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pasteljeon · 5 years ago

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Blood Bound (m)

Summary: Tragedy brought you home. Love made you stay. Despite all odds, Namjoon has always been yours.

Werewolf!AU

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: werewolf au, fluff, mild angst, heat sex, breeding kink, namjoon has a big cock ana oop, size kink, mating, brief mention of death

Length: 7.1k

Notes: after almost a year in the making, it’s finally here!! i worked really hard on it so sdjskd please let me know what you think !! <3

There’s a wolf staring at you.

It’s misty. Wisps of fog curl around your wrist, skin pricking as the tendrils dissolve, droplets sliding from your fingertips to soak into the underlay of moss coating the ground.

There is no path here, only one worn through years of treading and the same footsteps sinking into rich soil. Only its eyes are visible, a deep amber hue peering from the thick smog, its body veiled by the equivalent shade.

Its gaze is unyielding, intense yet soft. Unmoving.

“Momma! Mommy, he’s hurting!”

The bundle of fur cradled in your small arms lay in silence, chest barely rising and falling unsteadily as rivets of crimson liquid stained his smoky coat alarmingly fast.

You waddled your way clumsily to the house, your mother stumbling out to the backyard in a panic at your yell with a first aid kit.

“Bring him here,” she beckoned. You placed him down gently, trying your best to keep from jostling him too much, lest the wounds were irritated. Your mother set to work immediately, clearing a work station on the patio tables.

You sniffled, watching as she cleans his injuries. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s hard to say, sweetheart. His cuts aren’t too deep, but there is still a chance for infection. We must act quickly.”

You ran to find your father, who’d been napping on the couch. It was a Sunday, the clinic closed and void of any patients.

“Dad! Daddy, come help! There’s a doggy and he’s really hurt! Mommy says she needs the – the t-tweasers?” You fumbled with the word, tentatively testing it out. He groaned, rolling from the sofa as he rubbed his neck. “A dog?” He yawned as he dug around the medical cabinet. He ruffled your hair as he passed, smiling fondly at the anxious look on your face.

“Your mom and I are going to help him, so don’t worry that little head of yours too much, okay?” You nodded, hot on his heels as he stepped out.

You clutched your skirt nervously, restless as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The pictures failed to cheer you up as they usually did, and you closed it to take another look at the creature sleeping on the counter. Your father had carefully set him into a basket padded with cushioning and pulled a thin blanket of linen over his body. It was summer, warm enough so he wouldn’t need much more to keep comfortable.

It had been hours since they cleaned and dressed his wounds. A particularly long gash ran down his tummy, and your lips had quivered at the sight. The long rays of evening sun casted shadows, your stubborn insistence to take vigil over the puppy lasting until your mother came out again with some lemonade and sandwiches.

“Come inside, sweetie,” she said sympathetically. “He’s not going to get better just by you staring at him. The worst has passed. He’ll need a few weeks to heal fully.”

“Can he sleep with me?” You asked. She chuckled. It was against their policy to allow patients in their own rooms, but she could see how troubled you were. “Sure, baby.”

It took months before the puppy was strong enough to walk. Even then, he limped awkwardly, the abrasion on his calf closing slowly. Half a year passed swiftly, and he grew strong enough to run and jump. Your attachment to him was growing by the day. He seemed just as enamoured by you, never straying too far from your side, pulling at your leg to play with him or snoozing on your lap. He liked licking your cheek, and barked softly whenever he saw a mouse scurrying in the overgrowth.

“Ghost!” His ears perked, tail wagging as he trotted to you. You laughed as he leapt into your arms, sending the two of you sprawling onto the grass.

Just as a year slipped by, so did he.

“Ghost? Ghost!” Your sobs bubbled up, tears clouding your vision as you searched for him, knees scraped and dirty. Your mother put a hand over your shoulder, coaxing you up.

You turned around, giving the yard one last sweep as she led you back in. You wept.

He was gone.

You blink, and the memory fades. Your return your attention to the pair of golden eyes, but they’ve already disappeared.

The cottage is cold. A delicate layer of dust has already collected over the furniture. Picture frames litter the mantle, a family portrait over the centre top. Setting your luggage aside, you shrug off your coat and rummage for cleaning materials underneath the sink. Tossing wood into the fireplace, you start with the timber figurines lining the living room. Your father’s handiwork, for your mother. For every anniversary.

It’s dark when you finish. You think you’ve cried at least thrice as you pack away your mother’s jewellery.

Scrubbing the remains of grime from your body, you settle into your childhood room for the first time in fifteen years. Staring out the window, it’s hard to find sleep. There’s much grief swirling within you, and little means of coping. But you like it here, and you’ve missed it. Your friends had offered to accompany you, to which you declined. This was something you needed to do alone.

Saying goodbye has always been the hardest part, after all.

You dream of him. Ghost, darting through the forest. He’s bigger, now twice your size. You’re older, too. 13, maybe.

He’s as playful as you remember, stopping to sniff every undergrowth and occasionally scratch at a tree. You follow him, tugged by something inexplicable. He leads you to a meadow, a quiet space privy to nothing but your breathing and the gentle whispers of wind. The tiny glen is moonlight dappled, with fireflies flickering like stars.

He pads to the centre of the field, waiting for you patiently, tail flicking slowly. He blinks up at you, head cocked, and then lays down, resting his head on his forearms. Come here, he seems to say. So you do.

Tentatively approaching him, he only watches you with sleepy eyes as you gingerly recline on top of his back. He promptly curls around you, tail coming around to rest protectively over your stomach.

Combing through his fur, you smile as he nudges your hand. His tail thumps happily the moment your nails scratch behind his ears, nearly knocking you breathless. He whines softly as an apology, nosing your palm as he peers up at you sorrowfully.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. A content rumble erupts from his muzzle and he ducks his head under your arm so both are now wrapped firmly around his neck.

You don’t say anything after, cheek pressed against his thick pelt, skin warm as you feel his chest rise and fall rhythmically. The two of you watch the stars twinkle in companionable silence for the remainder of the night.

The fire burns strongly as you wake, though the last time you touched it was hours ago. You feel disoriented, nostalgia aching in your heart. Yet, you’re also oddly comforted by the memory of something sweet.

Grabbing your drawstring bag, you pour some silver coins into it, enough for a quick trip to the market for groceries and some material for the dress you’ve been working on the past week.

A hoarse whimper startles you as you step out of the lodge, and you fall to your knees instantly at the sight of the bloodstained bundle of fur strewn next to your entrance, crawling to it quickly. Upon closer inspection, you realize with a sharp exhale that it’s a wolf—male, the very one that you’d glimpsed at your arrival. He’s massive, out shadowing you easily and in obvious pain by the way it’s panting, barely able to lift its head.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “It’s going to be okay. Let me help you.” He seems eager to trust you, the way he closes his eyes and slumps, like he’s tired of having to guard its six. Hauling a pail of cool water and the med kit, it’s history remade once more as you wash his wounds and stitch them up. He watches you work, quiet even as you disinfect the deep claw marks.

“Got into a fight, didn’t you?” You say absently as you begin rolling the bandages on his torso. He huffs, warm air ruffling your tied locks as he blinks those gold-rimmed orbs forlornly at you.

“I wonder if Ghost is as big as you.” Running a hand lightly over his unmarred neck, he allows you to stroke him gently. Your palm practically sinks into his fur, thick and soft; his silvery pelt a shockingly gossamer sheen. With difficulty, he shifts, nearly toppling you over in the process, but you steady yourself on your knees as he reveals his stomach.

“No,” you breathe. Your blood runs cold, paling as you reach with shaky fingers to touch the thin scar stretching across the soft line of his tummy. “Ghost?” You say, stunned. He whines faintly, ears flattening as if expecting resentment. “You’re a wolf.”

He lowers his head, expression rather doleful as he puffs out another breath. “You’ve grown so much,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He rolls over, concealing the old wound once more, and paws at the ground at your knees.

“Don’t move so much,” you warn immediately, swiping at your cheeks. You touch his jaw delicately. “I’m not mad, I promise. Just … surprised. In a good way.”

“Can you walk?” Normally you would feel a bit awkward speaking to an entirely different species incapable of similar speech, but the intelligence and wisdom glowing in those tender tawny irises suggest otherwise. He feels familiar, and warm.

He heaves himself up, limping slowly as he shoulders his way through the narrow doorway and staggers onto the centerpiece rug. “Sleep baby,” you murmur, dragging over a thin sheet over him. He watches you with half-lidded eyes, tail swishing leisurely as you move around. “I have to go to the market,” you say as you pour water into a hefty bowl you hauled from the lower cabinets.

Ghost wrinkles his nose at the basin, looking fairly offended as he scowls at the object. “You lost a lot of blood. I know it’s not ideal, but bear with me here,” you say, amused.

He stares at you stubbornly, the thumping against the muffed boards increasing in volume. It takes one glance at those pleading honey-coloured orbs of his for you to cave.

“It’s okay,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t really want to go anyway.” If wolves could grin, you imagine that’s what it would look like. Ghost’s lips pull back, sharp canines glinting in the firelight as his tongue rolls out excitedly. “You really are just like a dog,” you giggle. “But bigger.”

He barks, just once, in defiance. You laugh again, lugging a spare coverlet next to him for a makeshift bed. You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose gently. “Rest up, baby.”

His every exhale ruffles your locks, and his tail stills as you close your eyes.

The first rays of light peek from the horizon just as you rouse at dawn, having slept unexpectedly peacefully. Your nightmares seem to have ceased momentarily, and your mind is clearer than it has been for a long time now. You muse it likely has something to do with Ghost’s presence being a wordless comfort.

Ghost heals much quicker than you’d thought possible. When you peel away the gauze, fully prepared to clean and rebind his wounds, med kit sprawled at your side, you find the cut is no more than a fresh layer of skin.

“How …?” You stroke the tender patch cautiously, testing the depth of damage, but Ghost nuzzles your arm, seemingly unbothered. Examining the area, you realize his fur has also grown back to full. It’s disorienting, like the injury never occurred in the first place.

“Are you well enough to join me?” You ask as you rise to your feet and pull on a clean shirt. The wolf follows, shaking himself out before padding toward the door and taking a seat at the entrance, golden eyes patient as he waits silently.

With a giggle, you scratch under his chin in appreciation, his tail nearly dislodging the flooring beneath him in its intensity. He leans against you heavily when you reach the spot behind his ear, tongue loose as he pants.

“Found your weak spot, huh,” you tease. Ghost lets out a faint whine but remains lifeless against you save for the furious wagging of his tail. “So cute.”

He whimpers when you release him reluctantly. “I’ve gotta change and eat something quickly, and then we can go, okay?”

He huffs and straightens again, struggling to cast the drowsiness from his pelt, managing to look much more alert when he sits up once more.

When the sun is at its peak and you’ve showered, feeling a little more refreshed, and finished the small snack of grapes and apples you’d brought along for your journey, you sling your bag over your shoulder and the two of you set out to the market.

This village is home.

And you’re reminded of it with every step you take into the crowded streets, the cheerful calls of merchandise and a wide assortment of edible goods from foreign lands set up in colourful arrays of stalls, the kind smiles flashed in every direction. You breathe in the familiar scents of traded spice and homemade concoctions alike.

Their gazes are strangely intimate, and you know it is because of the label you wear with the shape of your lips and structure of your cheekbones. You’d left so young, but your family had stayed. For them, this village was everything.

And they remember.

It’s not as painful as you thought it would be. The recognition and quiet sympathy don’t suffocate you like you anticipated. Instead, you feel warm. Ghost is pressed tightly by your side, and the sight of a Grey wolf should both alarm and frighten, but this is no ordinary town. Hidden in the mountains and protected by fog and legend, magic is whispered through generations of bloodlines.

“Hello, dear,” a merchant says. “Interested in some silk threads?” She’s old, deep crinkles at the edge of her eyes as she beams up at you. Still so lively, despite her age and deteriorating body. You like her.

“Hello,” you say shyly. “Would you have any spider silk on hand, by any chance?”

The trader brightens. “Of course! One moment.” Disappearing behind artistically beaded curtains, you wait patiently at the side, one hand absently scratching Ghost behind his ears as you peruse the charms and accessories on display.

“Princess. It’s so very good to see you again.” Startled, your fingers still, head raising slowly. Your companion seems to sense your uneasiness and nuzzles your palm as if to reassure you the newcomer is of no immediate threat.

“I’m sorry,” you say, puzzled. “Do I know you?”

He grins. “You don’t remember? I’m hurt. I thought we’d be friends forever. Granted, I was 6 at the time, but we had so much fun.”

Ebony-dark hair, plush lips, eyes that slit into crescent moons when he smiled. A silver chain rests at the dip of the dangerously low v of his cotton tee. Wrists adorned with more silver, as well as several rings.

“J-Jimin?” You blink, stunned. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” He pulls you into him the instant you’re on your feet.

“I know. You look as beautiful as ever,” he says fondly when you pull back. “We’ve missed you. Why didn’t you ever write?”

You avoid the thinly veiled curiosity in his look, hands sliding down his arms to grip his elbows. Ghost presses himself closer, pushing his head onto your upper thigh as he lets out a quiet huff. “You’re so handsome now, Chimmy. You’ve grown up so well. I see you’ve been running with the pack. Beta, right? Mother told me.”

Jimin takes your hands gently. “Noona, it’s just me.”

You stare at his chest, tracing the dark ink that flaring across his ivory skin absently.

“Princess, please.” He tips your chin up, amber orbs soft and unguarded as he pleads. They can’t. They can’t.

“I can’t.” You close your eyes. “Please, Jimin. Don’t ask.”

“It’s safe here. You know that, right? We would never let anything happen to you,” he says tightly.

“I know,” you draw away, resting your hand on Ghost’s massive head lightly. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jiminie. No one wants to talk about it because they trust you, but the treaty needs to be renegotiated before the blood moon rises.”

“Then come back,” Jimin insists, stepping closer. Your companion rumbles, though remains immobile.

You take a breath. “It’s not that easy.”

“He’s your mate.”

“Not by choice. He doesn’t really want me. I’m a means to an end, Jimin,” you exhale tiredly. “I always have been. It’s why I left. At least for a little while, I could pretend my life could be something more than just destiny.”

“___, please. You know what happens if the full moon comes and goes and you don’t bond with him. The treaty will end. The bloodline … it’s what keeps this place alive.” He’s imploring you, sympathetic but resolute.

“I don’t want this,” you say in a small voice. “He deserves to be happy, too.”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t make him?” It makes you pause for a moment, surprise flickering, and Jimin smiles wryly.

“Give this a chance, noona,” he says. “You are more suited for each other than you think. Fate is not a fool. You were chosen for a reason.”

From his pocket, he opens your palm, dropping the item and closing your fingers over it firmly. “Give him a chance. He might just be everything you never knew you needed.”

“Sorry for the delay, dear!” You jerk at the sound, slipping the object in your bag before turning on your heel. The merchant makes her way over, waving a roll of thin silk in her hand.

“It was in the back shelves. My assistant being mischievous again,” she explains, chuckling. You manage a polite smile. If she catches your sudden change of mood, she doesn’t comment, simply going about wrapping your goods cheerfully.

When you glance back, Jimin’s gone.

Ghost whines. You nod. “Thank you. How much?”

It’s quiet.

A cool breeze ruffles your locks, the lawn freshly mowed. Morning dew sparkles from the afternoon glow, the sound of grass and the odd leaf crumpling beneath your shoes.

Ghost is silent as he pads next to you, steps light despite the sheer mass of his body. He’s keeping close to you, the extraordinary heat emanating from him a wordless comfort against the chill settling deep in your bones.

You stop.

You exhale shakily, bending to gently set the bouquet at the foot of the grave.

Ghost sweeps the area behind you with his tail, brushing away debris and droplets. You crack a tiny smile at the very humanlike gesture, rubbing his ears in gratitude before taking a seat.

He wraps himself around you, circling twice before settling, resting his chin on his forepaws.

You lean into him, and Ghost whimpers lowly, nudging you.

With a watery sigh, you bury your face in his fur, sobs muffled by the density and his tail curls around your stomach, a reassuring weight.

You cry until you’re empty and all that’s left is you and him.

The skies are pink when you leave.

The sun peeks from over the horizon, dipping low. Your gait is slow, the mental exhaustion pulling on your physical form heavily.

Ghost trots beside you, echoing your steps, but pushes before you to stop at the foot of the entrance.

His head cocks to the side, golden eyes impossibly wise yet tender.

You scratch under his chin lightly, cracking a smile. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The wolf licks a long stripe up your cheek, nosing your jaw. You kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you.”

