#and you are a fly that is not going to interpret someone biting and shaking you in a non-aggressive manner

[mantisgodsdomain]

Also have realized that we may have worded things oddly to exaggerate the amount of the Wasp Kingdom that is actually in active conflict but in our defence the power structures we currently have there have it so that whenever there aren't things to fight something like 40-80% of the Wasp Kingdom military gets re-allocated to Basically Whatever The Wasp Kingdom Needs At That Moment since they're, like, the Designated Supply Of Able-Bodied Wasps That The Queen Uses To Do Shit.

Marble is also banned from the non-combat parts of that setup, btw. Their particular tendency towards volatile-yet-effective is not something that ANYONE wants designing things that will be used in day-to-day civilian things just Around The Wasp Kingdom because generally you don't want your heavy-use architecture to Fucking Explode if you don't read and religiously adhere to the 120-page manual.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Real? Not Real?

Prompt: Uh hello, I just wanna day that I really really love your work. I came across it this morning and I’ve been binging it all day, and you are a REALLY good writer :) if it’s not too much to ask (and feel free to ignore this), could I request one of the Sides (preferably Janus) having a bad day and derealizing and another one (preferably Patton or Remus, but really any work) comforting them and helping them get grounded? Maybe something that is after the wedding, with everyone at odds with each other so no one notices at first?

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: disassociation, derealizing, some things that could be interpreted as self-destruction

Pairings: none, other than platonic moceit and dukeceit

Word Count: 2287

The wall is yellow.

 The wall isn’t yellow. 

The wall is yellow. 

Janus pushes his door closed and sighs, leaning against the wood and taking his hat off. He scruffs a hand through his hair and lets his head thunk against the door.

 “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t exhausting.”

 The conversation had dragged on for hours; from picking apart every little idiosyncrasy and explaining every other word, it’s a wonder he had any energy left to even sink to his room.

 Well, he didn’t. That’s the point.

 He heaves himself up off the floor, stumbling a little when his body decides that no, actually, we’re going to remain on the floor because we dislike you personally.

 “Thank you,” he grits out as he fights the urge to collapse back to the floor, “no, really, I wanted to be able to fall over as soon as I tried to move.”

 When the floor looks like it stops spinning for a few seconds at a time, he reaches for his cane and shuffles over to the desk. The chair creaks a little in protest as he all but collapses into it. He tosses his hat toward the coat rack, missing terribly, and rips his gloves off.

 “Ah!”

Janus cups his hand around his wrist, biting back a curse as the glove catches on the underside of an older scale. He glances around. The first-aid kit is on the other shelf.

 “Damn.”

 He could just…stretch out and get it? Probably? He swallows and reaches. And reaches. And reaches.

 Why—why can’t he touch the shelf?

 Controlling limbs gets exponentially easier the longer and more disembodied they get. All the time.

 Janus grits his teeth and concentrates, closing his eyes until his fingers bump against the shelf.

 “Thank you,” he mutters as he brings the first aid kit back to his side. “That was certainly the picture of compliance.”

 The first aid kit, because it is an inanimate object—or rather, a collection of inanimate objects—says nothing.

 Trying to apply first aid one-handed is such fun. He ends up holding back the sleeve with his teeth as he rubs the ointment onto the patch left by the scale. The wrapper sticks to his fingers with the determination of a static-filled leech, refusing to budge even as he pries it off with one hand only for it to attach viciously to the other.

 “Get off!”

 It flutters down to lay infuriatingly close to the trash can.

 Or is it in the trash can?

 He reaches down to pick it up and put it inside. He can’t feel it through his gloves. So he takes them off. Maybe then it won’t get stuck. It lands in the trashcan noiselessly.

 Muttering to himself, he gets his gloves on their spot on his desk and goes about getting the rest of this stuff off. Snakes aren’t supposed to run warm, so why can’t he feel anything?

 He goes to undo the clasp on his cape only for his fingers to meet the soft fabric of his shirt. Oh. He must’ve taken it off already. Wait, did he even put it on when he left?

 He glances over to see it hanging on the hook by the door. Exactly where it was when he woke up this morning. Or was it? Wasn’t it draped over his chair? No, that was when he was about to leave.

 No, he put it on his doorknob, didn’t he? To make sure he didn’t forget it?

 But he never forgets his cape.

 Janus shakes his head, immediately regretting it when the action sends him into a dizzy spell. God, why is he so tired?

 It doesn’t matter, he decides, because he was going to take his cape off but now he doesn’t have to because it’s already off. So he can take his shirt off now.

 But first, he should take his gloves off. Trying to undo shirt buttons with gloves on is a tedious process.

 His fingers scratch the bandage over a spot on his hand. That’s funny. He doesn’t feel any pain coming from it. Maybe it’s healed already?

 No, no, he just put that bandage on.

 “Get yourself together,” he scolds himself, going to undo the buttons, “you’re being ridiculous.”

 Is he, though?

 He spent so long observing and mirroring the others today, just to get in the habit of it when he needs to, that is it really a surprise that he can’t really remember what his own limbs are doing?

 Yes. Yes, it is.

 His shirt lies in the corner. He doesn’t remember putting it there. He’s still wearing it, he hasn’t gotten all the buttons off yet. His fingers touch his bare scales. Oh. Maybe he has.

 Why does it look like it’s the wrong color?

 Janus squints hard at the offending pile of fabric lurking in the corner. As he stares, the fabric moirés into a dizzying display. He blinks. That shirt isn’t patterned. It’s just a plain white shirt. Why is it doing that? Is it doing that? Are Janus’s eyes doing that?

 He crosses the room, stumbling a little as he gets up—since when has that table been there?—and grabs the shirt. It folds and bends and warps around his fingers. It should be cool to the touch. The fabric is soft, normally.

 He can only tell he’s supposedly squeezing it from the wrinkles that appear around his fists.

 “This doesn’t belong here,” he mutters, going to put it in the laundry basket.

 The laundry basket is not where it’s supposed to be.

 “Fuck.”

 Did he leave it downstairs? That’s always a risky move; Remus will capitalize on any opportunity to completely and utterly destroy any abandoned object. He turns to go rescue his laundry basket only for it to appear out of the corner of his eye.

 Oh.

 Has it been there the whole time?

 Janus frowns. He looks at the laundry basket, he looks at the shirt, he looks at his cape, he looks at his gloves.

 The bandage on his wrist should be itching.

 It isn’t.

 Why not?

 Oh.

  Oh.

 He smiles to himself and lets the shirt fall to the ground.

 Right, how could he forget?

 This isn’t real.

 None of this is real. He doesn’t exist. He is a figment of Thomas’s imagination, created as part of an elaborate plan to explore personality facets for entertainment purposes. He is not real. He cannot exist in any way that matters.

 That is why the first aid kit won’t speak to him. That is why his shirt creates patterns that are impossible. That is why the laundry basket keeps appearing and disappearing. They’re not real. None of it is real.

 He is not real.

 The walks flicker a pale white as he sinks slowly to the ground, staring up at the fake ceiling. The floor is not solid under him. His legs do not groan and scream in protest as he lies his nonexistent weight across them. His eyes do not fog up. His head does not throb. The door does not feel like a cage, trapping him in a spiral of down, down, down.

 Nothing is real.

 Least of all time.

 …

 …quiet.

 “—nus!”

 “Janus, are you in there?”

 “Snake-Face, if you don’t open up right this instant, I swear—“

 “Kiddo, you never came down for dinner, we’re worried, are you alright?”

 “I’m gonna break this fucking door down.”

 “Remus, no—!”

 A loud thud does not startle him awake. His eyes do not fly open. His body does not refuse to respond as chunks of wood fly all over his room. The walls do not look like they’re transparent as someone peers at him. They are not real.

 “Janus? Oh my goodness, Janus!”

 Patton. Patton is also not real. That is okay.

 Patton does not rush across the floor to him and fall to his knees. His eyes aren’t welled up with tears that he bravely tries to fight back, smiling down at him. Patton’s hands do not cup his face tenderly. He doesn’t say anything.

 “Kiddo?”

 He cannot speak. Real things cannot speak.

 “Kiddo, can you hear me?” Patton does not stroke his thumb gently over his cheek. “Can you breathe?”

 Real things do not breathe.

 “Fuck,” Remus does not swear, “he’s derealizing again.”

 “He’s what?”

 “Derealizing.” Remus does not run to crouch beside them. Remus does not gently tuck his hands under his legs to lift them into a more comfortable position. “Gets stuck in his own head, caught up in his own lies.”

 Patton does not help Remus. He does not cradle his head and lift it up. The pillow suddenly under his head is not real, not soft, not pleasantly cool. His hand does not stay in his hair, stroking gently.

 “He’s overcorrecting,” Remus does not murmur, “convincing himself that nothing is real.”

 “Oh, kiddo,” Patton doesn’t sigh, doesn’t ruffle his hair gently, “you’re real, kiddo, stay with us.”

 “He’s not gonna believe you, Daddio.”

 “Then what do we do?”

 “You’re not gonna like it,” Remus doesn’t say.

 He doesn’t get up and leave. Patton doesn’t stay, still stroking his hand through his hair soothingly. Is it soothing? Does it feel soft? Caring?

 Patton—Patton is caring, right?

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Patton doesn’t—does?—murmur, “you’ll get through this, okay? You’ll get through this, I know you will.”

 “Here.”

 Oh, Remus is back. Is? Isn’t? Is Remus real?

 “Just hold this, okay?”

 “It’s really warm, are you sure—?”

 “That’s what the towel’s for.”

 Remus doesn’t crouch back down next to him. Patton isn’t gripping whatever Remus just gave him in his fist. He doesn’t look worried.

 Wait, why is he worried?

 “Ah!”

 He cries out in surprise when something freezing presses to his stomach. Cold. Cold, cold—

 “Shh, easy, Snakey,” Remus soothes—wait, doesn’t soothe? Is Remus real?—immediately replacing the cold with something warm, warm, warm, “it’s okay, it’s gone now, you did great, just stay here, okay?”

 “Re-Remus?”

 “Yeah, Jan-Jan, it’s me, I’m right here, can you grab onto me?”

 He can’t, he’s not real, Remus isn’t real, but Remus is right there—

 “There you go,” Remus encourages when his fingers hook through the ends of his sleeves, “you got me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

 “Why—what happened? Why are you here?”

 “You never came down to dinner, kiddo,” Patton says, stroking his solidwarmreal hand through his hair again, “we got worried. No one could call you and the room wasn’t letting us sink.”

 Well of course it wasn’t, it isn’t real.

 Wait.

 “How did—“ he gasps— “how did you know I was here?”

 Patton frowns, tilting his head. “Because we care about you, kiddo, you’re important to us.”

 How can he be important when he isn’t real?

 “Hey,” Remus says sharply, giving his wrist a little tug, “no drifting off again, Snakey, stay here.”

 “H-here?”

 “Yeah.” Remus presses the hot pad into his stomach and oh, it’s so warm, it has to be real. “Right here, Jan-Jan. You feel this?”

 “Yes.”

 “This is real. This is real. I’m really here, I’m really holding this to your real stomach. You’re real. The floor is real. Patton’s real.”

 Patton’s real?

 “I’m real, sweetheart,” Patton says softly, still rubbing his hand through his hair, “and so are you.”

 He opens his mouth to try and breathe. If he’s real, he should be able to breathe…right?

 “That’s it, kiddo, good.” The hand in his hair moves again. “Just lie there and breathe for a moment, okay?”

 He looks over at Remus. Remus starts to rub little circles into his stomach with the warm towel.

 “Stay here, stay real, Snakey,” he encourages, “just focus on this.”

 The floor becomes solid under him again. Patton’s hand, his voice, he can hear them. Feel them. He blinks at Remus, real Remus, still working patiently.

 He must make some noise because Remus pauses, looking up at him. Then he takes the towel and reaches up to slowly, slowly brush it over his cheek.

 The tears that spring to his eyes at the tenderness of the gesture certainly feel real.

 “Oh, kiddo,” Patton whispers, pulling him into a solidwarmreal chest, “it’s okay, shh, you’re safe, you’re real, everything’s okay.”

 He gasps again, trapped in the warmth of Patton’s embrace. Remus scoots in behind them, wrapping his arms tightly through the limbs that still don’t want to work.

 “Why can’t I move,” he chokes out, “why can’t I move?”

 “You’re exhausted, sweetheart,” comes Patton’s soft reply, “you overworked yourself today.”

 “But I can’t feel them!”

 “Here,” he whispers, gently squeezing one of his arms, “can you feel that?”

 “O-only a little.”

 “How about here…and here…there.”

 Patton’s hands are so warm and solid and real.

 “P-Patton?”

 “Yeah, kiddo, I’m right here.”

 “Remus?”

 “I’m here too, Snakey, we gotcha.”

 “Am I—is this—“ he swallows unsteadily— “is this…real?”

 “Yeah, kiddo,” Patton murmurs as Remus strokes firmly up and down his back, “this is real.”

 Patton is real, solid and warm against him. Remus is real, solid and warm behind him.

 Janus opens his eyes and stares at the yellow wall.

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[bi-naesala]

Demonstration

Fandom: Yakuza Rating: E Warnings: / Relationships: Kasuga Ichiban/Zhao Tianyou Characters: Kasuga Ichiban, Zhao Tianyou Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, First Time Bottoming, Nonbinary Zhao Tianyou Summary:

Ichiban demonstrates to Zhao how he felt about him the first time they met.

(Also on AO3)

Every time Ichiban and Zhao have been intimate, they’ve always kept things quite simple, gentle even.

They never thought about it too much; it’s just that they enjoy each other, nothing more, and they don’t really care about what they do, as long as they are together and have both a good time.

It’s almost weird considering how their first meeting went. Of all things, Ichiban would’ve never imagined that he was going to end together to the person who threatened to kill him with a smile on their face, but so is life, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

“Oooooi earth to Kasuga-kun!”

Contrary to what Zhao might believe, Ichiban doesn’t jump hearing their voice calling out for him. Nope. Not at all.

“H-Hey! Zhao! What is it?”

Zhao shoots him an unimpressed look. “You haven’t been listening to a word I said, haven’t you?”

“Huh…” Ichiban smartly replies. “Sorry?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Zhao mutters, shaking his head, but despite their words, there’s a smile on his face, finding Ichiban’s behavior endearing. “And what were you thinking about that was so important that you’d stop in the middle of the street like a lunatic?”

Oh right! They went out grocery shopping for the barkeep. And here Kasuga was, lost in his thoughts…

“Oh, nothing much, really…”

“C’mon, I’m curious now. Pretty please tell me?” Zhao insists. Oh hell, Ichiban can’t resist that tone of his.

  “Just… Wait,” he mutters, taking Zhao by the arm and guiding him away from the main road, entering in one of the smaller streets. If he truly has to answer to Zhao, he’d rather do it in a place where they can get a modicum of privacy, which would usually be at Survive, but this is close enough. At least there’s nobody there for the moment.

Zhao hasn’t said anything about Ichiban’s behavior, not even a little word of teasing, for which he’s grateful for.

“Should I get worried?” he asks though. Considering how Ichiban’s acting, it would be safe to assume that this is something serious.

“Oh? Oh no! Not at all!” Ichiban’s quick to reassure him. “I was just thinking about… well… about us.”

Now Zhao looks extremely curious. “Us? And what about us were you thinking about?”

“About how funny it is that we ended up together, considering how we met and what I thought of you…”

“Ooh?” Zhao perks up. “And what did you think of me?”

Were their relationship still in its early stages, Ichiban might’ve felt so embarrassed about what he’s about to say that he would’ve tried to find an excuse not to reply, but now he replies calmly, accepting the challenge hidden in Zhao’s tone: he uses his bigger stature to tower over the other, reveling in the shiver Zhao isn’t able to suppress at the motion - though they don’t look intimidated at all.

“That you needed to be put in your place,” he growls then, voice low and gaze dark.

“Ohohohoh~” Zhao’s voice sounds more like it did when they first met: dangerous. “That so?”

Ichiban nods.

“Well then…”

Zhao stretches a hand towards their partner, cupping his cheek. “Feel free to put me in my place anytime.”

Oh, he’s into it. Ichiban can tell. Those glasses of theirs can’t hide shit from him, not when he knows them so well; there’s no other way he can interpret the shine in his eyes.

    After that revelation, of course, Ichiban hasn’t had a way to clear his mind enough to think about anything else that isn’t him putting Zhao right where he wants to and taking him the way they deserve.

How are they supposed to do it, though? They share a room with so many other people that they can't possibly put themselves in a situation where they would most likely traumatize someone!

This requires a solution, because as much as Ichiban could easily let this go and wait for the proper occasion, he has no idea how long that would take, and he wants it so bad. Usually, in the bedroom, Zhao’s the one leading, so changing things sounds very interesting, and Ichiban can’t deny that he’s curious to see Zhao’s reaction if he lets him get away with what he wants to do, so no, he can’t wait at all.

  Mmmh what to do…

Wait! He's just got an idea that might work!

    It’s harder than he thought having to save money, since he’s an impulsive buyer, but he manages because this is too important for him to ruin everything. Thankfully he makes enough as Ichiban Holdings’ CEO that in about a month he’s managed to get enough so that he can finally put his plan into motion.

What does his plan consist of? Renting a room at a love hotel, of course! Yeah, it doesn’t sound that fancy, especially considering that Ichiban’s been saving for this, but hey it’s not like he swims in money! Neither of them does!

At least like this they can be as rough and loud as they want to and, especially, they won’t have to be quick, because nobody’s supposed to walk into them when they least expect it.

  It takes him nothing to convince Zhao. They’re on board as soon as he mentions the love hotel part.

“Oh yes please,” they say, and is Ichiban dreaming things, or does he sound very eager? Eh, he supposes he’s been waiting for this for a while - though if they have, why hasn’t he ever mentioned it?

  During their ride - there’s no way they were going to walk all the way there, so they’ve taken a cab - Zhao hasn’t pulled away from Ichiban not even once, holding his arm tightly and whispering pure filth in his ear.

“I bet you can’t wait for it, can’t you? Are you going to make me scream? Are you going to make me beg for it? How long ‘till I’ll be able to walk again?”

On his part, Ichiban does his best to ignore what they say, even if the more time passes, the more difficult it becomes, especially when Zhao begins to lavish at his neck, like they’re not sitting inside a taxi and there isn’t a clearly uncomfortable driver.

“Z-Zhao… Please, not here…”

In response Zhao looks at him with such an innocent gaze that it almost makes Ichiban believe that he truly doesn’t know what they’re doing wrong. Ass.

  At least after that they calm down, not trying to rile Ichiban up anymore. Not that they needed to continue, since he did manage to get Ichiban going, even though there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. Once they get to the hotel, though…

Ah. So this is why Zhao’s been acting the way they were acting: getting Ichiban so riled up that as soon as they were alone, he was going to explode.

Well, if that’s what Zhao wants, then Ichiban will give it to him, and with interests…

    Ichiban might be moving things along a bit too fast once they get to the love hotel, to the point that once he gets the key to their room, he almost runs towards it. He doesn’t only because he doesn’t want to appear too eager, though by the way Zhao’s looking at him, they must’ve caught it either way.

  Once they’re inside, they take a moment to study their surroundings. Huh, classic love hotel stuff: tacky pink everywhere, enormous bed, even bigger mirror, cabinet with lube and condoms… yes, the usual. Not that Ichiban has been to many love hotels…

He gets distracted when Zhao presses against him, circling his back with their arms. “Soooo Ichi, how are we going to do this?”

Seeing that Ichiban doesn’t reply, he begins kissing up from his neck to the corner of his mouth. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

  Before he can react, Ichiban grabs him by the waist and throws him on the bed, making him land with a loud oof.

“Hey, what the hell?!”

Before Zhao can complain further, Ichiban has found his place between his legs, pressing him against the bed.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, grabbing Zhao’s chin with a hand, sending a shiver across their spine.

“Huh-huh,” Zhao nods, looking at Ichiban with feverish eyes.

Oh god, they’re already get going… and Ichiban would lie if he said that this isn’t having an effect on him as well.

  He kisses Zhao hard, forcing their lips open with his tongue. The objective is to be as overwhelming as possible and, judging by the way Zhao is holding onto him, he must be doing a good job at it.

When they pull away, Zhao’s already panting hard, and his face looks even more debauched with the glasses that are threatening to slip off at any second. Ichiban takes hold of them and puts them aside, so that they won’t risk bending or breaking them - that would certainly be a mood killer.

He licks Zhao’s lips, taking then their lower lip and sucking, before biting it. Zhao gasp, body twitching against Ichiban.

“That all you thought about when you saw me? Kissing me?” they provoke Ichiban then, even though his voice doesn’t sound as confident as they’d like to appear.

In response, Ichiban grabs Zhao’s shirt and rips it open, making the other gasp as buttons come fly all over the place. Zhao doesn’t think he’s ever been so wet in all his life.

  Ichiban’s so glad Zhao didn’t feel like binding today; that thing is always a bitch to take off.

Like this, instead, he can already hold Zhao’s chest in his hands, squeezing it. His fingers are rough when they find Zhao’s nipples, twisting them in a way that makes Zhao whine.

“I-Ichiban…”

This is so different from what Ichiban usually gets to see, or hear, but he’d lie if he said that he doesn’t like it.

He lowers himself so that he can take one of Zhao’s nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking at it like he’s never done before, but when Zhao grabs onto his hair he pulls away, grabbing Zhao’s wrists and forcing them on the sides of their head.

“Stay still,” he orders then, but even after Zhao nods and Ichiban goes back to what he was doing, he still keeps his wrists in his hold. It would be easier to use some rope, or handcuffs - there must be plenty of those in here - but Ichiban has always preferred holding them down with his body, no need for anything else.

“Fuck…” Zhao moans when Ichiban bites down on his nipple, his whole body jolting at the sensation.

Ichiban raises his gaze towards him, and Zhao has to bite his lips to stifle a moan having that heated gaze on him. That, and also he looks so fucking hot while sucking on his tit like that.

If only Ichiban wasn’t between his legs he would try to rub them together, anything to dampen the wet sensation he feels between them. On his part, Ichiban doesn’t seem to care at all, at least for now, focusing only on their chest.

  They test Ichiban’s hold by trying to move his arms, but the other doesn’t budge.

“What did I say?” he scolds them. He usually sounds so gentle and careful, but Zhao hears nothing of that now. How much was he holding back all the times they’ve had sex?

“Sorry…” they mutter, though they don’t really sound that sorry.

Ichiban scowls, but apart from that it seems that Zhao’s apology is enough for him, because he begins kissing a line up to Zhao’s mouth, capturing his lips once again. He at least stops holding Zhao down, but just because he begins slipping his now thorn shirt off, and then going to their waist, thumbs caressing the exposed skin.

At the soft moan that leaves Zhao’s lips, however, they don’t stay still for long, and soon Zhao’s pants and leggings say goodbye as well, getting thrown on the ground with the shirt.

They pull away again, and god if Zhao doesn’t feel like a piece of meat from the way Ichiban’s looking at him. So hungry…

“You’re overdressed,” he points out, instead of saying anything about that.

“So?”

Zhao rolls his eyes. Ichiban has never defied them so much, but he supposes this is what’s fun about what they’re doing today. “C’mon… pretty please?”

It seems that his act does convince Ichiban a little, because he sheds his jacket, and then his shirt, so that Zhao can admire his body. Unfortunately, however, they don’t have enough time to stretch their now free hands to cup his chest because Ichiban drags him forward by the hips so that he’s resting on his knees, open and exposed.

  Ichiban looks down at them, and then a smirk appears on his face.

“Wow, you’re really into this…”

“Huh?” Zhao mutters, confused, but then they realize that there’s must be a pretty big damp spot between his legs. He nervously chuckles then. “Yeah… I am.”

Besides, it’s not like he can’t feel Ichiban getting hard against them. He’s into it as much as he is, and Zhao reminds him by grinding their crotches together, making Ichiban hiss.

It doesn’t last long, however, because soon Ichiban takes back control and pushes Zhao down, holding him still with a hand on their stomach, while with the other he travels down on Zhao’s body, until he reaches his pussy.

The fucker teases his clit just for a moment before lowering his fingers further, down to Zhao’s entrance. At first, he slowly gets only one inside, but seeing how wet Zhao is, he easily slips another one.

He doesn’t bother with being gentle, and thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out, getting the wettest sounds out of Zhao as he does. Holy fuck.

“Yeah… fuck! Ichiiiii!”

“Something tells him you’re liking it…” Ichiban grins, slowing down his movements. “But I bet there’s something you’d like more.”

“God, yeah,” Zhao moans in reply, knowing what Ichiban’s talking about. “Fuck, I need it…”

“Do you? ‘Cause I can keep going like this.” Ichiban twists his fingers up, and Zhao arches his backs against him as a loud moan escapes their lips. Oh yeah there, right there.

Ichiban doesn’t stop, making Zhao edge closer and closer to the orgasm, and all they can do is to hold onto him, scratching his shoulders with his long nails, unable to stop him - not that he wants him to stop. Holy shit it’s so good.

“I’m gonna… Ah!”

They try to warn him that they’re close, that they’re gonna come if he keeps going like that, but Ichiban doesn’t give him the time, going so fast that Zhao reaches the orgasm before he can even finish that sentence. His body tenses up at the sensation, arching and twisting in order to get it to last longer, just a moment longer but then, just like it started, it’s over.

  Ichiban pulls away, and Zhao already misses the feeling of having something inside him, though from the hurried way Ichiban’s unfastening his pants - he doesn’t even bother cleaning his fingers, the idiot - they suppose it won’t be for long.

Indeed, once Ichiban’s as bare as Zhao, he grabs their ankles and pushes them down, on either side of his head. He takes a moment to admire his lover under him, so pretty and flexible, at least until Zhao speaks.

“Again already?”

“You don’t sound upset about it,” Ichiban points out, and he can’t help but to smile, before remembering that he’s not supposed to do that, at least not during this particular occasion.

He distracts himself by kissing Zhao so that they can’t speak anymore, except for a few moans they can’t hold back when he begins to grind his cock against his pussy, getting it wet with all their juices.

He wouldn’t mind getting off like this, if he has to be honest, but he knows how good it feels inside Zhao, and he wants to get back there once again, so he temporarily lets go of one of Zhao’s ankles in order to better guide his cock, holding it as he begins to slide inside. Zhao hisses at the sensation, but otherwise he clenches around Ichiban, almost like he wants to suck him in.

“H-Hey, slow down!” Ichiban exclaims at the sudden stimulation, and he begins to thumb at Zhao’s clit in spite, knowing that it’s still oversensitive.

As predicted, Zhao shouts, body instinctively trying to pull away, but there’s nowhere they can go with Ichiban pressed against him like that, and it’s not like he’s giving him any mercy.

“Fuck! S-Sorry!” they try to apologize, but it still takes a while for Ichiban to stop, leaving Zhao a mess. They feel like a puddle, unable to move a muscle on his own.

  Only when Ichiban begins moving, Zhao manages to get partially out of the state of drowsiness that has been taking over them, body jolting awake at the pounding they’re receiving.

Ichiban’s going completely all out. He even makes the bed rattle with them, hitting the wall countless times. Had they been more coherent, Zhao would’ve wondered if they were going to make a huge hole in it, but with things being as they are, they don’t really care if they do, as longs as Ichiban doesn’t stop.

Usually they’re pretty quiet in bed, but this time they are unable to hold back his voice, moaning and screaming each time Ichiban sinks in. He swears he can feel him get deeper and deeper at each thrust; it’s like he’s drilling him open.

Their vision is cloudy, though it’s hard to tell if it’s just because they’re not wearing his glasses, or if there are some tears that are threatening to run down his face, but Ichiban’s close enough that he can see him pretty decently. He looks focused in a way that Zhao doesn’t think he’s ever seen him.

  Despite the fact that they’ve come recently, Zhao can feel another orgasm building up inside him. Once Ichiban notices - he always begins to tremble when he’s close to coming - he reaches down between his legs again, rubbing his clit with the same roughness from before, but at least it’s had some time to recover, so even though it still hurts a bit, it’s the kind of hurt that Zhao likes.

They feel a bit of drool trickling down their chin, but they don’t have enough strength to lift a finger and do anything about it. Besides, they barely have the time to think about that when Ichiban captures his lips again. It’s obvious by the erratic way he’s moving that he’s close as well.

“Zhao… Can I come inside?”

Zhao almost laughs. Really?

In a way, though, it’s sweet that he still asks.

“Please,” they say then, because he needs it, he needs Ichiban to come inside him so bad.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for his wish to be granted.

God, it feels like Ichiban’s never stopping coming, which in turn tips Zhao well over the edge too, coming with a last shout.

Everything feels intense and not enough at the same time, and Zhao wonders if they've hit their head somehow for him to feel this way. He almost feels feverish.

  Soon Ichiban begins to slow down his movements, until he stills completely. He takes a moment to catch his breath, forehead gently pressed against Zhao’s, then he pulls out, making the other twitch at the sensation of sudden emptiness.

“Fuck…” he very eloquently says then. It makes Zhao chuckle.

“Indeed,” they reply, lazily dragging Ichiban in another kiss, this time softer and much slower than the ones they’ve shared until now.

When they pull away, Ichiban looks at them with badly hidden concern. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“You fuckin’ destroyed me,” Zhao chuckles, but before Ichiban can begin fussing over them, something they’d frankly hate, they continue. “But that’s exactly what I came here for.”

“So it’s fine?”

Zhao nods. “More than fine I’d say.”

  “So… You liked it?”

Zhao raises an eyebrow at him.

“What do you think?” he asks, instead of replying.

After a moment of silence, Ichiban sighs. “Yeah, alright. Dumb question.”

  He lays down close to them, and immediately they drape themselves over him, holding him close. Ichiban hums contentedly, and returns the hug.

All that rough stuff is fine and all, but if he has to be honest, he prefers this “mushy shit” - that’s how Zhao would call it. This is simply how he is as a person, and nothing can change that.

He begins to idly caress Zhao’s back, fingers barely brushing against their naked body.

“Hey,” he says then. “Shouldn’t we take a shower?”

“Gimme a moment,” Zhao replies, voice a bit strained for the effort from before.

Ichiban nods, and waits until Zhao feels good enough that he can get up, because Ichiban knows that’s the problem. He’d offer to carry him, but Zhao would say no and maybe even get offended, so he stays silent.

  It’s not a problem, he can wait a bit.

Actually, with Zhao so close to him, he can wait more than just a bit, as long as they remain here.

“Yeah, take all the time you need.”

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 4.8k

TW: Mentions of death and drugs--specifically from the episode Demonology

A/N: Hey! Just a forewarning, the forensic techniques in this are complete speculation from what I know and they are probably not accurate at all. 

Summary: After starting your new job and getting closer to Spencer, you find yourself having your first fight with your new friend when the anniversary of your mother’s death approaches. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Starting your new job was hard, like all things, but enjoyable. The first few days were learning the ropes and the area and you often came home exhausted, tired from a long day’s work in a lab you were unfamiliar with. The little things were what kept you going. Every day, you made an effort to eat lunch with your father--leftovers or food to go from a nearby restaurant or deli. When your father went away on his case, you spent time with Penelope in her bat cave. It was fun to hang out with her, spouting comedic rhetoric whenever someone called her for advice.

“Please don’t eat near the merchandise, baby, it’s my money maker,” she states, typing away at the speed of light as someone rings in. “Information highway speaking, you’re on speaker with me and the good doctor.”

