#last night i dreamt i was on a school trip in a train

[fella-lovin-fella]

i was talking to my boyfriend last night about how i never really get restful sleep because the idea of going to bed gives me anxiety and i get really anxious to sleep because i always have really bad trauma/anxiety dreams, and a lot of the time i dont get fully asleep, just like mostly. and he was like "dude i think you should talk about this to your doctor."

[eyrieofsynapses]

i’ll be your god of loss

(from “The God of Loss” by Darlingside, which will make you cry.)

so I was thinking about the trio and kids. Because these people, you know, they adore kids! they’re great with them! And they might not admit to that, they may not believe it, but we know it, we see it with Eliot and Molly, with Hardison and Trevor, with Parker and Josie, with the kids from The Stork Job and The Fairy Godparents Job and their clients’ children and so very many more. 

Most of all we see it with Breanna. We see how they mentor her, how they provide advice, how they encourage her, how they build her up, how they laugh with her and speak of teaching her and telling her stories from the beginning. they unashamedly adore her. And they are so very good with her—they know how she looks up to them, they know they are always watched, and they behave like it. They are truly wonderful with her. 

We know they love kids. We know, too, that they see the foster system’s flaws, and we know they fear for the children they save from bad situations. We see how they instinctively nurture the kids of the clients who have lost a parent. We watch how they will lift up the children of the marks who do not treat them well. 

But they are not meant for white-picket fences. 

These are not the kinds of people who settle down. They do not get tired of what they do one day and say “perhaps we’d best end this now.” They never get tired of it. They adore their work, they adore their life, they cannot imagine anything else. They will never willingly stop.

But there is a point where need eclipses want. There will be a day when they cannot do it anymore. 

This is a known fact, but it is not a loved one. 

The years trickle by. The time of Redemption comes and goes. They raise team after team, create an ever-reaching map of International, help people by the thousands and by the singles. And they are not the management. They leave that to the capable people they have trained, the ones they trust with their lives and more, and they keep doing the jobs, they stay involved, they get their hands dirty. Because there is nothing else for them. They began this doing what they loved, after all, and that love has not faded. If anything it has only grown. 

Parker cannot sit still in an office all day, and Eliot cannot watch others fight and listen to them take the blows that he should, and Hardison will never be able to see all the things his algorithms raise and all the troubles that pass in the media and not do anything about it himself. This is against their very nature. 

But the years go on and on, decades pass, and Hardison realizes one day that this cannot go on forever. 

It is Hardison, because it is him who sits in the headquarters or the van or the discreetly close location with his laptop open and monitoring frequencies. It is Hardison, not Eliot or Parker, who can pay the most attention to the every soft grunt and caught breath and withheld noise of pain. 

It is Hardison who realizes, one fateful day, that those moments increase day by day, job by job, and his injury logs have grown exponentially thicker in the last year. He watches their medical supplies drain away faster and faster even as he replaces them. More and more there are mornings when the other two linger between the sheets for longer than they used to. 

It is he who watches Eliot squint ever more at the files and sees his glasses come out of his pocket with unusual regularity. There is a box full of spares in the bottom drawer of their wardrobe for when they break on the job. Hardison begins tipping the lid more often when he starts hearing the crunch of broken glass in his husband’s jacket pocket. They disappear faster these days. 

(One day Hardison has had enough. He makes the toughest case he can and slips it into Eliot’s jacket pocket the night before a job. Eliot never says anything, but it lays on the bedside table sometimes when they’re off, and the glasses stop disappearing from the box so often.) 

It is he who notices how Parker reinforces her rigs more and more, how ropes and straps support more than they used to and stretch further. The vents don’t thud so often these days. She has hung a hammock high in the rafters of their house, and he sees her less in the harness and more tucked away there. 

(He adds padded bottoms to some of the vents and larger places to rest. Parker never says anything, but the vents rattle a little more often.) 

It is he who observes how Eliot isn’t at the punching bag as regularly anymore, how he wraps his hands so carefully when he is, he who sees how Parker does not stretch quite as far as she used to, how she painstakingly plan jobs where she does not have to do a backbend or a particular contortion. 

It is he who watches every time they step out—not jump out, no, not anymore—of the van, carefully holding on to the sides, and thinks to himself as he watches them walk away— 

Is this the last time I will ever see you?

It’s Hardison who, whenever he finds a new job for them to do, eyes the circumstances and determines whether it’s something he can ship off to another team or not. His algorithms are prioritized now to chances of harm rather than potential jobs, attuned to the ever-growing injury logs. Their jobs begin to skew further to grifts and simpler building plans. But that never stops him wondering: Will this be the last job we ever take? 

Will I send them to their deaths today? 

For it is not his hair that fills with grey streaks faster and faster. It is Parker’s. When he sits behind her on the bed with her brush beside him, carefully separating her hair into strands for braiding, he finds more and more of them silvering. 

(He watches her braid it every day, but some mornings she slips before him anyway. She was delighted when she discovered he could do it, courtesy of too many little sisters and not enough time in busy school mornings. It brings a grin to his face every time he thinks of her sunshine smile.) 

It is Eliot’s, for there are late nights when Hardison finds him stretched out and half-asleep on the couch, and when he comes back with a blanket Eliot will be sitting up and waiting. He always sits beside him. Sometimes, Eliot lays back down with his head in his husband’s lap and lets him card gentle fingers through his hair. Those cherished moments become bittersweet when he finds that it is not so thick nor as deep in color as he remembers (though it is always soft). 

And it is Hardison who bolts awake in the midst of the night with the ringing of the comms in his ears, clutching at the sheets to reassure himself he is not in the van he is not in the headquarters he is not on a job he does not have the earbud in his ear he is not listening to his lovers dying. 

These nightmares plagued him from the beginning. He cannot count the number of times he has dreamt of sucking death-rattle breaths, the crack of spines, the sound of screaming in his ears, cannot count the times he has dreamt of searching and searching for bodies. Sometimes he does find them, staring eyes and crushed ribs and mangled limbs. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes they aren’t dead at all—but those times he never finds them. He can never figure out which is worse. 

But the nightmares have never been so bad as they are now. 

Other nights he does not sleep. Other nights, he sits awake and watches his lovers’ scarred chests rise and fall in deep slumbering breaths, and wonders when will I lose you? A year from now? Two? Or only months, only weeks? 

What if it’s tomorrow? 

He wakes to the others’ weeping often. But he thinks they are the ones comforting him more these days. 

Finally Hardison has had enough. 

They can’t do this any longer. He can’t do this any longer. Hardison cannot live without them, these two lights of his life, his sun and moon and bright diamond stars—but he knows he will die last, should they continue down this path, and he will die alone and many years from now. 

For it is not he who takes punch after punch from men decades younger than himself, who climbs into stories-high elevator shafts where one wrong button-press could end it all, who stares down the barrels of guns without one himself, who hangs off the sides of buildings by his fingertips, who pushes and pushes and pushes his body day in and day out. His husband and wife are resilient. The odds say that they should have been unable to keep doing this a decade ago—and the odds are wrong.

But Eliot and Parker are not the kinds of people who can merely stop. There will never be a day, Hardison knows, when they will sit down with him and say we do not want to do this anymore. They will push and push and push themselves till they break. 

Hardison knows what their breaking will look like. His dreams have told him so. Hardison will not, will never, let that happen on his watch. He will have to stop them. 

If he asked, they would. It would take coercing, it would take shouting and arguing and probably many hours of the two of them off on their own and thinking, but they would. 

But Hardison turns this over in his mind as he forges paintings and writes code and sends out emails to the teams, tries to picture stopping, and it makes him go nearly as cold as the thought of breaking does. 

Stopping means no more jobs. No more jobs means… 

Well, it means a lot of time spent volunteering, he supposes, and overseeing International’s teams. It means a lot more nights spent at home and not hotels. More of Eliot’s home cooked meals, he guesses, and more movie nights, more trips for fun. The medical kit wouldn’t have to be refilled nearly as often. Eliot’s box of glasses would never have to be replenished again. It means fewer days spent watching his partners hobble around and deny that they need to sit. Hardison wouldn’t have to plan jobs around the weather that makes their bones ache, or watch Parker wince as she drops out of a vent, or notice how Eliot needs the volume in his comm brought up higher than he used to. 

There would be no heart monitors that spike and fall on the screens. 

Hardison thinks of this, and then he imagines Parker and Eliot in their house, day in and day out, and it brings a shake to his breath rather than a steadiness. 

Ever-moving Parker and Eliot, his never-stopping always-going wife and husband, for whom he has to fill the house with distractions to keep them from pacing and snapping and looking for trouble. Parker has vents and climbing systems and a room full to the brim of boxes of locks, safes, puzzle-boxes, books of riddles, absolutely anything and everything that could challenge her. 

There’s a small gym for Eliot. Hardison always puts new gadgets and cookbooks in the kitchen, and he’s found that there are indeed some books that Eliot will spend hours reading (assuming he can find his glasses). A guitar found its way into the living room one day, and now books of music pile up on the nearby shelves. He keeps a closet specifically for outdoor gear. 

But there are only so many meals that can be cooked. Parker is already bored of most of the puzzle room. More than that, they both have to move. Challenges from books and puzzles and games have never and will never be enough for them. 

Hardison thinks of them in that house, day in and day out, growing wearier and wearier of what they have, growing tired of what life has to offer, and it sends a racking shudder through him. 

He goes on, day in and day out, and he watches them, and they push themselves, and he worries and he wonders and he dreams and he fears. 

And then, one day, it hits him. 

They’re sending off yet another kid to the foster system. Hardison will track them and make sure they find the right place, but it always aches a little to watch them go. He’s been through that hell. There is nothing he wouldn’t give not to help them. The three of them always see them off, but it never feels like enough. 

This time, though, he’s rushing, running to meet them. The kid is already leaving. Parker and Eliot watch them go, tension laced in their shoulders, and it occurs to him that he rarely ever watches them watch the kid. 

They look with the same love in their eyes he saw so many years ago. In a moment he is struck with memories: listening to Eliot teaching Molly how to hit balloons with a dart in the mirror, Parker putting her hands over Josie’s ears as she taught her to break into a car, the worried love in his husband’s voice as he searched for the girl he had known for mere hours, the outraged passion of his wife’s protectiveness over the teenager she had seen so much of herself in. 

There is the ringing of Parker’s half-choked declaration they’ll wind up like me. There is the way Eliot had spoken of Cory, a boy who still carried his father’s lunchbox while he worked in a mine for his family. There’s the kid from the boxing ring and the kid whose father was killing himself in the ice rink and the children tackling Eliot in the school and, and, and—

—and Hardison remembers teaching bright, precocious Trevor about hacking when they were trying to steal a goddamn potato of all things. And of course Breanna, wonderful, perfect Breanna, who leads International now. Breanna, whom he spent so many long, long days and nights teaching how to hack and how to build software and hardware and engineering and whatever else she asked of him. Breanna, who called even when it was four in the morning for her, just to hear his tales of the crew. She still calls. Half the time it’s only to hear their voices. 

With her comes the loud, bustling noise of Nana’s house, the shouting echoing off the walls, the warmth of his little siblings on his hip, the attention and focus it took to put braid after braid in his sisters’ hair. Nana was forever busy with the kids. He still loves coming over as often as he can to help. One thing never changes—her house is forever noisy. There are always new kids around, and there are always lessons to be taught: how to fold laundry, how to dance along to a song without worrying whether you’re doing it right, how to complete all of your schoolwork for the night, how to speak kindly, how to work together, and the most important one of all: 

Love yourself.

Nana’s work is never done. She is always busy.

Eliot and Parker cannot stand to be still. They need to be doing something. But most of all, they have to be helping someone. 

The puzzle snaps together like a flash of lightning. As the thunder rolls, so does his mind: he knows precisely what he needs to do. 

First there’s the matter of housing. Their house is big, but not that big, and anyway, the only home that matters to them is each other. Nana’s only one person, and she can manage plenty of kids on her own. Between the three of them, Hardison is sure they’ll wind up with quite the brood. 

There are any number of mansions lying around the States. It’s shocking how many there are. They’re not small, either: most of them could fit a whole extended family in them, though most of the time they’re just bought by too-rich people who can’t hope to fill a quarter of the space. Hardison should know. The crew has infiltrated plenty of them. But he knows they’ll find a way to put one to good use. 

He searches for the ones that are unlikely to be bought and only takes up space. There’s a lot of them, half too damaged to be good for anything, but one sticks out: secluded with beautiful grounds, an area with good (but not too good) schools, a half-decent price point, and a bit of a fixer-upper. 

Standing on ladders and driving in nails isn’t not physical, but it’s a lot better than dodging punches or dropping two stories off a building. Giving Eliot and Parker a project right off the bat will help ease the blow of quitting the jobs. 

Then he hunts down research. He already has shelves upon shelves of books on psychology and parenting and foster children and anything else that could be helpful, but there’s always more to read. A refresher course is important. 

While he’s got algorithms searching for that, he sets some to hunting down more details on the local area as well as building renovations, then begins building a plan. He’ll have to introduce the idea slowly. Parker and Eliot won’t be opposed, per say, but getting them to completely agree will be a challenge. 

It takes a few weeks, but it’s going well, and Hardison’s almost ready to present his idea to them. 

Then his world shatters. 

It’s another job, another day, another time when he watches his lovers head out the door and wonders will it be this time? 

Except then will it be this time? changes to oh God, it’s this time. 

Eliot’s breaths choke off at the same time something crunches.

Parker screams his name so loud Hardison’s ears ring. Or maybe that’s him—maybe that’s him screaming so hard that the taste of blood coats his throat—but it doesn’t matter because Parker’s cut off with a jerk and the comms go dead and they are dead dead dead and— 

The world spins and drops out. The next few hours are black but for agonizing pain. 

His only memory is not of sight or sound or hearing. It’s touch, the thready warmth of two pulses flickering under his fingers. 

They tell him later that he found them in the nick of time: two unconscious bodies collapsed side-by-side in a back alley, and him, clutching their wrists with 911’s number still glowing on the phone beside them. Apparently he rode in the ambulance, because they couldn’t get him away from the other two without restraining him. Every time they tried they feared they’d hurt him. 

What he remembers next is this: waking in a plastic chair, head dizzy (with sedatives, he learns later), an ice-cold knife of grief sunk into his heart and tears coating his cheeks, to the steady paired beeping of twin heart monitors. 

They survive. Miraculously, they survive, somehow with only minimal injuries. Hardison knows it’s only because of the advancements made within the last few years. Three days later they’re out of the hospital and back home, Eliot on crutches and unhappy about it, Parker complaining at length over the stitches in her arm. Hardison can’t even be annoyed by it. They’re here and they’re alive and they’re still here. 

He gives them the evening. But the next day he’s up even before them, spreading papers on the table and making breakfast at the stove (because you learn some things when your husband is a world-class cook) when the two of them come to the table. 

When they ask, he doesn’t bother to soften the blow. This is the last time he’s doing that. They’re done. 

Eliot and Parker look at each other, then at him. They nod. 

He blinks. Just like that? he wonders, and then asks it aloud. 

“We don’t want to hurt you again,” they answer, and his heart could break with relief. 

When he presents the plans they answer with all the joy he had hoped for. They’re worried, of course—will they be fit to care for children?—but Hardison only rolls his eyes and reminds them of Breanna and Josie and Molly and Cory and all the rest, and they relent. 

Two months later they move out to the mansion. It’s a difficult project. Even Hardison didn’t anticipate how long it would be (though Eliot grumbled at him about how much harder this would be than it seemed, dammit, Hardison, what have you gotten us into this time?) but it’s good work, hard work, busy work. He doesn’t have to watch them pace in a hotel room with boredom. There is no angry snapping born of too much time spent sitting around. They work and Hardison blasts music and the other teams chat with them over voice calls. 

Some nights Eliot sits in the central hall, the ceiling four stories above them and laced with Parker’s rigs, and plays new songs for them on his guitar. They all sing along when it’s one they know. The acoustics of the room are perfect for echoing and strengthening their voices. 

Other nights they curl up on a pile of king mattresses spread three-wide and two-deep, blankets heaped high, and whisper stories to one another before falling asleep to the songs of morning birds outside the windows. 

Hardison still wakes screaming. Eliot and Parker do too. But it’s not every other night anymore, and now that they aren’t on jobs, his nightmares begin to recede. 

(Of course there’s always the recurring one that did happen. Sometimes he sleeps with their wrists in his hands or his fingers pressed to their necks, just to reassure himself their hearts are still beating. If Eliot and Parker are still awake, one of them will pull him close and press his ear against their chest, and he falls asleep listening to their heartbeat.) 

Some of the International people show up to help. They come with suggestions and ideas that get put to good use. Breanna delights in helping them pick out the tools for a massive workshop. His other siblings come too, and he puts them to work. Nana is too old for traveling these days (though he knows she’ll outlive them all), but she talks to them over video calls and gives them tips on how to make everything work. 

“How on earth are you going to handle so many kids?” some of them ask. “You’re looking at a school’s worth.” 

The three of them just smile. They’re up to the task—and besides that, there’s a number of people from other crews who are also on the brink of retirement. An entire section of the manor is planned for incoming helpers: they won’t be alone for long.

Finally the mansion is done. Or, well, done enough. It’ll always be a project. There will always be a room that needs repainting, or a sink that breaks out of nowhere and needs repairing, or a piece of roof that’s leaking. But it is more than livable—oh, so beautifully livable, the best home Hardison has ever found for them, filled to the brim with all they could ever want. 

There is a library with shelves that stretch two floors up, filled with more books than he could read in a lifetime and skylights flooding the room with sunlight. The gym has endless features: a dance studio, a martial arts room, weights, gymnastic mats and bars, a goddamn ball pit because Parker loved the idea, and slides to go with it. Eliot has the biggest and best kitchen he could have ever dreamed of. There’s even a walk-in fridge and freezer. 

(“The hell do you expect me to be cooking for, an army?” he asks once, and Hardison laughs. 

“Worse. Kids.”)

 They’ve made the bedrooms a little plainer than usual, though they have rooms filled to the brim with furniture and curtains and decorations of all shapes and sizes. It will be the kids’ home too. They deserve to decorate their own rooms, no matter how long they’ll be staying. 

There are movie rooms, and rooms of pillows and couches and blankets, hidey-holes aplenty (Parker knows them all), games, puzzles, music (Hardison’s pretty sure a band could set up shop in there), art, writing spaces, closets and closets waiting to be filled, bathrooms with tubs big enough to be small pools, a real pool both indoors and out, and Hardison sometimes loses track of what else. They make sure all but some reserve rooms are used and functional. None of them will let this space go to waste. 

Getting everything up to code is a job and a half, but there’s plenty of disabled International people (and Hardison’s siblings too) who give them pointers and let them know who the right people to call are. Hardison delights in picking out elevator music. Eliot informs him that programming them to play The Imperial March every time he uses them is not as funny as he thinks. Parker plans little puzzles in Braille and puts them in all sorts of places. 

She, of course, has rigging all over the place. The high ceilings are her dream. There are hammocks everywhere. Eliot adores the greenhouse and gardens, spending hours mulling over plans and determining precisely what will work best. Hardison watches the lawn service mowing the massive yards and mulls over the best use for them. There are paths aplenty for running and walking. Eliot’s got a whole space mapped out for an orchard. Parker’s claimed a not-insignificant section of it for mazes and a high ropes course (which is going to be godawful hard to build, but he can’t wait to watch the kids on it).

Hardison’s read a lot of books and seen a lot of research supporting animal-raising as an excellent activity for kids. And he’s always wanted a dog.

When they visit the local shelter they end up with three (because Eliot’s a softie for them) and two cats. He plans a chicken coop in the back and goes to long-term planning for more farm-type animals. Parker has come to love horses over the years, and he knows Eliot’s fondness has never faded. Maybe a stable or two. 

Their adoption and foster papers process not long before they’re done. (Hardison technically already had them, but they hadn’t been done the legal way, and though the law is pretty stupid about this whole thing he still wants to do it right.) Then it’s time to get to work. 

They’re careful, of course. They begin with two siblings in the summer. Both are teenagers, that age where it’s hard to get them into a foster home, let alone to adopt. (Of course the three of them aren’t looking for adoption unless the kids want it. They’re human beings: they get to choose their own parents.) Both are quiet and wary, looking overwhelmed as they stare up into the manor’s heights. 

Parker and Hardison exchange glances, wincing. They’d known from experience that this might be tricky.

They start small, relegating everything to a single wing. It’s around the size of an ordinary house, maybe a bit bigger, and while the three of them have their own rooms elsewhere they make sure to sleep nearby. (That’s something else the kids look at them strangely for: there aren’t many polycules who foster kids, after all. There aren’t many polyamorous couples visible in the media period, though that’s changing with Breanna’s generation. )

When Eliot loads one kid’s laundry into the machine (and oh, they need to go shopping so badly for these kids), he finds a worn dress at the bottom of a pile of boy’s clothes. The same kid, he recalls, who had shaken their head a little when he had asked them about haircuts, whose hair was already brushing their shoulders. It’s fraying at the edges, obviously well loved. There’s a hole in the skirt. When he brings the laundry up he takes out the sewing kit (well, a piece of it—there is a truly enormous area of the arts room dedicated to material arts) and makes sure to fix the hole before he puts everything in the closet. The dress goes first and foremost, hung delicately on a special hanger. 

The days go by, the kids become more open, and a routine falls into place. They fill closets with dresses and scarves and put boxes of pins with pronouns in their rooms. Eliot teaches them to chop vegetables and shows them basic self-defense. He helps them walk the dogs, and when he offers they let him teach them meditation. 

Parker takes them to therapy (a tricky conversation, but well worth it) and shows the younger one how to climb. The older one is more interested in puzzles, and she happily complies, bringing out a massive box full to the brim with puzzle-boxes. 

Hardison, for his part, puts together movie nights and video gaming sessions. He shows off the library and makes sure they know where to find everything, as well as the rules of the house. When one of them shows an interest in fandom, he makes sure they know where the cosplay stuff is. One day he starts a DnD campaign with all four of his family members. 

Four becomes five, five becomes seven, the school year begins and some choose homeschooling and others choose public. Homework is done, meals are cooked, dogs are fed, cats are befriended, lightsaber battles play out in the yards and Nerf gun fights are had in the halls (Eliot still prefers a shield), pillow fights go down, tears are cried and arguments ring out in the halls, the fridge doors and pin boards and walls are covered in artwork, kids eight, nine, and ten show up, conversations about queerness are had, a Pride parade is attended, there’s therapy and therapy and so much therapy, sports teams are joined, clubs are attended, problems occur and they handle it, they handle it, they handle it all no matter how hard it is.

Hardison isn’t sure he’s ever seen the other two so happy. He, for one, cannot contain his joy. The children are hard but they are wonderful, bright sparks ready to go out into the world with no one to dim them. 

There is a baby one day that International directs to them. The rest of the kids dote on them. The work is hard, but they manage anyway, and there’s three of them to get up when the little one cries. There is nothing more endearing than watching Eliot asleep with a tiny baby crooked in his arm or Parker carefully climbing with them strapped to her chest. 

One day, as he’s sitting on the porch with the other two at his sides and watching the kids play, he glances to the sides and realizes that his partners have gone fully gray. He himself finds his joints creaking more and more these days. 

The International retirees are doing fantastic and Breanna is the perfect heir to their throne, directing teams with all her brilliance while getting her own work in on the side. She’s mentioned she thinks she might hand it off to one of her own proteges, just so she can go back to some of the old work. 

We built a legacy, he thinks, and then, We built a legacy, and we are here now, and they did not die and leave me here alone, and we are happy. 

He realizes Eliot and Parker are looking at him with that we know what you’re thinking expression. They smile at him when he notices. Parker kisses his cheek and Eliot pulls him closer on the porch swing, and though they say nothing at all, he knows they’re all thinking the same thing: 

We got our happy ending, and we made sure everyone else will too.

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Opposites Attract (Paul Lahote x Reader) Chapter 3

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Warnings: Swearing

Word Count” 2.1k

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-Your POV-

They were running at a speed that seemed impossible, their size alone, impossible. The shear beauty of the animal, breath taking. This wasn’t the first time you’d dreamt of giant wolves. They visited your dreams frequently, leaving you with all sorts of un answered questions, leaving you the next day, searching “What does seeing giant wolves in your dreams mean?” Yup, you were that kinda girl. You thought there was an answer for everything, and there probably was, but you weren’t going to find the answer on google search. 

You don’t know how long you’d been in the car for. All you knew was you were in pain, then it seemed to ease and a sense of comfort washed over you. Your head felt as if it were floating, snuggled into something warm and soft. A pillow perhaps? You didn’t open your eyes to check, the pain in your abdomen and now across your whole body blinding, you’d woken a few times with a jolt, and then you passed out again. 

The next time you woke up you weren’t moving at all, which you were grateful for, the pain mixed with the motion of a moving vehicle didn’t do anything for your stomach, travel sickness was the bane of your life. Instead you found yourself in a room, the blinds drawn closed, the door shut, your body, in different clothes. A mens t-shirt? When did you get changed? Where were you? You looked around in a daze, sitting up slightly from the comfort of the pale yellow duvet set. Wooden log walls, photo frames scattered on every surface, subtle lighting and a wall lined with books, the smell of home cooking wafting through from the kitchen. You were in Emily and Sam’s guest room, how did you know this? Well for one all of the frames had pictures of the happy couple in, two, you’d stayed over once before, back when you’d been caught in a freak storm with Leah while on the beach. You vaguely remembered the place. You didn’t come over often, what with Leah and Sams history, that and as much as you liked Paul, sometimes you’d be nervous to bump into him. Paul! Speaking of Paul, you groaned and flopped back into the fluffy bed sheets. Paul was at the hotel when the pain started… where was he now? Did he drive with you back home? 

You were about to get up when Leah came bounding through the door. “Oh good I thought I could hear you awake in here.” She grinned at you. “You look like you’re feeling much better!” You pat the space beside you and Leah climbed in snuggling up to your side. 

“So, on a scale of one to ten how bad was it.” The big ‘It’ being how bad was the show in front of your long term crush. Leah shrugged as she looked at you. 

“Nothing was baddd… everyone was just worried about you, you seemed to be in some serious pain, hence why we thought it best to cut the trip short, it’s probably better that were home, it was early hours when we got here so Sam said we could just crash at his.” You raised your eye at you best friend. She was being awfully calm about the whole situation. She said Sams name in a sentence and didn’t get herself worked up. You looked down at yourself. 

“And the clothes? Or lack there of….” That’s when Leah grinned. You didn’t like the way she was looking at you. You inhaled the scent that was on the shirt. Sandel wood and aftershave, a hint of sea salt probably from the misty air outside. 

“That’s Pauls t-shirt Y/N” Your eyes went wide and you knew you were blushing.. did that mean he had undressed you. Leah noticed the panic in your eyes.

“Before you get worked up he just leant the t-shirt knowing you’d be uncomfortable in your dress, I changed you.” You audibly gave a sigh of relief, not knowing how you’d react if the guy you’d been in love with since second grade had finally seen you in your underwear. “He stayed in here with you last night you know, to make sure you were okay. He wouldn’t leave.” Leah was now proper up on one arm looking at you. You didn’t know what to make of it. You didn’t think Paul had even known you existed… You were taken from your train of thought when something started dinging. The mobile on the bedside table started beeping as texts came through one by one. Oh god, you hoped Leah hadn’t told your parents about your episode at the hotel, the last thing you needed was for them to worry. However, you realised when you picked it up, it wasn’t your phone. 

The screensaver was a picture of the guys from the res, all goofing around, it looked like it had actually been taken in Emilys kitchen. It had to be one of the guys. You realised it was Paul’s after remembering what Leah had said about him staying for some of the night. He must have forgotten it when he left. You didn’t mean to see the message but it automatically came up on screen when you tilted the Iphone in your hand.

“Such a shame we had to cancel our date last night handsome, still on for tonight?” There were a bunch of emojis next to the text, the purple devil, aubergine, water droplets. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out whoever this girl was motives were. At first you were embarrassed, to the point where your mouth was kinda slack and Leah was asking you what was wrong. Then you were pissed. 

“He’s such a dick, honestly. I don’t know why this makes him a dick, i’m just so mad. I know I’m not the prettiest, or the funniest, or most talented or anything but jesus christ I wish he would just notice me for once instead of these girls who will put out at the drop of a freakin hat!” Leah had taken the phone from you to see what you were talking about. She groaned and then noticed your whole body was shaking, in a flash she was at the door calling for Sam and the others. All you could see was red. Your vision totally blank, the covers under your hands balled up in your fists tight, your body shaking, heating up. Somewhere in the background you could hear someone shouting at you to calm down, but this time you couldn’t. You heard the sound of ripping and then all of a sudden the world around you changed. For one, everything in the room seemed to get smaller, or maybe you got bigger? You were still angry and started lashing out, only to be tackled by something from the side, leading you to smash through the wall of the wooden house. You still didn’t understand what was happening, until you heard them in your head. 

“Y/N CALM DOWN! We know this is scary but you need to calm down.” It was Sams voice. In your head. Or maybe, the voice was coming from the 8ft black wolf hovering over you. You didn’t scream, you didn’t even seem scared, and it’s because you realised, you were a wolf too. 

-Paul’s POV-

Y/N was safe, sleeping soundly in the room next door, or so Paul thought. It wasn’t until he heard the shouting that he knew something was wrong. Leah called for help and before he knew what had happened there was a bang and Sam was tackling a wolf on the ground outside the house. 

A white wolf. Small, slim, bright, with a single grey patch of fur around an eye. Paul shifted instantly, realising the unknown wolf in front of him was in fact his imprint. He let out a low growl to Sam, even though he was the Alpha, Paul didn’t like the fact he’d just tackled his girl. He looked her over, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth almost comically, all the while Y/N stood staring and the grey wolf now in front of her, he could hear through the bond that she’d just imprinted, feel it too. Now she knew. 

-Your POV-

“Hold the fuck up.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Part of you couldn’t tell if you were in a dream or had just gone plain crazy. The other part of you knew that everything was real but you just couldn’t process the information quick enough. “So you’re telling me, that our ancestors were these shapeshifters and the gene was passed down to us to allow us to shift into giant wolves and hunt down vampires. You know, Vampires, ‘I want to suck you blood’, creepy pale strong immortal beings with no soul? And werewolves, I mean, Shifters..” It was insane. 

“Anddd to top it off, the man i’ve had a crush on since 2nd grade is my imprint, the person I’m supposed to be with for the rest of my life?” You glared at Paul who had the audacity to wink in your direction. Looking around you noticed the other faces, all amused at your outburst. Okay, so this wasn’t a joke, it was some sick reality you were now a part of. You hadn’t looked in Leah’s direction yet, pissed that your best friend had kept such a massive secret from you. Obviously you knew it wasn’t her fault, she wasn’t aloud to tell you the tribes secret, they didn’t know that you would be another female shifter, apparently your kind were rare. It still stung a little. 

“What really sucks thought Y/N, is that you’re gonna have to cut you beautiful hair short, our human hair mimics the length of our wolf hair, hence why each of us one by one cut it all off.” Quil sat back and shrugged and Paul growled lowly, not lowly enough for heightened hearing. 

“Why now. Why. I-I have school and I have things I want to do with my life.. I can’t be a shifter..” Reality had started to sink in and you found it difficult to breath. It felt like everyone in the room was staring at you and it didn’t help that you could also hear what everyone was basically saying. Your chair was pushed back with a screech, falling over and hitting the wooden floor. 

“I-I need to get out of here, I need a minute..” You were out the door in a flash, Leah and the boys running after you. Somewhere in the distance you could make out Sam telling Paul to calm down and then heard what sounded like wolves shifting but you’d already made it to the tree line, being able to run faster than you’d imagined still in your human form. 

The air was colder the higher up you got. You didn’t know how long you’d been running for but it had been a couple of hours before you finally stopped. In the middle of nowhere, high up in the mountains you let out a scream, one that sent flocks of birds fleeing from trees, the notes of your anguish scattering in the breeze. Everything would be changing now, life as you once knew it was gone. Part of yourself would never be yours again, having to follow a pack system. Another part of you was giddy at the thought that the man you’d been in love with your whole life turned out to be the one destined for you all along, it only took shifting into a wolf for you both to realise just how compatible you were.

You’d been alone with your thoughts long enough when you heard a twig snap in the distance. The hairs on your arms stood up and your heart started beating rapidly, turning, you calmed when you noticed a familiar figure walk out into the open. 

“Paul.” You could feel the bond running through your veins, seeing him helped you breath better and the physical need and urge to be in his arms was too strong. Like he sensed it too, he was over to you in a flash, taking you in his arms, your body pressed against his, his nose buried in your hair breathing in your scent, like he was saving it to memory. 

“Y/N, it’s all going to be okay, I promise, nothing bad will ever happen to you while i’m around, I know it seems scary now, but it won’t be like this forever. You’re already so strong, and I’m lucky that fate paired me with you.”

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

Yoooo. I hope you liked this chapter, I’ve had some writers block recently, just trying to keep going. I’m still not sure what direction I’m taking this fic, I do know however that this is set at the beginning of eclipse! So watch out for some vampire action!

TagList:

@mariasblogsworld

@rosella26

@punkfrogz

@jjpogueprincess

If you want to be added to this tag list please let me know, sorry if I missed anyone off! <3 Please re-blog/like/follow <3

[fa-headhoncho]

Unlike the Rest: Party

George Weasley x Reader

Prompt: Drink responsibly

Word Count: 

Reader: Female

Warning: uhh, kissing?? gif really doesnt have anything to do with the writing but like HAPPY HOLIDAYS :)))

Masterlist Series Masterlist

=====

The night had been a blur once Lee Jordan had challenged you to a drinking contest. It was a simple game of beer pong that one of the muggle-borns had introduced but with a twist; firewhiskey had replaced the beer. Lee didn’t mess around when it came to drinking games. It was all or nothing for him. 

Fred joined Lee’s side and George came to yours. If you were going down, it was going to be with the people who dragged you here in the first place. You originally planned to help Hagrid out with the mooncalves but the Gryffindor’s win led to an impromptu party in their common room.

Fred and George took you by the arms and brought you with the crowd of people before you could even say no. Initially, you were mad, but as the party went on and the more drinks that went down, you were beginning to relax.

Lee’s cocky attitude pissed you off making you determined to obliterate him in the drinking. Being a chaser, your aim was pretty good but your accuracy quickly deteriorated the more shots of firewhiskey you took.

Halfway through the third game and your team had no chance of redemption. You and George were far gone by the end of the second game yet your combined competitiveness made the two of you continue. You were a giggling mess and George took advantage of it, taking every chance to make a joke. The alcohol made his jokes worse but that only made you laugh harder.

The four of you finally stopped when a particular pun made your body shake with laughter. The shot you were holding spilled all over your white sweater, a large orange stain on the front. It made you pout and you were on the verge of tears until George offered you one of his to replace your “favorite sweater in the world”.

He brought you up to his dorm room, claiming he had a white sweater you could have to replace the one you ruined. George was digging through his trunk, set on finding it. You took this opportunity to take a look around the dorm.

For how many boys lived in the room, it was pretty tidy. Lee’s area seemed to be the only one in disarray. You weren’t surprised seeing as Molly most likely taught the boys to clean up after themselves with how many of them lived in that house.

You moved to sit on George’s bed, bouncing on it a few times in your fuzzy state of mind. Glazed over eyes shifted to the little knick-knacks he had arranged on his bedside table; a few small boxes that probably held their taffies, a notebook, a muggle pencil, and a couple of framed pictures.

The first picture made you smile, it was the one of his family when they took their trip to Egypt over the summer. The next one made you giggle a bit, it showed two short, baby faced versions of the twins with their trunks in the garden, most likely taken on their first day of Hogwarts. The last one is what took your breath away, it was of you and George at the beginning of the school year.

It made your heart swell up with joy. He viewed your friendship highly enough to have a picture of the two of you next to his bed. He’d see it every morning when he woke up, every time he went to bed, and every time he just went into his dorm. Your drunken mind suggested maybe he saw you more than a friend.

You had no time to dig your thoughts out of the hole your mind just trapped you in before George starts walking towards you, “It’s not white but,” His head was down, examining the sweater in his hands. “it’ll do…” He trails off, finally looking up at you.

A thought comes to your mind and before your sober side of your mind can stop yourself, you start speaking, “Could you help me, Georgie?” You try to act innocent as you stand up in front of him.

Extending your arms above your head, waiting for him to take off your sweater. He tosses his own sweater onto his bed to free his hands up. George then reaches for the hem of your top and lets out a sigh. His brain is in shambles already and you’re still clothed.

“Come on, what’re you waiting for?” You egg on. He shakes his head at you and pulls the stained sweater off your body.

His eyes drag over the sight of you. Goosebumps appear on the surface of your skin at the sudden temperature change. The way your hair falls back to your shoulders sends his head spiraling alone but then he looks down at your bra. It’s a simple tan bra but on you, it looks like it's worth a million galleons.

He can’t help himself as he reaches out to touch your side. Your mind goes completely blank at the contact. He gently caresses your soft skin, feeling the goosebumps that he’s sure you’re going to blame from how cold the room is. 

“Georgie,” You whisper, your breath fanning over his neck. He didn’t realize how close you were until now, both of your unbalanced frames came closer because of the movement before. He drags a finger up your arm with his other hand, moving to push your hair over your shoulder. Your eyes are closed, basking at the way his touch feels on you. You’re putty in his hands at this point.

“Yes, love?” He questions, his eyes switching to your face as he runs his hand over your shoulder to the strap of your bra.

“Kiss me.” You whine out, he doesn’t hesitate to bring his lips to yours. You’ve dreamt about this moment since the summer before fourth year when he started sending you letters. When you saw him on the train, you knew this year was going to be interesting.

George then leans down, picking you up and laying you onto his bed. You watch in awe as he sheds his Quidditch sweater, his body is more defined this year as well. Puberty really did wonders for him. He climbs on top of you, careful not to put all his weight on you.

“If I knew this was going to happen—“ You try to focus on your words while he leaves a trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, “I would’ve asked for a sweater earlier.” 

=====

George picks at his food as he continues to think about last night. He doesn’t remember much but he can still feel your hands all over him, the kisses are still burned onto his skin. He’s been looking for you all morning but you haven’t been in sight.

Fred knocks his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He ignores it, eyes glued to the entrance of the Great Hall, “You alright there, Georgie?” He says, George’s head snaps to his at the nickname. The way your voice said it last night echoes in his mind.

He shakes his head, trying to get the thought out. “Yea, I’m fine.” He mumbles, looking down at his food.

“Bit hungover, are we?” Lee mocks, a smile on his face. “Thought you could handle your liquor better than that.” They both chuckle but George just shakes his head at him.

“If you’re hungover, wonder how (Y/N) feels.” Fred wonders out loud, George perks up at the name. “She's about the same but you’re double her size so she’s probably screwed… ay, where is she anyway?” 

“Oh,” Hermione says, covering her mouth as she swallows her food. “She’s helping Snape this morning, trying to redeem the points for her house that the three of you lost the other day… she told me to give this to you,” She rummages through her bag and pulls out a piece of clothing.

George’s heart drops as his sweater is dropped in front of him. It was the one from last night that he gave you. Lee and Fred let out a couple of whistles at the sight.

“Oh, will you two grow up?” Hermione scolds, glaring at the two fifth years.

His mind goes blank as the two continue to bicker with Hermione. He thought the moment you shared would finally move the two of you forward in your relationship, making you something more. But, he guesses it was just a drunken mistake.