Ghost weaves himself effortlessly back into your life.

He stays with you, guards you. Sleeps at the foot of your bed, keeping you grounded on nights sleep escaped you.

He’s there when the nightmares threaten to consume you, gently pawing at you, barking quietly. Your anguish was powerful, but Ghost never baulked.

Eventually the dreams faded. Your grief, like a storm, passed. The sorrow lessened, and breathing became easier.

Princess, still whispered but less so. With the White Wolf guarding your back, they wonder why you’re trying to run. No one prods, but you know they wonder.

The days continue to slip by peacefully. Despite this, you know time is ticking. The deadline is drawing near and you’re terrified.

You know they’re going to try to find you.

He’s going to try to find you.

And you have no idea what to do.

Your next trip to the market, the sweet farmer you’ve been building a steady friendship with is absent.

“He’s out sick,” her replacement explains. She’s youthful, likely around your age. She’s beautiful, with long cerulean hair and cold green eyes, an uncommon set of characteristics found in your village. She’s not from here.

Ghost is tense beside you, ears flattened. She leers at him subtly. Your skin prickles at her smile.

Your lips quirk and you buy one bushel of strawberries from her.

“Meat?” You ask instead, glancing down at him. Ghost blinks.

Idly, you wonder if her presence here means any threat.

It’s not your place for concern, you remind yourself. Because it isn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

The season is turning when he comes.

You wake to a warm, hard body pressed against you.

He’s gorgeous, with silky silver hair and a chiselled jaw line. Asleep, the broad expanse of his bare chest rises and falls rhythmically, an arm resting over your stomach.

In one swift maneuver, you flip him over, pressing the blade against his neck. “Where. Is. Ghost.”

He doesn’t flinch, eyes fluttering open to reveal beautiful molten gold irises. “Namjoon,” he says. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” His voice is deep, rumbly. Like velvet.

He shifts, hands up placidly when you push the blade harder in warning. You let him pull the sheets down to reveal his naked abdomen, where a long, healed laceration sits.

You falter, knife slipping from your grasp. He catches it easily, setting it to the side. His piercing gaze never drifts.

You get off him, move to your wardrobe. Throw him some old clothes. Your father’s, likely to be a bit loose on him. You hear him fumbling with them, mattress creaking as he stands.

You remain silent as you pull a shawl over yourself.

“You’re angry.”

He’s behind you, that supernatural heat radiating off him warming you despite your inner turmoil. Worry seeps into his tone.

He reaches for your hand, but you step away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” you say. Hiding your trembling fingers buried in your elbows.

“Please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know how else to—to approach you. To see beyond the labels.” Desperation. Frustration. “Please, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say automatically. Your feet lead you to the kitchen. To start your morning routine. Pulling out ingredients, striking a match to start the stove.

“Princ—___. Please. I—I was wrong, I know. I just—I wanted to be here for you. This was the only way you would ever let me in.” He follows you. Like a puppy, like he’s always done. All his life.

“When I was gone—did you ever—did you ever try with anyone else?” You ask bluntly, turning around to meet his gauge his reaction.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Yes—yes, I tried. That’s what you wanted all along, right? But it doesn’t work. All I could think about was you. Even—even with my ruts. Nothing worked, nothing helped. I suffered, ___. It was torture being without you, all these years.”

“Not for me,” you say matter-of-factly before returning to your task. You concentrate on chopping onions to avoid the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. You’re a fucking sadist, you tell yourself grimly. All you’ve ever done is hurt him. Even though he deserves the world.

“And … and you? Did you … did you—try?” He’s hesitant. He doesn’t really want an answer, but he wants to know. He wants to pretend the knowledge of his won’t kill him.

“Yes, and it works for me. I can’t feel the bond,” you say. “I’m not one of you, remember? All human, one hundred percent of the time.”

He thinks he’s going to kneel over with how powerful the pain crashing over him feels. It almost cripples him, but he also knows—

“You’re lying.”

You stop. “No, I’m not.” The cutting resumes.

“You’re cooking for me. Historically, females have accepted the mating bond through a demonstration of food,” he says casually.

You stare at the plates.

The table is set for two.

The atmosphere is tense, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

“___—”

“Namjoon, please.” You drop the fork you’re holding. “I don’t want to talk about this. There’s no discussion. I never wanted this, and I never will. End of story. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

“There is no one else. I don’t think you understand. We can only choose once. That’s it. And my wolf chose you. I chose you.” He sounds like he’s choking up, voice caught in his throat. “I’m not asking for a definite answer. I just want you to try. I know you can feel the bond between us. I can hear your heart. It’s fluttering.” Like a hummingbird in your rib cage, eager to take flight, he wants to say. He is not good at wooing, has never needed to before. He has wanted, before, despite his position, personality, looks, everything. Despite all that he is, he has never wanted anything more than what he is, and yet here he sits, begging you to take all that he can be for a mere chance.

“Have you ever thought maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn’t your choice? That we’re simply meant to be because of destiny?” You say bitterly. The bigger part of you wants to say yes, yes, all I’ve ever wanted to say is yes, but what if all of this is a mistake, what if I can’t be the one you need, what if—

“I don’t care,” he says fiercely. “I want you. I know I want you. Every fibre of my being needs you. Close to me, always. You spirit, your soul. It calls to mine.”

“You don’t even know me,” you shoot back. Weaker. His eyes gleam.

“But I want to,” he insists. “I want to know everything about you. I already know your heart. It is gentle and kind and giving and that is enough for me. Please. I can be good for you, I promise.”

Your chair screeches loudly as you stand, half-finished plate in hand. Your hunger eludes you again.

He watches you warily.

You take a breath.

“The first time—why did you go?” Voice timid. Scared. –Because you’re nothing, you were never anything, can never be anything and—

“To keep you safe.” He’s firm. You risk a glance. His eyes are honest. He’s never lied to you before. Until now.

You cover your forgotten meal with a cloth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He perks up, disbelief and excitement sparkling. He can hardly dare to believe. Finally, finally—

“Yes. But slow. I don’t know—I still don’t know if I’m ready for this,” you say, leaning against the counter as you turn.

He rushes over, nearly tripping over the leg of the table, exhilarated and ecstatic.

“Yes—yes. Of course.” He skids to a stop, hands hovering near you, remembering the lines as he begins to withdraw, looking embarrassed at his childish enthusiasm.

“Kiss me.” You dare. He flushes. “I—I do not think that’s slow, exactly—”

“Namjoon.”

He cups your cheek gingerly, palms so large they engulf your entire face, dipping his head. You say his name again, breath sweet as it ghosts across his lips.

Kisses you softly.

You grip his shirt, swallowing his moan when his lips crash over yours again, dragging his tongue over your seam.

He parts your mouth easily, devours you, one hand braced around your waist where he crowds you against the marble counter.

Then you make a noise.

Namjoon groans, reluctantly tearing himself away, the movement sluggish and impossibly difficult given the way his body refuses to unglue itself from you.

He buries his face in your neck, suckling your skin tenderly.

“Slowly,” he rasps.

Your breathing is laboured and you nod against his chest, dazed. “Yeah.”

“I see you took my advice.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling tonight?” You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to throw him a look as you continue patting in the soil. You know he’s sporting his signature smug grin.

“This is patrolling. It’s part of my route.” You hum, determined to engage in as little talk as possible. It’s already enough mortification to walk through the village with the tall, handsome leader by your side, with the knowing smiles and fond congratulations. You know they mean well, and this is a big deal, but—it’s a lot to take in. You’ve never enjoyed being the centre of attention. And now you’re exactly that.

“Jimin, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Namjoon’s voice cuts in, annoyed.

The Beta pouts. “Way to ruin my fun, Joonie.”

“Jimin.” The warning tone has him sighing.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you lovebirds be, but remember! I get to name your first pup,” he calls as he jogs off.

“I hate him,” Namjoon says flatly, watching him leave with his arms crossed.

“No, you love him. He’s just being nosy because he cares about you,” you correct, smiling as you stretch. Dropping a kiss on his cheek, you tug him inside. “It’s time for dinner.”

Namjoon trails after you, glowing.

He never discusses pack business with you.

He knows this relationship you’ve been building together is still preliminary, still just a trial run. It’s going well—so well, in fact, that he’s terrified something will happen that’ll flip all of it on its head. Things usually do, because he attracts disaster. He always has.

He’s never been happier. He feels at peace with you, content and bursting at the seams with every word, every smile, every touch.

His wolf is quiet, tamed at your very presence. Basking in your attention.

He’s just—so whole.

So it’s only natural, he supposes, that he’s the one that destroys it.

It’s ironic that it’s raining.

You can hardly tell if it’s your tears or the rain that blurs your vision.

It doesn’t matter much, you think, as you stare at the scene of Namjoon kissing someone else.

Not just someone else—the girl from the stall. The one with blue hair and bright eyes.

Prettier. Smarter. Everything. Liar.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Your basket is dropped, somewhere, lost. Where should you go?

“___, please! I didn’t kiss her, she’s set this up so you’d reject me—so I’d have no choice but to go to her, but I won’t!” He’s loud, frantic, following you again.

A door, a door, your door. You fumble with the key.

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you chant, teeth chattering. Cold. You’re soaked to the bone.

“I love you,” he breaks, a sob catching. His voice is strangled, throaty. “I love you. Please believe me. I don’t—I can’t do this life without you. Please. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

“Leave, Namjoon. I never want to see your face again. I hate you,” you say hollowly.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that. Say you don’t mean that. Please. Please,” he repeats, crying earnestly now. He looks so small, clothes clinging to him, expression fearful and miserable. Hunched into himself. Reaching out for you.

“Stay away from me,” you grit. The lock clicks. His eyes widen, panicked. “No—no, no, no, no! Don’t—don’t shut me out, don’t do this, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You slide to the ground, shivers wracking your body as you listen to him sob on the other side of the door.

Time loses meaning, the water from your clothes creating a puddle as you sit there, huddled.

He doesn’t stop whispering apologies until Jimin comes to collect him an hour later, dragging him away as he fights. You can hear him shouting and struggling, but Jimin’s firm, hauling him away.

When all that’s left is the quiet patter of rain on your rooftop, their voices fading into silence, you get up and draw yourself a bath.

He’s so weak. You make him weak. His role as the pack leader, his senses, rationale, everything flies out the window when it comes to you. Everything he’s built the past decade, the person he’s become.

“Jimin, I fucked up,” he says wretchedly. The empty crater is growing, expanding each second he’s away from you. His wolf howls, the anguish too raw for him to bear much longer.

“You need to prep for your rut,” his Beta says instead. Jimin paces restlessly, rubbing his temples as he watches Namjoon bury his face in his hands. He’s never seen their leader so broken, it terrifies him.

“I—I need to see her,” Namjoon says suddenly, standing abruptly. Jimin rushes to the door, blocking the entrance.

“Now is not the time,” Jimin warns. “You’re entering your pre-rut. You could hurt her. She’s not ready.”

Namjoon sucks in a shuddery sigh. And then, “Jungkook.”

A beat.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Set up the chains. And have Yoongi stand guard. Make sure I don’t get out,” Namjoon orders.

Jungkook meets Jimin’s gaze briefly. The Beta nods and he disappears from the room.

Namjoon collapses back in his seat, staring down at his hands silently.

The group looks at him worriedly. Jimin merely shakes his head, lips pursed. They’ve never seen their leader look so defeated before.

“It’s fine. It’ll be fine. They’ll talk it out and she’ll understand. She’s just hurting right now,” Jimin says.

But his tone wavers, uncertainty seeping in. He doesn’t know.

You wake to the sounds of someone pounding at your door.

The moon is high, your camisole thin and your exhaustion wearing thin.

“Jimin, why are you—” Rubbing your eyes, you pull it open, only to be shoved into an overheating body. You let out a surprised gasp, stumbling back as you struggle to support the weight.

“Wha—Namjoon? What are you—what are you doing here? Why are you so warm?” He’s burning up, feverish. Your palm meets bare skin, sweat coating his chest. Half-naked and delirious, Namjoon slurs, “I—I have to … apologize. Can’t lose you, not like—like this, she did this, I don’t want her, I don’t care about her. I need you. I need you. Princess … Princess, come home.”

“Are you—are you sick?” You nearly topple over as he crumples on your bed, silver locks plastered to his forehead. Something tinkles, and you pale at the sight of broken chains around his wrists.

“You’re ignoring … ignoring me. Don’t, please,” he pants, sitting up with difficulty. He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes bright but hazy, golden irises a mere thin ring. It’s so hard to … to talk, to think with this heat running through his veins.

“Namjoon …”

“I know—I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true! I didn’t kiss her back, I pushed her away, I—I—I—” he’s babbling, he’s losing it and you grab his face.

“I know,” you say simply. Namjoon closes his eyes, sagging in your hold as relief floods through him, the deliria fading momentarily.

“I know. I just … it hurt. I thought—maybe I was right. That your feelings for me aren’t real, that you’re just … settling.” He frowns, shaking his head rapidly as he takes your hands. “No, no that’s not true. I’ve always loved you, since we met, since we were kids.”

“As Ghost, I … I saw your compassion, your humanity,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. I didn’t even know what my feelings for you would entail back then.”

“No … I was being stupid. I was scared,” your gaze drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to hear you out. I was just afraid that you’d only wanted me out of convenience.”

“___. I love you. I want to know you, if you’d let me,” he says shyly. He’s flushed, the heat bleeding back, but he can’t lose focus.

“Complete the treaty, then,” you say breathlessly. You don’t want to run anymore. For once, you want to face your fate head-on. You step back, pulling your top off in one fluid motion.

Namjoon freezes, wide-eyed. “You … you don’t know what you’re saying. What that means,” he croaks. He leans back, struggling to breathe.

Your core clenches at the sight of him, silver hair raked back, muscles taut and rippling beneath smooth caramel skin. He’s beautiful.

“Are you sure? You know what happens after, right? You’ll become my Luna, the Pack’s Princess … are you sure you want this?” He’s still holding himself back, likely by his sheer will at this point. Ruts are powerful, even more so when he’s the Alpha.

“Yes,” you say, straddling him. His hands feel so large where they come to rest at your hips, squeezing gently.

With him, you feel safe.

“I want you … I’ve been waiting for you, all this time. I want you to be my mate. To be mine.” You can feel his length, hard and throbbing, beneath his slacks. His kind has always been well-endowed, and you can feel his tip nudging at your centre.

“Take me, then,” you whisper, nosing his jaw. Namjoon groans, hold tightening before he slams you against the mattress.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls, ripping your panties off impatiently with his teeth. Shoving down his jeans, he wastes no time aligning himself. You’re already so wet, and he preps you easily, sliding two fingers in and scissoring you gingerly. Your spine locks, the pleasure flooding your system like a forgotten drug.

You gasp his name and he nips at your throat, violet flowers blooming with every touch.

“Wanna breed you, make you mine, fill you to the brim with my seed,” he moans, hips jerking as he enters you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him sends his head spinning.

“N-Namjoon,” you mewl, clawing at his back helplessly as he punctures every word with a thrust. He sets a punishing pace, already edged and desperate. Having you splayed out like this, so ethereal and so wholly his, awakens something primal, darker. His wolf demands to be unchained.

“I can’t think, can’t focus on anything but fucking you senseless and knocking you up with a litter of my pup,” his voice is guttural, so deep you know it’s not quite the man you’ve gotten to know the past few weeks.

“Hello, Luna,” he drawls. His eyes are flecked with silver, lips curled into a lazy smirk. The other side of the same coin.

“Ghost,” you murmur, smiling. You reach up to stroke his cheek, and he nuzzles your palm, turning to kiss it gently.

His touch is sweeter, loving. The frenzy is lost for the moment, the heat and the need dissipating as he licks into your mouth eagerly. He exhales, cock twitching inside of you as he fucks into you slowly.

“With this vow, we are bound. In sickness and in health, to protect and to cherish. Let the moon be our witness,” he breathes, dragging his fangs over the delicate skin of your neck.

You hold him close as he marks you, lapping at your blood as you cry out softly.

Forevermore, he wants to say, but he refrains because though it’s part of the vow, it’s still too early, too much.

For now, this is enough.

You lose track of time after that. They switch periodically, taking turns fucking you into oblivion before waking you with their mouth on your breast, suckling hard as their fingers tease your clit. Between the sheets, they learn to worship every crevice of your body, how to make you sing and sigh and moan so beautifully.

You take breaks only to drink water and to feed each other pieces of fruit and bread. Showers become pointless after he takes you against the wall twice before falling back onto the bed for a third and fourth.

It’s dawn when he’s finally burned through most of his rut.

