bitterly. She doesn’t even know my name.

“I’ll call you—” Then she laughs again, her cheeks getting red and Mark secretly hopes that it’s because of the cold, and not over Donghyuck’s words from the other side of the line. “Yes, okay, good night. I’ll see you later, Haechannie. Bye.” Then she shuts her phone and looks at Mark apologetically. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. My boyfriend just kept on babbling,” she explains, chuckling in embarrassment. “Hi, is there anything I can help you with?”

Her laughter still sounds as airy and adorable in his ears and Mark tries to erase the sickening feeling in his gut after knowing that he’s no longer the reason behind her laughter.

“Hi, uhh…” Mark rubs his nape, clearing his throat. “You probably don’t remember me, but umm—we’ve met at the library? I helped you with your books.”

She frowns for a few seconds before her eyes light up. “Ah!” She exclaims, smiling widely at him. “You’re the library guy! Hi, yes, of course, I remember you.”

Library guy. He can’t take it anymore. “It’s Mark,” he murmurs.

She blinks. “What?”

“My name,” he says, louder this time. His fingers are curling into fists on the sides of his jeans. “My name is Mark Lee.”

“Oh,” she says, throwing another heartwarming smile as she offers him her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mark Lee.” The way she says his name still feels natural to his ears, which only makes him suffer harder. She tells him her name, wanting to give him a firm handshake.

“I already know your name,” Mark says, and somehow his tone seems cold. She drops her hand with a surprised look on her face. Mark wonders whether she sees the dejected look he displays on his face because her smile vanishes completely and she seems utterly heartbroken. To her, Mark looks exactly like Donghyuck used to stare at her sometimes—that look when someone wishes to be remembered. She doesn’t know what happened in the past but she knows she’s hurting him somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I have… I have a bad memory so… If we’ve met before and I can’t remember you, I’m… I’m really sorry.”

Mark wants to slap himself on the face for being so selfish. He just hurt her again. She doesn’t even know him and he just hurt her again. “No, it’s not that,” Mark hurriedly explains with a reassuring smile. “I know you because I once saw you writing down your name when you borrowed the book. I work at the library, remember?”

She blinks twice before she lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh... Right…” she utters, smiling to herself. “Well, I… Thanks for helping me out back then.”

She looks just as beautiful as she used to when she snuggled up against him on the couch. Mark brings his hands into the pocket of his jeans so he won’t accidentally stroke her cheek or lace their fingers together. “No problem.”

“So, what’s up?” she chirps and Mark realizes he needs to find a better excuse than this is probably the last time I can see you and that’s why I want to say goodbye properly.

“It’s umm…” It’s painful for him having to lie straight to her face like this. He never once lied in front of her when they were together but now that they’re living separate lives with no connections to each other, it feels like that’s what he’s been doing all the time. Just lying, forcing himself to smile, distancing himself from everyone, and pushing himself to say her name effortlessly even when the pain in his chest is overwhelming. “Nothing important, really,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I just came here to remind you that you need to return the book by tomorrow.”

“What? Oh!” She gasps, placing a hand over her mouth. “You’re right! Oh God, I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me.”

Mark only smiles back and his eyes are soft and gentle. “No problem. It’s my job anyway.”

She laughs a bit. “Such a hardworking young man. Next time you could just call me, you know? You don’t have to come over to my house. It’s freezing.” The way she talks is always fascinating to see and hear. Her smile never leaves her face and her hands are constantly moving animatedly every time she opens her mouth. Mark can actually feel his heart racing at the sight of her. “Oh, look at that.” She announces, glancing at Mark’s hands that are starting to go red from the cold. “You’re not wearing any gloves. Wait for a sec, will you? I’ll get you some!” And she hurries back into her house before he can stop her.

When she comes out a moment later, she carries a pair of her gloves (Mark remembers well the salmon pink color and the white stripes at the end of it) and her cheeks glow in a darker shade of red when she says, “These are mine but they’re a couple of sizes bigger on me so I hope they’ll fit.” She tucks his hands inside the gloves exactly like that time before Mark pushed her against the fence and poured his feelings against her lips. When she’s finished, she also asks, “There. Better?”

Mark can’t stop himself from feeling hurt. It’s like his heart is being ripped apart and he can’t do anything to prevent it. Before he knows it, his eyes grow hot and his vision starts to blur. He doesn’t let his tears fall though. He quickly covers it with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says and she smiles back, squeezing Mark’s hand in a friendly way before she lets go.

“You’re welcome,” she cheerfully says. “By the way, Happy Christmas Eve.”

Mark smiles while his heart is breaking. If he closes his eyes right now, will the earth swallow him whole?

“So, Mark Lee,” she begins, leaning her back to the fence. “Is there anything else you want to remind me of? Did I forget to pay for the book or something?”