You snort and let out a small laugh as you silently dig into your takeout box of chow mein.

“The good doctor? I thought that was me,” you hear Spencer speak up from the phone and smile, lifting your chopsticks to your mouth.  

“You’ve been replaced, Dr. Reid. Sorry!” you say before taking another bite of the noodles.

“What are you doing--”

“Stay on track, boy genius. What do you need from me?” Penelope asks and you zone out, not wanting to listen into the details of the gruesome murders they were investigating. While your job sometimes involved dead bodies, you were in fact eating lunch and wanted to keep your lunch down for the rest of the day. After they were finished, you could hear them wrapping up and you inserted a final goodbye.

“Bye Spencer! I’ll see you soon,” you state as the phone beeps to signal that the call has ended. 

“See him soon?” Penelope spins around as she fiddles with a pink pen with a puffball on the end that almost matches the pink blush on your face. 

“I mean I’ll see him when the case ends,” you mumble and toss your takeout box into her trash, taking a sip from your water bottle.

“Hm, I’m sure that’s what you meant,” she smiles and turns back to her computer, typing something up. “If you need any info on him, I can tell you anything you want to know, sweets.”

“I’m not gonna do that, it’s an invasion of privacy,” you stand and check your watch, it’s about time for you to get back to work. “But if anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Other times, when your father was too busy to entertain you, you would eat with the others--or more specifically, Spencer. Travelling up to the sixth floor, you check to see if Spencer is anywhere nearby. When you deduce that he is nowhere near, his plush office chair becomes your new home as you open up your bag and grab the tupperware full of salad while you wait for his arrival. Opening the small container, you poke at the leaves with your fork and make a face when you see that they’re soggy and limp.

“Have a salad today?” he asks as you look at the sad lettuce in your small tupperware container. 

“Yeah. Although, it doesn’t look very appetizing,” you state and put it down on his desk, looking up at the cup of coffee in his hand that looked far more delicious than the monstrosity that was sad salad. 

“Did you know that salad comes from the latin word ‘herba salta’ which means ‘salted herbs,’ so perhaps you don’t have enough salt on your herbs,” he states and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you close the container and put it away. 

“Any more salt and my blood pressure’s gonna be at risk. Wanna grab lunch at the deli?” you ask and stand. He nods as the two of you exit the bullpen, taking the elevator down.

This was your schedule, and you loved it. It didn’t take that long for you to build a good relationship with everyone, constantly checking in on their lives outside of Quantico. Emily was doing well with Sergio, Henry was growing at a rate that JJ couldn’t comprehend, Penelope was still going out with Kevin, and you and Spencer were often found hanging out on the weekends when he wasn’t called away for a case. 

You found it odd how easily you took to Spencer, how his fun facts were always there to brighten up every conversation and his constant pursuit of knowledge was admirable. He took you to his favorite bookstore as well as his favorite used bookstore that he frequented in hopes of finding first editions and original copies. He also would take you to his favorite park, the one that he went to so that he could play chess and he would always win. It wasn’t always about him, though, you loved taking him to go see new movies as opposed to the older and foreign ones that he enjoyed. The two of you also committed to trying new foods together. With his sensory issues and your picky nature, you both embarked on a journey to eat new foods in hopes of finding something new and delicious.

While your new found friendship was almost perfect in the way that you committed yourselves, it too could not come without ups and downs. The first bump came when you helped consult on an unofficial case, something that had happened with Emily’s close friends. It was only a few days before the anniversary for your mother’s death and you were running on fumes.

“Hello?” you ask sharply, pouring over several reports that were due soon. Your temper was short today and you just wanted to go home.

“Hey it’s Spencer. Are you okay?” he asks and you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What do you need?” you sit back in your chair and take a sip of your coffee, attempting to quell your anxieties while he speaks.

“I’m not at Quantico right now, I’m at a victim’s house. His name is Thomas Valentine and he died of dehydration but Emily believes there’s foul play. I’ll have Garcia send over his tox reports along with Matthew Benton’s to see if the pathologist missed anything. We’re on our way back so feel free to meet us upstairs when we debrief,” he says and you nod, writing down the information on a stray post-it note so that you don’t forget. “By the way, your dad says ‘hi.’”

“Tell him I say ‘hi’ back. I’ll meet you upstairs,” you state and hang up the phone, sighing as you run your hands through your hair to release some nervous energy. It was only a few more days and you would be on your day off, it was only a few days until you would be able to visit your mom again.

Just as if she heard it from five floors up, you receive an email from Penelope with the toxicology reports from both victims. A quick skim shows that there is a lack of intense scrutiny due to the simple cause of death. But, if Emily and Spencer believe otherwise then it was in your best interest to assume so as well. Looking into Matthew Benton’s report, there was evidence of long-term methamphetamine abuse which could contribute to the death but nothing out of the ordinary. It was only midday and you were running out of steam but your friends needed you so you had to pull it together.

After printing out all the information you have and stashing it in a folder, you make your way up to the bullpen and watch people rushing around. The busyness and chatter made you a bit woozy but the sight of Spencer helped to ground out a bit. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be here,” he frowns as he sees you approach and you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I just want to help out in any way I can,” you mumble and move past him toward the conference room where almost everyone was gathered. Once Hotch arrived, they began to pour over details and possibilities within this pseudo-case. 

Listening intently, you take note of the evidence as it is laid out for you, the scuff marks under the bed, the missionary church in Spain that the two victims had visited, the idea that each family had been highly religious. Years of going to church in France and D.C. were being brought back in an instant. 

“That sounds like an exorcism,” you blurt out and look up to see everyone staring at you. It was odd to hold their attention but you nestled down in your chair and continued to listen. 

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there’s nothing more open to behavioral interpretation than religion,” Derek comments.

“Meaning what?” Emily asks, shaking her head.

“I think it’s dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths,” he states.

“Wait, was Thomas’ wife religious?” Emily frowns and looks around at your father. 

“She was concerned that he had been cursing God,” your father recalls as Spencer dives into an inference. 

“Exorcism ritual can take days to complete. It’s possible the stress induced could cause a heart attack, especially in someone with a history of drug abuse,” he explains and looks at you. 

“Definitely, drugs leave marks on your body that are irreversible unless you completely stop. It makes an impact on your hair growth, your skin, your heart, so it’s completely plausible. And it could explain how someone died of dehydration,” the facts fly so fast through your head as you try to connect the dots while you speak, your head spinning. Even a couple minutes in the conference room was overwhelming, you couldn’t imagine doing this all the time.  

“Guys, look, I’m willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualizes killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe. But, right now, we don’t even know if we have a crime yet,” Derek voices his concerns and you slowly nod, thinking about how you could help to clear up any room for error. It was possible if you were able to look at the bodies and examine them that you may have the ability to try and see if there were any other traces of possible deadly substances. 

“Morgan’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories,” your father suggests and everyone appears to take this as time to cool off and rethink any possibilities, standing and leaving the room to follow their own leads. Dread settles in your chest as you sit in the chair, looking down at the folder to find any piece of information that could help you come to a conclusion but the words were flying around in your head and you felt too sluggish to do anything. 

“Do you think that you can get me the victim’s clothing? Perhaps something was done to them topically that would explain their deaths further,” you stand and sigh, already dreading going back to your reports. 

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be our lunch break,” he says and smiles. While his smiles usually have the power to brighten your entire day, your sour mood only extinguished any fire of joy inside your body.

“I have too much to do, just go on without me,” you respond and begin walking out of the conference room. You can already feel Spencer’s pestering bubbling up and wanting to know what’s wrong but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Are you sure? Studies have shown that taking breaks help boost blood flow and information retention--”

“I’m sure, Spencer,” you snap and continue walking toward the elevators before he reaches out and grabs your arm to stop you.

“What’s going on? Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“God, I’m fine Spencer! Stop babying me, you’re not my dad,” all the emotion that had been building up in the morning spilled out in anger and your heart shattered to see Spencer so confused and sad. “I’m sorry.”

Stepping into the elevator, you press the button to go down and watch the doors close in front of you, not looking anywhere in the direction of Spencer. The fluorescent lights above you suddenly look far too bright and tears well in your eyes. What would your mother say if she could see you now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be angry? A vibration in your pocket breaks you out of the self-loathing spiral.

From Dad (12:24PM):

I think you just about broke this kid’s heart.

To Dad (12:25PM):

I didn’t mean to. It’s just so close.

From Dad: (12:25PM):

Just tell him. He’ll understand.

To Dad (12:26PM):

I know. I love you.

As you sit at your desk and stare at the papers, your mind moves on autopilot to complete the rest of your tasks. With only two cups of coffee in your system, your head was starting to hurt and your focus was fizzing but when Spencer came back with a couple bags full of clothing to be processed, the guilt overpowered any feeling of fatigue.

“I brought the evidence. Just send the report to Garcia,” he states and drops the bag off at your desk before turning to leave. 

“Hey, Spencer?” he turns to look at you, his eyes narrowed as you speak. “I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

“I could have told you that, and I’m not even a medical doctor,” he mutters and sighs. The air between you is stale and you want to speak, but don’t know what to say.

“Do you want to stay and help me process the evidence? It’ll only take a little bit,” you ask, your voice small. He appears to ponder the thought before nodding and you smile, standing and taking the evidence over to one of your machines. This was where you thrived. While you worked in silence, it was comforting to have Spencer around, even if the two of you were still on rocky ground. 

You first started with isolating the fabric and the substances on the clothing. From there, you take them and test what they are to see if there are foreign substances that may have contributed to the deaths of Matthew Benton and Thomas Valentine. Processing goes quickly and you print out the report, frowning at the traces of nerve agent on the clothing.

“There’s sarin on their clothing,” you tell him and hand over the papers for him to read through. 

“Thanks,” he mutters and stands to leave. 

“Are we okay?” you ask him, watching him turn as you wrap your arms around your torso in a comforting way, warming your hands from the cold lab.

“Obviously not, if you’re not telling me something,” he puts down the folder and comes up to you, reaching out to take your hands. It was a bit of a shock, considering the fact that you knew he hated touching hands, but it was progress and it made your heart melt to think that he would feel safe enough to do so. “I know something’s wrong and I want to help you, but you’re not being honest with me.” 

“I just haven’t eaten, Spence. And I’m under the weather, which doesn’t help. I promise that I’ll be okay,” you tell him, staring up into his eyes and speaking with as much truth as you can. But it wasn’t convincing enough and he pulls away as if you just burned him.

“I guess you don’t trust me, then,” he mumbles and turns around, picking up the folder and getting into the elevator. As the doors close, he stares back at you like he was disappointed and it completely broke you. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as your chest bubbles with anxiety and sorrow. You find a seat at your desk and desperately try to wipe the tears away, breathing in deeply to calm yourself down. You were still at work and you still had work to do. 

Quickly, you dive back into your reports, writing them up as quickly as possible and pushing Spencer to the back of your mind. Before you know it, the end of the day comes and you’re out of the building and on the metro at record speed. The vibration of the wheels rolling over the tracks lulls you into a sense of security, distracting you from the pangs in your stomach. Without the distraction of work, your mind was able to wander.

Was it fair for you to hide this from Spencer? Why did you? Why did you need to keep this secret so badly?

Perhaps it was the years of being on your own after her death or the fact that showing sadness was opening yourself up to vulnerability and connection that you feared. Perhaps it was both, you didn’t have many friends in grad school and only talked to your dad once every blue moon. The thought of being a burden was unbearable, but losing Spencer was unfathomable. You could deal with a little bit of vulnerability if it meant getting your friend back. 

Your legs guide you home once you reach your stop and you reheat some rice and add some soy sauce to make something that is edible and that you can keep down without issue. After eating, you shower and head to bed, falling asleep the second that you hit the pillow. 

The next day, your alarm jars you out of a dreamless sleep, shaking you from a night that felt far too short. Your entire body was fatigued and your brain was a mess, but it was your last day at work before you got the day off. As you got ready and out the door, your phone was blowing up with information sent by Penelope and Emily. There was another death and they needed you to analyze the clothing of the third victim to confirm that nerve agent was being used to kill these men. 

One you reach the office, you sit down and begin writing as you await the evidence. If you worked quick enough and finished the reports, you would be able to go home early. The fog in your brain makes it hard to focus as you work on more write ups, the words barely forming sentences, but you force yourself to persevere through lunch. Late in the afternoon, Spencer appears again with the evidence bag you need to process.

“Just send the report to Penelope when you’re done,” he states and turns back around to get into the elevator but you stand and pipe up.

“Can we talk?” you ask, hoping and praying that he would let you speak. 

“I don’t know, can we? Because you seemed pretty adamant about keeping secrets from me last time we tried to talk,” he mumbles as he turns to look at you, his eyes dark and full of storm clouds. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, trying to find the right words so that your thoughts form coherent sentences. “I’m bad at talking about what’s plaguing me. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s a start.”

You want to say ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, but it wasn’t an explanation and he deserved at least that.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” his frown almost vanishes from his face as you speak which makes you feel a hint of encouragement to keep talking. “And I’ve always dealt with it alone. Maybe because I don’t let myself handle it any other way, but I hope that you’re able to understand. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Staring down at the ground, you will the tears to stay in your eyes so that you can keep up some image of togetherness, but they fall as quickly as they form. Suddenly his arms are wrapped around you and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. This was him accepting your apology and you suddenly felt like you could breathe. You worm your arms around his torso and pull him close, allowing yourself to take in all of him. The smell of his cologne, the feeling of muscles as they squeeze you tight, the fact that his hands were intertwined behind your back and his head was settled on top of yours. 

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles and you pull away slightly to look up at him. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

He pauses as he also stumbles over his words.

“But, I’m glad you did.”

You let out a sigh and hug him tight again, wanting to memorize the way his arms felt around you. After another long hug, you pull away and wipe your nose, shaking your head as you look over at the evidence bag. 

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll get to processing your clothes now,” you mumble and let out a light laugh as you wash your hands and ready the evidence, processing the substances on his clothing. Beside you, Spencer leans against the wall and watches silently. It’s a bit nerve wracking to have someone watching you the way that he does, with bright eyes and attentive body language, but you do your best to explain it to him as the machine brings up the results. 

“Nerve agent, it’s sarin,” you turn to him. “Go tell them.”

He nods and picks up the newly printed report.

“I’ll come get you afterward,” he promises. “We can ride the train together.”

“There’s no need, I’m going home now. Just text me,” you smile up at him as he nods and takes your hand, squeezing it one last time before leaving.

You feel lighter now, like you lifted a rock off your chest. It was a burden, keeping secrets, but now you could feel a little bit better. After writing up all the procedural stuff on how you processed the evidence, you pack your bag and head to the metro. When you’re on the train, you get a text from Spencer telling him that they caught the priest and he was being deported back to Italy. 

To Spencer (7:45PM):

I’m glad.

From Spencer (8:01PM):

Do you want me to come over?

To Spencer (8:02PM):

No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.

When you finally arrive at your stop, you easily find your way home. There was still sadness lingering, it was getting to be that time, but you had Spencer and that was enough. Getting home and getting to bed is a quick ordeal after you eat something and drink way too much wine to try and drown your sorrows and quiet your mind. The same days every year, you take a couple off so that you can mourn the loss of your mother and visit her grave. It was almost like a way to pretend that she was alive, even if just for a day. You had a lot to tell her after everything that’s happened, but it still didn’t help the fact that she was gone forever. 

Waking up the next morning is rough, it feels like a train plowed into you after a night of tears shed and one too many glasses of wine as you reminisced. Looking at your phone on this bright Friday morning, you see that you’ve managed to sleep in pretty significantly, but at least it was still technically morning. Waiting for you are a text from your father and a text from Spencer.

From Dad (6:00AM): 

Chin up, tesoro. Your mother loved you very much, she would be proud of everything you accomplished. 

From Spencer (7:02AM):

Do you want to get dinner after work?

From Spencer (7:34AM):

Where are you?

From Spencer (8:01AM):

Let me know what I can do.

The blanket of isolation took over you as you slowly began your morning routine, slowly being the key word. While Spencer knew, you didn’t know what to do now. This was uncharted territory for you and while you knew you weren’t alone, you had also never mourned with another person besides time spent at your mother’s funeral. Perhaps another year, another time. He was only just your friend. 

After you throw on comfy clothes and brush your teeth, you put your hair up so that it’s out of your face and eat some cereal--something easy and virtually effortless. Once you finish, you make a mental note of what you’re going to pick up at the store before heading to the cemetery to spend time with your mom. Throwing on a coat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you punch in the security code and open the door to see Spencer there.

“Spencer? What are you doing here, it’s only like two,” you frown and close your apartment door behind you, locking it with your keys.

“I finished up all my paperwork so I took a half day and I wanted to cheer you up,” he states as you look up at him. “Maybe we can watch some Star Wars or that vampire movie you always talk about.”

“I’m going to visit my mom,” you tell him.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll go then,” he says and begins to turn and walk away but you pipe up before he can get too far.

“Why don’t you come with me?” you ask. He was already here and he wanted to help you feel better. His presence alone was grounding, reminding you of what you had and not of what you lost. 

“Are you sure?” he asks and you nod, walking up next to him.

“She would have loved you,” you almost reach out and take his hand before you realize what you’re about to do. “Can--Can I hold your hand?”

You’re almost positive he’s going to say no. After all, you know he has issues with germs and sensory issues, the day before being a special occasion because you had broken down crying in front of him. But, when he nods and holds out his hand, you feel your heart flutter. The two of you make your way downstairs in a comfortable silence and the warmth of Spencer’s hand in yours is comforting. As you exit the elevator and make your way out onto the street, the cold D.C. air is refreshing.

Together you walk to the local grocery store to grab some food and flowers, daffodils, which were your mother’s favorite. After, you ride the metro down near the cemetery. This whole time, the presence of Spencer is enough to distract you from the ever present cloud looming over your head, but when you finally walk through the cemetery’s gate, all hell breaks loose. 

When Spencer hears you sob, he instantly wraps his arms around you. The floodgates open and you softly sob into his chest, your arms wrapped around him in a vice. Your heart hurts, you miss your mother. She should have been alive to see all the accomplishments, to see your wedding and your second graduation. It’s times like these where you wonder if anything could have been done, if you could have seen the symptoms sooner or if you could have found another doctor, but your father always reminds you that you did everything in your power to help her and that she would have been proud of the person you were today. 

Once your sobs subside, you sniffle and pull away to wipe your nose. 

“Sorry for crying on you,” you huff out a small laugh and try to wipe away some of the snot that got on him while you cried.

“It’s okay, I understand,” he says and you sit down on the blanket, Spencer sitting next to you and helping to lay out the food. 

“Hey mom,” your voice breaks a little and you clear your throat before turning to Spencer. “This is Spencer and he works with dad. He’s my best friend.”

You smile at him as he turns and waves at her headstone. The notion is so heartwarming that you feel the tears rise up again.

“Hi Ms. Montgomery, your daughter is one of the best people I know,” he says as you begin to eat cheese and crackers from the charcuterie board.

“He works in the same building I do, I got the job at Quantico. I know that FBI agents and you don’t mix very well but I enjoy my job and they have all these new machines for me to play with,” you lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder and continue talking as he wraps an arm around you instinctively. As the two of you sit there and pick at the food, continuing to talk about your mom and your fondest memories, there’s a part of you that wishes it could be like this always. Maybe you didn’t have to always hide your sadness and spend it in isolation. And just maybe, there was always a rainbow after a storm.

[rpausandwhatifs]

Dream Interpretation|| Matt's Moments~ Kinktober 2021 Day 3

CW: Somnophilia

The man had gotten invited by a long time friend, someone he'd been spending a lot of time with, to come over. He took those familiar walks to the residence halls where all the non-Greek students were, thinking of if he really could live on campus with those kids instead of on Greek Row. The girl, Alex, was into everything he was into. They had been staying up late talking about life and their life outside of this school. She seemed so into him, but he never wanted to make things too awkward for fear of rejection.

He tried to focus on their connection, the time they were having, and how it felt like a nice change of pace. Alex explained that she had been moving away from her problems after being in a long term relationship with her high school sweetheart. They laughed about good times they had with their exes, until he noticed the girl get teary and sat and comforted her.

Matt wasn't sure how it happened, but he kissed Alex on the head, trying to be there for someone, but it's not where his lips stayed. She pulled him close and they fell onto each other, making out for hours until they fell asleep.

Matt was having a dream he had only had when he first started to like girls, truly understanding why he loved women in the first place. It was a mystic forrest with illuminated drooping leaves and branches and grass that giggled. He saw all the little nymphs running and flying between the trees, giggling the whole way. They kept telling him to follow them, so he followed.

Matt was sleeping peacefully while Alex rested on his body, her eyes glued to the TV as she filled her mind with what else could happen if they had just kept going. She wasn't trying to wish anything but she did think that maybe he was willing to break out of his shell somehow.

She turned the TV off and turned over, Matt's hands following her as she laid on her side and pulling her close. She felt so safe and comfortable, like they had been dating for years. She drifted off to sleep rather quickly. She was met with this dream that she was at his place on Greek Row, she wasn't sure what she was doing but they were in the editing bays while Matt worked. She was sent a saucy message before she got here that specifically said for her not to wear any panties.

Alex didn't know what was planned until he called on her after he was finished and offered to show her what all the equipment did and how to use it if she ever wanted to come up here or if she needed to use the space. He stood close behind her, showing her the ways that she could cut together her videos. She felt his hands on her body, and it felt so real having his fingers curve around her hips. He slid a devious hand up her skirt and kissed her neck, again feeling too real for her. She gasped as she could feel his hardness through his jeans, but it didn't feel like he was wearing any at all.

Matt had woken up to Alex pushing her back against him even though he was holding her. He smirked and assumed she was trying to do something that they didn't get to do before he slept. "Alex..." he said quietly, wondering if she's still awake, but was met with a sleepy moan and another push. He held her as close as she wanted, knowing that mornings weren't exactly the time to be cuddling that close.

Back in her dream, Alex arched her back as Matt left hickies on her neck.

Matt never made a decision like this before but he wanted to see if maybe giving her what she wanted would be a pleasant surprise for her. He slid his fingers into her sleep shorts, surprised that he didn't feel any bands for underwear, and slid them down just pay her ass. He snaked his hands along her sides and gripped her beasts, allowing her to writhe and moan against him. He tried her name again, but nothing came back this time, just her hips pushing back into his. He breathed then reached between them to position himself, then push slowly into her.

Alex woke up slow, her eyes fluttering as she could see daylight breaking from her curtains. She felt like telling Matt about her dream if she still wasn't in it. She felt so wet from the dream that she thought maybe this was a sign for them to take things further, until she felt herself being filled and covered her mouth to hide her slutty moan. She was shocked at how big he was and thought she was still dreaming. His thrusts were long and slow to start, his arm wrapping around her waist. "M-matt~" She whimpered.

"Good morning to you too," Matt said with a gruff morning voice into her neck, which Alex couldn't resist. She knew this wasn't a dream, but she was afraid to wake up fully just in case. "You ok?"

"S-so deep..." she managed as he slid in and out of her faster, her breath caught in her throat. She threw her head back into his chest as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

"Just how I like it," he smirked, picking up speed and holding her tight. Alex pulled her arm up to keep his head on her neck while she felt herself get closer. She fell apart when his arm stopped holding her waist and his fingers crept down and played with her folds, she couldn't help herself. "Nice and tight and wet for me," he said, feeling his arm being scratched while the other held her hand.

"Oh God~ I'm cumming, I'm cumming, please Daddy~ can I cum?" She begged, feeling so full and so ready to spill all over him.

Matt was pleasantly alerted when Alex called him daddy, but before he could respond, he felt her tighten around him, her head falling back as she groaned in ecstasy. He felt more friction as he thrust and paused deep inside as she finished, "I didn't get to tell you if you could cum."

"Ah~... I'm sorry..I couldn't help it... you cock is huge and it's so deep...can I have more, please...I wanna cum all over your cock, get me pregnant, I don't care.." Alex said.

Matt was thinking once she said that, pulling as far out as he could before pushing back in, feeling her wetness at his base. "Cream on my cock like this and I'll definitely get you pregnant... don't ask me if you can cum, cum all over this cock princess." He began pounding her relentlessly, pushing her to orgasm after orgasm until he got close enough, pulling her tight as he reached his climax, panting with a small growl in her ear that left her shaking.

Alex pulled away and pulled her shorts up feeling her wetness spill into them. "Oh my god, Matt.." she giggled tired lying.

"Oh my god Alex, how dare you try to fuck me in your sleep?" Matt joked.

"I was asleep... until you started fucking me!" She pointed out, blushing, "I was already dreaming about it and then you just... made it 100 times better."

"Glad I could help," he laughed, putting his arms behind his head, "If you wanted dick, you could have asked."

"Honestly, I was scared...I didn't even think you wanted to makeout.." she said, playing with a stand of hair.

"And now look at you.. fully rested and full of my cum... it’s a nice look on you.. what were you dreaming about me for?" He asked.

"We were hanging out and you were showing me how to edit and you told me to come over with no panties on and then you fucked me..." she explained, "I woke up when I came the first time. I totally thought I was dreaming still."

"Alex, you already know how to edit," Matt scoffed.

"Yeah but I don't know how to use your editing bay.. I've never been, Matt," she said.

"I can show you.. and the no panties idea sounds nice too.." he smirked, leaning down to kiss her lips, "Go take a shower babe."

"Can I just... stay for a little longer? I wanna feel your cum inside for a little longer~" She said biting her lip.

"Aw that's cute... you have a breeding kink... but go take a shower," Matt demanded.

[ddarker-dreams]

In Passing. Yan Shigaraki x Reader [COMM]

“It sure is getting worse around here, huh?” 

A dejected sigh leaves your lips as you glance down at your screen, news alert notifications weighing down your soul further. This area of Japan isn’t renowned for being a safe haven, yet it was never this bad. Seeing the area you’ve called home your entire life deteriorating is a frightening experience, making you wonder if it’d be easier to move. 

Moving sounds nice in theory. When it comes to bringing your thoughts in fruition, too many outstanding obstacles stand in the way. Having to find a new job, a new place, your lease that stated you’d pay rent on this apartment for another six months, and having to move away from all your friends. These factors are what you remind yourself of when you entertain the thought of going elsewhere. 

There are more news alerts, your phone vibrating in your pocket.

“League of Villains confirmed to be behind the latest attacks.” 

“Heroes from all prefectures are being called in to deal with new threats.” 

“Mayor to enact 8 PM curfew to mitigate casualties.” 

The final flashing headline feels like the last nail in the coffin. There’s no denying the extremity of the situation in your prefecture, but isn’t this a little extreme? For such an intense measure, it’s being enforced on the same day as the announcement. You make a note to yourself to check in with your nearby friends to make sure they’ve made it home safely. 

Life as you know it is changing, in a way you don’t appreciate.  

This is headache inducing. The clock now is set an hour before curfew, leaving you with some options. While it might be wiser to stay at home, an inner craving for sweets is gnawing at you from within. Your everyday schedule has been hectic, leaving no room to breathe. It couldn’t hurt to treat yourself with some desserts, and the place you’re thinking of is less than ten minutes away. 

Significant incidents thus far haven’t been within thirty minutes of you. You’ll be fast, it can’t hurt to try. Having sweets to hold you over a few days is a tempting concept that you give into with ease. 

Heroes are being sent in from everywhere in Japan, it’s only a matter of time before the dust settles. According to news anchors, at least. You’ll choose to have faith in their words, and not worry more than necessary.

With a newfound pep in your step, you grab your bag and head towards the door. This is just the thing you need, a small pick me up. Maybe you can grab some extras for your coworkers, everyone has been on edge lately. Nothing a little chocolate can’t fix. 

Still keeping an eye out for any suspicious behavior, you keep your guard up. Fewer people are on the streets, as to be expected. Some shops are even closing earlier in anticipation of the later curfew. The sight of this instills you with a new sense of vigor, picking up your pace in hopes of making it in time. If they close right when you get there, it’d be beyond disappointing. 

The typical bustling sounds of life from Japan are dying down, saved for your own footsteps against the cement and passing cars. People are taking this more seriously than you envisioned, cooping up in their residence even an hour before they need to. Lack of fellow humans in your vicinity is an unnerving sensation, your muscles going taut. Shutters are being closed, doors locked, like the calm before the storm. 

After a moment of thinking, you decide it might be best to head back. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Even if it means missing out on chocolate truffles. There are other ways you can treat yourself, your mind going to that. A movie night wouldn’t be a bad idea, maybe making some popcorn to accompany it. Making the best from a dire situation is what keeps you from falling apart at the seams. 

The opportunity to turn on your heels is stolen from you.

A flying blur suddenly slams into the sidewalk in front of you, earning a horrified gasp from your person. Startled, you back up, lips quivering and head darting around frantically for more information. The sickening crunching sound reverberates within your head, bile rising to your throat. 

The person in front of you is wearing a distinct hero uniform, tattered and caked in blood. Mind overflowing with desperate thoughts, you consider your options. From what you’re able to gather, he’s clearly physically hurt. Incapable of even lifting up his own weight without stumbling down again. 

A local hero from the looks of it, his name escaping you. Doing a double take, there’s no danger that you can spot. Heart pounding rapidly within the confines of your chest, you make a hesitant approach, lending your hand in assistance. 

“A-are you okay? Here, let me help you up,” you stutter out, uncertain of the best course of action. He coughs up blood, unlikely registering your existence next to him. “Oh, uh, okay, let me get help. I’ll call an ambulance--” 

“Run.” 

It’s a low gurgle, the scent of iron hanging in the air like a death sentence. You shiver, sensing the impending doom within his single utterance. From the depths of his being, a frenzied plea managed to leave his bruised mouth. It’s only now you see how mangled his body is, open wounds spilling pools of blood onto the ground.

He’s not going to make it at this rate. From what you’ve read in the past, and seeing the rapid blood less, it’s only a matter of time before he goes into shock. It’s a miracle that he’s even incapable of offering a single word to you, one that goes beyond your understanding. Surely there’s no one around, not that you can see. He must’ve been thrown from the thrall of battle, ending up here on the outskirts. 

What takes priority is getting this dying young man help. Ignoring his warning, you get your phone, dialing the emergency number with shaky hands. Smoke begins to rise in the distance, sirens getting louder and causing your head to swirl. The line continues to ring, each second feeling like centuries apart. 

It’s taking the operator forever to pick up, are they being overwhelmed with calls? Whatever is happening elsewhere must be a nightmare for you to not be able to reach any help. 

The hero next to you crawls forward, body shaking violently and rapidly losing strength. He clutches your ankle, a shriek leaving your lips at the unexpected sensation. 

Without wasting any time, he repeats his earlier warning, wheezing through labored breaths. “You… you need… to run.” 

A hero’s job is to protect the public from harm. Even as he lays here, presumably moments away from the pearly gates, he insists on helping you. It didn’t get through to you before, your mind wrapped up in the moment and concern for helping him. As painful as it is to realize it, he’s not going to make it. Not at the rate he’s going, numerous wounds marring his body. 

Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you try calling for an ambulance again while walking away. He slumps down, believing that you’re finally heeding his warning to flee. 

It all happens faster than you can register. 

