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kodzukyan · 3 years

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better with you (until it kills me)

notes: it's always missing baji hours here </3 fluff, angst; alternative ending: always, always you

summary: four times you think you are in love with baji keisuke, and the one time you tell him.

wc: 3.7k

You're reasonably sure the only reason he chooses you to pair up with for the Japanese literature project is that you sit next to him, but it surprises you all the same. You don't think you have much of a presence in class, but you don't think you can say the same about your new partner, Baji Keisuke.

His slicked-back ponytail and thick frames make his presence seem like a poindexter, but there's something about his bruised knuckles and his fierce aura that makes him feel ferocious. You've noticed him hang out with the school delinquent on multiple occasions. You also think you've seen him laugh wildly as he beats up some of the local thugs who crowded around the said delinquent he's friends with.

He isn't who you expect him to be at first glance, and that intrigues you more than you like to admit. You're too nervous to openly ask, so you settle for stealing glances at him from the corner of your eyes.

So, when he really decides on you and submits the partner form, you don't know what to think.

In the time that you two are partners, you've discovered a couple of things about him. First, his handwriting and kanji absolutely suck. Despite that, he writes a letter addressed to someone named Kazutora every week without fail. As if that isn't endearing enough, it gets even more so when he pouts at the complex characters that he often gets wrong and the inevitable smile that breaks out whenever you show him how to write them correctly.

("Oh, thanks! I would probably fail my kanji tests without you and Chifuyu. Kazutora probably can't even understand what I'm saying," he laughs rambunctiously.)

Second, he's genuinely an unexpectedly good partner in terms of being punctual about meeting up. However, despite being on time, there is little progress on the project. Your work times often end up in discussions about random life topics rather than the project itself.

(“Do you like cats?” he asks out of the blue one day, head on the table and books already forgotten.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” you humor him because you’re also tired of researching Japanese literature.

“Wanna see my cats? They’re all strays,” he sits up suddenly, eyes lit and smile bright.

You nod, and he proceeds to take out his phone to show you pictures of his cats. You note his lock-screen is a picture of all his cats, and his camera roll is just full of his friends and mom, motorcycles, and the said cats. With shining eyes full of excitement, he tells you their names and their personalities in detail.

"Do you think cats recognize their names but choose to ignore us whenever we call them?" he resumes the conversation after he finishes showing you his gallery. He leans back as he balances his pencil on top of his pursed lips.

"Maybe. Depends on the cat? Maybe they just hate you?" you mimic his pose. You suppose thirty minutes of work is enough progress for the day.

"Ouch," he grimaces as if it shatters him directly in the heart.)

Third, sometimes he comes with his hair down and without his glances, with stains on his clothes that he claims are ketchup, despite it not smelling like that at all.

("Uh, hey, sorry I'm late today," he offers sheepishly as he runs a hand through his unbound hair.

"Oh, it's okay," you finally say after you take in his shaggy appearance. You try not to think about how handsome he is despite the bruises forming on his face. "Are you… okay?"

"All good! The ketchup bottle just randomly exploded," he laughs nervously and awkwardly. "Anyways!! The project!!"

You stare at him dubiously but nod anyway. "Okay, if you say so…")

Fourth, he has an extremely charming smile, especially when his fangs are in full display. To some, it may look fierce and menacing; to you, it looks cute, especially when his eyes are always brimming with life and his laugh is full of vitality.

More often than not you catch yourself staring at him because he's just so intriguing.

You try to ignore your racing heart when your stolen glances become shared ones, and he flashes you a grin softer than the smiles you've seen.

-----

“Uh, hi.” You say shyly as you enter through Baji’s window. It’s not frequently you seek out Baji at his own home, especially through the window he keeps open almost exclusively for stray cats to seek shelter.

“What the fuck?” Baji drops the stray cat he's cuddling as you give a slight wave, causing the cat to meow loudly at the sudden change in demeanor.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced. I, uh, just wanted some company.”

You feel vanishingly small as you awkwardly laugh and piece together some words that make sense. Home is supposed to be full of warmth, but your home is more of a house with people than a home with love. It’s a truth you’ve long accepted, but some days, it feels a little extra cold.

Therefore, you run, and somehow you end up here, in the comforts of Baji’s room.

Maybe you are currently a stray cat, feeling a little more lost than found. Maybe you find that he’s the sort of comfort that warms you a little when your heart feels heavy. Maybe you are just a little bit in like with him, and he is the first person you want to see whenever you’re feeling down.

The room is silent aside from the soft paps of cats moving around and the periodic meow. Then, he pats the spot next to him, and you make your way there. As soon as you sit down, he hands you a cat.

“Here, hold her. She’s nice,” he comments as he places the calico cat he dropped earlier in your lap, petting her as she adjusts to her new position on you.

She narrows her eyes and softly purrs in your lap as Baji pets her, and this makes you feel more in the moment than in your head like you’ve been. Your initial baffle turns into a smile as she purrs louder when you pet her, and just like that, you feel a little more found than lost.

You lean on his shoulder as you continue petting the calico cat in your lap. You keep your eyes on her as she climbs onto his lap and nuzzles him in an attempt to hide your burning cheeks and your drumming heart from your proximity.

“Thanks for giving me a home when I don’t want to be in my own,” you tell him softly, airly, almost as if you’re letting him in on a secret.

He stops playing with the cats for a moment and pauses. Feeling his intense stare, you peek through your lashes up at him. His broad grin and sharp canines are in full display, and his smile looks a little more boyish than wild. He tousles your hair as he laughs aloud boisterously before he props his head on top of yours.

“You’ll always have a home here.”

-----

It all started when a group of thugs looked at you inappropriately and made some comments that made you uncomfortable. You grip the ends of his sleeve just a little harder and press yourself behind him, trying to make yourself impossibly small. Baji, seeing your small form and downcast eyes, removes your hand from his sleeve and places it in his hand. Knowing Baji and him knowing you and your every mood, he does not stand for it. He simply flashes you a reassuring grin before he squeezes your hand and runs straight at them.

He throws the first punch, and you could just stand there in shock as he pummels through them and beats them up. He has cuts and bruises everywhere, and you’re certain he’s taken on a few nasty hits on his ribs. Though you’re equally confident that these thugs are absolutely 100% in worse shape than he is.

“Oh my god,” you sob frantically as Baji wobbles back to you, ferocious smile on his face softens as he sees you. He pats your head when he notes your teary eyes. You’re not even sure when you start crying, but the tears just don’t seem to stop. “Are you okay? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you -”

He clutches your tear-stained face in his hands, “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, but you can barely see him over your tears as you continue your incoherent rambling.

“Hey,” he tries once more, voice more frantic as he struggles to find words. He finally just squishes your cheeks and yells, “Do you think I care about anything else but you right now?”

Your eyes widen, and the tears forming fall freely onto his hands. Oh, oh, oh, you think to yourself as your beating heart rapidly thumps at an exponential speed, maybe he’s also falling. When you meet his steady gray eyes, the shocking realization that maybe you’re not the only one dumb and possibly in love stops your tears.

He sighs in relief when your tears gradually stop, and as if all the tiredness accumulated in his body hit him all at once, he falls down onto the ground.

You try to catch him as best as you can, and with the combined effort of mostly himself and partially you, he breaks his fall. He lays sprawled out on the ground. After you check for wounds and find none too serious, you sit with your knees tucked under you by where he lays and moves his head onto your lap.

All around you are the battered bodies of the thugs you’ve encountered, but all you can see at the moment is him and his gray eyes that disappear into crescent moons as he flashes you a grin. He’s too tired to move, but he raises a fist up into the air in victory anyway.

“I got you.”

-----

"Wanna go on a ride?" he texts you.

It’s almost midnight when he texts you, and it’s probably way past when you should stay up. But your heart flutters at the thought of adventure, at the thought of him, so you quickly respond, “Okay, but be quiet! Don't wake my parents up again, stinky!!!”

You can already imagine his sheepish smile when he sends you a "that was once!!! my bad" back.

After sending him a quick ":p", you silently put on some clothes more fitting to go out than your pajamas. The sound of his motorcycle announces his greater-than-life presence long before his text does. Grabbing two scrunchies, you sneak out your window.

He only greets you with a goofy smile and a wave, hair free-flowing in the wind. Under the moonlight, his gray eyes twinkle with vigor and youth. It knocks the air out of your lungs as you glance at him because he's beautiful, ethereal, and alive. He smiles smugly when he catches your stare, but he holds his hand out for you to take.

"Hi," you whisper under the twinkling stars as you put your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispers back as he curls his fingers around your hand before adjusting to interlace your fingers together.

The quietness and intimacy of this moment drown out the world - the sound of cars driving by, of cicadas flying, of the world standing still. The only thing keeping you from floating is his hand and the sound of your heartbeat.

"I got you a hair tie." You offer softly with an equally soft smile, eyes pointing to the scrunchies on your wrist.

"I got you a hoodie," he responds as he nods to his motorcycle. "Because I knew your dumb ass would, once again, forget to dress for the winds."

"I'm dressed decently enough. You, though… please tie your hair… It hurts like hell when it whips in my face," you laugh lightly.

He rolls his eyes. "That's also what you said last time before you ended up stealing my hoodie, and I ended up being cold!" he complains, but there's a certain fondness in his voice.

You only stick your tongue out childishly at him. You would rather bite your tongue than admit that you are always slightly underdressed for the occasion so he would keep giving you his hoodies.

He tugs your interlaced hand and pulls you closer, and as you stand so close to him, you think close isn't quite close enough. The two of you linger in that position for longer than what should be appropriate for friends, but you think you have been tiptoeing around that line for a while now. Your heart races, and you're sure your erratic heart is beating fast enough to generate heat to keep you warm against the cold winds.

He pulls away first, moving to grab his hoodie before he roughly puts it on you. He laughs when you complain about your ruffled hair, but as his hoodie and scent engulf you, you could only shyly smile. He takes a scrunchie despite complaining about how poofy it is. As he settles in his bike and you settle in behind him, arms tight around his waist, you think this is probably what holding the universe in your arms feels like.

He rives his bike loudly despite your warning, but you find that you could care less right now as he takes off. You are young and dumb, but the wind is running through your hair as the two of you are chasing the moon, and it makes you feel so alive. Neon lights and starlit skies blur together as he speeds through familiar roads, and the brisk winds drown out your loud laughter. It feels like you're feeling everything at once, but your head is so clear.

You think you can understand why he loves riding so much because the only thing that you can hear is your loud heartbeat, and the only thing that matters is you're living.

He finally stops at a local 24-hour diner. The moonlight shines through the window by your table. You are still feeling the wild wind in your hair, cold air on your face, and the warmth of Baji’s back on your arms. It's way past midnight now, and the yellow lights of the diner feel a little more homey than dingy. He’s munching on some fries, occasionally waving one in your face whenever he’s trying to make a point about something. As you watch the various expressions on his face, a smile makes its way to your face.

“Hey Keisuke,” you grab a fry and jab it at him in the middle of his sentence. He stops his mid-word as he stares at you, head tilting slightly and mouth still gaping. There is a particular word that you keep thinking of whenever you think of Baji, a feeling that lingers and fills your heart up. You know what it is. You think you know at least, and in moments like these when you’re just watching his goofy self munching on fries while boisterously laughing at something dumb, all you can think of is those four letters.

“You’re my best friend,” you whisper before you eat your fry. Best friend, you think, encompasses a lot of things and feelings as you stare at his childlike grin, heart fluttering and mind blanking because all you see is him. You hope he knows, hope he gets that best friend is a loose term because he is so much more.

When he meets your eyes and his gray eyes crinkle in mirth and laughter rolls off his lips, you think he does.

“I know,” he smugly nods before he drops another fry into his mouth. “I guess you’re pretty cool too.”

You stick your tongue out at him and feel a warmth in your heart that matches the pinks of his cheeks. Maybe it’s adrenaline still in your blood, maybe it’s the moment, but it makes you devious, brave even, as you lean over and chomp down on the fry he's holding.

He stares at you with his mouth wide open, looking absolutely flabbergasted and offended. “Hello? That was my last fry!”

“Sorry,” you giggle, not feeling all that sorry at all. You know he’s not truly that offended because he has that stupid grin on his face, because he’s always soft with you. A part of you does feel a little sorry when you see the small pout that arises on his face. “I’ll treat you to yakisoba later?”

He turns away from you, face still slightly sulky as he huffs silently.

“No? You don’t want yakisoba?” you ask. You still find it amusing that Baji Keisuke, the first division captain of the Toman Gang who would punch someone on the streets for no reason other than just because he feels like it, is pouting because you stole his last fry. If anyone from any rival gangs sees Baji Keisuke now, they probably wouldn’t believe this is the same person.

“Fine,” he huffs softly, “But don’t think one yakisoba is enough.”

“Then,” you begin, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you work up the courage, “What about this?”

He turns to you in confusion, and before your courage runs out on you, you crash your lips onto his before you pull away.

“Repayment,” you mutter meekly, eyes avoiding his because you’re sure he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from where he’s sitting.

“Hey,” he tugs on your hand under the table. When you finally look at him, he continues, “Just one isn’t enough.”

He kisses you again.

-----

Home is supposed to be the place you come from, but you think it's more like a place you find, pieced together from scattered bits of feelings, emotions, people along the way. Somewhere along the lines, home becomes less of a place and more of a person. Your home becomes the boy with the sharp canines and long hair that gets tangled by the stray cats he keeps, the "I love you" declared loudly with kisses and the longing looks in between, the comfortable warmth of his body next to yours as you chase sunsets and live in your own infinity. Your home is Baji Keisuke and the constant image of him in your mind and the infinite pieces of him in your heart.

Infinity, though, is awfully short, you think, as you see him lay surrounded by bouquets, eyes closed in eternal slumber. He's always looked good in white, but when his tan complexion is nearly as pale as the white roses surrounding him, you think white is an awful color on him. His eyes always shine with possibilities and promises, and while you've always joked that his sleeping face is cute because he always looks so innocent, adorable even, all you want now is to see him awake.

His heroism and love for his friends are always something that you love about him, but in turn, it feels so incredibly cruel to you now. For as short as he has been in your life, he becomes pieces embedded so deeply in it that it makes you whole. You cannot imagine a world where there is no Baij, where he isn’t there to punch a hooligan on the streets or feed stray cats at night or hold you when your world is crashing. You cannot imagine a life where he isn’t here to shine a bright light in your life without his laughter and goofy personality. Suddenly the world blurs around you, and you can't breathe as droplets of water hit your clenched hands on your lap.

You hold his hands. Cold, cold, cold, when they used to be warm enough to light a fire in you. There are so many things you want to tell him, say to him, but the speech you prepare in your head drowns in silence as your voice gives out on you. All the words in your head just come out as broken sobs. You feel the sympathetic and equally broken glance of his mom as she embraces you, but all you can think about is that he won’t open his eyes.

Baji Keisuke has always been bigger than life, you think, because he becomes a part of everything in your life. There are traces of him everywhere - him with his cats on your lock-screen, the random memes he sends you at night, the little notes he leaves you written in his ugly penmanship with love. When you think of these things, you feel like your heart is breaking all over again.

People tell you to be strong, and while you want to retort because how can you when he’s gone?, you find that you cannot say a word without crying. You’re tired of crying too because your eyes are already so, so raw, but it seems like all you can do is cry. When you think you've finally run out of tears and your tears finally stop, a new batch takes over even at the slightest things that remind you of him. You feel so pathetic because you can't do anything without water leaking from your eyes, and you hate yourself for being so weak.

You tune out the somber tone of his friends and the broken tone of his mom because you don't want to accept a reality where he isn't here. But luck is never on your side because he never opens his eyes again, and you never get to tell him how much you love him. All you get are flashbacks and memories of him and emptiness in your heart and soul. You tell yourself you have to be strong and smile and live for the both of you, but you can't. Not when he isn't here, not when he isn't with you anymore. Every time you think about that fact, your heart breaks again.

"Hey, stupid," your broken sobs ring loudly in the deafening silence, "I love you."

The words you’ve wanted to tell him for so long are finally in the open, but there is no answer.

#baji keisuke x reader #keisuke baji x reader #baji x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokrev x reader #baji fluff #baji angst #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers angst #i... i just really miss baji :(#come home you stinky head </3 #i'm sorry if he's ooc :(( in my head he's just really dorky and soft w his s/o HAHA #rissa told me to make it angst so i made it angst 👍#sometimes i write things

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Secret’s Out

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Bruce was looking at his emails when Y/N arrived at the table.

She was breathing heavily and her hair was a bit messy, just further proving she had rushed to get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed embarrassingly. “My shoot ran over and every one was moving so slowly.”

Bruce smiled. “Y/N. Relax.”

Then he stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Y/N had been traveling for work constantly. And between the vigilante life and Wayne Enterprises, Bruce was running on 2 hours of sleep on the daily.

“I need a drink,” Y/N finally sighed after she got situated.

As if on cue, their waitress dropped Y/N’s favorite drink in front of her.

Y/N eyed Bruce with surprise.

He just shrugged.

Sometimes Y/N forgot how much her father noticed literally everything.

“Thank you,” she told the waitress.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Bruce said with a disapproving look.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re not one to talk, Bruce.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll pay for it. Pick wherever you want. Bring Jason. Or some friends.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Bruce…”

It was a warning.

From the very start of their unconventional father-daughter relationship, Y/N had made it clear that she could not be bought. And Bruce spoiling her made her extremely uncomfortable. Even now, she still tried to at least split restaurant checks with him. Bruce always won those battles though.