There’s a lot of things he wants to remind her about. The warmth of his hand, the sound of his voice when he confessed to her, the taste of their first kiss, everything. But every little joyful memory he has of her will only inflict pain on her behalf so he holds himself back. Mark laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re okay,” he says, staring at her with a gentle smile constantly displayed on his lips.

After a while, she playfully raises an eyebrow in question. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

Mark doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but at that moment, he reaches out his hand and pushes her bangs out of her eyes, just like how he used to do back then. She freezes on her feet, her eyes growing wide, her breathing stalls.

“I’m—” Mark splutters. “I’m sorry, I just—” He panics, his hand going over his chest, feeling his heart thumping fast and it begins to hurt—more than anything he can ever bear. “I’m so sorry.” And he turns around, carrying his bicycle with him before he pedals away through the night. His heart is screaming with more pain for the distance he puts between them.

She stands there on the ground with parted lips. Her eyes are fixed on Mark’s back as he drives away and then suddenly, a tear slips out from the corner of her eye.

“Oh…” She falls to her knees, hugging herself with her arms as she cries and cries and cries harder over something she doesn’t even know what. She just feels so hurt, as if something is tearing every bit of her heart apart. She covers her mouth as she sobs louder. Breathing becomes hard, just as hard as she tries to explain why is she feeling like this. Why does she feel like someone is leaving her? Someone very important, just like a piece of her soul. What is happening?

“Honey!” Her mother comes out with shock written on her face and cradles her into her arms. “Darling, what happened?”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what to say. She just feels like dying. She just feels like she can’t breathe.

It’s as if a promise had just been broken and there’s nothing left of it to reminisce.

Mark stops and jumps off his bike the second he makes a turn a few meters away from her house. His hand is curling against the front of his shirt while the other one is holding him up from not lying flatly on the ground. He’s on his knees and he coughs to the cold night, gasping as if he was on the edge of losing his life. Her name is on the tip of his tongue and everything feels like knives, piercing through his skin.

He was so close. For a moment there, Mark saw her looking at him like she remembered him. She’s not supposed to remember him.

It hurts and Mark can’t fight his tears back anymore. He cries.

***

Donghyuck is staring at the latest episode of his favorite drama on channel 16 with drowsy, half-lidded eyes as he places his head on top of his girlfriend’s lap. They were in Donghyuck’s dorm room, specifically on his single-sized bed and she’s there, stroking his hair softly because Yukhei is out playing basketball with the new Chinese student and that means they can have quality time together.

Dating Donghyuck has been easy and she is enjoying every second of it. Donghyuck, that peculiar human being, likes to impersonate people as his daily jokes and it has become quite of a habit. From his usual Michael Jackson impersonation to something way more extreme such as creating new personas for himself.

It started a week ago when Donghyuck picked her up to campus wearing ripped, washed-out jeans, black boots, and a wifebeater underneath his black leather jacket. The weirdest thing was, he had a cigarette sticking on the side of his mouth but it wasn’t lit—Donghyuck never smoked anything in his entire life.

“’ Sup,” he said, lowering his voice to make it sound deeper after he spat to the ground in a manly way (based on his own opinion, of course).

“What on earth is happening to you?” She asked, staring at him bewilderedly from head-to-toe.

Donghyuck pretended to blow some smokes from his cigarette. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout, girl? I’m a gangster. This is what gangsters do. Now hop on my bike, you little shit.”

She just stared flatly at him. “I’m not gonna go anywhere with you talking to me like that.”

“But I’m a gangsta! Gangsters swear, sucker.”

“And you think swearing is attractive?”

Donghyuck snickered, breaking out of his character. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I’m just trying on something new,” he explained, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles once. “You look very pretty today. Now, will you please go with me? We’re going to be late.”

“And you look ridiculous.”

“I know,” he chuckled and then he began to get into character again. “But I’m serious. Get on my fucking bike, bitch.”

She sighed but rode away with him anyway.

On the next day, he dressed up in a pair of baggy pants, a shirt with the words “Nerds for life” written upon it, eyeglasses that were too big for his little face, and sneakers that were way too white and way too clean.

“Good afternoon, my fellow specimen!” He saluted, holding a Star Wars graphic novel in his hands as he sat beside his girlfriend on the bleachers. He was supposed to get ready for another soccer game that was going to start in another half an hour, but here he was, dressing like a dork and bugging her like always.

“Let me guess,” she sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd, I am not,” he said, imitating Yoda from the Star Wars franchise. “But a beauty, yes you are.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, I am not.”

“Will you stop it already?”

“Stop, I can not.”

“Shut up!” She was beginning to laugh when Donghyuck kept talking like that as he tried to kiss her. “No! Don’t kiss me! You’re gross!”