[himitsukki]

𝗯𝗼𝗸𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂 // 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘆

warnings: unrequited love, notes of desperation

wc: 1,250

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ☁ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

the day closes its doors along with its light, and now the darkness surrounds the world around you; you’ve been with bokuto for the entire day, walking around the mall in pursuit of finding a gift for this “certain someone”. 

somehow, even when you’ve been standing next to him for more than just a few hours, you want to be even closer.

his hands have grasped onto your wrists, pulling you from store to store, never letting it go except for the occurence that he wanted to ask you “how about this one?” while raising the said object up for you to judge.

“hmm, might be too cutesy.“

“too much glitter, i think?“

“maybe its too fancy as a gift?“

with each object he asks, you keep making excuses to find the next one, all in the hopes that he pulls you into the next store and have that cycle run through over and over until you’re both forced to path ways. you can’t help but feel ashamed, though, that you’re stringing bokuto along to your selfish wants because you oh so desperately want to be the person he’s buying a gift for; but knowing him, it’s impossible to be you.

bokuto’s honesty has been a double-edged sword: a curse and a blessing all at the same time for people around him, like you. 

with the past attempts where you’ve tried to flirt with him and give him a hint by pushing the side of your body entirely flush with his, he blushes and stumbles on his words, unable to make contact with you for the next few minutes until he’s gotten comfortable with the feeling; or when you tell him that you’d happily be kept in his arms as you cuddled together on his couch during your movie nights, and he tells you that he’s happy that at least someone appreaciates his hugs, because they’re simply the best. 

warm, comforting, honest.

but, along with that, it becomes painfully obvious that it’s not you that bokuto has his eyes for, not when he physically can’t help but follow her figure with his eyes despite talking face to face with you, or when his whole body becomes aligned to face her while standing in his classroom, having a conversation about something bokuto’s passionate about, yet he contributes little to nothing to the discussion; its when you’re walking home side by side, yet he’s still so focused on his screen, the sound of a ping! doing better at making him interested than whatever you’ve been desperately trying for the past, what, days? weeks? 

how long has it been since you’ve felt connected with your best friend? how long until you realize that you’ve gotten second place in his heart now? how long will it take you to accept that despite having bokuto by your side, his eyes don’t meet yours anymore?

how long until he’s gone from your side? from you?

you’re selfish, you admit it. accept it. wholeheartedly hate yourself for it; but you can’t help but desperately grasp onto whatever threads of connection you have left with your best friend... if he even is considered as a best friend, no, your best friend, anymore.

with the last amounts of hope that you’re able to gather, you both approach the middle of the crossroads after walking away from the store he found had the “perfect gift” for her. the time for the last train is almost approaching, and it makes you feel happy that you’ve spent almost an entire day together with bokuto, but also bittersweet because you know this the end of it. 

the end of the day. the end of your hopes.

the end of your hopeless pining for bokuto koutarou, your best friend since your first year of high school. if it isn’t the end, you’re damn well forcing yourself to stop hopelessly pining for him because you know bokuto, and you know that it’ll only result in another unnecessary broken heart, aside from yours, if this continues.

at the very least, you can prevent that from happening and protect him from any kind of heartbreak you’re able to give him. 

with the last amount of hope that you’re able to gather, you turn to your side, facing the man you’ve kept your eyes locked with for the past three years. slowly, you let your eyes look and wonder over bokuto’s form from bottom up: from the soles of his sneaker-clad feet that you know are bruised and sore from all the walking you’ve done today (as well as all the training they do, of couse), to the thickness of his thighs that you’ve thought of and dreamt about more often than you should have late at night; his slim waist that you love to sneak your arms around and squeeze tightly; his chest that your head has rested and leaned on while you talked or watched a movie or slept; his well-built arms that you’ve seen grow over the years due to his insistence on you coming along with his gym sessions; his neck that you’ve seen been covered and dripping with sweat, but somehow you keep on dreaming on the day your able to paint your own constellation on the canvas of his skin, or simply give him a kiss from under the side of his jaw like that one time you were dared to. 

your eyes trail past his lips that you’ve looked at more than your own, past his nose that he once admitted loved to get kisses on; and now, with the last amount of hope that you’re able to gather, you continue to trail your eyes up and meet the eyes that you’ve seen glimmer in hope and pride, in defeat and sadness; you’ve seen him cry because he lost at a tournament and because he laughed a little to hard at a bad joke in a movie; you’ve seen the light in his eyes illuminate  the fiery hope and determination in him, and you’ve seen it disappear the moment he became frighteningly aware of his insecurities and shortfalls. 

for the first time in a long while, you’ve attempted to lock eyes with him. it seems, though, that this is also the last of your attempts, as you see the eyes you’ve been looking at for the last three years widen and light up at the sight behind you, his smile slowly becoming subconsciously widened and his whole body getting ready to run past you and head straight for the girl behind.

you don’t need to look behind you to know who it is. 

so you close you eyes and let the dark nothingness calm you down, doing your best to ignore the sound of him running and excitedly greeting the person behind you. you walk up the stairs to the station, quickly reaching the upper half portion, when you heard him call out your name.

with the last amount of hope that you’re able to gather, you turn around, expecting, hoping, begging, for something, anything, but all that greets you is a mirror of where you previously once were: in the arms of bokuto koutarou, smiling and happy. in his usual loud manner, he shouts at you his gratitude for helping him pick a gift and bids you safety for your trip home. 

he doesn’t even wait for you to tell him goodbye, and all you could do is watch their backs as you whisper your last goodbye for your love. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ☁ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

m.list 

[enternalempires]

A Surprise Visit

This is a Lukanette fic, with majority of fluff and a lil hurt. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same!

“Did you know,” Marinette said, twisting an ebony and silver ring around on her finger. It was one of Luka’s and she rarely, if ever, took it off. When he went off to college and moved to Lyon, a mere two hour train ride from Paris, he gave her a couple pieces of his jewelry, his favorite hoodie, a Jagged Stone t-shirt, and a promise of returning. “That I miss you?”

“Yeah, Melody, I know.” The Musician’s voice was clearly wistful despite. “I miss you too, more than you can imagine.”

“I think I can imagine it well enough,” She whispered back.

They were on a call, speakerphone allowing them to lay back on their separate balconies and star-gaze. The black spaces between the stars seems farther apart than usual, the moon more alone than before.

The distance felt longer than it was.

The days went by so slow, each hour lacking something and each night dragging on and missing a vital piece needed for good sleep. That wasn’t a piece, however, but a person— Luka. She wanted him closer, close enough to hold and laugh with and see that dopey smile he always had around her and blush at his sly comments and cheek-nuzzles after he kisses her forehead.

She misses the boy that, for the last couple of years, had become her best friend.

Alya was… supportive and an amazing friend but she just didn’t understand.

Luka did, though.

Whenever she needed someone to listen without judgement or without trying to solve her problems for her— to just listen, he was there. And when the musician needed someone to talk to him, to distract him from his thoughts and whatever was making his mind a too-heavy place to be, she was there for him.

He was her shoulder to cry on and who made her laugh and she was the same, holding him when his heart ached in his chest with memories it couldn’t forget.

They were each other’s rocks in an otherwise chaotic, always shifting tsunami of a life.

Marinette fully supported Luka following his dreams and going to college and getting a degree that will push him along and better his musical career— she just wished it didn’t hurt so much to be away from him.

She had half a school year left before her time in Lycee would be up and she’d be, coincidentally, going to the same university as him. It didn’t seem to come quick enough, though.

They were both busy. Luka had gigs with his new band called the Silver-hearts of Serpents, practice, and extracurricular activities and she had to work on her designs for anyone who commissioned MDC— the name on her website— and they both had schoolwork and classes to attend to so that meant  little to no time to catch up with each other during the day.

Thankful for being in the time zone, they tried to make it work and usually called before going to bed and when they woke up and texted in between classes or things that kept them on a constantly shifting schedule.

But it wasn’t the same as just being able to go across town and curl up into their favorite person’s arms and just sleep the weight of the day’s events away. It wasn’t the same as laughing when stranded in a heavy downpour because neither of them checked if it was going to rain. It wasn’t the same as chasing Andre’s Sweetheart Icecream around for half the day just to drop it from tripping over themselves seconds later even though neither of them believed in the magic behind it.

It just wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t fair either, Marinette decided, that the boy I fell in love with and who genuinely likes me back has to be so far away.

But she didn’t tell him that— not when she knew it would make Luka feel even guiltier for leaving. They were each other’s greatest support system and they always would be, and he didn’t like being gone when she was handling so much.

That so much being Alya unable to understand that Marinette simply didn’t like Adrien anymore— her falling for Luka and falling for him hard; falling for him in a way that felt deeper and closer than anything she ever did for her former crush— and still creating schemes to get them together, to the point where it was getting dangerous and rather ridiculous.

She had homework, exams coming up, commissions, hours needed to help her parent’s in the bakery, other hours dedicated to helping friends, and being Ladybug and the burden that came with the earrings (not that, to her knowledge, Luka knew about).

To top that off, she dealt with a lot more frustrating people at Lycee than she did at Dupont, including belligerent teenage boys who don’t understand the word no or respect boundaries.

So she really missed him.

So much so that it left her heart aching.

Only a couple months, she reminded herself. It would only be a couple more months till the summer. Till they would be at the same University (and sharing the same apartment— it’s less expensive and they always used to joke that they’d make great roommates with how often they spent over at the other’s place).

“Melody,” Luka said, voice deeper than before but just as smooth. “Did you fall asleep on me?”

“No,” Marinette yawned, covering her mouth with a small squeak as she curled up and turned towards her phone, squinting at the bright screen that showed his contact picture— dopey smile and all. “I just got lost in thought, sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” He reassured and she felt her mouth tug up into a warm smile. She loved when he called her that or his other pet names for her, it made her feel special. “But you sound tired and I know you have a test tomorrow morning, you should go to bed.”

“But Luka,” She whined. “I want to talk with you more. I really missed you today and, and I have more things that I want to tell you.”

“Come on, my Melody,” He coaxed and she pouted. He knew she’d do what he wanted when he used that stupid, attractive, comforting voice. It simply wasn’t fair. “Both of us are free tomorrow afternoon, remember? You’re only going to watch Kitty Section practice then going home and I only have my own practice to attend to. I’m sure we’ll be able to talk after.” Then his voice got softer. “I’ll always be here for you and I’ll always listen to what you have to say, but I don’t want to keep you up when that risks your grades and, more importantly, your health.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Marinette grumbles, groggily getting up and moving over to her hatch where she easily slipped into her bed and snuggled under the covers. “Can you at least talk to me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course, beautiful.” Luka agreed, making a sleepy blush to climb her cheeks. “Anything in particular?”

“Just about things that make you happy.”

“Well, I know this one girl and she’s the most incredible person I ever met. She had amazing blue eyes and is a very talented fashion designer. Her smiles, man, her smiles make me melt and—”

“Luka,” Marinette giggles. “Not about me.”

“But you make me the happiest,” He protests.

“Sap,” She smiles, eyes closing as she laughs quietly one more time, head sinking into her pillow. “Can you… can you sing me something?”

“Mhm,” Luka hums and it’s not long before she’s falling asleep to the sound of her song, of the one he made for her.

That night she dreamt of two tattooed arms holding her and teal dyed, messy hair falling in front of aqua-blue eyes and woke up alone with tears staining her pillow— Tikki offered her a warm smile and a pat on the cheek but it didn’t seem to help the cold, lonely feeling in her chest.

* * *

The day had not been kind to Marinette.

She woke up with a headache, didn’t have enough time for a proper meal but remembered to grab a granola bar after Luka texted her and reminded her to eat, got a pretty bad bruise on her wrist from getting it slammed in a closing door, tripped multiple times, and managed to ruin her lecture’s notes with her coffee.

On the brightside she kept Luka’s hoodie clean— as today she decided to wear it over a simple white t-shirt and paired it with a black skater skirt, lace stockings, and combat books— and managed to not face-plant into anything by the time school ended and she was allowed to pack her things and start the walk to the boathouse to watch Kitty Section preform.

Since Luka was in college and lived too far away they had to find a new guitarist, just like Luka had to find new members to form a band.

Luckily Juleka mentioned Marc, Nathaniel’s boyfriend and the writer to his artist, played the guitar and was really good at it so within no time they were back to practicing and finding a new dynamic for the group.

Luka got lucky with some of his old friends and formed his new band which was just as good, if not better, than his old one but that was only due to a lot of extra practice and more opportunities to grow.

Axel was the band’s bassist, Bash was the drummer, Tyra was the back-up vocalist and keyboardist, and Luka was the guitarist, lead vocalist, and leader.

Marinette couldn’t wait until she could see them perform live. Luka had sent her videos and recordings of their music and songs or just of him singing or playing guitar but she knew first hand that nothing compared to seeing it in person.

And she knew that, either way, his band would be amazing.

“Marinette!” A soft voice called from behind her, making the young bluenette startle and turn slightly on the sidewalk to see who was calling her. It was Rose, a sweet smile on her lips and she tugs her girlfriend along.

As soon as her and Juleka catch up, Marinette tilts her head to the dark-haired girl’s silent greeting and drifts to the side so the couple wouldn’t have to awkwardly get out of the way.

“You’re watching us practice, right?” Rose asks. There’s an energetic bounce in her step that Marinette can’t help but to be suspicious of, and the slight smirk on Juleka’s lips don’t help.

“Yeah,” Marinette says, adjusting her purse to be in front of her as a group of obvious tourists cater to the side and almost crash into her, not wanting Tikki to get tossed around. “Do you know what you guys are playing yet? I heard Ivan mention something about revamping one of your original songs.”

“Oo!” The blonde giggles, wide eyes excited as she starts to rant about the different things her and Ivan were brainstorming earlier to improve their old work.

Her girlfriend nodded and added a couple quiet things here and there while Marinette listened, pilotely following along with the conversation and her mind strayed to Luka and thinking about what he was up to.

No doubt working on his own songs, hanging out with his band mates as they practice.

“Mylene is coming too,” Rose tells her and Marinette blinks back into reality, narrowly dodging a man skating with a yelped out apology. “So even if you won’t be alone, you’ll have company!”

“Uh,” She pauses, racking her brain to know if she missed something in the conversation. “Who’s going to watch the practice other than Mylene? Is Nate coming to support Marc?”

“Nate?” Her friend paused her skipping to let out an excited squeal. “Oh, you don’t know! Well—”

Juleka suddenly spun her girlfriend into her arms and pulled her into a kiss, causing Marinette to step away awkwardly but not retreat. Paris was a welcoming city and full of diverse and accepting people but there would always be that one jerk who had a problem with people loving other people and finding a problem if they happened to be the same gender— so she would keep a look out just in case someone wanted to cause a problem.

When the pair of girlfriends broke away a couple seconds later, Rose seemed too flustered to continue or even remember what she was saying and the bluenette laughed at how smug the blonde’s girlfriend looked.

A couple minutes went by filled with light banter between the couple and an amused Marinette refusing to join a side before the three of them got to the docs and made their way onto the boathouse.

“The rest of the band will be here soon and I want to be here when they do to ask Marc something,” Juleka says, a smirk just visible under the half of her face hidden by hair. “Can you do me a favor and grab me an extra sweater from Luka’s side of the room, Marinette? I started to keep some of my things in there when he left.”

“Uh, sure?” The bluenette nods, frowning slightly. “But didn’t he say not to—”

“Oh!” Rose suddenly bursts, whipping around to face her girlfriend. “That’s clever! You—”

And then they start kissing again and that’s Marinette’s cue to go.

She passes Anarka on the haul and gives her a friendly wave that the older woman returns with a wide smirk that she now knows her daughter inherited and quickly went below deck and crossed over to where Luka’s room was.

She grips her elbows with both hands, rocking on the balls of her feet with every step as she paces down the hallway, trying to hype herself up enough to actually go into his room.

It would be so… strange.

She was never in there without him being there before and it would be full of his things but the most important ones gone— the wall of guitar picks packed up and now put up in his apartment’s living room from what she saw from the video he sent, the little trinkets gone from the desk now bare, and his bed only having a bare mattress and the walls without postures or any pictures.

She doesn’t know how it would feel but she knows that it won’t be good, she knows it will make the empty ache in her heart stretch all the wider.

But now she’s in front of Luka’s door and she doesn’t have a choice.

Marinette took a deep breath and turned the hatch on the door, the metal giving a slight creak to it as she awkwardly used her bodyweight to open it, grumbling to herself as it hung heavily halfway open— not noticing the group of three that were holding their breath at her entry from the middle of the room— and one of the sleeves that were way too big for her got caught in one of the crooks on the edge.

“Aw,” Her brows furrowed and she pouted as she tried to tug the sleeve free, but of course the world was against her and she somehow made it worse. “Mr. Sleeve, I’ve had a really bad day, can you please just— ahah! Thank you!”

Freeing herself from the door, Marinette pulled the sleeves over her hands for better control of the jacket and twisted around to begin the search for Juleka’s sweater when she met a pair of vivid brown eyes— eyes she definitely wasn’t prepared for.

“Eek!” Squeaking and startled, the young heroine takes a stumbling step back and ends up falling onto her butt, skirt thankfully in place and with her wide, blue eyes traitorously filling with water.

“Oh my God, she fell!”

“Shit, Bash, you scared her!”

“Aw, that’s a cute skirt. Do you think she’d tell me where she got it?”

Came the voices of the three strangers that were now all focused on her, eyes pinned onto the girl that fell as she stared right back, a slow race of tears from the day’s stress finally snapping trailing down her cheeks.

“W-Who are you guys?” Marinette stammered out, mind reeling and anxiety having already taken hold of her even before she noticed the trio, just noticing the sting in her palms and the burning heat of the ripped open skin. “You, you shouldn’t be in here, this is a p-private room!”

“I’m Bash Vulcan,” The guy with vivid brown eyes— and the one who scared her— had slicked back blonde hair, a thick black sweatshirt, ripped skinny jeans with converse, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he offered her a hand up.

She refused and just remained on the floor, not trusting her legs to keep her up if she stood at the moment. Feeling extraordinarily pathetic, Marinette just couldn’t focus on anything besides her pounding heart. She defeated Akumas on a weekly basis but couldn’t handle a couple strangers?

It made her feel so weak.

And those stupid tears were still falling.

“Sorry this asshole scared you, he didn’t mean to. I’m Axel, by the way. Axel Jupiter?” The one who swore and reprimanded Bash gave her a sympathetic smile that she barely registered and waved at her, his light brown hair flopping in front of his face from where it reached his shoulders. He had a punk style to him— and he said his name like it was supposed to mean something.

Maybe it was.

Maybe on a good day or with a slightly calmer heart Marinettte would’ve placed who they are but she just came up blank. Blank and panicking.

The only girl in the Trio had a pixie cut that was a pastel green and a nose ring and anyone with eyes could tell that her style was gothic anad that she simply didn’t give a shit by the tilted smirk of her lips— that only deepened as she pointed to Marinette’s skirt and asked, “Where’d ya get it, girly? I’m Tyra Bellona, I guess since these idiots gave their last name too.”

Tyra. Axel. Bash.

They’re in Luka’s boathouse. They’re in Luka’s room. They’re in Luka’s band.

The Band.

Luka.

“L-Luka?” Marinette sniffled, wiping away her tears as she sat up and winced at the way her palms stung, the broken skin and forming scabs still tender. “Why are you guys here without Luka?” She asked, using the hatch’s edge to pull herself into a standing position.

It was Bash’s turn to look suspicious and he stepped closer and pointed his finger at her, eyebrows raised, “Everyone was supposed to know why and where. So who are you, huh? Whatcha doin’ here? Are you some crazy fangirl that snuck on board?”

“What?” The young heroine swiped at her tears again, voice slightly croaky as she took a shaky step back. “N-no! I’m not a fangirl! I was getting a sweatshirt for Juleka and—”

“I smell lies! What’s your name? Don’t lie. I can smell them. I can.”

“Man,” Axel throws something at the back of Bash’s head, making his bandmate back up. “Leave the girl alone, you prick. Look at her jacket? Look familiar?”

Tyra and Bash looked her up and down, the gothic chick laughing after a second before she shoves the latter in the shoulder with a cocky look playing on her features, “Just wait until Couffaine finds out you made his girl cry, Vulcan. I can’t wait to see him flip his shit.”

“Wait,” Marinette drew the attention back to herself. “Luka is here?”

“Aw, he didn’t tell her,” Bash snickered making Axel hit his gut before gesturing to the other door that leads back to the deck but on Juleka’s side, and explaining how Luka snuck up there thinking that ‘his melody’ wasn’t there yet and wanting to make sure that his demon of a sister didn’t get too smug and spill the beans.

Marinette tiredly, but with excitement running through her veins, dashed back through the hatch door— being quickly followed by the bandmates, because who would want to miss the drama?— and ran all the way up to the deck.

Anarka laughed whole-heartedly as she passed and yelled out, “Go get ‘em, lass!” that had her blushing up to her ears but she was simply too happy to care.

Luka was here! In hugging distance!

And the jerk didn’t even tell her!

She saw Luka sitting on the couch, his guitar next to him and his leg bouncing with nervous energy. He ran his hand through his hair and tugged, an anxious look on his face as he talks to Rose about something, eyes closed as he grumbled.

Which was perfect because he didn’t even see Marinette and didn’t get the choice until she was throwing herself on top of him, legs on either side of his and knees tucked into his hips as she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his neck.

“Oomph!” Luka let out a loud breath, eyes flying open at the abrupt weight settled onto his person but then softening as he saw the girl in his lap, his arms coming around her and holding her to him just as tight— his nose nudging the top of her head as he took in her scent of chocolate cookies and vanilla. “Melody?”

Rose was squealing somewhere in the background while Juleka and Bash snickered, Axel cooing at them while Tyra complained about the disgusting gooey-ness but all of that lended into the background.

All that mattered was the two of them— the fact that they were here, in the same space, breathing each other in, holding onto the other as tightly as they could.

All that mattered was them.

Not Juleka’s scheming falling into place, not Rose’s excited chatter or how smug his mom had been or how horrible the day had been leading up to this point. Just her and just him.

“No,” Marinette mumbled, flexing her arms around him as she fully relaxed into him. “You don’t get to talk. You might forget to tell me something very, very important. Like, I don’t know, coming back to Paris?”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Luka nuzzled his hand against her hip, rubbing his thumb in circles as he mumbled into her hair. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I missed you,” She replied, forgiveness in her tone. “But let me be prepared next time.”

“I will,” He kissed her forehead, putting the tiniest amount of space between them. “And you know I missed you too, right?”

She shook her head.

“Liar,” Luka tapped his fingers on her sides and dug them in a bit, tickling her and making Marinette giggle loudly as she still refused to move away from him. “You just gonna stay there, baby?”

“Mhm,” The young heroine hummed, placing a light kiss onto the edge of his jaw.

“Did you meet everyone already?” He asked. “Assuming that’s how you found out I was here— seeing them, I mean?”

“She met us,” Tyra cut in, a cackle in her voice that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Vulcan made her cry and scared her, she fell down and hurt her hands I think.”

“He also then got all up in your girl’s face and accused her of being a crazy fangirl.” Axel oh-so-helpfully replied.

“Traitors!”

“Bash.”

“Oh, fuck.” The aforementioned boy squeaks out at Luka’s growl. “Dude, I am so sorry, I didn’t know she was—”

“We’ll talk later about it,” Luka brushed him off— which, coming from a Couffaine, is never good as they are people who like to be blunt and solve issues as soon as possible. To delay it means that, well, you screwed up majorly. “Melody, let me see your hands.”

“No.” Marinette grumbles, earning laughs from Tyra and his sister, who the guitarist quickly flips off. “I’m comfortable and it’s just scraped and I missed you.”

“Good luck getting her off in the next hour,” Juleka said, her hair pushed out of her face so when the young heroine peeked out from his neck she could see a sly smile spreading across her features. “Marinette’s been whining about not seeing you for weeks and she’s as stubborn as they come.”

Marinette flips her off, too.

“Aw!” Rose giggles, bouncing on her toes. “You’re becoming a real Boat Kid, Mari! They’re all adorably crass like that!”

“Says you, Rose,” She shot back. “I’ve known you for years and you’ve always sworn like a sailor so it was no surprise to me that you started dating one.” This got laughs from Axel and Luka, the latter’s chuckles she could feel in her own chest.

“Hey,” Juleka said, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend. “Leave my Manic Unicorn alone, it’s cute that her favorite word is fuck.”

“I watched your Manic Unicorn swear out a teacher when we were seven.”

“I genuinely would’ve paid to see that.”

“Oh!” Rose squealed, a soft expression on her face. “I remember that, she was so rude! Mrs. Palanchi never did anything about the girls who bullied Mari. It made me cry.”

“Aw, it’s okay. Marinette can’t get bothered by them now,” Juleka patted her head and blew a raspberry onto her cheek that had her girlfriend’s sullen expression go all giddy again.

After knowing Rose for so many years, she knew the blondie was a walking mood-whiplash, so she wasn’t really surprised.

“Wait, wait,” Azel held up a hand, drawing attention as his eyebrows pinched together. “Your girl’s name is Marinette? I thought it was Melody!”

“Nope,” The young heroine says. “It’s Marinette, you can call me Mari though. Rockstar here just calls me Melody.”

“Well then it’s nice to meet you, Marinette.” Axel did a playful bow, reminding her of a different boy in black. “This prick was always shy about the details even when he could go on and on for literal hours about you. Where’d you meet?”

“Erm…”

What was an appropriate way to say ‘his room because I was having a breakdown over a different guy that I was in love with and we sort of just clicked from there after he teased me about my stutter’?

“Jules had her over to watch the band practice,” Luka, thankfully, cut in— probably having felt her body tense slightly. “We became friends after that and just got closer since then.”

Not as close as she wanted, as she’d rather be a girlfriend than best friend but this was Luka and she’d take as much as him as she could and love it until she didn’t know how to anymore.

“When did you guys start dating?” Tyra asks, popping the gum that she just put into her mouth. “Couple years, right?”

Luka’s silent for a painfully long second before informing, “We’re not dating.”

Someone Marinette doesn’t see who but would take a wild guess that it’s Bash as he starts choking on the water he had been trying to swallow and the other two bandmates start protesting their confusion.

Sometimes she questioned if Luka still liked her— but Marinette had her fair share in experiencing unrequited feelings and she knows that this is not what that looks like— and it’s times like these that she hopes against hope that he likes her as much as she likes him because she fell and she fell hard and she can’t be the only one who fell.

Not again, not this time.

Not with him.

The next hour passes by in a breeze. Mylene and Ivan show up with Marc and soon Kitty Section is practicing, the other band handing out advice and compliments where they’re earned and Anarka drifting off to an unknown place to let the teenagers ‘cause mayhem as they please’.

Ivan and Mylene left early for a double date they had been planning with Alya and Nino and somehow they managed to convince Marc to drag Nate along so it was a group date.

Eventually everyone settled down into a circle around eight at night, having eaten and caught up or got to know each other better.

Marinette learned that Tyra was a little snarky but overall entertaining in the way she so passionately hated everything but loved to mess with Bash— Bash himself was a bit of an idiot but a goofball and it made him loveable enough to forgive the scabs on her palms (Luka didn’t agree with this). Axel was Luka’s best friend and he was a generally sane person but he was fiercely competitive and loved to cause arguments.

It was the most fun the young heroine had in a while and the boy she loved was by her side, so what could go wrong?

“Let’s play Truth or Dare,” Rose giggled, turning to Juleka with wide, puppy-dog eyes. “Oh, please! Can we?”

And like the lovesick fool Jules was she gave in.

Marinette knew something was either going to go wrong or horribly embarrassing from her by the wicked gleam in the purple haired girl’s eyes and, not even five minutes later (and after Bash was dared to drink hotdog juice), Luka got a dare.

Do Seven Minutes in Heaven with ‘his Melody’.

Stupid Juleka.

But also thank you Juleka.

Which— after making sure it was okay with her— he agreed to so it was safe to say all her nerves were on fire. And it absolutely didn’t help that Tyra snarkingly called out, “If you start bumping uglies, put on a sock on the door.” after them.

“One of these days,” Luka sighed out as he closed his bedroom door behind them. “I’m really going to kill my sister.”

“I’ll help,” Marinette giggled at her, though her face was still a burning red at what Tyra had insinuated— which they, of course, wouldn’t be doing.

“So,” He said and her smile widened at his semi-awkward tone, her hands bracing herself against the hatch as she watched the musician sit on his bed, twisting the bracelet on his wrist. “What now?”

She wouldn’t say it was entertaining watching Luka be so nervous but it definitely wasn’t something she saw very often so it definitely was amusing in some sense of the word. Usually she was the awkward one who didn’t know what to do with herself, not him.

“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know how to play?”

Luka gave her a flat look, “I’m in University now. Of course I know how to play seven minutes in heaven.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Baby…” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, because I do want to kiss you, I just— I don’t think… fuck, this is why I have my guitar.” He grumbled. “Words are not my thing.”

“That’s okay,” Marinette smiles at him, tugging his jacket’s sleeves down further her arms. “I mean, you’ve seen my stammering. We’ll just not be good with words together.”

“Together?” Luka questions, a slight quirk to his lips as his head tilted, teal hair obscuring his eyes.

“Mhm,” She nods. “Together. You and me.”

“I like the sound of that,” He smirks back at her, reaching slightly to tug her forward, the young heroine now standing between his legs. “You asked if I knew how to play— it’s my turn for the question. Want me to teach you how?”

“And you say you’re not good with words,” She sasses, a giggle falling from her mouth as Luka rolls his eyes and takes her chin into his hand, dragging her face down so they are eye-level, both of their eyes closing, and kisses her.

It’s not a heated kiss, not one that had Marinette’s heart racing but… it was one that made something slot into place in her mind, like something was missing before but finally found its way home.

As his mouth moved against hers, she leaned into his touch, hands fluttering through his hair and tugging as the strands, his own moving to cup the back of her neck and to the side of her jaw, angling her head for better access.

The emotions spilled out between them; the love they kept tucked into their sleeves, the joy, the passion and overwhelming amount of just… feeling safe and comfortable with each other.

It was by no means a kiss without soul.

Luka would go back to his university and she’d be stuck here for another month, their lives were so different and they were busy. Marinette had the responsibilities with the Miraculous and he had his band and they both had classes and a future neither could write out a solid plan for no matter how hard they tried.

So maybe it wasn’t the best timing, maybe it wasn’t the best situation or the best reason to kiss or the best way they could have gotten together, by a surprise visit nonetheless— but they were together.

And, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

[auncyen]

Ok ok so I'd been idly thinking about updating "Chats with Joker in Mementos" for Royal for a while, except as far as I know there aren't any transcriptions for the Royal Mementos chats like there is for Vanilla...

So...after some questionable use of my time, I now have a list of a good chunk of the starters in Royal. Only starters, not responses, since the point of the fic is having Joker be the one to respond, and I didn't transcribe ones I didn't think would be interesting for him to respond to, but still, if anyone does ever look to do a complete transcription, this might be helpful as a start? Or just interesting if you want to see what some characters talk about. Spoilers for third semester below cut.

Ryuji: Man, we really bust our asses to get stronger in here. I wish it meant we got stronger in the real world too.

Ryuji: Man, I had this horrible dream last night… Can’t remember a thing about it, though.

Ryuji: Ya know what? I guess Mona does have a mask, technically.

Ryuji: Yo, the way he jumps behind Shadows is so sick!

Ryuji: Yo, is it just me, or is fallin’ asleep getting tougher every night? At this point, I’m outta ideas of what to do.

Ryuji: Kinda fiendin’ for some ramen right about now… Maybe I’ll hit up Ogikubo when we get back.

RyujI: So lately, I’ve been tryin’ to work some training into my nightly routine before bed.

Ryuji: Hey, is it just me, or is Morgana’s sword basically the same size as Joker’s knife?

Ryuji: My mom made gyudon last night! My fave! Now I’ve got, like, fifty times more energy than usual!

Ryuji: This phantom thief stuff feels real as hell whenever he’s flyin’ around with that grappling hook.

Ryuji: Dude, that grappling hook is awesome! He looks like a freakin’ superhero with that thing!

Ryuji: Aww man, I just can’t get enough of those Akihabara maids…

Ryuji: Aren’t knives kinda hard to use ‘cause of their shortness? I definitely prefer my own shit.

Ryuji: I always thought darts looked easy—just aim for the board, y’know? But, it’s waaay harder than that.

Ryuji: Every try the monja in Tsukishima? That stuff is LEGIT.

Ryuji: Yo, does this outfit really make me look like I’m part of some biker gang?

-

Morgana: Listen, it’s not that I look like a cat. Cats just happen to look like me.

Morgana: I repeat: I am not a cat. To prove it, I took an actual bath yesterday.

Morgana: So, cats love to chase mice, right? I don’t get it—where’s the fun in that?

Morgana: I’m always so entranced by Panther’s whip technique!

Morgana: Panther, we have matching tails!

Morgana: You know, I’ve never actually been in a car before. Is it anything like I am now?

Morgana: I definitely made the right decision giving him the code name “Joker.”

Morgana: I’m willing to bet Joker’s skilled enough to use throwing knives.

Morgana: Anime, books, movies… Phantom thieves sure are popular.

Morgana: Last night I dreamt that Phantom Thieves were kicking some serious butt—let’s bring that dream to life!

Morgana: I can teach you everything you need to know about being a phantom thief. Relax—you’re in good hands!

Morgana: *yawn* I didn’t get enough sleep…

Morgana: I couldn’t fall asleep at all last night. I just laid there with my eyes open…

Morgana: I like Yongen-Jaya; it’s a great place for a stroll.

Morgana: Is Shujin Academy the only thing in Aoyama?

Morgana: I was vegetating in front of the TV last night, and I have to say, there are some pretty decent shows on now.

-

Ann: The bakery had a sale yesterday and I ended up buying everything they had!

Ann: The Ferris wheel is a must for me at theme parks, every time. I love being able to just relax.

Ann: I have an upcoming shoot at a theme park, but what sucks is how I can’t go on any of the rides.

Ann: Last night I dreamt I was eating a chocolate bar, then all of a sudden, it got mad and started chasing me!

Ann: Every once in a while I have a dream where I get chased by a Shadow…

Ann: I’ve been sleeping really well since I started getting all this exercise.

Ann: I was up late watching TV last night, so I might be a little sleep deprived…

Ann: I tend to do my clothes shopping in Kichijoji—it’s fun looking through all the resale shops.

Ann: I hate when people ask me to say stuff in English just ‘cause I lived overseas.

Ann: It always bothers me when foreign movie subtitles leave stuff out or take too many liberties.

Ann: I was talking to my overseas friend the other day—her straightforward attitude was really refreshing!

Ann: I was talking to Shiho on the phone and before I knew it, three whole hours had passed!

Ann: Joker seems like he’d make a good cook, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s great with his knife and all…

Ann: It’s actually quite exhilarating to attack with a whip. I wonder why that is…

Ann: Whenever my foreign relatives come to Japan, they always rave about how much they love Japanese food!

Ann: Do you think there’s anything I can do about my outfit? I feel like I stand out too much in this…

Ann: Is there a difference between a whip and a grappling hook?

Ann: Ya know, Skull’s always been into skull designs and stuff.

Ann: Wouldn’t a grappling hook be awfully handy in the real world?

-

Yusuke: I wish to paint the world as only I see it. The best way to succeed at this is through practice.

Yusuke: It’s fun to walk around and inspect different temples and shrines. The architecture is always impressive.

Yusuke: If Shadows are sentient, do you think their being moved by a painting would invoke a change of heart?

Yusuke: There have been times where I was compelled to create three-dimensional art.

Yusuke: I’m quite curious about Mona’s Western-style sword…

Yusuke: I hear whips are quite difficult to use. Where did you learn how to wield one?

Yusuke: Joker using a grappling hook…. That would make for a picture-perfect composition.

Yusuke: Mona, what exactly do you have in those pouches?

Yusuke: Creating a piece of art is pointless unless I can convey the full essence of the subject.

Yusuke: Art museums stimulate my creativity like no other place—I wish I could live inside one.

Yusuke: Skull and I both use long melee weapons, but they’re total opposites of one another.

Yusuke: Why does my outfit have a tail? I don’t understand…

Yusuke: I considered growing my own bean sprouts, but it seems to be more expensive than buying them grown.

Yusuke: I once had a dream that I washed up on a deserted island. I painted as much as I pleased… So wonderful.

Yusuke: I may specialize in Japanese-style painting, but I’d like to learn some Western techniques as well.

Yusuke: That grappling hook is very useful. I should find a way to utilize one in my daily life.

Yusuke: The other day, I went into the mountains to gather vegetables so I could cut back on food expenses.

Yusuke: I tried to paint a landscape of the starry sky once, but it’s quite difficult to do so from within the city.

Yusuke: India ink isn’t my specialty, but I’ve been experimenting with it in some recent work, just for fun.

-

Makoto: I may have stopped being a doormat for adults, but people are still calling me a “teacher’s pet.”

Makoto: A phantom thief’s body is their most vital asset. We need to make sure we eat balanced, nutritious meals.

Makoto: Do you enjoy visiting theme parks? I’ve rarely been to one myself.

Makoto: Fox looks cooler using his katana than I had originally imagined.

Makoto: I had the weirdest dream… I was at school, but I was wearing my phantom thief outfit.

Makoto: Would anyone care to learn how to drive, while we’re here? This place seems as good as any for practice.

Makoto: I know it’s not very healthy, but I do enjoy eating ramen from time to time.

Makoto: Once I’ve graduated, I’m going to buy a motorcycle and go on a road trip.

Makoto: I’ve been working on my grades because I still want to attend college, despite being a phantom thief.

Makoto: I want to read a certain book, but it’s out of print. Where do you suppose I could find a copy?

Makoto: Maybe I’m just burned out, but waking up has grown awfully difficult lately.

Makoto: The grappling hook’s cable seems pretty strong, but it’s scary to think what could happen if it snapped.

Makoto: Once my sister brought home some sushi for me. It was indescribably good…

-

Futaba: I heard rhythm’s an important part of fighting, sooo… I started playing a rhythm game!

Futaba: There’s going to be an event tonight in the MMO I play. I can’t wait!

Futaba: This MMO I’m hooked on is really cool. Do you wanna play with me? Oh—it’s in English, though.

Futaba: I’m about to beat the game I’ve been playing. Wonder what I should play next?

Futaba: I’ve been going outside a lot more, so now I’m sleeping way better than I did when I was a shut-in.

Futaba: Guess what? I’m making a game called “Hungry Hungry Mona”!

Futaba: You know who’s a really good driver, is Sojiro. He can parallel park with his eyes closed!

Futaba: If you could shoot grappling hooks from your hands, you’d probably be able to get around just using those!

Futaba: Ya know, I’ve thought about workin’ out and fighting alongside you guys.

Futaba: You guys should try playing shooters! It could help you improve your gun skills.

Futaba: Last night I had a dream my hard drive failed… That was scary.

Futaba: Wouldn’t it be cool if you could mod the grappling hook so it was electrified?

Futaba: Sure, the internet’s convenient, but it’s not like it can do everything. Don’t overestimate its capabilities.

Futaba: I wonder if I’d be okay going to some place by myself if it wasn’t crowded. Inokashira Park seems nice.

Futaba: Yesterday Sojiro bought me my favorite instant yakisoba!

Futaba: Maybe I should get a gun too, just for self-defense… Nah, my hands need to be empty.

-

Haru: I found this cafe in Kichioji with phenomenal tea—would you care to try it sometime?

Haru: I ordered kusaya but they refused to make it—they said they couldn’t get the smell out of the kitchen.

Haru: I feel like I need to learn more about the world, but I’m not sure how to best go about it.

Haru: Recently, I’ve been finding rare delicacies rather enticing…

Haru: Even lately, I sometimes dream about doing phantom thief things with Mona.

Haru: If you’re having trouble getting yourself to relax, I recommend herbal tea.