“I’ll take a vacation when you do,” she finally countered.

That sure shut him up.

“Hey, I actually brought you something,” Y/N changed the subject as she reached for her bag.

A moment later, she lightly placed a manila folder onto the table.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he reached for it.

As soon as he opened it, he froze.

“I had to clean out some stuff and put things into storage,” Y/N explained. “I found all my mom’s photos. I figured I could make copies of some childhood photos for you.”

Bruce’s silence made Y/N nervous.

“If you don’t want them, that’s totally fine.” She started to reach for the folder out of Bruce’s grip with awkward embarrassment. “It was stupid–”

But Bruce quickly pulled the folder closer to him and stopped her from taking the photos from him.

“Thank you,” he announced.

It made Y/N quickly sit back in her chair, caught off guard by his sincere reaction and how he’d immediately become protective of the photos.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Y/N.”

He repeated to make sure she understood how thankful he truly was. And Y/N suspected the throat clearing was to hide his emotions.

Now she watched as Bruce slowly went through every picture. He took in every detail with a soft smile.

These weren’t just photos. These were all of Y/N’s memories that Bruce missed, that he could never get back. And he was savoring all of them.

Then Bruce paused and was fully smiling now.

“What?” Y/N asked.

She didn’t know why all of this made her so nervous.

Bruce didn’t say anything as he lifted a photo and flipped it to show her.

It wasn’t from her childhood.

It was a black and white photo of Jason. A candid from when he had escorted her around the slums of Gotham for her most recent gallery show.

After months of thinking about it, Y/N finally had decided she wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere in her apartment.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with embarrassment and she ripped it from his hands.

“I was developing some photos at the same time as I was making the copies. Must’ve gotten mixed up in those,” Y/N explained too quickly, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

It made Bruce happy to know that Y/N didn’t have the same inability to love someone and let people in like he did. It was a relief that she didn’t isolate herself from it like he had. If her mother was still alive, Bruce would thank her for it. But if Y/N’s mother were alive, he would’ve never known about Y/N in the first place.

Their entire dinner was spent with Bruce looking at the old photos. He had at least two questions for each one. Some of them Y/N didn’t remember being taken. But most of them came with stories or a loving memory.

Y/N talked for most of the meal. But that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.

Furthermore, Bruce had nothing of value to update her on. Batman business had consumed his life as of lately, and he had made a promise to never involve Y/N in any of it. And Jason seemed to be on the same page when it came to his other life as Red Hood.

Both men seemed determined to keep her safe and away from it all.

Two hours later, Bruce was paying the check and helping Y/N into her coat.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he muttered as they started walking out.

Y/N had learned by now to give up on those small battles. Jason was the same way when it came to making sure she got home safely.

As they made their way to the exit, Y/N caught a few stares from other patrons who were still eating.

“Do you ever get used to it?” She asked her father in a low voice.

“Get used to what?” He asked, genuinely unaware of what she was getting at.

“People gawking at you.”

Bruce glanced around and unintentionally glared at anyone who was staring at Y/N.

“It’s good that I’m seen in public…for obvious reason,” he hinted in a quiet voice, obviously talking about needing the cover to continue his life as a masked vigilante.

Once they were outside, Alfred was already waiting at the curb with the Rolls-Royce. He greeted Y/N with a hug and a kiss to her cheek before opening the door for her and Bruce.

When they got to Y/N’s apartment building, she said her goodbyes to Alfred. And Bruce walked Y/N all the way up to her door.

Even though Y/N insisted it was overkill and she could get up the stairs on her own just fine, Bruce had seen too many terrible things in this forsaken city. He could think of thousands of things that could happen to Y/N between the car and her front door.

Once Y/N realized that Bruce’s paranoia came from experience, she stopped trying to stop his chivalry and overprotective ways. She finally understood that Bruce had seen things that would prevent her from ever sleeping again. So if walking Y/N to her door gave him a little peace of mind, she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Y/N turned to Bruce when they reached her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Of course. I’m glad we could spend some time together. Thank you again for the photos.”

Y/N didn’t realize that Bruce was about to hang every single one around Wayne Manor.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Get home safe.”

——————

Y/N woke up wrapped strong arms, her body overheating slightly.

When she had come home from dinner last night, Jason had already left for patrol.

He hadn’t woken her up when he got back home, just proving how exhausted Y/N had been these past few weeks.

But it was the continuous buzzing vibrations of her phone that woke her up. When she brightened the screen, she saw that she had dozens of text messages and three missed called from Bruce.

“What the fuck,” Y/N whispered as she started opening them.

But they were all about the same thing.

Everyone had sent her similar articles from various gossip websites or news outlets.

BRUCE WAYNE’S NEW GIRLFRIEND IS FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER Y/F/N Y/L/N

BRUCE WAYNE’S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

IS Y/F/N Y/L/N USING THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM TO FURTHER HER CAREER?

All of the headlines were joined with photos of Bruce and Y/N having dinner last night. Apparently other customers at the restaurant had snuck photos of Bruce greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Y/N could see how it would be misinterpreted as romantic and not familial or platonic. But it still made her sick to see the photos twisted in such a way.

Then there were paparazzi photos of them getting in a car together. Of course there were none of Bruce dropping her off and them going their separate ways. That would be just too convenient for the two of them.

Y/N’s stomach dropped with panic.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she gasped without realizing it.

Jason immediately woke up. “What is it?”

Y/N ignored him and called Bruce.

“I’m handling it,” was how Bruce answered her call.

“Handling it? How exactly?” She challenged. “We can deny the rumors all we want. But everyone is going to keep tabs on us now, and they’re going to see us together again.”

Jason grabbed his own phone.

One of his brothers must’ve sent him a similar article because he rubbed his face in annoyance, finally understanding the situation.

Nothing like your girlfriend being rumored to have a relationship with her father, who was also your mentor and adoptive father.

“Y/N, it will blow over. It always does,” Bruce tried to calm her down.

“So what happens when I get photographed with Jason? Huh? They’re going to just say I’m cheating on both of you with each other or some fucked up shit like that.”

Bruce was silent, because they both knew she was right.

Y/N glanced at Jason, who was already waiting for her gaze.

She took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we should…Maybe we should just tell the truth.”

“You’ve never wanted that, Y/N.” Bruce tried to argue.

And he was right.

Y/N was terrified of being associated with the Wayne family. People would start believing she secretly built her career off of nepotism that no one was aware of. She also didn’t want that type of attention from the media and the upperclass of Gotham.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Y/N finally answered.

Jason reached for thigh and gripped it, trying to offer her some sort of comfort.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No. Not at all. But I’d rather not have the public think I’m dating my biological father.”

“OK,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to my publicist today.”

“OK.” She bit her lip before adding. “Just…tell them the whole story.”

“Y/N, if you’re worried how it will make me look, don’t.”

“But I am worried about it, Bruce. They’re going to drag you for being an absent father. And none of that is true. They’re not gonna understand.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” he told her softly before hanging up.

Y/N tossed her phone to the foot of the bed in frustration.

Jason watched as she buried her face in her hands.

“You OK?” He asked as he rubbed her back.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Come here.” Jason pulled her into his chest.

There was no fight from her as he cuddled her tightly.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she groaned into his shoulder.

“I know. But maybe it’s for the best,” he tried to reason with her.

“And what happens when they catch wind that I’m dating my father’s adoptive son? Huh?”

“We’re not actually related, Y/N.”

She pulled her face back so she could glare at him. “Yeah! We know that! But you do understand that people are going to see it that way, right? Like we’re gonna look like some fucked up incestual couple to them.”

“I don’t really care,” Jason finally told her.

“You don’t care?” She scoffed.

“No,” his answer and confidence didn’t waver. “I don’t give a fuck what people say about us, Y/N. If exposing the truth means we don’t have to think twice about going to events or even just going out to dinner, then I’m all for it. I’m sick of hiding our relationship.”

Y/N blinked. She never considered that their subtle relationship bothered him in any way. She was always a strangely private person, so it felt normal to her. But clearly Jason had been wanting to be a bit more public with their relationship.

“What if this changes everything?” Y/N whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jason smirked at that and gripped her chin, lifting it up so she would look at him. “Some paparazzi and trash tabloids aren’t going to change how I feel about you, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed lightly at that.

“Maybe we should leave Gotham for a bit,” she offered. “Bruce won’t shut up about paying for a vacation for us.”

Jason nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea. You’ve needed a break for awhile now.”

“Well…where do you wanna go?” Y/N asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes and hit Jason in the face with a pillow. “God, you really are a sap.”

Y/N appreciated Jason always being able to make her feel better and feel supported.

But even he couldn’t stop her from wondering...

What would life be like as a Wayne?

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

Father of Mine – Bonus Content

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #father!bruce wayne #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batdad #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #red hood x reader #batfam #batboys

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ohmycenchaheart · 3 years

Text

Came across these headcanons that I’d written post the finale because I refused to accept the show ending like that. I refuse to believe that after everything they’ve gone through, Cha Young and Vincenzo cannot be together. Sorry PJB, but that’s not happening (even if it was sorta realistic and brilliant). Anyway. This is what I’d have loved to see play out.

Homecoming

It happens on one of their game nights. Game day became game night because Cha Young often has trials at the court these days.

They’re playing Mafia again. Of course they are. And when Cha Young ends up as the Mafia, she thinks momentarily of a compliment, indulgently given over cups of Makgeolli, that maybe she truly did believe in the Mafia.

Their game is interrupted by the arrival of two of Geumga Family’s honorary members — Ahn Gi Seok and Cho Young Woon, who are lovingly welcomed with hugs and pats on the back. Because it’s not often most of the family gets to be together (most and not all, because one of them is always missing).

“Well, my old-looking hoobae and I were wondering if there’d be room for three more players at tonight’s game night…” “Yah, Ahn gun, we’ve been the ones drinking, but it seems you’re the one who is drunk,” says Mr. Tak. Upon which, Mr. Cho adds, “Ahh, you see, we brought an old friend along.”

And it is then a familiar voice greets them. “Annyeonghaseyo.”

To say that the Geumga Plaza family collectively loses it would be an understatement.

Mr. Nam is the first to tackle Vincenzo with a hug and his trademark “Byeonhosa-nim!”

Cha Young stands at the back, elated and trying to process if this is really happening, while Vincenzo gets hugged by the rest of the family. With a knowing smile, Yeon-Jin reassuringly squeezes Cha Young’s arm, while her husband gushes over Vincenzo, and others wait their turn to hug the now returned man.

When it is her turn for a hug, no one misses on how Vincenzo is the one to initiate the hug. No one even remarks on the soft look both their faces sport, or how their hug lasts a few seconds longer than the others’.

And then game night isn’t game night anymore. Over Tteokbokki and beer, Mr. Cho and Mr. Ahn reveal how they worked it all out, using their agency and the guillotine file to clear Vincenzo’s name and let him come back. On Vincenzo’s part, he still has his secret island, but he has moved his Italian family somewhere safe, and left someone very capable in charge. It’s not that he has changed his ways, no, he is still the man he was when he left. It’s just.. it was about time he returned home to his family.

The three also let the plaza people know how well Han Seo has been recovering after undergoing numerous surgeries, and how they hope he will be joining them back in Seoul after completing his rehabilitation therapy abroad. Mr. Nam wonders if that means they’ll be getting a new intern at Jipuragi sometime soon.

When Hee Soo accidentally drops her napkin and bends down to retrieve it, she catches the two lawyers holding hands under the table, while being the perfect picture of nonchalance. She smiles and doesn’t say a word.

When the family has finally finished catching up, and sleep gradually takes over them all, the group decides to disperse.

Before leaving, Mr. Lee and Yeon Jin let Vincenzo know what time his goddaughter will be awake the next day, so that he can finally meet her.

Cha Young and Vincenzo make their way to the footbridge (a place where some of their fondest memories linger still despite all the time that has passed) because there’s something Cha Young has to let him know: she might have (read: definitely has) taken over his old apartment.

It was honestly a matter of convenience, nothing else. For those days when work makes her put in longer hours, and it’s easier to sleep at the apartment rather than going back all the way home. Plus, she already had the spare key and it was easy to negotiate with Mr. Cho (who didn’t charge her a penny for the place, as if he’d dare). It had nothing to do with the fact that on days when Cha Young found herself missing him more than usual, curling up in this apartment brought her comfort. With all his things still there, sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t left.

But of course, Vincenzo already knows all this. Mr. Cho had already filled him in.

And so they make their way to the apartment 606. It still is sparsely furnished like the way it was when he lived there, but there are a few new additions. His couch has more pillows and a soft throw blanket. His living room table is littered with case files and a familiar bunny massage stick. In the kitchen there are boxes of ramen and instant coffee mix, and cartons holding makgeolli bottles. In his bathroom, there’s an extra toothbrush and a small make up bag by the sink. Bottles of shampoo and perfume and soap that smell like her now stand next to his old toiletries. It makes him smile because it feels he never left, like they’ve been living here together in this tiny apartment all this while, his world and hers mixing together. He won’t admit how many times he’s dreamt of this -- just them and the life they’ve made together.

When he enters his room, he finds half his closet space is taken over by her “emergency wardrobe”... And it seems his old Booralro sleepwear has somehow made its way to her pile of clothes. In Cha Young’s defence, despite looking silly, that silky nightshirt is ridiculously comfy, and it’d be such a shame if she let a limited edition piece of work go to waste. That she kept it because it reminds her of him remains unsaid.

The one addition Cha Young has made to the apartment that Vincenzo loves the most is in his room. Atop the dresser, next to all his lighters and Inzhagi’s bird food, are three photo frames. The first has a picture of him and his mum. The second is the portrait of the two of them with Cha Young. And the third is the picture from their fake proposal that the art gallery had emailed them. It’s funny how, despite spending all that time together, this was the only photo they had together. Vincenzo thinks it’s time they change that.

They both stand by the window, and when Inzhagi finally comes by to say hi to his old friend, Cha Young is reminded of a Shakespearean quote — Journeys end when lovers meet — because lets be real, Vincenzo’s true love is this pigeon. Vincenzo is highly offended when Inzhagi shows preference to the bird food Cha Young has laid out for him, and not the one Vincenzo has to offer. Guess Cha Young’s diligent feeding of the bird during his absence has secured her a new friend.

Given the late hour, it only makes sense that Cha Young sleep over. And traditions must be continued, so some ramyeon is made (this time it’s two servings because no matter what Cha Young says about not wanting ramyeon, Vincenzo remembers his lesson all too well) and bottles of Makgeolli are consumed.

The two wake up the next morning, all tangled up on the living room floor, in the space between the couch and the coffee table (that is now pushed aside). And despite the uncomfortable floor, it’s the soundest sleep they’ve both had in the last year and half.

But they need to wake up soon and head out. First stop coffee, a quick check up on their gold, and then to meet his goddaughter over whom he has promised to look after. And after that, a quick stop to their old Bungeoppang stand (if it’s still there) and a drive to where their parents now rest.

This, Vincenzo thinks as he holds an asleep Cha Young in his arms, is what it means to finally be home.

#can we just get a season 2 where he finally comes back to her never to leave #vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #cha young #vincenzo x cha young #chacenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo headcanons

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djjarins · 3 years

Text

it only takes a moment (modern! maxwell lord x f! reader - only one bed!)

modern! maxwell lord x f! reader ft. only one bed!

summary: after a planned trip goes awry, what happens when you, Alistair’s nanny, and max only have one bed to share?

warnings: mentions of drinking and sex (no smut in this work), mentions of bad weather and turbulence on a plane, anxiety

a/n: this is my first maxwell oneshot!! thank you to the anon who suggested it! my masterlist is here and my requests are open! also this is not beta read - we die like men KSJDHAKKS

To say this was one of the longest days ever would be an understatement.

Your day started like any other. Waking up around 6:15am, you quietly pad into your bathroom and wash your face, taking a few minutes to complete your skincare routine and brush your teeth before making your way back into your bedroom.

Going over to your desk, you pick up your outfit you laid out the night before, a comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized crew neck with the name of the college you went to on it.

You hold the wooly sweatshirt in your hands, a smile tugging at your lips at the memories of your time back on campus. While it’s been less than a year since you graduated, you still hold the memories close.

One memory in particular plays on a loop in your head.

It was last May. You were sat in a back booth with some friends of your favorite bar in the city.

You were celebrating the new job you had just been hired at - as a full-time nanny for a single father with a young boy.

It was no secret that you had struggled finding a job after graduation. You had put in a lot of work at your time here at school, but you felt a pit of sadness in your heart at graduation when all of your friends had already secured jobs and a future for themselves.

You felt the sadness when you didn’t know how you were going to make ends meet - you had student loans, bills and other things piling more and more stress on - but when you found an ad for a nanny job, you were over the moon.

After your interview with the assistant to the single father, who must be very busy or important if he has an assistant, you were thrilled when you got the news you were hired.

The assistant explained her boss was a high-profile man, and that he wanted to be the one to introduce himself to you, which you had no problem with. You also would be a live in nanny, meaning you would have your own space within the house.

With the job starting tomorrow, your friends decided tonight would be the night to celebrate, wanting to “send you off” with one last night out before your job started.

A couple of rounds of drinks in, you felt a sudden burst of energy - whether it be a real energy boost or the tension leaving your body from the numerous drinks you’ve had throughout the night - but suddenly you make your way over to the makeshift dance floor.