“Who was that girl?” Namjoon hums, fingers sliding through your locks as you trace figures on his bare chest absently.

You’re exhausted but glowing, and he can’t stop smiling.

“From a neighbouring pack. They wanted me to choose her instead, to solidify an alliance. We already had one, they were just being greedy. She knew about you and tried to sabotage me. Don’t worry, I had Jin take care of it,” he kisses your nose. “You know I only want you, right?”

You nod, cheeks colouring.

“It’s only ever been you.”

“And the bell?”

Jimin grins, twirling the spatula in his hand. “It’s the one Joon gave to you the first night he met you. He didn’t just pick it up out of nowhere, you know. It’s like a family heirloom. Only his mate can wield it and only he can hear it.”

“Where’d you find it? I thought I lost it when I moved.” The bell sways silently where it dangles from the red string.

“You didn’t,” he says simply, flipping the pancake.

“Huh.”

“___! Princess, are you okay?” Namjoon comes barrelling through the door, skidding to a stop in front of you with wide, panicked eyes.

“Jimin,” you say slowly. “Just how sensitive is this bell?”

“I wouldn’t use it. Like, ever, unless you’re about to die or you want those flaming hot cheetos when you’re carrying,” Jimin answers matter-of-factly.

Namjoon’s still fussing over you and you sigh.

“I fucking hate you, Park.”

#bangtansmutcentral #ksmutclub #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon imagines #btsguild #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #werewolf au #werewolf!namjoon

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zillennial97 · 4 years ago

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Friends to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Hiding Place by alivingfire | 365k | Explicit

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint | 158k | Explicit

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

Wild Love by purpledaisy | 130k | Explicit

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | Mature

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | Mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc | 99k | Explicit

Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

With a promise from the press (and his father) that they'll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson.

Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- 'cause Harry has a secret that he's only told his sister Gemma about.

Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own.

A Will & Kate Au- with a twist.

Christmas-ing With You by dolce_piccante | 65k | Mature

Two writers from Loving Heart Television, the premiere network for holiday romance films, find that, sometimes, love is not only in their works of fiction.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor | 46k | Mature

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

if the sun don't shine by falsegoodnight | 36k | Explicit

Louis finds himself struck frozen, fingers stuck in place where he’s flattened them against the cold railing. It takes every bit of his remaining strength to pull them away, sliding them under his shirt and pressing them to his stomach to leech some of the warmth. He hardly pays attention to the bite of the wind and air on his shivering body. He can only pay attention to the music.

The music that is undoubtedly new to Louis’ ears, yet listening to it is the most familiar thing Louis has ever experienced. An inexplicable rush of emotions flood his mind and body, rendering him speechless and hollow. It’s a call of loneliness. It rings of everything Louis’ been feeling.

And the pure yearning - the intense longing for something and someone - tears through straight to Louis’ heart. The desperation feels all too intimate, all too real. It makes Louis think of what he yearns for more than anything. It makes him think of his soulmate.

In a world where you meet your soulmates in dreams, Louis has spent the last three years going to bed hoping to finally meet his, only to end up disappointed time and time again. It all changes with a violin.

From the Start by allwaswell16 | 32k | Explicit

Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k | Explicit

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

In Dreams by dolce_piccante | 23k | Mature

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

You're Writing Verses About Me by Rearviewdreamer | 23k | Teen And Up Audiences

Everybody knows that Louis has never been one for serious boyfriends. His reputation around campus precedes him, which is why he doesn't think twice before proudly telling his mother about his new and completely fabricated relationship with his oddly quiet and completely

And I Will Hold On To You by darkmarkburning, staybeautiful | 23k | Mature

“I can’t believe my best friend is about to be Prime Minister of Canada,” Harry whispered in his ear, his arms tight around Louis’ shoulders. “Who decided it was a good idea to let some brash kid from Doncaster run a country?”

“I don’t know,” Louis laughed into his shoulder, “but if you promise not to tell them they’ve made a mistake I’ll give you a posh office.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Tomlinson.” Harry pulled away and smacked a kiss onto Louis’ cheek. “I’m proud of you, Lou, I can’t fucking believe it, but I’m proud of you.”

or Louis has just been elected Prime Minister of Canada and Harry is his best friend since childhood.

the way the storms blow by rbbsbb | 21k | Explicit

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor | 20k | Mature

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

The Sex Methods by Alice_Novelland | 19k | Explicit

Harry and Louis explore alternative methods aka sex methods to help each other out.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

Oblivious by Speechless | 19k | Explicit

"You say it's nothing serious after you've been obsessing over it for months," Liam observes, pausing their videogame. "But now you barely talk about it-" "You guys fucking ignore me whenever I try!" Louis shouts, bumping his shoulder against Liam's and hurting himself in the process. "You're postponing sex, when it's obvious that Luke's up for it at this point." Liam ignores him. "For some reason you've left Harry in the dark about it-" "What?!" Louis snaps, banging his controller against the coffee table. "I have not!" "And no matter how blatant it is, no matter how fucking ridiculous you both get when it comes to it-" "Shut your hole." Louis urges, pinching his thigh, as soon as Harry enters the room. "Shush."

* Where Louis gets a little crush on Luke and for some reason Harry starts acting weird *

searching for a sweet surrender (but this is not the end) by feelslikehxme | 18k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, the two most loved coaches on The Voice UK known for their banter on the show and best friendship off. Louis’s determined to win and finally end Harry’s winning streak with Zayn Malik on his team, but Harry’s flirting and Liam Payne have different plans.

— Or an AU based off the Voice where Louis’s Adam, Harry’s Blake, Niall’s Shakira, Zayn and Liam have a cliche Romeo/Juliet love story and Louis’s too old for pathetic pining.

Can I bother you for a sex? by perfectdagger (sincerelyste) | 16k | Explicit

Reason #40 – Called/texted the wrong person, but he was into it anyway

“So, this isn’t really an invite for a sex, I see,” Louis spoke, not missing the chance. There was a teasing smile on his lips as he turned around to face Harry again after he had just closed the door.

Harry let out a laugh as he closed his eyes and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for fuck's sake, Louis,” he looked back at Louis, “this will haunt me forever now, won’t it?”

Louis shrugged. “Not my fault some people manage to mistext and sext others at the same time.”

When Harry mistexts Louis, Louis realises that he wouldn't mind Harry bothering him with anything, especially not with sex.

You'll Be Home For Christmas by 2tiedships2 | 15k | Not Rated

“Honesty, Lou, just ask Harry for help.”

Louis remained silent as he continued to scowl at the Christmas calendar Niall had hung on their refrigerator.

“And be nice to my calendar filled with holiday cheer,” Niall instructed. “You’re going to burn a fucking hole in it from the way you’re glaring at the innocent thing. It’s not the calendar’s fault that your heat is starting so close to Christmas.”

You're The One That I Want by spacecakesandmilkshakes | 15k | Explicit

Harry had always been Louis' best friend and...well...his baby, until one day he realized that his baby was all grown up.

show you the stars in the daylight by bruisedhoney | 13k | Explicit

Louis laughed, the sound loud and borderline obnoxious. Harry winced. “Are you kidding, Haz? I wouldn’t even look twice at someone that couldn’t pick me up.”

And, well. That was new information to Harry. It’s not like Louis had ever mentioned to him that he was his type in any way, shape, or form. Harry shifted closer into the space between Louis’s legs, even more intrigued than before. “Why not?” he asked curiously, all pink lips and big curls. Louis smiled.

“Tiny, innocent, little Harold. Need someone that can pick me up, don’t I? I like being tossed around a little. You know, pinned down and made to take it. Lifted up like I’m nothing,” Louis said it all with a confident smile, his sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he locked eyes with the jock across the kitchen. “Think he might come over here. Move over. I don’t want him to think we’re together.”

Or, the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

when everybody wants you by nightwideopen | 11k | Mature

Harry nearly faints on the spot. He got the job. He’s going to be on Saturday Night Live.

Three of Harry's dreams come true, then one of them falls apart.

the SNL au that no one asked for

Shape of You by Only_angel_28 | 11k | Explicit

“Seriously?” Surely, Harry must be joking. Louis arches a skeptical brow and snaps the waistband of Harry’s joggers playfully. “What exactly do you have down there, Styles? I know you’ve got four nipples, d’ya have a couple extra bollocks as well or summat?”

“No!” Harry shrieks, his voice bordering on shrill. “No,” He repeats a little quieter, calmer, “I just—I��m, er, kinda…big, I guess.”

Louis rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “That’s hardly a problem, curly.”

*Or Harry is insecure about a certain rather large part of his anatomy that is apparently intimidating to the point where it has actually scared off potential shags. When he ends up confessing this to his best friend and roommate, Louis takes it upon himself to prove that Harry’s size doesn't have to be a curse, and decides to help show him just how perfect he is.

Waiting by allwaswell16 for LadyLondonderry | 10k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

You Give Me Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by my_fandom_OTPs | 10k | Explicit

Louis walks in on Harry jerking off in the shower. What happens after is just… Impulsive and spontaneous.

the value of this moment lives in metaphor by clicheanna for hattalove | 10k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry are best friends and absolutely nothing more. It’s a bit strange that, suddenly, everyone thinks they’re dating.

Or the one where they’re all teachers at a high school and students are more invested in their lives than normally expected.

trusting things beyond mistake by sarcasticfluentry | 9k | Explicit

"Is that even possible?" asks Harry.

All of them stare at him for several seconds, and then Louis says, "What, coming untouched?"

"Christ," Zayn mutters, throwing his hands up. “This fucking band, I swear.”

...or, Harry wants to see if he can come without touching his cock and ends up getting more than he bargained for.

And I Will Steady Your Hand by kiwikero | 9k | Explicit

All first year university students who had not yet presented were strongly advised to join the Fire Away meetings, a support group for so-called 'late bloomers.'

They were not, however, advised to fall in love with someone else at the meetings without knowing what they might eventually present as.

A Christmas Wish by Snowy38 | 8k | Mature

"So when are you going to tell him?"

Louis pursed his lips at his sister, his Skype video call relaying his thoughts on that subject perfectly.

"Next question," he mused.

Lottie rolled her eyes.

"It's your birthday in four days, Louis."

"What difference does that make?" He scoffed.

She shrugged.

"You can get drunk and confess how you feel and take it back afterwards if he doesn't feel the same."

That might work if Louis wasn't in love with Harry. But Lottie didn't know that and she didn't need to find out.

"Thanks Lots," he said anyway.

"Seriously Lou what's stopping you?"

Louis sighed.

"Fear mostly."

Under that Damn Mistletoe by hickeystyles | 7k | Mature

Louis' heart froze when he looked over and saw Liam whispering in Harry’s ear and nodding towards the mistletoe. Louis’ eyes widened comically before he dove out of sight so Harry couldn’t see him standing under the mistletoe like an idiot, or worse, like he was part of Liam’s plan to have Harry kiss him.

Or a Christmas Party AU where Louis is in love with his best friend Harry and everyone else is trying to force the two of them under the mistletoe together

We Could Be A Dream by Bearandleonardwrite | 7k | Explicit

“So, I’ve never seen you at one of these parties before,” Harry says as he hands Louis his drink. “Who’re you here for?”

Well, shit. Louis was definitely not expecting that. He sips on his drink to give him a few moments to think of an answer and then, “Oh, y’know. I’m dating the host’s brother. What about you?” He’s quite pleased with himself. Great answer. He takes another drink as a reward.

Harry grins at him, eyes bright, and shrugs. “Gemma’s my sister.” Louis hums around the rim of his cup waiting for him to elaborate. “She’s the host,” he tacks on, smug smile on his face. Louis chokes on his drink and tries his best to glare at Harry while he coughs. Harry rubs at his back until he can breathe properly again, which is actually really not that helpful. “Didn’t realize we were dating, Lou. I’m flattered.”

(Basically; Louis meets Harry at a party that he wasn't invited to. He ends up asking Harry to tutor him so he can keep seeing him. Featuring a bit of pining and a tea party.)

Mission Fucking Impossible by orphan_account | 7k | Mature

“Are you and Louis fucking?”

Harry nearly spits out his drink as he tries to communicate a "what the ever living fuck" to Niall with his eyes.

Niall takes another casual sip of his beer “Not like I’m the only one thinking it mate, I’m just the only one saying it out loud.”

- Harry is in love with Louis, and he is almost positive Louis is in love with him too. Naturally, Harry deals with this by trying to get Louis horny and hope for the best.

Things don't exactly work out how he plans.

One day to believe in you by mediaville | 7k | Explicit

A mysterious force compels Louis to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Even when it's really inconvenient.

Harry blinks and has the nerve to look surprised. "You think about me when you get off?"

"Yes," Louis says. He wonders how hard he'd need to punch himself in the face to knock himself out.

"Often?"

"Yes, Christ, Harry," Louis groans. "Probably eight times a week for going on six years now. On average, you know. More when we were touring, less when I've been visiting family. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Fake It Till We Make It by whileatwiltshire | 7k | General Audiences

#33- Keeping up with the Neighbors

“We can fake it.”

What?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No I did not. Say it again.”

“I said” Harry started slowly, “We can fake having sex to teach them a lesson.”

It was clear to say that Louis's mouth went a little dry at the suggestion.

Or ,

Their neighbours were a bit too loud during their bedroom activities and Harry comes up with the worst plan to shut them up. Louis agrees anyways.

Web Me Harder by iwillpaintasongforlou | 6k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson, otherwise known as London's masked hero Spiderman, finds himself crashing through the window of Harry Styles one night after a particularly nasty fight with a villain. Luckily Harry is a nursing student with a soft spot for caped crusaders who's more than happy to tend to all of Louis' wounds, no matter how many times he swings by.

candy in your mouth (i know you love me) by embodied | 6k | Explicit

“You’re wrong,” Harry says, jaw clenched tight. “Because if all I wanted was a fuck, I’ve got at least three willing parties a phone call and a five minute drive away. What I want is you. I want us, I want it to be normal again -”

“What the fuck is normal?” Louis yells, much too loudly, and has to pause to consciously lower his voice before he speaks again. “Because a year ago, normal was eating too much takeaway and watching B-movies on Netflix in your room, and then normal was me choking on your cock at half past two in the morning, and I don’t know about you, but as of the past few weeks, normal is not seeing or talking to you at all, because I’ve all but admitted that I’m fucking crazy for you and you don’t know what to say to that.” Louis’ chest heaves, his breath coming out short. He hears his own throat stick when he swallows, and his voice is decidedly weaker when he asks, “So which one is it, Harry?”

AU. Things have shifted since last Christmas.

Running Through a Cloud of Steam by allwaswell16 | 5k | Mature

As Harry’s long anticipated twenty-first birthday approaches, he anxiously awaits the moment when he finally meets his soulmate. He’s not even sure he believes in soulmates, but at the very least, he hopes to prove to his best friend that nothing can come between their friendship--not even a soulmate.

You Can't Blame Me For Tryin' by lululawrence | 5k | Mature

Reason # 38 - Because He Is From One of the Countries You Haven't Had Sex With a Person From Yet.

Louis had been accepted into the study abroad program through his uni back home and therefore got to spend a year in rural Minnesota, of all places, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was still a pretty cool experience, even if it was far different from what he had been expecting. And besides, if he’d been sent to literally any other university, he’d never have met Harry.

If It's Meant To Be (It'll Be, It'll Be) by lululawrence | 4k | Not Rated

“So, anyway. I’m done here and on my way to the airport. I think I’m expected to be there in the morning, around ten. I’ll let you know when I’m getting close.”

“Sounds good.” Harry pulled back from the window and threw himself onto one of the beds. Once he got comfortable, he steeled himself and then went for it. “It’s been too long this time, Lou,” he finally whispered. He watched as Louis bit his lip and nodded slowly.

“I know,” Louis agreed, just as quiet in return. “We have to swear to never go this long without seeing each other again. Two months is just...unacceptable. I’m gonna go now, but I’ll see you soon. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah. See you. Be safe,” Harry said, far too fondly for his best friend. He couldn’t help it though. It was how he always had been and probably always would be.

They hung up and Harry threw his arm over his face.

“I am so in love with him,” he whined to himself. “Fuck.”

Satisfaction by iwillpaintasongforlou | 2k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have known each other since before they could remember and been in love with one another for about as long, even though both steadfastly refuse to admit it. When Louis starts dating other people, it is only to help himself move on and not at all to make Harry jealous. And the sulking sort of anger Harry feels when he watches Louis kiss other people is completely irrelevant anyways.

#larry fanfiction recommendations #larry fanfic rec #larry fic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic recs #larry fanfiction masterpost #friends to lovers

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography

Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.