“I am Donghyuck Skywalker and you are my mate, Princess Leia!” He announced, suddenly standing on one of the seats and opened his arms widely above his head. “We shall roam the entire universe! Just us two, you and me, with your beauty shining brighter than the stars!” Then he jumped back down, placed his hands on his hips, and smirked as he spoke, “Now open up your hangar ‘cause my starfighter needs refueling—”

“HYUCK, OH MY GOD, JUST SHUT UP!”

That happened almost every day for at least an hour-long, but him dressing up like an idiot was enough to attract the entire campus and to make his girlfriend dying from either laughing too hard or drowning in secondhand embarrassment—the latter tends to happen more often. From being Hyuckcutio—the desperate lover from the medieval age (he wore a cape and had a rose between his teeth), Donghyucko Mucho—the Spanish guy who fell hard for his Rosalinda (he had a fake mustache on his face), to Donghyuck Dawson—the American dude whose heart still sailed for his Rose DeWitt Bukater even when the ship fucking sank.

She found him to be amusing and it was really entertaining watching him work hard to impress her. But if she had to choose, the moment she loved the most would be when Donghyuck dressed up in a plain white tee, washed-out jeans, and a smile that was bright enough to make other people look at him in a daze. His brown hair wasn’t styled in any way, and it looked so fluffy with bangs falling over his eyes.

He sat on the bleachers next to her and playfully bumped his shoulder against hers. “Hey, baby.”

His girlfriend smiled back, cheeks glowing in pink. “Who are you trying to be now?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Myself.”

“Hmm…” She hummed before she kissed his cheek. “I think…” I like this one the most. “You look ridiculous.”

Donghyuck laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he ruffled her hair. “I know.”

“Something weird happened to me yesterday,” she confesses, playing idly with Donghyuck’s dark strands as she hangs around on his bed. Donghyuck’s head on her lap is a comforting weight she tends to miss when she’s alone in her room. “There’s this guy who came to my house late in the evening and he looked familiar but I can’t place who he was in my mind.”

Donghyuck turns around and looks up at her. “Maybe he’s an old friend?”

“Maybe,” she sighs. “He kept on staring at me and when I asked him why, he kind of brushed my hair and I just cried.”

Donghyuck raises his right eyebrow. “You cried?”

She nods, looking worried and dispirited so Donghyuck lifts his head off her lap and pats her head. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, giving her a playful smile. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I don’t know what happened, it’s just—” She exhales heavily, lacing Donghyuck’s fingers with hers. “I suddenly felt so sad and there’s this pain aching in my chest. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hey,” Donghyuck kisses her knuckles to soothe her down. “You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong with you. That guy was probably some sort of a voodoo believer or something and he tried to hypnotize you. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

She smiles, giving her boyfriend a flick on the nose. “Stupid. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure, it does!” Donghyuck swiftly pulls her by the leg and she falls to the bed with a giggle on her lips. Donghyuck climbs up her body, kissing her cheek before he grins at her.

“What?” she asks, her eyes have that teasing twinkle in them. “You look like you’re about to kiss me.”

“No, I don’t.” Donghyuck snorts. “What, just because I’m lying on top of my girlfriend with my face being this close, you think I want to kiss you? Such confidence you have.”

She retaliates with a playful shove against his shoulders and Donghyuck laughs before he pins both of her hands to the bed. He leans close and kisses her lips, gentle like usual but also has that fiery spark behind it.

She tenderly smiles and lets him kiss her one more time before he sighs and trails his fingertips along the side of her face. “What now?” she asks, grinning teasingly.

Donghyuck’s playful smirk has vanished away from his face. “You know I love you, right?” he asks, his face serious as he traces her bottom lip with his thumb. This is actually the first time she hears him say those three words and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised.

She parts her lips to speak. “Why are you suddenly—”

“I just thought you should know,” Donghyuck says, his eyes are deep with sincerity and adoration. “I’ve actually been in love with you for a while. I guess I’ve even loved you from back when we were kids.” He chuckles quietly to himself when he sees her frowning. “You don’t remember anything, do you?” He twirls a strand of her hair around his finger. “Back then when I hit you with my ball and you just stared at me with that cute look on your face? You don’t remember that?”

“So that spring wasn’t the first time you hit my head with a ball?” she gives him a look and Donghyuck laughs before he kisses the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess I have the knack in running to damsels in distress and hitting them on the head with my ball.”

“Yeah, with you being the cause of their distress.”

Donghyuck pinches her cheek until she bursts out laughing. He rolls to his back and brings her forward to lie on top of him. She balances herself by putting her hands on his chest and Donghyuck tucks her hair behind her ear. “Do you love me?” he asks, quietly and she can see the insecurities in his eyes. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t but—”

“I do,” she hastily answers before he starts rambling nonsense. “Donghyuck you’re my Soulmate. Of course, I love you.” She bends her head down to kiss him deeply, tugging his lower lip with her teeth. “I do. I love you.”