You feel the beat of the music flow through you as your friends come and dance with you for a while, losing track of time in the small bar as the night goes on. It’s after several more songs that you feel a set of big hands rest gently on your hips and a strong, yet comforting scent of cologne filling your nose.

“I hope you don’t mind me being a bit forward angel, but I couldn’t help but notice you from across the bar, and I have to say you are absolutely gorgeous,” the man says confidently, his fingers rubbing a soft pattern into the flesh of your hips.

You turn your head to the side to lock eyes with the handsome stranger, his brown eyes like swirls of chocolate and honey reflect the colorful lights of the bar back into your own.

A smile plays at his lips as you take in his styled appearance, his clothes fitting him in all of the right places, almost like they were made just for him.

“You see something you like darling?” he asks soothingly, the smile on his face morphing to a playful smirk as you nod back at him faster than you can say something.

He lets out a hearty chuckle and gives one of your hips a squeeze as he presses his front firmly up against your back, a small gasp leaving your lips as you feel how he is pressed against your ass, and you have to stop yourself from arching into his chest.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whimper, feeling the room get hotter as he stays close to your body, wanting to get some privacy with him before you drop to your knees right here on the sticky floor of the bar.

He nods along with your suggestion, gently grasping your hand in his and leading you to an awaiting taxi.

A shiver runs down your spine at the memory of that night. The more your mind lingers on that night, you swear you can almost feel him back between your legs and hear the whimpers of praise in your ear.

But of course that once in a lifetime high from your hookup turned into a nightmare the next day, when you realized that the gorgeous man next to you was not only the famous Maxwell Lord, but that he is the man you were to work under as a nanny.

Sure it was awkward when you came back to Max's house in the morning after sneaking out a few hours earlier, preteding that the two of you didn't have mindblowing sex the night before, instead opting to focus on the specifics of the job.

Max explained that he was a very busy man - something you already knew - and that he really appreciates what you are doing for him and Alistair, and that he knows his son will love spending time with you.

That was a year ago.

Now the tension had gone down significantly, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you still didn't think about Max in the way you did that night with him. There were times when you caught him staring at you from across the room, feeling his eyes on you as you played with his son, a smile tugging at his lips.

There were nights where you laid lonely in your bedroom, wondering what would happen if you went down the hall to the master bedroom and joined your boss, but you stopped yourself from picturing what could happen.

You slip on your sweatshirt, brush out and twist your hair, opting to put it in one of you claw clips, a few stray pieces framing your face in all of the right ways.

Making your way out of your room you head down the hallway to Alistair’s room, knocking lightly before peeking your head in and letting him know it’s time to start waking up.

Today was a travel day.

Max was attending a conference down in DC and decided to bring you and Alistair along so he could spend some time with his son, as well as turn this little trip into a mini vacation. He planned on visiting several museums that he knows Ali will love, like the natural history museum and air and space museum, but also the national gallery of art for you as well.

He didn’t tell you he rented out the museum so it would be just the three of you. He wanted that to be a surprise.

You grab your small duffel bag for travel and make your way down the grand staircase, placing the bag near the front door as you head to the kitchen, starting to grab the ingredients to make belgian waffles - Alistair’s favorite.

Turning on the coffee pot, you hum to yourself as you mix the ingredients together to make breakfast, making sure to lay out three plates. As you pour the batter into the waffle maker, you make quick work of cutting up some fresh strawberries to serve on the side.

Hearing two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, as well as an accompanying giggle, you turn to see Max chasing Alistair through the foyer and towards the kitchen island, with Max laughing as he picks up his son and plops him down onto the barstool in front of him.

A smile pulls at your lips as you slide Max a mug of coffee, getting a nod of appreciation in return before he helps you plate up breakfast, encouraging his son to eat up so you all can get going.

Max had arranged for one of his private planes to fly the three of you out, telling you it would be much more relaxing than taking a normal flight, to which you rolled your eyes.

No matter how long you had been working for Max, you still aren’t used to how causal he is with spending his wealth. Especially when it came to you.

It was no secret Max had a sweet spot for you.

How could he not? It wasn’t all about that first night - sure he still thinks about it when he’s alone - but it’s about all of you. He loves the way that when he comes home it feels so domestic - you and Alistair either running around the house playing games or cooking or baking together - something about it feels so right to him.

But he doesn’t want to make things weird between the two of you.

He hopes this special trip will help him out a little bit.

“Alright, the only room we have left is room 5. Is that ok Mr. Lord?”

Max nods as the small bed and breakfast owner hands over the key. He turns to look at you with tired eyes, seeing Alistair leaning up against you, barely awake.

Grabbing your bags, Max makes quick work of guiding you and Ali down the long hallway of numbered rooms until the three of you were gathered outside of room five.

Opening the door with the key, Max leads the two of you inside the small two room suite, dropping the bags unceremoniously onto the carpet as Ali lays down on the couch in the “living room” which consisted of a small kitchenette, a couch and two comfy chairs, a tv, and kitchen table with chairs.

“I knew he was tired, but not that tired,” you chuckle, pointing to the couch where Ali is fast asleep, one of the stuffed animals you had bought for him tucked under his arm.

Max let’s out a huff of frustration as he sits down on one of the soft chairs, running a hand through his now messy locks.

“Hey,” you say soothingly, making your way to the chair next to Max’s and sit down. You reach out a hand and place it on Max’s shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.

At the feeling of your touch, a pair of brown eyes looks up and lock with yours, Max’s brow furrowed in not only frustration but stress.

The past several hours didn’t go as any of you planned.

The plane ride started out as usual, Max siting comfortingly in his seat and looking over some documents for his upcoming meeting. You and Alistair were sat in your own seats, playing with a new copy of Mad Libs, with Alistair giggling as you read out the story he created.

You were probably in the air for about 45 minutes when you hit a patch of bad weather, the plane going through a bit of turbulence.

Feeling the plane rock, your hand immediately shoots out to grab onto Max’s, your eyes locking with his in fear as he squeezes your hand, sending a small wave of comfort throughout your body.

The pilot comes over the speaker to inform you that he needs to make an emergency landing while the weather passes, and you feel your heartbeat pick up as the plane begins to descend, hearing Max comfort Ali from his seat.

It’s when the plane is grounded, that you begin to process what just happened - you find it hard to catch your breath as your bags are unloaded from the plane.

“Hey hey hey,” a soothing, familiar deep voice says, “we’re okay, alright? Let’s find somewhere we can stay so you and Ali can rest.”

“What about you? You need rest too after today,” you sigh, feeling Max place his hand on the small of your back, grabbing a few bags and grabbing Ali’s hand as the three of you make your way towards the taxi the small airport called for you.

“I’m not too worried about it,” Max reassures, helping you load everything into the taxi before helping you inside.

The bed and breakfast you were staying at was hours outside of DC, but you could always find a cat tomorrow and drive down to make it to Max’s meeting. It was the only place nearby with availability, even if it was only one room.

You break eye contact with Max, telling him you are going to run to the bathroom real quick. You stand up and walk over to the door to the bedroom, turning the knob open and gasping as you look inside.

“What’s wrong?” Max worriedly presses, still on edge from earlier. He jumps up and makes his way over, ready to face whatever danger may be behind the door, but feels his eyes widen as he sees the one singular bed in the center of the room.

“Oh,” he sighs, seeing you have the same reaction. The two of you haven’t shared a bed since that first night, and the two of you never spoke of it again.

“I can sleep in one of the chairs,” you blurt out, not fully thinking before the words come out. You can’t imagine sharing a bed with your boss, with Max, after what happened last time. It just would be too awkward.

“No no, you don’t have to do that,” he reassures, “I’ll sleep on the chair,” he suggests, getting a head shake from you. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable because of you, but you also don’t want to push the boundaries.

He lets out a sigh as he runs his hand through his hair again, something he would do when stressed over something such as a business proposal or shareholder meeting, but this was different.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at the tall man, watching as his eyes look down to meet yours. God he was so pretty. Has he always been this pretty?

“How about we just both sleep in the bed Max, that way we can both be comfortable and get some sleep before our drive tomorrow,” you rush out, looking down at your feet to avoid his gaze.

Max stays quiet for a moment, thinking over the benefits of actually sleeping in a bed, with you in it. After today, he feels like he could fall asleep instantly, so maybe it’ll be that way in the bed.

“Alright,” he sighs, “I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

You nod as he reaches down to grab his designer travel bag, heading off to the attached bathroom before shutting the door, missing the way your face heats up at the thought of sharing a bed with him.

You will yourself to get changed quickly, not wanting Max to walk in on you changing, even if he’s seen you undressed before.

Grabbing your bag, you search through for your pajamas, which consist of a pair of striped sleep shorts and an old oversized tshirt. Letting your hair down, you feel a heavy weight of exhaustion flow over you like an ocean wave, and your body subconsciously makes it’s way over to the small bed and lets you settle in.

Max walks out of the en-suite bathroom a few moments later, clad in his custom Armani pajamas and makes his way over to the bed, seeing you already tucked under the covers and turned away from him.

He lets out a sigh as he peels back his side of the covers, letting his body slip into his side of the bed and relax, the bed feeling like a cloud under his tense muscles. Letting his eyes flutter closed, he wills himself to fall asleep fast.

“Max?” you whisper, turning over to lay on your back.

The older man lets out a quiet groan, flipping over to face you. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you date?”

The question nearly makes his eyes shoot out of his head. Was he dreaming?

“I uh-,” he starts, letting out a small cough and staring up at the ceiling. “I haven’t found someone i’d want to bring home.”

He doesn’t miss the small “mhm” you let out, the air becoming thick with tension.

“Why don’t you date?” He questions back, feeling a little bold. If you could ask him, why couldn’t he ask you.

You let out a small laugh, “Of course you’d ask,” you laugh, taking a deep breath before closing your eyes. It’s now or never. After the turbulence situation, it made you realize that things aren’t guaranteed. Hell, if it bothers him Max can find another nanny.

“I haven’t found anyone i’d want to bring home since I met you.”

Max feels his throat tighten up. He immediately turns towards you and sees you have opened your eyes back up, and are looking right at him. Fuck, is this really happening?

“Me?” he asks excitedly, trying to stay calm as his nanny confesses her true feelings right before his very eyes.

“Yes you, unless there is some other Maxwell Lord that I have slept with and work for!” you laugh, feeling the anxiety in your chest start to fade away. You watch Max closely, swearing you can see stars in his eyes as your confession escapes your lips.

Max smiles to himself, letting out a small chuckle to himself before looking back at you. He scoots a little closer to you, not wanting to overcrowd you, but wanting to close the space between you two. He reaches forward and brushes a stray piece of hair away from your face, watching as a faint blush rises upon your cheeks.

“Can I hold you?” He asks softly, almost as if you would disappear if he spoke louder. You nod back at him, turning on your side so that your back is pressed up against his front.

Adjusting the covers around you both, Max brings you closer to his body and places his strong arm around your waist, holding you softly, yet securely, as if he would never let go. He settles his face into your neck and takes in your soft scent of coconut and something else sweet, never wanting to forget the scent.

You both let your eyes flutter shut, set on getting some rest. Feeling Max rubbing a familiar pattern on your hip, you feel yourself start to drift off comfortably, only feeling butterflies in your tummy, but the good kind.

Tomorrow you both can talk about your feelings, but right now you just want to lie in Max’s arms, and never have him let you go

taglist: @salome-c @jasterslegacy @marydjarin @hnt-escape

#ksjdjdjks #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #maxwell lord one shot #wonder woman 1984 #ww 1984 #pedro pascal characters #my writing

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

Live, Laugh, Love (M)

Hoseok x Reader

WordCount: 10.9k

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Roomates to Lovers!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU

Warnings: Reader Has Shitty Boyfriend, Marking, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Secretive Pining,Big Dick!Hoseok, Hoseok Has A Huge Dick, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Cream Pie, Unprotected Sex, Honestly Just Super Sensual And Lovey Dovey Sex

A/N: Gotta give a shoutout to my girls @rougebangtan and @unoriginal-username15432 for being so lovely reading and editing. I spent a lot of time on this fic and it means a lot to me so I hope you all really love it.

The sea is a miserable temptress. Water flows freely, crashing along the shoreline begging to enrapture you. To take you under the comfort of her salty tears, to bring you home where you feel the most comfortable. She is raw, potent energy waiting to be appeased by the gods. The way the rocks, dry greyscale stones, wait to be blessed by her presence. Wait to be licked with her furious energy, as they sit under the cloudy skies of silver brings a sense of calm. The sea was disastrous, much like you.

You lean back, hands perched behind you as you dig your fingers into the countless golden clusters of sand underneath. Your toes hoping for the same masked feeling as your head lolls back to look at the incoming rain clouds. In the distance, a flash of lightning, spearing brightly with flashes of orange and white; draws your attention and you can't help but appreciate the way the world works. If lightning were to strike down on the sand around you right now, it would turn to glass. Just a quick simple action could completely change up the form of the small, insignificant granules right by your side. A weak fragile granule could turn into something brilliant and hard like glass. Then, it comes to mind. You wish something would change up your form. For something to change up who you are from being insignificant to something hard and strong like glass.

It wasn't always like this. You once laughed and had a spitfire personality. You could joke and jeer with your friends, finding time to go out of your way to put a smile on someone's face because they deserved it. To do small things that would light up a person's heart because you wanted them to radiate a brilliantly happy energy. You almost can't remember what it feels like, to wake up and smile. To sit wordlessly with your friends as they joke and bask in the happy atmosphere. But now there was a hole in your heart, the size of a black hole and it eats at you constantly. Growing bigger in size and waiting to swallow you whole.

The color of the sea draws your attention as your head tilts back down to the vast horizon. With the clouds overhead, they cast dark shadows upon the water, turning the ocean that is usually a brilliant cerulean to a deep viridian. The smell of sea salt and the ocean breeze breech your senses, shrouding you in a false sense of cover. You lay down, letting the sand curve around your limbs, digging them deeper into the recesses of the beach shore. Thunder cracks, a few seconds later lightning lights up the sky signifying the incoming storm. A harsh breeze rolls over your body, waves crash against the shoreline until they crawl back into the ocean leaving nothing but foam behind. Your eyes close, ears waiting for another calming wave break.

"There's a storm coming, you know."

Your eyelids go from a light grey to black as something, or someone, covers your form. He found you, like always. It wasn't hard for him to always know where you would be. Your eyes open, head tilting towards the tall man that towers over you. He had on light blue jeans with rips at the knees, a white long shirt with graffiti scrawled over it and a white bucket hat. He crouches down, giving you a better look at his handsome face. As he tilts his head, his brown hair highlighted with pretty blonde streaks falls into his eyes. He smiles widely, lips forming an almost heart as his cheekbones bounce up pronouncing the apples of his cheeks. There he is, the forever best friend and forever roommate coming to your rescue. He sits down on the shore, dark brown eyes with hints of mocha look up at a bolt of lightning as it ricochets through the sky. His fingers dig into the sand before looking over at you.

"Let's go home, little one." You hear the softness in his voice, it’s a gentle hush, as if he was talking to a wounded animal. He holds his hands out, one caked in small flecks of the golden sand you lay upon before giving you a gentle smile. You take his hands with the roll of your eyes before looking back to the sky. The thunderous boom in the clouds shakes your heart as you stand, before your eyes catch the bright white lightning bolt headed your way.

Your apartment is warm as you exit your room, he must have turned up the heat. The hallway is dim, pictures of you and Hoseok line the walls from when you were children. Playing in the grass, catching frogs, eating ice cream. The pictures make you stop, your back leaning against the eggshell wall as you tilt your head. Your smile is so genuine, so happy. You both stand there, small in form with ice cream cones in hand. You can still remember the cool, sticky cream running down your knuckles like a phantom memory. Your smile is wide, eyes on Hoseok’s then chubby face as he licks his ice cream cone. You pull a smile, the corners of your lips quirking up before it falters. You feel no true sense of happiness as Hoseok’s bedroom door opens to the left of the picture gallery. He steps out of his room, brown hair sodden as he hangs his towel around his neck. His hands pull at the ends before looking up at your face. He watches you silently, taking in the misery that encumbers your being before sighing and leaning against the door frame.

“Break up with him.” He whispers, you turn your head to the noise. Face falling as you clear your throat. You watch as small droplets of water languidly fall from the ends of his hair to his bare chest. His golden skin glows in the yellow hallway lighting, and you break eye contact before hearing thunder boom throughout the house. He pushes off of the door frame before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the pictures that once contained your happiness.

He grabs you by the arms before planting you down onto the beige couch his parents had gifted you both upon buying the apartment. He nods to himself before walking through the living room to the open kitchen and grabbing a mug. His hands work fast. Already knowing what you need before you know it. You put your ankles up on the coffee table, head tilting back to look up at the popcorn ceiling. You survey how uneven they are, every bump in the ceiling a different shape and size. There might be something symbolic about it but you can’t even begin to find the meaning as he holds the mug out in front of you. You grab it without a word, both hands cupping the white ceramic before smelling the notes of lingonberry and grapes. You hum to him, muttering a thank you before sipping on the white wine. He sits down next to you, arm wrapping around your shoulders before turning on the t.v.