Hazy colors surround him from behind, a foreboding image. Stemming from the ground and swirling their way up, dark blacks and purples mix together to reveal a nightmare from the gates of hell. It takes form into a more human shape, eyes devoid of emotion and narrowing at the sight of you. Stepping out alongside him is a hunched over figure, detached hands covering his body.

Your blood runs cold. Lips part, not a sound leaving them as you intended. It’s impossible to scream, to run, to think. Adrenaline pumps throughout your blood vessels, fight or flight response activating. Too little too late, your vulnerable self surrounded by villains. 

This is what he was warning you about. At the time you didn’t consider your well being to be in jeopardy, no threats nearby. Now, materializing in front of you, stands two overarching people capable of ending your life. 

Or worse. 

Your only saving grace is that their attention is set on the nearly lifeless hero in front of you. A pale hand reaches out towards his neck, skin making contact. In a way that shouldn’t be possible, his once ruddy skin crumbles away like sand onto the ground. The sight manages to shake you up enough to scream, backing up with shaky legs. 

Alerting them to your presence serves to be your downfall, even if they would’ve noticed you eventually. The hand covered figure looks up at you, head tilting to the side. Through your paralyzed state, you pick up on more of his physical features. Tousled silver hair, hunched over posture, a black hoodie… it strikes a chord within your memory, a name leaving your lips before you can bite your tongue.

“Shigaraki, is that…?” 

He flinches at your tentative tone. The fog hovering over your mind clears, giving you a moment of unwanted realization. Shigaraki is a distinct person within your mind, one that you never characterized as a villain, much less a killer. Finishing that young man’s life without hesitation, donning a fittingly morbid outfit. 

Your initial interpretation was that Shigaraki isn’t a people’s person. By chance or fate, a few months prior, you had run into him at your job. He had trouble maintaining eye contact with you, voice guttural and uncertain. When you recommended a specialty drink to him, much to your surprise, he accepted it. 

That was the insignificant start of your quaint friendship. 

Despite first appearances, he was enjoyable to be around. You two ended up exchanging numbers after having more run-ins, discovering your shared interests. He preferred to listen to you speaking rather than leading conversations, still feeling comfortable enough to offer his input. 

Not many people were like Shigaraki. He felt like a breath of fresh air, someone who didn’t mince his words. You recall the times he’d tell you how it is, never being one to blend in with the popular opinion. For that, you respected him. Even if you didn’t see eye to eye on everything, his passion and knowledge on subjects was inspiring. 

You felt special, getting as close to him as you did. Many had tried and failed where you had succeeded. It didn’t make sense why he seemed partial to you, yet you never questioned him. A blooming bond formed, tended by your considerate hands. 

Only one aspect struck you as odd. While indulging in your own personal life, Shigaraki vehemently refused to extend the same courtesy. Knowledge of his job or family was nonexistent. It isn’t easy for everyone to talk about -- you assumed at the time -- so you never pushed the sensitive subject. 

Now that leads you to this position. 

“W-what… this, no… this can’t be you! You just,” you gulp back a lump forming in your throat, the word not wanting to come out. “You just killed him! Why?” 

He approaches you. Your prior words are met with a wave of regret, your tongue in usage before you could stifle it. For the lack of hesitation used in offering this hero, it’s natural to assume he’d have no trouble disposing of you too. There’s no way you’ll allow yourself to fall victim without putting up some form of a fight. 

There’s subtle hesitation in his approach. Or are you imagining things…? 

“No, this isn’t right!” 

It’s Shigaraki’s voice, clear as day. His tone accentuates how troubled he is, his fingers scraping the sensitive flesh of his neck. You wince at the sight, streaks of blood coming into fruition from his distressed action. Now towering over you, a silent stand off begins. The tension in the air is palpable enough to cut through it with a knife. Looking down at what little remains of the hero, you feel a new sense of resolve. His final wish, his final plea, was for you to run. Selflessly, instead of thinking out for himself, he urged you to safety.

You won’t let his sacrifice be in vain. No matter what it takes, you’ll get out of this. 

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you take in the situation. Shigaraki is in a similar confused state as you, mumbling under his breath and planning what to do with you. The next few seconds will be critical, time a luxury you can’t afford to waste. With the influx of heroes coming into this area to fend off the attacks, there’s a chance one might be chasing him down now.

It’s not a reliable enough idea. Fighting against two isn’t plausible either, given the gap in your strength. The best option is to run when there’s an opening. You know this area fairly well, and flagging down a passerby for help could be the ticket out of this. Readying yourself to sprint at any second, you stare Shigaraki down. 

“Shigaraki Tomura, what do you want to do with this person?” The foggy apparition from behind speaks up, earning both of yours attention. For a brief instance, Shigaraki turns his head around towards the source of the question. His uncertainty will be his downfall. 

‘This is my chance!’ 

Conjuring every ounce of your strength into your legs, you run. Feet hitting the ground with swiftness, heart pounding violently. The world around you is a blur, primal emotions taking over to flee this deadly scenario. None of the potential consequences matter, having dipped too far to pull back. It doesn’t come as a surprise when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind, the threat serving to keep you on high alert. 

Out of breath, you continue to look around for any potential help. No one is out on the streets at this time, so running is all that can be done. Your chest is heaving for air, legs burning and face flushed. Energy rapidly draining, your speed wavers. It won’t be much longer until whoever is chasing you -- be it that fog creature or Shigaraki -- is capable of killing you. 

Right as you think this, you turn a sharp corner into an alleyway. It’s a familiar area, your only advantage. This area leads to the backyard of some houses, if you jump the fence you might be able to wave down help. Brimming with potent determination, you prepare to spring up and bounce over the wiry fence growing closer to you. 

It’s claustrophobic in this area, brick walls and either side of you tight and restricting. Taking a deep breath to brace yourself, you jump up, hands clutching to the fence. Not bothering to spare a glance behind you at your pursuer, you utilize all your energy. Hoisting yourself over the top of the fence with shaky arms, you huff after accomplishing your goal. Dropping back down onto the ground on the other side. 

Only to be met by the hazy figure, Shigaraki coming out with him. 

You’re completely cornered. Looking side to side, no other people are in sight. The rush of adrenaline is diminishing at a frightening pace, droplets of sweat running down the sides of your face. Wiping your mouth with your hand, you glare up at the imposing duo. 

“Stop running.” Shigaraki hisses at you from behind his mask, tone irate. All of your actions are under close scrutiny, the wrong move being a death sentence. He stalks closer to you, limiting any further chances at escape. 

“Kurogiri. We’ll bring them back with us.” 

You and the person whose name is presumably Kurogiri look at Shigaraki in shared confusion. 

“Hurry up. I don’t have all day.” 

Broken free from your stunned stupor, you protest. “Wait!”  

Darkness wins over light, bewitching you in its macabre beauty. Your fingers, your arms, your legs, all of it is surrounded by shades of monochrome. Floating along into the unknown, sunlight is stolen. The walls are now made of concrete, bars on the windows. Wherever this is, it won’t be easy to escape. The crumbling environment brings with it a sense of dread.

Kurogiri’s quirk must allow the ability to transport, or something similar. It’s the only logical explanation. 

Shigaraki doesn’t look back at your other guest again. “Leave us.” 

The statement isn’t meant for you. Shigaraki takes a seat on the ground, giving an opportunity for you to gain your bearings. Panicking won’t help you, acting careful is in your best interest. Silence fills the air, eating away at you from within. 

You take the opportunity to speak up, not sure if you want to know the answer to your question. “So, what’s going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know.” 

That’s far from reassuring. Hostile intent isn’t anywhere to be found, so you continue to test the boundaries of your luck. Shigaraki isn’t in control of his feelings, it’s possible to capitalize off of that. If you say the wrong thing, it could also be your undoing. A double edged sword. Flurries of emotion swirl within you, ranging from despair to hope. It isn’t too late for you to get out of this. 

Deescalating the tense atmosphere is the first step in your plan. 

“For you to be doing this,” you purse your lip, successfully gaining Shigaraki’s attention. “There must be some… grander reason, right?” 

‘Get him talking. Identify a weak spot and go from there.’

Your question has the opposite effect on him, Shigaraki growing visibly restless. Shuffling his weight around and considering the merit of your words. It’s good you’re incapable of seeing his face right now, the deranged expression a sign of his unhinged mood. 

Shigaraki grimaces behind his mask, lips set in a snarl. “I hate heroes. You know that.” 

He’s mentioned it in the past. The hatred he speaks of never bordered on murderous intent, a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Everyone has their reasons, it still doesn’t justify their actions. Admonishing him might be a risky move, so you think of a neutral approach. 

“Shigaraki, I don’t think you’re a bad person.” you tell him, not certain if it’s a lie or not. Getting him to open up and lower his guard is the best action you can see for the time being. He hums lowly at your statement, not giving it too much thought. An uncomfortable silence settles in between the two of you.

Is he planning on holding you here as a hostage? 

“Say something.” Shigaraki speaks up, shooting you a look. When you spent time with him before, it was filled with talking and laughter. Replicating that sense of normalcy now feels absurd, yet you give it your best shot. 

Swallowing thickly, you hug your knees close to your chest. “I was thinking about texting you earlier.” 

The chaos that surrounded your home had you disturbed. Shigaraki never struck you as the fighting type, shying away from human interaction outside of you. Even the suggestion to meet your other friends was immediately shot down without remorse. So to think he’s capable of murdering someone in cold blood… it causes you to shiver. 

It’s impossible to ever really know someone. 

“What for?” he inquires, interest piqued. Behind the mask, his voice is muffled. Facial reactions gave away insights of the soul, exposing a person at their most vulnerable. In this state, he must be too ashamed to show you his face. Or you could be imagining things, a plausible explanation given the extreme circumstances. 

Honesty is the best policy when you’re in doubt. “To check in on you.” 

“So you care, then?” 

You open your mouth, only to close it once more. His posture is rigid, voice pointed. There isn’t a broad physical gap between you two, the same can’t be said for your emotional distance. Months spent weaseling into Shigaraki’s life crumble in between your fingertips, too fine to catch. He must feel this way too. 

Indignation is sparked within you. “Care...? Of course I cared. You are -- no, were -- important to me. How do you expect me to feel now that I’ve seen you murder someone?” 

As your sentence goes on, your voice grows in volume. Nostrils flaring and fingernails puncturing the skin of your hand, all caution is thrown to the wind. The audacity to question you like that, after all the effort you put into your relationship is offensive. 

Shigaraki doesn’t take your piercing words laying down. “There’s no reason to care for trash like that.” 

His version of the earlier events is a wickedly twisted one, remorse nonexistent. Being next to him is stifling, your brain shouting at you to get away. Antagonizing him further should be the last thing you do, yet you can’t control the sense of justice burning within. To have killed a hero who spent his final moments protecting you is the worst type of insult. 

“Why you’re getting so worked up about it is beyond me. It’s pissing me off.” 

Alarming you with his crazed voice, you shut your lips together. In the heat of the moment you lost yourself, unraveling the hard work from earlier. Now he’ll know that you’re lying if you backtrack. Had you been anyone else to Shigaraki, you’d be dead by now. Attachment for you, contorted as it may be, is what’s keeping you alive. 

Challenging him will put you on thin ice. From his secrecy, you can gather he didn’t want you to know about this. 

Shigaraki reaches up to the hand on his face, removing it. You glance over his familiar facial features, wan complexion and bags under his eyes prominent. Crimson eyes narrow at you, unrecognizable emotions dancing inside of them. He’s upset. At you finding out about him, about this world. How you look at him with disappointment, the weight that it places on his tortured soul. 

He chews violently on his lower lip. “You hate me now.” 

It’s not an empty assessment. The repugnance that rises like bile in your throat could be classified in that way, but you don’t confirm it. More than anything, you feel let down, like you’ve been misled. How many times has he lied to you? What did your time together mean to him? If it meant anything at all. Humiliated, you purse your mouth together. 

“Don’t ignore me, [First].” 

Staying silent no longer an option, you snarl. “I don’t get what you’re expecting me to say. You kill someone in front of me, kidnap me, and now expect me to act like it’s no big deal? Don’t make me laugh.” 

No one else could get away with demeaning him like this. The part of you that cared withered away, bitterness taking root in its place. A criminal is sitting next to you, moping about your rejection. It makes for a pitiful scene, your current reality. 

Shigaraki looks towards the ground, incapable of holding eye contact with you. “You’ll stay here until you understand.” 

“Stay...? What do you mean by that. I won’t accept this, I won’t accept you. Not now, not ever.” 

He doesn’t acknowledge your animosity, getting up from his spot on the ground to walk towards the wall. How he’s dictating you makes you see red, refusing to give up any ground. Preconceptions and expectations you never knew existed have been chained to you by Shigaraki, who seems content to let it stay that way. 

“I don’t recommend trying to escape. More trash will die if you do.” 

‘Is he threatening more heroes?!’

Shooting up from your position, you reach out to him, reasons unknown. Extending a hand to the person you once regarded highly, who spat on your feelings and triumphed a ghastly cause. There has to be more you can do, even though it won’t be much. You can’t let him trample over you like this.

“Kurogiri.” 

At his quiet beckoning, Shigaraki is warped out of the drab room you’re occupying. You call out to him, raw emotion erupting without shame. When he disappears from your sight, a final comment is made. One that promises that this is the beginning of your nightmare, that all began due to your well intended kindness. 

Shigaraki’s eyes are crazed, a sardonic grin stretching across his face. 

“You’ll understand, I’ll make sure you understand...” 

[threeletterslife]

Resonance

→ summary: your college art final prompt is so unbelievably broad that you might just flunk it because you have no idea what you’re gonna draw. luckily, there’s a cute guy who’s totally into you that might just help you out. even better: he’s a merman.

→ pairing/rating: taehyung x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 80% crack, 20% fluff | mermaid!au & bullet point fic

→ warnings: profanity

→ wordcount: 9.4k

cr.

well

this is just

great

you are a creative person

you are a creative person

you ARE a creative person

ok maybe if you keep saying that in your head, it’ll come true

but fat chance

because you're still drawing a blank

your university professor JUST released the art final prompt

and it is the most broadest and vaguest prompt you've seen in your whole entire nineteen years of life

it sucks!!

like what the fuck?

how are you supposed to draw something that "calls to you"

what's that supposed to mean???

your best friend yoongi tries to help you interpret the wack prompt

but you really shouldn’t be trusting a guy who uses art sketchbooks as scratch paper to solve batshit crazy math problems for fun

it’s a no brainer that yoongi’s a no-nonsense chemical engineering major

in conclusion, he wouldn’t know aRT

not like you do anyways

he can barely draw a stickman. and he even has shitty handwriting (that’s so barely legible that he always gets called back after finals to translate his writing for the prof)

enough roasting your best friend though

especially when he’s actually trying to lend you a hand

“what calls to you…” yoongi trails off thoughtfully

he lets out a snort

“ha!” he says triumphantly. “y/n, i got it!”

“really?!”

“just draw a phone with your mother coming out of it!”

you frown. “i don’t get it”

yoongi sighs, shaking his head disdainfully

“because your mother literally calls you on the phone, y/n”

“i hate you”

yoongi is no help

“prof would flunk me if i turned a drawing like that in”

yoongi snorts. “or she’ll give you extra points for thinking literally. artists these days are so into thinking outside of the box. maybe you’ll be unique for being literal”

god no

being literal won’t fly with your professor

she’s the fucking queen of abstract art

if you hand her a painting of your mother coming out of a fucking phone, she might just burn the piece in front of your face

besides, you can’t draw something that doesn’t stir some sort of inspiration in you

no offense to your mother (but she’s also a no-nonsense physician)

yoongi’s just back at it again with his nonsensical advice

you’d expect better from the dude who does math for fun

“you know what?” you huff. “i can’t trust a guy who uses a freaking sketchbook to solve advanced calculus problems”

yoongi grins. “just tryna help, y/n”

“my god”

“wanna help me since i helped you?” yoongi teases

he holds up a stack of paper riddled with numbers with one too many digits and foreign symbols from the greek alphabet

ew

you feel like you’re gonna puke

“aaaaand goodbye!” you say, standing up from your seat at the campus cafe. “i’m gonna go to the beach!”

“right now??”

“yeah why not?” you laugh, shrugging. “i need some inspiration!”

“but then i’m gonna look like a loner sitting here all by myself,” yoongi pouts

“then come with me, duh”

yoongi gives you a look of repulsion

“i hate the beach,” he grumbles

“fine,” you snort. “just call hoseok or something. i don’t know. but i’m leaving! bYe!!”

you can hear yoongi cursing at you under his breath and you laugh

he’s got such a mouth of a sailor that he honestly belongs on the beach—if not, the ocean

you pay his cursing no mind as you rush out the cafe and across the school campus

the literal reason you chose to attend this university was its close proximity to the beach

you’ve always been drawn to the waters

yoongi, on the other hand, only came here because of a scholarship

smart bastard

but he’s a good friend

it’s kinda sad you’re always hanging on the beach alone though

you don’t particularly fit in with the rowdy party crowds on the sand

and you don’t go there to flaunt your summer body in a bikini

you just go for

~inspiration~

by the time you reach the beach, it’s nearly empty

when it’s nearing finals, no one dares to step foot on the warm sand because once you go in, there’s no way in hell you’re going back

some students learn the hard way

and then end up flunking their finals

it’s you

you’re ‘some students’

(to be fair, that was freshman year and you’re a sophomore now, so you won’t make the same mistake again!!)

okay… maybe

you’re on the beach and it’s nearing finals so maybe you haven’t learned your lesson

but in your defense, you’re only here for

~inspiration~

the salty ocean breeze caressing your face

the smell of open waters

the brisk air

you would live on the beach if you could

there’s a small little rocky ledge at the far side of the beach that serves as your little private area you’ve been using since you got here

no one ever comes this far

so you just claimed the rocky ledge as yours

it’s where there are cute little crabs roaming about

where the bright orange starfish and sea anemones attach themselves to the rocks in the shallow tide pool and (maybe) watch you watch them

(you don’t exactly have extensive knowledge about ocean life lol)

omg there was even this one time when you saw a fish in the tide pool

granted, it was dEaD so you had to make yoongi carry it in a plastic bag and give it a proper burial ceremony

anywho

you love sea animals and plants!!

for a brief second as you crawl onto the rocky ledge you contemplate if you should draw a fucking fish for your art final

technically, it calls to you… right?

the late afternoon sun warms up your cheeks and you sigh, out, leaning back to admire the waves of the ocean lapping at the wet sand on the beach

if you just lie like this, basking in the sun… you’ll come up with an idea… right?

two hours later, you’re still stumped

“well, fuck,” you curse

the tide’s starting to come in and your feet are already underwater

it looks like you should just go back to your dorm at this point

you’ll find your ~inspiration~ tomorrow

you sigh

why can’t you think of a cool idea for fuck’s sake

what calls to me??

the only thing you can think of is a flobbering fish and your mom coming out of a phone (a tribute to yoongi)

you end up accidentally staying until the moon’s high in the sky

the waters have turned into a black oblivion and the tide’s so high, you have to shift up the rock to avoid making it look like you wet your pants

if you were a werewolf, you could draw the moon

because haha, get it? the moon calls to them!

but unfortunately, you are not a werewolf

“this sucks,” you huff

usually, you’re quick to come up with good ideas and it’s frustrating that for finals you can’t do the same

right when things actually matter

you look down from the sky to stare at your feet

maybe you’ll just stay here until you can come up with an idea

you aren’t gonna give up so soon

besides, the quiet sound of the undulating waves is so soothing

you stay a little longer, gazing at the twinkling stars and daydreaming of simpler times when your art teachers would tell you exactly what to draw without giving you vague-ass prompts to interpret

that’s when something catches your eye in the dark waters

illuminated by the starlight… you see… a…

HUMAN???

“hey!” you shriek

okay now you’re 1000% sure there’s someone in the ocean right now

they have a head of bright turquoise hair and pale but toned arms

yet the person has their back turned to you so you can’t quite see their face (though you assume they’re attractive just based on the back of their head)

“hey!” you shout again

come to think of it,,,

are they skinny dipping in the fucking ocean???

freshmen these days!! they’re nuts!

“you’re gonna die of hypothermia!” you yell. “or a shark’s gonna bite your limbs off!”

slowly

very slowly

the kid turns around

and you nearly choke on your breath

because he is beautiful

not in a conventional tiktok boy way but in a mysterious manner

his alabaster skin glows in the starlight

his turquoise-colored hair is styled perfectly on his head, just swept gracefully across his forehead

his deep sea-green eyes sparkle as he cocks his head and stares at you

oh god

he’s definitely shirtless

“h-hey!” you call again, hoping you don’t sound desperate. “what are you doing??”

the boy doesn’t answer though

he just stares at you curiously, eyes glancing back and forth at your bare legs and your shocked face

normally, you’d be creeped out if a random guy decided to check out your legs, but for some reason, the boy doesn’t stare at you like he’s a predator

he just looks… curious

you gasp when he suddenly disappears underwater

“hey!!” you shriek

damn. maybe he just wanted to be alone

no biggie

you’ll just sit on the rock or something until he decides to talk?

or you can be like any other sane person and just go back to your dorm

a sudden splash of water jumps you out of your thoughts

you nearly fall back when the strange boy stares up at you from the ledge of the rock

he’s still submerged under the water up to his shoulders, but he leans against the rock and smiles at you

it’s as if he’s saying ‘hey, loud person, who won’t shut up. how are you today? nice to meet you’

at least you think that’s what he’s trying to convey to you

“hi?” you say, raising your eyebrows. “isn’t the water cold?”

the boy shrugs his shoulders then shakes his head

he seems friendly enough that you decide to continue talking to him

he has a strange alluring aura that makes you want to get to know him

before you know it, you’re scooting closer to the stranger

he doesn’t flinch when you’re close enough to touch his strangely dry head of beautiful hair

“woah,” you deadpan. “how’s your hair dry?”

the boy shrugs again, smiling mischievously

can he even talk??

or maybe he’s just being polite and he wants you to leave

maybe he’s naked?? and he actually is a skinny dipper

and he wants you to get the hell away from him so he can get into his clothes??

“do you want me to leave…?” you ask cautiously

the boy shakes his head

ookkayyy…

“oh… it’s just that you’re not talking to me so i just thought…” you trail off, uncertain

the boy laughs and it’s the only kind of sound you’ve heard from him since you first saw him in the waters a few minutes ago

and his laugh is just like the rest of him—beautiful

the boy touches his throat with one hand and shakes his head

you frown

what?

the boy repeats the motion again and again until it finally clicks in your head

oh!!!!

“wait, you can’t speak?” you say. “i’m sorry… i didn’t know!”

the boy smiles as if saying ‘it’s all right. you’re fine’

“i haven’t seen you around campus…” you start. “do you live around here?”

the boy shakes his head

“you just like late-night swims, huh?” you giggle. “i’d swim too but something about swimming in the ocean at night is super scary for me”

the boy laughs good-heartily. he points at you curiously, then gestures at the surroundings

“oh, why am i here?” you say

the boy nods his head

“i’m just trying to get inspiration,” you say. “i’m an artist”

the boy smiles widely. he raises his eyebrows and points at you

“yes, really!” you laugh. “wanna sit on the rock with me?” you say, patting the spot next to you. “you don’t have to be stuck in the ocean to talk to me”

the boy hesitates

he looks at you through his beautiful eyes and parts his pink lips

it’s as if he’s asking, ‘can i really sit next to you?’

“i don’t bite!” you laugh. “at least, the last time i checked”

the boy giggles

he reaches out and lightly touches your hand

you’re shocked when you realize his hands aren’t wet from the water

come to think of it, you are covered in more water droplets than the boy

well

something is a bit fishy around here

you slowly look up at the boy’s face

he shrugs but a mischievous, all-knowing smile plays on his lips

“what are you, a mermaid?” you snort

the boy looks offended, placing a hand against his chest and letting out a silent scoff

“sorry. i meant merman,” you roll your eyes. “better?”

you were only half-joking

but when the boy waves what looks like a fucking tail towards you, you nearly fall back

“WAIT!” you shriek

that better be a fucking costume

the boy laughs and he swims a bit away from the rock, only to do a backflip

that’s when you see that this boy is not really a boy

he’s a mythical mermaid???

with a sparkling turquoise tail and everything?? (on a side note, you have to appreciate the way it matches his hair)

okay

well

deep breath in

deep breath out

you were never one to say that mermaids existed

but you weren’t one to say that they didn’t exist either

okay

so

either you’re still dreaming or you just kinda befriended a mermaid—er, merman

“please tell me this is real!” you squeal, scooting closer to the waters so that your knees are submerged

when you were a kid and adults asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, you said a mermaid

as you grew older, society drilled in your head that mermaids only existed in disneyland

so that was that

until now, of course

the boy pops up from the ocean again and he hoists himself up on the rock right next to you

he’s shirtless as mermen go, but that’s the least of your interests now

his tail comes up with him and he gestures towards it, allowing you to touch the shiny scales

“it’s beautiful!” you breathe, running your hands over the surprisingly silky tail. “i better not be dreaming right now”

the boy laughs. he points at your legs curiously in response as if to say, ‘i better not be dreaming too’

“you’ve never met a human??”

the boy shakes his head. he looks at you like you’re the most special person on the planet. and it makes sense too because you’re the only human he’s probably communicated with in his life

“wow… i guess there’s a first time for everything…”

the boy nods enthusiastically

“are you even allowed to approach people?”

the boy grins as if to say, ‘mAyBe’

“poseidon or some dude with a trident’s not gonna zap me with lightning for talking to you right??”

just a safety precaution!!

the boy laughs boisterously, head thrown back and eyes squinted

“well… i guess not,” you smile

you’ve never really been friends with someone… not human…

if yoongi heard you talking about this merman, he might call the psych ward on you

or you’re just batshit crazy and you’ve been imagining this in your head

the boy points at you politely, cocking his head

“my name?”

he nods vigorously

“i’m y/n!” you tell him

‘y/n…’ he mouths with his lips but you can’t hear it

“what’s your name?”

the boy presses his lips together, then as if a light bulb went off in his head, he grins

he mouths his name to you, lips pursing and parting with exaggerated movements

you squint

“daeyoung??” you guess

the boy snorts, shaking his head

he mouths his name again but this time with more emphasis in the beginning

“ohhhh! i got it!” you say excitedly. “taeyoung!”

the merman holds up a number one and nods but shakes his head when he holds up two fingers

“the second part’s wrong??”

he nods

“uhhhhhh, tae… young… young… something that rhymes with young…”

“oh!!” you shriek, “TAEHYUNG!!”

the merman claps his hands together gleefully

“am i good or what??”

taehyung pats you on the back as if to congratulate you for figuring out his name

“thanks,” you grin. “hey do you come here often? you know, on this rocky ledge”

‘yup,’ taehyung mouths. ‘i’ve seen you before,’ he mouths slowly so you can understand him

“woah. you watched me?”

taehyung bashfully looks away

“it’s okay! it’s okay!” you say. “i just hope i wasn’t doing anything embarrassing… like picking my nose or something. i’m always alone here”

taehyung grins, wiggling his eyebrows. it’s as if he’s saying that yes, he did see you picking your nose that one time

“well it’s a human thing,” you argue. “you wouldn’t understand!”

taehyung giggles. ‘sure, sure,’ he seems like he’s saying

you huff. “in my defense, i didn’t know anyone was watching!”

taehyung gives you a look as if telling you that was the lamest excuse ever

“whatever, tae,” you scoff. “i’m just flattered that you thought i looked interesting in the first place”

the merman grins wildly, making it quite obvious he likes the new nickname you had given him. he shrugs his shoulders and pokes your arm playfully. ‘friend!’ he mouths enthusiastically

“you wanna be my friend?”

taehyung rapidly nods his head

“hmmMm…” you pretend to think. “i’m a bit swamped with friends at the moment…” you fib. in reality, you only have like two best friends (yoongi and yoongi’s bestie, hoseok). but it doesn’t hurt to lie a little to tease tae

the merman’s lips pull down in a slight frown

but you snort and slap his bare shoulder

“kidding!” you giggle. “why would i say no to being your friend?”

taehyung rolls his eyes but he grins happily. he looks at you expectantly, almost as if he’s asking when he can see you next time

damn

you’re starting to get the hang of reading taehyung’s expressions

“when can you see me next time?” you ask

taehyung nods

“well… finals are coming up… i reckon you don’t have mermaid school or whatever?”

taehyung shakes his head, grinning. ‘no school!’

“lucky,” you sigh. “but fuck finals!” you pump your fist in the air. “i’ll see you tomorrow!”

‘same time?’ taehyung inquires

“sure!”

the two of you shake hands to seal the deal

you would’ve spent hours on end talking to taehyung but he’s the one who points to the direction of the beach and mouths ‘you should sleep’

“i don’t need sleep!” you declare but unfortunately, that follows with an embarrassing yawn

taehyung gives you the look

“okay… maybe i do need sleep…”

taehyung giggles. he pushes your shoulder slightly, nudging you away from him

“and i can visit you tomorrow…” you reason

taehyung nods

“so maybe i should get sleep”

‘that’s it!” the merman laughs

so you say your lasting goodbyes and watch as taehyung dives away from the rock

when he’s gone, shining tail and all, you’re left dazed and confused

maybe you’ve been hallucinating???

welp

if you were hallucinating, you’ll figure it out tomorrow when a cute merman doesn’t come to meet you at night

for now, you just need sleep to digest everything that had just happened

okay

so

you just woke up

and now you’re more unsure than ever that this… taehyung exists

what if you were so stressed out yesterday

that you were literally… seeings things

yoongi keeps asking you if you’re okay because you spaced out TEN times in ONE conversation

you keep trying to convince him that you’re fine

but yoongi knows you so well that he knows you’re definitely NOT fine

“i’m just tired!!” you tell your best friend

yoongi sCOFFS “so am i but you don’t see me spacing out like i saw a unicorn last night”

eRrrr…

how do you tell yoongi that technically you did see something like a unicorn last night???

well

you won’t

because yoongi is a no-nonsense-old-fashioned-traditional-by-the-textbook-chemical-engineering-loving-student

he would never believe you

“wEll i’m sensitive!” you protest, crossing yours arms. “plus i’m still stressed about my art final”

“i thought you went to the beach to get inspiration!” yoongi points out

“errrrr…” you scratch your head. “i got distracted”

yoongi sighs. “aRt mAjOrs”

“excuse me, how dAre you???”

but yoongi just laughs it off, patting you on the back before announcing that he had to go study for his finals

you should be studying for your other finals too

but you end up doodling all over your notes

doodles of tAeHyuNg

every ten minutes, you force yourself to sTOP doodling to actually read your notes

but it never works

by night time, you’ve gotten nowhere

oh well

now you can go meet taehyung!!

if he exists…

what if your brain was actually playing games on you??

regardless, you swallow all sense of doubt and march out to the ocean

the beach is completely empty and you make use of the privacy, skipping along the sand and towards the rocky ledge

and sure enough, there’s no one there

hMph

okay

maybe taehyung’s late

no, wait you’re early

so you’re gonna wait for the merman

and if he doesn’t come in… ten minutes, you’ll just leave and deem yourself absolutely bonkers

waiting is really boring

you keep thinking at least five minutes passed every time you look at your phone for the time

but, in reality, it’s always been less than forty seconds

you go back and forth between looking at the time to looking at the dark waters

FOR FIVE WHOLE MINUTES

you’re starting to get ANTSY

and doubt starts to settle in

if yoongi knew what you were doing right now, he’d laugh at you

oh god…

should you just… leave?