Donghyuck groans lowly before he flips her back to her previous position, him hovering above her. He parts her lips with his and begins tasting every corner of her mouth, making her moan delicately against his warm lips. She cards her fingers through his hair before she rests her hand on his nape, touching the scar that has the exact same shape as hers.

A mark that indicates they’re both connected as Soulmates.

***

The clock indicates that it’s 05:17 p.m when his mother hugs him close to her chest. “You’ll be alright, Mark,” she whispers in his ear, her voice breaking. “I will just be right here and we’ll meet again in a few hours, okay?”

Mark Lee smiles brokenly to his family as he leans back on his wheelchair. His father pats him on his shoulder, “I’ll see you later, Son.”

His older brother gives him a familiar punch to his shoulder, teasing him although his concerned eyes betray him. “You’ll be okay, buddy. Think about it, we can play soccer again after this and I don’t have to hold back for your weak ass.” And Mark only chuckles softly before the doctor drags him away to the surgery room.

“Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad,” Mark says, waving his hand and he can hear his own voice ready to shatter into pieces in the next seconds. “Bye, Hyung.”

And he dedicates his final farewell with a thought of her name.

“Everything will be fine, Mark,” the doctor says, eyes sparked with reassurance though his words mean nothing to Mark’s ears. The patient lies on his bed, taking a deep breath before the nurse injects a needle into his skin. “We’ll get you a new heart so you can ride your bike all day long again like you used to, okay?”

“Okay, Doc,” Mark simply responds, mirroring his smile that soon drops to the ground the second the older man glances away.

“Can you count to ten for me?”

The boy nods, beginning to count as the liquid runs through his veins, making him feel numb and sleepy.

“One.”

He remembers that one morning when he first realized he was in love. It was when she appeared in front of his room, breathless with a frantic look on her eyes, and screamed at him for not telling her that he was having a fever. She skipped school that day, no matter how many times her mother tried to drag her back there, saying that she wanted to stay at home and take care of her best friend.

“Two.”

Mark remembers the second month after they started dating. Of melted ice cream cones and chocolates they shared after school was over. And those secret kisses they stole from each other when their parents weren’t looking. Mark remembers how she used to compare him with summer, and when Mark pouted because he thought she was talking about how his pale skin easily got burned under the sunlight, she only laughed, kissed his cheek, and said, “You’ll always be my summer, Mark.”

“Three.”

He remembers how they used to speak those three words every night and every morning of every day. He remembers how they used to be so shy and he also remembers the day those three words became a promise. A promise, in Mark’s case, that lasts forever. But one that she’d forget in the near future.

“Four.”

Mark had only sung to her with his nervous fingers playing his acoustic guitar four times, but the adoration and the love she had in her eyes lasted for four years.

“Five…”

“There are five reasons why you should fall in love and stay in love with me, Mark Lee,” she once said with a smug smile on her face. “First, I’m a natural beauty.” Mark yawned and she threw her pillow at him. “Second, I’m a loving and caring person.” Mark rolled his eyes and he got a glare in return. “Third, I’m smart—like hella smart.” Mark began to bury his face in his pillow and she flicked him on the ear. “Fourth, I’m sexy.” Mark stared at her with boredom in his eyes as he clapped his hands nonchalantly. “What, it’s true! You said so once, don’t you dare lie to me! And last but not least, I’m your best friend and I’ve understood you as well as I know the back of my hand.” Mark secretly smiled at that.

“Well,” he said, “you know how many reasons are there for you to love me?”

Her eyes twinkled in a teasing manner. “How many?”

“Just one,” Mark said, lacing his fingers with hers.

“And that is?” she asked, looking up to him through her long, beautiful eyelashes.

“It’s because I love you,” Mark said. “Unconditionally and everlastingly. That should be enough reason for you, right?”

And he muffled her happy giggle with a kiss to her lips.

Mark’s eyes start to grow heavy. “S… Six…”

He remembers the way she blushed when he swatted her bangs away from her eyes. Remembers the way she warmed his hands, puffing her cheeks when he was risking his health for her sake. He remembers the way she gasped against his mouth, her spine pressed against the fence, her fingers fisting at the fabric of his sweater.

“Se…ven…”

“What are you doing, Mark?”

“I’m writing a song.”

“What’s it called?”

“Seven days.”

“Why?”

Mark went flustered and he nearly fainted when she stole his notepad and kept herself moving, dodging his every attempt in retrieving it, before she read on the lyrics he wrote.