This was now a daily occurrence. He would sit with you, watch you while you were in pain but never uttering a word. He once tried, tried to bring you to see reason but it ended up in a fight that broke the both of you. You didn’t talk for months after that. Avoiding each other and slamming doors noisily as if to tell the other person to fuck off. Mindlessly drifting off in your thoughts, your temple lands on his broad shoulder. You can smell his body wash, notes of vanilla and musky oak wood, a scent that is Hoseok in his entirety. He is warm like vanilla, the type of warm that coats your entire being, bathing it in comfort. He is solace, solace like an oak wood forest. He shades you from the sun, gives you cover from the rain. The eternal best friend. The ringing of your phone breaks you out of your reverie, the loud pitched ringer comes from inside your bedroom and you guzzle the alcohol before sighing.

“Gonna end up paying for another cab that he won’t get into?” You grimace at his words, eyes watching how the small amounts of alcohol slosh within the mug before finishing it off and setting it down on the table. You don’t get up from the couch, instead you stare at the television as a random cartoon plays. Watching the small characters jump off of park benches and turn into superheroes before flying off to save the day. Everyone was so brave, even cartoons and here you are. Miserable and too chicken to go answer the phone and tell him to fuck off. The phone silences before beginning to ring again and your lips press into a tight line. You close your eyes as his hand rubs comforting circles on your shoulder.

He was probably drunk, out with his friends that you couldn't stand. Probably, no, most definitely calling you to get him a cab for him to go home either to you or to his own apartment. Although, according to your best friend he was no longer allowed to step foot into your shared apartment. And, if he did, Hoseok has stated that he will ‘end his entire existence.’ Calling cabs for your boyfriend is a waste of money and most times he doesn't get into the cab because he's too drunk to pay attention.

“Stay with me. Let’s watch a movie.” Your best friend whispers, running his smooth thumb over the expanse of your arm before pulling back to look at you. His chocolate eyes are pleading, wanting to keep you away from your phone, keep you away from this person who has been in your life for two whole years already. “Please.”

The apartment goes quiet, maybe Allan had given up for the evening. Thunder booms again and you feel guilt beginning to encroach on your heart. If he was drunk, out with unsavory people in the pouring rain you should be there for him. You shake your head to Hoseok, who in turn frowns as you stand up. You can’t help the way that your feet move towards your bedroom knowingly you would be hurt in a few minutes. Because, you love- loved this person before and your heart feels as if you owe him. You feel indebted to him for so many reasons you couldn’t pinpoint a single one. “You don’t love him, Y/N.” You hear from the couch as you round the corner into the hallway. That may be true, you don’t love him anymore; but, you can’t just leave him on his own.

The bedsheets are cold as you slide underneath your comforter, goosebumps produce on your skin as you take a deep breath trying to calm your nerves. You sit up, legs folding as you rest yourself against the light grey headboard. Your phone sits on top of your black comforter, indenting the fabric and looking as if it weighs one hundred pounds. Your eyes drift across the room to the Live, Laugh, Love wooden plaque that has been stationed in the room since you moved in.

With one last kick you shove the box containing all of your favorite books into your new room. The room smells of paint, the scent wafting through your nose and making you light headed as you put your hands on your hips. Your tongue finds your bottom lip as you survey the all but empty room. Only your bed is stationed in the corner by the window, Hoseok so graciously helped put it together telling you to go get the rest of your things from the moving van downstairs. You look at the floor with a raised eyebrow. Your best friend is splayed out, breathing heavily as his bare upper body shines with hard working sweat. His hand pushes back his black hair before putting his hand over his heart. The way he moves has always been gracious, always enrapturing your sights. His closed eyes then opened, his irises were the color of mocha today with warm flecks of honey spread throughout them. Your heart warms, a wide smile graces your face as he sits up shaking his hair out of his eyes. He pats the spot on the wooden floor next to him and you graciously take it. His form turns towards you, crossing his legs as he puts his hands in your lap; you feel your cheeks heat up, a pink blush creeping onto your skin as you tilt your head at your forever best friend.

“I bought you a present that so perfectly represents you.” He tells you, his cheekbones jumping up as he reaches behind him to pull a cardboard box from underneath your bed.

His hands shake with excitement, mocha eyes never leaving yours as you giggle. This is why you love him, he does things for you that you would never even think to do for yourself. He’s a heart shaking, love bubbling person that oozes this sort of sticky, sweet love that everyone becomes entranced in. He slides the box in front of you, moving himself back before nodding to it. “Open it.”

Gripping the large box, you note its heaviness. An ‘oof’ leaving your lips as you pick it up, Hoseok’s tongue rakes across his lips. His body warbles with excitement as you delicately lift the edges of the box wanting to preserve the wrapping. You take your time, gently peeling back the layer. He stops moving, mouth opening as if he’s seen a ghost before scoffing.

“It’s a box, just rip it.” He mutters, his face falling as you scour across at him.

“I want to savor it.” Your voice comes out in a mumble as you run your thumb underneath the sealant letting the flap fly open slowly. His hand makes a fist before sliding it underneath his chin as he watches you bite your bottom lip concentrating on making sure the brown box is intact. He lets out a loud fake yawn before leaning back against your bare mattress and stretching out his legs so his feet touch your knees. You lay the box down on your lap before sliding your hand into the now open box mouth. Your fingers grip at something hard wrapped in bubble wrap before beginning to slide it out of the package. Now, you’ve got his attention. Hoseok’s body leans forward, eyes taking in your reaction as you slowly reveal the gift inside.

“Oh, my God.” He whispers before grabbing the back of the box and yanking it harshly. The bubble wrapped gift falls into your lap with a thud and you narrow your eyes at him as he begins to smile. You gently gasp, the heart shaped smile you’ve known your whole life feels so different in this apartment with just the two of you. It feels so intimate, so wholly Hoseok. Your neck heats up, your ears begin to feel hot no doubt turning pink. With a clearing of your throat you look down at the plaque of wood in your lap. The words are blurred by the clear wrapping and your heart lurches with excitement to read what is written underneath. You grip at the protective plastic before tearing it.

“That’s my girl.” You can’t help but snort at his comment, your body bows down before gripping the plastic with your teeth and yanking it open.

“So strong!” The jeer has your eyes rolling with a laugh before pulling out the wooden plank and opening your mouth. Your fingers dance over the engraved oak wood before looking up at him. He winks at you, folding his veiny arms with a smug face as you hug the plaque to your chest.

“Do you like it?” His smugness is over in a second, eyes widening with nervousness as he analyzes your face. Your nod is fervent before looking back down at the wood. ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ is burnt into the oak in scriptive writing. A shiny lacquer has been painted over top, the sheen reflecting in the sunlight that shines through the window on this summer's day.

“I love it.” His smile says it all, a million watts and perfectly straight teeth greet you before leaning forward and kissing your forehead. An action that he has done his whole life suddenly makes you still. Your arms clutch at the wood before he stands up with a groan.

“I knew you would like it. It fits you perfectly.”

Your phone’s loud ringer breaks you out of your memory and you can’t help but sigh as your head lolls back. Here we go. You grab your phone, thumb shaking before answering the call. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him. Standing idly in the doorway, arms crossed with furrowed eyebrows and a callous expression.

“Hello?” Timid, your voice is small as you answer.

“B-Baby! What the fuck are you doing?!” Allan sounds happy today, a happy drunk Allan is better than an angry one. Your eyes flicker to your best friend as he rolls his eyes.

“Just at home. Relaxing.” There’s a hiccup and a loud burp before voracious laughter from many voices. You feel your cheeks heating up, the coolness of the back of your hand greets your cheeks as Hoseok enters your bedroom.

“Call me a ca-cab, baby. I can’t get home.” You pick at the skin of your lip before opening up the cab app on your phone. Your bed dips with the weight of your bed friend, he crawls underneath your comforter before pulling your body to his chest as the app loads.

“Where are you?” You try to make your voice sound sweet but your chest wracks with unease as if you could feel your boyfriend shrug.

“How the fuck should I know? Call me a cab.” Hoseok’s chin hooks over your head as he closes his eyes, you can feel the muscles of his jaw tensing as you clear your throat.

“You have to tell me where you are so I can call them there for you.” Your best friend’s fingers dig into your arm as he grits his teeth.

“Fuck you.” The line goes dead and you drop the phone carelessly before wrapping your arms around his slim waist. His lips find your hair, brushing them gently as he waits for the next phone call you know you’re going to get. This best friend of yours, your forever friend holds you down to the Earth, like a heavy stone tied to your ankle. He keeps you grounded when you want to just fly away. “You don’t have to take this. You don’t have to kee-”

His voice is cut off by the sharp ringer, the loud noise pierces your ears and you close your eyes for just a moment before answering the call. “I’m at Glory Pa-Park. Get me a cab.”

You open the app back up before putting in the information. “I’m going to call them.” You notify your drunk boyfriend, body sitting upright as you wait for his okay. Thumb hovering over the Order Cab button. There’s whispering, laughing, someone saying something about ‘Allan you could do better’ that has your eyes going glossy as you turn away from your best friend to lay your head on the pillow. Your body slinks down, phone just a few centimetres from your face before a tear streaks down your temple to soak your hairline.

“B-Baby! I’ll call you back!” Allan’s voice is riddled with laughter before the line goes dead. You close your eyes, lips trembling as Hoseok grunts angrily. He reaches over your body, snatching the phone from your hands. You turn your body to retrieve it and your best friend throws it behind him.

“Your phone is off.” Anxiety bubbles in your chest, raring to break free as you scramble to retrieve your phone from behind his back. His skinny but strong arms grip at your body before pinning you to the mattress. Your head gets foggy, as your senses begin to dull. “Give it to me.”

“No.” His hands find your face, smushing your cheeks to look at him. Your chest begins to shake, lungs gripping for oxygen as you gasp for breath. Your chest constricts, tightening like a belt as you grip at his arms. “Hey!”

His hands pull your face closer to his before looking into your eyes. The concern riddled throughout his chocolate eyes makes you whimper, a strangled sound echoing off of your vocal cords as he widens his eyes. “Relax. You’re with me. You’re safe.” He pulls you into his chest, his large hand rubs at your upper back with comforting circles. There’s the smell again, the vanilla notes with the accompaniment of oak that has your lungs releasing from the tight confines of your rib cage. The cotton of his shirt brings you back to reality as he moves his body on top of your phone, as if to shield it from the world.

“Lay with me. Just lay.” His lips connect to your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. You lay like this for a while. The both of you say nothing but feeling the others heartbeat as you lay together. Your heart begins to slow, back to a regular rate that clears your mind. His lips never leave your skin as his eyes close. Time seems to flow slowly in this big bed. Your grip on him lessens, your body falling into a secure type of comfort. It isn’t until Hoseok pulls away from your forehead that your heart lurches deep in the recesses of your chest. His eyes look at the wooden plaque on the wall before putting his chin on the top of your head. You could feel the beginnings of scratchy stubble on your scalp as you bury your face deeper into his chest. “Just lay with me.”

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep, when the bright sun woke you up. The light shines in your lavender painted room, highlighting the uneven streaks that make you feel nostalgic. You can remember when you and Hoseok painted the room on a whim months before you had met Allan. When you still giggled and laughed. Running to Home Depot at 6 o’clock in the morning, running on no sleep and alcohol intoxication to pick up paint after playing one too many games of Go Fish, and betting on your best friend's room or your room to get slathered in paint. He had picked the lavender color, equating it to the way you smell and how pretty it is. You had gotten back, put on old clothes and slapped the paint on the wall and each other in a fit of alcoholic giggles that could only be described as rhapsody. He had painted a heart on the wall, ‘Hoseok Loves You’ that he quickly covered up as you noticed. You raised an eyebrow at him then, asking him what that meant only to be met with paint splattering on your clothes and the tarp he had laid out underfoot. There was a messy paint fight, laughter ricocheting off of the walls until both of your sides hurt before sitting down on the drop cloth and leaning against each other.

You’re acutely aware of Hoseok’s sleeping body next to you. Your hand finds its way under your cheek as you turn to face him. His lips are parted, shallowly breathing as he clutches your phone to his chest. Your heart pangs, guiltiness washes over you like the tide. He was always by your side, always there for you and you’re letting him down. You’re making him take care of you and you know he always would. Because he's Hoseok. It was ingrained in his being, he was a loving, kind hearted boy that turned into a benevolent man. You grab your phone, sliding it delicately away from him in hopes to not wake him up. Successfully, you take the phone before gently lifting away from him and leaving the bedroom.

The beach was littered with people today. Children run around, screaming as the waves chase them out of shoreline. Foam licking at their small ankles as they cheer and giggle. You make your way to the small outcove that he and you had found when you first moved here. It smells of wet moss and sea spray, the dark stone that encases the place wet with humidity. Moss has begun to grow higher up the walls, almost smothering all of the stone’s color.

You look towards the horizon, cerulean blue waters ebb and flow graciously as the sun shines down upon it, the sun’s bright rays making a line coming straight for you in this damp sea cave. It fills you with wonder, something so beautiful made on it’s own. A sigh is coaxed from your lips, legs tucking underneath you as you sit down on the cool stone floor. You turn your phone on, before looking back out to the water and watching as a perfectly picturesque sailboat passes. The sail, bright blue, billows in the wind, and your hands clutch together as your phone begins to endlessly vibrate. Small shells catch your eyes as they gleam in the sunlight below the lip of the alcove. Venus combs, Hoseok once equated them to you after you began to date Allan.

“You’ve turned all spiky and dangerous like them, did you know that a mollusk once lived in it before abandoning it. That’s like you, hollow.”

You feel a tightness in your chest before looking down at your phone.

Allan - 52 Missed Calls

Allan - 48 Text Messages

You love him? You loved him. For the first year. You grew tired of his antics after a year and a half. You wanted to be done after two years. But, something kept you tethered. The insecurities to find someone else? You wasted two years of your life. Would anyone want you after all that. You suffered so many tears, crying until your throat was raw, till the capillaries under your eyes burst. You want to prove that you’re strong. That you can make it through, maybe the darkness will pass and you’ll learn to love him again. But, that seems impossible. You want to learn to laugh again. To smile widely at everything Hoseok says. You want to be able to just watch shitty movies and giggle as the characters make horrible, horrible decisions. You want to be able to hug your best friend without having guilt wrap around you like a cocoon. You want to be at peace.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a hand as it grips the inside of the sea cave. You turn your attention to it before he appears. His face is shaded by the darkness of the sea cave but you still find that he is the brightest thing in the entire place. He could rival the sun. He enters, hands digging into the pockets of his black overalls before leaning against the rock.

“I hate waking up in your bed alone.” His voice echoes throughout the small cavern and you can’t help but cringe at his words.

“I know.” He pushes himself off of the wall before sitting down next to you and looking down at the venus combs on the golden flecks of sand. With a simple point of his index finger, your throat clenches. Your eyes become glassy as you exhale a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together and you didn’t even realize they were sweating. You turn your head to him, only to find that his eyes are already on you. You can’t tell if it’s the humidity in the cavern or his gaze but your chest becomes short of breath. His hand comes up in your vision, thumb outstretched to wipe a stray tear that has escaped in your daze. “You deserve the world. You deserve to be happy, you know. Pain and sadness doesn’t suit you. Remember when we used to laugh and have fun? Hmm? Remember that time that we pantsed Jimin in the parking lot of 7 Eleven and left him there with his jeans around his ankles?”

A giggle bubbles up in your throat and you nod closing your eyes. Hoseok delicately wipes at your wet lashes before kissing your temple. “How about the time when we threw toilet paper all over my sisters room because she told us we weren’t allowed to go out to the backyard.” Your laugh ricochets off the walls, head lolling back your body wracks with laughter. Hoseok chuckles to your left and you had almost forgotten what it sounded like. High pitched with a small gasp, he laughs next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I haven’t heard you laugh in what feels like years.”

The laughter is short lived as your phone begins to ring, the sharp blare pierces the air before echoing in the cavern and Hoseok’s form shrinks in size. His shoulders fall as well as his arm off of you and you swallow thickly as he frowns. His fingers card through his brown hair before looking at the phone in your lap. He curses under his breath before looking out at the horizon. You can imagine how tiresome it is to watch over someone like a hawk. Making sure they’re always okay and never questioning them even though their actions are wrong. Your eyes glance to the side, watching how he digs underneath his perfectly clean fingernails as if it’s just something to do. You’re hurt but you’re hurting him too. That’s not fair. He’s always been there to hold you, to keep you safe and calm. He’s stopped your anxiety sevenfold and you were selfish. That’s why, your brain snaps once and for all. Your fingers grab your phone before rearing back and throwing it into the ocean.

Hoseok gargles on his own spittle before scoffing. The turn of his head is sharp as the phone makes a ‘ploop’ noise before drowning. “Wh-” You turn to him before hugging him tightly. His arms stutter in movement before hugging you back.

“What do you think you’re rich? You could have just blocked his number.” You giggle as he hooks his chin on your shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back as you begin to feel a sense of relief. It washes over you in an instant, like a spring day breeze. Hoseok finds his footing before standing up and holding out his hands to you. “Come on, little one.”

Months go by, your phone has been replaced and the only calls or texts you receive are from your family or Hoseok. They way it should be. Although, there are times where you feel an immense amount of dread, wondering if you had made the right decision. Wondering if you should have waited for things to get worse just so they could get better. Your bed is a constant in the ever changing world around you. Ever changing, as in Hoseok has gotten a girlfriend. You guess when you don't have to watch over your childhood best friend every minute of the day, you could go out and experience real life. You were happy for him, happy to hear his laugh through the walls of your shared apartment. You were happy that he was happy. Probably. That’s what you want to feel. He likes her, Jillian, so even though you hide yourself away in your room whenever she comes around; you guess you like her, too.