THAT’S when you see a familiar bob of turquoise hair in the waters

you let out a little shriek, scooting closer to the edge of the rock

“taehyung??” you call out

the figure leaps in the air like a gracious dolphin and dives back down into the opaque waters

two seconds later, the familiar merman leans against the rocky ledge and grins up at you

‘hey,’ he seems to say with his sparkling eyes. ‘missed me?’

“UM, YES!” you say. “i was starting to think i was going crazy”

taehyung chuckles deeply, the sound reverberating against the calm ocean waves

“i was worried you wouldn’t be here”

taehyung raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘why wouldn’t i be here??’

“i don’t know! self doubt? maybe you have some underground castle you wanna hang around with your friends and family rather than come up to the surface to hang with me!”

taehyung shakes his head, laughing. he points to himself and mouths the word, ‘solo’

“really?” you raise your eyebrows. “no family or friends?”

taehyung nods. ‘SOLO!’ he declares silently, grinning

“are all merfolk like that??”

the merman shrugs. ‘never seen another’

“oh gosh, you must be lonely,” you say. “here.” you pat the place next to you. “sit on the rock with me”

taehyung obliges but he protests he’s not lonely by shaking his head

“what do you do by yourself all the time, then?”

taehyung grins mischievously

out of the corner of your eye, you see bubbles of water rising up from the surface of the waves. you gasp as they begin to float in the air

“bubbles!” you reach out to pop one, laughing when the remnants of the water splash against your cheek

the merman nudges you as if to say, ‘but wait! there’s more!’

the next thing you know, a huge floating water bubble splashes above your head, drenching you from head to toe

“vEry funny!” you scoff, trying to shake the water off yourself

taehyung gives you another one of his cheeky grins. ‘sorry,’ he mouths, but he does not look apologetic at all

‘but look! i can dry it!’

he waves his fingers at you and instantly, your sopping wet hair and clothes are dried. there’s even a ocean breeze smell that lingers on you now

“do you go around splashing people with water bubbles and drying them right after?” you accuse taehyung teasingly

he laughs boisterously, shrugging his shoulders. ‘mAybE’ is his answer

“you spend a lot of time on the surface, huh?”

taehyung shrugs. ‘maybe’

“not much of a fish dude?”

‘they’re creepy,’ taehyung answers

you howl with laughter. “and scary! like sharks, viperfish, hatchetfish… oh god,” you shiver. “i hate them. i can’t swim in the ocean. and i know most of the scary-looking ones don’t even live in the same ocean zone”

taehyung pokes at you. ‘scaredy-cat,’ he mouths

“am not!! how are you creeped out by fish when you’re half fish??”

taehyung scoffs. ‘my tail…’ he gestures majestically at his sparkling tail, ‘is not a fish tail’

“sure… fishboy”

taehyung raises his eyebrows and raises his hand as if to threaten to splash you with a water bubble again

“i was only joking”

taehyung laughs, poking at you then pointing to the waters. ‘wanna swim, though?’

“are you serious? i just told you i’m terrified!”

taehyung pouts, his pink lips pulling down into a sad frown

“that’s not gonna make me change my mind, tae”

‘just for a little bit!’ he protests

“i don’t even have my goggles, i can’t swim without them! and i’m not going in water that’s pitch black”

taehyung sighs. ‘fine!’

“i’m really good at swimming in the pool though,” you say. “i mean, they used to call me a mermaid. because i was really good at dolphin kicking. but then i watched a few underwater documentaries… and nope. never again. i am not going in the same waters that goblin sharks live in”

to your surprise, taehyung teasingly pokes your cheek. ‘cute,’ he mouths. ‘scaredy-cat,’ he adds

“show anyone a goblin shark and they wouldn’t be able to get in the water for a year!” you huff in response

‘never seen one,’ tae sings—if you could hear him, you imagine his voice would sound as soft as lavender with just a drizzle of rich honey

“doesn’t mean they don’t exist!” you argue. “maybe one day i’ll swim with you. but definitely not today”

technically, you just met the man—er, merman

you’re not so sure if you can trust him to console you of your great fear of the ocean

maybe once you get to know him a little better

you see

you’re very quick to make friends

you probably have a lot of acquaintances

they all know your name and you know theirs

but you probably could not name three facts about any of them. and they probably couldn’t think of three facts about you either

so yes, you tend to have shallow relationships with many

but if you find people you like, you cling to them

like yoongi and hoseok

you just hope taehyung won’t be one of your acquaintances

he better be one of your best friends

how cool is it to say your best friend is a merman????

very cool

‘cool’ is just not a word to describe you as yoongi often likes to point out

but you’ll show him

you visit taehyung every day

for seven days

it’s been a full week

finals is closer than ever

you have like… five days to get your art final done

and you still haven’t gotten an idea

yikes

okay well you have an excuse

actually, you have excuses. plural.

because 1) you’ve forced yourself to fOrget about finals and 2) taehyung is wAy more interesting than any final you will ever take in your life

besides, all the time you spend on the beach is absolutely worth it

you and taehyung sometimes even meet before night falls, just before the sun’s setting so the two of you can prank the seagulls

(tae hates those little monsters-with-wings so he enjoys it a whole lot to dump water bubbles on their heads)

you help him prank the stupid birds by giving him moral support! that includes cheering him on when he successfully attacks an unsuspecting seagull and feeding him some cookies from your school cafeteria to keep him well-nourished

taehyung loves human food

he says he has to live off of clams and seaweed

which, isn’t all that bad (you love salted seaweed chips and clams), but imagine having a diet solely composed of seafood

yuck

so you bake kale chips for tae one day (nearly burning down the communal kitchen) and he enjoys it so much, for five days, you bring all sorts of good human food for him

by the end of the week, taehyung’s put on some pounds

you think he looks even more adorable with a bit of meat on his bones

taehyung just complains that his abs are starting to disappear

so one day, you bring a yoga mat and the two of you do some ab exercises off of youtube

of course, that led taehyung down the youtube rabbit hole

and once down that rabbit hole, it is very hard to resurface

after tae got ahold of gordon ramsay’s youtube channel, it’s all he watches when you come to the beach

in the end, you have to ban him from youtube because he almost took your phone underwater when you tried to get him to stop drooling over gordon ramsay and his incredible cooking skills

but taehyung prefers talking to you over watching youtube

at least you think

you hope

there is never a day you meet taehyung and it isn’t eventful

there’s always something to do with the fun-loving merman!

which makes it very, very easy to lose sight of iMporTAnt things… like, uh finals

so, today, five days before your art final is due, yoongi sits you down on your desk chair and sighs. “have you figured out your art final yet?”

it is a question that catches you off guard

“er… no”

“iSn’t it due in FIVE days???” yoongi shakes his head disapprovingly at you. “c’mon, y/n, don’t some artists take over a week to finish a painting??”

“well i can take uh, three days without sleeping if it really comes to that”

yoongi sighs. “you’ve been going to the beach every day. still no inspiration?”

“err… i got… distracted”

“do you want me to come with you today or something? so i can whip you back into shape and make sure you get properly inspired?” yoongi offers

“no!” you shout

yoongi raises his eyebrows

“i mean, um, no thank you, yoongs,” you stand up and pat yoongi’s head

he scowls at you

“i’ve got it all figured out!” you tell him very convincingly

but it is a lie

“rEally?” yoongi raises his eyebrows at you

“yes. don’t you worry, my friend.” you pat his head again

yoongi rolls his eyes. “okay, well, worse comes to worst, you can always use my terrific idea”

“never in a million years”

“oh well. wanna skip the beach today? i’m inviting hoseok over to watch a movie. you can come too, if you want”

“no can do,” you say, shaking your head. “i’m going swimming!” you hang your swim goggles in front of yoongi’s face

“in the dark?? in the ocean?? i thought you were afraid of gobbler sharks!”

“goblin sharks. not gobbler. and no. not anymore. i trust the waters now”

er, or, you trust taehyung

he’s been trying to convince you every day to swim with him

and every day you declined or made up some stupid excuse

but today is the day you will accept

you even prepared by wearing a bathing suit under your clothes

and you’re gonna bring your swim goggles

you’re so ready!!

you trust that taehyung won’t let the fish get to you

he promised and swore on his own beautiful tail

so he can’t possibly be lying

“oOokAyyyy…” yoongi says, giving you a strange look. “if you drown, can i have your comforter?”

“oh, shut up. i’m not gonna drown”

“sure”

you huff. “whatever, yoongs. have fun watching that movie with hoseok. i’m gonna get going”

“i will. just don’t drown or something”

“i won’t”

five minutes later, you’re terrified you’re going to drown

as you walk across the beach, you worry that you’re only walking to your death

what if you actually drown???

and taehyung can’t save you because the water’s so dark, he can’t even see you???

what if a jellyfish comes out of nOwHerE and stings you so hard you’re gonna be paralyzed forever????????

EVEN WORSE

WHAT IF THERE’S A GOBLIN SHARK OUT OF ITS HABITAT

WHAT IF IT BITES YOUR LEGS OFF????

ohmygod

you think you might die

taehyung’s waiting for you on the rocky ledge as he always does

but today, he has a shit-eating grin on his face

he looks at your goggles and nods. ‘today’s the day!!’

you grumble. “this is not helping my stress”

taehyung cocks his head

“i’m stressed because of college, tae. lucky you. you wouldn’t understand”

the handsome merman snorts. ‘i wouldn’t’

he pokes at you as if to say, ‘tell me what’s wrong’

you sigh, plopping yourself down on the rock and looking down at your feet

“i have a really important painting i have to finish in five days…” you groan. “and my professor gave me an art prompt, you know, something i need to interpret and draw. but i can’t, for the life of me, figure out what i wanna paint”

‘hMmm,’ taehyung hums. ‘what’s the prompt?’ he mouths

“what calls to me”

‘what calls to you?’

“ugh. yeah. horribly vague, isn’t it? my friend suggested i draw my mother coming out of a phone”

taehyung cocks his head, curiously

“yeah, it’s stupid. so i’m stuck. and the final’s due in five days. but i was totally forgetting about it until yoongi decided to bring it up. and now i’m stressed”

the merman giggles

“this isn’t funny!!” you protest

but the merman giggles again

when you give him a disdainful look, taehyung dives into the ocean and pops his head out, waving at you to come in

you sigh, staring at your goggles. reluctantly, you put them on

once you strip down to your swimsuit, you stare hesitantly at the opaque ocean. you crouch down just before the water, contemplating and contemplating

suddenly, something grabs your arm and you’re tugged into the ocean

you sCreAm bloody murder and voila, now salt and fish feces water is up your noise

how wonderful

but two strong hands hold your waist and you’re able to resurface

the water’s cold, but not freezing cold at least. and taehyung’s actually really warm against your skin

“you fucking dragged me in!!!” you shriek after coughing the water out of your lungs

you hit tae’s bare chest in agitation

the little shit just shrugs and grins at you

you huff, wrapping your legs tightly around taehyung’s hips. “if you let me go, my friends are going to find you and roast you. literally”

taehyung chuckles. ‘i won’t let you go,’ he seems to tell you with a meaningful look on his face

“you better not!” you tell him

he laughs at you, softly touching your forehead with the back of his hand. instantly, you feel much, much warmer. even cozier in the supposedly freezing waters

even the water weighing down the hair on your head feels lighter. when you reach out to touch it, you realize it’s completely dry

“woah,” you breathe. “that’s so cool…”

you forget that you’re even supposed to be mad at the merman

taehyung grins at you, petting your hair. ‘i know, right?’ he seems to say with his twinkling eyes

he motions at you to take your goggles off

“what?? are you crazy? i can’t survive without these! i am not opening my eyes in salt water, tae”

the merman shakes his head, laughing. ‘it won’t sting your eyes’

“why? did you put a magical charm on me or something?”

taehyung shrugs. ‘mAyBe’

you sigh, skeptical

‘i’m trying to help,’ tae mouths. ‘it’s for your art final’

you raise your eyebrows doubtfully

‘i’m serious’

“why, is there something cool underwater?”

taehyung nods. ‘you need your eyes open’

you wrap your legs tighter around the merman. “so… you’re gonna show me… something underwater… that will help me with my art final??”

the merman nods enthusiastically

he ruffles your hair and pinches your cheek. ‘trust me’

ohhHHhhh if you didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t be clinging onto him for life right now

“promise you won’t let me go??”

‘promise’

you hold out your pinky for taehyung

he cocks his head. ‘what is that for?’

“pinky promise??”

‘hmm?’

oh man

that might just be a human thing

silly you

“oH uh, nEver mInd th—”

you try to retract your pinky but taehyung stops you

he slowly pulls up his own hand, his pinky jutting out awkwardly

‘like this?’ he questions, poking at your pinky with his

you have to stifle a laUgh

“um, not quite,” you say. “you have to wrap your pinky around mine. yeahh, like that. and then it’s a pinky promise! it’s practically illegal to break a pinky promise”

taehyung nods. ‘i won’t break it’

“okay good! uh…” you look warily at the dark waters. “what is it that you wanted to show me?”

taehyung grins. suddenly, you’re submerged underwater again and you let out a scream

but you can’t hear yourself

not because you’re choking on the water, no

it seems like… you can breathe????? UNDER THE WATER????

you hug taehyung tighter and try to scream at him to stop plunging you in the ocean without a warning

but no sound comes out of your lips

‘taehyung!” you shriek soundlessly

“open your eyes, y/n…” a deep, resonate voice tells you

you nearly gasp in shock

was that… was that taehyung’s voice? his speaking voice????????

“it’s okay… you’re protected under a charm,” his mellifluous tone soothes you. “you’re able to breathe underwater, y/n. but you won’t be able to speak.” he laughs, which sounds very familiar to your ears. “how the tables have turned!”

‘taehyung!!!’

“how good it feels to finally speak to you!!” taehyung laughs. “you don’t have to hold me in a vice grip anymore,” he snorts. “i won’t let you go. we pinky promised, remember?”

you groan in your head. ‘i-i can’t. i can’t do it, tae’

“aww, y/n…” you hear taehyung softly pet your hair. “take your time”

‘i can’t open my eyes. i-i’m sorry’

you can see the blackness through your eyelids. and there is no way in hell you’re going to open them

fine, you trust taehyung. and sure, the water may not sting your eyes

and on top of all that, you can fucking breathe underwater thanks to tae, but no

you’re still scared

you’re scared of what you’re gonna see

or what you won’t see because the ocean is probably pitch black

you just try to focus on taehyung’s beautiful, deep voice. it seems to reverberate through the ocean waves even after the sound hits your ears

“it’s okay,” he says. “don’t be sorry.” he holds you tighter against his bare chest. “you don’t have to see what i wanna show you anyway”

you make a confused grunt sound in the back of your throat

“you can hear it”

‘what???’

but of course taehyung can’t hear you. nor can he see you with your chin resting on his shoulder

“what calls to you, huh?” taehyung says in his syrupy voice. “i have a good idea”

then, to your utmost shock, he begins to sing

“where the sea breeze whispers

past your listening ears

and gently caresses your lips

there lies a great ocean

the waves undulate under the dark sky

under these waters

is a lonely merman

he longs, waits for a friend

a lover,

anyone who will save him

from his solitude

where the sea breeze whispers

where the great ocean lies

where the waves undulate under the dark sky

where the lonely merman waits

under these dark waters”

your insides melt

taehyung’s honey voice entrances you and you squeeze you eyes shut even tighter

a rush of inspiration washes over you

you shiver

oh god

you didn’t have to open your eyes after all

you don’t have to see it to feel the immense amount of emotion, love, sincerity interwoven to taehyung’s song

it’s the most beautiful music you’ve heard in your life

and it pains you that taehyung’s stopped singing

you’re speechless, pulling away from taehyung so he can read your lips. ‘that… that was so beautiful…’

“thanks,” taehyung chuckles deeply. “i sing that song a lot when i’m bored”

‘your voice…’

“i know. too bad i can only sing underwater, right? if i could do this on the surface, i’d serenade you all day every day”

‘i’ll come underwater with you,’ you mouth before you can stop yourself

then you pause

well

you suppose being underwater isn’t so bad

it’s just dark since your eyes are closed

but you’re warm in taehyung’s arms

and you can even breathe too

if you can hear taehyung’s voice and hear him sing, then surely, that is a tiny sacrifice you can make

“you’re gonna come underwater with me?? again??” taehyung seems in disbelief. “you already seem uncomfortable now!”

‘no i’m not!’

and to prove it, you force your eyes open

immediately, you’re so taken aback, your grip on taehyung loosens

the merman catches you before you slip away

‘o-oh…’ you breathe

the ocean is not as dark as you had imagined it

in fact, there is a halo-like light that surrounds taehyung

it illuminates his face, his hair, his whole body

he is like a walking—er, swimming—star

the light shines further out into the dark seas, making the water sparkle

‘oh…’ you breathe again

“nothing to be scared about right?” taehyung snorts. “scaredy-cat”

he bops you on the nose

you’re so in awe, you don’t even mind

“are you inspired now?”

oh!! right!! your art final!!

you were almost distracted again (even after taehyung just dangled the answer in front of your face!!)

RIGHT!

TAEHYUNG JUST HELPED YOU SOLVE YOUR ART FINAL FIASCO PROBLEM

YOU’RE SO INSPIRED YOU COULD PAINT FOURTEEN HUNDRED PAINTINGS RIGHT NOW

your fingers feel tingly

and your head whirls with ideas

taehyung’s voice, his song, his whole being…

it calls to you

omg

he just saved your ass

in one single song!!!

‘god, i’m so happy i could kiss you!’

and you’re not even joking

“kiss me??” taehyung seems taken aback, but he grins. “kiss?”

the way he seems curious about it, you’re not quite sure he even knows what that is

‘do you… do uh, merfolk kiss?’ you ask cautiously

taehyung smiles. “let’s find out”

his eyes sparkle as both of you begin to lean into each other

you take it slowly, admiring his alabaster skin, pink cheeks and rosy lips

he stares into your eyes and gently tucks your hair behind your ear

right before you move in to kiss his lips, he leans in to rest his forehead against yours

taehyung’s eyes flutter close and he sighs as you stay still in his arms, confused

but you decide to go with the flow, keeping your foreheads together as you close your eyes too

it’s an intimate moment

you, resting your forehead against his while under the same ocean you were once so scared of

you, feeling emotionally attached to a merman

you, dreaming of kissing taehyung. properly. you know, on the lips and whatnot

when taehyung finally pulls away, he grins

“wasn’t that a nice kiss?” he whispers, touching your cheeks and giggling just at the thought of it

yikes

how do you break it to him

that forehead touching is not really… the kissing you were thinking of

‘well…’ you giggle. ‘in the human world… um…’

“in the human world…?”

‘we kiss with our lips’

“oh!” taehyung exclaims. he scratches his head. “lips????”

‘like this!’

with that, you tug him into a kiss. a proper one this time

he melts in your arms, sighing as he leans forward and instinctively closes his eyes

you let yourself relax too

and god what the fuck

his lips feel so soft

is there a special ocean chapstick he uses???

does he use some special sand as a lip scrub??????

and even though he probably hasn’t kissed the human way before,,,

man he knows what he’s doing

it makes you think for a hot second

damn

you’re making out with a merman

… under the sea

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

this is what your life has become

and honestly, you can’t complain

taehyung’s the first to pull away, panting slowly. “i didn’t think my breath could ever be taken away,” he grins cheesily

‘you’re welcome,’ you grin back, slightly breathless yourself

“so… now that i’ve given you amazing inspiration… don’t you need to write it down somewhere?”

‘oh!’ you gasp. ‘right!’

you need to get started on painting as soon as possible!!! you can’t ever forget the feeling of taehyung… singing for you. but something about painting it when the memory’s fresh promises the best results

what calls to you…

you smile

a goddamn merman!!

literally

you’re so gonna ace this art final

you paint nonstop for four days

although you want to, you can’t even visit the beach

because you absolutely HATE it when your workflow is stopped

so you have to keep on painting until you finish

you force yoongi to go out on the beach and lay some cookies on your special rocky ledge. he frowns at your strange directions

“i dOn’T thInK yOu sHouLd fEeD tHe sEaGuLlS, y/N. iT’s gOnNa iNtErRuPt tHe eCoLoGicAl bAlaNce,” yoongi says very knowledgeably

oh god

you tell him to shut up

he pats your head and walks out toward the beach with the cookies

at least he doesn’t ask questions

you just hope taehyung takes the cookies as an apology

you don’t want him to think after you kissed him, you ditched him!! you’re just busy with your art final!!!

so you also make yoongi sneak in a note and a slice of cake the next time

except yoongi comes back in ten minutes and aSks: “WHO’S TAEHYUNG???”

you gulp

but you pretend you can’t hear yoongi as you continue painting on your canvas

the perfect, bright turquoise color was very hard to recreate with paints, but you somehow managed. you just need to add some finishing touches and your beautiful painting of your merman friend will be finished

you know yoongi secretly admires your art skills, but he laUghs when he sees you painting a merman

“is that a siren???”

“no—”

“a mermaid, then?”

“a merman,” you say. “and he’s singing the most beautiful song in the history of songs”

yoongi laughs. “sure, sure. looks nice, though.” he steps closer to the canvas. “really like what you did with his facial structure or whatever. and his hair color. pretty tail too. i did not know you had the capacity to imagine that hard”

you huff. well, technically… you didn’t imagine that. but you’re not going to admit it with yoongi

“i’m more talented than you think,” you snort, stretching back and picking at the paint dried to your fingers. “if i close my eyes, i can almost hear him sing to me”

“um, i think you fell in love with your own painting,” yoongi snorts

“oh, leave me alone”

yoongi raises up two hands in defense. “okay, well, the final’s due tomorrow, right? are you done?”

“well…” technically, yes. but… “i’m gonna go to the beach”

“wait a minute, with your painting??? dude, what if a seagull snatches it away? what if the paint chips? leave your painting! that’s your final”

“i’ll be careful!”

“your idea of careful is reckless”

you sigh. “well, i’ll be extra careful!”

yoongi can’t argue with you after that. 1) because he knows you’re stubborn and won’t give up and 2) because when you say you’re gonna be extra with anything, you go all out

you take nearly twenty minutes getting to the beach because you walk very slowly with your painting in both hands. you hold the painting above your head so sand won’t fly onto it

and you check out for those nasty seagulls because sometimes they decide to shit on people’s heads

if they decide it’s a good day to shit on your final, it’s over

nevertheless, you need to show your masterpiece to taehyung

when you get to the rocky ledge, you call for the merman

in just a few seconds, taehyung pops up his head from under the water

“were you waiting for me?” you laugh. “did you get the cookies and cake i sent?”

taehyung nods, grinning as he begins to swim toward you. he points curiously at the canvas in your hands

“it’s my art final,” you explain to him. you turn it around so taehyung can see it

he gasps

‘that’s me???’

“yup”

‘you didn’t draw my abs!!’

“well, can’t draw what you don’t have,” you giggle, teasing the pouting merman. he huffs

‘i like it, though’

“reallY??” you gush. “that’s all i wanted to hear!!”

you set the painting down carefully to the side and scoot closer to the rocky ledge

taehyung rests his hand on your forehead before cupping your cheek. he grins before cocking his eyebrows and pulling your head underwater

‘taehyung!!!’ you shriek

“i just wanted to tell you how beautifully you drew me,” taehyung laughs, booping your nose. “i mean, i’m much, much better looking in real life, but the colors. you’re very talented, y/n”

you smile. ‘well, i did try really har—”

taehyung interrupts you by kissing you. he misses your lips the first time and gets the corner of your mouth, but the second time, his lips meet yours perfectly

the heavenly moment would’ve lasted wayyy longer if it weren’t for the:

“Y/N, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STICKING YOUR HEAD IN THE WATER???”

you let out a silent shriek and taehyung’s eyes widen. both of you break apart from the kiss and taehyung suddenly dives deep down into the ocean

and right when the merman is out of your range, you can’t breathe nor see clearly in the ocean anymore

when you get your head out of the waters, you’re a choking, coughing mess

you wipe away the droplets of water streaming down your face before you look up to see yoongi

“are you bobbing for fish in the ocean?” yoongi snorts. “for fuck’s sake, y/n, you can’t just leave your art final around like this!”

your best friend picks up your precious painting of taehyung and sighs. “what were you doing?”

“i, uh…” you touch your lips. “i was… uh… i dropped my ring in the water”

yoongi narrows his eyes. “you don’t even wear jewelry”

“okay fine. i was just trying to meet the merman of my dreams underwater”

at that, yoongi raises his eyebrows. “cool,” he says

“cool??” is that all he had to say?

“well, yeah. mermaids are cool”

“merman”

“whatever”

yoongi’s so chill with it that you’re unchill

“are you sure??” you say.

“am i sure that it’s whatever?” yoongi snorts. “yes? c’mon, let’s go watch a ocean life documentary with hoseok or something. finals is gonna be over soon, so we should celebrate starting now”

hm

okay well

cool

this is chill then

yoongi is chill

you suspect he doesn’t believe you, even though you told him the truth

you could probably tell him that you kissed taehyung, a merman, but he would probably laugh it off

your best friend is quite strange. no-nonsense. sensible. rational.

but you love those things about him

yoongi helps you carry your art final back to the dorms. but just before you step off the rocky ledge, you turn around

taehyung’s waving at you very discreetly, so you smile and wave back

yoongi never notices a single thing

welp

it’s over now

finals is over

which means,,, IT’S BEACH TIME

unfortunately, everyone in the whole fucking school think’s it’s beach time too

even late at night, there are still a few idiots on the beach drinking the last of the beer they stashed away

it’s hard to meet taehyung just because the lack of privacy

you wait and wait and wait on the rocky ledge, but you know, with so many people, taehyung probably wouldn’t want to come out of hiding

it’s one thing for a merman to trust one girl

it’s another for a merman to trust fifty rowdy college students

but you have a feeling taehyung is always close by

you visit the rocky ledge every day, singing some of your own little songs (though you’re not a very good singer, you try)

you even talk to taehyung like he’s there, listening to you

but it starts to get lonely

there are so many people on the beach, but the one being you want isn’t here

you sigh, wiggling your toes that have become pruned due to the salty water. “i never thought i’d be saying this,” you say. “but i miss finals week”

taehyung would have laughed if he was with you now

god, you miss him

“or maybe you’re in the water right now, waiting for me to jump in…”

you sigh again. “or maybe you’ve migrated or something. do you even have to migrate? i have no idea…” you trail off, looking at the blue waters lapping at the sides of the rock

cautiously, you dip one foot in

the water’s cool, but not completely freezing

you dip the other foot in

okay

you can do this

you’ll just…

jump in

and if taehyung’s not underwater, you’ll just… leave for the day

you’re supposed to hang out at a computer cafe with yoongi and hoseok anyway

okay deep breath in

deep breath out

goblin sharks don’t even live near the shallow part of the ocean… right?????

so you’re safe, right????

unless there’s a lemon shark or something

oh fucking god

you shouldn’t have watched that ocean documentary with your friends

but the need to see taehyung surpasses everything

you close your eyes

pinch your nose with your fingers

and you JUMP

and immediately you gasp because fuck the water’s cold

lowkey, your heart nearly stops because of the sudden rush of cool water surrounding your whole body

and right when you think you should swim back to the surface, a pair of strong arms hold you, and a soft hand taps at your forehead

“hello, you”

‘TAEHYUNG!’ you open your eyes and see your favorite merman staring at you

“the beach is crowded these days, isn’t it?” he grins

‘i know! pesky people!’

taehyung laughs. “i made another song while you were gone. nice singing, by the way. i heard you a couple days ago”

you flush. ‘i can’t sing! but um, can i hear your new song?’

taehyung nods, clearing his throat

he holds your hands to his chest and begins to sing

“where the sea breeze whispers

past your waiting ears

and gently kisses your lips

there lies a beautiful ocean

the waves ripple beneath the awakened sky

under these waters

is a happy merman

he’s found his friend,

his lover,

his treasure that has saved him

from his solitude

where the sea breeze whispers

where the beautiful ocean rests

where the waters ripple beneath the awakened sky

where the happy merman lives

under these sparkling waters”

‘you changed the lyrics!!’

taehyung nods. “i think it’s much more fitting, don’t you think?”

the two of your resurface from the waters, gripping each other tightly

your hair is completely dry and it blows in the light breeze

the sunlight warms your face and turns taehyung’s cheeks even rosier

oh god

your heart skips a beat

but you try to calm down before you wrap your arms around taehyung’s neck and pull him close

the moment your forehead touches his, you close your eyes and it feels like there’s nothing else in the ocean, on the beach, except you and taehyung

the two of you may never speak out loud in the same place as you’re kept silent in the ocean and taehyung’s kept silent on land

but...

sometimes, you don’t even need words

gazes, actions, little touches here and there

they speak in louder volume than words

you don’t even have to say you love taehyung. he doesn’t have to say it either

it’s as if both of your hearts, your actions proved it

masterlist

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 9

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623575983503638528/the-long-way-around-chapter-8-link-to-previous

Pairing: Jasper x Reader 

Word count: 2990

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

On the way to the waterfall, I’d done some thinking and come to the unfortunate conclusion that my feelings for Jasper are much more than I originally realized. Previously, any and all feelings I had towards him I interpreted as those I would feel towards a best friend. But I’ve never felt like this towards my best friends before.

Once I’d come to this conclusion, my outing with Jasper became a struggle. I’d had crushes before as a human, but nothing as intense as this and nothing even close to the risk involved when your crush can literally feel your feelings. I had to work so hard to keep myself in check. Jasper didn’t do much to help. He couldn’t have picked a more romantic location, for one. Seeing him doused in water, sparkling in the moonlight and the rising sun didn’t do anything to make me reconsider his beauty. I’d taken special care not to look at his body, knowing the attraction I, and then he, would feel. I’d slipped up once or twice, and I desperately hope he didn’t notice.

And the necklace. Gosh, if he even knew how perfect it is….I’ve never owned anything like it, and the fact that he remembered all those little things from so long ago…well, it makes me feel things.

But I need to keep those feelings under control.

Yes, he’s my best friend and yes, he’s incredibly good to me, but Jasper is way out of my league. Any interest he has in me will be fleeting, especially given how he must view me. I’m wild, barely controlled, a danger to society and monsters alike. Just the differences in our eye color show how incompatible we are. Mine are red, vicious, deadly. His are golden, like melting honey or a dazzling sunset. He doesn’t suddenly become deranged at the thought of human blood. He doesn’t try to hurt the people he owes everything to the minute he smells a human. He’s not weak.

From my side, Jasper eyes me but doesn’t say anything. I swallow the venom in my mouth and try to force my bitterness down with it. As if I needed such a tangible reminder of our incongruity.

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes before we smell the herd of deer. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he swiftly takes down a doe. He’s so graceful. My own kills are sloppy, desperate. I could never measure up.

Jasper approaches, careful not to startle me in my hunting state. “Are you okay?”

I nod, quickly trying to think of something to say that could explain my sudden moroseness. “I’m just frustrated that my eyes are still so red. I want them to be like yours—the whole family’s,” I correct quickly.

Jasper smiles knowingly. “It takes about a year for all the human blood to leave your system. Only six months to go. But I think,” he takes a step closer to me and peers into my eyes with exaggerated movements, “that I see a tiny bit of gold in them.”

My heart warms, and I do feel better, even if he’s obviously lying for my benefit. “I’m sure you do.”