“Surprisingly, a week feels really short. Any time spent with you, to end it, it’s a pity. I’m still curious about everything about you. I fall for you more as I get to know you.”

She sent him a look and Mark immediately babbled, “It’s not specifically about you, it’s about people in general—“ But she muffled the rest of his excuse with her lips, hands tugging around his collar, pressing him closer than ever.

“Eight…”

They just turned eighteen but Mark had her lying underneath him, fingers trembling and lips bruised from his feverish kisses. “I want to be with you. I want to make you feel good. Let me be yours.”

“Am I making you happy?”

“MARK, WATCH OUT!”

A tear slips away from his eye as he begins to close his lids. And the boy never gets to finish counting because his dreams stop there. And now, nightmares welcome him with open arms, just as darkness begins to envelop him once again.

Like an old friend.

***

“Don’t you think Yukhei will get mad?” she asks, giggling as she buries her face in her boyfriend’s chest, still peppering small kisses now and then. The clock’s ticking, showing the number 18.18 on the screen of her cellphone. They’re still mostly naked underneath the sheets—with her dressed only in her lingerie and Donghyuck only wearing his boxer—not caring that his roommate, Wong Yukhei, can come back there any second.

“What, because we just had sex on his bed and cuddled afterward?” Donghyuck says, and he chuckles when she punches his shoulder. “Hey, I did say I love you but easy on the hands there, Mike Tyson.”

She beams at him and giggles again when Donghyuck begins to hover above her and trails butterfly kisses from her neck to her collarbones. “Shouldn’t we shower? I feel so dirty,” she says, chuckling when Donghyuck licks a long stripe on the sensitive skin.

“Well, I’m about to do something dirtier to you so why bother?” He slides his hand down her stomach, making her fidget a little with his silky smooth touch, and hover his fingers above the line of her lingerie. Noticing how she nibbles on her lip, anticipating something to occur, Donghyuck smirks. “If I ask you to beg, would you do it?”

Her cheeks turn scarlet but she quickly retorts with, “No way in hell.”

He pouts, jutting out his lower lip. “I could make you feel really good, though.”

She can’t stand being the opposite of him when he’s being sinfully seductive like this. “I’m leaving,” she announces, attempts to wiggle herself free from his hold but he catches her with a snicker tumbling off his lips. Settling her down on his lap, he lays a hand on her spine while his other one sneaks around her waist, bringing her close until his lips graze the supple skin between her breasts.

“You’re leaving?” Donghyuck murmurs, landing another trail of kisses between the valley of her breasts, tongue darting out to taste her skin. “But I still need to worship my Goddess.”

She wants to send him a snarky remark but she’s too deep in pleasure to care at the moment. She sighs and runs her fingers through his hair. Donghyuck flips her around, laying her back to the bed, and spreads her legs apart so he can fit between them. She becomes nervous from the intensity of his gaze as if he’s being consumed by desire and he wants to drag her with him.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he says, bending down until she can feel his breath fanning the inside part of her thigh. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, you don’t even know.” His eyes never leave hers as he sucks bruises on the sensitive skin of her thigh. “And now that I have you where I want you, I still couldn’t get enough. What should I do?”

She swallows hard, instantly closing her eyes when he pushes her lingerie to the side, fingers dipping inside her warmth. His eyes glimmer with lust, wetting his lower lip once as he’s captivated with her sultry expression. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this.”

Her fingers are twisting against the sheet when she hears his praise followed quickly by the heat of his tongue rubbing against her clit. She’s drowning, intoxicated by his every move, her orgasm nearing close.

But then Donghyuck suddenly stops and breaks away. His eyes are stern and wide, filled with horror.

She frowns as she follows his gaze, landing her eyes on the middle of her bare chest. There’s a long cut, fresh and red, that starts to appear inch by inch on her skin. It begins from a few centimeters below her collarbones to the skin between her breasts, until it stops just a few inches away from her navel.

“W-what is this?” She sits up straight, touching the cut with trembling fingers. She doesn’t feel any pain, which means—

She takes a look at Donghyuck’s chest—at the man who claims that he’s her Soulmate—and finds nothing. There’s no scar on his chest. The mark comes from someone else.

Donghyuck’s not her Soulmate.

Donghyuck’s gawks at the sight before he stares back at her without blinking. When realization appears vividly on her face, he gulps and stutters, “I-I can explain…”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” She screams, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. And when Donghyuck just gazes at her in shock, she pushes him away by his shoulders with so much force, he almost topples off the bed. “GET OUT!”