“I’m going out, are you going to be okay here? By yourself?” You look up from your phone at the voice. There he is, forever best friend looking like a million bucks as he fixates a beanie on top of his head. You wish for him to just let out a big yawn and throw back your comforter before laying in your bed and holding you close. Laying with you until it feels as if time itself stops short for you to have a moment of comfort with your best friend. Footsteps break you out of your thoughts. His ears fold slightly at the weight and you smile at him before nodding.

“I’ll be fine.” He steps into your room before a small hand grips on to his black hoodie yanking him along with her. “Thanks, Jillian.” Your voice is a mere murmur as the door to the apartment slams shut.

“You shouldn’t do shit like that. I’ve already told you that Y/N is sad.” Hoseok berates his girlfriend before yanking his arm out of her grasp and fixing his clothing. There’s an eye roll that has him stopping in the middle of the street before folding his arms.

“She always is sad. It’s who she is. Doesn’t mean you have to always deal with it.” Hoseok gives a short laugh, his head tilting back before his hand agiley catches his beanie as it falls off.

“I don’t always have to deal with it. But, I want to. She means the most to me in this world. You fucking know that.” He seethes to his girlfriend before stepping out of the way for a couple to walk past. “How do you think that makes me feel?! That ‘she means the most to you.’ I’m supposed to just be okay with that?!”

Hoseok presses his lips together before putting his hands over his face and grunting gently. He takes a deep breath, forcing air into his constricting lungs before sighing. “Let’s go.”

The bar is noisy and crowded, the smell of stale beer wafts through the air as Hoseok wrinkles his nose. If you were here, you would complain that he doesn’t really like to drink all that much and you should find a different place to go. But, that’s exactly it, isn’t it? You weren’t here, he was with his girlfriend and he still thinks of you. Even as he slides into the booth, even though her hand is intertwined with his. It isn’t your small hand that he finds beside him. It’s hers. Her voice breaks him out of his reverie, he inhales deeply through his nose before smirking at her. His eyes rake over her hair, her eyes even the way her mouth moves as she phrases words and it seems to be off putting. The corners of his mouth turn down as she orders her drink, watching the way she points at the menu, he didn’t even see her pick up. It’s stupid little things that draw his attention, you wouldn’t point your finger and the menu like that. You would tilt your head and puff out your cheeks unsurely. You would side eye him and nudge him to make a decision for you since there were too many options to choose from. You would never wink at someone before handing them a menu, there was not an overly flirtatious bone in your body. You were just you. And Hoseok misses that the most.

His night goes on for a long time, it seems like it would never end. He misses slipping under your black duvet cover and holding you to comfort you. He misses when you would have to stretch your neck to look up at him because he would always jump up and out of the way for you to crane to look up at him. Somehow along the night Jimin had joined in, the streets have basically emptied as the town hall clock strikes letting him know another hour has gone by and he still isn’t home. “What’s with the face?” He hears Jimin ask as he stops on the street corner, his wrist is held tightly before being forced around his girlfriend's waist.

“What face?” He grimaces at the action before looking back up at his longtime friend. “You look miserable.” It’s a faint whisper that gets caught in the wind and Hoseok can’t help but swallow before looking back at the Walk sign. He shrugs to Jimin, who in turn rolls his eyes before all three cross the street.

Conversations are short and sweet as they walk Hoseok’s girlfriend back to her apartment. There’s a tension, a man-made tension that he knows he’s created but he can’t seem to find a care in the world for it. He doesn’t care, in all honesty. He just wants to go home.

“Hey! Isn’t that Y/N’s little friend?” The voice is a mere distant memory that comes back sharp in the frontal lobe of his mind as he pulls away from Jillian to turn his body. His jaw tightens, muscles flexing and protruding as he narrows his eyes at the incoming figure. “Hyung.”

It was a call of warning that Hoseok doesn’t heed. Anger burns through his veins like venom as he finally sets his sight on the man that ruined two years of your life. He wasted them, without even thinking about you. And, Hoseok let him. He sprints towards him, tennis shoes squeaking as he advances. Jimin calls out for Hoseok but it’s a warning he ignores.

“Hyung!”

His hand makes a fist as he closes the distance, his feet ache at the sudden movement before stopping and throwing his fist into Allan’s face. The man staggers, hand reaching up to nose as Hoseok shakes out his hand with gritted teeth. He knows it’ll hurt in the morning but the red he sees triumphs over everything.

“What the fuck, dude?! Over some chick?!” He tilts his head, watching blood begin to leak from the man’s nose.

“Some...chick?” He snaps. His hands reach out to grab Allan’s neck before arms wrap around his waist, tugging him away from the man. “She isn’t some chick! She’s a fucking angel and you ruined her life for two fucking years, you ignorant bastard! You never deserved her! She fucking cried every day because of you. You fucking asshole!” His words echo throughout the empty street as Jimin drags him down the sidewalk. The bottom of his shoes scuff up as Jimin pulls him past his girlfriend without a word.

“Some fucking chick. I’ll fucking kill him.” Hoseok mutters to himself before flailing his arms and straightening up his body. He shoves Jimin off of him before dusting off his hoodie and spitting on the floor in the direction he came from. Jimin places a solemn hand on his back before looking at Lillian, drawing his attention to her as she folds her arms with a raised eyebrow. He takes her into his sights before pressing his lips together and clearing his throat. The words fly out of his mouth so fast he has no chance to take them back.

“Let’s break up.” Her face contorts as if she’s been shot. Her mouth hangs open as a breeze wafts through the empty street. On the breeze is the smell of lavender, the smell of comfort for him and he can’t seem to find it in him to feel solemn about the words he has just spoken. He becomes entranced by the smell, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath. There’s that relief he wants to feel. It radiates through him like the sun on a cloudless day. And, before he can open his eyes a flash of pain erupts from his cheek. His eyes open wide, his hand reaches up to touch his hot licked skin as Lillian steps back.

“You’re an idiot. Jung Hoseok.” He swallows thickly before rubbing at his sweltering cheek. Jimin steps in front of his body, blocking him as Lillian tries to advance once more. A hand finds his chest before shoving him back, “We’ll get going.”

The screech that finds his ears almost deafens him, but he can’t feel sorrow. He knows he did the right thing. “Everyone is getting battered today.” Jimin murmurs before fixing his leather jacket and putting his hand on Hoseok’s back as he holds his cheek.

The apartment is warm when he gets home, you raised the heat for him knowing how chilly it can get during the night around here. Your bedroom door opens with a squeak and you rouse at the sound. He stands in your doorway, shoulders drooping before taking off his hoodie. “Seok?” He hums in agreement before padding over the wooden floor and lifting up the comforter. His thin frame slides underneath before wrapping his arm around your waste. You blink blearily, eyes trying to adjust to see him in the dark. His brown hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at you. He grips you tighter, holding you so close as if you were going to turn to dust and disappear. Your eyes adjust, widening slightly when you see his pink, puffed cheek. “What happened to you?!”

He chuckles quietly as you place your hand on his skin. His eyes flutter shut as you rub your thumb over his pronounced cheekbone. “I broke up with Lillian and she slapped me.” You take a sharp breath through your teeth, eyes widening at his admission. You open your mouth to reply but he pulls you into his chest with force that knocks the wind out of you. “I went out tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Thinking about what you were doing and what you would have been doing if you were out with me. I kept thinking of how much I missed laying in bed with you and how much I love holding you.”

“I missed you laying with me too.” Your confession is quiet but he hears it loud and clear, a heart smile spreading across his face before kissing the top of your head. Hoseok’s eyes search your own alight with something that makes your heartbeat faster.“This is what it should always be. I don’t want to spend my days falling asleep without you. I don’t want to constantly think about you as if you’re far away. I want you here, in my arms like always. I want to get drunk and go get paint at 6 o’clock in the morning. To wake up with you in bed laying next to me. I want-I want you to love me. Like, I love you.”

You pull away from his chest, eyes glancing up through thick lashes at his handsome face. This is what it always should be. You and him. Until time stops and falls flat. His eyes glance at your lips before licking at his. One smooth motion that has your neck heating up with a blush. “I’m going to kiss you, and I would really like it if you didn’t pull away.” Your breathing stops, your lungs feel aflame as he closes the distance between you.

His lips press to yours, soft and agile and time does feel as if it stops. His kiss is heartfelt and full of yearning before it turns into something more. Something needy and explosive. His tongue slips out, licking at the seam of your lips. His hands run over the expanse of your back, running his tongue over yours. A soft mewl is coaxed from your lips, only to be swallowed by him as he rolls you onto your back. His hands find purchase next to your shoulders as he straddles you. He breaks the kiss, only for a moment to utter words that leave your head nebulous, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.” His lips are back to yours, earth shattering and heart fluttering as his hands dip beneath the cotton fabric of your sleeping shirt. With warm hands he rubs at the skin of your stomach, your body arches into his touch begging for more as your core begins to unfurl in wanting. His lips leave yours to worship at the skin of your neck, hands raising your shirt higher before looking up at you for confirmation. You wordlessly lift your arms, back bowing off of the bed to let him strip you of the material. The shirt is discarded aimlessly as he sits up to drink you in. It dawns on him, how utterly helpless you are under his stare and you wilt slightly bringing your arms to cover your chest. Hoseok clicks his teeth before leaning back down. “You’re gorgeous.”

The wanton sound of his voice gives you solace as he peppers your neck with kisses. Light as a feather before suckling at your soft skin leaving red and pink petals in his wake. You let your arms go lax, hands coming up to run through the thick locks of his brown hair. “That’s my girl.” It’s with that sentence that it all comes crashing down on you, he loves you and in turn you love him. It’s always been this way, always finding comfort in one another and never dwelling on it long enough for you both to realize just how perfect the two of you are for one another. Your chest swells with ardent tenderness as you grip at his hair. His lips trail lower, angling his body downward to be able to taste all of you. He cups your breasts, thumbs running delicately over your nipples as they harden into stiff peaks. Your core shudders, arousal begins to weep from your sex and you’re acutely aware of how your panties dampen.

His lips shroud your nipple in the wet warmth, gently suckling as his fingers roll and pluck at your other unattended breast. Your soft moans, echo throughout the lavender painted room and earn groans from the man you’ve deemed your best friend for most of your life. His teeth softly rake against the sensitive skin, goosebumps prickling as your mouth drops open. He presses his body half flush against your thigh and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. Your eyes open, to watch him love on you and you are met with his gaze hot and molten staring back at you. His pupils are blown, making his usual chocolate eyes almost black with lust. With each suckle, his fingers pinch harder until your writhing underneath him. Hips lifting off the bed, begging for relief. He leaves your nipple to attend to the other- but not before suckling at the skin around your areola leaving small marks claiming you as his own.

His lips pluck teasingly at your other nipple before dipping his hand down your stomach, his hand splays rubbing at the band of your underwear with his thumb. Your moans are growing louder, chest beginning to feel breathless as he pulls away from your breasts with a loud suction noise. It’s then that he leans up to plant a kiss against your lips, so soft as if it were the wings of a hummingbird. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He does it again, sucking your life force from your lungs as he kisses down. Past the valley of your breasts, past your belly button that he gives a gentle nip to. He suckles at the skin about your panties, fingers hooking in the sides before looking up at you.

“We can stop, right now. We can stop and I can go back to my room.” You answer him by lifting your hips, with the bite of his bottom lip he is gently peeling off your underwear. Eyes alight with wonder as he looks towards your gleaming sex. You can feel how wet you are, how you’re dripping and it’s all for him. He licks his lips, eyes flickering back to yours before throwing your underwear to the side. His hands find your thighs, taking the time to knead and kiss them before spreading your legs for him. “Look at you, baby. Dripping.” His voice is deeper, the bass in his voice encased with lust as he runs a finger down your soaked folds. The pet name has you biting your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth turning up on their own. With a gasp, you watch as he spreads your lips open. Eyes lewdly staring at you, taking you all in. “Fuck. Your pussy is nice.” A giggle escapes your lips, hand covering your eyes as he chuckles up at you.

Your giggle dies in your throat as he sucks at your lower lips. Your hands grip tighter at his hair, pulling at the roots as your hips bow off the bed. “Taste so sweet.” His eyes are filled with this veneration that sends your walls fluttering, rippling around nothing. His tongue licks at your clit, experimentally waiting to see your reaction. When your hips buck up, begging for more, he begins to lap harder against your swollen bud. You moan his name, his mouth stills before pulling away. A smile spreads on his face before giving a flat lick that has your body sagging into the bed. “That sounds so perfect coming for you, little one.”

Your head swims with heady pleasure, Hoseok himself seems drunk off of your taste. His eyes roll back as he prods at your entrance with his tongue. The muscle stiffens before entering you, your thighs twitch opening wider for him as you whimper out his name. His hands steady your thighs, soothing rubs of his thumbs keep you grounded as he whorls his tongue around inside you. He finds your sweet spots, where you moan louder for him, where you grip his hair tighter. “Fuck, you taste amazing, baby.” His voice is a mumble before his mouth is encasing your clit once more. His tongue prods at the nub, licking and caressing until your moans have turned to sobs. His fingers leave the flesh of your thighs to tease your sodden entrance. "So wet for me, baby. You want me inside?"

"P-Please!" You croak out, hands pressing into his scalp as your core begins to tighten. You wanted to feel it, feel that shot of pleasure coarse through you. Your hips begin a lazy grind, rubbing against him for relief as he slips a finger inside. Your mouth opens, tongue licking at your bottom lip and he curls his finger expertly inside of you. He does it once, twice before finding the golden spot. "Right there? You like that, baby? Going to cum all over me?" You nod fervently, your bottom lip tucking between your teeth as your hips begin to buck relently on his outstretched tongue. The tightness feels stifling, your toes curl. Ears ringing with white noise as your heart lurches to feel relief. He adds a second finger, before rapidly tapping the smooth spot within you.

"Gonna...Gonna cum, Seok." He groans in agreement, lips latching back on to give harsh sucks.

"Cum for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you can be." The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit and the tightness explodes. Like a million stars that light the galaxy, your body feels as light as air, falling boneless onto the mattress underneath as you ride out your high. Hoseok watches you come undone, his mouth detaching from you to kiss at your thighs as the shake from the pleasure. "God, you're fucking pretty when you cum."

Your blink slowly, your chest begins to breathe normally as he crawls over you. His fingers ghost over your bottom lip, before pressing his own flush against them. Your hands raise up to touch him, fingers dancing over his clothed body before beginning to frown. He had way too many clothes on for your liking. You tug at the bottom of his shirt, his lips forming a smile before giving you a quick kiss. His arms cross, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt before lifting them to reveal his upper body. This is a sight you've seen a million times over and yet, you press your thighs together as want begins to bloom within your chest. Your fingers graze his stomach, small abs defined under his skin. Even in the darkness, his skin still sings out the color of honeyed caramel. The smell of musky oakwood draws you in as his lips find yours once more. His fingers move deftly, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before biting gently on your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth as he pulls away.

He rids himself of his pants before your eyes fall to his briefs. The tented fabric makes your eyes snap up to his as he trails his hands along your sides. It was an impressive sight to see, you palm your hand over his clothed erection. His eyes closing as he sucks in a short breath, tongue licking at his bottom lip. The grey fabric begins to darken with his precum leaving a quarter sized spot that has your walls throbbing, begging for more pleasure. You sit up, hair falling in rivets over your shoulders before pulling at the waistband and sliding them down. His cock springs out with a heavy slap to his abdomen. You can do nothing but marvel at his size. He’s large, two toned in length with rose colored veins that trail the long length. His thickness makes your mouth water, a slight curve is evident as you wrap your hand around him. He hisses out, head tilting forward as his brown hair falls into his eyes. The protuberant tip is blushed pink as precum begins to bead from his slit. You pump his cock in hand, feeling the heaviness of him and your arousal begins to drip once more as you hear him moan for you.

His cock is smooth and you find yourself sitting all the way forward before kissing down his length. “Oh, fuck.” You tongue peaks out to caress the warm thin skin and his hands card through your hair with ease. His body falters before falling back, his muscular thighs shake in what you know is wanting. You move with him, straddling his thighs as you lean down. His cock is beautiful and yours, which is an interesting thought that you can’t seem to dwell on for more than a second as he twitches within your palm. Kissing along his shaft, licking at the one prominent blushed vein has him moaning your name loudly.

You lick at his weeping slit, gathering the precum he is beginning to produce mercilessly and he sighs gently in relief. The taste is musky and thick on your tongue and you can only equate it to him. It’s so perfectly him that you find yourself needing to taste more. Arousal drips down your thighs as you begin to suckle at the head. Tongue licking circles around it before dipping your mouth down his length. “Oh, baby. Fuck.” His grip tightens on your hair, you take in all that could fit in your mouth before stroking whatever is left of his long length. You lave at the smooth length, moaning as he tugs gently on your gripped hair. “Look at me, please.” Your eyes snap to his, watching how sweat begins to bead on his sideburns. The tips of his brown bangs are slick against his forehead as he opens his mouth enraptured as you bob your head on his cock. Your cheeks hollow, trying to take more of him. You gag on his cock, a sound that makes him whimper as your eyes become blurry with tears.