Haru: Asakusa is a wonderful area—I love how it’s this blend of the old and the new.

Haru: Ever since I started high school I’ve been taking the train in the morning, but I’m still not used to it…

Haru: Queen, your mask looks like it’s made of iron. Doesn’t it get heavy?

Haru: Joker’s so acrobatic! He’s really got the hang of that grappling hook.

Haru: I don’t think I’ve gotten this much exercise since I was in ballet.

Haru: Let me know if you ever get a tear in your clothing—I’m good at sewing, so I could most likely fix it.

Haru: I dreamt that the vegetables I’d been growing all died… I was so sad.

Haru: Your weapon seems fun, Skull. Do you want to swap sometime?

Haru: Sometimes it’s impossible for me to fall asleep on days that we’ve been to Palaces, no matter how tired I am.

Haru: You know, before this, I’d never considered using an axe for anything other than chopping firewood…

Haru: My hands have gotten all calloused… I supposed it comes with the territory in gardening.

-

Akechi: I have no intention of changing my stance on matters, no matter what anyone may say.

Akechi: Pancakes... I don’t want to hear that word again for a long, long time.

Akechi: We don’t have much time left. Please do what you can to avoid getting sick.

Akechi: The enemies are stronger than ever. Don’t let your guard down.

Akechi: A world that panders to your every whim is so mundane. Where’s the thrill if there’s no competition?

Akechi: Do you prefer my previous outfit or this one? Moving around’s become much easier for me.

Akechi: This place is immense. If there weren’t train tracks everywhere, I’d bring my bike here.

Akechi: We’re working under the constraints of a time limit, so I’d appreciate it if you could be more efficient.

Akechi: If you’re looking for a way to train both your mind and your body, I highly recommend bouldering.

Akechi: You think I’m frightening when I fight? Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it.

Akechi: I meant to tell you, regarding Shido… Thank you for keeping your promise.

Akechi: You may not like working with me, but I’m counting on your assistance until our goal is achieved.

Akechi: When we’re riding in the car like this, it’s easy to forget that we’re actually inside Mona.

Akechi: The Shadows here behave differently from the ones in the Palaces, don’t they?

Akechi: I’m getting a bit hungry. I should’ve eaten beforehand.

Akechi: I enjoy spending time in Kichijoji. It’s not very big, but there are plenty of trendy shops.

Akechi: Riding in the car may beat walking, but it doesn’t stop my legs from growing stiff and sore…

-

Sumire: I have a few different superstitions for good luck in my routines… They get sort of hard to drop.

Sumire: It was already hard for me to believe Palaces existed, but to think there’s such a massive one under Shibuya…

Sumire: It’s a bit cramped in here with this many people…

Sumire: I get stiff all over from just sitting in the car.

Sumire: Why is the one desert you get to eat during the week so delicious?

Sumire: A phantom thief outfit represents a person’s image of their rebellion, right?

Sumire: I wonder if I should try incorporating another sport into my gymnastics training.

Sumire: I wonder what I could use as inspiration for my performances…

Sumire: Swords are actually pretty hard to wield.

Sumire: Whenever I travel, I always end up buying some sort of good luck charm.

Sumire: Your outfits are all so unique. I can see coordinating them wasn’t a priority.

Sumire: This time of year, a heating pad’s an absolute must for keeping warm.

Sumire: Sometimes people will just walk up to me and ask me to show them a standing split.

Sumire: I’m in top shape today! Let’s keep going.

Sumire: Do you all stretch beforehand? You could pull a muscle if you don’t.

Sumire: It’s too bad gymnastics competitions aren’t on TV more often.

Sumire: Fighting makes for a pretty good workout, doesn’t it?

-

while I didn't transcribe responses, I did notice something a bit disappointing: neither Sumire nor Akechi seemed to have responses for anyone else. It's possible I missed one?? But not being able to remember any, they must not have many if they do have some. A bit odd.

[lastluvbug]

Your Trick Me Once and Trick Me Twice was amazing! My poor heart ached as I read it. May I request for a situation where Kalim was depressed after the events of Chapter 4;Jamil says something along the lines of "If only you hadn't exist" and Kalim decides to take drastic actions like attempting suicide? You can choose if his attempt is a success or a fail but I do want to see Jamil's reaction to the attempt though. Of course this is only if you are willing to write this. Thank you very much! :)

Toxins

Haha, you guys sure are enjoying the angsty Kalim fics! Oh well, truth be told, I am too! So let’s continue the sadness train!

Warnings: Extreme suicidal tendencies, toxic behavior, and language.

Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

Vermillion skies bled to dark midnight as a little twinkle on the horizon grew into a thousand stars that created shapes and pictures Kalim loved to trace with his fingers.

Twilight, the death of the day, and the birth of the night. A long time ago, it was the part he dreaded with a passion unmatched by any other. After all, when the sun set, that meant today was over, and all those precious times he’d savored were now nothing more than lightly remembered memories soon to be rewritten, or forgotten. But now... well, now that he had no one to fall back on, no one to reach out to, twilight was now the sweetest kiss he could await for, the kiss that he’d wished to feel, but for now could only see.

Caressed by the wisps of wind that held the slightest hint of spice, he leaned back onto his hands, swathed in the moonlight that seemed to spotlight only on him, on the tears that freely dripped down his cheeks like crystals, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Feet dangling over the edge of the too tall balcony, he drank the taste of night, the bittersweet flavor of the dry desert air.

Sleep had long since been a hazy concept, often coming in sporadic periods that sometimes stretched for hours, and sometimes lasted no longer than five minutes. No longer did he carefreely fall into blissful dreamland, no longer did he find comfort in the silk finery of his sheets, or the clothing that had once fit so snuggly over his already lithe body.

Stomach shrunken, fingers bony, cheeks ever so slightly caved in, Kalim had gone from so heathily full, to a frail petal on the edge of falling from its flower of life. He didn’t need to show anyone the way his ribs had replaced the muscle that used to line the bones, didn’t need to explain why he’d suddenly found nitpicking every food that was placed before him as a new hobby. Probably the worst of all, he refused to allow anyone to see the secrets he was hiding, masked with a terrifying expertise he surely shouldn’t be capable of creating.

Riddled with jagged lines that cut over his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, Kalim hid those so well, walking without a single limp, waving without a flinch, acting as if he didn’t feel the sting of reopening wounds whenever he stretched his limbs a little too far, or the dripping of crimson as sparkly as gems down tanned skin. Laughing soundlessly at the tranquil sky, he sniffled, betraying his actions as the glittery sea of bottled sadness spilled from his eyes.

What was perhaps the scariest feeling of all, was that he simply felt... nothing.

All those smiles to his friends, all those sympathetic hugs he offered to classmates in need, he didn’t feel anything through it. It was as if a switch had been turned off; the dark smothered his light, shutting out the emotions that had so clearly made Kalim, Kalim. He could laugh and cry as much as he wished, but that didn’t cover the fact that it was all... fake? Forced? Imitated?

He knew why. He wrote about it every night, in the journal he kept beneath his pillow. He dreamt about it, whenever he could manage even a glimpse of an image past the realm of sleep. He remembered it, he remembered him. His words. The ones that stabbed him in the back, in the heart he thought he could so foolishly bear to someone who’d once been so trusted.

He knew this was all because of Jamil. But he rejected any thought that came within a hundred feet of blaming him. How could he? How could he even begin to blame Jamil, after everything he’d done?

“Hey, Mr. Oblivious. Won’t you pull your head out of your ass for one goddamn second and pay attention?”

Kalim should’ve been listening better, then Jamil wouldn’t have had to tutor him on basic classes.

“Why won’t you just get out of my life? I’ve told you a million times, and I’m done repeating myself. I’m not your friend. I never have been and never will be. Now leave me alone.”

Was he being too pushy? Maybe... maybe he just needed some space.

“Kalim, get the hell out! Good for nothing leech, just get away from me!”

...How much longer can he do this?

Slow, encumbered, Kalim turned his head to the door of his room, waiting, hoping, praying that the handle would turn, and welcome in the one person he wanted to love again, despite the late, late hour. Staring at the wood, he felt numb, expecting something he knew would never happen.

Falling rather ungracefully from the balcony ledge, he dropped onto his wide bed, onto the plush mattress that was deceivingly firm underneath his back, cradling all the wrong places as his covers practically strangled him in the heat. The tears that came this time weren’t born of fear, or anger, but grief and guilt.

Maybe if he’d been more perceptive, maybe if he’d loved just a little harder, things would be different. But... didn’t it amount to anything that he’d tried? That once, Jamil had been treasured like a brother? Didn’t he care at all that Kalim was suffering?

Cuddling into the overwhelming confusion between suppressing heat and empty cold made Kalim’s head spin, and cradled by the hand of the night that so desperately urged its dimming sunshine into sleep, he felt his eyes slip shut, sinking into a slumber that was neither welcoming, nor satisfying.

<————>

Heavy and cold, shivering in warmth, dimmed in light.

Kalim curled in on himself, sleep clothing askew as he gritted his teeth, chest sinking with a fractured stabbing as he hugged his knees to his chest. Just as the nights before, sleep had brought nothing but a dreamless black that he wished he could stay trapped inside, only to awake yet again in a body that only ever seemed to work against him.

Sitting up, he grunted as his wounds burned, flames traveling through his veins as if salt had been rubbed into his cuts. Tears speckled across his eyelashes as he bit back his cry, every breath he took watering the knot that grew in his throat.

He knew then, with the sensation of cracking glass prodding at his chest, with the cloud that dampened his head, with the glaze that formed over his eyes consisting of dammed tears and bottled fear, he couldn’t do it today. He couldn’t go out and act as if everything was alright. He couldn’t smile and laugh like he’d taught himself to. Because every time, it would come out too broken, it would show the feelings he’d worked so hard to conceal.

He needed to make a trip.

Dressing himself was an especially difficult task, as any small movement made his arms scream in protest, his hips cry in red as mended injuries were pried open, his thighs burn like boiling water had been splashed over them. But, biting his cheek and gritting through it, Kalim disregarded his bodily urges to stop, pulling on his school uniform and sloppily tying his turban, slipping on his pointed shoes to complete the look.

He didn’t even note the time as he headed out, feeling unbearably heavy as he glued his gaze to the floor, wandering through the halls of Scarabia. Along the way, he caught the eye of a few students, who waved energetically. He didn’t have the strength to summon even a hint of a smile back, trudging past them as he blinked, shoving down the water that longed to rush down and cool his warm face.

Pinned with the helplessness of being alone, Kalim hesitantly made his way to the mirror portal that led back to Night Raven’s main building, freezing as he noticed who stood against the wall, cleaning the dirt from his nails. Jamil barely acknowledged Kalim until he was within reaching distance, scowling as he met the crimson eyes of the other.

Though he was tugging dangerously hard on a taut string, Kalim inhaled as he brought forth a shimmering smile, betraying the unspoken words in his eyes. “G-G—“ Kalim cleared his throat, swallowing the knot, “Good morning, Jamil! Are you on your way out? I could come with you, if you’d—“

“You’re a damn idiot if you think I want to spend even a second with you. Not that it’s any of your business, but I was waiting for someone.” Jamil clipped, crossing his arms.

“A... Ah, of course! Well, I could still stay with you as you wait for—“

“No. It’s clear they’re not coming. I should get out of here, before I waste anymore brain cells on a useless, incompetent child like you.” Jamil didn’t make eye contact as be pushed off the wall, pushing by Kalim without another word and wandering off into the labyrinth known as Scarabia.

Fists clenched tightly at his sides, Kalim stared blankly into the mirror, watching it swirl and sparkle with ethereal light as he resisted the urge to break down right then and there. He could feel as his legs quivered, on the edge of giving out as his breathing hitched, shallow and shaking.

Still, he followed the path set aside in his mind, almost missing a step as he practically fell into the portal, whisking away to the Mirror Hall.

Emerging on the otherside, he almost breathed a sigh of relief when no one was there to greet him but the dead silence of morning. Instead of bouncing off to class like he would’ve had he the stability to paint on a pretty smile like any other day, he made a sharp detour to a certain portal he never saw himself going into.

Stepping into it, he squared his shoulders, prepping himself with failing encouragements for the conversation that needed to succeed.

<————>

“Dorm head Vil. Pardon the intrusion, but you have a visitor.”

The blonde looked up from his vanity, pausing mid stroke and setting his mascara down. “Oh? Let them in, I’m not busy.” He shrugged, standing to his full height, enhanced by his heeled shoes.

“Of course,” the underclassman nodded, stepping out of the room to allow in said visitor.

Kalim felt weirdly out of place in the proper Pomefiore, despite having been raised in sumptuous royalty since birth, and setting foot into Vil’s positively sparkling room made him wince inaudibly with guilt. His bone slim fingers twitched with anxiety, a dark shade over his eyes as he stepped before the taller boy, only scarcely making visionary contact. “Good day to you, Vil,” he blandly greeted, grinding his teeth together in a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“...And to you, as well Kalim. Is there something you needed?” The white haired dorm leader shuddered, offering no explanation before pouring out the dialogue he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

“Well, you see... I’d like to ask you if you could make me a poison. Something fast acting, and easily hidden, that doesn’t smell too horrible.”

Vil flinched, pupils dilated and mouth agape as the request spilled from Kalim’s lips. He... wanted a what? For who? Why? “E-Excuse me? Kalim, what are you thinking?” Vil near yelled, balling his fists at his sides.

“O-Oh uh...” Kalim scratched the back of his head, feigning an awkward look as he chuckled. “It’s for educational purposes. I’ve been cooking for myself lately, and knowing me, I’m likely to accidentally poison myself!” He laughed boisterously, perceived differently by both listeners. “So I figured you’d be the one to go to, right? Unless... maybe I should’ve tried doing it on my own...” His voice trailed off, Vil’s hand on his chin, debating within himself.

Kalim popped a sad smile that didn’t appear so outwardly as Vil returned the act, a smirk falling to his painted lips as he extended a hand towards the prince. “Very well. Of course, coming to me is obviously the smartest idea someone like you could’ve come up with, but sit down first. You look absolutely atrocious.” Vil scoffed, gesturing to the seat before his vanity.

Reluctantly taking a seat, Kalim felt the insult dig deeper beneath his skin than it should’ve, crushing his hands under his thighs as he obediently followed Vil’s instructions, lips pulled into a thin line.

With momentary strokes and too gentle touches, Kalim couldn’t help but think of Jamil, seeing his gold speckled coal black hair and stony grey eyes instead of Vil’s blonde and amethyst. He used to do this too, every morning, dragging a brush dipped in black over Kalim’s thick lashes, dabbing red onto the corners of his eyes, thumb and first finger gripping his chin and tilting his head when need be.

A cold stab to his heart snapped Kalim from his short lived memories, reminding him of his purpose for coming to Pomefiore. “All done. Now that you look presentable, please, follow me.” Vil clapped, stepping away from the fellow leader and clicking off. Scrambling after him, Kalim gripped the fabric of his sweater tightly, biting his lip.

They didn’t travel too far, Kalim following closely behind Vil as he unlocked his bathroom door. Arriving in the room, Kalim toed the polished white tile, the lights fixed into the ceiling seeming to spotlight him as opposed to the beauty guru who swooped low to open the cabinets under the sink.

Inside were a number of brightly colored liquids, some transparent as water, others dotted with plant shavings or objects Kalim didn’t want to recognize. “Fast acting... sweet smelling, easily hideable, is that correct?” Vil quizzed, the twinkling of glass clacking against glass filling Kalim’s ears.

“Exactly,” he nodded into the mirror, averting his gaze quickly.

Vil didn’t reply, merely smiling devilishly before bringing out a small cauldron and three different bottles. Apprehension pulled Kalim taut as he watched the taller begin to explain his process, acetic irony making him soundlessly sneer. From poisoned to poisoner.

“On most occasions, a poison of this sort wouldn’t be possible to make, seeing as you want it to be not only quick to show results, but also pleasant-smelling. But, since you are working with the best, I believe we can make it work.” Vil boasted, uncapping and pouring the first vial into the cauldron. “This one is for the rapid dissemination,” the second, “this one for scent,” the third, “and this one for dilution, to water down the color, though still deadly.”

Kalim watched in wonder as Vil stirred the liquid, eyes wide and trained on the poison. Though at the beginning, an arrant black that made him scrunch his nose in disgust, the more Vil continued to churn, the color began bubbling with splashes of transparency. By the end, it was water-clear, and almost overpoweringly reeked of florals.

“Ah, there we are,” Vil smiled, laying a delicate hand on his cheek. Once again swooping low, he retrieved an empty bottle, ever so carefully filling it with the solution and capping it. “I haven’t made any antidote for this particular poison, so it may be in your best interest for me to hold onto it presently.” Vil cautioned, placing the ewer just out of reach while Kalim’s eyes shadowed.

“A-Are you sure? You can trust me, I’ll be careful with it!” Kalim argued, smiling wide to prove his point.

“Hm, I’m not a fool. I feel it would be for your safety if it was in my care until I create an antidote.” Vil refuted, sternly said, toying with the intricately designed cap.

Kalim chewed his tongue, clenching and unclenching his fists as he formulated a plan. Beaming a smile to Vil that seemed so outwardly innocent, he bowed slightly, showing his appreciation. “I see. Thank you for your time anyways, Vil.” He lied through his teeth, rising from his bow and bouncing off.

He didn’t risk a glance behind him as he stepped out of the senior’s room, shutting the door gingerly behind him. Scanning the gorgeously decorated hallway, he identified objects that could be used to his advantage, closing his eyes as he snapped the steps of his newly formed plan together.

Tiptoeing over to a vase that rose slightly above his head on a marble pedestal, he yanked the flowers that sprouted from the top out, tossing them on the floor as regret rooted itself into his heart. He internally apologized for what he was about to do, knowing full well that no one would hear him.

Winding his arms around the pot, his knees buckled as he dropped the weight of it in his arms, the arms that could barely lift his body mass. The water inside sloshed around, jumping onto his face as he regained his footing, tilting the porcelain prize and leading a trail of water around the corner of the hall. Repositioning himself in the indigo drapery of the curtain closest to Vil’s room, he swallowed a deep breath, hurling the expensive decoration as far as he could, cringing as the sound of shattering filled the hallway.

He hid himself in the curtain just in time, as Vil’s door burst open, slamming against the wall as he stormed out, empty handed. “What in the— Rook! Rook, go chase down Epel! That little scamp destroyed another vase, and made some pretty little prank out of it too.” Vil barked, Kalim cowering behind the curtain as the older stomped off.

“Sorry, Epel-kun,” he whispered, before creeping out from the curtain and darting back into Vil’s room.

Snatching the vial from Vil’s bathroom countertop was surprisingly easy, Kalim tucking it into his pocket as he scampered out once again, heartbeat amuck. Sneaking along the walls, he beelined away from the mess he’d created, turning a blind eye to it as he pushed open a random door in the hope that it was some sort of exit.

Instead, he welcomed himself to the Pomefiore lounge, where a handful of boys were lined up before Vil and Rook, Epel amongst them, who all twisted to stare at the invader. “Kalim? What are you still doing here?” Vil badgered, arms crossed.

“U-Uh... you see...” Kalim ducked his head in fabricated humiliation. “...I got lost... I couldn’t find the exit.” He whined, a few of the students laughing as Vil sighed.

“Rook, please escort Kalim out. I need to have a word with you lot.” The leader threateningly smiled, the laughter immediately ceasing.

“Of course, Roi de Poison! Come now, Kalim, we shall leave these heathens to their due punishments!” Rook singsonged, spinning over to the white door where he stood.

Kalim looked over to Epel, who had his face scrunched in confusion and fear, an apology spelled in his gaze that the purple haired boy only caught at the last minute, Kalim vanishing behind the door as Rook pulled it shut.

“Oh, what a tragedy! The rowdy boys of our dorm destroyed a simply magnifique vase crafted of the finest quality! On top of that, they made a mess of the hall too...” Vil’s overly extra vice leader boohooed, the flowy feather of his hat bouncing in an imaginary wind.

“Really...? Why would they do that?” Kalim asked, as if he didn’t already know they answer.

“I wish I could say. I often wonder what goes on in those spoiled little brains of theirs.” Rook replied, falling into a solemn silence Kalim relished.

The early blue sky hadn’t before been such a treat to the Scarabia dorm head, the boy thanking Rook briefly for the guidance. “Of course! Do come again!” He laughed, waving briskly and waltzing back inside the rather stuffy building.

Sneaking a victoriously pitiful smile, Kalim pulled out the stolen toxin, only holding it to the sun as he stood before the mirror portal.

It wasn’t supposed to be so easy.

A tiny part of him had wished it hadn’t been.

<————>

The school day came and went in a blur of colors, voices, and assignments that flew right past Kalim’s head.

He wasn’t fully there when he agreed to walk with Azul, the Leech twins joining not to long after. Happy conversation tied between the threads of three complementary personalities weaved around Kalim, who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange. He was too busy twirling the stolen poison in his pocket, and had been for the whole day, debating his very existence instead of interacting with his peers as he normally would.

The quiet wasn’t overlooked by the three, though Floyd was the one to finally put voice to the thought the Octavinelle trio shared. “Hey, Sea Otter~ is something wrong? What’s with the face?” He cooed, downturned eyes for once actually bearing a dollop of sadness.

“Hm...? Oh, um—“ Kalim shook his head, pulling a smile to his face that looked more dismal than welcoming, “—of course! I’m a little tired, is all! Y’know, Trein’s lessons can put anyone to sleep, even me!” Kalim laughed, mutual discomfort shared between the Leeches as Azul fixed his glasses.

“Kalim, would you like to accompany us back to Mostro Lounge?” Azul offered, having picked up on Kalim’s abnormal behavior. “We could always use someone like you to brighten up the atmosphere.”

“Yes, Azul is right. You know how to play the drums, correct? Why don’t you pair up with Floyd? You’ll put on a show that’ll attract dozens to the Lounge.” Jade smiled, eyes shut out of joy.

For a moment, Kalim thought about it, giving them the false hope that maybe, he’d agree. He felt remorse sink its claws into his brain, making him shake his head as the three strolled by the open courtyard, a flash of red, gold, and black making Kalim freeze as he identified the person behind the Scarabian shades. “A-Actually, I had plans already,” he fibbed, stepping back to put distance between himself and the trio, “I was going to meet Jamil in the courtyard. Sorry guys.” He bowed, shoving his hand back into his pocket to fiddle with the bottle.

Azul perked an eyebrow. “Jamil wanted to meet up? With you?”

“Uh, yep! Told me this morning!” Kalim smiled, trying to wave off the suspicion that the fellow second years exuded.

“Oh? I thought that you and Sea Snake had—“ Floyd began, but Kalim was already dancing away before he could continue.

“Sorry, don’t want to keep him waiting!” He shouted, coughing after he stepped outside. It wasn’t often he had the voice to be so loud anymore.

“Should we pursue this, Azul?” Jade asked calmly, Floyd’d signature careless grin upside down in a glower.

“...No. It’s Kalim, he’ll figure it out himself. It’s about time he learned how to do so.” He coldly decided, pushing his glasses up. “Come, we have business elsewhere.”

“Of course,” both Leeches replied, though Floyd couldn’t hide the somewhat concerned look he sent over his shoulder, before disappearing with his fellow Octavinelle members.

In the courtyard, Kalim looked around confused, having been so sure that he saw Jamil walking around from the hallway. “Surely, he didn’t leave... wouldn’t I have seen it if he did?” He puzzled, approaching the stone well located in the middle of the wide yard space. He briefly caught a glimpse of his striated reflection in the impossibly dark water at the bottom, hastily breaking the contact to look up.

Through the strings attached to the wood bucket, Kalim’s maroon irises set themselves beneath the apple tree, to the person who sat so daintily upon the black-rimmed bench. With his hair brushed over his shoulder, Jamil crossed his legs, immersed in a thick book that Kalim couldn’t quite make out thanks to the gap. Sprinkled in the choppy afternoon sunlight, he looked more like an ethereal angel than the traitorous student he was to Kalim, so deceivingly beautiful.

Exhilaration, and dare he say, a spark of hope, flared in him, a genuine smile splitting his face as he sashayed closer. Believing that he had the courage to mend the bridge that had been severed from both directions, he stopped a meter from the bench, attracting Jamil’s attention, who shot him a dirty look, tearing himself from his readings.

“What is it you want now, Kalim?” He spat, holding the book up.

“I... I saw you from the hallway and I...” It was as if he’d forgotten how to speak, words working against him.

“Congratulations for using your eyes, dimwit. If you’ve come to be nothing but a stuttering fool, see to it that you leave me alone.”

Kalim squeezed his lips shut, heeding Jamil’s advice as he awkwardly looked up, to the apples that grew plentifully from the strong tree overhead.

Courage slowly being whittled down to an embarrassing pit, Kalim forced himself to smile once more, pulling his hand from his pocket. Taking a seat beside Jamil, he gripped the edge of the bench, leaning over the side to peer at the cover, and, riskily enough, Jamil’s tranquil features.

They didn’t stay tranquil for long, as grey orbs met Kalim’s enchanted red ones, scowling as he noisily slammed his book shut. “What?” He seethed.

“Nothing, I just—“ he cut himself off, unwilling to live the lie any longer, “I miss you, alright? I miss—“

“No, don’t start. Screw this, I’m leaving.” Jamil growled, tucking his book under his arm and stomping away.

“Jamil! Jamil, wait...!” Kalim called. Panicked as the vice refused to listen, he hopped up, rushing over to him and pulling on his arm, book falling to ground in a flurry of aged pages. A thunderous boom exploded in the courtyard as it collided with the ground, Jamil whipping around, arm still locked in Kalim’s grip.

“Jamil, please! I’ve tried so hard to take care of myself, but I need you!” He confessed, tears brimming. “I need your—“

“Shut up!” Jamil yelled, making Kalim flinch as he tore his arm away. Turning the tables, he spun, shoving a finger into Kalim’s chest as he grew red from anger. “What you need is to grow up! Do you understand how much you’ve hindered my life, because you just “need me so much”?” He kept shoving his first finger into Kalim’s chest, making him stumble backwards. “I wasn’t able to have a normal childhood because of you! I had to hide who I was, because of you! And now you need me? You must be a goddamn idiot, even after all this time!” Jamil accused, Kalim staggering as he tripped over himself trying to back away.

He refused to let his tears fall, Jamil continuing with his rant as his back hit the apple tree, both of them speckled in the magical light, despite the argument. “It would’ve been better if no one came to save you whenever you were kidnapped!” Kalim choked a sob, meeting Jamil’s murky eyes as the taller seized the collar of his shirt, slamming him back into the trunk of the tree.

Kalim gasped as his head thwacked against the wood, Jamil so close he could feel his uneven breathing. “If only you’d never existed.” He whispered, shoving a hatred dipped dagger into Kalim’s heart as he dropped the boy, Kalim’s legs giving out as he fell to the ground, eyes glazed and distant.

Stomping away, Jamil grabbed his book and left the courtyard, steam practically pouring from his ears as red hot anger guided his feet as far from Kalim as possible.

Dropped unceremoniously on the grass, the silvery haired dorm leader slumped over, bleak and broken as he stared to nowhere at all, shoved over the dam that had both blocked his sugary tears, and kept him from drowning in the ocean of self hatred and doubt that now had full access to Kalim’s entirety.

Numbly, Kalim picked himself up, ambling towards the school corridors once more as his eyes dried, hand reaching back into his pocket and this time, pulling out the vial within.

The clear liquid swished around, seeming so harmless in its elegant bottle.

Kalim hoped with everything he had left in him that it would be quick.

<————>

The beat of his heart had never been so loud before.

Erratic and off timed, electric volts shot throughout his hands, every pulse of blood throbbing in the tips of his toes, the center of his chest, the thin muscles of his legs. A formless noose of cold anticipation wound itself tighter around his throat, strangling the words that longed to be said from a voice that wouldn’t again speak. Tears pooled in his deep red eyes, though Kalim couldn’t fathom why, since he waited all this time just for the moment of peace that wouldn’t remain so peaceful.

Lying with his back against the end of his bed, Kalim rested his head on the firm wood, clenching the small bottle of poison Vil had specially created that morning in one fist, his journal in the other. Tilting his head to look at the moon, always a perfect circle, and always smiling down at him despite the action he was so close to making. He was tempted to smile back, but uncapping the bottle and smelling the rosy scent that wafted from it, he was reminded why it was he couldn’t.

Dropping the book inked with the thoughts he’d neither shared nor broke free from, he watched as it fell, slamming on the floor loudly and torn between pale light and shadows. Inside, a letter was tucked in the smudged pages, the last note that would be written in his swirly handwriting. He prayed that Jamil would take the time to read it, but he didn’t want to hold his breath.

Lifting the graceful vial to his lips, he felt his tears drip down his supple cheeks, for what seemed like the first time, fear dripped into his soul.

He was scared. What would be waiting for him after...? Would this really fix his wrongs? Would it... make up for what he did to Jamil?

“No,” he thought gently, pressing the glass to the plush flesh of his lips, “it’s not for you. It’s for everyone else.”

Hungry for a distraction, he looked to his door, locked for safe measures, keeping any prying intruders away. He didn’t want anyone to stop him. He needed to this, needed to make up for the years of pain he’d brought to those around him. Though, he did regret not getting a second chance to apologize to Jamil, the scuffle from before helping him realize that Jamil truly didn’t want anything to do with him. He deserved this. He earned it.

Finally, setting his dulled gaze on the moon once more, he leaned the glass up, pouring the liquid into his mouth and swallowing it in a single gulp.

It was excruciatingly bitter, burning trails down his throat as he gagged, dropping the vial as his hands squeezed his neck. The feeling didn’t stop no matter how tightly he wound his fingers around the skin, the bubbly fire spreading throughout his chest and dripping into his stomach, iron-tasting blood seeping out through his parted lips.

His vision swam with black, his body betraying him as he lost the fight in him, leaning back on the end of his bed, sitting with his legs stretched out on the floor and hands numbly dropped into his lap. It no longer felt painful as he struggled to keep his eyes open, the midnight-dark blood dribbling over his chin to settle on his clothes.

He had time for only one last thought, jumbled and lost to the winds of his mind, never to be voiced.

“I... I’m sorry... for every breath I took. I’m envious Jamil, that you had the strength to carry on for so long... Me? I couldn’t last half a year in your shoes... I’m not a fighter... I’m not even strong enough to look you in the eye. I hope—I hope this did something for you... I hope this... brings an end to your suffering.”

For a moment, he saw his life flash before his eyes. The games he used the play when he was little, the laughter he used to share with his siblings, the friends he made, the fight that cost him his best friend... they all seemed to burn away as he stared at the moon, ever the lively spirit.

But, just like a candle whose fire was blown out, he snapped, going limp in the paleness of his room.

Sat on the floor, leaning against his bed, Kalim Al-Asim took his last breath, light finally snuffed out for good.

<————>

Clomping down the corridors of Scarabia, Jamil pulled his hood over his silky braided hair, something indescribable cracking in his chest.

He hadn’t seen Kalim at dinner that evening, off putting Jamil’s behavior as he pondered over the reason behind the change. Ever since Kalim announced them as “equals,” Jamil had been rather lax with his servant duties, cooking only for himself instead of for the prince, refusing to wake him in the morning, and so on. But tonight... tonight was the first night he noticed Kalim’s absence in the mess hall.

Asking around had revealed that the white haired dorm leader had been skipping the meal for quite some time, furthering Jamil’s confusion as he followed his planned track to Kalim’s room. How long hadn’t he been eating? Was he really that afraid to ask someone else for help? The idiot.

Jamil gritted his teeth. The absence hadn’t been the only reason he was so adamant on checking Kalim.

He wanted to—and damn him for saying it— he wanted to apologize. Ever since that afternoon, when he laid hands on Kalim, he felt strange, almost guilty. Maybe it was true that Kalim was overly clingly and immature, but it wasn’t his place to hurt him the way he did. Not only that, but...

Jamil furrowed his eyebrows, glaring at nothing in particular as he tried to assemble a puzzle that was missing far too many pieces. The gnawing in his stomach continued as he trudged down the hall, bringing a fist to his cheek as he nibbled on his lower lip.

Kalim had been so... thin. Like all the muscle on his body had just melted off, leaving skin and bones as replacement. Before the overblot, Kalim had been almost neck-and-neck with Jamil when it came to physique, always healthily svelte, while the dark haired servant became more toned thanks to the dirty work he often found himself in. But now—now Jamil could only describe Kalim as frail, dangerously near skeletal.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jamil tried and failed to remember how easy it had been to slam Kalim into the wall, to pin him using barely an ounce of his strength. The usually cheery boy’s helpless face flashed in the darkness, stained with tear tracks and shock as Jamil walked off, not even a glance over his shoulder to accompany him.

How long had it been since Kalim properly took care of himself?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jamil clucked quietly, reopening his eyes to see that the end of the hall, and the door leading to the grand bedroom, was closely approaching, “I’ll just get him to tell me. He’ll be back to the old Kalim in no time. Idiots never change, after all.” He quipped, though the tremor in his voice sounded more like a timid reassurance than a witty remark.

Stopping a few inches from the door, Jamil bit his tongue, debating what he was trying to say as he pulled his hood down. Cautiously bringing his hand to the door, he faltered for a split second, as if in fear the wood would reach out and bite him. Three quick short knocks bounced off the hall walls, magnified in Jamil’s ears as he was met with silence. “Kalim, it’s Jamil. Can I—I come in?” He stuttured, surprising himself.

When, yet again, late night quiet was his response, he felt the need to double over, uneasiness eating his gut. Knocking again, Jamil placed his ear on the door, listening for the rustle of clothing, or the scuff of shoes on stone. “Kalim?” He tried, hand slithering down to the brass knob. “Kalim, answer me or I’m coming in.”

Still nothing.

Dread coiling in his core, his arms stiffened as he turned the handle, finding it firmly held in place. Frantically jiggling it, he used a shoulder to push at the wood, feeling it give way ever so slightly. “Last warning, or I’m busting in, Kalim. Open the door.” He deadpanned, taking a step back.

The third round of the silent treatment sent Jamil over the edge, the vice shaking out his hands before balling them, running shoulder first into the door. It swelled, before dropping back in the same place, Jamil repeating the process over and over until his shoulder was decorated in a blossoming bruise and there was a hole just big enough for him to weasel his hands through.

Wincing at the sting in his skin, Jamil pushed his hand through the cracked wooden hole, maneuvering his arm so that he could reach the lock from the handle. Twisting it, a satisfying click rendered the door openable, Jamil yanking his scratched arm from the door panel.

“Alright, Kalim, was that necessary? I understand that I—!” Jamil froze as he swung the door open, letting a swath of light from the hall slip into the dorm leader’s exquisite room.

His heart skipped a beat as his blood chilled, eyes stretching impossibly wide while the air fueling his lungs seemed to be syphoned out of him.

There, just barely discernible from the dark, Kalim sat motionlessly. His eyes were sealed with his thick lashes, mouth parted as blood dribbled down to the neck of his clothes. He lie still, propped up by the bedside, a transparent purple vial close by, glinting in the light.

One moment... two moments... three, until Jamil shrieked out Kalim’s name, throwing the door completely open and rushing inside.

Sliding and dropping to his knees before the body, Jamil softly lifting him into his embrace as he called for anyone to come help, to come save what had clearly been lost.

“Kalim... Kalim, wake up...! I know you’re stronger than this! Get up, move, do something! Please, please wake up...!” Jamil cried, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “I-I’m sorry I pushed you earlier... I’m sorry I l-left you alone for so long. I... I didn’t mean what I said, you know I didn’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry but please, just open your eyes... laugh one more time. Smile...? Anything... just... wake up...”

Nothing. Kalim was cold, and not a single breath heaved from his bony chest.

“Somebody help me!” The plea was cracked, echoeing about as Jamil suppressed tears, tears that shouldn’t even exist.

He asked for this. Every damn night, he asked for this. He wished with every part of what he was for Kalim to be kidnapped, for him to shunned, for him to rot in a ditch. He hated Kalim—no, he despised him.

So why the hell did it hurt so much?

Why did every look at his pale face stab his heart in a way watching an abused puppy limp did? Why did he care that Kalim was feather light, that it felt as if he was holding a pile of bones rather than a person? Why were there tears dripping from his hatred powered eyes?

Trembling with the force of fear, disbelief, and stigma, Jamil’s ears didn’t recognize the orchestra of shouts and gasps that rang out behind him as Scarabia students acted upon his words, calling for teachers and help alike. He didn’t realize just how many tears slid from his face to Kalim’s bloodied clothes, soaking the fabric. He could only stare numbly at Kalim’s once so buoyant features, at the eyes that would never again light up with joy whenever Jamil entered the room. At the cheeks that would never again heat up in a blush that was the product of his profuse smiling. At the lips that would never, ever utter a single syllable, or pull into a grin that made even the sun look like a busted light bulb.

Moreso than that... Jamil heaved breathy sobs at the discoveries he made hidden all over Kalim’s body. His arms, mutilated with self inflicted wounds that never properly healed. His torso, tenuous and more bone than skin. He wouldn’t let himself go any further, already shaken to the core by the sick scavenger hunt.

The tears felt hollow and empty, painfully slow in their race to his jaw, grip crushing on Kalim’s shoulders.

He fought with a vigor that put three boys in the infirmary when help finally arrived, Kalim being wrestled away from his protective grasp and off to who knows where. He didn’t settle down until Kalim was carried off somewhere, far outside of Jamil’s view, and was left with the worthless consolation from people he didn’t care to see.

The only thing that ran through his head was the fact that he’d been the cause of this. That he was the one who pushed Kalim too far. That it should’ve been him to die instead.

Hours later, Jamil slept in Kalim’s now unoccupied room, stumbling upon a certain bound journal that just begged to be explored.

<————>

Why was it that the saddest moments always happened on sunny days? Was it the sun laughing at the earth’s struggles? Was it nature’s way of trying to ease the pain?

Jamil had no response for his questions, dressed in his formal wear as he stared somberly down at the glass casket, the temporary bed for Kalim’s lifeless body. Today would be the last day he ever saw him, as in less than an hour, Kalim’s family would be arriving to take their brother, their cousin, their son, home.

“Hey Kalim...” Jamil muttered, kneeling before the casket. “I, uh... I wanted to say goodbye, one last time. You’ll be with your family now, they’re taking you back to the Land of Hot Sands, where you’ll get a proper burial.” He said, studying Kalim’s blissfully expressionless face.

It was so strange, seeing him so calm. It looked like he was sleeping, like he could wake at any moment and pull Jamil into a hug that he would reciprocate with all of his strength, had he the opportunity.

“It’s not fair...” He whispered as a ray of light painted over Kalim, making his white tuxedo almost blinding. “Even in the afterlife, everything about you is so... so happy. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining on the horizon, it seems fitting. You were always... the sun to my moon.” Jamil admitted, a realization striking him like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, I um... I read this last night,” Jamil held up the black journal he’d found in Kalim’s room, “Kalim, why did you keep yourself hidden like that? You didn’t have to—you know you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have done this to yourself, because of me. You should’ve... should’ve...”

Should’ve what? It wasn’t Kalim’s fault he felt that way... it was his. Jamil knew that.

“I know it’s a little—no, very, very late, but I... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Those words don’t mean anything now that you can’t even hear me, but I need to say them. I need you to know that I’m sorry...!” He felt his eyes damped, and using the back of his hand, he wiped away the water that hadn’t even spilled yet. “Kalim, you were right, okay?! You were right! You may have needed me, but I needed you more! You gave me my freedom, even after I threw you to your death! I had so much pent up anger, I didn’t... didn’t know what to do with it!”

The dawning of the truth set Jamil’s waterworks into action, a pretty blush darkening his cheeks as his shattered weeping rose into the air. This was it. Kalim would never smile, laugh, speak again. Never. He wouldn’t ride a magic carpet, or sit on the balcony of the lounge, or even take another breath.