As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.

Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.

This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.

A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.

“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.

Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.

The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.

“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.

She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.

"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.

She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.

But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.

Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.

Sakura,

Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.

Happy birthday.

-Sasuke

It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.

Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.

Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?

She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.

Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.

Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.

She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.

...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.

It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.

Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...

...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.

No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.

It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.

She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.

Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.

Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.

Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.

I wonder where he is now.

Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.

Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.

There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.

Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.

Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.

And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.

She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.

The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.

“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.

“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.

“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.

Just now? As in…

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.

Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”

There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.

His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.

There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.

“Are you… just back for a little while?”

Did you find what you were searching for?

He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.

“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.

“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.

There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.

She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.

He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.

“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.

Oh, she’s crying.

Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.

She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.

She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.

It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.

He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute.

Made for me?

Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”

Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”

He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.

Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.

Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.

She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.

Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.

Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.

But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”

His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.

“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.

When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.

The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.

It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.

You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.

Made for me?

“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.

The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.

Oh, she's crying.

This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.

Made for me?

She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.

She adores it.

Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.

Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.

Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.

The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.

Made for me, made for me, made for me-

Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.

His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -

“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -

Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like silver #fanfiction #i'm really out here with just hundreds of pages of fanfiction in my google doc drafts huh

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vesuvian-american-fics · 3 years ago

Text

better with time. Ch 18

i'm home.

You ride with Reiner to Conny's village, exactly where the titans are coming from. (AO3)

Words: 1,841

Hours earlier within Wall Rose .

Panic shoots through you like ice. Goosebumps raising on your neck and a steady tremble overtakes you. Cold sweat dampens your forehead, your eyes dart between your friends. You can call Sasha and Conny that now, friends. Conversation with Bertholdt and Reiner was a bit strained and forced but interesting nevertheless. Historia and Ymir were damn near strangers to you but that didn’t stop you from turning to them and gauging their reaction to the bad news. They looked stressed of course. You breathe in deeply through your nose and slowly out your mouth.

Calm down. Just breathe.

You can handle this, you had nightmares of this day coming. Of course, they always ended in your painful death, but you’re not alone now like you are in your dreams. These are trained professionals. That also happen to be children much younger than you, even despite being a hundred years their senior. Stuck in your own haze of anxiety and panic you’ve missed everything Nanaba said, all the instructions she just gave.

“Y/N! Stick with me!” Reiner shouts, already headed out the door with the others. You almost trip over your own two feet in your haste to catch up to him. He is as reliable as he claims. You don’t know his history with Bertholdt, but you trust him. Bertholdt is intelligent and his quiet nature is welcome in the sea of young boisterous teens. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, so you’re happy to stick with these two. Even if Bertholdt would rather keep you at arm's length. A twinge of relief calms your jitters, that is until, Conny being distracted bumps into you. You snap your head to him, waiting for an apology before that look of horror much like yours moments ago is mirrored onto his once cheery face.

“My family is to the south... And the titans are... Coming from the South...” He says, large owlish eyes unblinking, mouth slack, unshed tears budding on his lashes. Your heart sinks. You have no words to offer him, you can imagine what he’s thinking and there's no way you can comfort him the way you’d like when you all are headed to board your fleet or horses and head South towards said titans.

You just gave him a sad look, a look he seemed to recognize through his fog by the way his bottom lip trembled in the way they do when you know someone's about to let loose and cry. You were about to speak before you were cut off by Nanaba’s voice cutting over the crowd.

“Get those horses ready, stat!” She barks, before using her gear to shoot up to where Miche is on a rooftop overhead. They looking towards the south. Can they see them from there?! Awkwardly you twiddle your fingers and bounce from one foot to the other, watching helplessly as Reiner saddles up his stallion. He’s quick with his work, he gets on the horse and pulls you up behind him without waiting for you to be ready. With that he snaps the reins and the horse pulls away from the base you all are abandoning.

You wrap your arms tight around his middle, turning your head to get one last glimpse of the safe haven that was just shattered. What will the day bring? Will you survive it with what little skill you possess? You feel like a burden, you miss the you that was locked away in the dungeons for only a moment before steeling your resolve. You can't waste your new life feeling useless. You don't want to be worthless to Hange... To Levi.

I’m not dying before I see them again.

...

Hours later within Wall Sina.

Only minutes after Levi was alerted of the situation in Wall Rose.

“Damn those things. Nothing for weeks and weeks on end and the second-–” Levi cuts himself off with a grunt as he forces open the door to Hange’s makeshift lab here.

“There's titans in Wall Rose. They came this morning and only now are we finally hearing about it, get ready to go...” He says, a cold bite to his tone but it doesn’t faze Hange. It stressed them a bit of course, the rush, and complications of it all. They’re worrying most about you, but at the same time in their gut they know your safe. Or so they hope at least. As a friend, they’d hate to lose you. Fuck the scientific advancements that could come from studying you, now in their heart, Hange just wants to see you safe by sunrise.

“Any word on where Y/N is?” Hange asks, their large brown eye still staring down into a microscope eyeing a piece of the wall at a molecular level. They hear Levi click his tongue in annoyance, probably upset that Hange can read him like a book. He’s worried about you.

“Everyone headed south and after that, if any of them are still alive they’re doing a perimeter of the wall to find the hole.” He informs, grimacing at the prospects of your survival and the rest of the scouts.

“They’ll be okay, those are some of our best out there and Miche is with them of course.” Hange muses, changing out the slide in the microscope with one that holds some of that odd crystal Annie is encased in.

“They haven’t seen Miche since this morning... He was holding off the titans.” Levi mentions, voice flat, an octave deeper than usual. Hange’s lips form into a flat line, and their brows furrow in concern, but they don’t speak. They silence between to two is understood. They hope he’s okay, only time will tell.

“Anyway,” Levi clears his throat to change the grim subject. “I’m going to get the priest ready to come along with us.” Levi says, pulling his coat closer over his shoulders.

“The priest?” Hange asks, confusion lacing their words.

“I want to show him what his silence can bring...” Levi said, and without another word he was stalking down the hallway.

“Be ready in half an hour or we’re leaving without you.” He calls, not bothering himself to wait for an answer, Hange knows well enough that time is ticking.

...

Back in Wall Rose.

The early afternoon sun was torturous on the back of your neck that was exposed to its rays. You could see the beginnings of a sunburn on Reiner’s neck, his cheeks were flushed from the heat, his shirt was starting to feel damp against you. Gross. Miche spoke in hushed tones to Nanaba and the others at the head of the formation. Nanaba looked stressed but she quickly regained her composure and gave Miche a curt nod before he pulled away from her and towards the crowd of titans running now in a full sprint towards you.

The thought of sacrifice made your mouth grow dry. Miche was heading towards the titans to buy everyone some time. You had heard previously, from Hange of course, that he was second only to Levi himself. Being clueless as you are to how things work here; you don’t know if that’s a good enough or not. You just hope that he’ll survive this. He seems strong, and Levi seems even stronger. Something about the way he carries himself make you feel like he could protect you. Protect the scouts, rather... you’re more of a burden to him right now, you think. He wouldn’t waste whatever skills he has to help you, someone who's hardly any help to him, right? You pouted at the idea of being abandoned, it was a recurring though you had recently. Just cooking and cleaning horse stables wasn’t enough to secure your life here. You needed to be more useful to them all, especially now, seeing as Reiner was so kind as to carry your extra weight around and keep you safe. You want to repay he scouts, Erwin, Hange... and repay Levi. You want him to see you as useful. You wanted him to need you around-––

You were taken from your thoughts as Nanaba gave orders to split up. Since you were on the back of Reiner’s horse you had no choice but to go where he wanted, and he wanted to follow Conny to his home town. Conny was grateful, and so was Sasha as she would break away to go back to her home deep in the woods. You prayed she’d make it back to you safe by the end of the day. Somehow, seeing her brown hair grow blurry the farther and farther she rode away gave you anxiety. You didn’t want this to be the last time you saw her.

You too were moving in another direction, pulling around the titans’ flank and heading straight to Conny’s village. You watched as he stumbled over his words, describing how to get to his home, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed loudly.

“Please! Can I check on my family first?” He pleaded, of course he was allowed to go find his home first. Any sane person would want to run straight to their house with news like this and see if his family was alright. It would be cruel to deny him that right, seeing the way he is now. A shadow of him former, childish self.

You were studying his features as you noticed his large eyes widen just a fraction more. He snapped the reins to rush his horse forward, Reiner and Bertholdt did the same. The village was eerily quiet, the homes were destroyed and your heart dropped so hard it felt as if it had fallen onto the beaten path beneath your feet.

Conny rush to the center of the town while Reiner and Bertholdt follow the sound of Conny’s voice. He’s calling for anyone to come out, his family, a neighbor, hell even a stranger to show themselves. You watch as he pulls his horse quickly around a corner and out of sight. Reiner nearly crashed into Conny’s horse, not expecting him to just be frozen here, staring up in horror at what you could only assume was his old home.

His childhood home that now was a blonde-haired titan flattening it.

And it might be crazy, but this titan’s eyes, they’re so round and golden they look so much like Conny’s...

“Conny! Get back!” Reiner barks, pulling on Conny’s arm. But he’s ignored, Conny just continues to mumble incoherently.

“Conny...” You say, quieter now, you rub his back to coax him out of whatever haze his mind is in right now.

“It’s... My house. This is my house...” He finally whispers, his eyes glossed over as unshed tears begin to build up in his eyes. His voice is trembling as he fights to hold his composure. Your heart sinks, you swallow thickly as you try to gather your thoughts. You share anxious eye contact with Reiner, sweat is beading at his brow.

“It’s... my house....”

#better with time.#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #levi

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setaripendragon · 4 years ago

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I don’t know if anyone remembers my silly little Narnia fic where the Pevensie kids all get meet-cutes with their future partners, but I’ve been working on a silly little sequel ever since, and I finally finished it. So, here’s the Pevensies finally getting together (sort of) with their partners, from the partner’s PoV, because I figured t hey deserved to get a say.

Jane had crushes before. A couple of really childish ones that were more her playing at mimicking the concept before the war forced her to grow up too fast, and then a few more serious ones after her little jaunt to Neverland as puberty dug its nasty little claws in. Peter was different.

Her Peter, not Peter Pan, even though Peter Pevensie wasn’t really her Peter at all. He was her best friend, sure, and had been since the day he’d let her flatten a couple of bullies by herself before he leapt in to de-escalate the situation, but he wasn’t hers. Not like she wanted him to be. Because not only was he kind of ridiculously handsome, and just carried himself with the sort of confidence and poise that could steal anyone’s breath, but he was also just an incredibly good person.

Which, Jane had found, was kind of rare, in boys. And maybe part of that was because Peter – her Peter, not- whatever – was a lot more grown up than the other boys her age, but she didn’t think so. He could be verygrown up when he wanted to be – which was awe-inspiring in it’s own way – but even when he was being silly and playful and ridiculously childish, he was still good. He was never horrid, never unkind, not even in jest. He never looked down on her, never held back if she instigated a bit of rough-housing, but he also never pushed her too hard, or gloated when he won, or sulked when he lost.

Jane had felt strangely alone after she got back from Neverland. She’d gained a new appreciation for the joys and wonders of childhood, but she hadn’t lost her understanding of responsibility and duty. She could get along with kids and adults, but she always felt so out of place. Like she was hiding half of herself just to fit in. That, and, she’d never been particularly lady-like to begin with, and living with the Lost Boys even for a few dayshad ruined her for any sort of delicate dignity and grace, so she didn’t really fit in with the girls her own age.

Peter – not-really-her Peter – was the same as her. Too grown-up for his age, but with a strong sense of whimsy and fantasy that would have most grown-ups giving him the same odd looks Jane got. He told the best stories, and her temper never seemed to throw him, and if he was sometimes a bit overbearing, like it didn’t even occur to him that she might, possibly, have a different opinion or a better idea, he never acted like she didn’t have a right to call him out on it. When they argued – and they did, fairly regularly, even – it was never with intent to wound, just with passion and ideas spilling out too fast and too loud and too important to hold back.

Jane was pretty sure she loved him. Her mother had warned her to be careful, not to hang all her hopes on one boy when she was still so young, and Jane tried, she really did, but she honestly couldn’t imagine a better man than Peter Pevensie.

Not that there was anything happening. Because the problem was that she and Peter had been best friends for years. Peter didn’t have quite her problems with his peers, he got on well enough with the boys in their year, but it was clear – to Jane, at least – that he was also holding a little of himself back, when he was with them. Not with her. And that was good, that was great – it was amazing, quite frankly – but it was also a little bit painful.

Because, of course, they got teased. A lot. A boy and a girl spending that much time together? Everyonejust assumed they were ‘together’. And Jane got flustered, and that made her angry, and that made her even more flustered. She yelled at the other girls who wouldn’t stop asking about her ‘boooyfriend’, and she punched the boys who wouldn’t stop making lewd commentaries, and blushed ridiculously at any mention of the notion.

Peter was phased at all. ‘Hey, Pevensie, is that your girlfriend?’ was invariably answered with the sort of stern-disappointed stare that would put any parent or teacher to shameand a bland ‘Jane is my friend’. Which, of course, Jane really did appreciate, because being Peter’s friend was just about the best thing that had happened to her since Neverland. It just… would have been nice to see even a hintthat he might possibly have even once thought of her as more than that.

Still, she’d thought, they were still young, they had plenty of time. Only they didn’t. Because then Jane found out that Peter had enlisted. He was too young, technically, but Jane wasn’t surprised that that hadn’t stopped him. He was pretty big on duty – a bit too much, sometimes, but Jane really kind of loved him for that, too – and on fighting bigotry anywhere and everywhere he found it, so it really, really wasn’t a surprise.

It wasscary, though. A little bit terrifying, because he might not come back. He might go out there to fight, and he might dieinstead. That would tear her apart no matter what, but it alsomade her think that she might not have another chance to ever tell him, to ever knowif maybe…

And if there was one thing Neverland had taught Jane, it was that sometimes the amazing things didn’t happen unless you believedthey would. Sometimes you had to jump off the damn cliff and just have faith that you would fly, instead of fall. She kind of wished she had a little pixie dust right now, though, just to give her that extra boost.

Because Peter was standing in front of her, and sometime while Jane had been fretting, they’d managed to walk all the way to the god damned train station, and he was literally minutes away from leaving. He looked kind of dashing in the uniform, but he also looked – hilariously – uncomfortable. She would have expected him to look at home in it, with how he was about duty and fighting and all, but no. He kept tugging at the sleeves and shifting his shoulders and grimacing.

And she loved the stupid face he pulled when he really just wanted to stick his tongue out in disgust but won’t because he was trying to be polite. She loved his stupid face no matter what expression he was wearing, and she needed him to know thatbefore he left. Just in case.

So she grabbed him by the front of his uniform – uncaring that she was interrupting whatever his little sister was saying, because if she cared, then she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, and then she’d neverget around to it – and told him “Don’t die.” in as stern a tone as she could manage before she yanked him down as she went up on tiptoes to press her mouth against his. Thatshould get the message across.

It wasn’t, exactly, the world’s best kiss. It wasn’t exactly even a proper kiss at all. Jane just held there for a long moment, not moving, eyes scrunched shut, her lips against his, until her courage faltered, and she dropped back down onto her heels and opened her eyes to stare up at him belligerently.

Peter looked… stunned. Which was at least better than disgusted. Or pitying. His eyes were unfocused, gazing off into nothingness somewhere a little above her head, and his jaw was slightly slack, lips just a tiny bit parted. “Oh.” He said, like it was a prelude to something, only that was it, he didn’t say anything else, just kept staring, and blinking, and staring some more.

Someone – probably Lucy – tried to pretend a snicker was actually a cough, and the noise seemed to knock Peter out of his trance. He shook himself, frowning for a brief moment before his gaze refocused on Jane, and- and everything just sort of stopped. Jane’s breath turned syrupy in her lungs and the rest of the platform just faded into fuzzy nothingness, because Peter was looking at her like he was really seeingher, like he was looking at something deeper than her damned bones, and was awed by what he saw. “Oh.” He said again, this time with a whole heap more emphasis and an entire world of meaning behind it.

It sounded infinitely better than the last one, so Jane tried for a smile. Peter grinned back, and Jane felt like she could possibly just float away without any helpful pixie dust at all. He reached up, curled a hand around the side of her neck – his hand was so warm – and leaned in. Then he hesitated, tilted his head, tried again, and finally managed to fit their mouths together. It was awkward, but also really endearing, and Jane didn’t care either way, because Peter’s – herPeter, and he really was hers– lips were on hers and moving and sliding and kissing, and her entire world narrowed down to that one sensation.