“Y/N.” The word is spoken with reverence as his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. He reaches forward sitting up on one hand that perches itself behind his back. His fingers shakily run up your thighs before meeting your apex. You moan on his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll back as another spurt of precum coats your tongue. His fingers circle your soaked clit gently before pushing farther back to your entrance. You whimper against him, head bobbing faster as he swallows a groan. Your entrance welcomes his two fingers, coating him easily in your cum and arousal and he growls gently at the feeling. He goes knuckle deep before flicking at your sweet spot, the action making your thighs feel like jello as you grip at the sheets on either side of his body. His fingers begin to scissor inside you, stretching you for what is to come. “Gotta prep you baby, your little pussy is so tight. Fuck.” Your knuckles turn white as you pump his cock with every dip. You feel him begin to throb, his head lolls back mouth opening widely as he still continues to stretch you.

“Shit! You’re so good at that.” You feel high off of his praise, you try to take him deeper swallowing a few times until he is lifting you off of his cock as his throbbing becomes erratic.

“Wanna cum in your sweet pussy.” He pulls his fingers from you before entering them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. He sucks them clean, before pulling them out with a gentle pop. His hands splayed across your back before laying you down. His nose brushes yours, a romantic gesture that has your heart fluttering. His eyes search yours as he knocks your legs open before settling inside them. He grips the base of his cock, running his head over your damp folds before smiling down at you.

“I love you.” The ardour in those words makes the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as he returns it. “I love you, too Seok.” He kisses you, languidly licking at the seam of your lips before prodding at your entrance. Your mouth opens as he begins to stretch you, your hands wrapping around his neck and tucking into the base of his hairline. His hands grab at your thighs, kneading them before wrapping them around his slim hips. His tongue probes against yours moaning quietly into your mouth as he begins to fill you slowly. He inches in easily, your arousal coating his thick cock as he stretches you. It’s a delicious cocktail of pleasure mixed with the slight twinge of pain from the stretch. “You’re so tight, baby.” He whispers breathlessly, his breath tickles your cheeks before kissing down your jaw to your neck. Your walls ripple around him, feeling him fill every part of your needy cunt. His cock reaches the furthest point, burying himself to the hilt before stilling and letting your pussy relax around him.

“Feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect like you were made for me, because you were.” Your thighs tighten around him as the pain is solely replaced with pleasure. You wiggle your hips, pleading for him to move, to let you lose yourself completely into the man that was just your best friend a mere hour ago. He pulls out slowly, the bulbous head of his cock dragging delicious against your walls as plucks at your skin with his lips. He thrusts back in gently, your mouths opening in tandem. “Fuck.” The curse leaves your lips at the same time and you both can’t help but giggle with each other before moaning as he thrusts back in harder. Your fingers tug at his hair, thighs tightening as you lift your hips for more.

Hoseok lifts up to grab your hands before intertwining them and lifting them over your head as he continues at his slow pace. “I’ve loved you since I was ten. I’ve loved you since I knew what the word love meant. It’s always been you, Y/N. Always.” Your grip on his hands tighten and you smile up at him.

“I love you, too. Probably for a lot longer than I think.” His smile at your admission makes your heart swell, your heartbeat quickens for him. He pours his emotion into his thrusts then, hips snapping and rolling as you moan each other's names in the dark room. His lips suckle at your areolas, tongue flicking in tandem with every thrust to your stiff nipples. His grasp on your hands tighten and the moan he elicits is so pure, so raw. Full of beaming energy that has your nerve endings firing rapidly with indescribable pleasure.

“Seok.” His cock twitches as you call his name, hearing the lust filled rapture of your voice. His hips grind harder into you, stuttering slightly as his body shivers with pleasure. His lips continue to suckle at your heated skin, bucking quicker into you as you raise your hips higher. The newfound angle has you screeching with pleasure, throat going dry with need as you begin to lose all sense of words. You’re a stuttering mess underneath him, fingernails digging into his skin as he moans over your skin. With every thrust, his bulbous head meets the rough patch within you, coaxing you towards your next high. He mutters out, over your breast how much he loves you, how beautiful you are underneath him like this. Your thighs begin to shake, head lolling back as you reach the precipice. Your walls flutter for him, gripping him for your release.

“Yes, fuck. I can feel it,” He gasps loudly, “Cum with me, baby. I’m close to cumming for you.” Your whine is needy and your mind sears with pleasure as his cock begins to throb harshly within you. It’s all you need before you’re warning him once more you’re about to cum. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, I love you. Baby!”

Your breathing slows down for a single second before speeding up twice as fast as you careen off the edge of pleasure. Your nails dig into his skin painfully, eyes rolling back as you orgasm with him. His hot seed spills inside of you, giving deep, harsh thrusts as he curses. It sets off a second wave of pleasure, toe curling and stomach flipping as your eyes become spotty. He breathes heavily against the skin of your chest, hot breath fanning over your feverishly sweaty skin. He groans gently before flopping down on top of you and wrapping his arms around you. You giggle gently, one hand resting over your heart and the other pushing his sweat soaked bangs off of his forehead. He kisses your cheek tiredly, before closing his eyes. “Do it again.” You angle your head to look down at him before smirking.

“Do what again?” He lifts his head, chin resting on your breast before showing you his megawatt smile. “Laugh for me. I love that sound.” You snort before kissing his forehead. “Do that again, too.” With a giggle and the roll of your eyes you kiss his forehead. He sighs happily before lifting up on shaky arms and slowly pulling out of you. He wiggles his eyebrows as your pussy weeps with his cum. Frothing your lips and the sheets white. “Now that, that is hot.” You laugh at his comment before swallowing thickly as he licks his lips. Time that seems to have stopped begins to flow again in your eyes. “Let’s get you a bath, baby.”

The sun wakes you up once again this morning, but everything is already different. You can feel Hoseok’s lips against your hair as he runs his thumb over the skin on the back of your neck. You tighten your arm around his waist before burying your face into his smooth chest. “Good morning to you too, baby.” You kiss his tanned skin, eyes closing as you relish in the heat of his body. “Morning, Seok.” He hums to you before giving three quick kisses to the top of your head and pulling back. “Lips, please.”

He puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and you can’t help but giggle before sitting up and pressing your lips to his. He exhales gently through his nose before kissing you deeper, hands curving around your head before pecking at your lips once and then twice more. “Have you been up for a while?” You question as you lay back down on him. He nods, “Just been thinkin’.”

Your eyebrows quirk up at his statement, “About what?” He points at the plaque on the wall and your head turns to look at the wooden slab. “Thinking about how amazingly perfect you are and how I can make you happy for the rest of my life.” His cheekbones bounce up as he smiles before hugging you tightly to him. “I can make you ‘Live’ a great life, with me, of course. I can make you ‘Laugh’ for the rest of your life because I love that sound and it’s what you deserve. And, I can ‘Love’ you forever and ever AND ever.” You lean up, kissing his cheek as warmth spreads through your body rooting you to the ground. He was your forever weight to the Earth and forever is the only term that matters.

The sun begins to invade the room, its rays highlighting the uneven strokes of paint on the wall and you smile fondly. His eyes follow yours before squeezing you tightly to him. “Hoseok loves you.” The memory that was burned so brightly into your brain now has a new heart shattering meaning. “And, Y/N loves you.”

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ljmuassignment1305 · 3 years

Text

Can’t Help Myself (2016) - Sun Yuan & Peng Yu

Recently I came across this interesting piece that immediately caught my attention. The picture below shows a piece called Can’t Help Myself (2016), created by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu who are currently considered to be two of China’s most controversial contemporary artists. In this post I’m going to talk a bit about the piece itself, along with my interpretation and thoughts on the piece.

Above: A photograph of Can’t Help Myself (2016)

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu are artists currently living in Beijing, and have both been working with each other since the late 90s; they are both conceptual artists whose work is known for being quite confrontational covering topics like death and perception. They are also know for working with controversial materials such as human fat tissue, live animals, and even the bodies of dead babies. Other works of theirs include Angel (2008) and Old Persons Home (2007).

The 2016 instillation piece was commissioned for the Guggenheim Museum and was first shown at the Venice Biennial in 2019. The piece consists of Kuka industrial robot, stainless steel, rubber, lighting grid with Cognex visual-recognition sensors, cellulose ether in water that has been coloured red, and polycarbonate walls with an aluminium frame (The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation); the instillation is viewable from all dimensions. As the robotic arm moves in various directions, it sweeps part of the liquid covering the floor towards itself, but as it moves to new positions the swept liquid ends up spreading out across the floor again. Already knowing that Yuan and Yu are Chinese sculptors who often try to comment on politics, I immediately interpreted this piece as a way of criticising the Chinese government; the government are known for trying to hide their atrocities and other secrets, in a cold and almost mechanical way, but the vast majority of the time they are never able to succeed because people will always eventually find out about it. Due to the liquid covering the floor looking exactly like blood, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the events at Tiananmen Square and how the Chinese government always act as if nothing ever happened there.

I think that this is bit of a bizarre piece when you look at it first glance, but that’s what I love about it. To me the instillation is haunting in away, due to the liquid so reminiscent of blood covering virtually all of the small space provided for the instillation. Not only is this currently one of my favourite pieces of art, but Yuan and Yu are now one of my favourite contemporary artists because of the morbidity and challenging topics they are able display through their art; art nowadays is largely used to criticise social and political issues, and I think Yuan and Yu do this very well within their art.

Here is a video showing the instillation in action - https://vimeo.com/190027585

[sources]

Saatchigallery.com. 2021. Sun Yuan & Peng Yu - Artist - Saatchi Gallery. [online] Available at: <https://saatchigallery.com/artist/yu_yuan> [Accessed 23 March 2021].

Weng, X., 2021. Can't Help Myself | The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation. [online] The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation. Available at: <https://www.guggenheim.org/artwork/34812> [Accessed 21 March 2021].

#contemporary art #sun yuan #peng yu #art #instillation

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

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Secret Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note:

Warnings: cursing, discussion of sexual activities

Word Count: 3,911

~~~~

You’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before you had eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken by the Denver sunrise spilling through the window. Groaning softly you made a mental note for the shopping trip...curtains...Cale definitely needed curtains. Laying on the couch, you played on your phone for a few minutes before the need to use the bathroom finally took over.

After knocking quietly on Cale’s door with no response, you cracked it open hoping to sneak through to the bathroom without disturbing him. As you tiptoed across his bedroom floor, you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on him. As expected, he was shirtless, blankets falling only midway up his exposed chest. His hair was a mess, and a relaxed expression covered his face. Quietly closing the bathroom door behind you, you chastised yourself for the heat that flooded through you. You were just friends and despite his now single status, that was all this was ever going to be.

Relieving yourself, you then quickly brushed your teeth before quietly moving back to the living room, easing his door shut behind you. His parents were going to be here in about an hour and after starting a pot of coffee you examined the contents of Cale’s fridge and cabinets. Finding bacon, eggs, and pancake mix you decided to make everyone breakfast. It was as you were moving around the kitchen that Cale finally appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re making breakfast?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head.

“I am…” You smiled, checking on the bacon in the oven as you scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove. Cale poured himself a cup of coffee and you felt his eyes on you once more.

“Anything I can do?” He questioned after a moment.

“Get some plates?” You requested. “How do you want your eggs?” The clatter of plates filled your ears for a moment as Cale set plates beside you.

“However you’re making them is perfect.” He insisted, sharing a warm grin now that he was a little bit more awake. Nodding you took one of the plates and scooped a hefty portion of eggs onto it before pulling the bacon from the oven and the pancakes from where they were keeping warm in the microwave and piling those onto the plate as well.

“Eat up.” You grinned, turning to place the plate in front of one of the bar stools at the island. Doing another batch of eggs quickly you set everything aside to keep warm before serving yourself a much smaller portion. Taking a seat beside him, you shook your head as you watched Cale continue to dig into his breakfast. The moment felt a little too domestic and natural so you were thankful when there was a knock at the door that signaled that Laura and Gary had arrived.

It wasn’t long after that before you were quickly getting ready and heading out with Laura to go shopping for things for Cale’s apartment. The first place you stopped was Starbucks and then you were off to a local shopping center to do some damage.

“You seem more relaxed…” Laura mentioned as she sat waiting for the light to turn green.

“Yeah uh...we talked after dinner last night. We’re good.” You shrugged. Yes you were close with Laura, but you really didn’t want to tell her the details of your friendship with her son. She seemed to accept that because she nodded and smiled.

“Good. I’m glad.” Her response ended the subject and instead she focused on the task ahead. “So you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Cale’s apartment...what does he still need other than what he mentioned to me?”

“Well curtains would be good. Waking up to the sun isn’t always ideal.” You said, a yawn slipping from your throat. “He could also use a throw blanket for the couch.” You added, pondering over what comforts Cale’s apartment seemed to be missing that would make it feel more like a home.

Wandering through aisles, Laura did most of the shopping, occasionally asking for your thoughts on something before either tossing it into the cart or putting it back on the shelf. As you walked through the aisle containing photo frames you paused.

“What do you think about surprising him with some pictures?” You suggested. He had a couple pieces of ‘artwork’ but there really weren’t any family photos to be found as far as you could see.

“Why don’t you take the reins on that?” Laura replied, a soft look you couldn’t place filling her eyes as she handed you her phone. “Text yourself anything from my camera roll.” As she looked through possible throw pillows, you quickly scanned through the pictures, texting yourself a half dozen that would be perfect. Agreeing to meet up in about fifteen minutes, you headed back to the instant photo machine, plugging your phone in to print the pictures from Laura’s gallery as well as a couple from your own. Satisfied with what you had, you moved back to the frames, picking out one for each photo before moving to find some command strips to hang them with.

On the car ride back to Cale’s place, you worked to get each photo into a frame. By the time Laura pulled back into the garage you were finished and you helped her carry all of the shopping bags inside. Cale had given his mom the spare key in case the two of you were done before he got back and after letting yourselves inside, you went to work on making Cale’s apartment feel just a little cozier. Together you hung curtains up in his living room, tossing pillows and the sherpa throw onto the couch. Then Laura helped you with hanging photos on his bedroom wall while a few of them were placed stationary on a side table in his living room. Laura unpacked the rest of the things Cale had asked her to buy and then the two of you settled onto the couch to watch tv until the guys arrived.

Gary and Cale had picked up lunch on the way home, so the four of you sat down to eat. When you finished, Cale handed you a gift bag and though you had a feeling you knew what it was, you were still anxious to open it. Navy fabric accented with maroon and white spilled around your fingers and you gently ran your fingers over the number 8 and lettering of the nameplate.

“Can’t have you come to the game tonight without proper apparel.” Cale murmured and you jumped up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“It’s perfect.” You agreed. You’d packed the Makar home jersey that you’d bought yourself at the beginning of the season, but you had to admit the thirds were your favorite jersey and getting the jersey from Cale meant just a little bit more than buying one for yourself.

As you cleaned up lunch, Cale started to settle in, getting ready to take his pregame nap. He had acknowledged the curtains, blanket, pillows and other things his mom had gotten him but it wasn’t until he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment that his eyes must have caught the photos. He’d only been gone maybe 30 seconds when he returned, pulling his mom into a huge hug, his eyes soft.

“You framed pictures for me?” He muttered softly.

“That idea was all Y/N.” Laura quickly clarified and immediately Cale turned to you, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly.

“That’s incredible. Thank you.” He whispered into your ear, and when he pulled back his hands lingered on your hips for a moment more.

Soon you were grabbing everything you’d need for the game because you were headed with Laura and Gary to play tourist while Cale napped and then headed to the rink. Laura and Gary had already headed downstairs while you debated on a shirt to wear and you didn’t even notice Cale come up beside you as you dug through your bag.

“Wear that one.” He instructed, pointing to a wine red long-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse. “We’re going out after the game if we win.” He clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. You were already wearing your favorite pair of jeans and had thrown on a cute pair of tennis shoes for running around. You weren’t exactly a club type of person but going out with Cale and his teammates did seem fun.

“Okay.” You agreed, disappearing into his bathroom to change tops before returning. “Have a good nap. And kick some ass tonight.” You teased, grabbing your makeup bag because you’d barely put any on to go shopping and if you were going out tonight you were going to need to rethink your current makeup. With everything you needed, you snuck a kiss to Cale’s cheek before disappearing out the door to meet Gary and Laura down at the car.

____

The last time you saw Cale play live was versus Calgary during the playoffs. So sitting in the stands of the Pepsi Center watching him warm up was an entirely different experience. You’d watched him on tv many times but in person it was clear to see just how much his game was growing every day. He was almost mesmerizing to watch and tucked in next to Laura, wrapped in his jersey, you felt at peace. Well, at least until the puck dropped for real.

During a commercial break in the first period, the Avs announced a promo game. After the participant was introduced and the game was explained, a baby picture popped up on the screen. In it, a little boy, no more than 9 or 10 months old, sat between the legs of a little girl around the age of five who had a book in her hands. Immediately your own cheeks flushed as you recognized the picture, it was one of your favorites from when you and Cale were super little. The fan playing got one guess of who it was with no options to win an autographed jersey, but they were way off and guessed Nate for some reason. Then multiple choice popped up with Cale’s name, JT’s, and Gabe for a chance at an autographed puck. You didn’t even pay attention to the guess beyond hearing the boos signaling they got it wrong, but instead your gaze landed on Cale who was looking up at the screen, hiding a smile as he took some ribbing by his teammates. Eventually his eyes drifted up to where you were seated and he sent a little wink that you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him. From beside you Laura just smiled and bumped your shoulder, signaling without words just how strong your friendship with Cale really was.

The Avs played a solid all around game and you cheered with each goal scored. Cale had two assists on the night and with the team coming out with the win you knew he was going to be in a good mood. Heading down to the locker room, you listened as Gary rambled on about the game as hockey dads do while sharing looks with Laura that made you burst into laughter.

When Cale finally stepped out of the locker room he hugged his parents before lifting you up and spinning you around.

“You ready to go have some fun?” He inquired, boyish smile on his face.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Laura warned, though her expression wasn’t all that serious.

“As if I’d let him.” You joked. For years Cale’s family had the running joke of you being the more responsible one keeping Cale in line. It wasn’t always true obviously, but for the most part the point stood. Still after the past few weeks Cale had had, you were willing to let him go just a little bit crazy tonight, knowing that you would be there as his safety net.

“We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Gary grinned. “Go relax and have a good time.” Cale’s arm drifted around your waist as he tugged you to his car. Once there, you stripped off the jersey leaving you in just the blouse and as he pulled out of the garage you mussed up your hair just a little bit. Using the mirror, you carefully added a little more eyeliner before throwing on a dark lipstick, tossing both cylinders into the cupholder beside you.

By the time you stepped out of the car at the club you felt ready for a night out and as you watched Cale shed his jacket, you felt his eyes on you once more.

Waiting for him to be ready to head inside, you watched as a tall redhead approached, beautiful woman tucked into his side.

“Y/N...this is JT and his girlfriend Lauren.” Cale introduced and you reached a hand out to shake theirs before tucking your hand back into your pocket.

“So this is the best friend.” JT said, smirking. “Bout time Cale finally brought you around, he’s been talking about you for forever.”

“Really?” You teased, ready to throw out a semi-embarrassing tidbit until Cale grabbed you by the waist, his finger falling to your lips to shush you as he guided you inside.

“Can you at least let me get a drink or two in me before you start spilling the embarrassing stories?” He pleaded jokingly.

“I suppose.” You conceded, smiling as he guided you up to the VIP lounge and over to the bar. Settling for a glass of wine, you watched him order a beer for himself before leading you over to one of the many couches. It wasn’t long before you were being introduced to all of Cale’s teammates.

Gabe was boisterous and funny and the way that he looked at his wife Mel made you smile brightly. Josty was a character, he had you laughing almost immediately as he told stories about all of the media events he’d done with Cale and what he’d learned from residing in the same building. He was definitely giving you ammo to use later. Then again they all were, chirps had been flying left and right all night.

You’d been nursing the same glass of wine for about an hour, watching as Cale downed another 2-3 beers as well as a shot that Burky handed him. It was nice to see Cale out with people that clearly cared about him and you knew this was probably the first time he had really been able to let go of all of the stress since the pregnancy scare.

Eventually Mel and Lauren dragged you out onto the dance floor with the other better halves and even though you’d barely had anything to drink, the beat of the music had you relaxing, enjoying the time you had getting to know the people who were part of Cale’s other family.

“You know his eyes haven’t left you all night.” Mel eventually declared, her voice barely audible over the loud music.

“He’s always been a little protective…” You simply shrugged. The look Mel and Lauren shared suggested that they weren’t buying that logic but they didn’t push things. After a few more songs, you left the dance floor to head to the bar for a bottle of water. While there a tall….like really tall, dark haired man who looked like he should star in the next hollywood vampire blockbuster, slipped up beside you, his arm brushing against yours lightly. As you placed him as Cale’s d-partner you smiled up at him before looking back at where the bartender was rushing back and forth.

“You know none of us have ever seen him like this before…” Ryan murmured. “He comes out but he never really lets loose. Now I don’t know whether that’s because it’s the first time we’ve been out since everything happened or if it’s because you’re here but I suspect it’s more to do with the latter.” You didn’t really know what to say to that so you shrugged. “And I’m not saying that in the manner of he feels like you’re the babysitter who will take care of him, I’m saying that he feels comfortable because you’re here in a way he was never comfortable either by himself or with Sara.” Ryan finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and he ordered your water along with whatever he was drinking before continuing. “And I’m sure Cale never said anything and neither did anyone else but...you should know everyone really likes you. And I can’t say the same for Sara.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Ryan had walked off and you glanced over at Cale to see his eyes planted firmly on you, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

Water in hand, you moved to Cale’s side, his arm wrapping around you immediately. The redness in his eyes told you he’d had a little bit more to drink than he probably should have and you pushed your water his way, not wanting him to be completely impossible to drag home. The grin on his face was lazy as he took the bottle, showing how completely relaxed and at ease he was.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a long sip of the water and you tilted your head to observe him, tie gone and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers slipped just under the edge of your shirt along your hip and you took your own sip from the bottle of water trying to hide the flush that filled your body at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. Passing the water back to him, it was soon gone and once the bottle was empty you stood, looking over your shoulder.

“Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come dance with me?” You inquired, your tongue running against your bottom lip. Stumbling just slightly, Cale slipped out of the booth and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he guided you over to where his teammates and their significant others were dancing.

With Cale’s chest pressed against your back, his hands fell to your hips once more and the pads of his fingers wandered over every inch of skin they could reach. His touch had never affected you like this before, he’d never been this brazen before, but you chalked both of those factors up to the alcohol. Though you’d only had two glasses of wine since you arrived, wine had always made you far warmer than any other form of alcohol so the heat in your skin was definitely just from that.

“So I have a question…” Cale’s breath fanned over your ear as he leaned down to whisper yell at you, allowing you to hear him over the rap song that was playing.

“Yes Cale?” You replied, tilting your body back against his so that you could see his face. It was even rosier than before and his soft smile was replaced by a serious and focused look causing your eyebrow to quirk at the sight.

“Women like having oral sex performed on them right?” For a split second you were certain that it was only Cale’s hold on you that kept you from falling right over. Choking on your own saliva as you tried to swallow you quickly coughed, your cheeks even more flushed than you could attribute to the wine.

“I...I mean from what I’ve heard yeah…” You finally stumbled out an answer. “Why?” Your question was ignored as Cale’s hands tightened around your hips.

“You’ve heard?” Cale prodded. “You don’t know?” Cursing under your breath you shivered as Cale’s thumb stroked a sensitive spot along your side.

“Cale…” You mumbled, not drunk enough for this conversation. He poked you in the side though signaling you to continue and you groaned. “I mean...I had sex for the first time freshman year of college and we didn’t exactly know what we were doing…” You explained, softly enough that only Cale would hear you. “And I mean I’ve only had sex one other time...it was a one night stand and we were both way too drunk to do anything but fuck. So yeah...I’m just taking other people’s word on it...why are you asking Cale?” You finished, twisting in his arms so that you could look at him properly. His head ducked to press against the crook of your neck and he hissed quietly as you drug your nails along his lower back.

“Just curious…” Cale breathed. “Sara never let me...I mean I wanted to but...she told me she wasn’t interested.” For a moment you didn’t know what to say as that little piece of you celebrated the fact that it seemed there were a lot of things he didn’t do with his ex girlfriend.

“Oh...I mean everyone has their own likes and dislikes…” You reminded him. “But generally equal reciprocation is definitely appreciated.”

As the song ended, Gabe called Cale’s name to go take another shot and you pushed him to go murmuring that you were going to run to the bathroom. By the time you returned, you suspected it was definitely time to get Cale home, so you sidled up to his side, slipping your hand in his front pocket for his car keys.

“I think it’s time we get you home and to bed rockstar.” You declared. Thankfully Cale didn’t put up much of a fight, closing his tab before letting you lead him out of the club. By the time you had parked in his garage, you could see how sleepy the alcohol was making him and you moved around to help him out of the car, his body nearly dragging yours down with its weight.

Stumbling through the door, you urged him to start to bed while you got him more water and some pain killers. Gathering both, you moved to his room after checking to ensure the front door was locked. You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in only boxer briefs and though you tried not to stare, your body couldn’t help but notice that gone was the teenage boy you once knew and in his place was a man plain and simple. Setting the water and pills on his bedside table, you urged him to take his contacts out.

Once you were certain he was fairly settled, you turned to make your way to the couch. Instead, Cale’s hands reached out to pull you back to him and as he scooted to the far side of the bed, he drug you down with him.

“Cale…” You mumbled in complaint but his eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to steady out, his hands keeping your body pressed tightly against his. Sighing, you managed to work yourself out of your jeans before giving in and settling in his arms.

Between your conversation with Gravy, the looks Mel and Lauren were giving you, Cale’s inquiry, wandering hands, and this, so many lines had been blurred tonight that it was making you dizzy.

For the second night in a row...your mind reeled as you fell into a fitful sleep.

Blouse:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #038

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Answers Found in Silence

Vincent licked his lips.

The blood tasted like iron, but the vision of the masterful painting before him absorbed his entire attention.

He loved paintings. He loved living vicariously through them. The rush it filled him with whenever his eyes followed every stroke of the brush, paint layered as passionate memories upon canvas, the sheer essence that the artist channeled into creating such masterpieces.

Seeing what they saw. Breathing what they breathed. Imagining what they must have heard at the time. Tasting what they sampled upon their tongues.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips again, only now realizing how much blood must have sprayed his face upon bludgeoning a man to death. It took him out of his revelry. That taste of iron prevented him from embarking on another journey through the lens of the painting.

Vincent dabbed his lower lip, then inspected his fingertips, ensuring with a glance that it was indeed another man's blood.

He turned to the corpse splayed out on the marble floor behind him, in the middle of a pool of his own bodily fluids. Vincent scanned the dead body with silent contempt. His lip curled into a sneer. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Philistine," he muttered.

The knife that Sir Dorsey Dwyer had held now lay on the shiny floor beside him, underneath a reflective surface comprised of his own spilled lifeblood, pumped out to completion by his heart's merciless beating, throbbing until he had exhaled his last breath.

Dwyer had threatened to do harm with that knife. Not harm to Vincent—but to the painting. An act of aggression he could not tolerate. An act of spite which he would not suffer.

That they would not suffer.

"Yes," whispered his favorite voice. That sweetest voice. "You did well, my love. Revenge for a loved one he had lost, I can always fathom, but what he would have done to the painting never would have—"

"Brought him back," said Vincent, Lord of the Bailyview, seemingly to himself.

Nobody but him could hear the phantasmal companion whose sentence he had finished. He stood alone in that spacious hall, company only to his late colleague's corpse growing cold. Sparing little glance to the bent candelabra which had caved in Dwyer's skull, he turned to gaze at the painting again.

He said, "It is a bit of a bother though. I need to figure out how to get his sorry carcass out of here without getting caught red-handed, or our time together may just be spent in a cell in the Tower."

She stayed silent.

He rubbed thumb and bloodstained fingers together, marveling at the sensation of that warm slick fluid trapped between them. Though rare for him to take another person's life, he rarely felt anything even remotely related to remorse.

Like this painting.

A beautiful portrait of a quaintly handsome man. Staring off to the side through hazel eyes, head crowned by messy hair, garbed in a fancy dress likely donned just for the portrait's painter—or imagined, as it contrasted the rest of his appearance so.

The painter had clearly seen something in the motif of his masterpiece. Felt something for the man depicted on the canvas.

And the painter had been nobody less than the infamous Outer Wall Reaper. The murderer who had kept the city locked in a breathless fear, rendered masses afraid of the killer who stalked its streets by night, picking off people and making them disappear until only mangled bodies surfaced in the slums, organs missing.

And now, Vincent owned this painting, stolen from the Reaper's vandalized home by looters before an angry mob fully thrashed it. The piece of art had found its way into the private collection of this rich and handsome playboy.

"So fascinating," said she.

Orinrya.

"The painter? Or the subject?" he asked.

She rendered a whole aria, carried in the singsong of a single word as she replied, "Both."

He chuckled.

"So rare for us to glimpse what such a pure soul saw as attractive," she added.

"Pure soul?" scoffed Vincent. But he smiled.

"Yes. Just look at the way he painted every single hair on his head. What little attention he paid to the shirt's collar or the bow, while having slaved over the sheen he had seen on this man's skin. The hand that guided that brush also guided the needles and scalpels that took all those lives, in all those cold and dreary nights. The warmth of their blood, steaming in the snow—"

"You're right."

"Hm?"

"I see it," breathed Vincent.

He sighed. Shot another glance at the dead man on the floor, repeating his oath, "Philistine. To think—you almost robbed our world of this masterpiece. The single only painting the Reaper may have ever made."