He was gone.

Undeniably, irrevocably, gone.

Sniffling, Jamil placed the journal in Kalim’s hands, having written his own letter inside. “I figured, your family deserved to see your last words. And my apology. There’s not much left for me to say... but thank you. You were never in the wrong, it was me. Thank you, for being so forgiving, even in my darkest hours. Thank you, for staying by my side. Thank you, Kalim, for being the brother I didn’t realize I needed.”

Standing, Jamil leaned over Kalim, the one he took for granted. Sliding his hand over his eyelids, he bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the way he did when they were little. “Goodbye.” He breathed, before parting ways, beads of saltwater still trickling down as he trekked off, fists balled tightly at his sides.

<————>

Dear Kalim,

I’ve had little time to ponder over your passing. Over the very certitude that you’re not here anymore. But in that little time, I’ve arrived at a single conclusion, that can’t begin to express my emotions.

I said I hated you. I said I wished you’d never existed. I said I wanted you out of my life. And, I used to mean those words. I used to believe that if you one day disappeared, everything wrong with me would suddenly right itself, that you were the source of my suffering.

But... only now, when you’ve really departed, do I see that I was so incurably mistaken.

I was the cause of your pain, as once upon a time, I thought you to be mine. I’m the fool, for having ignored you for so long. I’m the fool, for pushing you beyond your limits. I’m the fool, for pretending to hate you, even as I myself, was at the mercy of your charms.

When we were young, I treasured you like family. We fought like siblings do, we laughed as brothers, we grew as a pair. It’s impossible to set a specific date, but somewhere along the way, something changed. Suddenly, you were no longer my brother. Suddenly, you were my rival, my enemy that I could never escape.

I know the penmanship of my woes could never bring you back, I am painfully aware of that. I am beside myself that it took your death for me to grasp that the reason I never left your side was because I didn’t hate you.

I never left you, because I was afraid.

I was afraid that you’d lose the need for me. I was afraid that you’d leave me behind. Moreover, I was terrified of losing you, like I have now.

That smile of yours, the one that never ends, and never fails to bring laughter to even the coldest of hearts, that was what I wanted to preserve. That was what I wanted you to keep, if nothing else.

I’m truly sorry, sorry beyond what words can say.

I pray that one day, you’ll smile again. It’s far too late for me now, but I want you to know that you were my best friend, Kalim Al-Asim.

You were what I strived to be.

I just wished I had the gall to admit it sooner.

Written truthfully,

Jamil Viper

Yet another request finished! Thank you @etervenislucifen for the ask!

I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

Stay lovely!!

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

Complete Butterfly Outline

Howdy friends.  The following is the complete chapter by chapter outline for Butterfly.  Now that the fic is finished and some people want to see it, I figured there was no harm in sharing.  Maybe this will help some of you better your own outline process.  Note that not everything that appears here made it into the fic, and some things that did don’t appear in this outline.  Some events are also in different order due to me changing my mind during the actual writing.  Feel free to ask me questions about those discrepancies or anything else.  Please enjoy!

Butterfly

The first over-night trip off campus since the training camp is supposed to be a break from anxiety.  But between concerns of history repeating itself, a major research project, and a bleak introduction to chaos theory, Izuku has too much on his mind to properly enjoy the fresh air.  But those worries are a light breeze compared to the thunderstorm that accompanies what he finds on the outskirts of town.  Or rather, what finds him.

1. Chaos Theory -thankful -comic book assignments -sound of thunder -butterfly effect -field trip

2. Yakku -bus ride -small town hero work -interject about butterfly -Cheat-A demonstration -talk with all might

3. Small time -community engagement -reports of stolen food -first day tour and fun, photos with fans -heat lightning -second day early morning patrols -groups: Sero, Toruu, Deku with hero -different route than normal -bullies, can’t threaten with quirk, but has his body -investigate diner -dead bodies

4. Let’s Talk About Anything Else -deku falls back on a table -kitchen covered in blood and black feathers -body: slash across stomach and eyes, other exposed shoulder blades -three form a perimeter while hero investigates -backup arrives, kids dismissed -hug -might have gotten there sooner had they taken a different road -statements and debriefs -return to hotel, can’t eat -hang out in room, read to pass time -talk about comic projects -nightfall’s, others return -Momo makes plushies -animal jokes -can’t sleep

5. The First Rung of the Spiral -third day, more patrols -stolen food in the night -seminar “That was... definitely higher than in practice.”  “Oh good, it wasn’t just me.” -feels like a warm hug, full body feeling of when all might ruffles his hair -“this is mine.  This is me.” -izuku gets through but get sick afterwards from anxiety -secret lake, something in the distance, canceled -watahashi - cross bridge -hibiki - echo -takuya - open also -dead deer -sleep on bus by All might, anxiety subsides

6. Nothing is Okay -week passes -Tsuyu dreams of drowning, talks to Deku -anxiety returns with a vengeance -occasional intense back pain -counseling with hound dog, recommends something from home -pissed that they didn’t receive immediate grief counseling -speak with recovery girl about pain, nothing physically wrong -prescribes a sleep aid, anxiety meds left open -return to dorm to find his leftovers missing

7. Part of the Job -training: escort -dread and erased quirk -deku’s team loses fake civilian -takes it hard -stays later to talk to Aizawa -more complaints about missing food -Mineta brings thank you gift, gourmet popcorn -pain hasn’t stopped -return for movie night: Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths -brief talk with iida -if we were to meet ourselves, we wouldn’t recognize ourselves -“saying the same thing over and over isn’t exactly helping either.” -deku can’t sleep, returns to his own bed

8. Yakku’s Finest -small town investigation inconclusive, murderer remains at large but reports of stolen food have stopped -diner money left untouched but larder picked clean -blood set, attacked in the night -quirk discussion, vague, strained relationship, -teleported in from somewhere, teleported away -DNA testing to be done on feathers “Did you ever go to investigate the houses with stolen food?  When was the last instance reported?”  “Four days after the murder.”  “How far back can your quirk see?”  “One day.”  “How many days has it been?”

9. Dread -awake from pain -reading news updates -school forum rumors about stolen food

10. The Mind Killer -earthquake rescue training -keep notes on others to make up credit -dread not as bad -still has brace, sleepy and sick from concussion -pretends to be better -argument after almost throwing up -getting late -all might was never able to find his all star Superman trade reading online -picnic table with mirio, suneater, and eri -babysitters -talk about projects, mirio did shadow cat and suneater did animal man -brings up Superman’s suneater -all might approaches, chastises him for staring at a screen while he has a concussion, offers Superman trade instead -discuss the fall -what’s one more scar? -“why didn’t you tell me?” -“I don’t know” -“you could have been killed.” -dread tells him he only cares for one for all -phone call -mom going out of town -izuku lies -banging down the hall -getting closer -deku hides behind door -thing hesitates in his room, goes to door -wing claw and eye reveal -calls for help, thing vanishes -no evidence -“I felt it breathe on me.” -most don’t believe him

11. Ache -hospital -nothing wrong -can’t enjoy getting the brace off -another little scar -recoverygirl argues with nurse -all might arrives with stuff -tells izuku to call his mom -confesses to illness -schedule specialist appointment -nothing on cameras -explain Midoriyas condition -compare notes with Jakku -all might calls Gran Torino about izuku’s symptoms -aoyama thinks about Midoriya during earthquake simulation -others ask about the seizure but he doesn’t have answers -put together a card and nice dinner to welcome him back -try to make food himself -update from Aizawa : Midoriya coming back, tired, don’t bother him -izuku breezes past everyone, uraraka follows -has an attack on the stairs -never happened before -retreats to room, leaving uraraka behind

12. From the Outside -bakugo dreams of the sludge villain -sees deku in the crowd, yelling sorry -wakes up, goes to bathroom -finds a black feather, thinks it’s a prank -realizes he would have done the same thing back in middle school -destroys it (invisibitch) -thinks he’s being merciful -izuku keeps thinking he sees the creature out of the corner of his eyes -pain comes randomly -can’t sleep -anticipation of pain keeps him awake -rubbing against ribs -move up appointment -talk with midnight -fanmail activity -“I am the American father waiting on the porch with a shotgun for whatever pathetic excuse for a date is gonna try and take my little angels to the prom.” -wants to hug him, he hates hugs -“I can only do so much” “so much is better than nothing” -rumors of people suddenly unable to use their quirks -might be an illness or one for all hurting him -gives in to anxiety medication -needs to get in contact with a specialist for nerve damage -takes up hound dogs suggestion of something from home

13. Nostalgia For The Future -deku goes home for a plushie, brings todoroki -mom isn’t home -todoroki likes his house, feels small but full -nothing about his dad -“would being his son make his obsession more or less weird?” -declares intent to become a hoarder -confesses to dream about losing his quirk and father hurting him for it -Despite recent trauma, deku hasn’t dreamt at all -swaps a book from all might for one of mom’s -nerve specialist, dendrite -rash -“as a fan I was impressed, but the doctor in me couldn’t help but cringe”. “See?  He gets it.” -neurotoxin as anesthetic (but why) -all might watches procedure -“the scene brings to mind ritual sacrifices from old movies” -maybe attacked during procedure, mess with vitals and life support -chemical evidence that izuku’s brain is firing off pain response -common fixation in young empaths, recreate perceived trauma in themselves -“was there?”  “...I could see bones poking out...” -basic testing comes up negative -“When you hear hoofbeats, think of horses not zebras”. Here we have a zebra -someone is using an empathy quirk on him -someone ate his leftovers -old all might plushie pats bunny -he was so done.  So done, that as he laid down to make a futile effort at sleep, it crossed his mind that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to never wake up. -izuku did wake up; to see Mini-him standing on the ground with a hole in his chest and a slash across his eyes. -wake up to bunny plushy with tears that mirror original victims

14. The Rolling Thing With Wings -Aoyama saw it this time -“Midoriya’s villain is real”, -something is for sure on campus -Aizawa and other teachers immediately go out and search -cold rain -lights catch black feathered mass that rolls away -Aizawa can’t get a good look -thing tries to flee but keeps getting cut off -uses dread quirk, flattens teachers -finally sees it, it cancels his quirk before he can -vanishes -hound dog smells izuku -back to dorm, all might and students comforting izuku -plushie remains the same but camera footage shows nothing -Aizawa and izuku compare dread effects -realizes it may go after his mom

15. Bittersweet Release -Inko arrives at mustafu train station early in the morning -phone call from Aizawa telling her not to go home -wait to be escorted by heroes -calls izuku, he confesses to what’s been going on -doesn’t want to risk putting her in the line of fire -kids spend the nights in the dorm shelter -“The villain was able to hover right over Midoriya’s bed while he slept.  Any one of those nights he could have killed him.  And since we didn’t have any evidence, we assumed he was having nightmares like everyone else.  Do you understand the gravity of what your inaction could have brought on?” -discussion of feelings with hound dog -apologies for doubt -rejoin students -news, villain warning issued -connections to missing food -anyone paying attention could figure out victim is izuku -harsh criticism of UA -izuku elects to take responsibility -hound dog leaves for meeting

16. Table Scraps -hound dog comes in late, cloth tied around mouth in place of muzzle -villain smelled like Midoriya, that close -teachers check security, limited evidence, suggest a quirk that can reverse/move outside of time -connection to missing food -Noumu theory is proposed due to multiple quirks and black appearance -all for one still in prison, twice? -similar to Yakku, get in contact -pathfinder shows map of trails -only found perimeter -entered town to chase the bus -villain seemed to stop existing -one missing quirk: night vision -meanwhile, pro heroes patrolling near apartment -“oh please.  All mights had a kid at UA since my parents were in school.” -spot a figure go up the stairs and enter with a key/silhouette in the window -nobody from the family is supposed to be nearby -go inside and confront the middle school-aged boy, mass under shirt -find him wandering the house, ignoring them -introduce themselves -he goes to sit on the main bed, eating, heroes angry -“waiting” “for who?” “My family” -“my house” -“NO”

17. Voight-Kompff -stitches out -out running for the first time in weeks -one for all makes him feel whole, pictures the previous users welcoming him back into their embrace -breath deeper -“this is mine.  This is me.” -“izuku wasn’t a spiteful person.  Not at all.  He got angry at villains for hurting people, yes, but he couldn’t recall at time where it felt personal.  So it came as a bit of a shock when he found himself pondering if the villain’s wings were hollow, like in birds.  They would break easier that way.” -“hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.  But knowing his luck, he’d treat it like an inevitable.” -full cowl practice interrupted -“once it’s gone I can be with mom.” -medical exam with officers present -increase in students asking for sleep aids -izuku called back again, this time with teachers -karma for complaining about uraraka -gives back minihim -2 heroes murdered in his apartment the previous evening -it isn’t the artificial dread, it’s real -Like before: no security footage, food stolen, wiped search history, this time it seems clothes and personals were also stolen -“quirkless virus” show similar symptoms as victims of all for one -some have different quirks than before, usually minor -most are regular civilians, no hero, cop, or medical staff until murders -murder of diner owners still unclear -pattern, no pain on nights food is stolen -stealth quirks, likely to make another attack -DNA of feathers came back -same as izuku

18. Powder Keg -toga told to investigate league contact -warehouse trashed, dead everywhere -“Oh, yeah, no, they’re dead.  And whoever did it was super sloppy.” “Hang on, Dabs, I’m getting another call.” -answers dead guy’s phone -“how did I ever survive without the preserve jars?” -rumors of someone who broke into UA by themselves, after Izuku -elects to investigate -Superman presentation -outside heroes on campus -Outfield, izuku debates talking to him -unsure if they know the dna connection -calls mom, asks about family -we didn’t want you to feel like you were being replaced -class exercise, warned not to push it -izuku does something during exercise that spooks outfield -sleep in shelter past three nights -villain warning issued -other students don’t know about Izuku’s DNA -sleep in shifts -all might stays close -tries to text mom good night, signal can’t get through the concrete -eri is there, tries to cheer him up “Zawa said there’s a bad guy after you.” “She’s your biggest fan.”  “She might have to fight Kota for that.” -tells her she should go somewhere else since the bad guy is targeting him -she’s having none of it -later, eri and all might asleep on either side of him -keeps an eye on the door -hears sato’s phone buzz, he waves him off to signal his shift is over -lays back, tries to relax -sudden tightness in chest, opens eyes to see the other one standing on the ceiling directly above him

19. Fish in a Barrel -Aizawa realizes its a set up -the other one tries to stab him with the wing spike, eyes glowing red to erase his quick -rolls to cover eri and calls to the others -hits him in the head, disabling quirk -takes out lights -everyone tries to go for him, easily thrown back -slashed across multiple chests -the other tries to go for the door, todoroki freezes it -the other burns and breaks it down, vanishes -chase with bakugo, find toga -“my dad could breath fire” -teacher question how it could have gotten in with so many standing guard -it must have come in with them -mislead the heroes -comfort eri -wounds tended to -Tooru seriously hurt, crying, outlined by blood -idea floated to move izuku somewhere else -toga found wounded at the edge of campus

20. Walk Without Rhythm -“you’re sending me away?” -talk about moving izuku to protect the others -say goodbye outside, the want to lure it -switch trains last minute -dread fades -Aizawa says goodbye -appearance change -tooru wake up in hospital with parents -They met all might, other kids here and awake -tiger comes in with brace, izuku broke his shoulder -all might went back to help -discuss, don’t think the nomu was intentionally hurting them -tell that to midoriya -what are they doing with him -encounters old bullies who act like fans -Aizawa back with the others, discuss -public place.  Hundreds of people. Broad. Fucking. Daylight. -pathfinder there, nomu was inside for hours, quirk that displaces itself -nomu is intelligent, understands aizawa -only superfans and former students know him -izuku mentioned his father was as much of a fan -toga unresponsive -maybe move him to another safe house, evidence that the other is locating quirks through police records, he’s gotten through most defenses -victims have minor records -mom moved around too, discouraged from contacting her -better to hide, all might’s house -end of the day, tired and sweaty -brush appearance change out of his hair, hug -it’s the first time all day he’s felt like a person -“I’m sorry I left you behind”

21. All in All -izuku stays up late to call his dad -argue about timing -“sorry I didn’t call.  I wasn’t sure of your schedule in this mess and I didn’t want to bug you. “Sure” -mostly unaware of what’s happening, mom told them to talk -changes the subject to the Jakku seminar, tries to relate to quirk hurting him -thinks his dad only likes him for his quirk -“you can’t keep crying like this every time you’re stressed.  Youre sixteen, way to old to be crying like this.  You’re a hero.  Villains aren’t going to wait for you to get yourself together.” -“look, if you’re not gonna be invested in the conversation, maybe you should hang up, and we can talk later, ‘Kay?” -Skype call with Toga -managed to talk to it briefly, voice changer -the villain didn’t like her, in denial -said he would fix it -crusty and gross, waste of a healing factor -deku-kun is here, isn’t he? -tells jokes to distract from Dad -all might’s in specialty housing for tall quirks, modestly decorated with comic merch and newspapers -device to hide his life signs -fanart from Young Izuku on the fridge, bought the magnets just to put it up -old classmates posting about him online, he’s a cool hero -forum trolls, could probably take them -“I thought you were supposed to be discouraging me from picking fights with villain’s every other month.” “Oh hey look at that, you made a quip” -talk about feelings ⁃ is my rambling annoying, endearing -“it’s okay to still be upset, you know.  You don’t have to move on right away.” -year newspaper -butterfly returns to U.A., breaks window, noises, squeezes through naked -students pretend to sleep, half in costume -it passes over them

22. Idle Imprisonment -day 2, report comes in, three critically wounded policemen not far from u.a. -izuku does class work ⁃ all Might pins points on a map, far off -day 3, more reports of missing and mismatched quirks: tracking and radar -day four: 4 civilians and 1 hero murdered, several others injured -feathers through the eyes -mt lady back in action -izuku can’t take it, wants to go out and confront butterfly -massive argument with all might, hides in room again -“cabin fever!?” -all might figures he’ll try to sneak out, overhears him struggle, his windows don’t open

23. It Matters -later that night, all might offers dinner, goes to watch tv -izuku slinks out and eats with him on the couch -“think I don’t know how it feels?  To be stuck inside safe while the thing that hurt you is running free to do more harm?” -“I miss it sometimes, but I get to spend more time with you” “I’m not worth it.” -“if it hadn’t hurt me, I might not have met you.  Either my time limit didn’t force me to hear you out or I might not have come back to mustafu at all.” -back and forth about izuku’s worth, “are you trying to convince me to be happy or regretful” -“ok, lets try this: what do you hate about me?” -“I hate that you don’t trust me.”  “And you constantly treat me like a little kid!  Hate that too!”  “You are a kid!” -“I want you to tell me one thing you don’t like about me.  As a person.”  “Why?”  “If I have to be honest about how I feel so do you.  You only ever say nice things.  You act like there’s nothing wrong with me but there is.  If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to keep guessing.”  “...  back in the shelter, after the villain attack...  that was the only time I’ve ever heard you truly laugh.” “...  that’s it?” -“I, I’m not a fan of how you talk about that video of my debut.” “But, But It was a great rescue-“  “It was awful,” he snapped.  Midoriya recoiled.  Good.  “It was so awful.  Hundreds of people died.  Most of the people I pulled to safety didn’t pull through.  I hear them screaming still in my dreams.  I hated every second of that night.  And I hate that you love it.”   -“That shot one shot, the one people plaster everywhere, of me coming over the ridge carrying a dozen people?  Half of them were already dead.” -“How did you even see that anyway?”  “Mom said the news was running a special for the twenty-five year anniversary...  I watched it with my dad...”  “and you would have been what?  Two, three?” -talk about debut -tells him about Nana and his childhood -hid from villain’s like this “I loved her like my mother.” “Did she love you as a son.” -“it doesn’t matter.” It does. -talks about how izuku is great -never initiated a hug before, what else could he do besides pull him closer? -“I hate yelling at you.  You’ve had too much of that in your life.  I just want you to be happy.” -“and I’m going to keep you here until you realize how much you matter” -caught between child and adult, wonder what he’d be like had he never influenced him -will the scars on his arm grow with him? -he wanted to just keep holding him, to make up for all the times he should have but didn’t. -carries him to bed -“I can walk.” “I want to carry you.” -he’s going to be okay.  He’ll grow up.  Conquer the world with his smile.  Be the unshakable pillar the world needs, all Might had no doubt.  But not tonight.  Someday, but not tonight.  Tonight, he is a small terrified child, separated from his family, and on the run from an unknown horror.  Tonight, he deserves a moment to be scared and sad, and be comforted. -life sign hider gone -prays he stays just this small forever -he’s like a son to him -he stays for a while after he falls asleep, just to be sure

24. The Other One -all might dreams of his death at the hands of all for one/wolfram -wakes up to alarm, needs to eat -izuku inspired him to keep living, gets up to check on him -remembers the dream theory, goes to check his fridge -closes it, butterfly is right there -smells him before he sees him -running down a list of ways to get a hit in, major blood vessel in the temple -“Hello” silence, “are you all might?” Ask about fighting the ‘same’ villain Beat him with the help of his student Butterfly gets angry, the other one -“he’s almost shocked to here a human voice come out of it...  a young voice.” Other what -comes into the light, more scar than skin -talks him down, reaches out to touch him -doesnt believe -same shoes, faded and frayed and falling apart, but the same -never one to talk down hostage/suicide -says his name -butterfly stunned, cries at the kind touch -hug -same eyes -he’s izuku again

Reveal post - https://lckhr.tumblr.com/post/175255988293/okay-villaindeku-is-so-popular-right-now-but

I want to add to this real quick because I just dug up my original notes I wrote at 2 am last summer when I first thought of this fic and it reminded me of some stuff. The world of My Hero Academia is set up in such a way that whatever bullshit power you can think of will probably fit.  A lot of superhero universes have that, but something about MHA makes it so much more pronounced.  Combine that with the idea of All for One, a quirk that lets the user wield an unknown number of powers, and there is some serious potential to absolutely abuse the setting. The idea was to create a lone villain that could perfectly counter everything thrown at it, to the point where it feels like a supernatural monster.  Security?  Quirk that prevents cameras and sensors from recording its image.  Evidence?  Quirk that rewinds time on displaced objects.  Witnesses?  Quirk that prevents people who are already asleep from waking up.

25. Butterfly: Origin -“as hard as he tried throughout his life, Toshinori knew he could never be Superman.” -“He wants to hurt your boy/ but he is my boy” -all might feeds him, too thin, still heavy -talks him into taking a bath while he makes him a warm meal -Texts his izuku to be silent and contact Naomasa -stolen possessions with his clothes, folding quirk, , flattening, sticker quirk -cries at the red shoes -butterfly comes back out, reveals wings -all might makes him a cutout shirt and sling for vestigial wings -its a cold night,hairdryer, hopefully izuku sees the opportunity -“he’s so gentle.  The boys arms are thinner than his.  It’s wrong.  He feels like any pressure greater than a brush will shatter bones.  He could break his fingers with a pinch.  But maybe he should.  This is a villain.  It tried to kill my boy.  But he is my boy.” -“did you ever fly?” “Once” -“it’s okay, you didn’t know.” -getting scolded for hurting himself is universal -so is being a chatterbox -considers Christmas present in the closet -tells him to lay down on the couch and watch tv -butterfly asks about one for all, consent -admits to killing Mirio -all might asks about all for one, vague backstory -noticed something was wrong after usj -“he said there was a time where there wasn’t a single child in Japan born without his permission.” “It was a mercy killing at that point.” -more time in a day, imprisoned for seemingly twice as long -drawn to yakku by picture of lodge that looks like apartments -“I heard someone say my name” -lie, offered to trade quirk, got in a drunken fight -has both parents quirks, implied to have killed Dad -wanted to scare his izuku into going home, no one was there, took it out -has mom’s quirk, “someone else lives there now.” -tried to find mom, “once he’s gone, I can be with mom.” -“I’m only hurting me. I’m not worth it -inter-dimensional quirk, -Inching closer to all might -you didn’t say that, the other you did -all might confronts him on his crimes, defense is that they started it -“you’re not right” -puts head in all might’s lap and moves his hand to his head -found izuku, jealous of his life, not sure what to do -realizes that izuku has one for all -“WHY” -describes the sludge villain incident -compare outcomes -butterfly gets upset, prepares to strike -all might says sorry

26. Bizarro -izuku listening in the whole time -attacks butterfly as he’s about to strike -wounds all might in the chest -butterfly screams accusations -brutal fight, bitten ear -izuku stands up to dread -ripped vestigial wings clean off -fight, flees at approach of heroes -wind and rain enter through broken window, mess up all mights hero shrine -izuku still feels like he has grime on his hands from the wing -its me -hospital, all might severely injured but stable -sneaks into room -stabbed where his lung used to be -“Did I ever apologize for saying you couldn’t be a hero?” -apologizes through tears for saying izuku can’t be a hero -sad hugs -tells nurse that he’s his son

27. Same -thinks butterfly is holding him -Aizawa says nurses told him all might was with his son, calls it inappropriate -hesitant to leave all might -please don’t take him from me -all might holds onto him for as long as he can -Aizawa wants to call them over dramatic, but this feels warranted -it’s me, i know -news from kids perspective -Sero -escorted everywhere, never alone -no way to tell what’s going on -wake up, check the news -need to confront butterfly -meeting in a moving vehicle -Pathfinder there, special sunglasses -how many were killed, lie -Butterfly’s notes, crinkled and overfilled, izuku can read them -addresses, quirks? -safe places, food,  Trying to find home -plan A, swan dive -he was trying to get me to kill myself -plan b, kidnap to other dimension and kill, pose as the same one having been tortured -what’s plan c? -more missing quirks and murders, offensive capabilities -pathfinder attacked, quirk stolen -team of heroes go over what they know about him -analysis of wing he ripped off -rapid nerve death, theorize that his healing quirk is killing him -why hasn’t it? Quirk preventing organ failure -once the body runs out of fat, it goes for muscle -after muscle, it goes for cardiac muscles -that’s what the dread is, empathy -perpetually on the brink of a heart attack -means they might be able to go all out against him -uses inter dimensional quirk to conceal movement -ask izuku what he could mean by the right quirk -memory alteration, body swap -all might Skyped in “You’ve been trying to clean up the mess the other you made, let me do the same.” -you didn’t fail, the other you did -how to restrict movement, only ever does it outside -shelters never built in his world -set a trap, need a place that doesn’t exist in butterfly’s world

28. The Net -go through the tunnels to the main shelter under the school -can’t discuss the plan Bakugou tries to ignore him and unpack his stuff Izuku flinches from contact -says goodbye to classmates I love you all, thanks for being my friend...  you have no idea what it’s meant to me -don’t talk like that, it makes it sound like you’re not coming back! -hugs -midnight cries -talk with Bakugou -shapeshifter butterfly -it’s a forced smile.  “Forced” is the only way to describe it yet if feels like it isn’t enough. -new bunker at UA -limited air conditioning -pathfinder walks him through messing with his quirk -i got your letter -did you know them?  They were good people -didn’t mean to be so harsh, people get hurt when you aren’t good enough -step outside briefly, the world is so much more vibrant without his quirk in the way -“it’s a tomb” “yeah.  Let’s make sure it’s not yours” -obvious trap, he won’t be enough -need bait -all might about to be discharged -agrees to stay as the casualties of the trap will be sent to the same location -inko enters, told to wait for her son there -got stolen stuff back -izukus first all might toy -talk with all might, maybe izuku’s Dad, left around the time he was quirkless -I want to push him forward, but also want to shield him from the world -welcome to parenthood -asked for blood drawn

29. You Shoot It -dream of deer in the woods, all turn to look at him together, one missing a face -toga disguised as izuku’s mom, distract him long enough to ceil the doors -no sign of butterfly -concern -butterfly enters by bending the door, an army of bugs -Izuku watches from another room, he’s a last resort -toga tries to convince him to stop fighting, can’t -something off -tries to stab him, nothing -turn around -cut to Aizawa -Bakugou seizing, that’s not Deku -“suit up” -strangled -fight -Cementoss seals the door -upgraded -pain sharing, metal feathers, ribbon skin, black bone, fero blood, wing spears, teeth bombs, throw feathers, telekinesis, fire breath -attacks do nothing -it’s an illusion -turn around, butterfly strikes while looking at him reveals partially healed form, antlers Flee out the room, fighters overrun by cockroaches Erasure is his most powerful quirk Izuku flanks him and kicks him in the skull, blocked by antlers -antlers become bendy and grab him Butterfly tries to go for izuku’s eyes using mom’s quirk -other heroes quickly tossed aside -chase down izuku through the maze -fold hole in the wall -punch in the jaw, teeth explode -izuku nearly overpowered -held down completely -strangled

-Aizawa and the class rush to the entrance, blocked off -must be a fail safe, butterfly was meant to break in -break down the doors -what if butterfly manages to escape -mina’s acid, strong punching, laser, explosions Aoyama asks for braces or someone to hold him while he blasts the ground -anger he doesn’t have the right quirk -knows his is the only one that can disable butterfly -they have to take the risk

-held down completely, erasure flickers -Pathfinder hits him with a baton and tries to choke him, distracting him -only one eye -izuku breaks free with 100% -smashes Butterfly’s eyesocket with his knuckle -blood splashes in his face as he flees -scream behind him -arm strained, can’t tell if it’s broken -pathfinder’s fate unknown -brief visions, body swap quirk Realize butterfly has been holding back because he wants a healthy body Test how much

-aizawa run through the maze -find pathfinder -hear screaming

-leap though illusion and snap off one of butterfly’s wings -tear membrane with own feather, cut between broken bones -it tries to crawl back to him -illusion breaks, revealing deer skull -flee, openly crying, bleeding tears -lock hands, izuku breaks others fingers, -wings burst from his back, heroes hold back wings -powers through pain and dread Leaps up and smashes the floor to pieces -butterfly screaming at him Jump at each other -Spears izuku in the back Break through the ceiling -Aizawa erases his quirks -restored appearance fades, more decayed than ever -izuku kicks and breaks his neck

30. YU SHOOT ITT -izuku was fading -a round face, a thin face, green eyes both -something shiny bobbing in and out of sight -butterfly stream of conscious -reuse lines from before -senses izuku in the other room -force shared pain and empathy as he’s dying -izuku screams in agony -felt his stomach split again.  A candle to a forest fire.  Pathetic. “This is mine.  This is me.” -shared perspective -why do you deserve to be happy and i don’t -you kill people, tired to get me to kill myself -but before, i didn’t do anything wrong -why did it all go so bad? -gets up, floats with his quirk -barely copies normal movement -Floats to the door -Aizawa stops him -hard to breath -feels his mom and all might comforting him -that’s really mom -force the connection harder -stop screaming i wanna hear what mom’s saying Aizawa cuts him off again, he cries Feels his bones sink -“do you think if I die in this world, I can still be with my mom?” -goes down struggling -“it’s not fair”

31. At Rest, At Last -izuku flatlines but is revived -undo the latches on his costume Taken back for surgery Sit in the hall and cry for hours -a defibrillator is for a different kind of heart attack -so that’s what it was?  A heart attack? Doctor rushes by with an ice box Explain to aizawa that izuku flatlined -butterfly is dead, new despair -took his stomach for izuku -inko and all might go to see butterfly -inko wants to see him, takes a moment to recognize him -that’s her baby -screams -hugs and apologies -all might would have gone to stay with him -they both despair but are thankful for their son -“he was barely five years old, and he was ready to accept that his family didn’t want him.” -goes back to izuku -his hand is bigger than hers, when did that happen?

-final casualty count, pathfinder dead (?) along with several police officers -doctor recounts the autopsy -butterfly was dead on his feet, practically killed him -barely enough muscle to hold his own head up, let alone stand -“in my unprofessional opinion, this was a mercy killing.” -Aizawa looks at the body, that’s midoriya -Aizawa wants to try and bring him back with eri, Might not work, Might traumatize her -argue, all Might says he was too far gone, they wouldn’t be able to shield him from criminal charges, record like his would net him the death penalty anyway, stuck in a cage again, all that hate and fear in his heart left to fester in a padded cell for the rest of his life -thinks he would come after izuku again, what do you think that screaming was?  He was trying to take him down with him. -not hurting anyone else, not hurting himself -“He said he wanted, more than anything, to rest/stop fighting/for the pain to stop, and now, he has.” -“Aizawa-kun. ..  Please let him rest.” -Aizawa leaves before he can break down

-toshi looks over butterfly -“an innocent butterfly, drowned in mud and crushed under the boot of the world.” -not innocent, but he felt someone should be there to see him off -Apologizes -runs hand through his hair, shushes him even though he’ll be silent for quite a while -hesitant to leave him -that’s my boy...  That could have been my boy -bodyswap lingers in his mind -kisses his hairline, touch of cold lingers -goes to wash his hands and face before returning to izuku -wakes up later -“he’s dead” “I know.”

32. All Those Moments -

-aizawa drives back to ua with midnight -she tries to joke with aoyama about makeup, he’s not having it -won’t go into details about butterfly -mic greats them at the gate, hug -comes back to dorms to welcome party “Midoriya’s villain is dead.” -they cheer -Bakugou pulls him aside to try and get answers -people who’s job it is to save lives should never celebrate the death of another human being, be relieved, be thankful, but do not celebrate -don’t cheer for death -cries while holding eri -mic and midnight ask him what’s wrong -he was just a Kid

-do you want to be buried or cremated, inko can’t stop thinking about that phrase -3 services in three days -mass wake for officers -izuku makes rounds, “your child/spouse/parent” saved my life -inko almost couldn’t get out of the car -izuku said he had to come -pathfinder funeral, mention the teens and neji -he saved my life, i want to be worthy -crematorium, limited service in his home town -service in jakku -speak briefly to stripes -ask to speak at the wake, doesn’t have the best luck with speeches -mom asks why, he didn’t really know him -Jakku heroes offer him a job, we’ll save you a spot says he never wants to come back here -pass a boarded up diner -I��m his mother, i should be here -never spoke with butterfly, never in the same room when he was alive -cold gripping horror at burying her own son -service ends in slow motion -no words exchanged -silent for the whole long drive home -dotes on izuku at home -not home, couldn’t bare the thought of sleeping where someone died -all might rented a place/or all might’s apartment -he carries around his all might and blankie -makes him food, watches tv -cuddle in her bed like when he was small -her sweet baby boy grew up to face unfathomable horror -wants to promise no one will hurt him again, they both know she can’t

-villain graveyard -“Izuku Midoriya, 16 years old, at rest at last tailored clothes around his wings, buried is his shoes -izuku goes to butterfly, stares His bones wouldn’t burn He suffered 16 years old, seventeen in a few months, he’ll grow.  Live. Make sure he keeps living ⁃ Took midoriya to view the body before it was buried.  Stared, said nothing -all might dusts of the grave, leaves a few flowers and food -still conflicted, butterfly was worse case scenario, uses it as motivation to protect his boy -he longs for some sign.  Waits for some great vision that the boy is well in the end.  A butterfly wing broken wings that still flies.  One on the tombstone.  It’s the dead of winter.  Him coming to him in a dream, face full and bright and back bare of those fowl wings that shackled him to the earth, and promising him that he’s not in pain anymore.  But it never comes.  Butterfly died in agony, after years of torture, alone. -“Toshinori wasn’t a religious man, but he still hoped that, if something did become of young butterfly in the en`d, that he at least got to rest.” -he might be moving into the same new building as the Midoriyas -picks up Izuku from first therapy session, not much to say -you’re my boy aren’t you? -don’t want to say anything that makes him spiral further Do you remember what happened before this all started? -we talked about Superman, you said your name was inspired by all Star Superman -and... -rumors about being his son, “I don’t mind” -cry, hug and a kiss on top of his head -sixteen years old, he’s my son -return home -izuku stares out the window Take him to the tokoyaki stand Sit on the beach wall -cuddle like they did the night before butterfly attacked -izuku crawls up his sleeve and presses his forehead -yeah.  Yeah you’re mine.

⁃ When Butterfly was around, he never had nightmares.  Now that he’s dead, Izuku has nothing but. -izuku can’t sleep, -home doesn’t feel like home anymore -people died here, in this world, and the other one -has nightmares when he’s awake too, they’re memories -likes All Might’s thin arms, likes to be carried, better than those too big that held him like a pet while the bones in his back pulled away from the rest of his body. -checking himself in the mirror, scars on his chest fading fast, no evidence if he covers it up -asked the doctors to remove his scars when he went back to get his stitches out, just the ones from Butterfly, back to what he was before -regrets it -looked butterfly in the face, up close, in the eyes, and though: that’s not me.  It can’t be -looks at himself now, his own face in the mirror, and thinks: that’s not me.  It can’t be -too thick, skin to smooth, hand in his hair to search for antlers -I’m me, aren’t I? -text from friends, excited to have him back -compulsion to go outside, he does -it’s cold out without a shirt, starting to snow -I could just go -wants to run, from what? -doesn’t want to face the others How can he just go back to normal? -if i don’t say something now, i never will -wake up mom, I’m ready to talk about it now -sees all might in the kitchen again, mom too -visions of the other ones life

-Bakugou s body, swollen and broken -desperation to find a school that will take him -walk past the gates -sell blood -luxury apartment -All for one, first quirk are the cherub wings, small, but his -not the only one, testing multiple quirks, isn’t sure when he becomes the favorite -wings are painful coming in, all for one holds him -gave in eventually -can’t see all of the wings in the mirror, shine green in the light -lakies make fun of his failure, requests quirk to stop crying -creates copy of all for one -usj, something wrong, gets erasure -flees out the window, can’t get home, returns willingly -tested on with mutation quirks as punishment, cries when he discovers minor telekinesis -isn’t there for Kamino allegory, acts desperate to save Sensei, erases immortality quirk -tries to go home again, authorities mistake him for villain, programmed to attack -he finds Dad.  Dad, who hadn’t so much as touched him in a decade, picks him up and holds him like its nothing.  He kisses his head and calls him baby and tells him everything is going to be alright because he’s here now.  And it was for a while.  He fed him and bathed him.  He sleeps tucked close to his chest like when he was little, even if the wings took up a lot of space.  He has to comfort his father when he cries for mom, since he can’t cry anymore.  He and takes him to the doctor.  They don’t know how to help him.  He says he wants everything but moms quirk to go.  Dad doesn’t understand why he has it.  He doesn’t listen.  He never does.   At least you aren’t quirkless anymore Steals dad’s quirk to teach him a lesson about being quirkless Dad only came back for mom.  He said so.  He was missing for over a year and only came back after mom went missing.  He blames him.  He burns off the tips of his wings. -they think he’s a villain -Kills mirio -trades quirks for money, later just food -chase anything related to mom -wanders to Jakku, ua goes there around this time of year and he saw an ad for a lodge that looked kind of like home -hears his own name -demands the bridge quirk guy trade him, had enough -kills.  Jumps.  Sees himself, up on a stage in a hero costume from his dreams, smiling among deafening cheers.  And he shares his dread. -sees both of himself, locking eyes in the ambulance, round face, thin face, green eyes both, watching and feeling each other die

-run back inside -wake up mom and all might -i don’t think I’m me anymore -stuck with all this anger and hatred and fear -can’t tell the difference -all might says he feels guiltily instead of angry -but i am angry -writes as he talks -it’s like one glass of water being poured into another glass of water -hard to tell where the first ends and the second begins and you can’t separate them -did he take something from you -don’t know -“after all that, do you still think you made the right choice?”  “Never came into question.” -has his whole life ahead of him -going to die eventually -takes out notebook -“Butterfly” crosses it out, rights his own name -lies between the two people who love him most -all might’s hand on his chest, holding him -other arm curling mini him to his chest -mom has his blankie -izuku has his all might plushie -tomorrow, he goes back to all his friends at the best hero school in the country -people like him, he has fans -almost too good to be true -this is all butterfly wanted -all i ever wanted -more than i could have ever asked for No one stalking me, no one chasing me -I’m home -do i deserve it though? -have to make decisions, could spiral -have to go back out into the world and keep living -for now, he let himself feel happy -the two sides agree to feel happy -“this is mine.  This is me.  And there’s nothing I can do about it.” -and for now, I’ll let it make me happy -this is mine, this is me -deep under guilty happiness, lies dread he knew could only come from himself. -this dread could only be his own.  Maybe it was always. -it’s mine.  It’s me. -whoever i am, I’m alive -no matter what i do, whoever i am, I’m me.  I’m me.