“I promise I will do my very best not to die.” Peter told her as he drew back.

“You’d better.” Jane snapped, letting go of his collar to poke him in the chest. “Because if that was all I getfrom you, Pevensie, I will drag you back from the land of the dead just to kill you myself.” Peter laughed, unfazed, and kissed her again.

---

The war was over, and Jack was finally home. Or, well, sort of home. He wouldn’t really feel like he’d made it home until he was back in America, but the Kingsley estate was close enough, the site of enough childhood misadventures to count. It was close enough, and if he was being honest with himself, he was putting off his return to the States, just a little. He could have been through the mirror and back home in a trice, without having to worry about boats or planes or travel time, but instead he was lingering about in London.

He made up excuse after excuse as to why he was staying, but the truth was, he was still hoping that he might run into Susan again. It was stupid, he knewit was stupid, she was a beautiful, clever, gentlewoman, and there was absolutely no guarantee that she’d even rememberhim, even if he did manage to find her again.

Everyone he’d asked from the pub where they’d met knew her, knew ofher, but no one knew any more about her than Jack did. Not even her last name. It was depressing, and made Jack feel like a stalker, so he’d stopped asking about her. He did not leave London, though, stupid hopeless romantic that he was.

Dwelling on it was even more stupid, he thought as he made his way back from a grocery run for Sunday lunch tomorrow that Lynn had forced him to go on to get him out of her hair for a while. He was being a pest, he should just go home, but the Underlandian in him insisted that home was where the heart was, and right now, his heart still hadn’t managed to let go of Susan.

Jack stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring, because there was no way- He was seeing things because he’d been thinking about her too much. Susan, walking with a younger girl at her side and arguing good naturedly with one of the boys a little ahead of them. “Susan?!” Jack called out before he could help himself, and jogged across the street towards her.

She looked up, eyes going wide with shock on spotting him. She looked so painfully youngin that moment, almost frightened, that Jack slowed uncertainly before he’d even reached her. Still, he pulled his most charming grin on, the one that she’d never been fooled by, but had seemed amused by, nonetheless, and swept her a gallant bow like he would if he unexpectedly ran into Lilibeth. “Jack.” Susan greeted, and that was definitely not the open, pleased greeting he’d been hoping for. She sounded reserved, wary, and worst of all, uncertain.

Jack let his smile dim a bit, and told himself it was ridiculous to feel disappointed. It wasn’t as if they had anything more than one evening of interesting conversation. But it had been the most genuineconversation Jack had managed in years, it had been so Underlandian, like a breath of fresh air in amongst the choking smog of the war.

“Su? Who’s this?” One of the boys asked, frowning at him.

“This is Sergeant Jack Manchester.” Susan introduced. “Jack, these are my brothers and sister, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy.”

Jack offered his hand to Peter, then to Edmund, and then to Lucy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He said sincerely, and then returned his attention to Susan. “I was hoping I’d run into you again, maybe get your permission to buy you a drink, this time?” He asked, and it came out a little tentative, because she still didn’t look nearly as at ease as she had when they’d first met.

“You mean you didn’task permission the first time?” Peter demanded, glowering.

Definitely a big brother, that one, Jack thought with a grin. “I asked forgiveness, instead.” He replied cheerfully.

“Oh, thatJack.” Lucy said wickedly. “I should have known when you bowed.” She added, nudging Susan, who was going ever so slightly pink. “Mum went ballisticwhen she heard Susan talking about you, you know.”

Jack blinked. Would parental disapproval account for how wary Susan seemed right now? Not that he could imagine whythey wouldn’t like him, unless they were some of the people who hated Americans. He could whip out his ‘noble’ English lineage if that would help. “I’m not that scruffy, am I?” He asked, playfully looking down at himself as if checking for dirt or mis-buttoned clothes, and then peeking back up at Susan, looking for a proper answer.

“Not at all.” Susan assured him, and therewas that bright, sharp lady he’d met last time. She was trying to hide her smile, and the appreciative look she cast him, but she wasn’t trying that hard, and it made Jack beam at her in hope that maybe he hadn’t blown this before there even wasa ‘this’.

“No, I think she was more upset about your age.” Edmund interjected, earning himself a truly fierce glare from Susan. He smiled back innocently.

Jack blinked again. “My… age?” He asked. “I’m only twenty-eight.” He pointed out, cautious and bewildered. Susan might be a little younger than him, but not by more than four or five years. He’d thought as much in the pub, particularly when she laughed, that she was maybeon the wrong side of twenty, but he doubted it. Only, he realised, looking at her now, that she stilllooked like she was maybe on the wrong side of twenty.

Susan wasn’t quite meeting his gaze, and she looked… unhappy. Lips pressed into a thin line, and expression carefully neutral in a way that Jack didn’t believe for an instant. “Ten years.” Edmund murmured thoughtfully. “That’s not quite as bad as Mum was afraid of, I think.”

Ten years. That meant that when Jack had met her, when Jack had teased and flirted and fallen just a little bit in love with her, Susan had been fifteen. It made him feel dizzy. After all, he’d started fights with the sort of creeps who would leer after his little sister that way, and Susan was the same age as Ruth.

That brought Jack’s train of thought to a screeching halt. Because trying to put Susan and Ruth next to each other and thinking of them as the same age just… didn’t seem to want to workin his mind. Susan had notbehaved like a fifteen year old in that pub. Not even a little bit. He wondered, giving Susan a slightly closer look, just how old she’d be on the other side of a mirror.

“At least I’m not as bad as Great-Uncle Tarrant.” Jack said, and then snorted, because, wow, that was an understatement, even if it was hard to gauge the exact age difference when some days he was actually younger than Great-Aunt Alice.

“How bad is Great-Uncle Tarrant?” Lucy asked curiously.

It was a bit of a struggle to do the maths. Underland didn’t really agreewith things like maths. “I’m pretty sure that, chronologically, Great-Aunt Alice is more than twenty years younger than him.” Jack answered, because that was as exact as he could get, and then he brightened as an absolutely brilliant idea occurred to him. “If you wanted, you could come meet them? We’re doing Sunday roast tomorrow, and the whole family’ll be there.” He offered to Susan, who looked just as shocked as she had when he’d called out to her earlier.

“You want me to meet your family?” Susan asked cautiously.

Jack nodded, smiling warmly. “I think they’d love you.” He told her, entirely honestly, and didn’t add the follow up that was sitting on the tip of his tongue; I think I could love you, my gentle queen.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Peter said, which startled Jack a little, since Peter didn’t seem to like him very much. The clap on the shoulder Peter then gave him was a little too rough to be called friendly. “We’ll be there.”

Ah, Jack thought, amused. Not letting his sister go off with a strange man into foreign territory alone, that’swhat that was about. “The more the merrier.” Jack assured him, and only realised just how right he’d been to say it when Peter wasn’t the only one who relaxed. Besides, it was true. If he was bringing Susan, then a good portion of the guest list from Underland probably shouldn’t come, and that meant that Lynn was going to make far too much food for just the ordinary human-like people. Three more mouths to feed would barely make a dent.

He gave them his address, promised them again that everyone would be delighted to meet them, bowed again to Susan and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand in farewell, and jogged off home with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before.

---

Tavan was finding it increasingly hard to sit still. Lynn reached across the table and put her hand over his, and it was only then that he realised he’d been fiddling with his cuff to the point of fraying it. Sheepishly, he tucked his hands out of sight under the table, and Lynn rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know why you’re fretting so, Tavan. Edmund’s already proven he’s not going to baulk at a bit of Underlandish magic.” She pointed out, going back to doing the household accounts.

Edmund had done a lot more than that, Tavan thought. Edmund had proven to be brilliantly sharp-witted, curious, and adaptable. Tavan didn’t think he’d ever once heard the phrase ‘but that’s not how that works’ or any of the derivatives from him, and he’d thought up as many of the more shocking things about Underland that he could, just to make sure. Edmund had figured him out in a hot second, of course, because Edmund was brilliant, but he hadn’t been upset. He just looked sneakily amused in that way he had, and asked drolly if he’d passed the test.

Tavan had kissed him.

It was only after, when Edmund had crawled into his lap and quite thoroughly marked up his neck, and rumpled his shirt, that Tavan remembered that he was in Upland, and the belated panic hit. Edmund had taken one look at his poleaxed expression, and said, in a fond murmur; “You’re fine. I don’t think bigotry is the natural order of things, either.”

Tavan had beamed at him. “Yeah, ye passed the test.”

So now, Edmund had an invitation to Underland. Which would be fine, it would be great. Except. Except Tavan had thought he’d be taking Edmund to see Iplam, to see the flower fields and show him Tavan’s study. Maybe to meet Grandma. And sure, Grandma was scary, but she was still family. He hadn’t counted on Her Majesty The White Queen insisting, all wide-eyed innocence, that Edmund “simply mustcome to Marmoreal and meet the wholefamily.”

Which meant that Edmund was going to be subject to meeting the Queen of Underland on his very first trip there. And, yes, Queen Lilibeth was like an aunt to Tavan, but that didn’t change the fact that she was the very literal heart and soul of the land, and that was intimidating no matter how sweet and gentle she, of course, was.

The doorbell rang, and Tavan jumped to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste, and rushed to get the door. Edmund was, as always, a lovely sight, and his shy, sly little smile as he stepped over the threshold was as charming as ever. He was unfailingly polite to Lynn, and if Tavan didn’t know him, he would never have been able to tell that Edmund was actually quite eager to get on with things, he was so cordial and patient.

Still, he did know better. Quite a lot better, actually, so he gave his cousin an apologetic grin and said; “So sorry tae rush off, Lynn, but we’ve an appointment we just cannae be late for.” while dragging Edmund not too subtly towards the stairs. Edmund laughed, and Lynn waved them off with a roll of her eyes, calling after them that Lilibeth would never be so crass as to be impatient.

Which was true, but still, her disappointment if you caused her to considersomething as uncharitable as impatience could be crushing. “Lilibeth?” Edmund questioned as they made for the spare room.

“Ah…” Tavan grimaced. “The White Queen.”

Edmund flinched perceptibly, and Tavan faltered a little, concerned. “Sorry. Bad memories. Why is she the WhiteQueen?” He asked cautiously.

“Tha’d be because she’s the moral center o’ Underland. White for purity, open-mindedness, compassion.” Tavan replied thoughtfully, and then looked at Edmund again, checking on him, because his reaction had been unusual, to say the least.

Edmund was nodding, though, expression the same intense curiosity he always got about all things Underlandish. “Some cultures associate white with death and winter.” He pointed out.

Tavan laughed a little. “Well, don’t tell Lily that. Not that the Queen can be anything but hospitable tae any o’ the seasons, but I think she might do something un-queen-like if you suggested she was supposed tae represent winter. She loves her roses far too much for that.”

Edmund relaxed properly at that, and just in time, too, because they’d reached the mirror, and Tavan paused to take a bracing breath before stepping through. Lilibeth, of course, hadn’t listened to a single word of Tavan’s request for a modicum of privacy, and had invited what looked like half the court to come meet Tavan Hightopp’s beloved.

Exasperated, but not surprised, Tavan turned back and stuck his head and one arm through the mirror, holding out a hand in invitation. Edmund grinned as he took Tavan’s hand and allowed him to pull him gently through the mirror. But as he passed through the rippling surface, something strange happened. Edmund Pevensie stepped into the mirror, but the man who stepped out on the other side into the White Queen’s court was no London school boy.

Edmund was almost as tall as Tavan, now, with a touch of dark stubble over his jaw and a silver circlet gleaming in his dark hair. His clothes, too, were different. They looked like they belonged here, a fine tunic with a crest in the shape of a lion on his breast, and leather breeches tucked into high boots, and a sword on his hip that his other hand fell to perfectly naturally.

Tavan quite lost his breath at the sight of him.

Edmund’s breath caught a beat later, and he looked down at himself, even as his free hand left his sword to touch cautiously at the circlet – the crown, it was definitely a crown– on his head, and then ghost down over the corner of his jaw. And then he smiled, so beatifically that Tavan’s breath caught all over again, and he actually felt a little weak-kneed when Edmund turned that smile on him and offered him his arm. He took it, of course, and subtly guided Edmund over to where Lilibeth was rising to her feet. The crowd of familiar faces parted before them like they never would have if it had just been Tavan. Or if it had been Tavan and Edmund as he’d looked on the other side of the looking glass.

Lilibeth rose to the occasion magnificently, despite the confusion, and was all smiles as she greeted Edmund. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a properintroduction.” She lilted curiously.

“Your Majesty.” Edmund greeted, inclining his head respectfully, but notably notbowing. “It seems I am, once again, King Edmund the Just, of Narnia.”

---

Benji loved it when Lucy came to stay at Pemberley. Somehow, she lit the place up, and made everything that was familiar to him new and exciting again. She ran barefoot through the woods and taunted him into going skinny-dipping in the lake with her and taught him new dances under the watchful gazes of his ancestor’s portraits in the gallery.

She never stayed for long. That wasn’t her way, and Benji didn’t mind. Sometimes, he went with her when she left, whether that was travelling to far-flung places to meet new people and learn new languages, or to meetings and charities and projects closer to home, watching her throw her considerable will against any and all problems she came across, but sometimes he didn’t. And they both liked it like that.

That, Benji thought, was the thing he loved best about Lucy. Loving her was never a trap, never a cage, never a duty. She was a wild thing and she would not be tamed, and in turn, never once tried to tame him, and never asked for more than he could give.

He got a little caught up in it, caught up in herand her way of life, riding the high of being known, so clearly and effortlessly, by someone who shared his feelings and values. Which is why it came as a complete shock to him when, on the first evening of Lucy’s third stay at Pemberley, when his father leaned forwards a little and said; “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Benji, what the hold up is.”

“With what?” Benji asked.

“The engagement, of course!” Father replied, and reality crashed back onto Benji with a feeling like being submerged in ice-water. At his elbow, Lucy went suddenly still. An alarming thing, given she was usually always so full of movement.

“What engagement?” Benji asked, half genuinely bewildered, although he had a creeping sense that his family had gotten the wrong idea, because they never had understood when he tried to explain what it was about the girls he stepped out with that put him off so badly every time, and half stalling for time.

“Benji, darling, please.” Mother said, fondly exasperated. “You haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“Don’t mistake us, we’re very happy you’ve found someone!” Father added. “But your mother is right, you’ve been very obvious about how much you like Miss Pevensie.” His lips pursed with something that was half way between amusement and disapproval. “A little tooobvious, sometimes. You’d better hurry up and make an honest woman out of her, or people will begin to gossip.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucy said, before Benji could shake the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck and find the breath to speak for himself, “but I’m afraid you’ve all got rather the wrong idea.” She said it in her High Society Voice, which was a sure sign she was sharpening her metaphorical claws. “I’ve no intent to marry. At all. Ever.”

“You’re young yet, my dear.” Mother said, looking a little concerned. “I know marriage can seem intimidating. Lord knows you and Benji are very alike in that regard, but it’s a wonderful thing to find the right person to support you through life.” She shared a loving look with Father. “You shouldn’t let something like that, with someone who understands you, pass you by just because you’re nervous.”

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. Benji suspected she was praying for patience. “I’m not letting anything pass me by.” She said sharply, a flash of fire in her eyes as she opened them again, the smile on her lips a challenge more than any sort of expression of happiness. “I appreciate having Benji in my life very much.”

Father chuckled, while Mother went a little pink at the rather salacious tone Lucy said the last two words in. Joan snorted, derisive, drawing everyone’s attention. It was a very unkind sound, and Benji startled, because he’d thought Joan and Lucy got on. They were of a similar age, and a similar temperament, and had had many a passionate argument about one subject or another, sparring with ideas in a way that Benji was entirely unsuited for. “He’s not the only person you’ve been appreciating, though, is he?” She asked pointedly.

The whole table went still. Benji’s other two sisters turned to stare at Lucy, suddenly resembling nothing so much as hyenas staring down prey. But Lucy couldn’t be preyif she tried, and met the sudden threatening stares with a complete lack of shame. In fact, her chin kicked up a little in stubborn, fierce pride. Benji almost smiled to see it, but the flicker of admiration was quickly dampened by the thick tension in the air. “Joan?” He asked carefully. “What’s this about?”

“You didn’t tell him?” She asked of Lucy. “You swore to me you would.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows, then smiled. “Benji?” She called, and Benji hummed an acknowledgement, wary of opening his mouth again lest he be talked over. Again. “Joan walked in on me kissing Viscount Cranbrook’s son at that wedding last weekend.”