He gives me a lopsided grin, and I find myself hoping to see more of those in the future.

Quickly, we wrap up our hunting and continue the journey home. About half a mile away from the house, Jasper skids to a stop, his arms flying out to grip me around the waist to cause me to stop, too.

“Something’s wrong.” His voice is calm, totally in contrast to the rod of fear that shoots through me. “It’s okay,” he assures, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Just stay by me.”

Not that I would need any encouragement. If I wasn’t so terrified, I might be able to enjoy the feeling of his hands on my waist, holding me close. But now is not the time, so I push those thoughts away. Instead, I focus on what I can hear, see, and sense around me. Nothing out of the ordinary. But I trust Jasper and his ability, so I stick close to him.

We approach the house slowly for vampires, carefully taking note of our surroundings. When we get to the back deck, Bella meets us outside, looking somber. Before we can ask, she waves us in, and we see Esme sitting in a kitchen chair, eyes screwed shut. She lets out a soft cry, signaling her pain.

“Esme,” I gasp, running to her.

She smiles stiffly, obviously not wanting anyone to worry about her. “It’s alight, it’s just a few little bites. The pain will go away soon.”

Hating seeing this kind, wonderful woman in pain but at a loss for what to do, I go to stand behind her and hug around her neck, letting my head rest on top of hers.

“What happened?” Jasper’s voice is tight, dangerous. I’ve never heard him sound like that before, and, if I didn’t know him so well, I would be scared of him.

Bella’s voice is quiet when she responds, so much so that I almost have to strain to hear her. “Esme went about thirty miles south for a quick hunt. She says another vampire, a female, came out of nowhere and attacked her.”

Just then, the front door bursts open. I jump, spooked.

But it’s just Carlisle, looking like he’s been torn apart. “My love, what happened?” He kneels in front of Esme, taking her hands in his. I pull back just a little to give them their space, though I don’t release my hands from Esme’s shoulders.

In a strained voice, Esme recounts what Bella had told us so far, and then continues. “The vampire came out of nowhere, Carlisle. I don’t know what I did to provoke her, but she seemed intent on finishing the fight. She only stopped when she heard Alice and Arthur coming to help me.” The pain in Esme’s voice is palpable. I can practically feel it in my own bones. I squirm, uncomfortable.

Carlisle doesn’t look any better off. He touches his forehead to Esme’s hands, breathing deeply. “I should’ve been there. You never should have had to go by yourself, I’m so sorry-”

“Carlisle, don’t be ridiculous. I should have known better than to hunt alone, really I-”

Jasper interrupts their pointless efforts to take blame. “Are Alice and Arthur still in pursuit?”

Bella nods. “And Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie. Hopefully they’ll pick up a trail.”

Jasper shakes his head, his mind quickly working through the situation. “It doesn’t make sense for someone to attack out of the blue. Do we have any clue as to her motivation?”

Now Esme shakes her head, looking dismayed. “Maybe I unknowingly entered someone else’s territory? Honestly, I thought we were the only coven for miles.”

Carlisle hushes her and strokes her hair gently. “It’s alright, darling, you just rest.”

But Esme smiles, placing a kiss on Carlisle’s head. “The pain is fading, my love. Don’t fret.”

Carlisle isn’t satisfied. “Would you like to go lie down? I can try to suck the venom out, maybe it hasn’t begun circulating yet.”

“I promise, the pain is barely there now. The vampire must not have bitten me very deeply.” Esme’s gaze softens and she takes Carlisle’s head in her hands. “But I would like to go lie down with you.”

Still seeming very concerned, Carlisle helps Esme up and begins to lead her out of the room.

It jolts us all when Esme lets out a yelp of pain and stumbles. Carlisle immediately swoops her up into his arms, looking absolutely gutted. “I would prefer to try and get the venom out.”

Teeth gritted, Esme nods. “Yes, I agree.” Quickly, Carlisle ascends the stairs, leaving just Jasper, Bella, and I in the kitchen.

Once Esme is out of the room, my discomfort fades, much to my guilt.

Bella’s phone rings, and she quickly takes the call, speaking lowly. When she’s done, she speaks loud enough so Carlisle and Esme can hear her from upstairs.

“That was Edward. They lost the trail of the vampire about a hundred miles south of where Esme was attacked. They’ll be back soon.”

I nod, still feeling terribly down. Poor Esme. Seeing the pain so plainly expressed by her made me feel terrible for the similar bites I’d inflicted on Edward and Jasper. Almost instantly, my guilt disappears, and I turn my head to Jasper, who’s looking at me with concern and curiosity. I don’t offer an explanation though, not quite ready to be so vulnerable in front of Bella, especially as it had been her husband who was one of my victims.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice my mood. Instead, she leans over, getting a better look at the necklace peeking out over my shirt.

“That’s gorgeous. When did you get it?”

Unable to stop the smile or the feeling of warmth that arises, I let it flow freely. He has a right to know how happy his gift made me. “Jasper gave it to me, actually. Isn’t it just perfect?” I carefully pull the necklace forward, allowing her to see it more fully.

Jasper looks uncomfortable with the attention, but pleased overall.

The three of us spend the next forty minutes idly chatting and doing our best to give Esme privacy to recuperate. Not too much later, the five other members of the family get back to the house. Carlisle and Esme come down then. Thankfully, Carlisle had been able to get some of the venom out, so she seems much more comfortable now. At Carlisle’s direction, we file into the dining room and take our places at the large, imposing table.

Alice begins, recounting how she had a vision of an unknown vampire choosing to attack Esme, reason also unknown, and she and Arthur rushed to help. Edward takes over, explaining that, once he and Emmett and Rosalie had gotten home from the library and Bella told them what had happened, they joined the pursuit. Only six out of the ten of us know the vampire’s scent, leaving Carlisle, Bella, Jasper, and I at a disadvantage.

“I say we continue our usual patterns but increase our precautions. The four of us who don’t know the scent shouldn’t be without someone who does. Also, stay in groups of at least three. We don’t want to risk being outnumbered.”

We all nod solemnly.

“Y/n, Jasper,” Carlisle continues, startling me with singling us out. “You were hunting north, how far did you go? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

I shift in my seat, knowing we’re about to be exposed for our lie. Thankfully, Jasper does the talking.

“We went about a hundred miles north, and we didn’t notice anything unusual. Although, we didn’t spend a lot of time covering ground hunting, so we really wouldn’t know much.” Is it my imagination, or does he look embarrassed? Ouch.

Emmett immediately expresses his intrigue. “Really? What could’ve been occupying your time then? A hundred miles north…alone?” There’s a teasing glint in his eye, but what’s even scarier is the real curiosity behind it.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Now is not the time, Emmett.”

“No, he’s got a point.” Rosalie holds up a hand, staring us down. “What were you two doing?”

I decide to give Jasper a break from always having to explain. “There’s a waterfall we wanted to see.”

Esme smiles, a strange look in her eye, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Just a waterfall?” Rosalie doesn’t seem convinced.

“And a pool,” I supply, defensive now.

Bella chimes in, seeming shy. “She got a very pretty necklace, too.”

Emmett claps his hands down on the table, staring at us like we’ve just given him a gift. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Carlisle comes to our aid, but even he wears a soft smile. “Remember the new rules and exercise good judgement. We need to be on our guard until we know more.”

With that dismissal, the family begins to leave the room. Emmett makes a beeline for me, likely to engage in more investigation and teasing, but I hurry to flag down Carlisle. There’s something I want to discuss with him.

“Do you have a minute,” I ask, feeling ridiculously nervous and insecure. I can feel Jasper’s gaze pricking at my back, but I don’t turn. I’m not sure if I could go through with my request if Jasper was sitting next to me, refined as he is. What I am about to ask is going to make me feel very, very, inferior.

“Of course,” Carlisle smiles, gesturing a hand forward. “Let’s go to my study.”

I follow him down the hall and take a seat across from his desk. Carlisle sits, folds his hands, then gazes at me kindly. “What can I do for you?”

I fidget. Carlisle gives me the time I need to breathe and work up the courage. Bless him.

Finally, I just spit the words out. “I was wondering if you would help me get better with my self-control.”

His politeness never falters. “I think you are doing very well already, Y/n, rest assured.”

I sigh. “Thank you, but I want to do better. I want to be able to leave the house and-and go to the library or at the very least, think about human blood without-” Like clockwork, the venom pools in my mouth. I wave a hand, knowing Carlisle is aware of it.

He nods slowly, contemplating. “You have a point, we can’t keep you locked up here forever.” He throws me a kind smile. “I could bring some blood home from the hospital. It has been frozen and stored, so it won’t be anywhere near as potent as it would be inside a living being. That might be a good place to start. Once you get used to that, perhaps we can go near popular hiking areas or the edge of town so you can slowly ease yourself into interacting with humans.”

I smile, endlessly grateful to Carlisle for taking my request seriously and being willing to help me. “Thank you.” I hesitate, not sure if it’s rude to ask what I want to know. Then again, Carlisle probably wouldn’t deny me any information. So I ask. “How long did it take everyone else to be okay around humans?”

Carlisle smiles, thankfully not offended by my question. “It varies greatly from person to person. Everyone is ‘born’, if you’ll excuse my terminology, with varying dispositions to certain aspects of this new life, just as humans are born and grow to find certain areas of life easier for them than others. For me, self-control was never a question of if, but when. It took me nearly two centuries, but now I can be around human blood flowing freely and barely feel a thing. Edward was fairly quick to gain control, and I suspect hearing the thoughts of those he wished to kill aided in his success. I wager it’s hard to kill someone if you’re so starkly aware of their humanity. Esme and Emmett both struggled, and will be the first to admit they slipped up many times. But they put in the work and have gotten much better in the last forty years. The true stars of us all are Rosalie and Bella. Only mere weeks after her transformation, Rose was able to be around bleeding humans and resist the temptation. Bella once began chasing after a human, and then stopped. Both of them are remarkable.” I can hear the respect in his voice, and wonder just how hard it was for him in his early years. He continues. “Alice, Arthur, and Jasper came to us later in their lives, so we weren’t with them to experience the newborn stage. Both Alice and Arthur were vegetarians from the start, with moderate success, and they’ve gotten much better since. Of all of us, Jasper struggles the most.” This surprises me. I never would’ve guessed. To me, Jasper seems so controlled, so refined, so advanced.

I’m unable to curb my curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“Am I correct in assuming you know about Jasper’s past?” I nod, remembering easily the horror stories from Jasper’s younger years. Carlisle continues. “Then you will know that, for over seventy years, Jasper survived solely on human blood, the longest of any of us.” I nod again. I’d known this, too. “When Jasper found us and learned of our lifestyle, he was very curious and committed to changing. But, seventy years of living one way is impactful. It’s nearly a human’s entire lifetime. Jasper became very accustomed to the taste, temptation, and satisfaction of human blood. For the longest time, the memory and temptation of it tortured him. He slipped up a few times, but at each and every point made a choice to come back to our lifestyle. Much like Edward, it’s hard for him to know the feelings of the people he kills. It was destroying him. The animals, while less instinctively satisfying, provide a much more peaceful life for him.”

I let that information settle. Poor Jasper…My heart aches for him. The pain of experiencing death after death through the feelings of your victim…the torture of being surrounded by humans after a lifetime of feeding on them….I don’t know how he bears it.

Carlisle’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts. “All this to say, I honestly have no idea how long it will take you to be confident around humans. But please know that as long as you desire our help, we offer it freely.”

I smile, endlessly grateful for the benevolent vampire sitting across from me. “Thank you, Carlisle.” But my mind creeps back to Jasper, and I know that my next conversation must be with him.

A/n Hi again! I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself. Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/624011835356626944/the-long-way-around-chapter-10

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag

[jaskiersvalley]

*soft footsteps* *throws bucketfuls of finger guns at you* *blows you a kiss* *whispers* i’m terrible with words but i really really love your writing *hugs you through the screen* *toddles away*

*reels you back in for a big hug* You! You speak my language, Nonnie! Toddle yourself back here and let me shower you with the right amount of love. You’re amazing with words and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!

As thanks, I’m now going to dump an idea I’ve been sitting on for a while. It’s soulmates, platonic Jaskier/Eskel, mistaken identities and soft desperation before that good old Geraskier hits with a bit of Eskel/Lambert for good measure.

Tattoos representing soulmates roved the skin of pretty much everyone on the continent. Jaskier had been born with a haggard looking wolf that prowled over his body, preferring to sulk on his shoulder blade. Growing up, he often wondered who could be such a grouch and a recluse. It was pure chance that he was playing at a tavern when a witcher stomped in, creature’s head in hand. The first thing that caught Jaskier’s eye about him was the scars down his face. A quick second was the medallion of a wolf on his chest. While the world didn’t tilt or realign as he’d imagined, Jaskier still launched into a song about death and foreboding - it seemed appropriate for a witcher.

Said witcher’s name was Eskel. He raised an eyebrow at Jaskier when he approached but didn’t turn him away when shown the wolf peering at the world from a pale wrist. It didn’t help that he had a black crow hopping up his neck to inspect the goings on of the world.

They agreed to see what happened. After all, Eskel did almost fit the wolf on Jaskier’s skin. While the crow seemed oddly fitting for Jaskier’s first song. So they travelled together, grew close. They never hesitated in sharing warmth, sitting shoulder to shoulder by a fire in the wilderness. It was an easy friendship, both of them just desperate enough to want to believe they’d found their other half. Even if Jaskier was too chirpy to truly be a crow and Eskel too broad to ever be a wolf.

Just once they tried to kiss. It would have been so much better if they could have blamed alcohol on their attempt. However, the only thing they’d had was the vast, open skies above them and a fire crackling to keep them warm. Neither of them knew who started it but one minute they were talking, Jaskier pulling threads of a tale from Eskel. Next, they were kissing and freezing. After an awkward second where they realised it wasn’t what either of them wanted, they broke apart and stared into the fire.

“So that happened,” Eskel observed.

“Yep.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his head. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Quite. Maybe we’re one of those rare pairs. You know, the kind that love each other but only outside of the bedroom.”

That sounded most sensible and Jaskier nodded. They never mentioned the kiss again but never tried again either. Platonic soulmates - there had to be some great irony to that, given how much Jaskier appreciated all pleasures in the world. Still, if he and his soulmate weren’t destined for the kind of relationship he’d hoped for, that was okay. At least Eskel wanted him in some capacity.

As time passed, Jaskier wrote more songs of his wolf, sang them and meant every word from the bottom of his heart. From tavern to court, they follow Eskel’s path and they’re content. There’s an understanding that blossomed between them that Jaskier wouldn’t trade for the world.

It had been years before Eskel finally asked Jaskier about Kaer Morhen and the potential of wintering there. He hadn’t wanted to go recently, trying to protect his soulmate from months on end of only witchers for company. On top of that, Eskel had been the first and only witcher to find and keep his soulmate as far as he was aware. He didn’t want to rub it in.

Still, they returned to the old keep together and they were the first back aside from Vesemir who just looked at the two of them, sent Eskel what could only be interpreted as a despairing look and wished them all the best. Jaskier got his own room next door to Eskel’s and they waited to see if any other witcher turned up.

They were all in the small hall, Vesemir telling the tale about a manticore when the doors clanged, announcing the arrival of someone. They crowded out and Jaskier forgot how to breathe. Another witcher, long white hair and a frown that seemed permanently etched on his face. Just the sight of him had Jaskier’s heart thumping painfully in his chest. It was like a veil had been torn from his very being, everything felt so much more vibrant. Things only got more confusing when a nonpareil fluttered excitedly over his lower arm. They stared at each other until Vesemir cleared his throat.

One look at Eskel and Jaskier’s heart cracked. Everyone in the room knew. The illusion they had built up over the years about being soulmates was a lie and now it was exposed.

That evening, Eskel knocked on Jaskier’s door and gave him a sad smile.

“Go to him. Go to your white wolf,” he said, lips turned up into a bittersweet smile and eyes brimming with tears. Jaskier pulled him into a hug.

“You’re still my first wolf and my best friend. Soulmate or not, I picked you first.” However, Jaskier couldn’t deny his interest in Geralt. It was his true soulmate there and he wanted.

There was a weighted sadness to Kaer Morhen over the next couple of days. Geralt and Jaskier spent time together, got to know each other. One night, Jaskier didn’t return to his own room and nobody mentioned it. Nor the bite marks on his neck the next morning.

The sound of the main doors closing echoed through the keep once again and they all crowded towards the newest arrival. Jaskier was curious about the witcher. Just a scarred as the rest, he greeted Geralt with a gruff bumping of shoulders. Vesemir got a nod but Eskel got a hug. Something almost tender and soft.

A glance at Vesemir and Jaskier got a shake of a head. He would press for information later but there was no denying that both Lambert and Eskel looked so much more mellow in each other’s company.

It was after dinner, everyone sprawled around the fire. Jaskier had taken up residence between Geralt’s legs, back to his chest. Meanwhile Lambert and Eskel were sprawled next to each other. They were shoulder to shoulder, Lambert in a sleeveless top showing off his bear tattoo which seemed to be content to curl up where Eskel’s shoulder touched. Personally, Jaskier wouldn’t have been surprised if Eskel’s crow wasn’t preening on the other side of his shirt, the two tattoos touching.

“Two witchers involved, it was so very frowned upon,” Vesemir sighed as he watched them doze. “I’m not sure if they even realise they’re destined. Their teachers instilled a lot of stupid shit in them. How witchers were never bonded to each other and if they were, the bond would fizzle out and die because....I can’t even remember why.”

All Jaskier was hearing was that he needed to get involved. It didn’t take much wheedling to get Geralt to train with Lambert while Vesemir oversaw them. Which meant that Eskel was free for Jaskier to ambush.

“So, Lambert?” He asked with a curious gaze.

“What about him? You’ve already found your wolf.” Eskel looked a little defensive and Jaskier knew he’d hit a sore spot.

“While you may not be a wolf, I think that you might be more of a bear.”

A scoff and a shake of head was his reply.

“I don’t know what you’re implying but I think you’re mistaken.”

Which just wouldn’t do. Jaskier sighed as he realised that maybe Eskel already knew. “Don’t deny yourself happiness just because some old fart told you something was impossible.” With that, Jaskier stood up and squeezed Lambert’s shoulder. “Your crow is right in front of you. Don’t let him fly away.”

Nothing seemed to change after that little chat. At least, not at first. But, as time passed, there was a softening. Lambert and Eskel moved around each other with more ease, there were lingering touches and smiles that were never directed at anyone else.

“Finally,” Vesemir sighed one morning and Geralt nodded with a grunt but not moving his head from Jaskier’s lap.

“They’ve finally confessed.”

Jaskier was both delighted and confused as to how the other two seemed to know.

“Witcher hearing.” Watching them, Jaskier saw both Geralt and Vesemir frown. Obviously they could hear more than love confessions all of a sudden and Jaskier laughed. He urged Geralt to sit up and grabbed his lute. The least he could do was give Eskel some privacy and spare the precious witcher ears in his company by drowning out whatever they could hear.

When the two finally made it downstairs, they tried to act like nothing was different. But there was no denying the almost giggling grins they shot each other, nor the fact that they were so happy. It wasn’t like anyone could begrudge them. Not when everyone seemed to have their soulmate by their side after so many years of detours and false hopes.

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (4/14)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: Prepare thyselves, here be angst. And warnings. Next update will come on Saturday, then from next week updates will come every Tuesday and Friday.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings) Warnings: This chapter contains minor character death, cancer, child abandonment, and some minor child abuse.

Word count for this chapter: 2.6k (47k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 4: Killian Jones, August 11th 1995 – October 31st 2000

Killian doesn't expect to get the girl's name from two policemen who were searching for her. They say she was sneaking out and that they need to get her back home.

He looks at her as she's leaving; her head is low and she doesn't look back at him.

He steps away from the children still playing. He's not in the mood anymore, he's feels more like... eating something... or running to the bathroom to puke. He's not really sure.

He's certain he knows his first hardship on the difficult trip back to England. While still at the airport in Boston, his mother keeps saying something about an "immigration office" as she talks to his father on a payphone, eventually hanging up angrily. She apologizes to Killian and tells him they'll figure things out soon.

They miss their flight. He's too tired to calculate but he's sure they stay in the airport for more than a day, hardly getting any sleep on the hard chairs of the lobby. He's lucky he's got his mama's lap to rest his head on, at least.

He spends a few good hours trying to remember the girl's name; Liam would be so curious to find out about his younger brother's first kiss, and he can't even remember her name! Anna? Enya? No, he would've remembered such a name.

After even more hours they reach home tired, unwashed and hungry, and for the first time he hears his parents fight.

That same night, still shaken by hearing the fight, he goes to his brother's room. They just sit together, looking at Liam's star light that projects constellations on the ceiling. He thought that, upon coming back, he'd spend hours telling him everything about the summer school, and Boston, and having his first kiss, and flying on a plane... instead they just sleep next to each other, and for the first time he understands why some of his friends had said that they sleep with their parents after a nightmare.

That night is, actually, the first time Killian ever has a nightmare.

It only takes a week. He would later consider it the calm before the storm. Calm, or more like quiet, because his friends don't talk to him much, which he interprets as jealousy because he had the trip and they didn't.

But the storm hits exactly one week after they've gotten back; his mother passes out while coming home from work. Some long hours of Liam babysitting him later, his father brings her home from the hospital.

He's never seen their faces so saddened before.

He has so many questions, ones that fifteen-year-old Liam apparently doesn't. Like, what cancer is, and why it's bad that it's fast-acting. What is chemo and why is it too late for it to have effect? Why does mama have to stay in bed so much?

"How long will you stay in bed?" he asks that out loud.

"A few months," his father says.

Another question; why is mama not talking at all?

"And then you'll be up, mama?"

She looks at him, and tears fall from her eyes. She stands up slowly, sits between her two sons on the couch and holds them close.

Killian cannot explain it, but somehow, he knows. Somehow, the knowledge sets itself in his mind as if it were always there.

That October 24th is the most underwhelming birthday he has had. He's so used to big parties and celebrations and gifts, that a simple cake shared between the four of them around the quiet table feels out of place for a birthday.

They never tell him anything, but it doesn't come as a surprise when two weeks before Christmas his father starts preparing a black attire for himself and the boys.

He takes one black dress for mama, too, though Killian knows someone else will put it on her.

The house is silent when they leave for the funeral, and it feels even more silent when they come back.

Killian has a feeling that it will never stop being that.

This night it's Liam who comes into Killian's room and sleeps next to him.

Time becomes a blur; it's one of the days where Liam sleeps next to him that Killian wakes up early, and father isn't home. He doesn't worry much, he just tries to spend time on the TV. Only one channel has signal, and though normally Killian hates listening to the news, he prefers that over the silence now.

He remembers it's a Saturday, but father still hasn't come home when Liam wakes up and takes up making breakfast for the two of them. Killian offers to help, but he burns his hand trying to make an omelette and Liam, with a patience Killian doesn't think he deserves, takes over for him.

Had Killian known more, he would have realized that on any other day he would be getting stressed and angry. Instead, he feels empty – almost as if anticipating the news that, by two days later, become a reality.

Their father left them. He took clothes and personal documents, withdrew all the money they had in the bank, including Killian's and Liam's college funds, and apparently sold their home two days before he left.

Killian didn't cry at mama's funeral. He didn't cry when the social worker confirmed that father had left by his own choice and left them with nothing. But when they tell him that there aren't any foster families that will take both brothers together, Killian breaks down sobbing.

He can't... he can't lose him too.

"I'll visit, brother," Liam says, his voice shaking. "I will call you every day."

Killian trembles in his brother's arms. He'd rather not have a home than not have him right now. He's all he has left.

But the social workers don't seem to care. They pull Killian away – and damn Liam, why isn't he holding onto him? Why is he letting go?! – and put the two brothers in two separate cars.

It's three long but empty weeks before the phone rings and for the first time, it's Killian they ask for.

Mr. Silver doesn't look happy when Killian reaches the phone – not that he ever looks happy when Killian is concerned. He gives him the receiver with a frown.

"Don't take too long," he whispers at him and Killian fights back a shiver.

"Hello?"

"Killian!"

"Oh, Liam! Where are you? Are you coming? I miss you."

"I know, brother. I'm sorry. They took me to Bristol."

"Bristol?! How?! That's too far away!"

"I know. Maybe I can convince someone to drive me to London."

"I miss you. Please come."

"I miss you too. I'll try."

"Come where, Jones?" Mr. Silver's strict voice is heard from the other room.

"Bollocks," Killian whispers.

"Killian!"

"Oh, shut up. You have no idea how much that guy curses."

Mr. Silver appears in the hall right in front of Killian. "I asked you a question, Jones."

"It's- it's my brother, sir."

"You're not answering my question."

Killian swallows hard. "He- he said he may visit one day."

Mr. Silver snorts. "Not in here. Make it quick, now. I'm waiting for a call."

He doesn't leave, instead he stands there, arms crossed, and this time Killian can't stop the shiver down his spine.

"Killian," Liam's calm voice comes from the phone.

"Yes?"

"Is that man treating you right?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Does he hit you?"

Killian grabs the phone tightly. He's never heard his brother's voice like this. "No." Not yet, he thinks. He's seen how he pulls at the bigger boys' ears when they aren't behaving.

He chances a glance at Mr. Silver, regretting it immediately. His eyebrows are raised suspiciously and he makes a gesture with his hand towards the receiver.

"I gotta go. Try to- please." He doesn't dare say much with that man so close to him.

"I will. I promise, brother. I love you."

"Me too. Goodnight."

He doesn't get a goodnight back. Mr. Silver grabs the receiver and hangs up.

"Move," he says, picking it back up and dialing.

It takes two more months for Liam to actually visit, but Silver doesn't let them go further than the playground a couple blocks away, with him sitting on the bench across from the swings where the brothers sit.

Killian is still young, but his mind is hardening enough to start knowing better. Silver is not suitable for a foster parent, but maybe it's not a coincidence that the other two boys in the house have already sullied criminal records.

"You're not gonna be like them," Liam says.

"Can't I come to Bristol too? Isn't there room in your house?"

"I've talked to the social worker, but I don't know how this works. She says it's not that easy."

"You're lucky," Killian says, looking down at his feet. "My social worker won't answer my calls." When I do get time for a phone call, he thinks.

"Hey, I'm still here. We may be far, but we're both still here. We'll get through this. My foster father said that when I turn sixteen he may let me help around his brother's gas station. I'll make some money, I'll find a job, and when I turn eighteen, I'll do my damnedest to get custody of you."

Killian feels tears well up in his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. He can't let Silver see him like this.

Empty weeks turn into empty months, and those turn into empty years. Killian changes foster homes, never getting closer to Liam's, but eventually he gets in some kind of trouble – biting back at school bullies, staying out late, getting caught with alcohol – and he always finds himself back to Silver's house.

It's there that he feels the most empty, the most lost. It's only Liam's occasional phone calls, less occasional visits, and the hope that he'll get a job and get them a home for themselves that keeps Killian afloat.

There are times he wonders how things could turn out like this. He used to be happy. Things used to go well for him, he had a bright future... he had a family, a home. Now he's resorted to just waiting until he's old enough to take some control over his life, no matter how little.

And the more time goes by, the more he feels his patience running out.

Nothing is permanent in his life, nothing is stable. Homes come and go. Liam comes and goes. Having only a miserable plastic bag to keep his stuff in, most of the drawings he makes to pass the time end up in the trash. His mother was the one who encouraged him to draw and hang his pieces all over his bedroom walls. Keeping them now only serves as a reminder of what he's lost.

The only thing he actually treasures is the photo of himself, Liam, and their mother, which he managed to grab just in time while the social workers were urging him to pick up only the essentials from his childhood home. As it almost was victim of being ripped to pieces by whatever bully targeted him, he now keeps it in the most uninteresting place he could have thought of; his math notebook.

After turning eighteen, Liam finally moves in London, but he's working two jobs and only has time once a week, for a few hours, to visit Killian.

Killian doesn't celebrate his fifteenth birthday. Not that Silver would care if Killian had asked for a celebration. And when, just two days later, the police call him to come recognize his brother's body after he was killed in a work accident, Killian finds the lack of celebration so fitting that he actually bursts into laughter. He laughs and laughs until his chest starts hurting and he's on his knees, shaking but unable to call for any help.

Silver is still talking to the police on the phone, shouting at him to stop being a brat. It's Ed, the only boy older than Killian in the house, that kneels down to him and slaps him, getting him out of his hysterics.

Killian struggles to hold on, but his resolve breaks into pieces when the doctor raises the sheet covering Liam's body. He doesn't have any care left about Silver seeing him crying and sobbing like this.

One last broken hope he had, that Silver might give a damn after seeing him so devastated, is gone too after that.

It's just that one time; for the next two years that he stays under that horrible man's roof, he cultivates a cool, careless exterior, while his pillow soaks his silent tears almost every night.

At least, Silver doesn't care much for Killian causing trouble, like trespassing, breaking curfew, or even drinking. He just gives him the ceremonious slap and goes on with his day.

So Killian doesn't think too much before deciding to sneak out and into the Halloween party on the other side of the city that Ella – or Cruella, as the kids in the house call her – the first girl in the house in years, suggests they go to. With his meager savings he puts together a pirate costume, puts a thick line of black around his eyes with the eye pencil he borrowed from Cruella, and together they hot-wire the first car they find and drive to the extravagant villa where the party is at.

At first glance, Cruella scoffs and searches around the house for booze.

"I can't believe there's adults here. What was the point?!"

It's a good thing Killian got an eyepatch. The pencil irritates his eye and he has to wash it off in the bathroom, then cover his reddened, smudged eye with the patch. His other eye isn't done and the eyepatch looks weird on the side it's on, but the lights are so low that probably no-one will notice. He doesn't expect anyone to look at him long enough to notice, anyway.

Like any other party, he feels like an outsider, but he doesn't care. He dances by himself while occasionally looking around to check if Cruella found the alcohol. Instead he spots a girl, probably his age and dressed as a zombie princess, who is looking at him. Like, looking looking.

He doesn't connect the feeling in his stomach with the one he'd felt at that game of spin the bottle so many years ago. He's so older, his mind burdened with such darker thoughts, that right now it's confusing to feel an unknown emotion that isn't scraping away at his soul.

And the girl is walking to him, just as a ballad comes on.

"Wanna dance?" she says.

He just offers his hand. His mouth feels so dry he fears his voice won't come out if he tries to say anything.

He heard the term 'butterflies in one's stomach' before, but he had no clue it would feel like this, so overwhelmingly confusing but making him happy at the same time. The girl is smiling at him as they slow dance, and he reckons, so is he. From the corner of his eye he spots Cruella, holding a cup that most definitely doesn't have a plain fizzy drink or juice in it, but he can't tear his gaze away from the girl. There's something familiar about her bright eyes, whose colour he can't decipher in the red and purple lights.

Her expression is soft; her smile falls, but not out of any sadness. The song draws to an end, and suddenly her lips are on his.

[authoressofdarkness]

Guide Me Safely To Shore

Only one thing ever made Tony Stark think twice about fulfilling his full potential. Two little words on the inside of his wrist, where his soulmark sits, ghostly, waiting for him to recognize his soulmate in some unredeemable way. He always knew he’d hurt them. But when he discovers his soulmate is none other than the feisty little Spiderling swinging around his streets, he realizes things are a lot worse than he ever could have thought.