[liquorisce]

... crept up on me and stole me away

pairing: rivetra, levi x petra

fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin

rating: m

summary: 3 frustrating kisses. how long will levi be able to avoid his desires? (3700 words approx)

a/n: this was basically collecting dust in my notes folder so i thought i’d share. hello anxiety my dear friend!

The first time they kiss, it doesn't even count, he's injured and he's resting and she only wanted to bring him tea. There's something peaceful about how relaxed he looks, almost smiling, his mouth free of the hard line that it is always set in. 

 He's in the middle of a dream, she discerns, amused, as she sets right the bed covers that he's kicked away, when she suddenly realizes how close his face is. How much she wants to touch it.

 He's drugged and fast asleep, and she knows it's wrong, bordering unethical but she lets her lips graze the corner of his mouth, a slight shiver of pleasure creeping down to her bones. 

 …

 The second time, it's not just her being a creeper and she really doesn't know what to make of it. 

 "There's some annoying, official work that has come up in the capital. Petra and I will be riding to the Inner City in a few hours," he announces at breakfast.  

 When they are on their way, she asks, "On what business are we traveling to the city, Sir?"

 "… Erwin has set up some strategy discussions with the higher-ups," he responds, disinterested. 

 "… If you don't mind me asking, Sir," she considers her next words carefully, because he's never needed her for these meetings before, "why did you specifically request my presence on this trip?" 

 He takes a minute before responding, quietly, "… I thought we might stop for the night and visit your Father on the way. You mentioned that he had been unwell." 

 She did her best to control herself from beaming. "… Thank you, Sir."   

 .

 Levi was a surprisingly decent conversationalist. Granted his sentences were never longer than four words, but the very fact that he sat down at the dinner table with her and her father and answered her father's - rather embarrassing - questions was a pleasant surprise. 

 "… Well," her Father began, in that fatherly tone that usually heralded a very unwelcome topic of conversation. "You're twenty-three now, Petra, have you thought about settling down?" 

 "… Dad," she begins, exasperated because they've been over this before and on the other hand, mortified because this is not the kind of conversation you have when your superior is sitting at the table. 

 "… Mark has already asked for your hand in marriage numerous times, you know. The boy is still completely besotted with you." 

 If Levi stabs at his meat with a little more force than required, nobody notices it. 

 "Dad, I'm part of the Survey Corps now. I'd like to focus on my career," - 

 -  "… Who's Mark?"

 "… No one of importance, Sir" - 

 -  "… The Blacksmith's son," her father says, more than happy to fill Levi in on the details, "He and Petra were quite the item when they were in school." 

 "… We most certainly were not an item!"

 "… Now, Petra, sweetheart, there's no need to be shy," - 

 -  "… Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Ral,” he says, getting up with an air of chilling finality. “I would like to be excused now if that's okay." 

 "… Captain," she starts, not wanting him to feel awkward - 

 -  "… Goodnight Petra," he says, shortly. And without the slightest intimation – or rational thought - he proceeds to drop a brief kiss on her mouth, and walks away. 

.

.

.

 The third kiss is when things really start to get messy. 

 It's messi-ER because Levi hasn't brought up the second kiss, nor even acknowledged it, having so conveniently and comfortably settled back into his chaise lounge of denial, that if it weren't for the absolute mortification of her father being there to witness the kiss-that-didn't happen - and his persistent inquiry into the nature of their relationship - she'd have convinced herself that she'd dreamt up the whole encounter. 

 But the third time it's late, there's alcohol involved, and Erwin and Hange decide it's time to call it a night. 

 "… Tch. That stupid Four-Eyes can't even hold her liquor."

 She does her best to hold back her laugh, but she's drunk and it turns out to be a completely, and utterly graceless snort. 

 "… What?" He snaps, irritably, taking a generous gulp of his brandy. "… God, Erwin's making me drinking old-people alcohol now." 

 It takes a minute for him to notice her looking at him like that, an amused expression on her face. "… Oh." He narrows his eyes, "… You think I'm drunk." 

 "… No sir, not at all," she doesn't smile, not at all, just that her mouth cracks in a giggle, a little bit, "… I'm the one who's drunk," because she was, "really, really drunk," just like him, who could deny it all he wants, but she noticed the two drops that he spilled while pouring himself that last drink. And Levi never ever, spills anything. 

 "… You're looking at me in that way again," he grumbles, "when you think I'm wrong and you want to say something." 

 She gasps because, "I would never, ever," - and how could he even think that?! - "think you're wrong, Captain." Except when he makes them clean the same furniture for the third time in the day because he's certain he could see a speck of dust that was otherwise invisible to everyone else's eyes. 

 "… You're lying, Petra," he says, matter-of-fact, "Your eyes are widening to an unbelievable extent, where it's not just amber anymore and it glows like gold in this freakish way which is kind of beautiful," - What? - "and you're chewing on your lower lip. You do it every time. Like that time I tasked Eren with cleaning the stables and he did such a bad job that you decided to cover for him." 

 Petra is, quite frankly, stunned. Speechless, even. (There's no way she can be that obvious!)

 He throws her a look of annoyance. "… I don't even understand why you cover for the boy. Is there something going on between the two of you" - 

 - "Captain!" - 

 - "It's obvious the kid likes you. He keeps staring at you while training. Filthy teenage boys and their filthy hormones," - 

 "Sir," she raises her voice, "there is nothing going on between Eren and I. He's like a little brother to me." The kid was fifteen, for god's sake. 

 She ignores the 'Tch' that she gets in response. 

 She is more concerned with the erratic flip thingy her heart is doing after the Captain called her beautiful – surely, she was imagining this - and wait, does he really notice her so much?  

 It makes her think of last night at her Father's. It makes her think of his lips on hers, and how she couldn't really sleep after that, and it doesn't really help the uneven situation with her heart.

 "… Anyway, I'm going to sleep. You should too, Petra. We leave early tomorrow." 

 "… R-right," she stutters, doing her best to collect her thoughts, following him as they make their way up the stairs to their respective rooms. 

 She wonders if she should ask him about it, ask him what it meant. And why he did it. The Captain didn't seem like the kind to throw kisses around. 

 Come to think of it, he'd never mentioned a partner. Not even a lover. 

 She lets out an involuntary gasp when it hits her - maybe he prefers men instead - 

 A sharp thud brings her to her senses, her dulled reflexes still quick enough to grab Levi as he stumbled on the cracked wooden stairway. "… Captain!" 

 "… I'm okay," he grumps, clearly embarrassed. 

 And clearly drunk, Petra notes with a soft chuckle, as she tightens her grip on his shoulder. It's a heady feeling, being able to support the Captain like this, it feels more intimate, even though she knows she shouldn't, especially considering her most recent revelation. 

 "… You're not mentioning this to anyone," he mutters, "especially not that shitty Four-Eyes. It's an order." 

 She grins, as they make their way to his room. "… Of course, sir." 

 "… You can let go of me now, Petra," he informs her, speech only slightly slurring, as they stand in front of his room door… even though he's the one who's still clutching her waist. 

 She doesn't point this out to him, of course, removing herself reluctantly from his grasp. 

 She hesitates to leave him like this. In part because she's worried he'll pass out before he makes it to the bed, and mostly just because - for the first time, possibly in all eternity - Levi Ackerman is being cute. Seeing the Captain with his defenses lowered, vulnerable, depending on her… 

 It makes her heart hurt, just a little bit.

 She watches him struggle with the key for a minute, and then takes it from him gently, opening the door and leading him to the bed. Just as she feared, he falls face first onto the bed, not bothering with his shoes or anything else. 

 Slowly, doing her best not to wake him, she manages to turn him on to his back. She watches him as he sleeps, and dispenses him of his coat and shoes. "… There you go," she says fondly, allowing herself the honour of ruffling his bangs slightly, and covering him with the blanket. 

 And just as she's about to leave, retire to the privacy of her own room where she can deal with the magnitude of these feelings, she feels a tug on the sleeve of her shirt.

 "… Stay," he mumbles, eyes contentedly shut, sleep and alcohol blurring the lines between appropriate and completely not, "… Stay with me, Petra."

 It takes a moment for her to process what he's saying. It takes another to scramble for words. 

 "… Sir," she manages, eloquently, sounding a little strangled. 

 "… Please." 

 And it is at this point, somewhere between her eagerness to slip off her own coat and shoes, and rustle the covers aside, that she realizes just how ruined she is for him. 

 .

. 

 She's always smelled like sunflowers. 

 He reaches over to spoon her, delighting in the way she presses back against him, warm curves pressed up against his aching desire. 

 "… Good morning, Petra," he whispers, seductively, nipping at her earlobe. He lets his mouth travel lower, kissing a trail down her neck, as she moans - 

 - The low, breathy sound that escapes her lips is enough to wake him up. His eyes open with a start, the tell-tale sign of a hangover slowly starting to drum inside his head. 

 He's appreciative of the sweet-smelling warmth that envelopes him… up until the point where he blinks to see clearer. 

 The memories from last night are worse than a rebound acid hit. 

 His face is inches away from soft, ginger hair, fanning out into the pillow, his mouth softly grazing the curve of her neck, his hand insouciantly spanning her bare waist, - possibly due to her shirt having ridden up at some point in the night or equally likely because his fingers had found his way under the cotton garment - his lower half straining against the fabric of his trousers… and he realizes just how fucked he really is. 

 .

.

.

 They don't talk about it. Unsurprisingly.

 They rarely have the opportunity to, what with Erwin's plan to take the Wall back, and Hange's constant experiments with Eren's titan form. 

 Levi is more careful than ever to make sure that they're never alone together. He isn't sure if Petra is fully aware of what he'd done to her - and it makes him sick to even think about it. 

 He knows Petra. Sweet and unbelievably generous to a fault. And it disgusts him to think that he would have taken advantage of her in this way. 

 And in the middle of the night, tortured by thoughts of her soft, lustrous hair, her skin, bare underneath his touch, and her beautiful, beautiful mouth, he wakes up, drenched in sweat and far worse, filled with the worst kind of guilt. 

.

.

.

 He can't keep it up forever though. 

 He's up early again, the lack of sleep keeping him perpetually cranky. There's only two ways to let off steam, slicing up some disgusting titans or killing himself with his morning workout. 

 But when he steps outside, he's thoroughly unprepared for the sight in front of him. 

 He was face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see (but secretly wished to do so anyway). 

 Well not so much face-to-face, more like face-to-glorious-chest, that was making his breathing increasingly laboured, as she continued, blissfully unaware, with her ab crunches. 

 "Oh," she exclaims, - deliciously - out of breath, "Good morning, Captain! I couldn't sleep very well, so I decided to get an early start." 

 That makes two of us, he thinks, mouth dry, as he tries desperately to ignore the bead of sweat that trickles down her neck. 

 When it finds its way into that sweet, sweet hint of cleavage, he almost chokes. 

 "… Captain? Is everything okay?"

.

.

.

 Levi always knew he was justified in his hatred for Hange and it's reinforced when they arrive, cheerful at the buttcrack of dawn - what the fuck, for?! - interrupting his moment with Petra. 

(AKA his painstaking effort to keep his eyes on her face whilst trying to converse)

 "Yo Levi," they say, with the kind of energy he isn't ready for, "isn't today just beautiful? The sun is shining, and the flowers are blooming, and you can almost just forget that titans have decimated a third of our population! Don't you agree, Petra?" 

 "Um, it's nice Hange-san, but I don't know if that's something you can forget…" - 

 "... Not everyone shares your macabre sense of optimism, four-eyes," Levi bites out, annoyed, but grateful that Hange's presence has made a decent man out of him. 

 "Well, optimism is needed when you're about to set crucial plans into motion," they whisper gleefully, taking him aside to continue their conversation, "We have a plan to draw out the female titan!" 

 "... I see. Exciting indeed," he quips dryly. "... And why couldn't we discuss this in front of my subordinate, again?" He sneaks a glance at her, having diligently gone back to her strength training routine. 

 "Because you kept ogling your lovely subordinate," Hange remarks, his nervous glances not lost on them, "... as you continue to do even now, clearly." 

 "Hm," he grunts, having tuned out most of Hange's words, because he'd been noticing Petra's plank form, perfect as always, giving him an excellent view of her rear in her training shorts. His cheeks flush as he recognized (and berated) the depth of his perversion. 

 "... Care to explain what that's about?" Hange cuts in, rudely snapping Levi out of his trance, and amused grin playing out on their face. 

 He looks back at Hange, and he knows, the blood rushes back into his cheeks, because he's realised that now even they know. 

"... Nothing," he emphasises gruffly, eyes gesturing for the well-meaning squad leader to leave things well and truly alone. 

 "Did you two finally…?" Hange's eyes raise, grin widening as Levi's stoic demeanour cracks ever-so-slightly. "No fucking way," they gasp, "I definitely ship you two, but I didn't think you'd actually," they look at him, feigning shock, " and she's so pretty, I can't believe you managed to," - 

 "I know. Now will you please shut up already."

 "... Wait," Hange did a double-take, "Did you just admit Petra Ral is pretty?" 

 There's a moment of silence that passes between them, observed mostly for Levi's recently demised sense of dignity. 

 What was he to do? He couldn't deny it, because, honestly, nobody could deny how fucking pretty Petra Ral is. Instead, he tries to keep his tone calm, "... keep your voice down, four-eyes." 

 "... Oh." They let out a gasp, eyes misty, "... She has no fucking clue, does she?" 

.

.

.

 Life was short. Or so he'd been told by the crazy brown-haired fiend sitting at the other end of the table. 

 "Tell her tonight," they'd laid down, firmly, "consider this an order if you have to," 

 "... Wait, are you even my superior?" - 

 "For god's sake, Levi! Just fucking tell her you're in love with her or whatever," - 

 "Hange," he whispers, embarrassed, because you didn't throw words like love around just like that until you went on a few dates or at least knew the other person's favourite sex position… right? 

 ".... At least someone has to get laid in this fucking division!" 

 So, with this ultimatum in mind, he sits across from her at the dining table, trying to project his thoughts over to her with the strength of his gaze. 

 "... Right," she chirps nervously, "... I'll get the dishes today." She picks up the bowls from her peers, reaching for Levi's without meeting his eyes. 

 "I'll help dry them," Auruo starts, making to get up and go after her. 

 Levi narrowed his eyes at him. Exactly how many of these slimy-ass perverts did he have to get through? It's like she has a whole line waiting for her attention. (And when the rational part of Levi's mind pointed out that he was just as slimy and perverted and likely to stand in line as the rest of them, he was quick to shut it down definitively.)

 "... I'll do it," he says, earning looks of surprise from the rest of his team. He was usually the one overseeing the cleaning operations, and the dishes weren't particularly his favourite cleaning activity.

 "It's okay, captain, I've," -

 "... I said I'll do it," he says sharply, glaring at Auruo with a tinge of unnecessary venom. "Now get to bed all of you. I don't wanna hear excuses from you idiots about how you didn't get enough rest tomorrow." 

 .

.

. 

 "Captain," she exclaimed, as her eyes lit up, when he approached her, towel in hand. "You really didn't have to…" 

 He grunts, secretly happy to have seen her feel happy for his presence, to have had her attention on him for that brief moment, unlike the rest of the evening, where she chatted amiably with the rest of the boys, all easy smiles and friendly touches, while she plainly avoided his gaze. 

 He knew it was his fault, the frequent mental throwbacks to the image of his hand on her bare waist, reminded him each time, but he was ashamed to recognise that there was some irrational jealousy every time she noticed one of the other boys or laughed really hard at their jokes. 

 They're quick - and efficient, obviously - Petra is fast at washing dishes, and Levi is faster at drying, so the heavy silence doesn't last as long as it feels like it does. 

 Petra is the first to break. "Captain," she says slowly, and he notices she's slowed down the scrub of the bowl as well, gripping it tightly, "I-I think we should talk about what happened the other night." 

 Levi inhales sharply. She's braver than he is and he's not sure how he feels about that. She winces, mistaking his hesitance for exasperation, "I-I know it must be annoying, and unnecessarily awkward for you," she's talking quickly, and she's completely stopped washing the bowl at this point, "I'm sorry I forced myself into your room." She hangs her head in shame, light brown bangs hiding the dusty rose colour in her cheeks. 

 Levi looks at her, amazed, speechless, because he knew, conceptually, that two people could have very different versions of any event, but this…?! 

 "... and… I'm sorry I stayed into the night…" She looks at him, ashamed and remorseful, and there's a slight bit of dread that creeps into him - did she regret it? Had his actions creeped her out beyond the point of no return? -  but she continues. "It's so… unbecoming of my position…" 

 He has to say something at this point, anything, because hearing this regret is too difficult for him and - "... I didn't mind." 

 She blinks at him. He blinks back, comprehension slowly drifting back to him. I didnt… mind? For fuck's sake, it's all he'd been thinking about since then! 

 She’s not sure how to feel, because she isn’t prepared for this answer, isn’t prepared for how much she dislikes it. It’s not like she expected roses and a sonnet in her name, but reducing their night of (drunk) passion to ‘i didn’t mind’ was just too cruel. She opts to stay quiet, unsure of how to speak with this strange fury filling her. 

 He watches her eyes, stormy as if she’s restraining herself, and he cringes. “... I only wish I’d been somewhat more sober.”

 “... Does that mean Heichou doesn’t remember what happened that night…?” Her face is pink, and he can imagine his isn’t too different, because how could he not? Not when he’d woken up like that, to the sight of lush curves and silken hair spread across his sheets. Not when he’d pretended to sleep in just because he was too much of a fucking coward to face up to the consequences of his own desires. 

 “Petra, I,” he stutters for a moment, amazed at this ridiculous gnawing fear within him, until his gaze falls on the blush of her cheeks, her teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip. There’s a need that fills him, a need for her to understand that he remembers everything, remembers that it was his teeth nipping at her lower lip that night, coaxing her mouth open for him. A need to explain how much he wishes he could do it all over again, wishes the first time he held her in his arms, he’d done it right, that he’d taken in every heated breath, every gasp, every arch of her back and kissed her with the sweet softness that she deserved. So he reaches forward, and as gently as he can, brushes his lips against hers, and whispers, “... I only wish I could experience it again.”

[thedeviltohisangel]

Whiskey In A Teacup/1

When Santi first got out of the military, he hadn’t known what to think of his options. There was always the option of giving up and going back in. The option to join a shadowy private military company. Go into private security. Go on the recruiting circuit. Maybe even become a cop. But none of them seemed like the best path. They all seemed like giving up. He had been trained by his country to be an elite, lethal machine. Being anything but the best felt like a cop out. So when an old friend of his reached out with an offer from the Secret Service, he accepted it on the spot.

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

send me any one shot requests for these two

When Santi first got out of the military, he hadn’t known what to think of his options. There was always the option of giving up and going back in. The option to join a shadowy private military company. Go into private security. Go on the recruiting circuit. Maybe even become a cop. But none of them seemed like the best path. They all seemed like giving up. He had been trained by his country to be an elite, lethal machine. Being anything but the best felt like a cop out. So when an old friend of his reached out with an offer from the Secret Service, he accepted it on the spot.

----

The election had recently ended with a brand new administration being ushered into the White House. Pope thought he looked cookie cutter. Like he was aging perfectly, his wife wasn’t aging at all and his family had all done Cotillion. He was in an empty conference room flipping through the personnel files that had been left for him before he waited for his friend to pick him up for whatever orientation he had to go through. 

“Santi! Glad you were able to make it in.” He stood and shook his friend’s hand, happy to have someone to talk to.

“Yeah and was cleared to read the briefing materials,” he answered as he dropped the folder back down onto the table. 

“Good. So the basics are out of the way. Now, I vouched for you hard with leadership and they want you on the detail. Close circle, last line of defense type of shit.

“Perfect. Exactly the stakes you know I’m cut out for.” 

“I know that. But the future First Lady doesn’t.” Santi furrowed his brow.

“Why does that matter?” His friend cleared his throat.

“She has requested she look every agent in the inner circle in the eye before they are officially assigned. Protective wife and mama bear.” 

“You’re not saying the debutante daughters are included in my assignment are you?” Santiago hoped he wasn’t. They looked like stuck up brats and he would rather join Will on the speech circuit than put up with attitudes like that.

“I’m saying the other agents have been tripping over themselves to try and get conversations with the older one.” His friend pointed at her picture on the table.

“That’s disgusting,” Pope whined. “How do I get her approval? I got to wait a week for an appointment?”

“Her and the daughters are at a photoshoot right now for the cover of Vogue. Said she would talk to you there.”

“Great.” It would be one of his more unconventional interviews but Santi was eager. Chomping at the bit to get back in the game. Feel useful again. Devote his life to something other than thinking about the past. 

----

The people allowed on the set were few. His friend introduced him to a few other agents and pointed to where the incoming First Lady was smiling for the camera.

“Let’s find somewhere we can wait for her to be done.” Santi kept his head down, smiling politely and shaking hands where appropriate, as they made their way towards the rooms in the back of the studio. There were two agents standing outside a door, nodding once as they let Santi and his friend into the room.

“Marnie, can you help me zip?” The female voice was coming from behind the dressing screen in the corner. Both men looked at each other, not sure what the appropriate thing to say was.

“Sorry, ma’am, we can go-”

“No that’s fine. I think I can do it myself.” Pope stayed silent as the woman, he thinks it was Penelope, stepped out in a beautiful blush pink dress that hugged her like it was made for her. He hates that his mouth ran dry and his tongue felt thick. But he pushed it aside as quickly as it came. “You’re new. And not in a suit. A friend of yours, Sam?”

“Yes ma’am. This is Santiago Garcia. Old Army buddy. He is here for a job interview.” 

“A pleasure to meet you ma’am.” Santiago extended his hand and Penelope shook it even though her eyes were rolling.

“So stupid she makes all of you talk to her first. But I guess that’s why I am not in charge,” Penelope shrugged. “I’m sure it will go well and I’ll see you around, Santiago.”

“Santi,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Just...Santi.”

“Santi,” she whispered like she was just testing it out. “The pleasure was all mine.” She smiled as she spun, the skirt flying around her like a Disney movie, and then she was out the door and gone.

“Isn’t she something?” Sam mused as he still stared at the door she had just disappeared through.

“Beautiful. And probably a troublemaker,” Pope replied. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” his friend teased with a slap on his back. The sad thing was, he thinks he did.

----

Penelope hated that no such privacy existed in her life anymore. It hadn’t for awhile but it had only gotten worse in the past month since her father won the election. Even now, lying in bed flipping through fashion magazines, there were people bustling in and out to pack her stuff for the move. People asking which fabric and color she thought looked best for her inauguration dress. If she liked this or that singer for the National Anthem and if she thought her peers would find this or that choice relatable. She answered with a smile and took it all in stride but couldn’t wait to shut the door and go to bed. But even there she dreamt of flags and men in suits and waving until her arm felt like it was going to fall off. There was no such thing as privacy and there was no such thing as peace. Penelope felt she was no longer her own person but everyone’s. They told her that’s what being in the first family meant. But she didn’t like it and she didn’t want it. 

“Ma’am?” It sounded like her new assistant on the other side of the door.

“Yes?” Penny had just started winding down for the night. Her face was soft from copious amounts of moisturizer. Her hair was fluffy after she took her time drying it. Her silk nightgown was kissing her legs with every step. She was tired. She wanted to curl up in a ball under a pile of blankets and dream of simpler times.

“Your new agent is here. I just wanted to introduce you before he started his first shift.” Penelope sighed and moved back towards her closet to find a knit robe that would help protect at least some of her humility.

“You can come in.” She recognized him instantly as the handsome man from the Vogue set. He looked even better now. Well groomed and in a suit that must have been tailored by an old school professional.

“Ma’am this is-”

“Santiago,” Penelope said before the introduction could be finished. “I’m glad to see the interview went well.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“We’re practically the same age. Any other title other than ma’am would work better.” He made her blush just by looking at her. It was tragic and sad. That she had to meet him like this. That he had to be someone that worked for her father. That he had to be stoic and professional all the time. That they hadn’t just met in a bar on a Saturday night or bumped into each other at a mutual friend’s backyard picnic. 

“Of course. I’ll think on it and get back to you,” he offered with a smile.

“Agent Garcia is on interior duty tonight but I am sure you’ll get used to his presence quickly, ma’am.” She didn’t bother correcting her assistant. She didn’t care what she called her.

“I look forward to it.”

----

“Alright let’s go over Polar’s schedule for the day.” It had been a couple of days since Santi had started and so far he was enjoying it. His fellow agents were nice enough and had a similar sense of humor to him. Many of them had even served and it was nice to swap stories with people other than the men in his unit. He was posted close to the action and was never really bored. Penelope was his principle. Her safety was his only priority most days and he was by her side at morning show appearances, fancy dinners with campaign donors and visits to DC elementary schools. Things were moving faster and tighter the closer they got to the inauguration. 

They hadn’t spoken much since his first night. Just nods and smiles as they made elusive eye contact throughout the day. She was beautiful. That was the simplest way for Santi to describe her. The most professional way. It was wrong but he wanted to know more about her. Learn what made her life. Made her cry. What she liked to eat and what she would order at McDonalds. Santi was someone full of life and warmth and love for those around him. Sometimes it was hard to be so cold. He hadn’t had to be so since he retired from the military. It was dredging up old feelings from the past. But he was more concerned how he felt more comfortable than he had before. How being alert and hearing radio static and a gun at his hip made him feel more at ease than the creature comforts of home ever could.

“We’ve got a pilates class, Skype call with a dress designer and then a private dinner.”

“Private dinner?” Santi hadn’t heard that on the schedule before and it made his ears perk up.

“She’s been seeing this guy-”

“Kind of a douche,” one of the other agents chimed in.

“-and it's very underwraps, very lowkey.”

“We normally draw straws or play rock, paper, scissors to see who has to take it.” Santi furrowed his brow as all the comments flooded his system.

“What’s so awful about a dinner date?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“It’s the company she keeps,” one chimed in.

“He’s dull and chews weird.”

“Hurts to listen to and hurts to watch.” They all groaned in unison.

“I’ll take it then. The watching and listening part.” He was a low man on the totem pole anyways but he was also curious. He wanted to see this train wreck with his own two eyes. He took the file when it was offered, leaving the room when they were dismissed.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Sam muttered as he fell into step next to him.

“I know. This will satiate me,” Santi replied.

----

He stood dutifully by the car, waiting to open the door for Penelope whenever she was ready to go. The twisted part of him was excited to see how this night played out. Maybe it would at least be worth the good story. How the beautiful first daughter dated a slob and he was paid to be a third wheel.

“Santiago? I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” Her fingers tightened around her clutch as she squared her shoulders to face him. 

“Yes…” he froze when he remembered he had agreed to not refer to her as ma’am.

“Still thinking of something else to call me?” she asked with a smirk. Penelope didn’t wait for him to respond and instead slipped under his arm and into the backseat of her car. 

The drive was dead silent. Santi felt awkward but knew this was a part of the job he would have to get used to. She wasn’t his friend. Wasn’t a girl he had picked up at a bar. She was his top priority in the least romantic way possible. He would take a bullet for her. When they arrived at the restaurant he moved swiftly to open her door and escort her into the dining room. They moved towards the back where a man was sitting alone. He looked like a college lacrosse player to Santi. In the most stereotypical of ways. His hands itched to pull Penelope’s seat out for her when her date didn’t, his eyes going to the menu instead of complementing the black dress she was wearing. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe this was going to be torture.

[animalgirl225]

Queen Susan the Gentle Comes Home

Because C.S. Lewis did our queen of the radiant Southern Sun dirty

No copyright infringement intended. 

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           Many years had passed since Susan had received the news on that tragic day. She had grieved for a time, but life had necessitated she move on. She had a comfortable home, a stable career, a loving partner whom she hoped to join lives with someday soon, and an overall good life, all things considered. One weekend afternoon, she moved about her small but cozy home, tidying and doing other such busy work. She lifted a small, intricate carving of a lion from a stand in the front hall, dusting underneath. She and Lucy had always shared an appreciation for lions. Such strong, graceful creatures. Why, Lucy’s favorite character from her silly imaginary land had been a lion. As she placed the lion back down, one of her cats, Truffle, walked into the room to join her brother, Hunter, in their favorite sunny window seat. She smiled as they cuddled, thinking of their slightly peculiar names. She had never been very fond of mushrooms, and while most cats enjoyed a good hunt, these two were rather lazy. Still, their names seemed right. She remembered the two words being used together a long time ago, but in what way she couldn’t recall.

Susan placed her feather duster down and looked around for her broom before remembering it had broken last week when Hunter had knocked it off the first landing. She’d have to go search her cramped attic for another. She climbed the stairs, the door creaking above her head as she pushed it open. Good gracious it was warm up here! Good thing she didn’t have long to find the broom; there it was; in a back corner by some large boxes. As she retrieved the broom and went to turn back to the stairs, however, she realized what the boxes were. The largest was labeled “Peter” the second labeled “Edmund,” and the third, and smallest box, labeled “Lucy.” Susan sighed sadly. She really must bring herself to organize her siblings’ old belongings and donate what she didn’t need, or want to remember. Slowly, she pulled Lucy’s box towards her, took a deep breath, and opened it, sneezing at the cloud of dust it raised. A small notebook sat on top of the rest of the box’s inhabitants. Two words were scratched upon the cover in a child’s handwriting- “Lucy’s Diary.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as Susan gently opened the battered notebook and began to read. The first entries were everyday thoughts, her anticipation for boarding school and her excitement to join Susan in her studies. Sniffling, Susan turned the page and froze. The date was the day they had left for boarding school, the day Peter had gotten in a scrum while waiting for the train. The entry, however, talked of none of that. The entry looked to be extensive, and detailed the siblings’ most recent ‘trip’ to that childish land, the one they had all called Narnia. She also noticed faded old sketches along the margins of odd creatures, half human and half animal. What had they called them? Fauns and centaurs? Such foolish words. Susan glanced at other notations and names. Trumpkin. Tumnus. Reepicheep. Oreius. Corin. Jadis. Maugrim. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. Susan laughed to herself. Lucy had been so imaginative with the other names, but Mr. and Mrs. Beaver? She must have run out of ideas. Having already put all that silliness behind her, Susan began to close the book, but something stopped her. What, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the sudden memory of standing in front of a crowd in a gorgeous marble building, a delicate, golden-flowered crown being laid upon her head, and a name, Queen Susan the Gentle. And there was that young man she thought she once knew. What was his name? Caspian? What an odd name. Certainly not from around her part of England.

Susan put the book aside and looked at the rest of the contents in the box. More drawings of flowered people coming out of trees, of small bearded men, a mouse with a sword. Susan made a strange noise, one of half impatience and half amusement. They’d all had such intricate imaginations, but Lucy was the dreamiest. She had tried to insist that this world was real, long beyond Susan’s patience for the childish game. While she had loved her little sister very much, it had eventually formed somewhat of a rift between the two, as well as her brothers, who continued to entertain Lucy’s imaginations. Continuing to browse through the drawings, she flipped over the last picture and stared at the sketch. A magnificent lion looked back at her, his eyes large and gentle. There was that lion Lucy had dreamt so much about. The picture was labeled simply. What a strange name for a lion, Aslan. As the thought crossed her mind, the softest sigh of a fresh breeze wafted a single dark hair out of her face. Susan looked around in concern; she’d have to find and board that draft before it became a leak. As she turned back to the picture and stared into those eyes, a small seed of doubt came upon her. It was just an ordinary lion, right? But where had Lucy ever seen such a lion? Certainly not at the London Zoo. Those lions had all been young the last time Lucy had visited with Susan, whereas this lion was grown and regal. And why did it look so oddly familiar? Susan shook her head and placed the drawings aside, reaching back into the box.

The bottom of the small box held some pictures. Most were of the siblings, and Susan gazed at them with a heavy heart. She wished she had been able to mend their relations before the accident, that she hadn’t let such a silly game split the family. She flipped through the pictures, and came to a stop at the last one. Within its borders sat the image of a beautiful, intricately carved wardrobe. What on odd picture to be in this box. Even stranger, Susan thought the wardrobe looked familiar. A strange sense of longing filled her heart as she stared at the image. She felt as though this wardrobe were oddly connected to some long-forgotten, wonderful memory.

She gazed at the image a while longer before shaking her head, repacking the box, gently placing the small diary on top, and closing the box back up. As she closed the box’s flaps to push it back into the corner, she thought she heard a gentle whisper, a deep, rich voice that simply said “Susan…” It must be the heat of the attic, she thought. It really was a warm day. She began to climb down the ladder of the attic, but gazed one more time towards that back corner. Did something just growl? How odd. Hopefully there weren’t any unwelcome guests in the walls. She’d have to keep a close watch on the area.

That night, Susan had the most vivid dreams she’d had in years. She dreamt of magnificent creatures, griffins and minotaurs, and talking mice and horses. She dreamt of epic battles, an evil white witch, and a duel between Peter and another man dressed as a king. She dreamt of a magnificent water god rising from a river, a bearded man presenting her with a horn and bow and arrows, and of the glorious image of a powerful, gentle lion. And her siblings. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, all of them together at a castle, celebrating a victorious battle. The last thing she remembered before she awoke was the strongest, loudest roar she had ever heard.  

           Susan awoke with tears streaming down her face. Everything had returned. Their rule over Narnia for 15 years, their return to England and the professor, their journey back to Narnia that one fateful day, and their battle to win Narnia back from the Telmarines. How could she have forgotten? She had lived a whole other life, a wonderful life, in a beautiful country hidden in a wardrobe. Susan cried harder than she had since the accident. How could she have left that world behind? Narnia had been everything to her. Why hadn’t she been there with her family on that fateful day? She arose from her bed early to begin her day; she was not going to get any more sleep this morning. Suddenly she was struck by the urge to visit the cemetery where her family was buried, a place she had not visited for some time now. She had to tell her family what she had remembered, and she owed them all an apology. Lucy especially. After dressing hastily, she was about to leave when she remembered Lucy’s diary upstairs. She must bring it with her. After retrieving the book, she ran towards the front hall, startling Truffle and Hunter as she passed. Clutching the book to her chest, she flung open the door and ran down the steps. “Lucy! Ed! Peter! I remember! I remember it all!” she cried, not caring in the slightest what the neighbors thought of her state. She felt she could run all the way to the cemetery, and in her rush, she forgot to heed her surroundings. As she entered the roadway, a car horn rang out, louder and louder until it became a roar. And then, quite suddenly, everything was quiet.

           The bustle of the London morning was gone. Susan opened her eyes. She couldn’t describe what she saw; the light was strangely hazy, and were those trees? She couldn’t tell. She looked down and saw herself standing on a carpet of soft grass, small wildflowers growing among the green blades. How on earth had she gotten to the cemetery so fast? She had barely left her house, last she remembered. But as she looked around, she didn’t see any headstones. In fact, she couldn’t see much of anything in this dim light. Something rustled behind her. She turned quickly and saw a massive shape in the haze. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

           “Susan.” a voice said. She remembered that voice. The very voice that had given her that name, Queen Susan the Gentle, and had told her all those years ago that her time in Narnia had come to an end. “Aslan?” She whispered in stunned disbelief. “My child, why have you forsaken me?” the great lion asked, still shrouded in mist. “Aslan, I, I just…” She started, but she couldn’t finish. She had no excuse. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, and fell to the ground in tears. “I lost myself. I lost Narnia. I lost my family. I lost…you.” She sobbed into her hands. “I’ve lost everything. Please, forgive me!”

           Something soft touched her knee, and she looked up to find the magnificent lion before her, his long tail resting on her leg. She sprang forward like she did all those years ago with Lucy at the Stone Table, burying her face into his glorious mane. “Oh Aslan, I’m so sorry.” she whispered. “Dear One, I never forgot you. You did as I asked, growing and living in your world. I was saddened to watch as you forgot me, however. That, I did not ask of you.” He said with his rich, gentle voice. “I know. I’m sorry, Aslan. I was wrong; I forgot who I was. Can you ever forgive me?” Susan replied, pulling away and looking the lion in the eyes. “Child, I could never not. It is as I said before: once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia. Welcome to my country, Queen Susan. Welcome home.”

           At his words, the haze cleared, and Susan found herself in what looked like Narnia, but everything was so much more beautiful and…perfect. She gazed around in wonder at the magnificent waterfalls, the towering snow-capped mountains, and the wildflowers growing in beautiful clusters. And then, there they were. She saw figures walking toward her and ran to meet them with tears in her eyes, the great lion following at a distance. Lucy, Edmund, Peter, her parents, Caspian, Mr. Tumnus, Trumpkin, and the Beavers all gathered around her with joy, welcoming her as a Friend of Narnia once more.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 7

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Not much except for a badly brewed cup of tea. Word count: 3,000.  Chapter Summary: A quick trip to finish with your job puts you on a path to see a certain Winchester again. A/N: After the shock of the last chapter I thought we could all do with a little Dean.

Ao3 if you prefer

Margaret Hall, formerly Margaret White, was a dreamer. That is until she met her late husband. Before meeting Andy she had dreamt of being an actress, perhaps, or a dancer. Moreover, she had dreamt of the world and any career that would allow her to see every corner of it. Teenage dreams are often far-reaching and difficult to attain, not that Maggie gave up or settled in any way. She understood that dreams change and hers evolved into a romance with her high school sweetheart. His father owned a restaurant and wanted Andy to follow in the family business. Maggie wanted to follow Andy, whether that was to the furthest reaches of the Middle East or the eastern end of Peach Street. He loved her as much as she loved him, so he’d resisted and tried to send her away after her dreams. Luckily Maggie was a lick smarter than her husband and saw straight through his stupidity.

They tried to start a family but after years of failed attempts they found out it was impossible, the Hall family genetics skipped Andy’s generation. Maggie didn’t care as much as she thought she would. They could adopt or foster, or they could live renound as the local childless couple with too much disposable income. It might even be enough to travel the world one day. Not that it mattered if they did see the world she had dreamt of as a child. As long as Maggie had Andy, then she had all the family and adventure she’d ever need.

Her last memory of Andy is the ghostly shade of grey his skin held when she had to identify his body. Murdered felt like the wrong description for what happened to him, he was stolen from her.

Of course, seeing him on that cold, metal table wasn’t Maggie’s hardest day. She thought it had been at the time but since then her life had gotten so much worse, so very quickly.

You swallow thickly as you turn onto Peach Street. You have the file, again, in your bag and you hope it’s the last time you’ll ever hold that manilla nightmare. Then the voice in your head, the writer, started talking about Maggie and you almost consider going home again.

It was only one signature that you’d forgotten to get. Everything was done, claim processed, entered in the system. This was literally dotting the ‘i’, assuming that she signed her name Maggie and not Margaret.

The voice talking about Maggie is what makes you doubt being here at all. You didn’t want to be her worst day. Not that you think you are but what if you were part of it? All the preparation and niceties in the world wouldn’t make this easier. This wasn’t a loss you could compartmentalize away like you usually do with clients since you’d  just  heard the abridged version. You could be as sympathetic as you are with any other spouse in mourning, nothing would change the fact that your heart had broken for Maggie about twenty seconds ago.