“W-wait—” Donghyuck tries to explain, standing on his feet with his eyes filled with fear of being thrown away. He looks like death is approaching him. “Noona, please, listen to me—”

“No!” She throws everything she can reach by her hands—his pillow, the sheets, his clothes—while her eyes begin to grow hot and the pain of being betrayed and blatantly lied growing more vividly behind her chest. “How dare you do this to me, you—”

“Noona!” Donghyuck holds her wrists and tries to keep up with her struggle. “Please, calm down and listen—”

“I HATE YOU!” She bites back, crying with her teeth gritting behind her lips when Donghyuck has her pinned back down to the bed. “I hate you…” her voice reduces into a softer tone but somehow it adds more fresh wounds to Donghyuck’s feelings. He knows she doesn’t hate him just like how he will never be able to hate her, no matter what she does. Soulmates or not, she truly does love him. But this... This new scar on her chest... This still changes everything.

Donghyuck’s eyes turn sorrowful—there’s no more light in them. No joy, no mischievous gleam, nothing but a disappointment he has brought upon himself. “Noona…”

“I believed you,” she sobs, staring at him with broken eyes and quivering lips. “I believed you, Haechannie—how could you do this to me?”

Donghyuck loses his grip, feeling all of his strength leaving his body. “I’m…” He swallows and reaches out a hand when she throws her wrist above her eyes. “Noona, there’s a reason why I’m doing this—”

“Your scar!” She suddenly yells, eyes filled with nothing but rage. “That scar on the back of your neck—is that fake?”

“Noona—”

“Answer me!”

Donghyuck freezes, his throat feels dry when he speaks. “Yes,” He finally admits and he can almost hear her heart shattering apart. “Yes, it’s fake.”

She lets out a breath, one hand going to the side of her head. “I can’t believe it…” Her breathing goes a bit ragged. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me—”

“Yes, but—”

“After all this time,” she says, staring at him with new tears in her eyes. “After all this time, Haechannie… You’ve been lying to me.”

Donghyuck endures the pain that comes every time she says those words. “Noona, please, you need to listen to me.” And when he tries to take her wrist again, she pulls back immediately.

“Can you please leave?” she asks between her quiet sobs but her tone is definite. “I’m… I’ll be away before you come back so just—”

“Noona, can we at least talk—”

“Hyuck, please,” she cries, fisting the sheets underneath her. “Just leave me alone.”

And Donghyuck does as she says because he feels that if he stays just a second longer, she’ll break apart even more and he never wants to see her like that. He’s supposed to bring smiles to her face—to make her laugh just like the old days, but look what he has done now?

Goddammit, Hyuck.

He hurriedly puts his pants on and he’s already standing at the door before he can even place his shirt back on. “Noona…” He whispers, taking a last look at the girl who’s now hugging her knees to her chest and crying miserably to her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

But she doesn’t hear him. She doesn’t want to hear him.

Just let me be alone.

Donghyuck brings his gaze down to the floor. “I’ll give you some time to get ready. I’ll make sure you’ve left before I come back,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Goodbye, Noona.”

This situation seems familiar but it feels way, way much worse.

***

Mark Lee

18: 01: 19

“Doctor, how is he?” Mark’s mother quickly asks the man when he steps into the waiting room. Her husband stands behind her with a stiff hand on her shoulder, praying for his child’s health. Mark’s older brother bites his lower lip, waiting anxiously for the moment he can breathe in relief because he knows his little brother will be fine.

But that turns out to be wrong when the doctor shakes his head and says, “I’m sorry.”

The surgery has failed. Mark’s body rejects his new heart and he can no longer be saved.

Life ends but their sorrow stays.

***

After passing twenty minutes of trying to calm herself down, burying herself under the sheets during those dreading minutes, she finally gets up from the bed. Her hands are still shaky when she collects her clothing and dresses properly. She stares at herself in the mirror, taking a glimpse of the new long scar in the middle of her chest before she buttons her shirt up. Something must have happened to her other half—she needs to find out what it is. She needs to know who it is.

She closes her eyes. Everything hurts and she doesn’t know why but that man’s face—the guy who stood by her gate last night—keeps appearing on her mind. But every time she remembers him, another wound breaks inside her chest, and tears begin to roll down once more.

Exhaling a deep breath, she searches for her phone. She quickly scrolls through her contact list and dials the numbers she’s been searching.

Pick up, pick up, PICK UP!

A woman’s voice comes through the line. “Hello, Yongsan Municipal Library, how may I help—”

“Yes, hi,” she hastily greets, voice still filled with quivers but with more strength behind it when she introduced herself. “I’m looking for this guy named Mark Lee—he w-works at your place a-and—” her voice breaks at the end, trembling with tears that’s about to flood her eyes. “Can… Can you please, let me speak to him?”

There’s a silence on the other side of the phone and she wonders whether that lady doesn’t understand the words she just said or for some entirely different reason.

Please let him be okay.

“You’re looking for Mark Lee?” she asks and she nods until she realizes she can’t see her. “Y-yes,” she croaks out.