Notes: So this just hit me in the middle of the night while reading fanfiction and avoiding hw the other night. I’ve got several ideas for it going forward, so this isn’t a one shot, but with midterms right around the corner I can promise nothing. Sorry. But I love you all and I’m hoping to get the next part out soon. <3 Enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think!

This is unbetaed, so sorry for any mistakes.

Also, if anyone is interested, I realized while titling this that the song I took inspiration from is actually a lot more relevant to this story than I thought, and even more so the play itself. You can consider it the theme song for this story. The song is called “All That Matters,” from the Broadway cast of Finding Neverland. If you ever get the chance to see it, you most definitely should, or at least listen to the soundtrack. So listen to that if y’all get a chance, and do with that what you will.Okay, now enjoy! 💙

Only one thing in the world had made Tony think twice about fulfilling his full potential.

It wasn’t his friends. Or family — not that he really had any to speak of. Not his position at SI, not fear for his life, his work, his legacy, or anything of the sort.

It was the last thing someone would expect, honestly. Even for a man like Tony, an alpha with such power, who commanded such respect, had to have a soulmate. One he was expected to love, cherish, and yes, even a man like him craved that. He hadn’t met them yet, though, his soulmate, but the two words branding him, marking him with the words from his soulmate that will seal their bond, are there, have always been there, carefully hidden away from the public eye… and terrifying him in a deeper way than anything else could.

Please don’t.

Those two little words, branded onto his skin, reminding him every day of the horrors he may be wreaking on his soulmate without knowing it. There was no way to interpret them in a good light; and he knows that they mean, to some extent, he is going to hurt them.

And what’s worse, is that he hears them so often. People begging. It’s almost become part of his reason behind his cruel reputation — forcing people to beg, just to make them say it, just to make absolutely certain before he does something irreversible that it's not his soulmate he holds. Each time, he has to hold his breath, think about everything he’s ever done in that split second while he waits to see if hearing the words this time will change his life.

It’s the only thing that’s ever made him think twice about the things that he does. If there’s one person he doesn’t want to hurt, that he’d protect with his life at all costs, it’s his soulmate.

Yet he has no idea who it is, and the only thing he does know is he’s destined to fucking hurt them. Probably make them beg for their life before he realizes that they’re his soulmate. That he’s hurting his other half.

Most of the time he relishes the power, the fear and respect he gets from other people. But the idea of his soulmate being afraid of him just makes him sick to his stomach.

Tonight, the thoughts weigh heavy on his mind as he flies around the city in his suit.

In the years since he’s come to power — subtly, of course, then slowly less so — there had been little resistance from the masses. His influence is good for them, for the most part. It’s more peaceful than it’s been in years. Most people go about their lives business as usual. So long as they don’t challenge him.

Except there’s still a couple of people who challenge him.

The Avengers are, by far, the most pesky. But in recent times they’ve rather given up. There’s bigger problems in the rest of the world, still, and they can’t trick him or infiltrate him, can’t operate in secrecy the way they usually do. Tony is isolated — few friends, and none that would dare betray him, especially not after what happened to Obie. His company is firmly in his own hands, and his technology gives him virtually limitless access to information. He can see virtually anyone, anywhere, anytime he wants. There’s no way to hide from him. And what’s worse for them — he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. There’s nothing to expose when you’re honest from the start. He’s practically untouchable.

But… wait, did he say no way? That’s not… entirely true. He doesn’t know how, but someone has found a way around it.

Because there’s one person other than the Avengers that still bothers him.

Spider-Man.

He’d let him go for a while. It’s his own fault they’ve gotten so confident, if he’s being honest. Letting them run around and play vigilante. At first, they’d been a help, in truth — dragging in some of the street trash even he couldn’t control, and couldn’t be bothered to deal with personally. But then he’d started to get bolder. Bold enough to interfere with him. And while he couldn’t do any major damage, he sure was annoying.

Mostly because he was succeeding. In interrupting little things, at least. And, going back to his earlier thought, because he can’t fucking find him.

Whoever the guy is, he’s careful. Smart. Smart enough that Tony hasn’t been able to find basically any footage of him, anything to link Spider-Man with a normal persona. And he’s obviously just a normal person under the suit. He has to be. And there’s no way he lives in that thing all the time. Especially not with the way he’s avoided his detection so well.

He’s made all the harder to track by his erratic schedule. He can come out at night or during the day, every day for a month and not be seen again for a month the following days. The only consistency is that he tends to be out and about in the Queens borough. Even that is a wide enough area that he has a hard time using it to pin the man’s identity down. He’s narrowed it, certainly, but calculating the amount of people that could make it there every so many days, accounting for the inconsistent schedule and what it could mean, age, height, and hell, even gender — because really, all they would have to do is use a voice modulator and let people see what they wanted to for the rest — means that the number of suspects is still in the thousands.

Speaking of pinning the other man down…

He hopes to be able to do that tonight. He’s let the vigilante go unhindered for long enough. It was time for them to have a little talk. Preferably a short one. He’s tired and temperamental tonight. The day has been long, and all he really wants is someone to help bear the load, but… he can never be so vulnerable. Not with just anyone, particularly, and there’s no one he trusts around tonight. That’s part of the reason why he’d decided to come out and fly around.

That, and because he’d gotten a pretty reliable tip that Spider-Man was going to be out and about himself tonight. And they have some business to attend to.

He finds the vigilante, to his surprise, perched on the edge of the roof, legs swinging in the breeze, looking out over the city through his lense-covered eyes.

He descends from a distance, loudly enough there’s no way the other man doesn’t hear as he’s approaching. But he doesn’t move. In fact, Tony is surprised to hear it when he comes up behind him and he still hasn’t moved at all except to suddenly say, “I wondered how long it would take.”

“For what?” Tony can’t help himself; he bites, immediately, curious. Fascinated, he’d dare say. The confidence in his own abilities he must have to sound so calm, to stay put upon hearing him approach, is almost unbelievable. Either that, or he doubts his own ability to make a clean escape, and so didn’t bother. He’s not sure which option he prefers, but either way, this will be interesting.

“For you to come looking for me. Everything I’ve done to keep my identity a secret, I’m sure you’re dying to know by now.”

He says it so matter-of-fact, emotion undistinguishable in his voice. Tony tilts his head, unsure whether he should be impressed with his ability to sound so cool and self assured, or annoyed with the fact his assessment was correct.

It hardly matters. Part of the reason they had to have this chat in person was so that Tony could begin to work on figuring it out. The AI in his suit is no doubt already working on it. And he doesn’t sound like, for all his seeming self-assuredness, that he was smart enough to use a voice filter, so no doubt Jarvis is well on his way. Not that it would have stopped him, but it might have delayed the inevitable enough that he may actually have had a chance to escape this time before a verdict came in.

“I suppose you’ve got me there,” Tony finally says, after a long moment of deliberation. “I don’t suppose now that I’m here you’ll just tell me? I can go easier on you if you come quietly.”

Spider-Man lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “Can. But you won’t. You could just let me go. But we both know you wouldn’t have come all the way out here just to do that.”

“Well you could go back to fighting low-level crime instead of infringing on my operations, couldn’t you?” Tony retorts. “And flattered as I am by your assessment of me-“ he can’t say much, as he’s not entirely wrong, “-I thought I’d at least give you a fair chance, first, before we go quite that far.”

“I don’t think your definition of fair chance and mine are the same.”

Tony ignores him, continuing on. “Go back to fighting your low level crime and having a good time and whatever else it is you do. Stop interfering with my operations. I’ll even give you my endorsement so the police won’t bother you.”

It’s a generous enough offer, all things considered, but the vigilante is having none of it.

He snorts. “Is that all you’ve got? Really? I expected some kind of bribe, at least.”

“Maybe if you show me you can keep your word, we could talk about it.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m not giving you my word on anything.”

“Shame. Here I thought we’d make a good team.”

“In your dreams, Stark. Just because the Avengers have given into you doesn’t mean everyone else has.”

“That would be a dream, wouldn’t it?” Tony muses, then heaves a sigh. “Fine then. Have it your way.”

For a moment, neither of them move. Then, by some unspoken signal, Tony’s hand comes up, repulsor glowing red hot, just as Spider-Man shoots his first web.

The shot hits the web halfway, making them both disintegrate into thin air. Already moving, Tony flies up in the suit, only to feel a tug on his leg halting his upward momentum — a web. In the second it takes for his suit to disintegrate that one, as well, he’s being covered in more, the force of them pelting him back into the roof, feet sticking to the concrete and torso forced back against one of the light poles, sticky and irritating.

Of course he’d figured out a way to make it so the webs didn’t stick long to his suit as soon as the Spider-Man had made an appearance, but it wasn’t perfect, yet. Couldn’t be without the formula. So while he wasn’t pinned down for long, it’s just enough to get on his nerves.

Even more so because for all his big talk, he’s not actually fighting. Spider-Man pinned him down… and fled.

Well, that just wouldn’t do, would it?

Tony engages the full force of his throttles to just break through the webs faster, and gives chase. He can’t just let him get away with that, after all.

As he flies, he gives himself a minute to focus on the internal calculations flashing in front of his eyes. “How are we doing, Jarvis?”

“Nearly there, sir. Calculations based on body scan and public records have erased quite a few suspects. Cross referencing voice clips with all accessible video including the remaining suspects, but the sheer number is immense. I require a bit of time.”

“I’ve given you a bit of time. I need a name, Jarvis. Something for blackmail. I need to end this tonight.” He doesn’t have time for playing games with the Spider-Man, especially because he’s managed to disappear so effectively every time he tries to. He doesn’t know when he’ll find him again if he doesn’t tonight, and he has a lot of things happening in the near future he does not want messed with.

If he doesn’t find the information he needs, then this night isn’t going to end near as pleasantly as he’d hoped.

Spider-Man is fast, swinging through the city, but not fast enough to shake him. Especially not with his AI’s ability to analyze his every move and know where he’s going to turn next.

He lets him swing around for several minutes, pretending to give chase and hoping to tire him out. He has to just be waiting for him to get bored or lose sight of him so he can drop in somewhere and hide until he leaves or take off the suit to blend in with everyone else. Unfortunately for him, that trick isn’t going to work on him the way it probably does for normal people.

Tony just lets him swing around and tire himself out with him in hot pursuit, then, when he’s sure he has to be running out of energy — and webbing, he could hope — he flies up, into the clouds, dodging and weaving and utilizing his tech to keep an eye on the vigilante while staying out of his line of sight.

It works. Spider-Man drops onto a nearby roof, stumbling a little and bracing himself against a light pole. With a dangerous grin, Tony swoops down to meet him.

By the time he hears him coming and spins around, it’s too late. Tony closes the suit’s hand around his throat and flies him forcefully into the wall of the rooftop exit. Brick crumbles around his outline at the force of the impact, and the lenses of the suit go wide as he claws at his throat.

Almost at the same time as the impact, a picture flashes up in the visor of his helmet. “One almost perfect potential match, sir.”

For a second, Tony just stares at it. Looks through the analytics and double checks them. Then he laughs, unable to help himself. It’s just unbelievable enough that it explains so much. So young — hardly even a man. Spiderling, then, more so than Spider-Man. And even better — an omega. No wonder no one looked twice at this kid before as a potential threat.

He lets the helmet melt away, now, and looks down at the kid, grip around his throat tightening just a little as he watches him wheeze out a breath. His hand around Tony’s wrist is tight, tight enough his suit issues a warning, but not enough to actually dislodge his hand.

“So.” Tony tilts his head. “We meet again, Spiderling. Should probably stop doing that, hm?” He gets a strangled sound in answer, which is about all he could expect, really. He just shrugs. “Oh well. It’s not like it’ll happen much after tonight. Because I’m going to put an end to this, right here.” He leans forward, helmet reappearing— just in case he would do something like try to head butt him, because frankly, while it wouldn’t work, it would hurt — until their noses are almost brushing through their respective suits. “Last chance, Spiderling. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Are you gonna be a big boy about this or not?”

Tony releases his throat just enough for him to draw in a few breaths to answer. He holds his breath as the vigilante sucks in a few huge gulps of air before spitting out, “Go to hell, Stark.”

Tony just chuckles, clicking his tongue. “Oh, I will, I’m sure. But at this rate, you’re going to get there first.” He presses him a little harder against the wall, grip tightening again and ignoring the way the bits of brick and concrete pour down around them like rain. “I didn’t want to do this, kid, truly. But if you think I won’t kill you, you’re wrong. And if you think your loved ones won’t be targets if you don’t quit your shit, you’d also be wrong. I don’t like to be cruel, but I am what you make me, and I won’t stand for this any longer, Peter.”

The use of his name has a visible impact on the kid. He gasps, and his grip on his wrist tightens enough around the metal of his suit that it bends around his fingers and it actually hurts. Tony’s grip around his throat slackens a little automatically, and he frowns. It’s weird. It almost… burns? That’s not what a bruise or metal cut should feel like...

And then he hears it. The teen sucks in a breath, and in a broken, raspy whisper, gasps, “Please don’t...”

The effect is instantaneous. The slight burning in his wrist turns into a wildfire, like a brand, hot and burning and fuck does it hurt for that second. He responds automatically, jerking his hand back as if scalded, and watching almost in slow motion as the younger man crumples to the floor. It takes a moment longer than it probably should for him to realize exactly what’s happening, and then the suit melts off his body and he stares in horror as the color seems to settle in his soul words, now shining a bold black from where they sit on the inside of his left wrist.

Heart thundering in his chest, he stares for a long minute before snapping out of it and rushing to his side. He’s passed out, now, though from lack of oxygen or shock or what, he can’t be sure right now.

Carefully, so carefully, he tugs off his mask, both wanting to see his face for real and knowing he should see how bad the damage to his throat is. It catches him off guard at first, how gorgeous he is, and then how young, despite Jarvis already showing him both of those things earlier. He’s still marveling, though. Could this really be his soulmate? Oh, what is he going to do?

He forces the thoughts away for a moment, checking Peter’s throat. It’s ringed with finger-shaped bruises, but it doesn’t look too severe. He leans his head down, listening at his chest. Now that he’s got proper airflow back he doesn’t seem to be wheezing or otherwise struggling to breathe. So he should be fine.

Fine, physically, except for the fact that he’s Tony’s soulmate. That they’re branded together now, a link between their very souls keeping them from being able to end this in a way either of them would have imagined.

It’s funny. With how long he’d wanted this, he should be ecstatic. Instead he’s just… numb. A whole host of emotions rages inside him, and he can’t allow himself to acknowledge any of them until he figures out what to do.

For now, there’s only really one thing he can do. His soulmate is hurt, in more ways than one. He needs medical attention, to a certain extent, and they need to talk. Waiting around here until Peter wakes up isn’t going to be ideal for fixing either of those things.

So he bends down and scoops Peter up, cradling his unconscious form close to him. Then, with a tired sigh, he takes to the skies again, carrying them back towards the tower, glowing in the distance like a lighthouse in the sand, beckoning him to shore.

He has a feeling actually finding the shore is going to be a long time coming, but this is the first step he can take to finding it. He just hopes they’ll both be able to tread through these rough waters long enough to get there.

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Warnings: Smut, swearing

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 6 Part 8

Part 7

Liam's phone rang. He ignored it and let it go to voicemail. When it rang again, he made a noise of disgust and took his phone out of his pocket to look at it. "It's my publicist. I had better take this."

Liam answered the phone and went outside to talk. I turned the oven on and started to unpack the groceries. Then I got the roast, put it in a baking tray, poured olive oil over the top and seasoned it with salt and some pepper. I got out some onions and garlic and started to cut them up to place around the roast to give it some added flavour.

"That looks great," Liam said when he came back in.

"Thanks," I said, and I gave him a grin. I took the tray and put it in the oven. I got my phone and put an alarm on, giving myself time to cook the veggies before they finished. A thought came to me, and before I could bite my tongue, I said, "They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Really?" Liam licked his lips, looked down at his pants and said, "I'd say they were aiming too high."

It took me a minute to work out what the joke was. When I finally did, I couldn't help but laugh and hide my face in my hands.

"You've gone so red!" Liam appeared to be having fun with my inability to control my blushes.

"Oh, my God!" I said, still hiding my face and laughing. "Alright, that was funny."

It took me a while to stop laughing. When I did, Liam said sombrely, "Sweetheart, I have to tell you something."

"Uh, oh, it doesn't sound good."

"It's not bad. I don't know how you will feel about it." Liam then told me that his publicist had called to let him know there were pictures put on Instagram and Twitter of the two of us kissing at the pub last night. "Your name hasn't been mentioned, and the photos look to be shot from pretty far away on a mobile, so someone in the pub took the pictures. Sarah says they probably aren't going to tell who you are by the pictures unless someone who knows you well comes forward."

I think if my eyes bulged out of my head any further, they would have fallen out and rolled on the floor. "That quick?" It was all I could think to say.

"Yeah. It's hard to know what will come out and when. A lot of times I go out, and no one notices me, but other times I have paps or members of the public following me for hours."

"Who's Sarah?"

"My publicist." Liam reached across the bench and took my hand in his. "Are you ok?"

"You say they don't know who I am?" Liam nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't happy but what was I going to do about it? I picked at my nails. I needed to paint them; the pale pink polish was starting to chip.

"You ok?" Liam asked again

I shrugged. "Your life is weird."

Liam chucked. "You keep telling me that."

"So, what happens now?"

"Well, usually Sarah would say to private all social media, but she had a look and said she could only find a Facebook profile for you which was already private. Do you have any others? Instagram? Twitter? Snapchat?"

"No. I have a YouTube account that I use to watch videos, but that isn't linked to my real name or email. Also, a Tumblr account, again not associated with my name. And no pictures of me."

"Tumblr?" He raised an eyebrow. His fucking lip twitched.

"I was a confused 22-year-old ok?" I said a bit defensively. "I haven't used it in years," I remembered then the dating site we met on. I quickly logged on and selected the options to hide the account.

"Ok, well, there's not much else right now. A few rags called Sarah for comment. She said the standard no comment and asked for my privacy to be respected. The rest is up to you."

"Up to me?" I asked, confused. "What's up to me?"

"When you want to confirm the relationship and release your name."

"Liam, I met you less than 24 hours ago and have known you only a few months. I'm not ready for that. I like you a lot, but maybe you pick your nose and eat it, and I'll have to dump your arse tomorrow and then it's been a big song and dance over nothing." I joked. The mood had gotten too heavy for me. I wanted to talk about something else.

"Sweetheart, I'd never do that." He smiled sweetly, "I'd make you eat it."

"Ewww!" I screamed.

"Get over here." He chased me around the bench, and after a few evasions and some more squeals, he caught me. Perrin came in through the doggy door and barked at Liam a few times. Our behaviour obviously scandalised him. "Perrin," I called. "Come here, boy."

"You think your dog can save you?"

"Of course, he's very protective of my honour."

"We will see about that." Liam bent over, and I thought he was going to tackle me. Instead of flying backwards, I was hoisted forward and found myself over his shoulder. I screamed as I heard a loud crack, my hands flying to my bum.

"Did you just smack my arse?" I must admit I was finding all the manhandling arousing. I wasn't going to let him know that, though.

"Yes, I did. Want another?" Liam was heading down the hallway, taking me to the bedroom.

I giggled. "No!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Liam quoted. Shakespeare sounded good with his accent. I giggled some more, and I got another one. Yes, very arousing.

Liam hummed. "I quite like the view here." He rubbed my bottom and took me into my bedroom.

I was very close to his round bum. "This view is not so bad either," I said and smacked his arse. Unfortunately, it probably hurt me more than it hurt him. His butt was tight!

Liam dropped me onto the bed at that point, and the look on his face was hysterical. I couldn't stop laughing, and tears were rolling down my face. Then I did the most embarrassing thing: I snorted.

That was it. Both of us couldn't stop. Every time I calmed enough to think I could speak, one look at Liam's face, and I'd be off again.

Eventually, we stopped, and I was able to say, "Oh my God, your face! That was so bloody funny." I wiped my eyes.

"I think that may have been the first time someone's done that to me."

"Really? Didn't you go to an all-boys school?"

"Yes, but it wasn't the US." Liam tried suppressing a grin as he said, "we got ball taps."

I tried not to laugh. I really did. "Oh, my God!" I was off again.

We watched the original Mad Max before I had to go and finish dinner. I was horrified when Liam said he hadn't seen it before. I immediately made him watch it. He said it was ok, the concept was great, but he didn't love it. I told him he needed a brain scan.

When I went to make dinner, Liam offered to help, but I told him not to be silly.

Liam sat at the kitchen bench chatting to me while I chopped and blanched the vegetables. After a while, he said he had to call Sarah and his assistant Ryan to make sure he had organised the dog walker to take Cole for a walk and play.

"Any update from Sarah?" I asked Liam when he returned. I feigned disinterest while I finished slicing the roast.

"All the same right now. Some sites have posted the pictures, saying I was spotted drinking with an "unknown female companion." The pictures have circulated a bit on Twitter, but it's mostly just by fans. They haven't hit the mainstream yet. It's all fairly standard, and it will go away by tomorrow by the looks of it."

"Good," I said. A look I couldn't interpret passed over Liam's face. He masked it pretty quickly. I opened my mouth to ask if he was ok but shut it again. I said, instead, "dinner's ready." I passed Liam his plate.

"Thank you," Liam said, leaning over to kiss me before eating. I watched as he cut up some beef and started chewing. "Pretty good. Almost as good as Mum's," he teased with a wink.

I elbowed him, and God bless him; he pretended it hurt.

We ate in silence for a while. I gave a few pieces to Perrin. He was so old, and I couldn't help but spoil him occasionally. He won't be around forever.

After dinner, Liam insisted on helping me clean up, and we stacked the dishwasher. Watching him bend over, his jeans straining as he put the plates in, stirred some feelings. Erotic feelings.

"Want to watch another movie?" He asked.

"Not really," I said. "I'm in the mood for some dessert."

"Ice-cream? I can't have any, but you can."

"Not ice-cream," I said, shaking my head. I looked at him with my very best bedroom eyes.

"What do you want then? Want me to go to the shops?" He said, not catching on. I put my arms around his waist. "If you let me borrow your car, I'll go. I can just go on my own."

"No, you wombat." I met his hips with mine, his eyes widened. "What I want is right here." I wriggled against him. Liam grinned widely, his cheeks creasing in such a sexy way.

"I thought you were shy."

"I am getting used to you," I said. "The real me is coming out." The truth of my words took me by surprise. I looked away, second-guessing myself. Why did I do that?

"I like her," Liam said hoarsely. If he hadn't spoken then, I think I would have stopped. But when his hands went into my hair, and he pulled, stretching my throat, I knew I wasn't going to stop. He kissed me there, and his teeth grazed my skin. My fingers reached under his shirt, and they gripped his back. My nails dug into his skin.

"Bedroom?" I whispered.

"Bedroom," he agreed and walked me backwards to my room.

"You promised me something earlier today," Liam said in between kisses. We were close to my bed.

"What's that?"

He stopped kissing me and cupped my face with his hands. "You said I could undress you."

Liam took hold of my t-shirt and waited. I nodded. He slowly lifted my shirt up and over my head before dropping it to the ground. He tilted his head as if contemplating and gently turned me around.

I felt Liam gather my hair and put it over my shoulder. He caressed my back with his fingertips, making me shiver with pleasure. I heard him give a satisfied hum before undoing my bra. He turned me around again and took hold of my bra straps, pulling them down my arms.

When I dropped my bra beside my shirt, Liam took a step back. He looked me up and down, his eyes hungry. I wanted to cover myself under his intense gaze, my earlier courage wavering under his scrutiny.

My arms started to move, and he gave me a stern look. "You're not thinking of hiding now, are you?"

I shook my head and forced my arms back by my sides. "Good, because I want to look. You're quite the sight." As if to emphasise his point, he adjusted himself through his pants. I felt a thrill of excitement flow through me and felt the familiar throbbing between my legs.

Liam got down on his knees and kissed my belly. His rough stubble tickled. "Your skin is so soft," he said in a low voice. He undid my jeans and kissed a trail down as he unzipped me. His breath was warm, and I felt it through the cotton of my briefs, his last kiss placed just above my slit.

It was almost agony. I moaned at his teasing breath and lips. Then Liam pulled down my underwear and kissed my mound. I felt his tongue part my lips, and when he found what he was looking for, he flattened his tongue and moaned into me.

I didn't know what to do. For a moment, I wanted to stop Liam, but it felt too good. I could feel my resolve waning. I didn't want to wait. Why should we wait? What was I waiting for? I had to stop thinking and go with it, enjoy him, enjoy the experience. I put my fingers in his hair as he licked and sucked at me. He seemed to remember what I liked, and soon I was close to my peak.

One of his fingers played at my entrance. I silently begged for Liam to put it in. My core was desperate to be filled. His finger slowly entered me, and I was lost. I needed him. At that moment, all I wanted was to feel more of him inside me, have him fill me.

I felt like this was the moment. If I don't ask Liam now, I probably never would. If I didn't want him now, why am I even allowing this to happen? I wanted him. He excited me like no one had done since Andy. He had knocked down the defences I'd built to keep myself alone. Keep me in my grief and guilt. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I wanted to feel desired again.

"Fuck me?" I asked. The words just tumbled out. I knew at that moment I would beg if I had to. "Please, Liam, I want you to fuck me."

I wasn't sure if Liam heard me. He increased his attention, and I felt the pressure building. His hand gripped my arse, his fingers digging into my cheeks as he pulled me closer to him. The short rough hair on his cheeks and chin tickled against my thighs. My legs buckled. I couldn't stand up anymore. He held me there while I panted and moaned, seeking release.

I felt my climax arrive like a bolt of lightning. It was sudden and intense. My body contracted as waves of pleasure exploded over me. Short, wordless shouts came from my mouth until it was over. I collapsed onto the bed.

I laid there a while, eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. Liam was shuffling around and heard his belt come undone. I felt the bed dip, and I opened my eyes to find Liam naked, climbing up the bed until his face was above mine.

Liam supported some of his weight with one hand and laid on me, our whole bodies skin to skin. He was warm to touch, and he almost felt hot to my now cooled skin.

"Ask me again," Liam said.

Part 8

[thornsofdeath]

phf rants

as i’ve made clear im rlly impacted by this book. dont mind my lowkey venting

damn this is long

mista's coldness towards fugo / the stadium scene as a whole

it really really hurt me to see mista treating fugo, his old partner, his old friend like a dangerous enemy. i know he had his valid reasoning, but that very specific kind of angst shatters me. mista had his gun pointed at fugo for the entire stadium scene, not wavering for even a second. the worst part? it seemed like mista was trying to purposefully incite fugo to snap by right out insulting him and his stand, saying he was glad when fugo didn’t get on the boat. it seemed like he was egging fugo on just so he had an excuse to kill him, to get one more thing off his list of concerns. fugo as a person meant nothing at all to mista. when mista said “kill these traitors, or we’ll kill you” i wanted to cry. mista goes on about hoe fugo is a massive threat because purple haze is unhinged and can wipe out the enitre population if he wanted. fugo politely corrects him, as PH only has 6 capsules and can only attack 6 times in a day. did i see myself in that scene and feel fugo’s pain of just wanting to be left alone and not have to think about the past or the future, silent and melancholic during intervention and just feeling like the only way out is to kms right then and there? thats a secret ill never tell.  phf makes me smad.

there were some little details in purple haze feedback that got me thinking as well. in the 6 months between fugo’s leave and his cold reuniting with mista, fugo was playing piano at a bar. Most of the people who bring this up refer to it as just some cool trick he could get because he’s a rich kid. he is not. in flashbacks, it’s shown that bruno only knows how to cope with distress by isolating himself and bottling everything up. god, did i feel that. sheila e’s life goal was to kill illuso (to avenge her sister) and swore her life to giorno after finding out he killed him, it’s ironic though because in reality fugo had killed him, and in the first part of the book, they weren’t exactly friends. 

another part that really just made me wanna sob and bash my head into a wall was seeing fugo’s pure self hatred. since he was a child, he had it drilled into his head that if he couldnt produce results, he was worthless. after being disowned and thrown into jail with no future, he was completely hopeless. even after bruno came and took him in, he was never free of his liabilities. no matter what he did, he couldnt help seeing himself as some monster, failure, and burden. (kinnie moment) it worsened when he had to abandon bruno’s gang, his only saving grace was bruno, his light, hope, and acceptance. now he was stripped of that, gripped in fear knowing too well that betraying passione would end horribly. deep in his heart he wanted so badly to join them, to join his found family, but the logic he had drilled into his own head of knowing that betrayal was foolish and futile wouldnt let him have his way. hes back on the streets, just like how he was (or wouldve been after getting out of jail) after being disowned. he got a piano gig at a bar, and let himself wallow in grief and depression for 6 months. throughout the events pf PHF, we still see him clinging to memories and trauma. they say “what you let consume you will define you”, and i couldnt begin to describe it any better. putting all of the guilt and blame on his own shoulders, feeling he deserved it all and more. 

either i wasnt paying enough attention (this bitch got some rereading to do) or the purple haze distortion scene was kinda underwhelming. his character arc felt kinda rushed, like most of the book was establishing his bad state and constant flashbacks, and then all of a sudden he has confidence in his abilities and believes in himself. of course, im overjoyed he did get growth, and had a happy ending (depends on how you interpret it). stan fugio

vittorio’s fascination with pain really got me feelin. hgghhhhhhhh hh hnnhhhhh. he describes it well, wanting to feel his life force/energy in the form of pain so that he didnt ‘go extinct’, and the writing of it just saying straight up ‘cutting himself’ ‘hurting himself’ ‘self harming’ made my skin crawl. as someone who suffers with shit like that its both painful and relieving to know a character who has similar habits, whether it’s for the purpose of activating his stand or just to cope. 