You don’t stop, can’t. Not for your own selfish reasons, although you won’t deny you’re a little selfish; you keep going for Maggie. This thing you need her to do is a few blinks from her entire life and then it will be done. No more people coming into her home reminding her of her dead husband. Andy. She’d said Andrew when you’d visited the first time. You’d written down Andrew but he was an Andy.

You shake your head, you need to be stronger than this, focused. As much as you wanted to sympathize with Maggie Hall it may not even be Maggie that you are going to see.

No matter what the voice says there was always the possibility that you were about to meet a shifter. How you  were supposed  to tell the difference you had no idea since you had no silver stashed away ready to  subtly  hand over. That was probably a good thing. If you showed up with silver and the shifter realized you knew what they were? Well, that thought terrified you. Imminent death or not you didn’t want to go looking for danger. You were happy to leave the monster to the experts, all you needed was a signature. If you could do it on the doorstep you would, but two minutes inside would be an acceptable compromise. In and out. Done and dusted.

You’d convinced yourself this would be fine, that you didn’t need backup or support. Finding yourself on the doorstep of 75 Peach Street is a completely different matter.

Y/N knocked commandingly on the door. She heard the sound echo as if the inside was a cavernous space waiting to engulf her. A stark contrast to her previous visit when she’d found two burly men filling up the whole space and pretending to know her. She might have been convinced nobody was home, there wasn’t so much as a rustle for the longest period. Y/N began to wonder if she should walk away and make a return journey another time. That is until the lock of the door clicked  slowly, fearfully, with none of the confidence of a woman who so bluntly referred to her dead husband before.

You’d noticed how slowly the door opened obviously, still, it was the voice who put a name to what you see in Maggie. Fear. The door only opens ajar, a chain across the gap stopping pushy intruders. Your own concern melts away at the sight of scared Maggie Hall peering out of the darkness of her own home.

She could comment on the time of day and question the darkness within but it would be a pointless question. That much was already explained by the closed curtains and shuttered blinds visible from every outside window. Y/N is not one to point out the obvious unless she is clarifying a fact for her records. She could also argue that the brightness in which Maggie Hall chooses to live was not her concern.

Y/N did none of these things and only endeavored to get what she needed  quickly and precisely, having no idea that this meeting was another thing on a long list of things. Things such as she had no idea how important they were.

“Mrs. Hall?” you ever so slightly lean in, all the better to see her face and still failing.

You expect the correction insisting that you call her Maggie, instead, she stutters out an affirmation, “y-yes ?”

You only pause for a moment, “Mrs. Hall, do you remember me? Y/N Y/L/N from First National?”

“The insurance company?”

“Yes, the insurance company. I was missing a signature on the paperwork and I was hoping I could get you to sign it. I promise it’ll only be a second and it’s the last thing we need.”

While she waited for Maggie to make a decision Y/N was struck by a conflicting myriad of memories. The woman she had met had been not only more confident and straight forward, but she’d shown no feelings about the insurance claim at all. Mrs. Hall had been rather blase about the money she would be receiving, hardly remembering the account details it was to  be paid  into. Now the woman before Y/N sprung back in horror. She slammed the door closed only to throw it wide open again seconds later, no security chain and fervent horror adorning her features.

“There’s a problem with the insurance?!” She shouts at you. Almost. The emotion is there, not the volume. As if shouting has been trained out of her.

You’re quick to stop her panicking, you didn’t do well with other people panicking, “no, no. It’s fine, everything is fine, everything is processed. I just need a signature to officially close the claim but really, it’s all done.”

She inhales like it hurts her throat and exhales as violently. Although she does, at least, appear to be breathing again.

“Mrs. Hall, Maggie, are you sure you’re ok? You seem upset.”

Where you hope to calm her down enough to stop her breaking apart, instead you set her off.

“Of course I’m upset. My husband is dead!”

This was going to take longer than two minutes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hall.” You’re not stupid enough to wish her well as you leave.

Y/N fell from the step outside of Maggie Hall’s home much like a dazed and confused newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps atop uncertain legs. Maggie had kept the lights low, had led her to the lounge, and only turned on a single lamp to see the line where her John Hancock was required. She had signed her name Maggie and dotted the ‘i’ with a shaky strike, rather than a neat jab. Still, it wasn’t the shocking change from night to day that had Y/N wobbling unpredictability to the pavement. The woman seemed to have no recollection of the Winchesters, whom Y/N had completely,  accidentally mentioned.

The fact that Dean himself was taking large strides across the street to meet her was merely a coincidence after she brought them up. Y/N was not aware of any hidden powers she possessed to wish for things and have them appear. However, intended or not the older Winchester was here all the same.

You’re looking back towards the door you’d just left with disbelief. Which is why Dean has to catch you with his hands wrapped around your shoulders to stop you bumping into him or consequently walking into the road. “Hey, hey. Wanna watch where you’re going, honey? Good thing I was already keeping an eye on things here, huh?”

He probably thinks he's being funny about you nearly walking into the street but you don't laugh.“She had no idea who I am.”

“What?”

When she whips her head to him it turns out to be, very unfortunately, the first time she’s seen Dean Winchester bathed in sunshine. Not under fluorescents or in darkness. Absolutely drenched in the sun's warm glow, highlighting the forest green of his eyes enough to pull a silent ‘wow’ from her lips. It’s uncontrollable then when she slips into her imagination, where his strong hands are holding her still as he leans into her. His tongue rolling over his bottom lip before he slots his mouth over hers. The pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her neck as he swallows the air from her lungs.

Crap. This again. You can’t deny it’s a very pleasant mental detour but now you feel like you might fall down if he wasn’t holding you up, and moments ago you’d had other interests.

“Sweetheart? You ok?” His voice sounds worried if you’re inclined to believe it.

“Yeah-yes. I’m fine. I’m-she didn’t remember you.”

“So? I was there for five minutes, a week ago, before you kicked us out.” His lip twitches when he mentions you kicking him out and he decides that you’re steady enough to let go of, as his arms drop.

Before you can reply he starts patting his pockets for his phone, which has coincidently started to ring. He only fleetingly scowls at the name on the screen and then his face smooths out. He holds a finger up, “give me a second.”

Dean took two steps away to speak into his phone, which seemed to be enough distance for Y/N to clear her head completely of her intoxication. He was becoming more of a constant in her life than the questionable sounds that came from her car engine. It had to be more than a simple coincidence that she once again found herself with him. This time without the distraction of Sam or the inherent urge to argue with him.

How much the voice encouraged you to think about Dean was becoming borderline embarrassing.

“You’re not understanding me.” You emphasize by tipping your head forward and raising your eyebrows when he ends his call, not wasting a second. “She didn’t know me as if we’ve never met and I spent over an hour with her last week.”

His eyes flash in recognition, although it doesn’t seem to change whatever decision he’s already made, “coffee?”

Dean seems at home in the diner that you weren’t even aware of on the other side of town. The place smells of bacon and coffee with a side of Americana. Somewhere in the deepest recesses, you recall a thousand instances in the books of Sam and Dean solving things over breakfast. You don’t mention that to him. Understandably he doesn’t seem to appreciate his claim to fame. Besides, you very recently understand what it feels like to be a subject other people are reading about.

The waitress walks over with a pad and what she thinks is a smile, “what can I getcha?”

Dean, in his natural habitat, is confident, “two coffees and a slice of pie please, sweetheart.”

Y/N huffed, only slightly. If asked she could claim it’s due to him ordering her a drink and the wrong drink at that. Dean's order was certainly not the reason for the huff or the crease between her brows. She didn’t want to admit the actual reason. She had too many other pressing matters in her life. Too many to admit that him calling the waitress 'sweetheart' had felt seven shades of uncomfortable.

She knew the other matters had to come first, not to mention she was being irrational. Logic didn't stop the absurd thought that she has to chase away. It also doesn't stop the small curve of her lips when he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her with silent eye contact to add to the order. Unfortunately for Y/N, she was coming to realize that her feelings went beyond simply not wanting to kill him anymore. Beyond a distracting physical attraction even. In another timeline, another story, she might even find herself using that elusive cure-all verb—like. She liked him.

You soften your face for the waitress, ignoring everything you’d heard and felt as best you can. You needed to ignore it. “Can you change one of those coffees for a tea please and double the pie.”

The waitress purses her lips, “tea?”

“Any tea you have will be fine.”

She taps her pen against the pad and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s written some sort of insult on the paper. She walks away without anything said out loud, which could be considered a kindness.

“Tea?” Dean repeats but with amusement in his voice compared to the waitress's judgment.

“Tea,” you confirm smiling wider, shrugging one shoulder. “You didn’t bring me here and buy me a slice of pie to debate tea versus coffee though, did you, Dean?”

He raises his finger again, “well, you never need an excuse for pie.”

It’s funny you guess. In the Supernatural books, Dean’s love of pie was a fun quirk that showed up at inopportune moments. The boys might be stranded in a hideout or undercover and Dean would always step out for pie. It’s the punchline to a joke. Whereas sitting here with him illustrates the nuances of real-life compared to pulpy fiction. Dean talks about pie in front of you and there’s something childlike in the crinkles of his eyes, a quirk you can't get from literature.

“Sure. Still, there’s something you want to tell me?”

He sighs, it weighs him down like it could drown him. “That was Sam on the phone, leads have been drying up for a week now and we’re kinda spinning our wheels.”

She felt like she had been on the receiving end of this conversation before. Past boyfriends telling her that it wasn’t her, it was them. Even when she suspected it might indeed be her. The déjà vu was unnerving. Dean was not tied to her by the title boyfriend, unfortunately, which meant that his ‘dear John’ conversation was not his way of breaking up with her, thankfully. This only begged the question, if it wasn’t her he was leaving, what else was he trying to let her down easy over?

“Not for nothing I think you’re right too. The widow she’s not a shifter, at least not anymore.”

It all clicks into place. He’s not leaving you, he's leaving the case, which by extension still means he's leaving you.

“You think the shifter moved on?” Even you can hear the panic in your own voice, it's not panic over a shapeshifter anymore at least.

“One coffee and one tea.” Your bubbly waitress interrupts with two drinks and you find yourself looking at a sad cup of half brewed leaf water. She’s gone before you can complain.

Dean doesn’t see his coffee while he tries to calm you down. “We’ll stick around a few more days, I’m not just leaving. We gotta make sure it’s really gone.”

You’re still not fine with monsters and you’re still not looking for danger, the words come rushing out of your mouth anyway. “What if I had an idea to flush it out?”

He cocks his head like you're adorable for trying to play with the grown-ups, “you have an idea?”

“It’s about the money, right? The insurance money. So, let’s-let’s stop the money. Yeah… I can go to the bank and stop the transfer. Then it’s gotta come out of hiding?”

Dean sips his coffee. Slow and savoring. His whole hand wrapped around the small cup. The china clangs as he puts it back down. It’s an agonizing sixty seconds until he opens his mouth again.

“Solid plan, sweetheart. Ain’t no way you’re doing it.”

“It has to be me. I’ve done this before, the bank knows me and this is the sort of thing that needs approval.”

He clicks his teeth, “let me rephrase that, ain’t no way you’re doing it alone.”

Continue to Chapter 8.

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder  Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Two Ghosts (part 2) {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Click to read Part 1 and Part 3

Shoto Todoroki was observant—as a future pro hero, he would have to be.

He had observed the small idiosyncrasies of his classmates and committed them to memory for no other reason than to catalog his observations. That meant knowing of things like Ashido’s 3am laundry room trips with American pop music playing from her phone just slightly too loud for the time of night or Tokoyami’s habit of stirring his morning coffee three times to the left and then three times to the right despite drinking it black.

Above all, he prided himself on observing those he was against in battle, be it his classmates during training or villains determined to end his life.

During the attack on their training camp, he had his chance to observe the villains sent to retrieve Bakugo. He’d been able to give fairly detailed descriptions to the authorities and pros who had come to speak with the classes once the attack had ceased and his classmate had been taken. It had helped in identifying them he later learned, but there were two individuals whose names were never retrieved despite his information.

One was the tall, thin man with burn-scarred skin held together with staples and piercings around turquoise eyes and jet-black hair, his blue fire burning hotter than his own and even hotter still than Endeavor’s. The other was a woman who stood almost as tall as the burned man with her heeled boots, her golden eyes and facial piercings framed by long tendrils of dark, inky purple hair that floated around her when her wind quirk was in use.

He could remember being hesitant to look away from her eyes as she stood to the left of the burned man whose hand had been around Bakugo’s neck when the warpgate consumed them. She was pretty, but he stared because of the warmth that her eyes held, a warmth he couldn’t explain the familiarity of.

His brain had tried to justify that the color was similar to Kaminari’s and that’s where he was getting a sense of ‘I know that look’ but it wasn’t right. He felt that her eyes were almost misplaced in the rest of her appearance, like she should have looked… lighter? brighter? It didn’t make sense.

There were more glimpses of her warmth that revealed themselves as time went on, and each one served to confuse him further.

When they had gone to retrieve Bakugo, he had seen her there on the battlefield in Kamino, but she didn’t fight. Two of the villains, the black mist who opened the warpgates and the man with the blue flames, had been knocked out cold, and she wouldn’t leave the side of the burned man. The look in those golden eyes had been feral as they darted around protectively, her hands never leaving him. Even as Midoriya, Iida, and Kirishima had taken to the sky to put the plan in motion, she didn’t move.

“Who can do distance?!” one of the villains called out as Bakugo had reached their classmates, Kirishima’s hand tightly clasping his own.

“Kurogiri and Dabi, but they’re down!” another answered, casting a look back at them. “Kazane, you’re able to do distance with Dabi’s flames but can you do it on your own?”

“No,” she bit out, the wide neck of her shirt falling down her left shoulder to reveal a purple burn scar. “I can do ten meters on my own but they’re beyond that at this point. Even if they weren’t, I won’t leave Dabi.”

Another plan was formulated by the rest of the villains, and Shoto watched on until it was deemed safe enough for he and Yaoyorozu to make their exit. As they did, he mulled over the new information he had been granted.

The golden eyed woman was named Kazane, and the man with the blue fire was Dabi. They were a team, that much was obvious, but he wondered how far teamwork went in their partnership. Admittedly, he had no baseline with his parents for what a healthy, loving relationship looked like, but his instincts told him that in some odd way, that was what he had witnessed that night in Kamino when Kazane wouldn’t leave Dabi’s side to try and complete their mission to take Bakugo. She’d said it was because ten meters was her distance limit but compared to what he had seen at the training camp, her distance could easily reach three or four times that much.

More information was revealed by Bakugo when he had been questioned by police, his recounting of his time spent in the bar headquarters provided in hopes of tracking the League down once again.

Shoto overheard him talking about it with Kirishima and the rest of their small group of friends one night in the dorm common room as he made tea.

“The two goths were practically attached at the damn hip,” he growled. “The scarred motherfucker who took me through the warpgate at camp, Dabi, he was like a damn teenager puttin’ his hands all over the chick. Kazane, that was her name. Always fuckin’ touching each other and him pullin’ her into his lap. Gross.”

‘As I suspected,’ Shoto thought to himself. The partnership went far beyond working as a team on the battlefield.

But that confirmation was still not enough to sate his curiosity of the villains, golden eyes still haunting him whenever the subject was brought up. There were even times when he dreamt of training camp and either replayed what had happened or even imagined how a quirk confrontation would have gone down between them.

When he did dream of fighting them, no matter what he himself said in provocation, Dabi would only ever give one command—request?—to Kazane when they advanced on him, voice distorted as if he were underwater.

“Take him, Peach.”

He hated how familiar he became with the phrase in his dreams, and how familiar the soft words seemed even when the dream had been new.

Months passed with occasional distractions from the phrase and the dreams that held it; moving into the dorms, taking and failing his provisional license exam, enrolling in remedial courses with Bakugo to finally earn his license, another internship with Endeavor, and even an attempt by his father to rebuild their family after his misdeeds provided more to think of than golden eyes and blue flames.

Until Endeavor began moving Shoto, Natsuo, and Fuyumi into their own home away from the compound they had grown up in, he could almost say he had forgotten about the phrase the dreams had tried to sear into his mind.

He had been helping Fuyumi pack away the last of her things before they would take them to the new house when she turned to him from where she had been inspecting an old box that had been buried in her closet.

“Oh, Shoto, do you remember making these when you were little?” she asked, small, semi-smushed paper cranes in her palms. “You used to love coming in to make these with us when T- when we could get you away from training for a little while.”

He knelt down beside her and took a pale yellow one into his hand gently. “I knew you liked making them, but I don’t remember making them with Natsuo.”

“Natsuo never bothered with them really,” she said with a laugh. “It was usually what Raila and I would do to distract you when… well, when Touya would argue with Father and we didn’t want you to hear or see anything. You used to love when she would make them fly around, too. I might have a video of you giggling when she’d have them land on your head!”

“Who is Raila?” he asked, head cocked to the side as she scooped more cranes out of the box.

Fuyumi smiled wistfully, one orangey-pink crane delicately balanced in her palm. “Raila was Touya’s girlfriend from the time they were fourteen up until he passed. She was there when he did, but the heat and the smoke made her faint and by the time responders had arrived, she’d been burned and Touya was… gone.”

“Why don’t I know her?” Shoto asked hoarsely. It was rare that Touya was discussed, and rarer still that his death was spoken of. “Is she still here in the city?”

“A few weeks after Touya passed, she vanished. Some of her things were missing like she had run away but after about two days the police found evidence that she had committed suicide by jumping from one of the bridges closer to the countryside. That part of the river went right out to the ocean and they always expected to recover her body, but they never did. I think they said one or two of her things washed ashore after they declared her deceased, but it was so long ago that I can’t tell you for sure,” his sister explained sadly.

He hated that he couldn’t even conjure an image of this girl in his mind, someone who had apparently been in his life for nearly three years and had treated him to a type of normalcy he so rarely experienced as a child.

“Tell me more about her?” he requested softly. “More about her and Touya?”

“Well, like I said, they had been together since they were fourteen but had known one another since probably elementary school I think,” she said after a moment of careful hesitance, continuing to sift through the box’s contents. “Touya always said he couldn’t wait to be of age so that they could get married and move in together because Raila was the only girl he could ever see a future with since they worked so well together. She was the one who helped him keep his hair dyed properly which was good. The first time he ever let it grow out by accident he looked like he had a spiky Santa hat on from the white lining his scalp.”

Shoto cocked his head to the side. “He dyed his hair red? I… I can’t ever remember him with white hair.”

“He started dying it when you were probably about three and half, maybe four. Once he did, he looked like a small version of Father but with Mother’s face. You two always favored Mother’s features, really.”

“Why did he dye it when he disagreed with Father so much?”

Fuyumi frowned. “He had wanted to tame his fire on his own and was attempting to convince Father to train him again instead of you. The dye was so that he could make himself look more like Father and establish an image that, if chosen to train again, meant he could be marketed as Endeavor’s successor in every sense as he took over All Might’s number one ranking. It’s what they usually fought about that would lead to Raila bringing you in here with me to make cranes. There’s a few pictures in here if you want to see them.”

He nodded, not trusting his own voice at the revelation that his oldest brother had torn himself apart in so many ways just to protect him. It had cost him his life, and what did he have to show for it other than maybe a few pictures hidden in the depths of the house and rarely spoken stories of his short seventeen years?

Pulling the box closer to himself, he saw the small pile of pictures amongst a few more smashed and half-unfolded paper cranes and several other cheap trinkets. Taking the pictures into his hand he noticed that he was trembling slightly, this glimpse into the past something he was wholly unprepared to do. He pushed himself, though, and began looking through the photos.

The first was of himself, young and bright-eyed with no scar painted over his left eye, only smooth baby skin that was crinkled in delight from the pastel blue crane sitting atop his head. It was strange to see himself unblemished and so happy, the wide smile on his face looking foreign. It stirred within him an odd sense of nostalgia for the moments he didn’t remember experiencing.

In the next picture, Fuyumi was sitting cross-legged on the same floor they currently occupied and the tiny version of him was sat on her lap, little brows furrowed in concentration as he focused down on the paper he was folding. Fuyumi’s hands hovered near his as if ready to jump in if he asked for help and she had a content look on her face. Shoto wished that she had that expression more often, and he hoped that this move would make that happen.

Flipping to the next picture, he became confused at the blurry, low quality. He could make out part of Fuyumi’s face which may have been laughing, and a pinkish blob next to her that was half cut-off by the photo’s edge. If anything, the floor was taking up more of the picture.

“What was this kept for?” he asked his sister, holding it out to face her.

She laughed. “You took that, Shoto. It’s the first picture you ever took so I kept it to look back on, I guess. That pink blob is supposed to be Raila.”

He glanced at the picture again before moving to the next. That one was another of him, his arms extended out as he stood in the middle of the room amongst floating paper cranes, the wonder in his eyes and chubbiness of his cheeks from smiling was twisting his heart painfully. He wished that this sort of thing was more prominent in his memories of childhood. He looked so happy, and while he was working on experiencing that feeling more often thanks to his friends at UA, he never should have lost that feeling as he grew up.

With a sigh he brought out the last picture and looked it over, finally seeing what Raila looked like. She was sat on the floor too, her hands cupped in front of her green sweater-clad chest as one crane floated above them. Her peachy-pink hair was cut short and reminded him of Uraraka’s but without the longer pieces on either side of her smiling face. The one thing he spent the most time observing in the picture, though, were her eyes. Her warm, gold eyes.

The golden eyes that had haunted him for over half a year were looking back at him from a decade old photo taken in the very room he was sitting in. He really had known those eyes, he just didn’t remember until he was holding the evidence in his hand. Raila was warmth and safety when he was with her, he knew that just from hearing about her from Fuyumi and seeing the joy she had helped to bring him when he was small. She was buried so far down in his memories, but now that he knew who to picture, he remembered more.

“Take him, Peach.”

Touya had told her that once, when he confronted their father in the training room. Did he mean take him to Fuyumi to make these paper cranes? He had to, of course he had to.

But it wasn’t Touya who had spoken those words in his countless dreams of battle with two villains, it was Dabi.

Dabi, who was tall and thin and burned and able to produce flames so much hotter than even Endeavor’s and had those blue eyes that looked just like his father’s and his left one. Dabi, who was unable to be identified along with Kazane even with all of the details given by both Shoto and Bakugo. Dabi, who was fretted over by Kazane who he now knew was truly Raila and shared a burn scar that looked identical to all of his.

It was Dabi, who had to be Touya.

“Fuyumi, what was Raila’s quirk?”

He had to be sure.

“It was called Whirlwind. She could manipulate wind in a cylindrical pattern that could mimic a tornado or a hurricane, but on a smaller scale. She didn’t have much precision in the movements, but I always thought she would’ve made a great hero if that was what she wanted.”

Or one hell of a villain.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Click here to read Part 1 and Part 3

[mf-despair-queen]

Sun & Moon - Taeyong

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Lee Taeyong/Reader

Word Count: 20,850

Summary: Never did you think that your pen pal could be the love of your life. You saw the sun when he saw the moon. How could you be together when you were so far apart? It was easier than you thought - you just had to realize it. 

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Protected Sex, Oral, Shower Stuff, kinda dirty Taeyong but I still love him.

Notes: I was supposed to write for Mitch. But. It’s Taeyong’s birthday (though I’m late by an hour). Happy belated Taeyong Day and I hope he had a wonderful day catching tiny froggies. The boys better have spoiled him with chocolate cake. 

Greetings Taeyong,

Was that too formal? I hope not.

I’m sorry if my Korean isn’t the best. I’m still learning and I’m hoping to improve more because of this. That’s why I agreed to this pen pal arrangement. Learning from someone who speaks the language is ideal and I want to learn more about you, your culture. Just anything, I guess.

I never did introduce myself. And my stupid self-decided to write in my new green pen on this puppy stationary. So, let me start again I suppose. My name is Y/N. I am finishing high school here in Boston. For my last years of school, I wanted to experience something new, something challenging, and something interesting. So, I decided to take our newly offered Korean course with the hopes that one day, I can go to Korea and not look like a doofus.

I don’t know what else to say right now, but I guess I can say I look forward to writing to you over the next couple of months. I can’t wait to learn more about my new pen pal! That sounded creepy, so please ignore that I just wrote that. 

Again, sorry for my horrible writing! I promise, I will get better!

Sincerely yours,

Y/N 

-

Dear Y/N,

It’s a pleasure to meet you - I guess?

I’m glad that I was chosen to be your pen pal. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to communicate with someone far away. Now I can experience that with you! These coming months will be fun. I look forward to writing to you all the time, sharing the things I do and hearing about you.

Let me start with a quick introduction. My name is Lee Taeyong. I go to the School of Performing Arts here in Seoul. I once dreamt of being a fireman, but I guess my love for music steered me in a different direction. I was recently recruited by a company here called SM Entertainment to become a kpop idol. I begin training soon and I’m nervous. Can you tell by my writing?

My sister is yelling at me to go to bed now, so I should wrap this up. Thank you for the thoughtful message before, and the equally adorable stationary! I love dogs. I have one - her name is Ruby. But, that’s a topic for another time, I suppose. 

I will leave you with this for your next letter to me tell me about yourself. You are so far away, but I want to get to know you. I don’t want to be just a pen pal. I want to be your friend. So, tell me everything there is to know about Y/N. What’s your favorite color? Favorite food? Do you like to take long walks on the beach? Tell me everything, Y/N.

Till next time, 

Taeyongie

PS your Korean isn’t that bad, but I will help you improve, just like you want. I will help you as much as I can and before long, you will be an expert! Thank you for joining class TY!

~

You glanced up at the setting sun as you walked home from your work, chuckling when you heard your phone ding with the familiar tone from Kakao Talk. Six pm for you, but seven AM for him. It never ceased to fail. Morning here, night there, and vice versa, every day like clockwork. But it made you smile to know that you had something to look forward to once you got back to your pitiful, lonely apartment, a bag of cheap Chinese takeout in your hand. Your feet ached from the long day on the job, and you wanted nothing more than to change into the fluffy pajamas you owned and kick your feet up to watch Netflix all night.

The constant ring of your phone kept chiming, making your headache slightly. A groan of relief left your lips when your apartment came into view, praying the notifications would cease soon. Pushing past the door, you kicked off your shoes, yanking the infernal device from your purse on the way to your room. The Chinese was left on your coffee table while you changed, dropping your phone on the bed to scan the onslaught of messages that kept popping up.

Taeyong was blowing up your phone with short, one-word messages, some consisting of tiny sentences. You laughed at his persistence to get you to answer, shaking your head. Just as you pulled on a baggy hoodie, the phone rang again, this time two words, all caps, catching your eye. 

CALL ME!!!

Your brow rose, pausing before you could dial his number. He sent one more message:

Video call, please.

With a roll of the eyes, you hit FaceTime, waiting for him to pick up on the other end.

“Helloooooooooo!~” he greeted cheerfully for someone who was awake at seven in the morning. His hand ruffled his newly dyed locks, his once black strands now a bright blonde that still suited his baby face. The same face with the dark brown eyes and the sharp jawline, the button nose and the plump pink lips that always got cherry red when he ate sweets. You couldn’t see much around him, or of him, but you could see he was wearing a loose tank top, one strap beginning to fall off his broad shoulders from being stretched out. A row of mirrors was behind him, indicating the location he was in: the SM dance studio. 

His lips curled into a bright smile when he saw your face, your sleeve covered hand hiding your face. “Don’t look at me like that! I just got off work!”

“I know,” he hummed, combing his fingers through his strands as he talked. “That’s why I wanted to talk! Give you a nice way to start your evening!”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” you teased, trudging towards the living room. “Aren’t you at practice right now? I could have sworn you mentioned before you went to bed last night that you had early practice today because of your upcoming comeback.”

“Yeah. We’re all here. We were just taking a short break before we get back to the dance. We’ve been in the studio practicing for about an hour already,” he informed you. You nodded at his answer, flopping back on the couch. 

“Wait? Is Taeyong talking to noona?” you heard in the background. 

Taeyong let out a yelp when he was tackled from the side, his phone yanked away. The group of boys tried to stuff their faces in the phone screen at once, all screaming their greetings in unison. Your face scrunched up, using your free hand to plug your ears.

“One at a time, boys!”

Mark grabbed the phone was from Haechan, the boy who successful tackled his leader and stole his phone in the first place. Mark grinned, giving a victory sign. “Morning, Y/N!” he greeted, ignoring the arguments that ensued around him. 

“Evening, Mark,” you laughed. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Dance practice, recording new songs for the upcoming album, wondering when you are finally going to come visit us in Seoul.”

Your face fell at his final words, pouting. “You guys know I want to. I’ve always wanted to.”

“We know. Taeyong told us that you’ve always wanted to since they day you guys started writing to each other.”

You sighed, reaching blindly for the egg rolls in your bag. “I just can’t afford the trip yet. It’s hard enough sometimes to pay my rent, let alone saving for a plane ticket and hotel there.”

“We could help!” Jaehyun cut in, pushing Mark aside, the younger male groaning and complaining. “We’ve all agreed to help pay for your flight here if it means we get to finally meet Taeyong’s best friend.”

Your cheeks visibly reddened at the title, shaking your head. “I can’t let you guys do that though. I’d feel horrible for asking you to help me pay for a plane ticket out there. It just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Even if we want to?” Doyoung asked, peering around Jaehyun’s arm. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “If I’m going to come visit, it’s because I earned it. It’ll make the reward in the end even sweeter.”

The guys laughed, Jungwoo taking the phone. “Well, we hope you can come visit soon, noona! Especially Taeyong. He talks about you all the time, so we can’t wait for you to actually be here.”

You giggled when you hear a screech from behind, Taeyong flailing his way through the throng of boys to get his phone. “Alright, alright! Break’s over!” he called, earning a chorus of groans and whines. “No whining. Say bye.”

“Fine,” they all huffed in unison. From behind their leader, they all waved their arms wildly, giving bright smiles and victory signs. “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye guys!”

Taeyong slipped from the room quickly, letting out a sigh. “Those guys,” he sighed, ruffling his hair. “Sorry about them. You know how much of a handful they are.”

“I know,” you laughed. “But I love getting to talk to them. Thank you for introducing me to your members forever ago.”

Taeyong laughed, tugging his lip between his teeth when he was done. “Well, I do have to get back to practice unfortunately. I’m sorry to cut this short. But I wanted to talk to you as soon as I got the chance. It makes the day much easier.”

“You know, you have always said that,” you chuckled. “You always said how receiving my letters while we were in school still always brightened your day and nothing could ever bring you down.”

Taeyong flushed, scratching his cheek. “I did, didn’t I?” he mused. He paused, passing his tongue over his lips briefly. “Would you… would you mind if I called you tonight when I get back from practice? I want to talk to you some more.”

You smiled shyly, nodding your head. “Of course, Yong. You can always call me, no matter what time it is.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me that. I might end up waking you up at some odd hours without realizing it.”

“I’d still wake up for you,” you uttered lowly, knowing your face was red. Taeyong mirrored your color, shying away from your gaze. “Get to practice, Yong. Work hard and never give up. Fighting!”

The idol rolled his eyes, pushing back into the practice room. “I should have never introduced you to the guys. They’re rubbing off on you.”

“No. It was my Korean teacher. Also known as Lee Taeyong. Also known as you.”

“I take no credit in this.”

“Whatever. Have a nice practice, Yongie.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Talk to you later.” Taeyong ended the call with a quick wink, the screen going black. In the dark screen, you saw your red-faced reflection. You heart beat wildly in your chest. 

Sliding to the floor, you unpacked your food, mind wandering as you nibbled on the lukewarm chicken and vegetables. You recalled everything that had happened over the last seven years, leading up to where you were now. 

Being pen pals with Taeyong could never have turned out better. Throughout your course, you exchanged letters with Taeyong what felt like every day. You were neck deep in adorable stationary that was used to increasingly long letters that would be folded neatly and sealed, shipped overseas. He began to return the gesture with cute drawings in the corners of his papers, decorating his replies to the point your heart leaped when the envelope appeared in your mailbox, wondering what he had done for you at that time.

You had quickly become close friends despite the distance. Never having met, he always felt like he was by your side, helping you when you needed it. The amount of things you had in common, from hobbies to foods, to the style of music you jammed to, was unprecedented. He helped you immensely with your Korean, teaching you things that were well beyond the class. In return, you taught him bits of English, sometimes finding short sentences crafted in your native tongue from the man. It was a match made in heaven. 

So, when the program was ending, you both openly expressed your sadness. 

Not wanting the friendship that you had built, you had agreed to keep in contact, even if it wasn’t for a grade now. Letters turned to emails, which eventually turned to phone numbers exchanged and text messages flowing daily. The first time you FaceTimed was such a vivid memory, seeing his face on the other side of the screen for the first time was unbelievable. Sure, you had seen photos he had sent you, but seeing him - hearing him talk in his deep, smooth and velvety voice - was something you could never forget. It didn’t stop the occasional, handwritten letter on newly bought stationary meant solely for each other from being sent overseas. 

From there, you watched the man grow as an idol, meeting his group members along the way. You grew close to the boys you had never met personally, though the relationship wasn’t nearly the same as with Taeyong. He was definitely one of your best friends, if not the closest friend you had. Sometimes, it was mind boggling to think that your closest friend was someone thousands of miles away, more than twelve hours different, you left staring at the sun when he saw the moon.

It was obvious to you why you had developed a crush on the man.

Sighing, you pushed the empty tray away from you, glancing at your phone. Taeyong had sent you photos while they were practicing, making you laugh through a yawn. Leaving the used food dish be, you flicked the light off, headed for your room. Curling into the blankets, you fell asleep while staring at the many smiles of the NCT boys, mostly staring at the man you befriended through paper and pen years ago.

Your heart skipped beats the entire night.

You woke up to the ring of your phone, alerting you to FaceTime call you were getting. With a groan, you answered, rubbing your eyes sleepily. A smooth chuckle met your eyes, your eyes blinking open, the blurred image of Taeyong on the other side clearing up. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he let out, voice deep and husky. His blonde locks were in disarray, his broad shoulders and long arms now covered in an orange hoodie. He was seated outside, his face only lit by his phone. 

“Good evening, starlight,” you yawned.

“Did I wake you?” he inquired, adjusting himself in his chair. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled, sitting up in the bed. Taeyong cooed softly at the giant yawn you let out, your hands instantly covering your face. “Shut up. I’m hideous.”

“Impossible,” he laughed. 

Ignoring the blush you had, you rolled out of the bed, grabbing a Starbucks mocha iced coffee bottle from the fridge. You unlocked the patio door, listening to Taeyong hum to himself on the other end of the call. You shut the screen behind you, headed out onto the patio to watch the sun rising over the water in the distance. 

“Did you have a nice practice?” you asked the man, sitting in a cheap plastic chair you kept outside for times like this. The answer you got was a hum, making you giggle. “Some conversation here, Tae.”

“Sorry,” he laughed lowly. “It’s late and everyone headed to sleep because of the intense practice. I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“You didn’t have to call, you know.”

“But I wanted to,” he confessed. “I always want to hear your voice. And I wanted to talk. The best part of my day when hearing from you.”

You blushed, smiling widely. “Aren’t you sweet?” Taeyong hummed again, pushing his hair back with his hand. “Is the moon out tonight?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, turning his phone to show the brightly lit moon in the starry sky over Seoul. 

You smiled at the sight. “Beautiful,” you uttered. “The nights in Seoul must be beautiful all the time. I love seeing them, even if it’s just through this tiny screen.”

“Sometimes it’s weird to think we live under the same sky when we see different things all the time,” he said, turning the camera back to him. “I hate that you are so far away sometimes.”

“I know,” you sighed, sinking in your chair. “But I’m glad you are in my life. I didn’t think that being pen pals with someone because of a class in school could lead to something like this. When I agreed to do that pen pal program, I didn’t know I would meet my best friend in life.”

“Seven years now,” he chuckled. His lips pursed, rubbing together. “You know, you really have improved in your Korean since we first started talking. Both writing and speaking. You are so proficient now. It’s like you are a native here and have been speaking the language your entire life. I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Yongie. That means a lot coming from you,” you told him. Hugging a knee to your chest, your chin propped up on it. “So, what did you want to talk about? It’s late and you look tired. You should be sleeping, not talking to me.”

Taeyong hummed quietly, playing with the strings of his hoodie. “I just wanted to talk. That’s all. Is it a crime to talk to my favorite girl after a long day?”

You frowned at him, straightening in your seat to look at him better. His eyes avoided yours, staring at his lap. “Yong, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he retorted quickly. 

“Lee Taeyong, we have been friends for seven years. Even if we’ve never met, I know when you are upset. I can feel it from here.”

Taeyong let out a sarcastic chuckle, biting at the nail on his thumb. “You know, sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself.”

“Same goes for you, bub,” you told him. “Now, spill. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” he whispered. A heavy breath left his mouth, making his chest rise and fall, and his nose flare. His brow was knit together, wrinkling his forehead cutely. His lips pouted, jutted out in his deep thought. “It’s just, lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. But only one thing goes through my mind. And I don’t get why it’s happening now.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I just… I guess?” he sourly chuckled. His face turned red, mostly on the tips of his ears. “I can’t get this girl out of my mind.”

You heart stopped at his words, a sad smile rising to your cheeks. “T-that’s great, Tae.”

“You don’t sound too happy,” he chuckled weakly. 

“No, no! I am! You know I want nothing more than for you to be happy, right?” you asked, watching him nod. “So, tell me more. You’re crushing on a girl, eh”

“Crush? That doesn’t even begin to explain it,” he stated, sinking in his seat. “This girl, she’s just too amazing to describe. Smart, beautiful, funny. She completes me, honestly.” 

You stayed silent, keeping a straight face as you listened.

“You could say I’ve liked her for a long, long time now. And I’ve kept it secret for so long. I don’t understand why she’s all I can think about these days. Day in, day out, she’s always on my mind.”

“Maybe your mind is trying to tell you that you should tell her,” you offered, burying your broken heart. “I know it’s hard to think about a relationship when you are so busy with NCT, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. You want to finally tell this girl how you feel.”

“You think?” he mumbled.

Through the screen, your eyes met - his dark eyes stared into yours, filled with a mixture of emotions. Slowly, you nodded, answering, “yeah, that’s what I think. You should tell her how you feel, Yong.”

“Alright,” he breathed, biting his lip. His gaze dropped for a second before returning to yours. “Then, is it crazy to say that I like my pen pal from seven years ago?”

You froze, jaw dropping. 

“Is it crazy to say that I like the girl I talk to everyday? The girl with the cute stationary? The girl that makes me laugh and feel whole?” he paused, combing his fingers through his hair. “That I like the girl on the other side of my screen right now?”

You bit at your lip, feeling him stare you down. You didn’t know what to say. Your heart had restarted, hammering against your chest. You picked at your nails unconsciously, unable to find the words you wanted to release.

“You can always say I’m crazy, Y/N. I know how weird it sounds. I have liked you for so long, but I've never had the courage to say anything. And just lately, my sister was talking about finding that right someone and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And now that I say it aloud, to you, it sounds ridiculous. Like, why would you like me back? We’re just friends-”

“But I do,” you said quickly. Taeyong stopped talking, a weighted silence forming between you. You bit at the inside of your cheek before continuing. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Yong. But I never said anything because it seemed…”

You dropped off, searching for the right word.”

“Unrealistic?” he finished. The nod of your head gave him confirmation. “Yeah. That’s why I never brought it up. I have been fighting these feelings for so long because I couldn’t justify it. How could I possibly be with the girl I like when she is thousands of miles away?”