Benji blinked, startled by that reminder and a little uncomfortable at having such things discussed at the dinner table, with all his family sitting nearby. Then, he began to realise why Joan was looking so very upset. Why everyonewas looking so very upset, actually. “Yes?” He said, deliberately playing obtuse. “You already told me about that.” He paused to smile faintly. “In vivid detail.”

Joan dropped her fork. Father choked on his wine.

“Benjamin Percival Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Mother snapped, putting her own wine glass down with a very inelegant thump. “Such things are notappropriate dinner conversation!”

Benji felt veryindignant about being scolded for something that wasn’t his fault. At all. “Why am Igetting scolded? Joanie’s the one who brought it up!” He paused, feeling a little guilty, because Joan had been trying to be a good sister, to protect him, even if she had been making assumptions., and it felt a little unfair to throw her under the bus after that. So before Mother could start scolding again, he turned to his sister. “Thanks for worrying about me, though, but it really is fine. Lucy did tell me what she was about. She always does.”

There was another one of those stunned silences. Benji was really getting tired of them, and this time he couldn’t even tell what had prompted it. “You mean she’s done this before?” Joan demanded, sounding more bewildered than scandalised, which at least cleared that up.

“Yes?” Benji offered, looking around the table. Everyone else looked significantly more scandalised, and a bit insulted, whether that was on his behalf or the family’s, he couldn’t tell, and it made him feel a stranger in his own home all of a sudden. “Why are you all so damn surprised?” He blurted out. “I told youhow trapped it all makes me feel, with girls who are all thinking of marriageand one and onlyand forever. I can’t even tell what I my favourite foodis going to be on any given day, never mind who my favourite personis going to end up being next year, or the year after that!”

Joan was the only one who had the decency to look a little shame-faced. The others just looked vaguely appalled.

Except Lucy, of course. Who washis favourite person, and might even stay that way for the rest of his life. But still, the idea of trapping her in that role, of binding her to him and him to her in any way more than a simple question asked every day they happened to be together – ‘do you want?’ with no demand upon the answer being yes – was abhorrent.

Lucy just giggled, and reached out to lace their fingers together. “Why not everyperson?” She suggested cheerfully.

“I haven’t met every person.” Benji pointed out as solemnly as he was able, with his lips persistently trying to twitch up into a smile.

“Yet.” Lucy countered brightly. “And on that subject!” She declared enthusiastically, banishing the weight of the previous conversation and his family’s judgement as easily as a spring breeze scattering morning mists. “I was thinking about going to help the relief efforts in Morocco, and I thought you might like to come this time?”

#Chronicles of Narnia #pevensie siblings #crossovers #Peter Pan #Alice in Wonderland #Pride and Prejudice #Peter Pevensie #Jane Darling #Susan Pevensie #Edmund Pevensie #Lucy Pevensie #Next Gen OCs #Queer Pevensies #Demi!Peter #Bi!Susan #Gay!Edmund #Poly!Lucy

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demaury · 4 years ago

Text

open your heart (and let me know you want me here)

9k / friends to lovers / ao3 link

Here is the thing. When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat.

or; a childhood friends to lovers au

1- Someone who makes me feel something. Butterflies and fireworks and all that shit.

He’s fifteen when it happens, and as most things it doesn’t look like much of a big deal at first. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and although it should be a regular one like so many others, there’s something unique in the fact that he’s sitting on the navy-blue carpeted floor of his bedroom, trying to figure out a math problem, while Eliott is humming to himself and scrolling down his phone on his bed. The setting isn’t what makes it all new, and much less Eliott’s presence — he’s actually one of the very few constants of his life, ever since the Demaurys moved across the street about a million years ago.

What makes it all new, scary, a bit foreign, is that it’s the first time they hang out, since he told Eliott he liked boys. Which- Okay, coming out to Eliott was really not the problem, really, it never was. He wasn’t… He wasn’t scared that Eliott would take it the wrong way, you know, he wasn’t scared that all of a sudden Eliott would start looking back at him with disgust, that’s not what it was about. He just… He just didn’t know how to word it out. When would be the right time, and if there would ever be one — but turns out there had been one. About a week ago, he and Eliott had been texting late at night, and when the conversation had drifted onto Lucille, more specifically Eliott’s lifelong crush on her — it’s not quite the truth, but two years feel a lot like two lifetimes when you think about it —, Eliott had jokingly suggested that Lucas should get himself someone too so they could go on double dates, once she finally agrees to acknowledge him.

(He doesn’t know why it’s taking her so long, and if he’s being honest, he’s a bit prejudiced against her because of this exact reason.)

Naturally, because old habits die hard, his first instinct had been to deflect. I’m not 45 yet, double dates sound boring as fuck, he almost wrote back, but at the last second he had erased all the words and went for Pretty sure I wouldn’t need you to make a fool of myself in front of my very hypothetical boyfriend instead. There had been a few agonizing minutes spent staring at the ceiling after that, phone turned screen down onto his mattress, while he nervously chewed onto his bottom lip with his stomach in knots; in the meantime, Eliott had flooded their conversation with offended texts, because ‘oh, so you just think you can keep me away from him??? That’s sweet’, and just like that, Lucas had felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Eliott asks excitedly, jumping in a sitting position so fast it makes the bedsprings creaks loudly, and Lucas hums in response, still frowning at his math problem without bothering to look back. He loves Eliott, he really does, but that boy has about a million things crossing his mind at all times of the day (and night), so he’s long given up on the idea of giving him his undivided attention every single time something like this happens. “What would you want him to look like?”

Lucas’ hands hover over his equation result for a moment as he blankly stares at his page in confusion, but then he throws a look above his shoulder, and he finds Eliott expectantly looking at him. “What? Who?”

“Your hypothetical boyfriend,” Eliott supplies, his smile widening when Lucas huffs and shakes his head.

“Don’t you think I have better things to think about right now?”, he groans, his attention drifting back onto his homework. He feels like he’s been twisting his brain over this for hours, and it’s not like he can possibly ask Eliott anything on the matter, because he may be two years older, when it comes to math he’s about as useless as a glass hammer.

“Better than thinking about the man of your dreams?”, Eliott gasps, and Lucas is about to tell him that this is all becoming extra cheesy for something that has no actual basis whatsoever when he adds: “You can’t find him if you don’t have an idea of what you’re looking for.”

“Because he’s going to suddenly show up, out of nowhere, just because I started picturing… I don’t know, some abs and a vaguely undefined hair color?”, Lucas snorts. He doesn’t make a habit of asking Eliott to be serious, because well, it’s Eliott, he’s got his head in the clouds a fair share of the time, but, like, come on.

But instead of picking his phone back up and moving onto another topic, one that doesn’t require Lucas’ participation at the very least, Eliott lets out an appreciative noise. “So you are picturing something, good start. Abs and… what’s the hair color again?”

Naturally, Lucas ends up smacking Eliott with his textbook — or at least trying to, because despite Eliott professing a lifelong hatred of sports of most, if not all kinds, he’s surprisingly quick and agile like a giant cat —, and, eventually, his idiot best friend agrees to leave it at that. Which would have been terrific, really, if his brain had agreed to do the same.

But later, much later, when it’s already dark outside and Eliott has been gone for hours, he finds himself thinking about it — that stupid, stupid idea. He can’t help but wonder, what if he’s right? What if he never finds anyone because he just doesn’t know what he’s looking for? Eliott has been crushing on Lucille for two years, but Lucas can’t even remember ever crushing on anyone. There’s never been anyone who made his stomach flutter, who made his mind go blank, who made his thoughts swirl around. There’s never been anyone who made his knees go weak, or turned his stomach to mush.

And maybe, as he keeps thinking about all the feelings everyone always talks about that he never got to experience, maybe that’s when he starts making it — maybe a couple of yearning thoughts are already the beginning of a list.

9- Someone who gives a shit

“How do they fit?” Eliott shouts from behind the bathroom door, and before Lucas has the time to reply he immediately adds, speech rate quickening like the words are tumbling down from his lips: “Because I’m pretty sure I can find something else.”

Lucas throws a glance at his sad reflection in the mirror, catching sight of the tee-shirt falling down mid-thighs and the shorts reaching below his knees; clearly not his best look, he thinks halfheartedly, flattening a couple of strands sticking up at weird angles at the back of his head. It’s only because he doesn’t want his best friend to take the door down that he ends up unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom.

“It’s fine, that will do,” Lucas mumbles, because honestly, he’s already crashing at the Demaurys’, it’s not like he can afford to be picky at the moment.

Eliott is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, and he gives him a sympathetic look — warm and gentle, honey-like in sweetness if not in color. “Good,” he nods, a nice smile stretching out on his lips as he slips into his bedroom.

Lucas follows him, shutting the door behind himself. Eliott vaguely smooths his comforter before climbing onto his bed. “What do you want to watch?”

Lucas twists his mouth a little, and for a moment he feels a bit lost without quite being able to tell why. He’s standing in this room he knows by heart, but still, it feels weird and alien. He uncomfortably rubs an invisible spot on his arm as he tries to process what’s different about it all. They’ve done that hundreds of times, he’s spent some of the best afternoons of his childhood and teenage years in Eliott’s house, in Eliott’s bedroom even, but…

But he’s never done that.

He’s never slammed the door after one too many fights and straight-up imposed himself at the Demaurys’, and judging by Eliott’s demeanor ever since he showed up, soaked wet from the rain outside, he knows he feels it too — it’s weird. It’s different. It’s not the usual excitement floating in the air.

“I don’t really feel like watching anything right now,” he confesses, fiddling with the hem of Eliott’s way-too-long tee-shirt. He’s just tired, he’s heard so much yelling today it’s like his ears are ringing.

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s fine,” Eliott says quickly. He pats the spot next to him until Lucas caves and joins him. “I just thought you might… I don’t know, like a distraction.”

“Being here is enough, don’t worry,” he says, maneuvering himself on the mattress before folding his legs against his chest, and honestly, he wishes that were true, he really does.

Because Eliott is Eliott, and he really doesn’t want his friend to feel bad about him any more than he already does — so Lucas does as he usually tries to do. He tries to shove it all as far down as possible, in the smallest corner of his brain, where it doesn’t hurt as much. He tries not to think about the fact that tomorrow is another day, that eventually he will have to come back home, and how much he doesn’t want that. He tries not to think that Eliott’s tee-shirt feels soft against his skin, and that even if it’s the weirdest sleepover they’ve ever had, even if something feels off, he still feels a thousand times better here than he does at home.

Eliott crosses his legs, and leans forward to reach for a pair of earbuds on his nightstand. “How about some music? You can choose whatever you want.”

Lucas’ eyes travel a few times between Eliott’s eyes and the earbud that is offered to him, and he picks up with a small huff. “Alright, okay.”

Eliott makes a small, content sound, like it makes him genuinely happy to spend the night with his grumpy self, listening to songs that aren’t even remotely close to his personal taste — and maybe Lucas goes along with it. Maybe he’s selfish like that, but this one night, he just gets along with it. He lets soft piano music soothe his mood a bit, slowly lulling him into sleep until his head gets too heavy and he has to drag himself to the guest mattress that has been set up for him like so many times before.

Crossing the street to go back home, that too he’s done a million times, but not often with that weird gut-feeling of walking right into a no man’s land. His dad’s car is nowhere to be seen, and the silence is deafening as he pads through the silent house. He shuffles upstairs to change before school, going about his morning routine with a weird tension lodged between his shoulder blades, his head too full of thoughts, and he’s shoving a biology textbook into his backpack when he sees it. It’s a DVD — Ratatouille. It’s, embarrassingly enough, one of those movies he could watch over and over again without ever tiring of it, and obviously Eliott knows, obviously, because they’ve watched it so many times since they were kids, and who else would have put it in there?

His mouth twists into half a smile when he picks up the DVD, a bright yellow sticky note on the front of the box. Everything is always better on Blu-ray, I promise ✳

11- Someone who fucking sticks around and doesn’t leave when things go to shit

A Blu-ray isn’t enough to make it all better, as it turns out, but Lucas surely appreciates Eliott’s gesture for what it is, and all those that follow later, when his family situation goes from bad to worse to terrible. He’s never made a habit of setting a stupid list of resolutions with every new year, but this time, and this time only, he’s resolved to stop thinking about that fucking new year. At best he’s allowing himself to laugh it off. Divorced parents? Funny as hell. Mom in a psychiatric ward? Hilarious. Family house on sale? Hysterical. They’re cruising around the near-empty supermarket, aimlessly going from one aisle to the next as Lucas picks up random stuff to drop them into the cart Eliott is pushing. It’s another Wednesday, it’s lunchtime, and he knows there’s nothing to eat at home, because there’s been no one to go grocery shopping for him.

“So what are you guys planning for tomorrow?”, he asks distractedly.

Just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s clueless about the ways of those who aren’t — and he knows that tomorrow night is a big deal for Eliott, long before they even take left and stumble onto a sea of sugary pink and velvety red. An aisle has been pushed to the side at the center of the store to clear some more space for Valentine’s Day displays. The racks are filled with chocolates of all kinds and flavors, heart-wearing Teddy Bears, gifts, cards and even plastic flowers, but Eliott doesn’t really seem to pay attention to anything. Which, in itself, isn’t that surprising. He’s been dating Lucille for three months now, ever since they got paired together for some oral presentation at school and that it finally opened her eyes at how wonderful Eliott is, so Lucas doesn’t really expect his best friend to go for the first generic box of chocolates he finds.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Eliott says evasively, following Lucas when he walks past the Valentine’s Day area. “We haven’t talked about it much yet.”

Lucas hums. “It’s your first Valentine’s Day,” he points out distractedly, eyes skimming over various cereal brands, and he ends up reaching for a Crunch box that he drops into the cart, “I’d have expected you to buy balloons and a giant Teddy Bear or something.” Or simply to show up at Lucille’s window with a boombox, he almost adds, but he keeps it in just in time. Eliott doesn’t need any bad idea of that kind. Judging by his musical taste, it’s frankly better for everyone, starting with Lucille’s parents’ neighbors.

He hears Eliott toying with the shopping cart chain. “Luce’s kinda busy. Her parents are on her case with the BAC and all,” he says, and Lucas gives him a look, from his spot at the end of the aisle, that makes Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up innocently. “What?”

“Why are you lying?”, Lucas asks, squinting his eyes a little.

Eliott scoffs, but it comes out wrong — off-key. “I’m not lying.”

He’s definitely lying, Lucas thinks bluntly, and he rolls his eyes to himself. His best friend is so painfully transparent that he should probably be grateful about it, he should probably be happy that he’s able to read him like an open book, but instead he hates that Eliott doesn’t seem to have any clue when it comes down to it — it makes it even more annoying whenever he tries to lie to his face. “You are,” he retorts with a pointed stare. “What’s up? I thought you’d be over the moon or something.”

Eliott squirms behind the cart, his hands awkwardly drumming along the handle. “Oh, no I am, truly,” he says quickly, “I just thought we could… I don’t know, maybe go watch a movie or something. You and I.”

And there we go, Lucas thinks, and it’s like a weight is dropped onto his shoulders, making them slump with an inaudible woosh. There’s a pang inside his chest, and it’s not a big one, it’s not a breath-altering one, not those that make you want to curl into a ball and cry, it’s just the kind of sting that reminds you of a sore spot. A bruise still a little tender, a scar still noticeable.

“Are you asking me out, Demaury?” he snickers, trying to deflect the sudden change in the atmosphere, but he already knows it’s useless because he can’t be the only one going for it — they both have to play the same game, and he already knows Eliott isn’t willing to.

“I just think you might want some company,” Eliott says with a nice smile, and although Lucas loves that smile, he really does, this time it just doesn’t work.

“I’m fine,” he replies briskly, and he pulls sharply at the end of the shopping cart to move it forward. It’s a petty gesture that seems to startle Eliott, and he immediately feels bad about it. “Your girlfriend doesn’t need you to worry about me, she needs you to fuss over her.”

“But I-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eventually Eliott nods, muttering a small ‘right’, and Lucas has to pretend he doesn’t want to rush out of here, lunch be damned. He hates it, he hates when Eliott is like this, and hates even more that it’s because of him. They walk through the store for a few more minutes, mostly in silence, only occasionally making a small comment or two about things they see on their way to the cash registers. Eliott starts filling the reusable shopping bags Lucas retrieves from his backpack while he pays a ridiculous amount of money for his purchases, and then they’re off.