2 times in phf, fugo does some kind of suicide attack. of course, he survives both. it’s never made clear whether or not he intended to die/didnt mind dying as it was a way of accomplishing his mission, but either way it got me heavy breathing. the last one especially, when he bites a virus capsule to kill volpe. did he know he’d grown and purple haze would miraculously save him with his own genius plan, or was he going out with a bang? luckily for me it wasnt really gone over like ‘hey you couldve died from that are you doing ok mentally’ or else i mightve felt nauseous reading it. im all for angst, but idk how much more i can take when its day 87 of quarantine and im numb as fuck just waiting to break down. 

angelica’s stand night bird flying (is probably not that complicated im just fuckin dumb) made fugo and everyone else hallucinate/dream. in fugo’s dream, it was pretty much an ideal au.  he was permitted to see his grandma when she was near death (preventing the professor scene), met bruno (fisher boy with fisher dad) on a boat and they became friends, nara went back to school and was doing good overall, abba remained a cop but didnt do any bad things, the whole group was all just good friends having a fun time. god i would licherally sell my body and soul for them all to be happy like that and all live. 

the concept of abandonment also messed me up, just the feeling that everyone say fugo as someone who abandoned the group in their hour of need out of selfishness made me wanna cry angry sad depression tears. hes a good man! let him be ok and happy i will fight all fugo haters no cap

every time i think back to the fugio restaurant scene i just. idk man it hurts me. the pessimistic bitch in me says that it would be unrequited and fugo would only be more sad because even through his efforts, he’s just another pawn working for giorno. on the other hand, it makes me soft n giddy because?? omyfucking god giorno asks fugo to call him giogio when NOBODY ELSE IN THE BOOK had referred to him as that. the fuckin “if grief anchors your feet, let me share it” part makes me wanna jusyt. complete my kin transformation into fugo and be a sobbin g  shaking mess in his arms as he tells me its all gonna be ok. was that a vent? absolutely. anyways, its pretty damn special for the don of the mafia to invite you to breakfast at a fancy restaurant before the place opens and its just the two of you. giorno fixes fugo’s injuries and tells him that he’s proud of his growth, and that he knew fugo could do it. dude?????? if i didnt already know i was a lonely affection/affirmation/attention starved bitch that wouldve done it for me.

holy fuck that was longer than i expected it to be. i do feel better tho

[wherevermyway]

i just want you to know who i am. // binchan // oneshot // 18+

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin | bang chan x hwang hyunjin (mentioned) rating: explicit | 18+ ⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ tags/warnings: graphic depictions of violence, transphobia/misgendering, trans male character, internalised homophobia, implied rape / non-con mention, suicidal thoughts, unhealthy relationships, explicit sexual content, slurs (like, two). word count: 8,229 also on AO3!

originally published: 31 october 2020

Bang Chan forced himself through almost three decades of shoving himself into the wrong box, being uncomfortably forced into whatever roles society deemed worthy for him. It doesn't surprise most people when he comes out as trans, but it bothers his boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, the most. Hyunjin is outwardly outspoken about Chan, too afraid of being labelled as gay when his boyfriend comes out, and he constantly lets Chan know this: talking down to him, misgendering him, calling him slurs, and deadnaming him. One day, Chan has enough. If nobody was going to accept him, what was the fucking point? He fully intends on taking his life one night as he angrily, desperately rushes to the bridge that overlooks the Han River.

He plans on it, that is, until a complete stranger comes up and saves his life. Literally.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“I’m not gonna be fucking gay, alright?” A lanky blond man says with a scoff, aggressively carding his fingers through his hair as he nervously paces back and forth. “Look, Chun-hwa, I—“

“It’s Chan. Please, Hyunjin, I keep telling you, stop calling me that name. It’s not who I am.”

“Whatever,” the man grumbles. “You know what it’s gonna be like if the guys find out? If they think my girlfriend suddenly thinks she’s a dude?”

The brunette on the couch sighs, dipping his head into his hands. “Hyunjin, you knew. You’ve known for years. I don’t know why, all of a sudden, the medication is what’s causing problems. You handled my top surgery.” His voice breaks as he curls into himself, trying to hide from the situation at hand, make himself small. “I’ve tried to start this so many times, to tell you I was finally starting the medication, but I was afraid you’d react this way.”

“Chun-hwa, this is bullshit.” Hyunjin gritted through his teeth, deliberately using the wrong name again, which called Chan to wince. “I told you,” he threw his hands in the air and raised his voice, “I’m not gonna be labelled as some stupid homo for dating a fucking tranny. The guys are gonna fuckin’ kill me if they find out you’re not just a tomboy or some shit.”

Chan bites his lip back, his face scowling into a frown. “Hyunjin!” He shouts, finally snapping. “Why the fuck do you care more about what they think, versus how I feel? This isn’t something I can choose. If I could just live my life as a normal, heterosexual woman, I totally would. Trust me.” A deep sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head. “Life isn’t that easy, though. I’m never gonna be that woman you want me to be, because I was never a woman to begin with.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and pads off into the kitchen, digging around the refrigerator. He pulls out a bottle of soju and chugs nearly half of it in one go. Chan gets up, following him into the kitchen. He stands in the entryway, folding his arms as he watches Hyunjin. “Stuffing this down with alcohol isn’t gonna make you feel better in the long run. It won’t make it go away, even temporarily.”

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin grumbles, taking another swig from the bottle, and another one, until the bottle is totally empty. His face winces and he tosses the bottle into the sink, causing it to crash and chip, a couple shards of green glass flying upwards, some ricocheting and landing on the floor. He angrily opens the fridge again, grabbing a can of beer and chugging it. “I just want my friends to think I’m normal, that I’m fine, that I’m not stuck with some…”

Hyunjin pauses and the air grows tense. He nervously looks at Chan, then quickly darts his eyes to the wall, looking as if he was desperately trying to bore a hole into it. Hyunjin was about to say something he knew that Chan would hate, and he still had some semblance of respect to stop himself. Some, but not much.

“Say it.” Chan’s voice is dark, but calm. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever Hyunjin was going to say, but he knew it was coming. Chan didn’t expect Hyunjin to actually say anything horribly offensive, but he tensed as Hyunjin took a long swig from the can in his hands. The blond man took a couple steps closer to Chan, his boozy breath nauseatingly permeating the air as he sticks his bony finger into Chan’s shoulder.

“Stuck with a fucking queer.” Hyunjin sneers, his voice quiet, but colder than ice. He gets closer into Chan’s face, staring him down, then moves back a bit and spits on his feet.

Chan sarcastically scoffs, turning on his heel and making his way towards the front door. “I can’t believe I’ve dealt with you for so goddamned long, Hyunjin.” There was no way he could handle such shitty behaviour anymore. He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t. Hyunjin was the last person he had, and he just broke the last straw that was keeping Chan sane.

“Where are you going?” Hyunjin slurs after Chan, arms wide open in the air, beer sloshing to the floor from his open can.

“I’m done.” He lets out a nervous chuckle and grabs his keys from off of the wall rack, slipping a pair of flat trainers on. “I’m done with you, I’m done with this, I’m done with everything.”

“Chun-hwa—“

“Stop calling me that!” Chan shouts, grabbing a thick, heavy boot off of the shoe rack and angrily tossing it directly at Hyunjin’s head, the heel hitting him square in the forehead. The collision causes him to lose the grip from his can of beer, making it topple to the ground and spill its remnants all over the floor, the echoing ringing loudly in the apartment. “I’m not gonna be a fucking problem for you anymore, so just be happy for fucking once. You’ll never have to see me again, alright? Go meet some woman who won’t be just another ‘fucking queer’.”

Hyunjin grabs his forehead, staring at Chan for a moment, his face dumbstruck and mouth agape.

“Are you going to say something? Anything at all? Are you going to think about anyone but yourself and your shitty fucking friends? Think about your fucking boyfriend for once?” Chan shakes his head, but Hyunjin offers nothing in response. Chan desperately wanted his boyfriend to say something, but, like always, nothing came to fruition. He was always the one that had to put in the effort, and when things got tough, Hyunjin did nothing. He never did anything. “Fine,” the older man scoffs, grumbling under his breath and opening the door, letting it practically fly off of the hinge. “I sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, honestly hope you die alone, Hyunjin. Alone, cold, and in a bed of regret.”

Hyunjin continues to say nothing as Chan slams the door shut and runs down the stairwell, tears spilling from his eyes. Why nobody accepted him was beyond him. He told his parents two years ago, and he hasn’t heard from them since. He told his close friends, and they treated him like a leper, like he carried some sort of terrifying, incurable, transmittable disease. To be dismissed by someone like his boyfriend after all of these years hurt the most, honestly. Hyunjin was the only person he had left, even though their relationship was nothing more than toxic sludge.

None of this mattered. Soon, none of it would matter anymore, not to Chan, not to anyone. Nothing fucking mattered.

Tears sting, burning like battery acid, as they roll down Chan’s face involuntarily. He gazes far down the Han River, watching the city lights dance on the lapping waves, wiping the tears off of his cheeks. He takes in a deep, long sniffle, and digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands. A small tremble kept coursing through his veins, causing him to lightly shake as he stared. He just needed a little bit more courage. He could do this. He would drift his way down the Han River, and then he wouldn’t be anyone’s problem anymore, he just needed the courage to fucking do it.

The soft scent of acrid mint and floral tobacco pulls Chan from his thoughts. A shorter man with neatly trimmed, dark black hair is suddenly standing next to him, offering him a burning white stick. “You look like you could use this,” the man exhales, a puff of smoke escaping his lungs, deliberately rolling up through his nose. They didn’t make eye contact, but there was a form of nonverbal exchange going on between them. “Nobody comes out to the Seongsu Bridge at three in the morning with good intentions. Wanna talk about it?”

Chan gasps, a bit flabbergasted. He eyes the cigarette, then mutters a hushed “fuck it” under his breath, taking it and pulling a long drag off of it. “Oh, shit,” he sputters through coughs. “God, that’s bad.”

“Sorry,” the other man scoffs, sticking another cigarette between his lips. He pulls out a black lighter, flicking the flimsy metal dial a few times until white smoke billowed up from his mouth. “I was in your shoes once — well, maybe not exactly where you are, but close enough — a couple years ago. I sat on the handrail and waited. Not sure what I was waiting for, exactly, but I was waiting.” He sighs and scratches his forehead, turning to look towards, but not directly at, Chan. “There was a guy that came up and saved my life. He just came to talk to me, and I realized that this was a stupid, permanent way to fix a temporary problem. My job, and losing it, wasn’t my entire personality, even though society made it seem that way.”

Chan lets the cigarette burn between his fingers, transfixed in the way the white smoke softly danced its way up into the sky, eventually completely evaporating and disappearing. “My existence is a mistake.” He didn’t mean to be so blunt about it, but it fell from his lips before he could really think about it. “My family hates me, my friends think I’m diseased, and my boyfriend,” he scoffs, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and takes in a deep inhale, “I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend, now. He’s more concerned about his appearance to his friends and what they think about him compared to what I actually think and feel.”

The mysterious man cocks his head to the side briefly and offers a noncommittal grunt. “Sounds like ‘ex’ is a good title for him, then.”

A soft chuckle puffs out from Chan’s lips. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s not a good person for a lot of shitty reasons; should’ve left him years ago.” They sit there for a few minutes, letting their cigarettes burn between their fingertips and eventually die out. “I don’t get it, man.” Chan tosses the end of his cigarette over the railing, watching it fall down towards the river, slowly getting smaller and smaller, until it’s completely invisible. Gone. Lost forever.

“Get what?”

Chan’s eyes glimmer as he looks up towards the sky, letting his hands drape over the fencing of the bridge, dancing so close to where the promise of eternal comfort lie ahead of him. “Why do people have such a fucking problem with what makes someone else happy if it doesn’t affect them, you know?” He finally turns his head to look at the man next to him. They make eye contact and just stare at each other for a moment, letting their emotions communicate nonverbally.

There was a layer of pain behind the stranger’s eyes, almost like he understood the pain and helplessness that Chan was feeling, all without saying a word. The man sticks an arm out, presenting an open hand. “Seo Changbin. I don’t have the answer to your question, but I suppose you’d at least wanna know my name.”

Chan looks down, then back up to Changbin’s eyes, grabbing his hand with a firm grasp. “Bang Chan. Nice to meet you, Changbin.”

The two men smile at each other warmly, keeping their hands grasped together for a moment too long, but neither of them react negatively. “I know we just met, but,” Changbin says, softly tugging at Chan’s hand, “there’s a coffee shop not too far from here that I love going to early in the morning, since there’s never anyone there and the coffee actually tastes good.”

Chan doesn’t stop the man from pulling him along, doesn’t let go of his soft, warm hand. A gentle smile slowly grows upon his face. When was the last time someone was so nice to him, anyways? “Alright, that sounds like a plan.” He might have come here to die, but he was walking away feeling, ironically, more alive than ever.

The two guys sit at a dimly lit table near the entrance of the cafe, inhaling the aroma of freshly-brewed pour over coffee. Everything suddenly seemed more vibrant since Changbin literally pulled Chan away from the brink of death. Colours were vividly radiant, scents were more prominent, the lights were brighter, uncomfortably so.

“Hey, Chan,” Changbin says, bringing the clear mug up to his face and taking a soft sip of the warm coffee, steam enveloping his face. “I wanna ask you something, if that’s alright.”

Chan drops a cube of sugar into his coffee and aimlessly stirs it around with a tiny spoon, gently breaking up the cube and watching it slowly dissolve. “Sure, sure, what’s up?” He never liked coffee. Should’ve ordered the tea, he briefly pondered, watching the liquid swirl.

Changbin looks away, staring out the window, watching the morning passersby move with purpose down the sidewalk. “You said your existence is a mistake.” The words cause Chan to look up at Changbin, whose eyes flit back from the window to make eye contact. He dips his head down and to the side a bit. “Why is that? Why do you think you’re a mistake?”

“Oh,” the older man bites his cheek, breaking eye contact and clearing his throat. “I just…” He wasn’t sure how to answer that, grazing his thumb against the indentations of the spoon’s handle. “I wasn’t born right,” he sighs, but doesn’t elaborate.

“You weren’t ‘born right’?” Changbin presses, setting his mug down on the saucer in front of him, folding his hands together and resting his chin on his fingers. “I know it’s probably a heavily-detailed, incredibly personal question, but, if you don’t mind elaborating, what do you mean by that?”

Chan brings the cup of coffee to his lips with his right hand, taking a long, deep drink of the lightly bitter, vanilla-scented liquid. For not liking coffee, he had to admit that it wasn’t actually bad. He sets the glass back down and looks directly at Changbin, taking in a long, deep inhale, and makes sure to speak in a hushed voice. “I was born a woman, biologically speaking. ‘Assigned female at birth’ is the more correct term, that’s what people keep telling me.” Chan studies Changbin’s face, which doesn’t falter, so he continues. “Neither my family, nor my friends really tried to understand it. They all abandoned me immediately. My ex, though, was the hardest hit by it. He tried to care for a while, but then he started to call me these terrible things, only worried about how my expression and appearance would affect him and his new friends.” Chan scoffed. “It’s stupid. Not fair. So, I always figured I was a mistake. Everyone treated me like I was a mistake.”

Changbin eyes Chan’s free hand and takes in a deep breath, letting his hand fall directly onto the hand on the table, loosely gripping it. “Chan,” he softly says, soothingly, deliberately looking the older man in the eyes, “you’re not a mistake. Nobody is born a mistake.” The two of them lock eyes and stare at each other, exchanging glances of pain, misery, and understanding. “We just blossom into who we really are, and sometimes, people can’t handle the real, true us. If they can’t handle who we really are, then what’s the fucking point? Why keep them around if it only ends in misery for us, and they lose nothing?”

It had been so long since someone looked at Chan with empathy instead of resentment, and the realization of that caused his stomach to burn uncomfortably. The strange warmth spread across Chan’s abdomen, and he glanced down to Changbin’s hand, then back up to his face. The way they exchanged glances was oddly calming, like Chan could be comfortable telling this stranger almost anything, and he wouldn’t be judged. Changbin made Chan feel alive for the first time in months. Years, actually. For the first time, he didn’t have to try to put on a façade of who he really was; it felt like Changbin accepted him for who he was with a single glance.

“Changbin,” Chan breathed out, knitting his brows together and mustering up the courage to grasp the younger man’s hand a little tighter. “You’re completely right.” The two of them exchanged a glance that spoke more than words could tell. It was an exchange that said ‘I’m broken, but thank you for listening, for trying to understand.’ His eyes started to water, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyelids. It hurt, but it was paradoxically relieving for him to feel this way.

“I’ve got a lot of problems, too,” Changbin sighed, but deliberately grabbed Chan’s hand a bit tighter. “It’s hard enough to come out as gay here. The guy that saved me? We became close friends, but he quickly regretted it when I misinterpreted the signals he gave off and I told him I had feelings for him.” His eyes rolled down to an insignificant stain on the table. “It’s been nearly a year, and I still haven’t heard from him, even though he saved my life. I thought he really cared, but he showed his true colours and then he was gone.” The younger man took a long sip from his mug, and stared into the ripples of the coffee as he set it back down.

“I’m sorry, man,” Chan sighed with sincerity, rubbing the back of Changbin’s bony hand with his thumb, but he did not relent. “Fuck him. Fuck him for not accepting you. Fuck him for not being a good person when you needed him most, not respecting you enough to at least politely turn you down.”

Changbin met Chan’s eyes again, this time with more determination, and he let out a quick huff before finishing the warm beverage in his mug. They stared at each other for a few moments, and it was like there was a silent agreement between them.

“Are you done with your coffee?” Changbin asked, but the true meaning of his question sounded more like “do you want to go home with me?”

The ‘yes’ that Chan whispered was a double entendre: it was a ‘yes’ to the question about his coffee, and a ‘yes’ to Changbin’s unspoken question.

“Honestly,” Chan muttered, inanely scratching the handle of the mug with his thumbnail, “I’m not a huge fan of coffee. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad, I just didn’t wanna say no.”

Changbin pulls Chan up by the hand as he makes his way to his feet. He steps around the table and stops right up next to Chan’s ear and whispers. “Don’t make yourself smaller or less than for anyone. Ever.”

It doesn’t take long for them to make their way back to Changbin’s apartment, only a block and a half away from the cafe. In fact, if Chan had actually looked out the living room window, he’d be able to see the streetlight of the cafe and the spot where Changbin saved him. Instead, he was too busy letting Changbin pin him up against the kitchen wall. The soft light of the start of daybreak illuminated the kitchen, spilling rays of orange and purple onto both of them.

“You look incredible,” Changbin whined, biting at Chan’s bottom lip. “Handsome. Gorgeous.” He panted, whined, dragged his fingers through Chan’s hair. “I want to drown myself in you, Chan, drown myself in you if you’ll let me.”

Chan forgets how to breathe for a moment, the tightness in his abdomen causing him to feel lightheaded. He was nervous, but the burning feeling of desire overwhelmed the nervousness. “Changbin,” he whines, allowing his teeth to graze against the bottom lip of the man in front of him.

“I only want to do what you’re comfortable with,” Changbin whispers, trailing his right hand down from Chan’s neck to his waist, finger hooking in the tip of his hipbone, causing the older man to buck into him involuntarily. “I want you to tell me to stop if you need me to. But I also want to hear you long for me tonight, to cry out my name, to piss off the neighbours.”

Something about Changbin’s words drove Chan insane. “I trust you,” he whines. He shouldn’t be so trusting after knowing someone for maybe a couple of hours, but there was something about this stranger that made Chan feel more comfortable in his own skin than his ex-boyfriend of several years did. He did, after all, save him from jumping off of a bridge. All bets were off for now; Chan had nothing to lose. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I want you, Changbin. Please.”

That’s all it takes. Changbin brings both of his hands to Chan’s hips and effortlessly, somehow, lifts Chan up off of the the wall. Chan wraps his legs around Changbin’s waist, dragging his tongue against Changbin’s bottom lip. The two of them haphazardly make their way towards Changbin’s bedroom together, lazily pressing their lips together.

“I want you, Bin,” Chan whines, peeling his hoodie and shirt off as soon as he hits the plush of the comforter. “Changbin. Please, please, please. I need you.” The pitch black enveloping him in darkness gave him an extra air of confidence, making him feel like he could fully lose himself within the moment as he ran his fingers down his torso, taking an extra moment to scan his fingertips against the scars on his chest, hoping Changbin wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t linger too long on his imperfections.

Changbin grumbles as he straddles the older man, pressing his lips against Chan’s neck. “Patience, baby,” he whispers, peeling his own shirt off, then quickly returning his teeth to Chan’s soft flesh. He lets his hands run up against Chan’s abdomen, paying special attention to how exactly Chan responded to each soft, gentle touch Changbin offered. He was so attentive, making sure that nothing was too out of place, making sure that nothing was too uncomfortable.

“Ah, wait, Changbin.” There it was, the tone of Chan’s voice. That was the protest that the younger man was waiting for. “Are you sure you want to do something like this with me? I’m not really…” Chan’s voice trailed off in discouragement. “I’m not a real—“

“Shut up,” Changbin counter-protested, his voice breathy and slightly annoyed, pressing his lips against Chan’s. “Don’t you dare try to tell me you’re ‘not a real man’ or some dumb shit like that.”

“But,” Chan whined, subconsciously rutting his hips up into Changbin’s pelvis. “It’s true, I’m not.”

“Chan,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes, “please, just shut up. You’re as real of a man as you identify yourself to be.” He pressed a soft kiss up against the older man’s warm cheek, then nuzzled his forehead against it. “Don’t invalidate yourself like that, because it’s just going to make you feel like shit. If you don’t want to do this, then tell me. If you’re just going to invalidate yourself, I don’t want to hear it and I won’t do this.”

The brunette swallowed hard, his eyes nervously scanning the ceiling as he felt the younger man’s breath on his neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” he whispers, “I’m just nervous. It’s been so long, and I don’t like…” His voice trails off and he sighs. “Honestly, if we’re gonna do this, can you just, fuck — wow, this is awkward to ask — but, can you just fuck me like a normal dude? Pretend that all of the frontal anatomy just doesn’t exist? I don’t want to even think about it.” He shakes his head. “It’s too much.”

Changbin pulls back, bringing his hands to the sides of Chan’s face and deliberately making eye contact with him. “Of course. I told you, anything to make you comfortable. I’ll go slowly. I’ll admit,” Chan sees the whites of his eyes shift, as if he was looking away for a moment, “I’ve never been with someone that’s trans. So if I do something wrong, tell me.”

Chan sighs, not out of irritation, but relief. “Of course. Can we do this now?”

Changbin reaches over Chan, pulling his nightstand’s drawer open. He grabs a condom and a bottle of lube, then sits back on his heels. “Have you ever done this before?”

Finally, a bit of confidence, likely from the darkness of the room hiding his body, rushes through Chan, and he offers a bit of a cocky smirk. “I ride dick like it’s my last day on earth, every time. Trust me,” he sits up and grabs Changbin by the waist, “I’ve done this before. I’ve done a handful of freaky things before. You’d be surprised to know what I haven’t done, honestly.”

A breathy gasp leaves Changbin’s lips and he swallows hard. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, not in the slightest. “You w-what?”

After some careful preparation and stretching, it doesn’t take long for Chan to take Changbin fully inside of him, causing the younger man beneath him to let out a small whine. “Fucking tight,” he whimpers, digging his fingernails into Chan’s hips. “You feel incredible. So good.”

Chan smirks. “I told you.” He puts both hands on the bed, on either side of Changbin’s neck, allowing him to roll his hips up and down slowly, in controlled movements. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I can, ah,” Changbin tightly closes his eyes and rolls his head into the pillow behind him, “fuck, Chan, I can feel that.”

The brunette dips his head down, pressing his lips to the younger man’s. Changbin responds by grabbing the back of Chan’s neck, pulling him in closer, and he aggressively jams his tongue in between his lips. They explore each others’ mouths with purpose, both of them still faintly tasting like coffee and menthol cigarettes.

“Changbin,” Chan whines, drawling out the last syllable of his name.

A grin is painted upon the younger man’s face at the sound of his name. “Say it again. It sounds so fucking good when you say my name like that.”

Chan complies. He complies repeatedly, grinding up against Changbin’s pelvis, his length filling him and causing all of the nerves in his body to light up. He’d never fucked like this before, nothing so passionate or romantic in his life. All of his experiences were lacklustre with Hyunjin, who never fucked him the way he wanted to be fucked. It was all about Hyunjin.

Tonight, it was all about Chan. It was all about how well he and Changbin blended together, and Chan couldn’t get enough of it.

A week and a half passes, and Chan can’t bring himself to leave Changbin’s apartment. The younger man doesn’t mind, of course, he’s happy to give Chan as much time as he needs to figure out what exactly he needs to do.

It was a bit awkward at first, since Changbin’s apartment only has one bedroom, and Changbin doesn’t keep a large enough couch for either of them to sleep on. “We’ve already slept with each other,” Chan pondered aloud one day while he was scrubbing some dishes in the sink, “why bother not sleeping in the same bed?”

Their relationship dynamic was strange, but it worked. They had spent several nights staying up far too late, going for walks downtown and talking about the complexities that life had to offer. Chan would link arms with Changbin, they would share a cigarette with each other, and all of Chan’s problems would just come spilling out.

Things came so naturally to both of them. They would usually get to the well-lit touristy spot in Cheonggyecheon, staring down the river, watching people meander about and the lights illuminating the ripples in the water. That’s where Chan would open up more and more about himself and the horrible experiences he had with his family, friends, and Hyunjin.

“You know,” Changbin took a long pull from the cigarette in his fingertips, then let the smoke lazily escape his lips, “if I ever meet this guy, I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“Changbin,” Chan pressed, half-serious.

“I’m not kidding, dude,” the black-haired man cocked his head, looking up at Chan over the rim of his glasses. “He has the balls to constantly misgender you, treat you as less-than, and now you’re telling me he would get drunk and beat you for fun? What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

Chan sighed, taking the cigarette from between Changbin’s fingers and putting it between his lips. “I know, I know. It’s bad timing, but,” his voice trails off, and he turns his head to look down the river, “I need to go back and get my stuff from his apartment. My legal paperwork and some clothes and stuff.”

“I’m going with you.” It’s a statement. Changbin doesn’t bother asking. He grips the handrail with both hands, his knuckles turning white. “I’m not letting you be there alone.”

“He’ll be at work, Bin.”

“I don’t care,” he spits out, a bit harsher than he intended. “He’s violent. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in a space where you can’t easily get away from him.”

Chan bites back a retort; he knew that Changbin was right. The two of them stare off into the dark water for a few moments, until Chan deeply sighs. “Fine. We can go tomorrow around noon. I’ll text him tomorrow and tell him we’re coming over before we show up, just so he knows.”

“That’s a stupid idea, Chan.” Changbin grits his teeth and scowls.

“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”

Changbin scoffs. “That’s typical of you, dove, always looking out for the greater good before taking yourself into consideration.”

Chan squints his eyes in confusion. “‘Dove’?”

“Oh,” Changbin chews on his cheek. “I didn’t even think about that, it just slipped out. Anyway, you know how there’s tales in the West about how seeing a dove with an olive branch is a symbol of peace?”

“Yeah, what’s that gotta do with me?”

Changbin turns his head towards Chan and smiles softly, light reflecting off of his glasses. “You’re too good for people like me, and especially Hyunjin. You’re calming, peaceful. Besides,” he reaches over and grabs Chan’s hand, interlacing their fingers together, “it sounds cooler than ‘baby’ or some other overused pet name, yeah?”

Chan chuckled and smiled, looking down at their hands, how well they fit together, how right it seemed. It had only been a week and a half, but he was starting to fall for this man.

Changbin grips the steering wheel of Chan’s car tightly with his left hand, softly grabbing Chan’s leg with his right hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“I need my belongings, Changbin.” Chan tried to sound confident as he stared at the car parked in front of them, but his voice wavers a bit. “I can’t keep wearing the same things and I can’t keep living off of you. It’s been nearly two weeks.”

Changbin sighs as he turns to look at Chan. “I’m going in there with you.”

“I can do this myself, Changbin, I promise.”

“I told you yesterday and I’m not changing my mind. He’s hurt you before, Chan.”

Chan bites his lip and looks down to his knees, subconsciously grabbing Changbin’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not asking. He could be there, react poorly, and try and kill you.”

Chan sighs, looking up at Changbin with tears in his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he relents, “just be careful. If he’s here, Hyunjin has a temper and he’s not gonna like this.”

“To be frank,” Changbin lets go of the steering wheel, undoing his seatbelt. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, dove. I don’t know if this is the real thing or not, but I’m gonna protect you.” He lifts himself up off of the seat a bit, grabbing Chan’s face and pulling him in closely. He brushes his lips softly up against the older man’s, only for a brief moment, before pulling back and staring at him with purpose. “You deserve to be happy and safe.”

Chan furrows his brows as he stares at Changbin. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, dude, it’s a gut feeling.” The two of them sit there and stare at each other for a second, then Chan softly laughs.

“I’ll let you have that. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t even be here.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Chan turned his key in the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. Unfortunately for them, Hyunjin was there, and he was furious. The blond hastily undoes his necktie and lackadaisically discards it on the floor, reeling as he scowls at Chan, glowering at him.

“Chun-hwa, I had to leave work early for this shit.” Hyunjin’s voice was laden with venom. He took a couple of heavy footsteps towards Chan, gripping his fist tightly, until he saw Changbin step in to the side of Chan and he froze in his tracks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He scoffs, his face wrinkling up in disbelief. “Who the fuck is this? You think you can just bring some manwhore into my house?”

“Back off,” Changbin dryly says, stepping in front of Chan and adjusting his shoulders, rolling them back. Posturing. “Chan is here to collect his things. You give him any problems, and you’ll be answering to my fists.”

Hyunjin looks at both of them and lets out a throaty laugh. “Are you fucking kidding, shortie? I could kick your ass just by looking at you funny.”

Changbin cocks an eyebrow up, placing his hands on his hips. A faint smirk curls up on the right side of his face as he slightly turns his head towards Chan, not breaking eye contact with Hyunjin. “Go grab your things. Don’t worry about this string bean-looking asshole.”

“He looks thin, Changbin, but Hyunjin is tough. And fast.” Chan takes a hand and places it on Changbin’s shoulder, but the younger man doesn’t react. He leans in closer, right up to Changbin’s ear, and whispers. “I told you, he’s beaten me senseless before. He’s more of a threat than you’d think.”

“Not worried about it. Go, Chan.” Changbin pops the knuckles of his fingers and rolls his neck around. “Ready to teach this motherfucker a lesson.”

Changbin’s quip causes Hyunjin to roll his eyes and dismissively shake his head. “Yeah, believe it when I see it, shithead.”

Chan takes a moment, contemplating if he should intervene, but he decides against it. He figures that Changbin is a grown adult, and he can make decisions for himself, even if that meant he was potentially going to get his face rearranged. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he whispers, then moves towards the back of the apartment, towards his old bedroom. The bedroom he shared with Hyunjin. The bedroom that caused his heart to drop into the pit of his stomach with every step he took closer and closer to it; old, negative memories resurfacing.

Hyunjin eyes Chan as he walks past. “You’re not just gonna walk past me and pretend like I don’t exist, Chun-hwa.” Changbin’s eyes roll down to Hyunjin’s feet, watching the micro-movements his toes were making. As soon as the side of his right foot twitched, his toes turning towards Chan, Changbin stopped paying attention to whatever nonsense Hyunjin was sputtering off. It was time to move.

He swiftly rushed forward, reaching his left hand out to grab Hyunjin’s collar, winding his right hand back in a tight fist. “What the fuck?” Hyunjin barely had enough time to react before Changbin’s fist collided into his cheekbone, causing the younger man to let out a strained groan. The blond regained his composure, then kneed the black-haired man in the stomach in response, causing him to curl into himself a bit, but he refused to falter.

Changbin’s grip on Hyunjin’s collar loosened only briefly. He reoriented himself upright and grabbed the other side of his collar with his right hand and threw him into the kitchen table just off to the right-hand side. The paraphernalia intricately placed on the table went flying, including a glass vase that clattered to the floor and shattered into what looked like a thousand pieces.

“You fucking dweeb,” Hyunjin grunts against the table, “you can’t do shit to me with those tiny arms.”

“You wanna fucking bet?” Changbin lifts Hyunjin up and rams him back into the table. “Looks like you’re the one in a compromising position here, dude.”

Hyunjin scowls, kicking the older man in the shin to distract him, then reaches up to his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and throwing his free fist into his cheek. “I’m gonna rearrange your fucking face, you prick.”

Chan sucked in some air through his teeth, physically cringing as he heard the men roll around, grumbling and shouting, their fists colliding into each other. He tried so hard to just ignore what was happening behind him. He shakes his head a couple of times before he starts haphazardly throwing his important belongings into some bags.