“Well, he hasn’t come here since two days ago,” the lady explains while her heart sinks below her stomach. “He said he was about to go through surgery—”

“Surgery?”

“Yes, for his heart,” she answers and her hand unconsciously goes to her chest. It’s starting to make sense now. “I heard he got into the operation room a few hours ago. I’m still waiting for the news, actually. It’s—oh wait, I got a mail. Maybe this is it.” There’s a rustling sound going on in the background and she waits with her heart thumping loudly. A few seconds later, she hears a soft gasp, “Oh my goodness.”

“Ma’am?” she starts. “Ma’am, what’s wrong? Is he alright?”

Say yes. Please say yes.

Another silence before the lady comes to answer her with a voice so quiet she almost mistakes it as a whisper. “Mark Lee has passed away, just a few minutes ago. He was—”

She drops her phone to the floor in panic and quickly unbuttons her shirt again. She runs to the mirror, focusing her gaze at her reflection and she finds nothing.

The scar on her chest has vanished, not even leaving a trace of it behind. Just like the memories she had with him.

Donghyuck doesn’t really leave the room even when she has screamed at him to do so. He’s closed the door behind him but he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he slides down to the floor, pressing his back against the wooden surface, and waits. The hallway is empty and Donghyuck shivers from the cold.

God, you’re so fucking stupid, he thinks to himself. You shouldn’t have agreed with Chenle. You should’ve known this wouldn’t have worked.

Donghyuck traces the scar on his nape—the fake scar that he made to make her believe. To make her think that he was her Soulmate.

He feels like he’s about to vomit. He’s so sick of himself. Disgusting, he thinks, you’re a piece of crap, Lee Donghyuck. He closes his eyes, biting on his lower lip as his mind flashes back to his conversation with his younger friend, Zhong Chenle.

“Hyung, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“You said you wanted to get close to her, right?” Chenle had once said to him. “She has a scar on the back of her neck. That’s the clue.”

Yukhei reached out to see what was hidden behind Donghyuck’s collar. “Shit, dude,” he said, hissing, “You don’t have it. The scar—you’re not her Soulmate.”

Donghyuck’s heart flopped and it took a moment for him to recover. “W-well…” He barked a laugh, masking his disappointment though he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Well then, there goes my chance.”

“No, you still have a chance,” Chenle corrected. “I know who her Soulmate is. And he’s dying.”

“W-what?”

“Mark Lee,” Chenle said with sorrowful eyes and a broken heart. Donghyuck knew perfectly who he was—that guy, the owner of prominent cheekbones, thin lips, and pale skin who constantly refused his offer to play soccer together. “Mark Lee is her Soulmate, Hyung. But he’s... He’s dying. His heart is weak and that’s why he doesn’t want to get close to her. He knows he’s not gonna last long.”

“B-but—” Donghyuck splutters, frowning. “Does she know about this?”

“No,” Chenle shook his head once. “They used to date and she didn’t even know it back then. They didn’t know it back then. Then they got into an accident and she lost her memories. Mark thinks it’s a chance for him to stay away from her.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Donghyuck shouted angrily. “He’s her Soulmate! She deserves to know! They deserve to be together even just for a while—”

“He doesn’t want to. He’s given up, Hyung. He wants me to tell you that.” And his next words were the last thing Chenle said before he left with an apologetic look on his face. “I know you want to push Mark to be with her but I think you should stop. He thinks it’s better this way.”

Donghyuck hissed under his breath, pushing his hair back in frustration. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Yukhei gaped before his friend confronted him and asked, “Yukhei, what happened when your Soulmate dies before you know them?”

The tall boy realized where Donghyuck was going with this. He remembered how Donghyuck hadn’t gotten any scars on his body yet.

“You’ll find yourself another Soulmate.”

With that in mind, Donghyuck ran through the corridors, stepping into the faculty he knew Mark Lee was in. The paler boy was in the middle of his literature class and Donghyuck just went in, blurting out, “Sorry Prof, it’s an emergency!” to the lecturer before he yanked Mark out of his seat. The older one was quiet, following him without asking questions until Donghyuck shoved him against a wall in an empty hallway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Donghyuck asked through gritted teeth. His hands were grasping tightly against the fabric of Mark’s collar.

Mark stared at him back with cold, almost challenging eyes. “I should be the one who asked you that. You’re the one who suddenly dragged me over here.”

“She’s your Soulmate!” Donghyuck nearly screamed at him. “Do you know how rare it is to find your Soulmate at such a young age?”

Mark only kept his face straight when he replied, “So you’ve heard.”

“Yes, I’ve heard, you asshole,” Donghyuck spat back. “And from your friend too because apparently, you’re too busy being such a fucking coward to tell me yourself!”