“Hey,” Lucas mumbles pitifully as they reach the bus stop at the end of the parking lot. “I… I’m sorry if I was rude. I really appreciate what you do for me, everything, it’s just… I’m just trying to hold it together.” He looks away, tracing a weird line in the concrete from the tip of his shoe to avoid Eliott’s eyes.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t be pushy,” Eliott says, and there’s the faint trace of a smile in his voice. He leans down to squeeze the shopping bag he’s holding between his feet. “But I want you to know I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, so whenever you feel like talking… I’m here.”

It takes Lucas a few seconds to look up, and there’s something so soft and gentle into Eliott’s expression that it makes something melt into his chest almost instantly. He finds himself mirroring Eliott’s smile, albeit lamely — not quite as beautiful, not quite as warm, not quite as reassuring. He finds himself thinking about what Eliott just said for a while, as they hop into the bus and make their way home one stop after the other. He's not going to accept his offer for Valentine's Day, because if anyone deserves to be taken care of on that special day, it's Eliott's girlfriend. But still. Maybe, someday, he can manage to find someone who just doesn't leave.

15- Someone who feels like home

It’s a long while before he thinks about the list again — he doesn’t even know where it is, but he guesses moving abroad for a semester tends to do that to you. He’s in his second year of uni when he jumps on the Erasmus offer, and between paperwork and packing up and unpacking and settling down and trying to, maybe, eventually, meet some new people to make the next three months of his life somewhat relevant on a human level, he doesn’t have much time to think about whether or not he’s going to meet the man of his dreams at the next street corner, much less whether or not he checks an inordinate amount of criteria.

Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. Lucas has never been excessively hopeful about it in the first place, so he can’t really say it’s something that requires a lot of self-discipline. Occasionally Eliott brings it up over text or FaceTime, because he’s an idiot like that, and he’s his best friend, so of course he considers it his double duty to bring up that kind of corny, embarrassing prospect.

“I don’t know, he’s kinda cute in a way,” Lucas says one day, roughly two weeks after landing in Oslo, about some guy he’s met at a party. He’s dutifully sent Eliott his Instagram handle for approval, and for the past few minutes they’ve been going through his publications over FaceTime, like they’re back in Lucas’ old bedroom, with Eliott on his bed and Lucas sitting on the floor.

“He looks fifteen,” Eliott replies unhelpfully, snickering a little. “Didn’t know it was a turn-on of yours. Did that one make the cut?”

“Shut up,” Lucas scoffs, and he regrets not being able to send something in Eliott’s face in retaliation. Besides, he looks barely his age himself, it’s not like he’s in a position to comment about someone else’s appearance — something Eliott promptly dismisses as soon as Lucas points it out, because ‘Lucas, don’t expect me to tell you you’re not ridiculously attractive’, and he’s vain enough to take the compliment without arguing.

After that, well, he goes back to not thinking about it.

Final terms are rolling around and he crams for it, and before he can even catch a breath, it’s already the end of the semester and Christmas is right at the corner. He lands back in France three days before Christmas Eve, and of course he crashes at Eliott’s, because he hasn’t spoken to his father in nearly four months and a half, so it’s not like he even has options to choose from — but he has to admit, it feels nice, knowing he’s going somewhere he’s wanted. Eliott has been buzzing over it for weeks now, making plans for movie nights and places to go and people to see, so much that Lucas almost forgot to be sad about leaving Oslo.

“I’m so fucking happy to have you back,” Eliott says excitedly, voice a little too loud in the narrow stairwell leading up to his third-floor one-bedroom flat, and he’s so eager that he ends up bumping Lucas’ suitcase a couple of times between the stairs, the wall and the banister.

“Jeez, calm down,” Lucas huffs, “the whole neighborhood doesn’t have to know I’m here, thanks.”

Eliott opens the door of his flat with a nudge from his shoulder, not looking even remotely sorry. “Well, that’s just the beginning if we get a place together,” he singsongs, and Lucas shakes his head a little — but deep down, he loves it. His cheeks are hurting from smiling, and he feels his shoulders relax instantly as soon as he crosses the threshold. Nothing has changed since he left last summer. Not that he expected it to, but it’s always nice. In the small, cramped living room, Eliott has already prepared a pillow and a comforter, carefully folded to the side of the couch, and it’s not even that late (not even 10), and the flight wasn’t even long (not even three hours), but Lucas already feels very compelled into dropping himself there and wrapping himself into the blanket — so he does just that. He quickly nibbles on a leftover sandwich he bought at the airport in Oslo, while Eliott excitedly rambles about some renting options he’s seen here and there, and then he quickly sets up his bed.

His best friend is sweet enough not to make fun of him for it, and when he flips off the light on his way out of the living room with a cheerful ‘sweet dreams’, Lucas doesn’t think, for one second, he can love him more than that.

“How about this?” Eliott grins triumphantly as he turns the lion plushie he had growing up in his direction. Lucas isn’t sure, but he thinks it might have been supposed to look like Simba, before he proceeded to drag it everywhere with him until the color irrevocably turned a dirty mix of greenish-yellow and grey. “Don’t you miss him?”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head, and he turns back to busy himself with a heavy storage box filled with what looks like bedsheets and drapes of various kinds. “I’m way past needing plushies, thanks,” he snorts, reaching for the plastic lid of the box to replace it in its dusty corner.

They’ve been here for about twenty minutes, in the storage unit where most of his and his mom’s stuff are neatly piled up in, and although he initially thought that this would be easy, because ‘C’mon, it’s just a storage unit, it’s not Versailles in there’, turns out there are lots and lots of things to search through. He doesn’t regret bringing Eliott along, to be honest; it takes at least two to make their way around all the stuff, and at least Eliott can reach the upper shelves. At first they had started renting the unit to store his mom’s things away after the divorce, but when Lucas moved to Norway, he couldn’t afford to pay both the student lodging and rent at his old flatshare simultaneously, so he was forced to give up his spot over there and to store his things here in the meantime.

“Have you no heart?” Eliott gasps, and when Lucas turns back, he’s pouting as he gives the plushie a sad look. “We’re definitely watching Toy Story tonight.”

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly with a scoff, and eventually, after another moment of staring, Eliott agrees to put the lion back into whatever cardboard or plastic box he found it and to move the fuck on. In the meantime, Lucas moves over to another stash of smaller plastic boxes, still looking for the clothes he left behind before Oslo, but it’s not long before Eliott makes another sound, that has Lucas’ head whipping around.

“Hey, remember this game?” he asks, grinning as he waves a version of Risk. “God I miss that old peasant woman who told us off whenever we would be beating up people.”

“Dark Eliott was really a formative experience, but don’t ever end up on the wrong side of the tracks, thanks,” Lucas snickers in his corner, taking the lid off one of the boxes before he starts rummaging through its content. There’s a bit of everything in there, from old assignments to a snapback, pictures, a couple of textbooks, and as he keeps digging through it all, Eliott huffs something he doesn’t quite catch.

It’s during that overall quiet and regular afternoon that the list makes its comeback into Lucas’ life, after months of barely giving it a thought, and maybe at least a year of not adding another entry; it slips out from an old Annabac textbook when he picks it up from the box. The fold is a little wrong and the corner slightly crumpled, and for a second he contemplates just shoving it back at the bottom box, because he’s really not in the mood to entertain that kind of ridiculously hopeful thoughts for a better future or whatever, but in the end there’s a weird kind of curiosity that pushes him to open it.

Just a quick look, he thinks, discreetly peering above his shoulder to find Eliott busy in the opposite corner. The list has a total of 54 entries, ranking from thoughtful to shallow to frankly depressing at times. A wry smile shows up on his lips at entry #4: he gotta be tall because I’m not spending my life climbing ladders to change light bulbs. Or even better, the entry #9: someone who makes me laugh so hard I cry — it has something terribly soft to it, almost… pure.

The entry #29 is entirely Eliott’s fault, he knows it right off the bat: not too many tattoos thanks. It’s crossed, because shortly afterwards Eliott got his first tattoo for some obscure reason, and despite Lucas’ adamant protests, his best friend insisted that he accompanied him to the parlor for the big day — and then he got another tattoo, and another, and after some time Lucas was forced to realize that… okay maybe tattoos were okay.

The rest of the entries are sometimes awfully precise (#34 ‘light eyes????? Fuck yes?????’ and #41 ‘abs. abs. abs.’), or completely vague (#29 Fucking consistent). And then there’s entry #50. One of the last entries, that he probably wrote towards the end of high school or during his first year of uni, during a lonely evening at the flatshare — a very graphic description of what he’d want his imaginary boyfriend to do to him, which he had written after watching some porn locked up in his bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Eliott’s voice sounds so close that Lucas startles guiltily, snapping the list down against his chest in the textbook definition of caught red-handed. Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up as they make eye-contact, and Lucas tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat up. “I- uh- nothing,” he croaks out. “Just going through old stuff.”

There’s a glint in Eliott’s eyes, like he knows, like he can read through his fucking mind — like he too just read that entry #50. Stop fucking spiraling, he doesn’t know shit, he admonishes himself. The only thing he knows is that Lucas is acting like a teenager caught looking at porn.

“What?”, he asks, trying to find back his composure.

Eliott shrugs, with that annoying little smirk on his ridiculously pretty face. “Nothing,” he says, voice drawling a little, but he’s motioning next to Lucas to busy himself with the upper shelves in Lucas’ direct vicinity, and he knows his best friend is being annoying on purpose.

Lucas squints at him from the corner of his eyes. Seemingly unbothered, Eliott stands onto his tiptoes, arms extended at their maximum capacity to reach for a big, dusty cardboard box almost touching the ceiling, and his tee-shirt is riding high and showing the smallest trace of his rib tattoo curling down his side, and that’s when it creeps onto Lucas, at the worst, most inopportune moment. His eyes travel back and forth between Eliott and the list a couple of times, and despite his best efforts to keep calm, Lucas’ stomach starts doing a weird somersault.

Oh no.

Here is the thing.

When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat. That couldn’t have been farther away from what he had in mind, he’s pretty fucking sure of it. And yet here he is. He’s slipped the list into the front pocket of his hoodie before they left the storage unit, and then he took it out to shove it in his laptop bag, where he’s pretty sure no one will find it. It’s not that he’s afraid Eliott would be weirded out about it, it’s just… It’s a lot. Because it’s one thing to be aware that your best friend is insanely attractive, and it’s another one to think that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind being the one he kisses, the one he pulls by the waist at night, and the one who makes him feel good in bed.

The irony of the calendar (and his life, really), makes it that the next few days are just a whirlwind of Eliott Eliott Eliott, and by the time Christmas rolls around, Lucas is ready to die. Not because he doesn’t want his best friend anywhere near, but because he would very, very much appreciate if his brain could just fucking stop bringing up that wishlist every fucking five minutes — every single time he so much as glances or thinks about Eliott. Which tends to be problematic when he’s literally living with him at the moment. All of a sudden it’s like he’s hyper-aware of all the times Eliott smiles at him, reaches out to ruffle his hair in the morning, or has a nice gesture of any kind. It’s like he feels somewhat guilty for every laughter they share, and when they go do some last-minute Christmas shopping, Lucas walks around on automatic pilot for the better part of the afternoon, after inadvertently catching sight of Eliott’s arm flung around his shoulders in a mirror.

The only upside of having a dysfunctional family is that for at least 24h it takes Lucas’ mind off Eliott and that weird-ass situation his fifteen-year-old self put him in the first place. He spends Christmas Eve with his father and his new wife in a restaurant, and if one can’t be caught dead trying anything to make his son feel at ease, the other is trying so fucking hard it makes Lucas wants to throw himself in the traffic on the way to pick up his mom at her subway stop. Because yes, his stepmother insisted that he brings his mother, and Lucas was chicken enough to accept, just so that he wouldn’t have to sit through the whole dinner with his father and his weirdly enthusiastic second wife.

The whole dinner is as awkward as it can possibly be, but then Lucas comes back to Eliott’s place, early enough that his best friend is still at his grandparents’, and he tries to make sense of the feeling of relief he feels when he drops himself on the couch, only to see Eliott’s sketchbook on the coffee table, and Eliott’s hoodie thrown carelessly on the armrest, and Eliott’s drawings pinned up on the walls, and the piano pushed in the corner. It used to be in Eliott’s bedroom back at his parents’, and they would mess around trying to get the Star Wars theme right with four hands on the keyboard.

None of these things feel new — but all the hyper-awareness is weird enough to make him want to scream and hits his head repeatedly with the flat of his hand. And the worst part is that it keeps going on like this. Spending Christmas day at the Demaurys’ shouldn’t feel so weird either, and yet. He’s always been Eliott’s platonic plus one at every single one of his family birthday dinner, so he knows everyone and everything about this family. He knows that one of Eliott’s uncles and his godfather will inevitably end up on different sides of an argument about politics, that Eliott’s dad will probably try to lighten the mood, that Eliott’s younger cousins will pout for a fair share of lunch or dinner except when they’ll venture on TikTok halfway through, that Eliott’s grandmother will make a passive-aggressive comment or two about the food that his mother will try to ignore, and at some point, as always, she’ll go to the kitchen, and make a weird face only for Lucas to see, and that he’ll have to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh — he knows all of that, because he’s been around for fifteen years.

But still it does feel weird. A little bit. And not just because he’s never spent a Christmas dinner with them. It feels weird, because it downs on him that Eliott is single, and that he’s single too, and that although Eliott’s mother welcomes him as soon as Eliott walks him and asks if they can add a plate, when they take off their coats, Lucas catches a silent conversation between her and her husband that results into Eliott’s dad shrugging. Did they ever think they were more than friends? Did they ever think Lucas was more than just the kid from across the street with a fucked-up family? Because he himself never did, but now it’s all he can think about. And if he had been a girl, or if Eliott had been a girl, if they had been in a boy/girl kind of friendship, he knows that at some point the Demaurys would have asked for ground rules, no matter how ridiculous it would have felt for them. No closed doors in the afternoon, no sleepovers in the same room, and with every birthday dinner or birthday lunch, people would have just assumed they were a particularly chill couple who refrained on PDA.

So that’s how he spends his Christmas lunch, alongside the Demaury family. He laughs at the jokes thrown around, at the same family memories he’s heard a bunch of times already, rolls his eyes at the political arguments on the other end of the table, and spends entirely too much time pondering the ins and outs of heteronormativity and the way it may or may not have shaped his relationship to his best friend.

“You okay?”, Eliott asks at some point on his way back from the kitchen, squeezing his shoulders lightly, and Lucas has to crane his neck all the way up to make eye-contact because his best friend is standing behind him.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” he says with a smile, and when Eliott goes to sit back at the table, Lucas tries his best to ignore another look he catches between Eliott’s parents.

“Can I ask you something?” Eliott asks from his spot against the stove, hands tightly wrapped around his mug while Lucas pours himself his second coffee of the day.

It’s officially the last week of the year, and to Lucas’ great dismay, he’s not particularly sure that any of his internal questioning sessions will die at midnight on New Year Eve. To make matters even worse, he doesn’t feel like he’s slept one bit, and although he initially tried to conceal it at best as he could, he guesses he’s making a poor job considering Eliott joined him for breakfast roughly three minutes ago and is already picking up on the signs.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucas says, trying to sound relaxed, nose in his mug to avoid looking Eliott in the eyes.

“You would tell me if you didn’t want us to move in together, right?” Eliott enquires after a moment. “I mean, it’s not the first time I get an idea and I run away with it and you’re…”

“No, no, I still want to,” Lucas interrupts, and he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weird and scratchy as it feels in his throat. Because he does. He genuinely still does want to go through with it, because no matter how fucked up his brain is making things for him lately, Eliott is still the closest from home he’s ever felt.

Eliott hums. “Oh, okay,” his voice trails off, sounding hesitant, “I mean I was afraid you might have changed your mind and didn’t know how to tell me.”

Lucas laughs, but deep down he wants to slap himself because it sounds like chalk screeching on a blackboard in the silent kitchen corner. God you’re so fake. “I don’t know where you got this idea, I’m still 1000% in.”

Eliott looks sheepish, chewing onto his bottom lip uncomfortably. “Look, I know… I mean you’ve been kind of quiet lately, and I know sometimes you get lost in your head a bit. I don’t want you to think you can’t, like, talk to me or anything.”

Lucas’ grip tightens around his mug. He doesn’t deserve Eliott. No one does, but especially not him. “I’m fine it’s just… You know, Christmas mood isn’t my strong suit,” he mumbles, eyes falling. “Plus, going through all that stuff the other day… It brings up some memories.”

After all, it’s not a lie. It did bring up a lot of feelings and thoughts, and although they aren’t all that unpleasant, it’s surprisingly difficult to maintain eye-contact with your best friend when you spent most of the past few days trying not to picture his mouth on you.