Taeyong was close to tears at this point, using the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes. You weren’t much better, sniffling quietly. Your face buried in your knees, Taeyong frowning at your action. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, no. Don’t be,” you choked. “I get what you mean. Long distance is hard. And given or situation - we’ve never met, we live worlds apart. It’s day for me when it’s night for you. It doesn’t seem logical to pursue a relationship when everything is against you.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I guess part of me just wanted you to know exactly how I felt before I never got a chance. I know it’s not possible, at least right now, but I wanted you to tell you.”

“I appreciate it, Tae,” you whispered. 

“I guess, for now, we just...  go on with life,” he sadly said. “There isn’t anything we can do. I can’t tell you how mixed I am about this all. To hear you like me back is such relief, but it only broke my heart more because I know I can’t be with you right now.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. You blinked back tears, glancing at him. “We’ll still be friends, right? This isn’t going to change anything between us?”

Taeyong chuckled, shaking his head “Of course not. You are still my best friend and I’m not planning to let that change any time soon.”

“Good,” you laughed. Taeyong yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. That made you laugh more. “Go to sleep, bub. You need to rest. I don’t want you getting sick because you are exhausted.”

“Alright. I will,” he uttered. He smiled softly, the grin slightly lopsided, playing with the ends of his hair. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Sounds good to me. Sleep well, Yong.”

“Have a wonderful day, sunshine.”

The call ended, your phone dropped in your lap. A stray tear slid down your cheek, a staggered sigh released. Your heart cracked at the realization that your feelings, although reciprocated, were impossible. Your eyes stared at the light blue sky that was filled with wisps of white clouds, the sun rising above your head. 

Across the world, in Seoul, Korea, sat the young man, tears leaking down his own cheeks. His eyes were glued to the starlit sky, the moon shining down on him, making his wet face glisten. He silently cried, wishing that it was possible. But, you were too far apart.

Even if you were both under the same sky, you were looking at two different things.

~

“Hello~” Taeyong sang as soon as he answered your call. You were snuggled on your couch, sucking on a cherry popsicle that made had turned your lips red. Taeyong began to couch, dropping his phone to his bed and disappearing from view while you licked the red, icy treat, pushing it in and out between your lips. “Oh my god!”

“You alright, Tae?” you asked, concerned. 

“Fine, fine,” he choked, patting his chest to regain air. He grabbed at his phone, running his fingers through his hair. “Just didn’t expect to see that when I answered.”

“See what?” you inquired, cocking your head innocently. You weren’t sure what he was talking about. “I’m confused.”

“God, you’re adorable when you’re this innocent,” he murmured, shaking his head. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,’ he pushed, laying back on his bed. “Are you really eating ice cream this late? That’s not good for you, sunshine.”

“Neither is lying in bed when it’s almost noon,” you taunted. “You are an idol! Why are you in bed right now?” 

“I want to be lazy,” he whined, rolling in his bed until he was completely wrapped in his blanket. 

“Don’t blanket burrito right now!” you laughed. “Shouldn’t you be at practice? You have a comeback soon. You should be working hard, Yong!”

“We came back to the dorms to take a lunch break,” he hummed, curling further into his blankets. “We took some extra time though because Mark was going to record in the studio for some Station song. I don’t know much about it, but he sounds excited because he wrote the rap for it.”

“Aw, little Markie is growing up,” you laughed. “I’m sure he will do wonderful though. He is great at writing rap whenever you guys compose something together.”

Taeyong hummed in response, watching you eat your popsicle silently. His face, half covered by the blankets and hidden from your view, was bright red. His voice, when he decided to speak up, was somewhat muffled by his blanket, but still soft and velvety. “So, what brings about this lovely call from my dear best friend and former pen pal?”

“Former?“ you tsked. “I’m offended.”

“Don’t be! You graduated from pen pal to best friend! It’s a compliment!” he cried. 

“I was teasing, Yong,” you giggled. You hugged your knees close to you, turning to place the stick aside with the popsicle gone. “I just… I needed advice.”

“Advice?” he asked, sitting up in his bed. His face turned serious, but you couldn’t help but to snicker. His blonde strands stuck upright, pointing in various directions. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Just…” You paused, using your finger to trace shapes on your knee, deep in thought. “I met a guy recently. At the cafe I stop at every morning when I head to work.”

“Oh,” Taeyong murmured, face falling. “Is that so?”

“Yeah…”

You frowned at the halfhearted smile he gave you. “That’s great though! Tell me more about him.”

“His name is Jackson-”

“Wait. Like Jackson Wang? From Got7?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No way. Even if I met Jackson Wang, there’s no way I’d be with him.” You stopped before you let out the words because he isn’t as good as you.

“Right, right. So, Jackson,” Taeyong asked, trying to remain focused as much as possible. The fake tone of his voice made you cringe, despite his best efforts to seem interested. “What’s he like?”

“He’s sweet,” you confessed. “We’ve been talking every morning. He’s working at the cafe while he finished up university. We just kind of hit it off, you know. And today, when I went in for coffee, he asked if I’d be interested in going on a date.”

Taeyong looked away for a second, biting at his nails. “That’s great, sunshine.”

“Are you ok?” you asked, biting your lip. “I can always say no, Taeyong.”

“No!” he nearly yelled, shaking his head and lowering his voice immediately. “No, please don’t do that, Y/N.”

“But, Taeyong-”

“Look, I won’t lie,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know it’s been a few weeks since I told you how I felt, and that hasn’t changed. I still like you, so much. But we agreed not to do anything because of this situation. We’re too far apart to justify being more than this. 

“I’m not you boyfriend, so I can’t stop you from going out with someone. And as your friend, I’m going to encourage you to go for it. If you like him, go on the date. If you like him, date him. I’m not going to stop you because I care about you. I want you to be happy. And if your happiness isn’t with me, that’s fine.”

His voice crackled slightly, but he smiled. 

“I want to see my sunshine happy because that’s what makes me happy. That’s all I want, Y/N.”

“Taeyong…”

“Please, don’t worry about me,” he urged. “I want you to try if you want to. I want to see you happy. And over time, I’m sure this crush will go away. No worries.”

“Are you sure, Taeyong?” you asked again. “I just…”

You froze. I like you still too.

“I don’t want to lose you, Taeyong. You’re my best friend and I don’t want some potential boy to ruin what we have.”

“He won’t,” Taeyong told you, biting his lip. “I’ll always be here for you. There’s no way you can get rid of me. We’ve been through too much for me to want to leave now.”

“You’ve put up with me for seven years,” you laughed.

“Sometimes, I wonder how I lived,” he teased. “I guess you won over my heart with that cute stationary and treats you’d send for my birthday. Those candies you’d pick up from that one place. Those were the best.”

“The way to Taeyong’s heart: chocolate and cute animals.”

“Not going to lie. It’s true,” he chuckled, burying his pain. “I should probably get going. I need to round up the kids before heading back to the dance studio. We are supposed to meet Mark back there soon.”

“Oh, alright,” you frowned. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized. “I wish we could talk more. I miss talking to you all the time. This comeback practice is killing me.”

“It’s fine,” you told him. “I understand. You’re busy and that’s ok.”

“I really do miss you,” he confessed, giving a weak smile that you returned. 

“I miss you too, Taeyong,” you sighed. “I think… I will try with Jackson. It can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Right,” he croaked. “I’m proud of you. Keep me updated, alright?”

“I will. Bye, Yong.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

You ended the call, headed straight for bed after a quick message to the man from the cafe, accepting his proposition from that morning. Your heart ached sending the message, but you shook it off, telling yourself it would be alright in the end.

For Taeyong, he wasn’t as smooth. His phone slipped from his hand, tears leaking down his cheeks as soon as the pain struck. The boys heard his wails - they weren’t subtle. Rushing to their leader’s aid, the seven boys crowded onto the bed, hugging their distraught friend as he cried. They knew he was hurting, listening to him utter his problems lowly. They were sad to hear what had happened, not moving from the bed the rest of the day.

Mark returned from recording to find his friends sitting quietly around their leader who had fallen asleep finally, red faced, eyes puffed and tears staining his delicate features. Mark frowned, dropping his stuff and instantly crawling into the crowded bed to support his friend, sighing to himself. 

Why can’t they just realize they are meant for each other already? The Canadian wondered.

~

You frowned at your phone, finding the unanswered texts once more. 

Weeks had passed, and you should have been happy. The date with Jackson had been a success, leading to more outings until he had popped the question, asking you to be his girlfriend. You were excited, accepting without much debate. 

But something didn’t sit right with you.

You liked Jackson, but your mind always seemed to wander when you were with him. Something was holding you back, no matter how much effort you put in the relationship you were now in. 

It didn’t help that you couldn’t contact the man you wanted to. You craved hearing his phone, seeing his words or just seeing his face. You wanted to hear about his day, listening to him tell you stories about practice with the boys or things that happened along the streets of Seoul. You wanted to share laughs, talking while the sun rose and the moon set.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to get a hold of the idol. Texts remained on ‘delivered’, occasionally changing to be ‘seen’. Every FaceTime call would ring and ring, a blank screen displayed on your phone, your pitiful image in the corner frowning at the small screen. The other boys answered your texts without issue, so you couldn’t fathom the reason Taeyong wasn’t getting back to you. 

The idol you had known for near a decade plagued your every thought when really, he shouldn’t. You had a boyfriend, but Taeyong always had a way to slip into your thoughts. At night, you’d dream of him, unable to reach him when you tried. You’d think of him whenever you had the chance. It seemed odd that he was more on your mind now than ever before given your current circumstances. 

You were a wreck because of it. Every unanswered call and unreturned text broke a piece of you further. You could feel your heart sinking into your stomach, agony in the form of stomach acid at the bottom for the broken pieces to settle in. 

You placed your phone aside, beginning to pick at your nail polish as you waited. You were awaiting Jackson’s arrival for a movie date. A soft pink dress hugged your body to ready yourself for the warming weather, summer quickly approaching. Black flats were on your feet. A heart necklace hug around your neck, the reminder that your friendship with Taeyong existed at one point. He had sent the necklace to you from Seoul for your birthday three years into your friendship, and you hadn’t taken it off since. You had done your hair in cute curls that waved along your features, framing your face. Minimal make up covered your face but accentuated your natural beauty. 

A knock on the door made you jump. You stuffed your phone, unanswered text and all, into your purse. Checking yourself in the mirror, you attempted to remove the disappointment you could see in your eyes, not wanting your boyfriend to worry. When you felt you were acceptable, you rushed to the door, opening it wide.

“Hey you! Are you ready?” Jackson greeted with a large smile. But the smile disappeared before you could even respond. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, too quick for your liking. “I’m fine. Let’s get going, shall we?”

“Something is definitely wrong,” the young man sighed. “Can we go inside for a second and talk about this?”

“I’m fine, Jackson. I promise. Can we just go?” you pleaded.

Jackson denied, forcing you inside to the couch. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his. The feeling of his hand in yours felt foreign. It didn’t feel right against yours - your fingers didn’t mesh together perfectly, no sparks making your skin tingle. You wanted to squeeze his hand back, but you couldn’t will yourself too, especially with the thoughts of your phone in your bag and the messages you kept sending going unread.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded, studying the side of your face. 

“I told you I’m fine, J,” you mumbled.

“Like hell you are,” he huffed. “I can tell that there is something on your mind. I’m your boyfriend, Y/N. I should be able to tell when you are unhappy. And I’d hope that you can trust me enough to tell me.”

You frowned, digging into your purse. You clicked on your phone, knowing his brow furrowed at the picture from your lock screen. It was a photo of Taeyong he had sent you from his dorm, using a silly snapchat filter to give him puppy ears. He was hugging Ruby to his cheek, giving a wink with his tongue out. When he had sent it, he said the him and Ruby matched, and it was too cute not to save.

“Who’s he?” Jackson asked. 

“My best friend,” you admitted. 

“Is he the issue?” Jackson asked, watching you nod. “What happened?”

“He hasn’t been answering my calls for weeks now. And I’m just starting to worry about it. I don’t know why he suddenly isn’t answering my calls or texts. We used to talk every day and now I can’t get him to answer a simple greeting.”

“Have you gone to see him?”

You bitterly laughed, shaking your head. “I wish it were that easy.” Jackson stared at you longer, waiting for more. “I’ve never actually met him in person. I met him through this pen pal program while I was in school and we quickly became great friends to the point that we kept in contact. He lives in Seoul.”

Jackson rubbed his lips together, his hand disconnecting from yours. Your hands sat in your lap while his linked together, his head leaning on them. An uncomfortable silence formed between you, the tension palpable. You couldn’t look at the quiet man beside you, not knowing what he would say.

Hearing him let out a heavy breath, you felt your heart drop, your blood running cold. You felt sick to your stomach, already knowing that whatever he was about to say was not going to be good. You were dreading the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes to the ceiling. “Since we got together, I’ve felt like something has been holding you back. Like there was a wall between us that I couldn’t get through. And, now I think I understand.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. 

“Will you be straight with me on this?” he asked. You eyed him, mumbling a small ‘yes’ to him. “Do you like him? As in the childish like like. You have romantic feelings for that guy on your phone?”

You remained silent, making Jackson sadly chuckle. 

“I didn’t want to believe there was someone else, but I had a feeling there was a reason I couldn’t ever get more out of you. I like you a lot, and I know you like me too. But you like him more. I don’t understand why you are with me when you like him. I’m sure he likes you too, right?”

“Yeah,” you squeaked, clearing your throat to ease the lump in it. “But there’s no way we can be together. He’s just so far away. He’s too good for me. There’s no way I would be enough to be with him. But he’s in Seoul, I’m here. How are we supposed to be together if we’ve never met? If we’re worlds apart?”

“If you want it to work, it will,” he said with a kindhearted smile. “Nothing can stop two people if they want to be together. If their desire is strong enough, if their feelings are strong enough, things will work out. We are all under the same sky after all. It shouldn’t matter how far away you are because if you are meant to be, it’ll happen. I know that long distance relationships are hard to fathom, and they get a bad rap, but you can’t just give up because of it. And honestly, if you ask me, if you guys have been this close just through phone calls, texts, whatever, then it would work. You guys are connected more than you think, or maybe want to admit. No matter what, he will be there for you if you accept it. If he didn’t, he’s an idiot, no offense.”

“How are you so smart about this?” you asked with a short laugh, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill. 

“My parents lived long distance before having me. My mom lived in the UK while my dad was in LA. It’s not quite the same as you and your friend because they had been together before, but they were able to make it work because they were meant to be. They wanted to be together.”

“That’s pretty deep,” you laughed. Jackson joined you, wrapping a loose arm around your shoulders. 

“I don’t want to say this, and I’ve been dreading the thought for a while because of this wall. But,” he stopped, sighing. “I think it’s best if we break up.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the perfect girl for you.”

“You can’t help it if your heart belongs to someone else. Just don’t let him slip away from you. You need to decide if you want to try. Is he worth it?”

“More than you know,” you laughed, a wide grin growing at the thought of the man. 

“Then don’t be afraid. I promise it’ll work out.”

“Thanks, J,” you said, turning in your seat to give him a powerful hug. His arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to his chest. “You really are an amazing guy and I hope that you find the right girl someday.”

“I’m sure I will,” he chuckled, releasing you from his grasp. You walked him to your door, leaning on the frame after he stepped out. “Don’t be a stranger in the cafe though! I will always serve you that special iced coffee.”

“You better,” you laughed. “I’m sorry again, Jackson.”

“Don’t be. I’m sad, but I will move on. And I hope for the best for you and…”

“Taeyong. Lee Taeyong.”

“For you and Taeyong.” 

Jackson winked, waving one last goodbye. The thunk of your door shutting was similar to the way your heart felt plummeting. Loneliness was present, lingering over you in the barren apartment. You suddenly felt cold, realizing that you were single once more and still without your best friend. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, frozen and unbeating, weighing down your body. A staggered breath left your lips, a few stray tears escaping down your cheeks that were promptly wiped away. Limbs felt like lead, holding you in the empty doorway for longer than you wanted, staring at the sealed door, knowing it wouldn’t open again.  

Kicking off your flats, you rushed to your room, trying to escape the quiet space of your own home. Nothing was able to comfort the sadness dwelling in your chest, your body numbly laying on the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. They traced the glowing star stickers that decorated the white top, the sight alone making you think of the man you desired. He loved the night sky just as much as you did, and every time you saw the stars and moon, he was first to plague your thoughts. Your eyes turned to the clock beside you bed, mentally calculating how late it was for him. 

After midnight.

The longer you laid in silence, you more your heart ached. You needed to talk to someone, dialing the first number you could think of.

“Hello?” their voice rang, deep and husky, laced with hints of sleep. You felt bad instantly, gnawing on your lip before responding. 

“Mark?” you asked quietly. Your low, cracking voice must have made him jump up. You could hear the shuffling of sheets and the squeak of the bed, a door opening and closing. 

“Hold on,” he whispered. 

Sitting up and curling into a ball while leaning against the headboard, you awaited, listening to the faint thud of footsteps on the other end. You hugged your knees to your chest, struggling to keep your emotions under control. You could hear a door slide open and shut, followed by a low curse in Korean before the phone line went dead. Your brow furrowed, pulling the phone away from your ear to check the battery.

Full.

You jumped when the phone suddenly went off again, falling to the blankets. The screen showed the face time with the boy you called, his silly face on display from the contact image. Swiftly, you fumbled to grab the phone, swiping to answer.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said in English, voice low. Mark had a hoodie pulled over his head, his surroundings dark. He was sitting outside, like how Taeyong normal did. You could feel your heart sink at the thought, an inaudible sigh leaving your mouth. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I just… needed to talk to someone.”

“Alright,” Mark hummed, unconvinced. “Why do you look all dressed up? Did you have a date with… what was his name again?”

“Jackson,” you told him, feeling your hand curl into itself. “And yeah. I was supposed to have a date.”

“Supposed to?” Mark asked, messing with the front of his curly hair. “Did he cancel on you?”

“We broke up,” you said flatly. Mark frowned, mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. 

“I’m so sorry,” he finally croaked. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, I guess,” you admitted. “It hurts a bit, but that’s not what’s bothering me. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m just lonely is all.”

“Is that all?” Mark hummed.

“Yeah,” you let out, letting silence commence. You couldn’t think of anything more to say, Mark not prying at first. 

“You’re not very convincing,” he chuckled. “What’s going through your mind, Y/N? You wouldn’t call this late for nothing. Lonely? Yeah, I believe that, especially after a break up. But there is something more that you aren’t telling me. You are still all dressed up, you’re ready to cry. So please, don’t keep doing this to yourself. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…” you started, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. “How is he doing, Mark?”

Mark stayed silent. 

“I just…” you sniffled, more tears flowing. “He won’t answer my calls. He won’t read my texts. I can’t get a hold of him. I’m so worried about him. I can’t help it. I just want to know that he’s alright.”

Mark stayed silent, his gaze bypassing the phone to the city of Seoul and the night sky overhead. His head turned back to the dorm where his friends remained asleep, his frown deepening. You watched him ponder, your stomach churning uncomfortably. 

“He’s,” Mark started, sighing under his breath. “He’s not well. He’s in pretty bad shape honestly.”

“Mark, no,” you cried, shaking your head. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Would you rather I lie?” he asked firmly. You shook your head, hearing the young Canadian boy huff out a sigh. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. He has not been himself since you got with that Jackson guy. He’s always unhappy, he’s not eating well, he’s not performing well in practice. We are all worried about him, Y/N.”

“I-”

“We are worried about you too,” Mark confessed sadly. You cringed at his words, steering your sight away. “We know that you guys liked each other. Taeyong told us everything. He told us because he was heartbroken that he couldn’t be enough for you. He always said how you were too good for him. And the whole distance issue, he didn’t want to keep you from having something special with someone you love because he couldn’t be there for you.”

“But he was always there for me,” you murmured.

“I know,” Mark stated. “He kept himself from having you, but he hurt himself by loving you. He’s in so much pain because he loves you with all his heart and knowing he couldn’t be the one to love you and make you happy broke him even more. He wants you happy, and it breaks his heart because he can’t be to one to make you happy in his mind.”

“But he does make me happy!” you scream, more tears streaming down your cheeks, makeup starting to run. “I’ve liked him for so long, Mark. I still like him. So much that it hurts. No matter what I do, all I do is think about him. When I sleep, I dream about him. When I walk down the street, I see things that remind me of him. I feel like he is always there, even if he is thousands of miles away. I can hear his voice, I can see his face, but none of it is real. 

“I just don’t know what to do, Mark. I want to be with him so bad. I want us to be together because no one makes me happier than Taeyong has. He has always been there for me when I needed it. He makes me smile, he makes me laugh, he makes me cry. But I don’t know how to make that work. How can I be with him when he is out of my reach? I’m not too good for him - it’s the other way around. He’s too good for me. How could I possibly wish to be with him?”

“You both need to realize one thing,” Mark huffed, voice strict. “The distance - it doesn’t matter! You guys have been friends for how long? Seven plus years? Yeah, isn’t that enough to prove that you are connected? Every night when we leave work, Taeyong will smile up at the sky, looking at the moon, and say how the sun is rising for you. He always smiles brightest when he says that. 

“Just because you don’t see the same thing doesn’t mean you are too far apart to make things work. It’ll be hard, but we are all in the same world, at the same time, under the same sky. Your hearts are connected, and you just have to figure out a way to make that work.”

“But how?” you asked, using the back of your hand to wipe at your tears. “He’ll never forgive me, Mark. He won’t answer my calls at all!”

“He’s hurt, Y/N. Not mad,” Mark chuckled. Using a hand to cover his mouth, he let out a stifled yawn, eyes fluttering to stay awake. “Here’s my suggestion. Think about what you really want, what the truth is to you. If you want to be with Taeyong, then figure out how to make it work. And when you’re ready, give us a call. We will gladly help you out because we want to see you both happy. And honestly, you are happiest with each other.”

“Figure out what my truth is?” you asked, Mark nodding. “You know, you’re still a child, Mark. You’re fresh out of Dream. How are you this wise?”

“I hang around with old men too much,” he chuckled.

“That’s a lie. You are all children,” you laughed. “Get some sleep, Markie. Sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s fine. You know we are always here for you, no matter what. If I was mad, I wouldn’t have answered. And the same goes for the others. You are family, Y/N. Please know that. It doesn’t matter to us if you are ten minutes away, or ten hours. Because we care about you.”

“Right,” you sighed. “Sleep well, Mark. And… please keep an eye on Taeyong for me.” 

“Will do. Talk soon, babe.”

“Love you, bro,” you laughed slightly. Mark gave a quick wave before ending the call. 

Dropping the phone aside, you laid flat to the bed once more, not bothering to change to clean yourself of the makeup. Rolling onto your side. You stared at the blank phone, resting a hand over it. You wished it would vibrate under your palm, chiming with a new message or call. But it remained still, cold under your touch. Your wish wasn’t going to come true anytime soon. 

“Figure out what my truth is?” you mumbled to yourself. “What is it that I want? Do I want to be with Taeyong? He makes me so happy, but… how can we? He is so far away. Is it possible? Can we reasonably be together?”

Thoughts of him ran through your mind, every moment you shared together over the years flashing by my dreamlike memories. A smile curled up on your face, making your cheeks hurt. When your hand pulled away from your phone, you saw the familiar picture of the idol set as your wallpaper. The sight alone made your heart tremble, skipping a beat. 

The tears began coming, unable to stop. The droplets clouded your vision, dripping to your pillow. Short hiccups left your mouth as you sobbed, clutching at your phone. “I want him so bad. He’s the only man to make me feel like this. Maybe Jackson and Mark were right and we are connected more than we know. Maybe we were being stupid because we believed we couldn’t be together. Maybe we can be happy together and stop fighting these feelings.

“How could I be so stupid to let this all happen? It was so obvious, and I let things fall through because of something as stupid as distance. 

“How can I fix this?”

You fell asleep, pained with puffy eyes and red, wet cheeks, clutching to the phone like it was a lifeline that would ring to pull you back. The entire time, you dreamt of ways to fix this, to get back to the man you loved - the man that told you he loved you back and you let go. You weren’t going to be stupid a second time. You were going to get the man you desired, that made you happy and complete, not caring about anything that stood between you.

When you awake, sore bodied and numb inside, the first thing you did was compile a message, simple in structure and straight to the point. The recipients: eight boys that grinned eagerly at the message that made all their phones buzz, their ninth member unsuspecting. 

I need to fix this.  

~

You took a deep breath, stepping off the plane. Your footsteps were hurried, pushing passed people with mumbled apologies as you hurried to gather your luggage. You sent a quick text before leaving the airport, staring up at the bright sky overhead. You couldn’t help but smile. Something about the sky felt different than home, the fresh air that was breathed into your lungs setting something alight inside. You were light on your feet as you skipped forward, elation forming a bubble around you that couldn’t be burst.

You were bouncing as you traveled through the foreign city, eager to arrive at the destination. Your eyes twinkled at you watched the tall buildings pass by, snapping some pictures for yourself as you went. Your heart was pumping faster the closer you got, beginning to burst out of your chest when you felt the taxi stop in front of your destination. 

The driver kindly helped you with your luggage before taking the payment you extended towards him, offering a multitude of thank you’s as gratitude for his service. You watched the car disappear down the road before letting out a ragged breath, turning to stare at the building. With luggage in tow, you made your way inside, the wheels of your suitcase thumping as you stepped through the building to find the place you needed to be.

Dry swallowing at the sight of security outside, you let out a shaky breath, unsure if you were able to do this. There was still a small line that you stopped at the end of, sending a quick message with shaky fingers. The slow-moving line prolonged your inherent agony, anxiety beginning to build up. Your stomach clenched with tight knots, wiping your sweaty palms to your jeans. 

The security stopped you, asking for your pass to get in. “I-I don’t have one,” you admitted timidly, biting at your lip. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t let you in, miss,” the man told you. 

“You don’t understand. I’m friends with them-”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

You opened your mouth to explain further, but thankfully, your rescue had come. “She’s alright, guys. She’s my friend,” Mark said, slipping from his spot at the table, apologizing to the fans as he did. “Go ahead and let her in.”

The security guard nodded, letting you by. You smiled gratefully at the boy, not saying anything more so he could return to his seat, apologizing once more and resuming the conversation he was having with the girl in question.

You stared down the line while you had time, seeing all nine boys of NCT sitting in different spots. Mark, Yuta, Johnny, Jungwoo, Taeil, Haechan, Doyoung, Jaehyun, and last, but surely not least, the man you were truly here to see: Taeyong. Even from the distance, you could see how pale he looked, giving somewhat fake smiles to people. He looked partially exhausted and drained, the normal glow he radiated diminished to near nothingness. You pouted at the sight, disliking the scene at the end of the row of tables. 

When the girl was gone, Mark gestured you forward. Before you could make it to the front of the table, he rounded it, giving you a tight hug. You were glad the others were distracted by their conversations and signings to see the quick gesture, Mark releasing you shortly after. 

“You’re really here,” he said lowly, not wanting to alert anyone. 

“I’m here. I told you I was,” you laughed. 

“I know,” he chuckled. “But like… you’re here. In the flesh. I’m finally meeting you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Markie,” you giggled. “How has it all been?”

“Rough,” he claimed, ruffling his hair. “But it’ll get better now that you are here.”

“I hope.”

Mark grinned, leaning on the table. “Man, I can’t believe it. You’re actually here. I get to meet my sister finally! We’re going to have so much fun while you are here.”

“I’m only here for a week.”

“So, we will have fun!” Mark chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, pulling out the latest cd you purchased and pushing it his way. “Now, to make this official and to actually follow the rules, I’d like this signed please.”

“I think I can do that,” he chuckled, doing as you said, though making a joke out of the signature in the end so you could have a laugh later. Mark gave you one last hug before you left his table, whispering, “I will see you after the signing, babe. Glad you could make it.”

Leaving your suitcase with Mark, you followed down the line, receiving a similarly warm welcome from each boy. Each boy gave you a hug across the table, expressing their delight that you were finally in Korea, standing in person before them. No longer was there a silly screen separating you and them. They were in the flesh, warm bodies clinging to you before you got them to sign the shiny album in your hands. You were glad you managed to come, meeting the group of boys you cared about so deeply.

Lastly, it was his turn. 

Taeyong waved goodbye to the girl in front of you, combing through his hair briefly. You saw him exhale, his chest rising and falling with the deep breath and his nose flaring slightly. He leaned backwards in his seat to crack his back, having been sat for quite a while. You took a second to admire his beauty, in awe of his flawless physique in person. He was always handsome through the phone, even when he wasn’t trying, but before your eyes now - he was downright gorgeous. 

He wore a simple red and black striped shirt with black jeans, holes in the legs and knees. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows to relieve some of the summer heat, a couple distinct arm veins running along his clear skin to his hands, running along the tops to his slender digits. His blonde hair was fluffy against his head, the ends of some strands curling upwards adorably. His dark eyes had yet to glance your way, long lashes shut against his cheeks as he relaxed for a single moment. 

With one last sigh, you saw his eyes flutter open, asking who was next. His voice was just as smooth and velvety as you recalled, deep and clear with every word he said. Your heart pounded against your chest, waiting for him to see who was standing before him.

It was in slow motion. His head turned towards you, finding you waiting for him. His jaw dropped, and his eyes enlarged. He slowly stood from his seat, tear beginning to form in his eyes. You remained still in your spot, watching him round the table, standing feet before you. His mouth opened and closed, unable to make out words with his suddenly dry throat. When he managed to get them out, they came out as croaks of words.

“Y/N?” he got out at last. “I-Is that really you?”

“Hi Tae,” you murmured, giving him a small smile. 

Taeyong let out a choked sob, covering his mouth to muffle it. His feet moved forward before you could react yourself, his long arms wrapping themselves around your smaller frame. Your bag slipped off your shoulder, and your newly signed album hit the floor between you, but that was the last of your worries. Tears sprung to your eyes as you wound your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. Taeyong burrowed into your hair, his body wracked with happy sobs.

���You’re here,” he whispered into your locks repeatedly, wetting them with his tears. “You’re really here.”

“I’m really here,” you repeated, giving him a tighter squeeze for the hug you shared. “I’m here, Taeyong. I’m here, bub.”

He backed away, keeping you within arm’s reach. His hands slid up your face, gently cupping your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs smoothed across your skin, wiping at the wet trails that stained them. His lips curled into a bright smile, teeth bared and all. His eyes continued to water, your image blurred but beautiful in his brown orbs. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, biting at his lip. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be home with your boyfriend?”

You shook your head in response, placing your hands over his. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Yong,” you admitted to him. “We broke up a couple weeks ago.”

He gaped at you, short, incomplete thoughts reaching your ears. “But… you’re... what… why…?”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking lately,” you said, feeling more tears coming. “And I realized that I was stupid for not realizing sooner just how much I love you.”

He choked back a sob.

“I was stupid for letting you go and for agreeing to not pursue anything. Because, Taeyong, you complete me. You make me happier than anyone ever has. I was stupid to think that something as silly as the places we live could keep us apart. I realized that it doesn’t matter because the world can’t keep us from each other. It doesn’t matter where we are, or how far apart we are. What matters is that our hearts-” your hand was placed on his chest, feeling the rapid storm of heartbeats hammering to his ribcage, “-are connected. That even when I see the sun and you see the moon, as long as we are under the same sky, nothing can keep us apart. What matters is that I want to be with you, Taeyong.

“And, I hope you want to be with me still too.”

The idol choked on his sob again, pulling you closer to him. Your foreheads met, the man slightly hunched over to meet yours, but you made it work. Your noses bumped against each other, his minty breath fanning over your lips. They were near each other, closing in with each second that passed. The idol leader darted his tongue forward to wet his lips before answering, voice cracking slightly, though remaining angelic.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he whispered. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

“I’m sure I can guess, because it was just as long for me,” you laughed. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“I’m to blame too,” he replied, chuckling lowly. “I let you go when I should have stopped you.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore. I made my choice,” you confessed, biting at your lip. “And I choose you, Tae. It’s always been you. There’s no turning back and honestly, I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Good,” he said.

With that, his lips were on yours in a sweet kiss - something you had been dying for without realizing it. You sunk into him, pushing closer to him until your chests were pressed against one another. Your arms clung to his waist, his saying firm to your cheeks. His lips were soft, moving perfectly against yours in the blissful connection. His head tilted just enough to ensure your lips could mesh together perfectly. The second his lips touched yours, you felt a shock run through your spine, every red light in your mind working to releasing the fireworks. 

When he pulled away, your lips were left tingling, craving more. His lips rubbed together, twitching into a shy, but excited grin. Your faces nuzzled together, refusing to move from the warm hug you were sharing.

“Tae?” you uttered softly, hearing him hum. “Happy birthday.”

He chuckled, shaking his head against yours. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “That’s partially why I worked to get here today of all days, especially knowing you had this fan signing.” 

“Well, I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift.”

His arms closed around you once more, nuzzling into the side of your head, inhaling your sweet scent. You hummed in delight, burrowing back into his chest, your joyous tears soaking into his tears. Your body was riveting with excitement, heart pounding, the sound in your ears, and stomach flipping with rampaging butterflies. For the first time in weeks, you were content, feeling an ease that hadn’t been present since the day your feelings were first confessed. To be in his arms was something you had dreamt of, and now to be here, you were reluctant to let go. 

The ethereal moment was broken, unfortunately, but a group of rowdy boys behind you cheering at the top of their lungs. The eight boys didn’t hesitate to rush forward, wrapping their arms around you in tight hugs. You couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaping, hearing Taeyong doing the same. His angelic laughter rang in your ears, the sweet melody better in person. Taeyong’s arms stayed firm around you, clutching you to his person, while the rest of the idols gathered around you, enveloping you in unexplainable heat. 

“Finally!” Johnny yelled loudly, the others protesting slightly at the sound. 

“Too loud, Johnny,” Doyoung attacked, grimacing at the sound that was aimed directly in his ear. 

“But seriously, guys. We are so happy for you. You are finally together! It’s about time you could be together without things to worry about,” Jaehyun chimed. 

“Did you guys know about this?” Taeyong asked as the hug dispersed, his arms never leaving you. Even though you turned in his arms to look at the boys, all eight with pleased grins, the leader’s arms stayed tight around your waist, his chin on your shoulder.

“We may have had something to do with this,” Jungwoo sneakily hummed. 

“She said she wanted to come visit and fix the things between you,” Taeil confessed. Your face lit up, feeling Taeyong’s stare into the side of your face. 

“We just wanted to help!” Haechan continued. “We needed to see the ship sail!”

“You guys were always so happy together and when everything happened, you both got so down,” Yuta frowned. “We wanted to help make things better because you are best together.”

“I think what they’re all saying,” Mark cut in, “is that we are happy that you can finally stop fighting your feelings. You guys are so happy together and we only want to see that continue. You deserve to be happy and you deserve each other. Were glad you have stopped fighting your feelings and realized that it doesn’t matter as long as you are together.”

You knew Taeyong looked confused, so you turned to him. “Mark is oddly smart for his age.”

“Hey!” 

“What? It’s true! You gave me some very good advice!” you exclaimed. “You are younger than me, Markie. Stop being so wise.”

“But, I’m still confused,” Taeyong admitted, his arms dropping from around you. You turned to look at him, noting his knit brows, wrinkled forehead and confusion laced irises. The other boys fell silent, waiting for their leader to continue. “Don’t misunderstand please. I’m thrilled you are here. I have wanted to meet you and hold you and… god, just you being here is my dream come true. But, I don’t get why. And how. Everyone is saying that we can be together, but you will have to go home eventually. I just… I don’t get it.”

You bit at your lip sharing a glance at the eight boys before facing Taeyong completely. “I wasn’t going to mention it until later because I wanted it to be a surprise. But as much as this trip is to meet you and tell you that I want to be with you, there is another reason I came.’

“What?” Taeyong asked, blinking. 

“The office I work for,” you started, smiling growing unknowingly. “There is one here, in Seoul. It’s still fairly new, so they are still building. I expressed my interest to my boss, and he managed to set me up with some time to discuss with the manager here for me to transfer.”

“Wait. So, you might…”

Taeyong was at a loss for words.

“Yes,” you confirmed, giving him a bright smile. “If accepted, I will be moving to Seoul to work permanently. And as it stands, since I’ve talked to the manager already in phone conferences, it’s looking highly likely that I will be moving. The fact that I speak English and Korean, thanks to a certain idol, is a major draw for them. So, I will know more in a few days when I meet with them. They will tell me for sure what the plan is.”

Taeyong’s eyes filled with tears again, fling himself forward, encasing you in his grasp. He let out a cheerful laugh that brought to light your own stifled giggles, curling your arms around him, pushing into his hold. Rocking you back and forth, he lifted you off your feet, spinning you in circles. 

“You’re staying,” he breathed, choking on his own laughs. “You’re really staying. You’re here and you’re staying.”

“Tentative,” you laughed, barely managing to speak. “But I’m confident in saying yes, I am here to stay.” once your feet touched the ground, you grasped his face, cupping his cheeks and smoothing your thumbs under his eyes. He had considerably brightened since you first saw him, color already returning to his paled face. He looked more like himself, even with the tear marks that streaked his cheeks. “I’m here to be with you, Tae. Because I’m tired of denying us. I want to be with you.”

“God, I’ve wanted to hear that forever,” he cooed, leaning forward. His lips hovered over yours, the smile contagious with the close proximity. “I want nothing more than to be with you. I’m sorry I was stupid before I let you go.”

“Don’t be,” you whispered. “Because we are here now. And nothing can keep us apart.”

Taeyong grinned, placing a second kiss to your lips - it was just as explosive as the first. Your eyes closed at the sweet connection, his lips harder to yours than before but just as careful. The tingling sensation returned, traveling throughout your body. Your fingertips itched, curling into his cheeks more. Your body pressed closer to him, one foot nudged between his, toes curling in your shoes. His lips dragged against yours, separating with a subtle smack before dipping in again for more, sharing multiple, short connections.

Your mind was blank, enjoying the sweet, supple taste of his lips. He tasted like honey, his lips luscious and plump against yours. They were a drug you never thought you’d want or have, the sugary taste he offered addicting.

“Alright well, I hate to break up this little romantic session you guys are having,” Jaehyun cut in, causing you and Taeyong to separate, panting slightly for lost air. “We should get going. We have things to do.”

“Yeah. If we wait, we’re going to miss all of the food!” Haechan cried, gathering his stuff. 

Taeyong’s brow rose, slipping his hand into yours. “Don’t we have more things this afternoon? I thought we had a radio interview after this.”

“It was moved until later this week,” Johnny mused with a smirk. Taeyong blinked.

“But I thought-”

“It took a lot of convincing,” Doyoung cut in, placing his bag on his shoulder. “It took all eight of us to convince our manager to shuffle some stuff around so we could celebrate today.”

“It’s your birthday, hyung! Did you really think we were going to be busy all day?” Jungwoo joked.

Taeyong scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Well, yeah actually. We’ve had concerts on peoples’ birthdays. What would make today so different?”

“Y/N,” all eight said, making you laugh. 

“With Y/N coming, we wanted to be able to have a nice afternoon where we could celebrate,” Taeil told the center.

“So, with a lot of begging and pleading, they finally agreed,” Yuta laughed with a bright, sunshine-like smile. 

“What are we waiting for?” Haechan whined, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

“What are we doing?” Taeyong asked, leading you away by the hand so he could gather his stuff. 

“Heading back to the dorm to have your birthday dinner,” Jaehyun told him.

“We’re grilling meat!” Jungwoo cheered.

“Taeyong-hyung, make us pork belly!” Haechan whined. 

“Haechannie, be nice!” you scolded. “It’s Yong’s birthday.”

“But-”

“It’s fine,” Taeyong laughed. “I’ll grill.”

“Yay!” the youngest screamed, hopping off the ground in his joy. 

“Well, let’s go already,” Mark chuckled, dragging your suitcase with him on his way out. 