Mark’s eyes darkened at his degrading words but he didn’t say anything.

Donghyuck exhaled in exasperation. “Look, Mark. do you know how much she wants to find her Soulmate? How much she wants to be with you? You’ve known all along and I know you guys had a history together so why the hell aren’t you two together now?”

Mark’s jaw clenched before he broke their eye contact. “It’s better this way.”

“Why, because you’re dying?”

Mark’s eyes grew hard before he closed them. “Among many reasons.”

Donghyuck was on the verge of punching him so hard across his jaw but when he saw the wounded look that flitted through Mark’s eyes for just a few seconds, he restrained himself. Instead, he just asked,” How could you be so selfish?”

Mark immediately turned to look at the other man with a hard glare, his heart beating fast from his rage. “Selfish?” Mark asked, his tone sounded almost as sharp as a knife. “I’m selfish? Donghyuck-ah, I’m letting the person I care about the most in the world fall into another man’s arm because I don’t want to hurt her! If I die, she’ll—”

“She’ll what? She’ll be sad? Devastated? Well, hey, news flash, Mark. Everybody dies!” Donghyuck exclaimed. “You say you’re dying but you can never know when you’re actually going to die. My condition is as good as a person can be but who can guarantee I’m gonna live long? What if I get into an accident? What if I suddenly get sick and die the next day? You can never know so don’t use that as an excuse, you coward!”

Donghyuck had a point; Mark knew that. But it wasn’t easy.

Mark just shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Of course.” Donghyuck scoffed. “And that’s why I said you’re being selfish.”

“You want to talk about being selfish?!” Mark was losing his patience. “Try to look at yourself! You’re here, pretending like you care and want us to be together when it’s obvious that you’re happy with all of this because you get to have her for yourself—”

Donghyuck punched the boy with his right fist. He couldn’t help it. He snapped.

The punch wasn’t hard enough to knock the teeth out of his mouth but it was hard enough to make Mark feel lightheaded and fall to the floor. He hissed, rubbing the pain off his jaw, and leaned his back against the wall.

“Fine,” Donghyuck said, staring at the boy who looked up at him with a new bruise forming along his right jaw. Donghyuck could see how much Mark wanted to be with her and how much he tried to convince himself to do so. But he could tell how Mark was afraid. That boy almost lost everything once—he knew how awful it was to be left alone. He didn’t want that to happen to her and though Donghyuck understood that, he just couldn’t accept it yet. “If you want to give up on her,” he said, “Then go. Do it. I’m not you so I don’t know how you feel but I can see that deep down inside, you still don’t want to let her go. But the thing is, Mark, I’m gonna fight for her. I’m gonna make her happy. Soulmates or not, I’m gonna try to make her feel loved because I am—I’m in love with her. But I am not happy taking her away from her Soulmate—from you. That’s your fault. You had two options and you chose to leave. That’s your own decision, so don’t try to make yourself feel better by telling me how I feel. You don’t know me.”

Mark brought his head down, nibbling on his lip. His eyes felt hot and he felt downright awful about himself. He didn’t mean to insult Donghyuck—he was just angry for a second there. His emotions had gone over control.

“Then go make her happy,” Mark said, picking himself up from the floor and walked away. Donghyuck stared at his back and nodded with a sincere promise even when the boy could no longer see him.

“Stupid,” Donghyuck murmurs to himself as his flashback ends. “Mark’s right. You’re selfish. You’re such an idiot.” He punches the ground beneath him a few times out of frustration before he slides his fingers through his hair and pulls on the roots. He doesn’t notice how he just cut himself along his knuckles, his skin breaking and bleeding slowly through a thin layer. “You can’t even be sure you’re her next Soulmate, Hyuck. You’re just an idiot. An idiot and an asshole and you just lost her for the second time in your pathetic little life.” He closed his eyes and leaned back to the door.

Noona, please forgive me.

She slides down to the floor and hugs her knees to her chest. Pressing her temple to her knees, she sobs until her entire shoulders begin to shake.

Mark Lee was her Soulmate. And he knew—that’s why he came to her house that night. Why didn’t he just tell the truth? And why did he look so familiar? So familiar and yet she doesn’t remember anything. Why can’t she remember him?

God, I beg you, please. Let me remember him, she prays under her muffled sobs, if he ever meant something to me, please, let me remember him. I don’t care if it’ll hurt me, I don’t care. I just want to remember him. That’s all I ask.

Mark…

But as Mark dies, the permanent scar he gets on his chest before his final moment dies with him as well. The memory of him never suffices and Mark is just a shadow, following her everywhere but one that she cannot see.

She braces herself to glance one more time at the scar on her chest but there’s none. The cut has disappeared. She’s just as good as new.

Except for the faint cut that recently appears on her knuckles.

***

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