Dwyer had been out of line; he had had no right to destroy it. Nobody did. The stupid fop had foolishly tried to put knife to the canvas, to slice it to ribbons in a fit of rage upon hearing who had painted the portrait. A petty act of revenge, as if it would have brought back his slain brother, the only wealthy victim whose life the Reaper claimed in his rampage through the slums. Caught with a night worker, no less, adding insult to injury.

And to imagine that a simple painting could have been the object of his impotent rage—no, they would never have suffered such petty revenge. After all, it was not the artwork that had taken his brother's life.

Snatching a gas lantern from the table, Vincent raised it in front of the painting and frowned. Though perfect for the simple sandalwood frame, this artificial light did not do the artwork itself any justice. The long, foggy night had swallowed the sun, and Vincent could not wait to behold the Reaper's artistry again in broad daylight.

In a way, the Outer Wall Reaper had just claimed another life. Even if only indirectly. Vincent smiled at that thought. That he had accidentally become the murderer's own instrument.

Almost as if on cue to disrupt his morbid amusement, someone knocked on the door.

Muffled through the entrance still closed, the butler spoke, "Milord, I heard—"

"It's fine, Perry. Brace yourself as you enter. Sir Dwyer had a," Vincent's words trailed off like these thoughts. He smiled again to himself before he finally finished the sentence. "He had an unfortunate accident."

He never turned around. The doors to the gallery opened and Perry entered. His shoes squeaked as he swiveled and froze in place, staring at the corpse.

"An accident with a candelabra, I see," said the butler with his usual measure of dripping sarcasm. "Looks like the poor chap fell backwards into it. Repeatedly."

Vincent chortled, still admiring the painting. He never understood how Perry found it in him to deliver such deadpan remarks without breaking out into laughter himself.

Their gazes met for a second, and as always, Vincent read no fear in Perry's eyes. They would never harm a hair on each other's heads, and knowing each other's dirty secrets assured mutual silence—or mutual destruction.

"What would you have me do about this mess, sir?"

Vincent clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Pay no mind. Fetch me everything for some absinthe. I will take care of the late Sir Dwyer myself. And as you recall, he showed up here all drunk off his arse. I don't think anybody knows he even came here. And someone in the constabulary... still owes me a favor. I'll have it all sorted out soon, no worries."

"Despite the recent disaster at your party?"

"Oh, let them all talk. I love being the center of attention. Next thing you know, I'll be the headline of another lurid article," Vincent said, painting a picture in the air with a hand, fingers splayed as he envisioned the printed piece. "Painting me as the Outer Wall Reaper himself, while others rush to defend my name and trip over themselves in fabricating all the reasons why I would never harm a fly."

Vincent arched his brow as he flashed his loyal butler a twisted smile. The same involuntary expression to mark his face whenever he felt like he was winning a game. And he always won the games that people played in the rumor mill.

"I am less concerned about them, milord. And more about how difficult it will be to clean after the constabulary concludes their investigation." Perry raised his nose and stared down at it, gray cheeks reddening.

"Hm. I am terribly sorry about all that, Perry. You have my word; I'll hire someone to take care of it. Now—how about that absinthe?"

The butler emitted a grunt in recognition, bowed, and backed out of the gallery hall again, leaving Vincent alone with the corpse.

And Orinrya.

The door clicked as it shut completely.

"He's such a good friend of the family," she said. "Three generations, and now the old codger's stuck with handling your caprice."

She smiled through Vincent's own lips. He smiled to himself, as well.

"I'm sure he has his own share of amusements," he said. Focusing on the painting again, he asked, "Now, where do you think this one leads? It's just blank around the subject. Well, not entirely blank. There's some color, some suggestion of gloom. I'd wager he painted it just this same winter. But without background—no context. A blind journey. We've never done that before."

"And that's why we will, darling. You cannot resist."

He smiled even wider.

Orinrya was right. She knew his thoughts, reading them as clearly as if he had spoken them out loud, giving them air. She knew his capricious nature as well as he did, or perhaps even better. Knew he could not pass up on any opportunity to explore the unknown. He bored quickly of things familiar and always sought to visit a new horizon whenever it presented itself.

He flopped down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, his velvety upholstered oasis in the middle of this opulent marble gallery. Surrounded by alabaster statues of ancient deities, and arrays of exquisite paintings that his family had amassed over all these years to plaster the high walls. The lights from gaslit lanterns cast pockets of eerie glow throughout the gigantic hall.

Vincent tapped his chiseled blood-splattered chin as he once more marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into painting this portrait.

"What do think is his name? Or was?" he asked.

"Eric," she said. Giggled. "He looks like an Eric to me. And still alive, I feel."

Vincent chuckled.

"So, you're picking up on a name with an 'E'. Perhaps Egon? Egon. Hm. What a funny name," he mused.

"Edward. That must be it, for sure."

"How would you know?"

"Call it—intuition," she cooed.

"Or should I call it whispers? The things you hear from the beyond? You never answered, love. You never told me where you came from."

"And perhaps I never will," she breathed with melody, drawing out another smile from him.

The set of double doors opened into the gallery. The butler entered. Empty glasses and sugar cubes in a small metal cup tinkled and clattered until he arrived by the sofa's side. He set the contents of his tray down onto the table by the sofa, one by one, preparing everything for Vincent's ritual.

Before he could seize the bottle of green liquid to pour him a glass, Vincent raised a jewelry-clad hand to stop Perry.

"That'll be all. Thank you," he told him. "I'll take it from here."

Perry nodded, bowed again, and left the gallery, shedding not even a glance in the direction of Dwyer's corpse.

The doors clicked shut again.

"You know you don't need that, right?" asked Orinrya.

"Yes. But I just—I enjoy it too much. I like the taste. I associate it with our study of these pieces. With our journeys."

He chuckled again.

Perching a sugar cube atop the glass with the ornate spoon—and his family's crest of the eagle cut into the silver piece of specialized cutlery—he poured the sweet green spirit into his clear cup. The trickle of liquid tickled his senses.

And he lived for all manner of sensations.

"It is a lovely taste, I must concede," she said. "Particularly this bottle, this make. More than mere resemblance of licorice. Mint. Thyme? And a hint of other worlds. I do understand the appeal, don't get me wrong."

A delighted sigh escaped his throat as he cradled the glass between the fingers of one hand, swirling its contents like fine wine and sampling the drink's scent.

"Other worlds indeed," he said, the smile never fading from his face.

He sipped from the glass. Heat spread over his palate with a pleasant warmth, like a beautiful wildfire consuming the countryside, burning away every hint of iron and blood. He closed his eyes as he savored the aftertaste, and took another longing sip, kissing the glass like he would his many lovers, the men and women he consorted with behind closed doors at his many lavish parties.

"Drink, sweet prince," she said. "I long to see what lies beyond. I wish to meet this man for myself. To see what the Reaper saw."

"Taste what the Reaper tasted," breathed Vincent, licking his lips again, now only tasting the sweet sting of the green fairy, any tang of blood having been relegated into memory.

He focused on the painting. Drinking in the portrait's details. Warm tones made up the complexion of the artist's subject. Streaks and dabs of gray peppered dark hair despite the youthful and symmetrical face. A faint hint of stubble around the small and tender-looking lips and a soft chin.

And such kind eyes. So utterly kind.

What had the Reaper seen? Who was this mysterious subject?

"The killer became obsessed with him," Orinrya whispered. "Watched him from afar. But not like he watched the others."

Vincent sipped more from his cup; his sights fixed on the portrait. The spirit burned his throat on the way down and blood now rushed in his ears.

"Do you think he would have kept him for last? After torching down the entire world, would he have kept him around, do you think?"

"Not for long," she said. "Those kind eyes, he would not have been able to bear them for all eternity. Those eyes, painted thus, they knew not who watched him. What watched him. What monster—"

"Oh, my dear, let us not wield that word lightly," Vincent said.

His eyes fell shut as he drank more from the cup. The cool steel framing its glass made his silky palm tingle.

"Oh, but my dear, he is one of us," she sang.

"Was," said Vincent, breaking out into another chuckle.

Opening his eyes to continue gazing into the soft amber irises of the portrait's eyes, Vincent's vision blurred.

"Yes, was," she chimed in, joining him with melodious laughter in his mind.

"And this—Edward, you say—"

"Yes. Certainly Edward. I see a room. Orderly. Well-organized. Neatly arranged instruments. Cabinets filled with... medicine."

"A doctor?" asked Vincent with a lopsided smile, arching a brow.

"A doctor."

He drank more from the cup. Lost all sense of time as his senses dulled, losing track of how often he repeated the motion—the trickle of green spirit soaked up by the sugar cube, trailing down through the family crest into the cup, and burning in his throat as he sent it to cascade past his luscious lips and tongue.

"Here, in this very city, am I right?"

"Yes, dear. He is near. I feel it."

As his vision faded, his memory soon followed into the hazy mist.

Vincent cradled the bottle. Empty, save for a few droplets. They laughed as its glass shattered somewhere on the floor, no further mind paid to its breaking after jettisoning it away in a languid arc.

"I can almost taste it."

The lingering smell of the spirit occluded his senses further, but he began to smell another sharp substance.

Rubbing alcohol.

"We're getting closer, love," she whispered.

Every time he blinked, his eyelids grew heavier. His vision of the portrait turned into a blob of warm colors in dim light. The kind eyes of the mystery man in the painting—Edward—soon peeled away from that unseen something off to the right side of the image, and the doctor in the painting turned his head to look back at his spectators.

Then he looked out a window. His motions were slow, deliberate.

They felt that he felt watched.

"A busy street by day, just outside that window," Orinrya said.

"A foggy day," Vincent ventured. "A day not long ago."

"Only days around when the Reaper started his spree."

"Oh, how he cherished knowing how this beautiful man—this oblivious doctor—was unwittingly helping him."

"Did he provide the instruments?"

"Or drugs, perhaps?"

"No, just the thing to stab. A precise thing."

"A needle," they both said in unison, their voices blending until they matched. Orinrya spoke through his mouth. "A syringe."

Two voices. Not one.

The lantern's flame flickered but stayed alight. Turned bright blue. The world began to fade.

"Inspiration."

"He inspired him. Oh, he quaffed the nectar of this man's innocence—"

"Watched from afar, even before he started claiming lives—"

"Twisted it into something darker—"

"Something fierce—"

"Oh, the delicious transgression."

The lights throughout the gallery went out, one by one, until all but the lantern sitting on the floor between sofa and the lonesome painting remained lit. An orange-hued island in the middle of a sea of darkness. On one edge, the dapper lordling lounged, limbs drooping lazily off the sides. On the other, the painting.

The handsome man had disappeared from it.

Vincent brushed over his own lips and the numbness had set in. Unable to feel his own fingers, it felt like someone else caressed him, like she had planted there a gentle kiss.

They no longer saw a portrait, but another place. A window into that other location: a doctor's practice. Vacant of people, with shadows flitting about, hints of its owner leaping from one task to another chore, as day and night cycled rapidly, bouncing back and forth.

Meticulously washing his hands in the sink. Examining a sitting patient's eyes. Carefully bringing scalpel to an exposed arm. A laugh to defuse some fear. Blood, dabbed away with cloth in slender hands. A warm and kind smile to match the gaze from the painting, a patient calmed by his gentle disposition.

Oblivious of the darkness that watched him, reaching through past and present and now seeing that darkened room. A solid night, a roiling fog outside the windows. Like one monster once watched, spying from the outside, they now peered through painting, bridging time and space.

Vincent lurched up onto his feet and stumbled halfway on the infinitely long walk towards the painting. Glass shards crunched underneath his shoe, reminiscent of the blanket of snow outside, melting into the flurries of crystallized precipitation which he saw through the painting, falling softly to cobblestone-covered streets outside the practice's window.

Though numbed by stupor, the bumps and ridges of dried paint surfaced in a texture he traced with his fingertips, exploring the picture of the painting. No longer depicting the kind-faced doctor, but his practice, blanketed entirely by night.

"Push, my love. Let us explore."

And Vincent did. Pressed his palm against the painting, and ripples exploded outwards from it, as if he had disturbed the surface of a still pond. The image swallowed his hand and he pushed deeper, until he dove into that distorted image, neither place nor person, stepping entirely through.

As he stumbled again and blinked to orient himself, he stood inside that doctor's practice.

Rocked back and forth as the absinthe did its number on his coordination, barely able to read the handwriting on letters stacked on a desk.

Orinrya whispered through Vincent's lips, "Doctor Edward—"

"Carnaby," Vincent finished himself, slurring the surname in a drunken drawl, erupting into a stupid giggle.

He slapped the paper back down onto the desk and looked about, letting his eyes adjust.

"Do we truly travel to these places, love?"

"Or is it just a jaunt of the mind?" she countered.

"A little escape that leaves the flesh behind?"

He giggled another drunken giggle as he clumsily knocked over objects on the desk, causing them to clink and clatter and a small broken vial to gurgle out liquid. Something black, likely ink.

"Oh fairy, my green fairy," he murmured with the most melody that a positively drunken man could muster.

"This is all us, darling. No fairy needed. Just some added fun for your pleasure."

He pushed through a door, stumbling down dark corridors, and registering the softness of a carpet beneath his shoes.

"But it's so much fun, love—"

Vincent froze.

Bathed in a bright sliver of silver moonlight from a crack between the curtains, a woman lay in bed. A shapely face, heavily scarred, and peacefully resting, eyes closed.

"Oh, here we go again," mused Orinrya. "Be still, your beating heart."

Arms exposed above the sheets, wreathed in bandages, leaving just enough space for Vincent to take a seat at the sleeping woman's side. The mattress and bed creaked underneath his weight.

The scars on her cheek, as disfiguring they were, he saw past them and found a beauty he would have overlooked otherwise. But it was the scarring that captured his entire attention.

"Yet another fancy for you to entertain, love?"

He shushed Orinrya.

His fingers shook with the green fairy's tremors and an enamored fascination. He traced over the lines of those scars, an uneven drawing from a cut inflicted by a blade, that wandered over cheek to nose. Crisscrossing into another scar that ran across the nose, where ridge had broken once. Gingerly exploring the uneven surface of her warm skin where a hound's claw had raked her jaw. Her soft and shallow breath, he felt even with hands so numb.

So focused, so spellbound—

"Careful now," Orinrya whispered.

Vincent whispered back, "Sound asleep—"

"Look," she said. "Look away."

"No, I shall not."

"Look beside her, I say! Look. On the bedside table," Orinrya urged him. The singsong gone, her tone had fallen deathly serious.

That was when his blurry gaze finally came to rest upon it.

A leatherbound tome. Strange glyphs carved into its face.

Another gasp escaped Vincent's throat, all attention for the beautifully scarred woman now blown away.

An authentic tome of magick. He felt it. He felt its thrum. No ordinary book he had ever seen had ever looked like that. It had to be.

The prize he had sought for so long.

"Take me," Orinrya whispered.

No—the tome had whispered that. In his mind. Like her?

Right?

"Take it," she whispered in his mind. "Take it."

His hands trembled—hovered just above the cool leather surface of the book. How he yearned to rip it open and decipher its inscriptions. But his reverence weighed so heavily, the dread of what terrible secrets it may contain, it boggled his mind. His hesitation dragged on forever, mired in a swamp of lost time and a drunken haze.

"Take it," she hissed. Commanding.

His fingers trembled even more as they crept closer towards the edges of the book, keen on flipping the lid and perusing its mysterious pages.

He hesitated for too long.

"What are you doing in here?" a man blurted out behind them.

In the door to the room stood a dark silhouette. The squeak of metal and a clicking sound preceded a lantern going on.

The doctor. This Edward Carnaby. The kind face from the painting, kindness far from its current expression. Glaring at Vincent.

"Who in the blazes are you?" asked the doctor.

Brows furrowed; the moonlight twinkled with fear in the doctor's pupils.

Vincent rose to his feet and lurched towards him, tripping over a chair's leg. He caught himself against a dresser before he could fully plummet to the floor. Laughed, drunkenly.

"Should he see your face?" Orinrya asked. Another murmur in Vincent's thoughts. "Should he remember?"

"No. Yes!" Vincent said, followed by another clipped giggle.

Alibi, he thought. So convenient. If this was even real.

Doctor Carnaby cried, "Get out! Before I fetch a constable!"

The good doctor threatened, yet he took a timid step backwards, back into the hallway behind him. Frightened by the nightly invader in his home.

"Sorry good, sir," Vincent's words lurched as much as he did with his drunken gait. "I must have been confused. Long night—o-out drinking, you see."

"Get out!" repeated the doctor with more force. His voice trembled with terror.

Leaning against the dresser, sliding, and almost slipping as he propped himself up, Vincent eked out a theatrical gesture with his arm and bowed, nearly toppling over in the process. "I'm Lord Vincent Va—"

"I don't care who in the devil's name you are, you are bothering my patient, you drunken lout! Get! Out! " The doctor's fear audibly subsided. He cleared his throat and pointed a finger down the hallway, directing Vincent to leave that way.

He stepped aside demonstratively and waited for Vincent to follow his instructions.

"Yes, yes, yes. As I was saying, good sir, I must have taken the wrong turn—wrong door, you know, it happens," he said with a smile, growing aware of how much less charming he was whenever he was this heavily intoxicated. "Vincent Vance is the name, Lord of Bailyview. Terribly sorry if I broke anything on the way in—"

Doctor Carnaby's face fell through different stages. The dread dropped into fury, and the fury made way for confusion and mild annoyance, with a dash of pity.

"Just leave, please."

"Right," Vincent said, covering his mouth and feigning the urge to throw up, replete with a retching sound.

Carnaby waited patiently for him to step outside, and Vincent obliged. Stared over his shoulder as he turned into the hallway and stopped there—the scarred woman stirred, and more importantly, that leatherbound tome eyelessly stared back at him.

Beckoning him.

He wanted it so badly. Had to peel his gaze from the book. Had to tell himself he'd be back for it. Flashed a stupid grin at the doctor and stumbled forth.

The glow from the doctor's lantern made it easier to navigate the dark hallway, and in the blurry haze where time and space melted into one misty soup, he braced himself against a wall on the way until he pushed through a door that should have led outside. He slammed it shut behind him, more fiercely than he had intended.

But he did not find himself outside on the street, in the cold, where his breath condensed before his mouth, standing in the pale moonlight as it pierced a ring of clouds—but back in the gallery in front of the living painting of Doctor Edward Carnaby.

The doctor glared into the night outside his front door. Poked his head outside to see where his nightly intruder had staggered off to but paid it no more mind. Did not notice a lack of footprints in the thin layer of snow. He shut the door. The lock loudly fell into place.

Vincent leaned against the wall, watching through the painting.

The snowfall of flurries gently drifting down onto the cobblestone-covered streets made him sway again, made Vincent's legs buckle. Hypnotic as it was, it almost fully robbed him of his senses.

He crashed back down onto that comfortable sofa inside his opulent gallery.

"A fascinating jaunt, darling," said Orinrya.

"And a convenient alibi," he replied, shooting another glance at Sir Dwyer's body.

They laughed at the dead philistine.

The blur continued, as Vincent did not recall how he had gotten from the Reaper's painting of Doctor Carnaby in the main hall—to his private parlor.

Slumped into a different sofa, he peered up at the gigantic portrait of himself.

The renowned painter Léon Choffard had spent months completing this masterpiece. A stylized depiction of Vincent's likeness. Though already statuesque in the flesh, Choffard's artistry had lent the portrait a special something that portrayed Vincent as even more attractive than humanly possible—which Vincent regularly and smirkingly attributed to their brief and romantic tryst.

"It truly captures your pleasant face," Orinrya said.

"Thank you, dear."

Silence.

A large clock tick-tocked away from the edge of the room, with everything around him swamped in shadows, two lanterns shedding just enough light that he could study the rendition of his own portrait.

"I wonder," he suddenly said. "What would happen if we entered that picture? Where would it take us?"

Silence.

Orinrya stayed silent.

"Hm, I like that answer. It is intriguing, love. So mysterious. You say so much by saying nothing, you know that?"

She laughed inside his head. A sweet and seductive laugh. He smiled in response.

"Will you ever tell me what you are? Or is that destined to be our perpetual dance?"

She laughed more.

"In due time," she said.

"Like getting our hands on that book."

"Yes, in due time, darling."

"And the woman."

"The scarred one?"

"No. Yes. Her too," he said. He bit his lip, clamped his eyes shut and sighed. "I meant the lady from the new world, that witch-doctor. And all the others in her company. That bandaged inquisitor—oh, how I would like to peel his bandages away and hear all his stories. It's brilliant how all these fascinating people—and things—are all coming together here, all at once."

"Yes. You feel it," Orinrya said.

"Feel what?"

"The quickening."

"What do you mean?"

"Something new being born. Old dreams that are dying, and a new world being birthed before our eyes," she breathed.

Vincent shuddered with a chill running down his spine.

"And what is this new world you speak? You must know. You know so much. I know you know," Vincent whispered, erupting into a crazed cackle over how silly he found his own words.

She smiled. He felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as a soft breeze swept through his parlor like a ghostly presence. Like soft fingertips that brushed against his lips, not his own. Or perhaps his own, just numbed from the excess of strong spirits only slowly wearing off.

"The real question, darling—what will you do when you bear witness to the reckoning? Will you hold the reins? Or will you pass them off to see what spectacle others may unfold?" Orinrya asked.

The corners of his lips twitched. Both he and she, they smiled simultaneously.

Not gracing her questions with any straight answer, he only returned more questions.

"Are you angel? Or devil?"

Silence.

"Good answer."

He laughed a hollow laugh, eventually mounting into a long and wistful sigh.

Vincent drifted off into a dreamless sleep. And he never yearned for such, as he lived his dreams in every waking moment.

A lingering thought that swam atop the sea of oblivion.

Sputtering awake, the lanterns were no longer lit. Daylight flooded through open doors into the parlor. He still rested in the sofa, sprawled out across it like his own likeness in the gigantic portrait towering over him.

The air was cold and had left him with a painfully stiff neck.

As he shuffled lazily across shiny marble floors, he surveyed the damage he had wrought the night before. The glass shards scattered across the gallery, and the dead body of Sir Dwyer, still left in his own pool of blood.

Work to do. A body to be rid of. A chief to blackmail. A new slew of rumors to seed.

The rich lord took a deep breath and sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

He smiled.

"Oh, the woes of pleasure before business," he reckoned.

They both laughed at the thought.

"But that book—"

"Will be ours."

"Its magick—"

"We will wield it," they sang together, dulcet syllables spilling from Vincent's lips.

"Or will you be wielding it, while I soar to incredible heights on your back?" he asked.

And there was silence.

—Submitted by Wratts

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