Taeyong took your hand, placing a kiss to your cheek before leading you after the rest of the boys, headed for the two vans that were parked, waiting to take you back to the NCT dorms. Taeyong kept your hand in his, fingers laced, until you reached the doors of the building. Not wanting fans to catch sight of your interlocked hands, he broke off from you, helping to place a black mask over your face and putting your sunglasses over your eyes. You giggled at his delicate nature, one last kiss left to your lips before rushing out to the awaiting cars, piling into them before people could really catch sight of the moving idols. 

~

Upon arriving at the dorms, you were all ushered out back where the grill was already heating. Two tables were set up for eating, a white table cloth draped over the tops. Taeyong left your side regrettably to start cooking, Mark rushing inside to fetch the meats. You left him with a tender kiss, heading into the dorms to help prepare side dishes the leader enjoyed as a celebration of his big day. 

Doyoung, Mark and Jungwoo gave you a quick tour of the dorms, having you leave your suitcase in Taeyong’s room for the time being. You admired their cozy living quarters, elated that you were there in person. The smell of Febreze still lingered in the halls from Taeyong’s early morning rounds, making his home smell of his favorite scent. Little trash was scattered from their late nights. Beds were messily made, but you didn’t expect much from them - they were boys and had a rigorous schedule to adhere to. They had rushed out early from what you were told, unable to properly clean before your arrival, not that you minded.

Aiding Doyoung in the kitchen, you helped to prepare plates of various sides - kimchi, cucumber kimchi, pickled radish, tteokbokki, japchae. All things to help feed the nine hungry boys you were with. To go with everything was kalguksu, one of Taeyong’s favorite foods. Jungwoo helped to prepare some small sides of rice, rice paper included with the meal. To finish off dinner was the dessert you had stopped to grab on your way to the signing that Mark, fortunately, kept hidden from Taeyong’s eye until later. A chocolate cake with strawberries, decorate with strawberry macarons, to satisfy the leader’s insatiable sweet tooth. 

You figured if he knew it was in the dorm, he’d skip to the cake rather than eat a meal with everyone else. He always loved his sweets more than anything and wasn’t afraid to indulge in the rich chocolate over the delectable pork belly he was grilling.

You shared many laughs with the boys that helped to plate the dishes, carrying it outside to the table. Drinks had been brought out and poured. Smoke filled the darkening sky from the grill, the sun beginning to set in the distance. Lights were strung up around the small yard you were in, lighting the space. Music played from Taeyong’s phone, amplified by a speaker that was nearby. The delicious scent of grilled pork filled your nose, your mouth beginning to salivate. 

Placing the pot of kalguksu on the table with the rest of the dishes, making your way towards the grill where Taeyong stood. Small flames licked the grates as he flipped the meats, letting them cook on the other side. Gloves covered his hands, a hat pulled over his head to keep his hair back as he cooked. He held the long tongs in his hand, scissors placed aside so he could cut the meat when it was done. 

Your arms wrapped around him from behind, hands running along his chest. Your face buried into his neck, smelling the smoke from the grill that was pressed into the fabric. Taeyong chuckled, a large smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Just leave me be for a second,” you whispered to him, hugging him tighter. “I’ve wanted to hug you for so long, Yong. To feel you for so long. Just… let me do this for just a second.”

Taeyong blushed, biting his lip. The tongs were placed aside while the meat cooked, the man rotating in your hold to wrap his arms around you, hands left hovering in the hair so he wouldn’t have to change his gloves after. His face nestled into your hair, leaving tender kisses in the strands. A content sigh left you both, relishing in the peaceful moment under the soon-to-be night sky, the moon rising overhead to place a shimmering glow upon you. 

Remaining by his side, you watched him pull the meat from the fire, cutting the strips into bite sides chucks. Carefully he lifted a piece of the cooked meat towards you, letting a quick, “say ah!” as he extended the food your direction. It was hot on your tongue when you opened your mouth, the meat placed between your cheeks. Despite the heat, you let out a squeal, the pork tender, melting onto your taste buds. You happily chewed the pork you were given, savoring the tangy selection. 

Taeyong grinned, returning to the rest of the pork. “Good?”

“Oh, no. It’s not good,” you breathed out, swaying back and forth happily. “It’s amazing.”

“Is it?” he chuckled, watching you closely. 

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “God, where have you been all my life? Why have I been missing out on this until now?”

“Well, I guess,” he mused, leaning closer towards you, a knowing smirk on his face. “I just gave you more incentive to stay here.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, pushing yourself closer to him. “You’re making a rather compelling argument.”

“I can give you more reason, if you’d like.”

“Oh?” you cooed, your lips nearly on his. “Please, then. Give me more reason to stay here.”

“Because I’m here,” he cheekily replied. “And, I want you to be my girl finally.”

“Eh?” was your response, backing away slightly. 

“I want you to be mine. Like, for real. I pushed you away enough, so no more. I want you to be my girlfriend forever and always.”

You blinked at him before placing your lips carefully to his, the kiss short and passionate. He let out a short whine when you pulled away, wanting more. But you smiled, weaving your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Of course, I will be yours, Taeyong.”

He grinned, kissing you once more, both of your sets of eyes closing. The passionate connection was growing more heated, needier, the longer your lips were pressed together. However, it didn’t last as long as you wanted when you heard a familiar boy’s scream.

“Hey! Stop lip locking and watch the food! If you burn the pork belly, I’m suing!” Johnny hollered, causing you both to break part. Taeyong was less than amused at the comments, the tall smirking man left running as tools went flying in his direction, clattering to the ground feet away. The leader huffed in annoyance, relaxing into your grasp when you resumed hugging him from behind, his focus returning to the food he had to finish. 

The dinner was amusing, to say the least. Once everyone was seated and food began to get passed around, the jokes began flying, and laughter was a common sound heard amongst the group. The group of idols told you various stories you had never heard before, telling you about things that you missed in your absence. Guilt raided your body when you heard the different things that had gone on while you were busy trying to ignore the truth, trying to fight the feelings you had that never once diminished. You believed for so long that the distance would keep you from keeping happy, but the real heartache was from the denial that Taeyong was your true bliss.

Now, the euphoria of being committed to this man left you speechless, regretting the time you missed with them. 

While you ate, your hand slide over to Taeyong’s lap, a hand resting on his thigh. No one could see it from where you were sitting, the plastic table covering hitting your laps. Five people sat on each side of the tables, you at the end of your side with Taeyong to your right. The sudden touch of your hand on his thigh made him choke slightly on his meat, glancing in your direction. You just sent him a sweet smile, giving his leg a firm squeeze. 

Slowly, his hand laced with yours, but he didn’t just hold it. He pulled it further up his leg, resting on a certain, distinguishable bulge at the top. You blinked in confusion, seeing the faint blush that spread over his cheeks and an apologetic expression on his face. 

“Sorry,” he whispered low enough for only you to hear. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it right now. I’m just…”

“It’s fine, Yong,” you told him, giving him a soft kiss. His breathing stopped mid kiss when your hand gave him a squeeze, caressing him through his dark jeans. The kiss broke with a low smack of the lips, Taeyong smiling widely. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Good,” he chuckled, moving his hand to your own thigh, ended dangerously high up. You fidgeted slightly, anxious to have his hands on you at all, but you didn’t say anything, cherishing his warm touch. You wanted nothing more than to feel him near you, so you weren’t about to let your nerves get the best of you. You smiled at him, giggling when he picked up another piece of pork belly, wrapped in a piece of kimchi, holding it towards you. “Now, say ah!”

You did as he obliged, letting out a content mewl of satisfaction at the taste. The ethereal taste made you dance in your seat, squeezing a bit more than intended. Taeyong had to let out a choked gasp for you to realize what had happened but covered it quickly with a chuckle.

“Man, you guys are so cute, it’s sickening,” Doyoung huffed across from you, sitting his water. 

You cracked a smile at him, hiding it slightly behind your own cup. “Don’t even deny that you love it.”

Doyoung made a scrunched-up face that was supposed to resemble disgust, but the grin told you otherwise. And before he could spit a savage retort, Jungwoo cut in. “I love it.”

“At least Jungwoo is on our side!” you scowled playfully at Doyoung. Taeyong just chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Calm down, children.”

“Hey! I am your girlfriend good sir! Don’t call me a child!” you huffed, bumping his shoulder. The idol laughed loudly, bumping you back. 

“You’re my baby now,” he cooed, placing a kiss to your cheek that made you red. 

The other guys laughed, fake gagging at the coupley actions they were forced to witness. The rest of dinner went just like that, laughter, jokes and plenty of teasing passed around the table, sharing good food and making memories you would never forget. And your hand never moved from him, a light blush on both yours and Taeyong’s faces from the intimacy that was going on under the table, unbeknownst to the rest of the boys. 

The eight group members agreed to clean up while you spent time with Taeyong, wandering the courtyard you had reserved for the afternoon. Your hands were linked together, fingers intertwined and grasped tightly. His large hand covered yours perfectly, your hands matching like two pieces of the same puzzle. Your head rested on his shoulder as you walked, stopping at a bench away from the others. 

Together you sat, staring up at the dark sky that twinkled with stars and the golden moon that seemed to smile down at you. Taeyong placed tender kisses to your forehead and temple, tracing his luscious, pink lips along your hairline. You could feel his smile, making your heart race. 

“This is the first time,” he uttered lowly, resting his head on yours. “The first time we are seeing the same part of the sky together. The first time we can stare at the moon together. The first time you aren’t seeing something different than I am.”

“You’re right,” you hummed. “But, it doesn’t change anything. Nothing can keep us apart now.”

Taeyong chuckled, pulling you closer to his side. “You’re right. Whether it’s the sun or the moon, the world is ours, baby. And nothing will keep me from you ever again. I let you slip away once because of something stupid. Not again. I have you here, in my arms, and I’m never letting go.”

“Taeyong,” you whispered, waiting for him to respond. When you heard his low hm, you took his hand into you lap, staring at it. Your voices were clear, and your voice was strong, at the words you let out. “I love you.”

“I know,” he mumbled. He glanced at you, his dark brown eyes sparkling, glinting with emotion. “I love you too, Y/N. So much. I have for as long as I can remember. And I’m glad that you were my pen pal all those years ago. Because I was able to meet the most amazing woman on this planet. I feel in love with my best friend. It didn’t matter where she was because she held my heart from the day I got her first letter.” 

Your heart skip a beat at the conviction in his voice, staring deeply at him. Slowly he closed in, his hand moving up to your cheek to draw you into him. His eyes fluttered closed, yours mirroring his. Your lips touched in a careful embrace, tentative at first. His lips dragged against yours, smacking when they pulled apart. Instantly, he was delving back in for another, confidence striking him like a chord. His lips pressed harder this time, tilting his head so sash them harder to yours. The kiss was firm and stronger than before, lips moving quickly against one another. 

Your lips parted when his tongue slid along your sealed entrance, letting him bypass your lips to gain access between your cheeks. Your tongues playfully swirled around one another, Taeyong hesitant at first until your tongue poked out to find the intruder. Multiple hot, open-mouthed kisses were shared between you, your bodies inching closer together. His hands rested on your waist while yours were tangled in his fluffy blonde strands, tugging at them incessantly. Your moans were lost to the multitude of kisses, his groans trapped in his throat. Any that escaped were muffled, swallowed before they could fill the air. 

The faint call of your names made you separate, lips swollen and faces red. Chests heaved with heavy pants, attempting to reclaim precious air that was lost. Your tingling lips rubbed together, savoring the taste of the man that lingered on them, letting your arms fall from him. A disappointed and annoyed grunt left his mouth, his hand tousling his hair before standing up, reaching for your hand. 

“We should head back,” he claimed, obviously disappointed for being interrupted. You giggled at him, taking his hand. Your steps were slow heading back, not wanting to rush. 

“I probably should actually head out,” you told him. 

Taeyong halted, jaw ajar. “What? No. You can’t leave already. You said-”

“To my hotel, Tae,” you teased. His jaw snapped shut, staring at you blankly. 

“Oh,” he let out slowly, exhaling in relief. Suddenly, his face lit up, turning to you. “Why not just stay here?” 

“What?” You asked. “Tae, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Um, he might actually be right,” Mark cut in. His phone was in his hand and he had a sheepish grin on his cheeks. “Your hotel called and said they were full. Guess you can’t go.”

You glared at the young male, knowing exactly what he was pulling. Taeyong seemed oblivious to Mark’s true deeds as he bounced in his spot, looking like a kid in a candy store. “So, you can stay with us?”

“I guess I have no choice considering I have no other place to sleep tonight,” you sneered, glaring at Mark. You seethed at him through gritted teeth. “Thanks, Mark.”

“Just delivering the message,” Mark claimed with a sly wink. 

Taeyong bounced more, placing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I will go check with Johnny to see if he is willing to give up his bed while you are here. He can take the couch or crash in Yuta’s room. I will meet you upstairs, babe!”

Taeyong took on running, leaving you with the young rapper. Once Taeyong was out of sight, your fist made contact with the Canadian boy’s ribs, whom groaned in pain at your hit. “I hate you.”

“Thank me later. I hope Taeyong likes the gift Johnny got him later.”

Mark ran off before you could strike again, your eyes wide. “Mark Lee! Get back here!”

~

You sat on Taeyong’s bed, waiting for him to finish cleaning the dorm to his liking. When you returned inside, the outside spotless from your night, you finished Taeyong’s birthday with a bang, eating the cake you got. The man drooled at the sight when it was placed in front of him, ready to devour the entire thing in one sitting. Thankfully, he agreed to share - though he seemed reluctant at that and divided the cake into ten equal pieces. 

After the cake were presents, things ranging from gag items such as a pack of Febreze to practical items like a new camera and fabric markers for his fashion design hobby. One small box had contents unknown. All you knew was whatever was inside left his cheeks ablaze and the box tucked away into his room as soon as he opened it. He had bolted, stumbling over limbs and discarded gift boxes on his rush to his room. 

Your fingers ran through your hair, grimacing at the oily feeling. After the long travel time and the heat of the day, you felt disgusting. But you didn’t want to do anything without permission. You waited until Taeyong walked back into his room, shutting the door behind him. Before the door shut, you noticed the lights were out, indicating that everyone had gone off to their respective rooms for the night. 

Johnny had happily given up his bed for the days you were there, gathering clothes, pillow and blankets from his bed before carting them off to Yuta’s room down the way. You were thankful for his generosity, partially because you weren’t sure how comfortable it would be to sleep with your boyfriend for the first time in the same bed with someone else in the room, and partially because you were alone with Taeyong. That was nerve wracking enough. 

Taeyong flopped onto his bed, wrapping his arms around your waist. His head settled into your lap, near purring when your fingers automatically combed through his hair, relaxing him. “You’re here,” he whispered happily, hearing you giggle softly. “You’re going to sleep with me tonight, right?”

You blushed, choking on your own saliva. “I-I mean…”

Taeyong corrected himself before you could finish. ‘I-I meant like… in the same bed! You won’t be sleeping in Johnny’s bed, right? You’ll sleep beside me, in the same bed, under my covers, while I snuggle you?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “But can I perhaps shower before bed? I feel gross after the flight and being out all day.”

Taeyong smiled up at you, taking your hand and kissing the center of your palm. The gesture made your lips twitch upwards, biting back a smile yourself. “Of course, babe.”

He led you to the bathroom attached to his room, shared by him and Johnny, and whoever stood on the other side of the opposite door, digging under the sink for a towel. The bathroom was rather large, glass shower, marble countertops, large mirror, sparkling clean toilet, probably due to Taeyong’s OCD. He had a box of cleaning supplies nearby to wipe everything down as needed. The fluffy green towel he pulled out was placed to the counter, pointing towards the shower. 

“If you didn’t bring your own stuff, mine is the left, top shelf.”

“With the bottles neatly arranged, perfectly aligned, from shampoo to soap?” you teased. Taeyong chuckled nodding.

“You know me so well,” he breathed. A hot blush rose to his face, the idol clearing his throat. “If you need anything just holler.”

“I will,” you murmured. Your eyes followed Taeyong as he went to lock the door on the other side so someone wouldn’t accidentally walk in on you. He gave you a lopsided smile before headed towards his room. “Actually, Tae, wait.”

He paused, glancing back at you. You were fidgeting in your spot, nervous energy leaking from you. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“I just…” you started, glancing at the shower. “I’ve never used a shower in Korea. Can you show me?” 

Taeyong chuckled, nodding his head. Leading you towards the shower, he stepped inside, clothes and all. “You just turn it like this and it’ll start right up. Best to warn you it does take a moment to heat up though. If you want to adjust the heat, turn this one here.”

“I see,” you uttered. You pressed against his back, Taeyong’s breath hitching in his throat. Your arms hesitantly wrapped around his waist, hugging him close. “Would you, perhaps, stay with me while I shower?”

Taeyong dry swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Oh?” was all he could muster. You nodded against his back, clutching his shirt tightly. Your face was hot, your stomach felt tight, and you were afraid of his answer. You had dared to ask him something so bold, and you weren’t sure how he would respond so soon into your relationship. Part of you thought you were rushing, but the other part said it was just right. 

You wanted this. 

“I-I was just thinking,” you began. “I’m new here and I’m kind of afraid to be alone. I was thinking someone could stay and… keep me company.”

Taeyong turned in your grasp, cupping your face. His thumbs brushed along your cheeks, smiling once before pulling you into a kiss. It was intense from the start, heating up until your lips were dragging along each other fiercely. He showed no signs of backing away, leaving you alone to shower. He pushed you for another kiss, sliding his tongue between your cheeks, tracing the inner linings.

Your hand flailed behind him, his feet stepping back from your weight pushing against him. Without looking, you found the knob for the shower, twisting it blindly until water was pouring over your forms, clothes and all. You both broke away with a gasp, the icy cold water hitting you. It was heating up, but the shock startled you, causing you to jerk back in surprise. Your eyes met Taeyong’s, and after a second of staring, you both burst out laughing.

Water dripped down your forms, clothes clinging to your limbs. Taeyong pushed his hand through his hair, the locks pushed back against his head. With the water droplets sliding down his face, dripping from his hair, and running along his hands, he looked gorgeous, your gaze unable to tear away from him. Water ran along his sharp jawline, dripping from his chin. His striped shirt was hugging his chest and arms, his dark jeans hugging his thigh and slim legs even tighter. 

Taeyong grinned at you before peeling the wet shirt off his chest, over his head. He tossed the wet cotton into the corner of the shower with a wet, squishing thump, his torso left bare before you. He wasn’t the most muscular man around - Jaehyun had proven that more than once by walking around shirtless in the dorm while you were on a call with Taeyong. But you couldn’t stop admiring the lean build he did have. Muscles along his arms, abs that accentuated his lean physique, a small scar on the lower right side of his abdomen - your hands reached out to trace along his fine form, memorizing every inch of him. 

He watched you silently before dipping his head down for a heated kiss. His lips ravished yours for a minute, placing multiple lip-smacking kisses to your lips. His hands ran along your sides until he found the hem of your shirt, giving it a small tug. His lips broke away from yours with a low smooch, biting his lip.

“It’s only fair,” he teased. Wordlessly, you rose your arms, giving him the answer he desired. The man pulled your shirt away from your body, tossing it with his in the corner of the shower. You shivered at the exposure, biting your lip. His prying eye made you self-conscious, left only in your bra that did nothing to hide your erect nipples from the shower you were in. He held your wrists before you could try to shield yourself, leaning forward to please loving kisses along your shoulder and collarbone. “Beautiful.”

With the shower raining over you, cascading down your topless bodies, Taeyong’s nimble fingers unhooking your bra with ease. With it discarded with the rest of the clothes, his breath hitched, swallowing thickly. His eyes asked for silent permission before proceeding, your nod allowing him to touch you. 

His fingers brushed along the side of your breast before cupping it completely. The pad of his thumb swiped over your nipple, hearing you mewl at the pleasure it caused. He smiled at the angelic noise, wetting his lips with his tongue before delving in. His hand fondled the right breast while his mouth attacked the left, lips wrapped around the pert bud. Your hands wove through his wet strands, moaning louder than before. 

His lips broke from your chest with a pop, gazing up through his lashes at you. “Quiet, babe. Don’t want to wake the guys.”

You nodded, tugging your lip between your teeth to stay silent. The idol leader resumed his assault, red suckling kisses littered across your chest. The man placed kiss after kiss to your taut bud, flicking it with his tongue and swirling it between his cheeks. Swapping after a bit, when one nipple was swollen and overly sensitive, he repeated his attack. 

He pulled from your chest with a pop, moving up to your lips. Your bottom lip was indented from your teeth, soothed from the kiss he placed upon it. Amidst the kiss, he tugged at your belt loops. The kiss broke, Taeyong’s lips brushing yours as he spoke. 

“It’s kind of hard to shower with jeans on,” he joked. You laughed at him, unbuttoning your jeans before reaching out to undo his. His dark brow rose, watching you quietly.

“You’re right, Yong,” you hummed. “So, let’s fix that.”

You tugged his pants down, gulping at the bulge in his black Armani underwear. You helped him peel the black denim from his legs, struggling from how much they stuck to his slender legs. Once they are off his ankles, you pushed them aside. Taeyong did the same to you, though he took longer to remove your pants. His lips laid kisses down your wet legs, letting out a staggered breath before dipping his face between your legs. A kiss was placed to your covered heat, a gasp leaving your lips.

“Tae,” you stammered, gripping his shoulders. He hummed below you, fingers wrapped around the sides of your panties. “Please.”

Your low plea told him to do it. He tugged them down, tossing them away unforgivingly. Now bare to him completely, your nervousness spiked, self-conscious before him. But he continuously uttered compliments under his breath, praising you without worry. Every word he uttered, you could hear his sincerity, elation rushing to your heart. 

His lips met your moist core, your fingers digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped indentures in his skin. Breathing became difficult in the heat of the shower, steam rising around you. His tongue flicked through your folds, kitten licking you a few times before sticking his tongue deep inside you. Despite his earlier warning, you moaned his name, slumping forward at the pleasure you felt. 

His tongue swirled around your core, tracing your walls with the tip. His hands gripped at the backs of your thighs, holding you against him as he attacked your center, slurping up whatever you already released from the arousal that was building since the shower began. His tongue didn’t stay long inside you, exchanged for a single finger.

He was cautious at first, testing the waters of what worked for you, not wanting to do something you didn’t like. He uttered that he didn’t want to pressure you into anything, or make you uncomfortable, and that couldn’t be more admirable to you. The fact that he cared meant everything to you and solidified your conviction - you wanted this more than anything with him. 

The single turned into a double after a few slick thrusts, your moans becoming uncontrollable. He gave you a glinted stare but didn’t slow his thrusts. They sped up instead, the tips curling and nails scratching pleasurably at your inner walls. Your legs felt weak, beginning to shake in his grasp. Your walls were spasming around him, hugging his two digits tightly. The thrusts made a squelching noise as he moved, filling and spreading you with the two slender phalanges. 

When his lips met your clit, you broke. A loud moan of his names, and a hug of his fingers inside you, and you were releasing around him. You slumped forward even more, glad Taeyong was holding you up and you could use his shoulders for support. Otherwise, you could have been face first on the shower floor, the water pooling around your body instead of your feet.

Taeyong’s thrusts eased until you stopped shaking against him, pulling his fingers from you. His lips pressed to your pussy one last time, tenderly kissing it before standing. He placed a soft kiss to your lips, hugging you to his chest.

He grabbed his shampoo, rubbing it into your hair as you relaxed against him. He tilted our head back into the water, combing through your strands to get all the suds out. He repeated the process with the conditioner, sighing when he felt your lips press to his chest while scrubbing the conditioner into your hair. You did the same to him once your body could stand straight, listening to him laugh when you struggled to wash his hair. You had to stand on your toes to reach, falling into him a few times. 

He ran his soap along your body, your giggles sounding when he passed over spots that tickled. The bubbles passed over to his limbs whenever your rubbed against each other, your hand reaching to take the soap from him. Your hands were slow to move over him, rubbing the soap to his body, admiring his perfect physique. 

A groan left your lips when you realized he still had his underwear on, Taeyong chuckling under his breath. His fingers played with the band, hands covered in soapy bubbles, pushing he black fabric away from his body. His shaft was erect, making you blush hotly. You hand with the soap trembled, swallowing when you reach down to touch it. It twitched under the lightest graze, making you jump.

Taeyong chuckled, taking your hand, wrapping it around himself. “Like this,” he taught you, showing you how to stroke him. He pulsated in your grip, a throaty groan leaving his lips the more you stroked him, rubbing suds along his length. 

“Sorry,” you told him when you pulled away, putting his soap back. “It’s just… been a while I guess.”

“That one drunken one-night stand doesn’t help much when you’re in a relationship,” he chuckled, making you sneer. “Hey! I know you told me that in confidence and I never told the guys! But you know I’m in the same boat!”

“Because you’re such a lightweight,” you giggled. 

“Yeah. Never let me drink,” he chuckled.

“But I think I’d love to see that one day.”

“Soon, baby,” he hummed.

Rinsing off the soap and the remainder of the conditioner, Taeyong turned off the water, the last of the water that pooled around your feet disappearing down the drain. He rushed to grab the towel for you, wrapping it around your body for you before grabbing his own from under the sink. 

He brushed through your hair for you before yelling you to head back to his room while he cleaned up. You laughed at his OCD, kissing his softly on the lips and doing as he requested. Taeyong went to work, diligently hanging the wet clothes to dry, while you sat on his bed, not bothering to seek out your pajamas. You sat in just the towel, hugging it to your chest, contemplating what to do next. 

You were jetlagged from the flight, but you were tired enough to fall asleep immediately. You were still wide awake, and the only thing that could be causing that was the ache between your legs. Even after the shower activities, you were anxious and aroused, wanting to do more than you already had. Your heart was pounding in your chest, pumping blood to your lower region. Your body was heated, craving his delicate but sensual touch. You weren't ready to call it a night - not when Taeyong was still awake, dressed in a single blue towel. 

Your head shot up when you heard the bathroom door shut, giving you privacy. Taeyong leaned against it, eyeing you like you were some sort of prey first. His hands were behind his back, one knee bent as he leaned backwards against the sealed doorway. 

You gestured him forward with the curl of a finger, the man gladly striding over to you. His long legs carried him forward quickly, making short work on his advance, his footfalls brisk and nimble. His lips met yours before he even hit the bed, crawling over you instantly. Your back fell to the bed, returning the kiss he ignited. His body rolled against yours, hips grinding into you. The towel around his waist creating a wall between skin. Your own towel rode up from his movement, loosening the tie on the front.

Your tongues battled for a minute, open mouth kisses creating smacks that bounced off the walls, resonating in the confines of the bedroom. The man pulled away, dragging his lips down slowly, hauntingly sucking at your bottom lip before separating completely. 

"What do you want?" He asked, voice deep, a velvety husk surprising you. His eyes cracked open to look down at you, a dark glint present in his orbs. "I don't want to do anything if you don't want it."

"I want you," you confidently told him, not bothering to hesitate. 

"You're sure?" He asked. 

"One hundred percent," you confided. "I have never been more sure than I am right now that I want you, Taeyong. I love you and I want nothing more than to show that to you."

"I mean, we don't have to do this to show that you love me, " he laughed. You scowled, slapping his chest. "But, the thought of making love to my beautiful girlfriend is something I surely want to make a reality. Because then, she knows I love her too. And I have no intention of loving anyone else."

Your hands laced with his, his lips pressing to yours. 

"I'm giving you all of me, Taeyong. My heart - please take care of it."

"And I'm giving you all of me, Y/N. Though, you had me from the start, baby. So, it’s time to claim what is rightfully yours."

Your lips connected in a passionate kiss, your bodies rolling against his sheets. Your hips rolled together, grinding against each other without the physical contact of skin on skin. His cock was hardening under the towel - you could tell. Through the fluffy towel, you could feel it poking up at you. The towel that covered your body was pushed up more, riding up to your lower stomach, exposing your legs are aching core. 

Taeyong ended up on top of you, gripping the tie of your towel. It had already begun loosening, so it didn’t take him long to rid you of your only cover. Your body wiggled against the bed so he could pull the towel away, dropping it to the floor to collect later. Gradually, his lips trailed down your body, repeating the things he did in the shower. His fingers toyed with your center, prodding at your core, while his mouth focused on your chest, placing suckling, lip-smacking kisses to your nipples.

The pleasure you felt made your eyes close, gasping for air. Mewls of happiness left your lips. You back arched off the bed, pushing further into him, earning a grunt that vibrated your chest. Your legs attempted to close, but his hand kept that from happening, fingers thrusting in teasingly. Your hands found the blonde tresses atop his head, weaving your fingers through them. Raking your fingers along his scalp, the man purred, a low pop sounding when he pulled away. The idol moaned at your touch, nuzzling into your chest, directly between your breasts, letting you pet his hair, focusing on his fingers between your legs.

“I love the way this feels,” he murmured. “I love the way you run your hands through my hair.”

“You do?” you uttered lowly, struggling to make words.

“Yeah. Now I know why you always said you liked the feeling.” His lips curled against your chest plate, sucking a loving kiss to it. His fingers sped up, drawing out a loud moan. “What about this? Do you like the feeling of my fingers inside you?”

You choked on your words, nodding hastily. Your lack of words made Taeyong chuckle, his fingers stilling and disappearing from inside you. The loss made you whimper at him, Taeyong chuckling. His body rolled to yours, his face directly before yours.

“You’re mean,” you whined. Taeyong grinned, kissing you softly. “Also, who knew you were so dirty. I’ve never heard you dirty talk before.”

Taeyong’s face visibly brightened, his eyes widening. “I-I…” he stammered, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Did you like it?”

“I did, actually,” you admitted, heating up. “I like seeing this confident side of you. You’re so sweet and soft and it makes me love you but… you’re a badass on stage. Confident, sexy, dominating. That’s what I’m seeing now, and I love it.”

“Well,” he mused, licking his lips. The corners curled up with a smirk. “How about I show you a good time now? This is our stage, baby. Let’s put on a good show.”

“For no one?” you teased. 

The man pouted, crawling off you. “Way to ruin my smooth moment, babe. I was trying to be sexy and reference this on-stage persona you say I have.”

You giggled, crossing your arms over your chest, watching hi rummaging through his neatly organized closet, pushing his shirts, arranged by color, aside to find what he wanted. “You can’t deny that you act different on stage, Tae! You are the sweetest person, but your confidence during a performance is beyond me.”

“I don’t act different though!”

“You’re such a liar,” you laughed. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Finding something,” he told you, cheering when he found the box. You recognized the blue gift box - it was the gift Johnny gave him. He sat beside you, opening the box. “I thought it was a joke. Didn’t think I’d use it.”

You leaned on your elbow, keep a hand over your chest, hugging your breasts together. Inside the box was a handful of boxes of condoms, your face flushing. Taeyong pulled out a small note, showing you the message scribbled to the paper. 

Better safe than sorry this year. Have fun, TY, but not too much fun. - Youngho

You laughed, dropping the note back into the box. “That Johnny, man,” you sneered, Taeyong nodding in agreement. 

Placing the box on the ground, he held one box in his hand, taking a deep breath before pulling it open to retrieve the square packet. His flipped the sealed pack between his fingers, staring at it then you. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation.

“Good,” he grinned. 

Your breath stilled when he tore the packet open with his teeth, grimacing slightly afterwards. You giggled at his instant regret but kept quiet. Taeyong stood from the bed, dropping his towel with yours, rolling the condom to his length. He pushed you onto your back, hearing you squeal in excitement, crawling between your legs. 

“Well, hello,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hello, beautiful,” he grinned, kissing your lips multiple times, each kiss making a sloppy smack. His lips trailed down your jaw, your head tilting away as he neared your neck. “If at any point, you want to stop, you just need to say so.”

“I will,” you whispered. 

Taeyong pushed up on all fours, using one hand to align himself at your core. Pushing forward, a sharp breath filled your lungs. Your walls were stretched, each inch of him sliding into you until he was fully seated. Stilling, he let out a sigh, burying his face in your shoulder, shaky breaths hitting your skin. He was pulsating within you, tightening the knot in your gut. You eased into his size, Taeyong growing accustomed to the warmth and moisture that seeped around him. He was sensitive, even though the rubber.

Carefully, he began pulling out, pushing back in swiftly before the head of his cock could escape. You moaned at the feeling, your body jerking, a jolt running up your spine. Steadily, his thrusts picked up, bucking his hips into yours. Skin slapping together filled the stale air of the room, hips rolling into each other. 

Taeyong hovered over you, resting on his hands, staring down at you with dark eyes. His lip was tugged between his teeth, watching you contort in ecstasy, listening to you mewl at the feeling. The tip of his cock pushed deep into you, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. Each thrust grew harder, pushing further into you, feverishly slamming into you. Sweat covered his forehead, making his face glisten. 

“Do you like this?” he asked, panting heavily. Your nodded, wrapping your arms around him, dragging your nails down his back. He bucked deep into you, eliciting a loud moan from you. The noise made the idol grin, picking up his pace. His grin grew, reveling in the way your pussy held him tight, squeezing him as he pushed relentlessly into you. His length slide along your tight center, making your stomach tighten even more. The feeling of your nails clawing his back, leaving long, red scratches to his skin, was euphoric, his skin tingling, craving more from you.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sassed, kissing along your face. His teeth nipped at your ear, never missing a beat with his thrusts. “I love hearing you moan, baby. I love knowing my girl is happy and enjoying how I make her feel.”

“Taeyong,” you whimpered, clinging to him.

“You like this, baby?” he asked again, feeling you nod. “Good. I’m never going to stop loving you. I’m never going to stop making you feel good. I’m going to make you feel like this for the rest of your life.”

“Oh god,” was all you could say. 

Taeyong rolled you over, surprising you, your body situated over his. Your hands rested on his firm chest, his shaft still nestled deep inside you. His hands rested on your hips, circling himself under you. The smirk on his face made you hot, stomach clenching and core clenching. 

“Come on, baby,” he hummed. “Show me your moves.”

“Tae.”

“Please?” he asked, biting his lip. “Give a guy a birthday treat and ride him.”

You choked slightly, shaking your head. “You and your sexy, on stage mode.”

“Are you arguing?” he mused.

Leaning forward, your chest pressed to his, you placed a tender kiss to his lips, smiling against them. Taeyong inhaled sharply at the kiss, following after you when you pulled away. “Of course not. I love it,” you told him. “I could get used to this.”

“Same,” he hummed. 

Pushing up on his chest again, you rolled your hips into his, hearing his moans rumble low at first. They grew louder the faster your rolled against him, feeling him sliding in and out of your core. The new angle with you on top of him felt new, your own mewls mixing with his groans. You were tighter around him, and he was able to reach deeper into you. His tip pushed into new spots, hitting something different every time he slid into you. 

Taeyong loved watching you bounce on him, exhilarated when he felt you fall forward, elbows on either side of him. You continued to push down onto him, splitting your focus between your hips and your lips. Kisses were placed along his sharp jawline, the idol leader doing as you did before - tilting his head to the side to you could pepper his slim neck with wet kisses. 

Taeyong pushed his hips up, thrusting up into you. Your moans were pressed into his skin, feeling yourself nearing your high. Taeyong hugged you close, panting into your ear. He was desperately chasing his high, thrusts sloppy and erratic. The slapping of skin, the smack of hips colliding, amplified, ringing in your ears. But his silvery voice was louder, whispering sweet nothings into your ear that made your body hot.

“Cum for me,” he rasped, voice choppy yet smooth. “Cum with me.”

Your body went weak, collapsing completely against him. Your walls hugged him closely, the knot burning away in a fire within. Your juices spilled out around his rubber covered shaft, warming him. His heart beat unevenly, His lips pressing to the side of your head before the tight warmth and moisture became overwhelming. Strings of white shot from his tip, filling the gap at the end of the condom. His seed spilled out in bursts, the sticky fluid seeping out of the slit. Your walls milked every drop out, dribbles escaping as he came down from his high. 

You shared a loving kiss, lips sensually pressed together. Smiles made their ways to both of your faces, sharing open-mouth kisses that smacked together loudly, lips dragging along each other. Your noses bumped, and your foreheads stuck together. Your bodies were sticky with sweat, regrettably peeling from each other so Taeyong could pull out before growing soft. 

Waddling to the bathroom, the idol discarded the rubber in a tissue, grabbing a wet towel to wipe himself and you. Cleaning himself of the sweat and arousal that coated his shaft, mostly on the tip, he returned to help you clean up, kissing along your body to ease your aching limbs. While you finished up, he took a moment to pick up the discarded towels, straightening up his room. 

You giggled, placing the towel aside, watching him freshen the room with a bottle of Febreze, original scented, spritz of the air fresher covering the heavy stench of sex that lingered. Taeyong placed the Febreze aside, grabbing fresh underwear and athletic shorts to sleep in. Upon your direction, he retrieved underwear for you, along with your sleep shorts and a baggy band shirt. He helped you get dressed, the two of you sharing laughs when your arms got caught and he slipped off the bed after you kicked him for tickling your feet.

The idol crawled into the bed with you, pulling the covers over your bodies. Your head laid on his chest, his strong arm curling around you. His nose burrowed in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Did you ever think that when you first sent me that letter, we’d be here now?”

“Honestly?” you hummed, tracing a finger along his bare chest. “I knew I’d come to Korea eventually. I always wanted to visit. But I didn’t think I’d be in the bed of my best friend, my boyfriend, the love of my life. I didn’t think I’d fall for this amazing guy far away from me. I thought that was impossible.”

“But, nothing is impossible,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I was stupid to even propose what I did. I didn’t want to hold you back because I was here, you were there. And it hurt me so much to try to let you go.”

“I was just as stupid, Yongie. I let it happen. But no more,” you laughed. “We won’t let that get in the way again.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, hugging you tighter. “You’re here now and I’m not letting you go ever again.”

“You better not,” you laughed, trying to escape his grasp. “Now stop smothering me!”

“Never!” he screamed. Laughter broke out when you heard the other boys in the dorm screaming at you to quiet down, curling into each other again. The small window of his dorm room had a perfect view of the moon setting, the sun ready to rise in a few hours. 

You fell asleep in his arms that night, under the same sky, the glow of the moon smiling down at you. You’d finally see both sides of the sky together, the sun and the moon no longer apart in your eyes. You had your pen pal, your friend, your love, and nothing could keep you away from that.

Together, you were one.   

NCTzens Tag: @brien-odylan, @poppyshawn, @belleknows

[welcome-to-the-petting-zoo]

I had a crazy dream last night that I got to meet all of you ;U; Everyone was nice. Some of us cooked dinner together. Also Cat arranged for me to go on a blind date with... someone, but I can't remember who? I just know it was an animal name lol! I don't know why I had a detailed dream about all of you when we've never met but it was a pleasant dream! I hope you guys are all having a good day ❤️

OMG ANON THIS IS SO SWEET!!!!?????? I’m so glad we behaved in your dream, I would’ve hated if we’d been mean to an anon :O If you ever swing by the Northern European hemisphere, we should absolutely cook dinner together ^-^ Bat would probably be ecstatic to share her signature slowcook lasagna with you! 

I’m so excited that you dreamt about us, I love being featured in people’s dreams, it’s such a sweet thought, that someone’s brain internalized me and my family and made a lil story out of it. How cool is that?! 

I can’t believe I set you up on a date....Who would I have tried to hook you up with I wonder... x3 

I am currently visiting my dad, which is always kind of stressful, but I’ll survive! It’s not for too long :) And if all goes according to plan, I’ll be bringing Kat home with me on Wednesday :P And then Bat is going to come as well :D

TP and Moose did ALL THE THINGS today. Pupster training school, therapy, IKEA trip, cutting the hedge.... I am so proud of them!

How are you doing, anon? :3(I snatched this ask right out from under TP’s nose hahahah)Best,

Cat