Hyunjin and Changbin wrestle around a bit more, a couple of fists to the face, a couple of knees to the stomach. Chan tries so hard to ignore the throaty grunts and the sharp cries coming from both of them. He just needed his important documents, his favourite sweatshirt, some clothing. He compromised: the photos of the family and friends that rejected him could stay behind. It would slow him down and he didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life. Not anymore. Not when he knew they weren’t worth the mental energy, when he could fill that negative void with new people that accepted him and loved him for who he was.

Chun-hwa had finally died at the Seongsu Bridge the night he was saved, and a new, revitalized Chan was born from the ashes of the person he used to be. It was time to leave the negativity behind, once and for all. Let it all die in this shitty apartment with the remnants of the relationship with his shitty ex-boyfriend.

“Wait a minute. I’ve seen you before, I remember your name now.” Changbin wipes some blood off from under his lip, stumbling backwards a bit. “I finally realized who you are.” He punctuates his sentence with a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “How ironic.”

Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he holds the back of his hand up against his bleeding nose.

“That gay bar down in Itaewon. You hit on my friend, who was very much taken, and so were you.” A nervous scoff comes from Hyunjin. “Felix wanted nothing to do with you, but you kept hitting on him. Unlike you, Felix was, and still is, happily committed and out to his partner. Yet, you treat your ex-boyfriend like shit because you didn’t like him identifying as a man. If I recall correctly, it was because you didn’t want your friends to think you were gay. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Chan steps out of the bedroom, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “What did you just say? Did I just hear you correctly?” His voice sounds pained and confused. Changbin turns around for a moment, surprised to hear Chan come up from behind him.

This was his opportunity. Hyunjin grabs a thin, hardcover book off of the table from behind him, blood spilling down from his nose, and he runs up to Changbin and brings the book crashing into the side of his face. There was enough force to cause the older man to fall to the ground with a sharp cry. Hyunjin angrily throws the book at the wall in front of him and stares over at Chan as Changbin brings a hand to his face and whines.

“I’m not letting you leave this fucking place alive. You hear me?” Hyunjin’s voice is dark, but flat. All of the light in his eyes had evaporated, and Chan froze in place. He had been here before, seen that look in Hyunjin’s eyes. He so desperately wanted to run, hide in the washroom or the bedroom, but he was frozen in place, like someone had glued his feet to the floor.

“Hyunjin,” Chan softly whines, bringing his hands up to cover his face, to hide away from the impending attack he was about to receive, “Hyunjin, please, don’t do this.”

“Shut up, you stupid cunt.” Hyunjin spits out, taking a slow, deliberate step towards Chan. “Cheating on me with some stupid gay dude. Running away from me for almost two weeks. How fucking dare you bring another man into my house?”

Changbin shakes his head and snaps back to reality, managing to grab Hyunjin’s ankle before he walks out of reach.

“The fuck?” The blond stops, looking down to Changbin and he shakes his leg, but is unable to free himself from the smaller man’s grasp.

“I’m stronger than you. You’re going to regret treating Chan like shit.” That’s all Changbin says before he musters all of his strength to pull Hyunjin to the ground. The younger man loses his footing, colliding down to the ground with a thick thud. Chan pulls his hands away from his face, and his mouth drops as he watches the two of them.

Hyunjin may have been terrifying to Chan when he was angry, but seeing Changbin like this was petrifying. The black-haired man’s expression was flat, calculated, and a deep bruise was starting to form where Hyunjin crashed the book into his face. He crawled over Hyunjin, lifting his head up by his blond hair with both of his hands, then rapidly brought it down to the floor, a loud thud echoing throughout the room.

Hyunjin cries out as he rolls his head around on the floor. “Stop it,” he sputters out, “just fucking stop!”

“How many times did Chan say that when you beat the shit out of him?” Changbin’s voice is quiet, calm. Too calm for this situation.

“W-what?”

Changbin lets out an irritated huff and raises his voice. “How many times did Chan beg for you to stop? Every time you beat him? Every time you assaulted him? Wait a second.” He lifts his head to look at Chan, his eyes piercing him with a strategic glance. “You mentioned something a few days ago that concerned me, but I never pressed the issue. Did this fucking prick ever rape you, Chan?”

Chan’s eyes widen and he looks down at the floor. “I…” His voice trails off, clearly avoiding the question.

“Chan.”

“Fuck you.” Hyunjin’s voice is garbled and he spits some blood into Changbin’s face. “She’s a fucking slut and isn’t worth your time.”

Changbin somehow ignores Hyunjin’s prodding, letting the bloody saliva drip down his cheek. “Chan. Answer me.”

A tear slips down Chan’s face as he shrinks into himself. Memories started to come flooding back of nights where Hyunjin got too drunk. The nights where Chan would try and correct Hyunjin’s terrible behaviour, how he’d quietly plead with him to refer to him as the correct name and gender. The nights where he’d wake up and Hyunjin would be there, hovering over him, clearly frustrated with Chan not wanting to sleep with him and —

“Chan!” Changbin’s voice is angry, loud. It’s distracting enough to bring Chan back to the situation at hand.

He slowly looks up, scanning every detail on the floor, trailing his way up to Hyunjin. There was no emotion on Chan’s face, nothing in his eyes, as he stared at the bloodied blond. “Don’t kill him, Changbin.” His voice is soft.

Weak.

Tired.

A beat passes and the implication of Chan’s words causes Changbin’s nostrils to flare in fury, and Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide, staring at Chan as if he were betrayed. “You fucking—“ Hyunjin tries to speak, but Changbin brings his fist against the younger man’s face. He does this several times, before Hyunjin goes limp, and blood spills from his nose and his face.

Changbin breathes heavily as he stares down at the bloodied man beneath him. His entire torso trembles from adrenalin, fear, anger, and shock.

“Is he alive?” Chan manages to squeak out.

“I…” Changbin shakes his head rapidly, trying to bring himself back to the moment. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. I think. He’s still breathing.”

Chan’s hands shake as he anxiously wrings his hands. “What the fuck was that, Changbin? That was more than a fist fight. More than protection.”

“He hurt you.” Changbin looks up at Chan, his expression no longer confident. Strangely enough, he looked terrified. “Chan, he abused you. He raped you, for fuck's sake. What else was I supposed to do?”

Chan bit his lip and folded his arms, not in irritation, but as if he was trying to comfort himself. “Have you done this before?”

“This badly?” Changbin looks down to Hyunjin and brings himself to his feet. “Only once. I had to defend myself against a few guys behind a bar once. I had to protect Felix. You learn to protect yourself against a world that doesn’t want you to exist. Against people that want you dead just because you’re happy. It’s why I’m so adamant about working out.” He looks up to Chan, but doesn’t advance towards him.

Chan is aggressively chewing on his lips, pulling dead skin off of them and causing his lips to drip blood. He watches Hyunjin’s head tilt to the side, blood dripping down his face, his lips and eyes starting to swell. “Changbin, that was fucking terrifying.”

“I’m so sorry, Chan. I didn’t mean to make this situation worse.”

Chan breathes in deeply, then gets enough courage to to look up at Changbin. “No, no,” his voice is shaky, “Hyunjin deserved it. Just, please, promise me you’ll never do that again unless you absolutely have to.”

Changbin sarcastically huffs. “I don’t like doing this, Chan. I just get protective over people I care about.” His eyes soften, tears starting to well up. “I’ll do anything to protect you, dove.”

Chan doesn’t say anything. He takes a shaky step forward, then another, his feet shuffling forward enough until he collides against Changbin’s chest. “Don’t hug me back,” he says as the younger man lifts his arms, “you’ve got blood all over your hands.”

The men stand in front of the kitchen sink, hastily cleaning most the blood off of their arms and faces. Chan gives Changbin a loose hoodie to cover his bloodied shirt. “Guess it’s a good thing I wore black pants today, huh?” Changbin’s quip causes Chan to roll his eyes.

They grab the hastily packed bags and two boxes and bring them down to Chan’s car.

“Is that everything you want?” Changbin slams the back door of the car a bit harder than he intended to.

“Yeah. I just wanna get out of here and shower. Get out of here before Hyunjin wakes up. Well, hopefully he wakes up.” Chan shakes his arms, trying to rid the nerves that were built up inside of them. “I want to go home with you and curl up in bed and forget all about this.”

Changbin says nothing as he walks up to Chan, he brings a hand up to his face, softly stroking his cheek with his thumb. They tiredly, longingly gaze into each others’ eyes for a few moments. “‘Home’, dove?”

“What?” Chan cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You said you want to go home with me.”

“Oh,” Chan bites his sore lip and softly smiles. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Changbin smiles in response and nods his head once. “We’re doing this backwards, you know. We’re not even dating, and we’ve already fucked. You beat the shit out of my ex, rightfully so. And now I’m going to be staying with you, almost like I’m moving in with you. You even have a cutesy pet name for me.”

Changbin lifts himself up on to his toes and gently, briefly presses his lips against Chan’s. He pulls back, bouncing back on to his heels. “I just want you to be safe and comfortable. Even if we’re just roommates. Even if it ends in heartbreak. Just knowing I got you out of such a horrible place is good enough for me. Knowing I saved your life and helped give you a second chance, a chance to actually breathe, to be comfortable with who you are. That’s all I need.”

A deeper smile slowly creeps up on Chan’s face as he blushes and looks away from Changbin. He sucks in a quick breath, then shyly, quickly gives the black-haired man’s forehead a soft kiss. “You’re my nightlight.”

“What?” Changbin cocks his head to the side and his eyebrows pull together in confusion.

“I’m your dove, your sign of peace. You’re my nightlight: guiding me through the darkness. Keeping me safe from the unknown.” Chan bends down and quietly whispers something in Changbin’s ear, and it causes his eyes to grow wide.

“Did you just…?” The younger man stutters, his words barely coherent.

Chan smiles, pulling his key fob out of his front pocket. “Let’s go home, Binnie.”

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) Epilogue

Title:  I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 14 of 14 (ch. 1)     Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim     Word count: 3427 Warnings: Language

AO3

Summary:  The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all

Epilogue

“And we’re here on the red-carpet tonight, live for the premiere of Even Bech Næsheim’s new movie, ‘Yellow Curtains: All the Different Universes’. And here is the man himself!”

The interviewer is wearing a sparkly dress and is waving for Even to come closer, even as he’d already been instructed that this was the woman he was supposed to talk to.

“Good evening,” he grins into the horribly big microphone she’s struggling to hold up.

It’s loud – a lot of people having shown up for the grand return of Even Bech Næsheim, and Even has to lean close to the microphone and the lady.

“It’s so exciting to have you back and to be here tonight! A lot of people have been looking forward to this moment.”

Even nods. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this moment too, so I get it. It’s really awesome. I never get used to this feeling.”

“Now, fans have been speculating about the plot of this movie ever since the title dropped. Can you tell us what to expect?”

“I saw that! They were talking about how it could be about time travelling.”

She looks at him expectantly.

“It isn’t, but, hey, that’s another movie idea, right?”

“How about something else, then?”

“Um,” Even hesitates, scratching at his neck. “I don’t know? I mean, I want for people to watch the movie with an open mind so that they can be swept away by the story as much as possible and allow them their own interpretations and why a story like that is important to them.”

“So it’s an emotional movie?”

Even laughs. “I don’t know about that. I’ll probably cry, but that’s because it’s a story very dear to me, close to my heart, you know. I don’t want to make anyone cry.”

She grins. “I’m not so sure about that. Your track record says differently, Mr. Næsheim.”

Even laughs. “That’s true. But I think if this movie does make anyone cry, hopefully it’ll be a different kind of crying than that.”

“So it’s actually a happy film?” she attempts, but Even doesn’t bite.

“Can’t tell you that,” he winks, laughing when she rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly.

“Well, there’s certainly been a lot of hype about this movie. It’s one of the only movies this year with a trailer that revealed absolutely nothing about the plot, did you know that?”

“I did!” Even grins. “I’ve been made aware of it, repeatedly, by a lot of people online.”

“I can’t imagine it went over well.”

“Well, at least they’re looking forward to finally finding out what it’s about.”

“I think a lot of people are excited – look at everyone here! It’s quiet a grand return you’ve made!”

“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Even grins shyly. “But a lot of them were involved in the making of the movie.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she chides, which is true enough, because a lot of people had shown an interest in Even’s movies before his ‘break’.

She doesn’t ask about that, though, either by human decency or because someone briefed her, but they both know that some of the hype is due to a lot of old gossip resurfacing.

“But it is a very long cast-list. And it’s such a diverse cast as well,” she prompts, giving the microphone back to him.

“It is,” Even agrees. “I don’t want to spoil the movie too much, but there was a big need for so many people to be involved. And they all did so wonderfully, I’m so proud of them.”

“A lot of them are meeting for the first time tonight,” she points out. “How is that possible?”

“Different filming schedules?” Even laughs. “I don’t know. Well, I do know, but I can’t say.”

“You’re really not giving anything away tonight,” she laughs.

“You, on the other hand, are grilling me relentlessly.”

“It’s my job!” she protests lightly. “You said earlier that it’s a story that’s close to your heart, what did you mean by that?”

“Oh, uh –“ Even lets out a breathy laugh, his voice going a little thick. “Well, first of all, it’s a way for me to support and celebrate the equality act. And, uh, the story in itself – it’s actually about something my husband said to me when we were young. It ended up being a real comfort to me the years we were apart.”

Her stance goes a little softer at that. “So this is really a story to him?”

Even laughs. “All of my films have been to Isak, this will just be the first one where no one will be able to doubt it.”

She tilts her head. “Oh? Oh – speak of the devil, look who’s joining us!”

“Baby!” Even laughs, voice barely audible as he turns around to catch Isak around his middle as he walks past. “Halla.”

Isak grins up at him shortly before he turns his attention towards the woman. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she smiles back at him. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh?”

“Good things only,” Even promises, but the look Isak gives him reveals he isn’t completely buying it.

“Sentimental things,” the interviewer corrects. “Your husband has been very stingy with the details of this film.”

“Right?” Isak exaggerates. “I haven’t gotten a single word about it out of him yet.”

She scrounges up her nose. “Are you telling me you don’t know what tonight entails, either?”

Isak shakes his head. “He’s refused to tell me. He’s just been bouncing around the house, seconds away from telling me because he’s so excited, and then he’ll snap his mouth shut and walk away so he doesn’t give in to the temptation. He won’t even give me a hint.”

“You’ll know if I give you a hint, though!” Even protests, but Isak’s focus doesn’t waver from the woman except to roll his eyes. “Besides, I promise you’ll like it.”

“Shut up,” Isak demands, not able to hide away the utterly smitten look on his face even as he manages to pull off a faux-serious expression. “I’ll love it,” he corrects him, much to Even’s amusement.

“I love you,” Even tells him. The golden band on his finger catches the light when he runs his fingers through Isak’s hair gently.

Isak doesn’t manage to hide his smile this time around.

OOOOO

[On a black background, two quotes are typed out:

“According to ‘M’ theory, ours is not the only universe. Instead, ‘M’ theory predicts that a great many universes were created out of nothing.” – Stephen Hawking

“As scientists, we track down all promising leads, and there’s reason to suspect that our universe may be one of many – a single bubble in a huge bubble bath of other universes.” – Brian Greene]

[The opening shot is a blue sky, just a hint of pink and yellow from the start of a sunset. In the background the ocean quietly lapping against the shore is just audible.]

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“The universe. Like, how big it is.”

“You mean the universe that’s infinite for an infinite amount of times?”

“Shut up,” he laughs. “I mean that it holds so many possibilities within itself, you know?”

“How so?”

“Like – for every possible action, there’s a universe out there where the opposite happened. Or one where just something different happened. Or one where it never got far enough to get to that point.”

“Parallel universes.”

“Exactly!”

“Why are you thinking about that?”

“Don’t you ever think about that?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

“What were you thinking about it for?”

“I was… I was thinking about the people I’m the closest to. I was thinking about you and me.”

[A handheld camera showing off an apartment; the bed is unmade, blue-striped bed sheets tousled and with indents in the pillows from two people having just left the bed. The curtains are a dark blue that manage to hold the sunlight out, but in another room the morning sun is coloring the kitchen in a warm, golden light, accentuating the mess of half-finished coffee cups, cereal bowls in the sink, and a blue hoodie slung over the back of a chair.]

“What have we got to do with parallel universes?”

“Just – how big everything is. Like, everything that can happen is going to happen. Not only going to, it is happening. And I just – I’d like to think that there are universes out there where everything could be different, but we’d still be the same, you know? Where I still feel the same as I do right now, here, with you.”

[The same apartment, but this time tiny details are different, changing the over-all appearance. The curtains in the bedroom are yellow, meaning the entire room is lit up. There are two glasses of orange juice instead of coffee. The hoodie is grey. The image flickers, the hoodie changes into a t-shirt with a printed picture of Jesus on the crucifix just visible. There are scrambled eggs instead of cereal. The kitchen chair is pushed neatly against the table. The curtains are black so the sunlight hasn’t disturbed their sleep, you can just make out two people still in bed.]

“So there’s a universe where we meet when we’re still in high school?”

[A boy is sitting in a school’s cafeteria with his friends, picking apart his lunch. When he looks up, he sees a boy sitting at the opposite end of the room. Their eyes meet. The boy hurries to look away, but the other boy keeps looking.

In a different place, two people bump into each other in the most cliché high school-setting possible; in front of the lockers. They both drop their books on the floor, and when they look up, their eyes meet and time seemingly stops. The next couple of shots are the same two people walking together, first in school, then clearly on their way home, then in the dark, walking away from a party. There are awkward, fumbled first kisses and shy looks and feeling like you’re flying higher than a bird and then crashing down with a hundred miles an hour until the two manage to find their way back to each other again.]

“Exactly! Or one where we’re at university.”

[A boy with thick-rimmed glasses is sitting on one of the rows, notebooks laid out fastidiously, one of them already opened so he can take notes. Then another boy crashes into the room, obviously seconds away from being late, a little out of breath. He throws himself onto the closest seat that isn’t occupied, the one next to the boy.

“I’m not late, am I?”

“Close. How can you be late, already? It’s the first day.”

The guy grins widely, leans in like he’s about to tell the boy a secret. “I guess you’ll have to get to know me to find out.”]

“Or one where we meet when we’re kids?”

[There’s a child, sitting on the curb of the playground, crying over a cut on their knee. It’s not bad, but it must look scary to a three-year-old, especially one who isn’t being comforted. At least not until another child walks past, sees the kid, stops and starts talking until the sniffling stops. The next couple of clips are artistically shot, with the sun creating lens flares and discoloring the pictures, giving off the warm, nostalgic feeling people get when thinking back on happy moments.]

“I like that one. That there’s a life where I don’t know what it’s like to be without you. That’s a nice thought.”

“Do I take good care of you in that one, do you think?”

“You take care of me in every universe, doofus.”

“In every single one?”

[All the different universes with the first meetings between two people.]

“Well – I suppose there must be a universe where we never meet.”

[Cross-shot of two pictures depicting very different locations, the first one set in a rural area, the other in the city. It switches to new contrasting locations, flying faster than the eye can make out anything other than how unalike they are to each other.]

“That’s the saddest one.”

“Nah.”

“You don’t think so?” the disbelief evident in his voice.

“No. The saddest one is the one where we do meet. We just don’t notice when it happens.”

[Following a group of people, all shot waist down. They’re walking down the street clearly messing around, when they pass by another group of people. Two hands slide by each other, an inch of space left between them. They keep walking, not even turning around.]

“That’s the saddest one,” he continues. “The one where we don’t even get the chance to become a ‘could’ve been’ because the universe decided to label us as an ‘almost’ instead.”

[Lots of ‘almost’s exists. Turning the corner at just the wrong time. Looking right first instead of left when crossing the street. Suddenly deciding to not try the new coffee shop anyway, not when the old one is closer and familiar.]

“Do you think… do you think there’s a universe where I don’t hurt you?”

[Screaming fights. Being forgetful about the other person and leaving them behind. A boy watching another boy kissing a girl as they slow dance at prom. A devastated look on a boy’s face as he’s told everything between them had been fake.]

“I mean… theoretically, yes. But it also means there’s a universe where I don’t hurt you. One where we don’t hurt each other.”

[Silently hurting. Introducing your childhood best friend to your new boyfriend. Leaving with no explanation.]

“But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That there isn’t a universe out there –“

[Playful kisses. timid handholding. two boys smoking weed as they sit on a windowsill. Quiet moments in bed.]

“– where this –“

[Tickle fights. Screaming their hearts and lungs out at concerts. Desperate kisses like the world is about to end.]

“– where we –“

[Smitten looks that reveal how the other person is their entire world. Faces being lit up when they see each other. Their head resting on the other person’s shoulder as they fall asleep on the bus. Kissing underwater in a swimming pool.]

“– aren’t worth it.”

[Black screen. Even’s voice sounds in Norwegian whilst the white text is in English]

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you any of those universes. I’m sorry that we were ready for the universe before the universe was ready for us.”

[Nights at the bar with a row of empty shot glasses, another being poured already. Two different locations in the world, so far apart from each other. Stuffy meeting rooms. Lawyers handing over divorce papers only to receive absolutely devastated looks in response.]

“I’m not sorry that I met you.”

[The picture Even took of the flowers for Isak shows up, followed by a shot of the street where Even had kissed Isak for the first time. It’s taken during the night, the streetlamps giving off a warm, yellow light. Isak and Even have been animated in, the cartoonish-outline contrasting the background and drawing the eye towards them.]

“I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you.”

[A clip plays of Isak; young-looking and floofy haired, looking down, but his face is split into the widest smile possible and he looks happy as he shyly glances up at Even behind the camera.]

“I’m not sorry that I married you. That I got to love you.”

[Isak’s leaned back against Even who in turn is leaning up against the railing at the cabin, the sunset is coloring the both of them golden. Isak turns around so he can hug Even tightly.]

“I’m not sorry that we didn’t give up fighting when it would’ve been so much easier to let each other go.”

[A handheld camera filming a computer screen, showing the original article that first posted the rumor about a marriage certificate, and then later posting the certificate itself. An overhead shot of Isak and Even lying in bed, Even sleeping and Isak keeping an eye on him. Voiceover in Norwegian:

“Are you going to ask for a divorce after this? A real one this time?”

“No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to do that.”]

“I’m not sorry that I get to call you ‘home’.”

[It switches between pictures of a bed with blue-striped bed sheets, science textbooks with a camera balanced on top, clothes strewn messily across the floor, messy bed hair, and sparkling eyes when given a cup of tea. The sound of a door opening and closing is added in, Isak calling out in a voiceover as shoes tumbling onto the floor and a coat being removed scratches the audio, “Baby, er du hjemme?”]

“I’m not sorry that I get to love you.”

[Even bounds onto the bed, startling Isak who is lying on his stomach, sorting through his notes for class.

“Hva faen –“ Isak starts, but doesn’t get further before the hand Even isn’t using to hold the camera is on his side, digging in until Isak’s squirmed onto his back and Even can straddle him to keep him in place. “Why are you filming me?”

“I just need to film your reaction when I tell you something,” Even tells him, chortling at the suspicious look that immediately falls on Isak’s face.

“What.”

Even’s hand appears in frame again, cupping Isak’s cheek. “Jeg elsker deg.”

“Oh my god!” Isak laughs, batting Even’s hand away so he can hide his face behind his hands. It does little to nothing to cover up how brightly he’s smiling. “You absolute sap, you.”

He gives up on hiding away, instead pushing his hips up so Even tumbles onto his side on the bed. Isak leaning in to kiss him is just visible in the corner of the frame. “Turn the camera off, Ev.”

Even hums, the sound of lips smacking audible as the camera keeps rolling. He pulls back so he can film Isak again.

Isak, who isn’t even paying attention to the camera anymore, is instead clearly only seeing Even, looking impossibly soft as he does so. One hand moves up to smooth his thumb across Even’s jaw line.

“Jeg elsker deg også.”]

“I don’t care about the other universes. About whether or not the Even gets the Isak. I don’t care if there’s an Even who didn’t leave”

[The old apartment shot from inside the entrance to the building. A taxi is visible, the car door being shut audible before it drives off.]

“I care about you, about this Isak that I get to come home to, that I get to share my life with, that I get to love. This Isak, who loves me back, who wants to come home to me, who wants to share his life with me.”

[The scene shows one of the Movie Night-nights, the entire gang already set up in the living room, a spot left for Even on the couch next to Isak on the side that Eskild isn’t already occupying.

Isak is the one who sees him first, groaning exaggeratedly when he notices the camera. “Why?” he drags out.

Magnus looks around frantically to see what Isak is talking about. When his eyes land on Even they go unnaturally wide as he gasps. “Am I seriously being filmed by Even Bech Næsheim right now?”

“Shut up,” Isak moans, sinking deeper into the couch, but he’s laughing silently.

“It’s such an honor,” Magnus continues, reaching a hand out for Even to shake. “Seriously, man, I’m, like, your biggest fan.”

“Is this planned?” Mahdi asks.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Isak says when Even starts to enthusiastically shake Magnus’ hand, finally laughing out loud when Jonas hits him with one of the decorative pillows Eva had picked out.]

“I don’t care if the universe is ready or not for us anymore. If it is, that’s great. But if it isn’t –“

[Isak tilting his chin up stubbornly for Even to lean down and kiss him. Even smiling and talking excitedly as he tells Isak about an idea for a script, frowning when he notices Isak holding the camera before his face breaks out in the biggest smile possible and he pulls Isak into his arms. Lying in bed, Isak asleep on top of Even’s chest, Even leaning in to kiss his temple carefully as to not wake him up.]

“– then I’ll make it.”

[Three words appear against the black background, bold and a contrasting yellow.]

ALT ER LOVE

[whereflowersbloom]

Fly with me

Chapter I: Unexpected invitation

Raven was on her way back from the training room. She was wearing a pair of sports shorts, showing her pale but toned legs, and a loose shirt. She’d spent some time after lunch with Donna. The Amazonian was kind and very enthusiastic, specifically now that she’d agreed to accept her help. Donna told her high-speed, circuit training with bodyweight exercises among other things would increase her fighting stamina. Naturally, Robin was still her training partner, but needless to say he’s much more skilled than her and very quick. She massaged her neck gently, feeling the burning sensation in her muscles and soreness after a strenuous workout. Nothing a hot bath and her new essential oils set wouldn’t solve.

The image of Damian standing in front of her room’s door startled her for a minute. Damian stared at her, unblinking, intensely, his emerald eyes always studying her.

Damian ruffled his hair nervous but resolved. “Raven, I was hoping to have a word with you.”

She used a small towel to wipe her face. Seems like her bath would have to wait. “Of course, come in.” She smiled brightly and proceeded to open the door.

“Ladies first.” He replied instantly. “It won’t take long.”

He followed her silently after she walked into her room. She wondered what he wanted to talk about. They had been dozens of times in her room before, but the atmosphere felt somehow different, highly charged with nervous tension. Strange.

She bit her lower lip balancing the mixed emotions. Maybe she was exhausted after all the exercises. There was a brief pause before she heard him speak.

“Father called me this morning, The Wayne Foundation Gala will take place in a couple of days as scheduled, and I’ve been informed my presence is required.” His voice calm and clear, standing up straight, arms still crossed.

Oh. That means he will be gone for the weekend. Leaving for Gotham. Wouldn’t be the first time. But. Her heart sank. Disappointment overwhelmed her. Why? It’s only a weekend. They usually spent their spare time together,or with everyone else, having some ‘mandatory fun’. It was natural to miss your best friend, once in a while, right?

He coughed, clearing his deep voice and getting back her attention. “Fortunately, Father suggested it would be a good idea to bring someone as my guest for the event.”

He took in a deep breath, hesitated momentarily. “I was thinking of asking you, if you wish to accompany me to the Gala. There isn’t anyone else I’d like to take.” His jaw tightened, his hands now shoved in his jeans pockets, eyes focused on her face. Awaiting her response undoubtedly.

Her eyes widened. She stood there, stunned and speechless. Damian Wayne was asking her to be her date for a Gala? Words stuck in her throat at the moment. We this really happening? It was hard to think of saying anything without sounding ridiculous. Dead silence. Azar, say anything she told herself mentally.

Damian was sharp enough to interpret her internal conflict. “Unless you have other plans, or have no interest in joining me.” He looked away, trying to conceal his discontentment at the idea of her saying no.

Instantly, she reacted. “Damian. No! No! That’s not it.” She said firmly, shaking her head. “I just didn’t expect you to invite me, out of all our friends.” She has to explain properly, but also ask him. “Uhmm....You mean as a date?” Raven felt her muscles tense again, her cheeks flushed, no doubt. She’d never been asked out before. She wasn’t close to anyone to show interest, except for her friends. Not that way at least.

“It’s up to you, consider it as whatever you want it to be. Going as friend, if you want a courtship trial. I’ll respect your decision.” There he was again staring deep into her eyes, as if saying I’ve-never-been-this-serious-in-my-life type of serious. All her shields down now. “However I’d be delighted if you chose to think of it as a date.” He added with his smooth and confident voice.

Those mixed emotions again, along with something fluttering in her stomach. Heat from his penetrating gaze warmed her up and made her nervous, simultaneously. His presence has always been commanding. Damian Wayne was wary and observant, at times quiet. But he was allowing her to see new sides of him. She asked herself if she truly wanted this. Her racing pulse and every bone in her body was urging her to accept his proposal. “Alright, Damian. I’ll go with you. One condition. If it’s okay with you, I want to take it easy, this is all new to me. I’d never want to ruin what we have. It means so much to me.” He saw the fear in her eyes.

“Raven, I’d assume you know me enough to understand, whatever the outcome is. Whatever happens, I won’t hold it against you. I give you my word, nothing will change.” The hardness in his eyes softened, a faint smile played at the corner of his full lips. She trusts him and the promise of his words.

She let out a sigh of relief when realization hit her. They’d be going to a social event together, surrounded by people and media. Together. This was his private life, not a Titans business. “Will you be okay taking me with you? It’s a public event. You know I’m different.” I look different. She thought keeping it to herself. “What I mean is. I’m afraid I don’t have a suitable outfit for the occasion.” Thinking of her limited wardrobe. Did she even own a dress? She looked down, awkwardly biting her lower lip.

His green eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through her cover, her poor excuse. He grinned broadly, determination glittering in his eyes. “No need to worry about it. It can be handled easily. I will provide anything you need for this trip.” His calculating mind already planning to make some calls for necessary arrangements. “Don’t even try to fight me on this. I insist, you’re my guest.” He folded his arms, his penetrating gaze again pushing her to agree. He wouldn’t give up.

“You win, Boy Wonder. Only because I wasn’t prepared for this.” She said sighting in defeat. Rubbing her temples and smiling unconsciously. A part of her still hesitant because of her insecurities surging.

“It’s settled then. I’ll let you know the details later.” He said, walking towards the door slowly. A pleased and proud smile plastered on his face.

“I guess I’ll see you later then. “She rubbed the nape of her neck, anxious. Looking around the corners of her room, anywhere but him.

“I have some things to take care of but I’ll see you at dinner, I suppose.” Damian left the room, not without glancing back at her one last time. She was hiding something. He was certain.

As soon as she heard the close door. She threw herself across her bed. What was happening to her, dealing with all these new emotions was draining her. She felt out of control for the first time in a long time. She needed that bath badly, her tense muscles aching. The question is how did she exactly feel about Damian Wayne? A date. Oh Azar.