“I’m sorry,” Eliott says, sounding so absolutely genuine that Lucas wants to smash something — preferably his head against the kitchen sink. “Of course I don’t know how you feel but, you’re not going through it alone, right? I’m here for you. Always have and always will.”

Lucas swears he could cry. He can’t possibly keep it to himself. Not when Eliott is his best friend, not when they’re just about to start looking for a place to live together, not when the longest Lucas has tried to hide a secret from him was exactly ten hours. “You’re checking a bunch of boxes,” Lucas confesses with a long sigh, eyes falling shut for a second.

A weird kind of silence settles in the kitchen, tension lodging between Lucas’ shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”, Eliott asks after a moment.

“The boyfriend list,” Lucas mumbles, shaking his head to himself. “Or wishlist or whatever. It’s fucking dumb, I know, and I never realized that before, but the other day I found that stupid list again in my stuff at the storage unit, and now I don’t know what to do with it, or what to think.”

If anyone needs a guide on how to ruin a lifelong friendship, Lucas Lallemant is your reference, he thinks humorlessly. But it’s Eliott. So maybe it’s not that bad, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. And okay, maybe he is making a big deal out of it, maybe he wouldn’t have to be afraid about Eliott’s reaction if he wasn’t the one making it sound like-

“And you feel like… it’s a problem?” Eliott asks carefully, as if he had followed his train of thoughts.

Lucas sneers, finally turning around to meet Eliott’s eyes. “Well, you tell me. I’m shaping my imaginary boyfriend after my childhood best friend, what does it say about me?” He’s pretty positive it’s not the sign of someone with a perfectly balanced life.

“That you have great taste,” Eliott grins, but it kind of turns into a wince when Lucas lets out a groan. “Hey, it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want to, alright? I’m nothing extraordinary, I’m sure plenty of guys check those boxes.”

“But…?”, Lucas prompts, because it feels a lot like Eliott isn’t done but he’s really close to tell him that pausing for dramatic effect right now is definitely not the nice thing to do.

Eliott’s hands are still gripping tight his coffee mug. “But nothing. Like I said,” Eliott adds, clearing his throat a little, “it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Suddenly it hits Lucas that he sounds fucking nervous, like, actually nervous. Why is he nervous? Oh right. He just made things weird. “Why? Do you want it to mean something?”, he asks, hoping to go for a casual laugh, but it comes out wrong, off-key.

“Well… I started making a list too, a couple of years ago,” Eliott says, before pausing. His mouth twists a little. “And it’s… uh, it’s possible you’re checking a bunch of boxes as well.”

Well that’s just getting better and better, Lucas almost says. It’s Eliott’s turn to avoid his eyes and Lucas isn’t sure what’s going on but he’s pretty positive he doesn’t like it, because now things aren’t just weird on his part anymore, and he has no idea what to do with that piece of information.

Eventually, because he’s like that, Lucas snorts — it’s just too much. “Look, I appreciate it if you’re trying to make me feel better but-”

Eliott looks offended. “I’m not,” he says, sounding earnest, and Lucas’ words die in his throat. “Okay, you know what? Come with me.” He puts his mug down onto the kitchen elements, and Lucas doesn’t even have the time to say anything before Eliott motions to leave the kitchen, dragging him along in his wake. His own coffee mug still in his hands, he stares in confusion as they walk into the living room, his best friend going to retrieve one of his sketchbooks from the tiny coffee table.

The next few seconds are particularly silent as Eliott flicks through the pages, but he eventually exhumes a loose leaf from the depths of the sketchbook. What strikes Lucas first is that there’s a lot of black ink on it. Lines, sometimes full-on paragraphs have been crossed with a thick black marker, which offers a stark contrast with Eliott’s rather small but clean handwriting.

“See? I’m not lying,” he says, and he seems to hesitate for a split second, before he hands it to Lucas. “You can read it, if you want.”

No that’s personal, is the first thing that comes to his mind. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the kind of thing he would want people to think about his very own stuff — that it’s off-limit, that peeking is rude, that it’s intrusive. He knows he’s an adult, he knows that, and Eliott is an adult too, and even more so they literally grew up together, they figured shit out together, so it’s not like Eliott would bat an eye if he ever read anything about Lucas’ slightly graphic descriptions, no.

But would he die on the spot from the sheer embarrassment? Probably.

And yet — when Eliott holds his list, he picks it up. He’s a hypocrite like that.

“Boy there's a lot of marker,” he says dumbly, cocking an eyebrow, but deep down all he can think about is that he’s holding that stupid list Eliott wrote, about the things he wants in a partner, and he hates, he hates that there’s some kind of weird hope fluttering deep inside him.

His eyes skim over the entries, more avidly than he’d like to admit. Naturally, Eliott my-head-in-the-cloud Demaury cannot go straight to the point, so it’s not surprising that each entry turns out to be at least a full sentence long.

3- They don’t mind a good challenge and won’t pass on an occasion to try out new things even if that means stepping out of their comfort zone.

8- They understand that mental health isn’t smiling all the time.

14- They’re straight-forward enough to say when things aren’t fine and don’t dismiss it with a shrug.

“Okay but that could be anyone, Eliott,” Lucas says flatly, turning the page over, and he tries his best not to feel disappointed because it’s not like he has the right to be. “And I’m sorry but I think the last time someone called me ‘optimistic’ was, like, in kindergarten, and it was about another Lucas.”

“Well that’s the thing,” Eliott argues with a small shrug, and he buries his hands in his pockets. “To me it’s kind of… you. And I know it’s confusing because well, I was there too, but I feel like… I don’t know, the point of making a list like that in the first place is to figure out what matters and what we want, no?”

Lucas’ hand tightens around his mug. “I mean, yes,” he admits, voice dragging slowly on the last word. But does that mean you want me? He can’t get the words out, it’s like his mouth is full of gravel. Another reason why Eliott’s list can’t possibly be about him, he’s far, very, very far from being brave. Or even ‘quick-witted’ for that matter — he only has biting come-backs that would also get him beaten up in middle school. “But between knowing what makes you comfortable and knowing that you want to know your best friend in the biblical sense, there’s an ocean,” Lucas points out, a bit more dryly than intended.

Eliott’s cocks an eyebrow. “In the biblical sense,” he repeats, laughter not far behind as he perches himself onto the armrest of the couch, and just because of that, because of the subtle way Eliott’s voice changes, because Lucas knows he’s biting back a laugh — it’s because of these small things that the tension lifts a little, and that the atmosphere shifts to something more bearable.

“You know what I mean,” Lucas huffs.

Eliott grins, that kind of annoying grin that made Lucas smack his face with textbooks back in the days. “Oh, yeah, I do, don’t worry about that.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, eventually glancing back to Eliott’s list — but it’s like the words don’t print themselves in his brain, like he can’t comprehend those simple sentences written in Eliott’s oh-so-clean handwriting. “You haven’t told me what all that marker was about,” he croaks out after a moment of silence.

“And how about you tell me how you actually feel about this?”, Eliott asks gently. He rises up from the couch, stepping closer, and Lucas finally finds the courage to look up long enough to hand him back his list.

“I think that you deserve to find someone more than anyone else in the world,” Lucas says, voice getting a bit quiet as he grabs tightly his cold coffee mug with both hands. “But I don’t know if that someone could be me. I never thought… I mean it’s only been a couple of days, before that I never thought of us like that.”

“But you did in the end,” Eliott points out.

It gets Lucas’ brain to work, the wheels turning even faster — because Eliott’s right. He didn’t come to think of being romantically involved with Eliott because Eliott showed him his list, he got there all by himself. And the problem isn’t that Eliott is repulsing, it’s not that the thought of kissing him and going on dates with him is weird, it’s not that falling asleep next to Eliott is grossing him out. The problem is-

“I think I just don’t want to risk losing you,” Lucas admits in a whisper, eyes falling. He’s never been in an actual relationship. His list of exes should be requalified as, at best, weeks-long flings, and he does not particularly think he’ll be a natural at this, courtesy to his parents displaying the opposite of a healthy relationship for most of his life — the last thing he wants is to hurt Eliott in the process of trying and failing.

He only looks up when Eliott’s hands cover his own around the coffee mug. “I know. And I know no amount of promises on my part will make it better, but if you need me to I’ll repeat it every single day.” His thumb gently caresses the back of Lucas’ hand. “I’ll be there as long as you want me to. And if you don’t want me like that, then it’s fine too. I’ll still be there no matter what.”

Lucas takes a deeper inhale. “Why are you so calm about all of this? How long have you been sitting on that shit to be so chill now?”

Eliott looks sheepish. “Two, three years maybe.” Lucas’ mouth falls open, but Eliott quickly adds: “I mean, it’s not that I was like, just fantasizing about you for like three years straight, it’s just that, like, I always thought you were always the one that…” His voice trails off and he huffs a laugh. “See why I didn’t say anything before? It’s just… it’s so hard to explain.”

“Yeah,” Lucas snorts, chewing onto his bottom lip. “Tell me about it.”

But deep down he’s starting to understand what Eliott means. It’s hard to put into words every little thing that makes Eliott the person he needs most. Something not even a list of a thousand entries can do. And maybe that’s why it feels so alien that, to Eliott, he’s the perfect match to his wishlist. To me it is you, Eliott had said before, and now he gets it. He gets it because Eliott’s hands are around his own, he gets it because Eliott would probably be willing to tattoo ‘I will not leave you alone’ somewhere on his arm if Lucas asked. He gets it because Eliott has been sitting on his own feelings for three years, and still he helped him out pick up guys, sort out his life, encouraged him to leave for a whole different country, and he was only brave enough to go through any of it because Eliott made him feel like he was capable of doing so.

“My list is a mess,” Lucas confesses. “And I should probably cover a thing or two before you see it because that’s, like, not appropriate for a first table read. But if you want to read it… Then you can read it. And then you can decide if you think you can put up with me more than you already do.”

Eliott’s smile is soft and blinding at the same time. He takes one of his hands off Lucas’, and when he pulls him closer by the neck, Lucas still feels weird about it, but not in a bad way; there’s just something churning in his stomach that wasn’t there not so long ago. He just leans into the touch as Eliott’s lips press onto his cheek, because Eliott smells good, and it makes him feel warm and protected in a way no one else ever made him feel.

“I’ll be honest,” Eliott says quietly, not pulling much away, “that’s why there’s so much marker on mine.”

This time Lucas feels warm for a whole different reason. He feels the tip of his ears heating up a little bit, and he’s positive it doesn’t have to do with Eliott’s immediate vicinity. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat a little bit, “that’s… something to think about.”

“One step at a time though.”

Lucas finds himself smiling, mirroring Eliott’s expression, his eyes trailing a second too long on Eliott’s lips. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

#skam france #elu fic #eluficrec #mine #*#it's been so long i feel like i don't know how to write anymore <333 #*my fics

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squeeneyart · 4 years ago

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas.

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole.

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.”

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life.

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?”

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell

Tim: just saw this

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice!

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call.

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case.

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.”

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #simon fairchild #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #i swear to god theres selkie content its just very slowburn selkie content #jonmartin

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periminkle · 5 years ago

Text

Orphic | 01

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.3k (includes slightly edited version of preview!)

rating: PG-15

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, scuffle, not nice people >:(

author’s note: the first chap! thanks so much for all the love for the preview and pls let me know if you enjoyed it bc i have even more of a praise kink than our king jimin :) i don’t wanna know if u hated it lmao get outta herE

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“Almost there... And... Done!”

I heaved the last of the sturdy boxes into the narrow doorway, pride bubbling at my unexpected strength. Droplets of salty perspiration were beginning to form at my temples and became increasingly uncomfortable the longer I stood there.

But, with a litter of obnoxiously brown boxes blocking the route into my recently purchased home, I had no way of setting foot past the minimal space by the doorway. “Shit.”

Spontaneously deciding that enough energy had been exerted for the day, evident by the shroud of darkness out the expansive windows, a few steps took me back out the front door. I followed the chipped white timber of the sides of my house, heading towards the back entrance.

Even though the plot was relatively large in size, the cottage built upon the land was minuscule; a single floor encompassing a kitchen, living room, hallway, bedroom and bathroom.

With that being said, the rest of the expanse was mine to revel in and admire. Hence the lack of fence encompassing my area, seeing as the forest bled its way into my recently mowed lawn anyhow.

The bulk of the towering woodland was hidden in a blanket of obscurity, brought about by the later hours that subtly induced unease. Those late night horror movie marathons only worsened the unrest in my mind.

I tried to dispel the disquietude with thoughts of the methodic chirping, courtesy of the tiny orchestra of crickets that seemed to be scattered in every which direction. The smell of the damp earth invaded my senses and relaxed my shoulders a fraction.

Albeit, the crunch of dead leaves being trampled under a heavy weight belonging to an unknown being unsettled me enough to break into a scurry along my wooden porch.

With a slight shiver slipping down my spine, I shook any solicitude off and slid open the unlocked door. I was greeted by the cool air conditioning of the indoors, as well as a telltale grumble from my own drained form.

I preheated a batch of leftovers that I’d thankfully packed from my family’s house, foreseeing how debilitating the move would be. Without regard to the lamentable furniture surrounding me, I plonked down on a creaky seat and felt my depleted energy stored slowly being refilled with each bite.

Even though my furnishings and house were humble, regret had no place in my mind for the difficult decision I’d made to pack up and leave my childhood home. Over there, the lights never flickered and scuffled furniture simply didn’t exist, with even the moldings on the walls lacking even a speck of dust.

But I witnessed, lived, through the monstrosities that lay beyond all those superficial aspects. The suffocating nature, not in the air that circulated around the place, but in the individuals with no respect for one another. My tolerance thinned over the years and I’d left the second I could.

Living in a secluded area of my tiny town had its own perks for my antisocial self — one of which being an absurd amount of land for a relatively cheap price — but the appeal of living in a bustling city wasn’t lost on me.

For reasons excluding my relatives, I was simply tired of having lived in a city my whole life and desired some form of change, meeting new mindsets and developing my own.

Before I’d even properly settled in, I’d been convinced that moving out here had been a brilliant decision. Saving up for a couple years to be able to rent out a cozy cottage with a stunning forest as my backyard was turning out to be my haven.

Albeit, the pesky bugs were certainly not a part of that bliss.

I detached myself from the distant thoughts about my life hundreds of miles away and focused on the scenery across from me, better able to observe the breathtaking quality of the tenebrous forest from the safety of my new home. The sylvan scent penetrated my home, having closed only the window screen behind me when I entered.

Hearing the weak mewl of some kind of feline peaked my curiosity, wondering if a neighbour’s cat had taken a long journey and gotten themselves lost. I picked up the slow movement slinking among the bramble that connected my backyard to the thick timberland.

The light from my lamps only extended so far and unluckily, I was unable to properly identify the animal staggering towards my back porch. My heart ached, thinking that this poor animal must be starving and in need of help.

An apparent limp in its movements tugged at the last of my heartstrings. My fridge was stocked full, being one of my top priorities when I moved in; so food wasn’t a problem right now. Deciding it would be nice to make a new friend, I gathered my own bowl and headed outside.

The sliding of the window screen startled the pitiful creature, making a hasty retreat in the form of a hobble to find refuge in the foliage, hiding and waiting for my next move. I let out a small smile, hoping to appear as friendly as possible as I slowly stepped out into the chilly night air once again.

“Hey buddy, what’re you doing out here?” I crouched down and laid the bowl on the floor. “It’s kinda cold out, hm?”

Not even the twitch of a leaf.

“Are you hungry?”

I was met once again with no reaction. Deflated yet understanding in the lack of trust, I pushed myself back up, grabbing the bowl. As I stepped towards the door though, I heard it again.

Mew.

With a quiet giggle, I turned back, winked at the still-hidden creature and stepped inside, sliding the door closed. The night was silent, save for the trill of the crickets reaching their own encore for the night when the door abruptly opened once again.

“You like tuna, bud?” A smaller plate with canned tuna, out of the can but still in its cylindrical shape was placed on the last step of the porch. “Thought you might like that more than leftovers, huh?”

Although the same lack of response took place, I wasn’t deterred this time, smiling one last time into the darkness. “Enjoy it, but not too much okay? Go back to your owner’s house after this.” I let a shiver run through my body from the cold nipping my bare skin before ambling back inside to finish off my own dinner.

Despite my words, I did hope the kitty would come visit again.

I felt yet another ache pulse through my stiff back. The absence of a proper bed to sleep in at night was duly noted and the task of assembling my bed frame was bumped up higher on my to-do list for the day. Another night of cuddling up on the freezing, rigid floor with only a flimsy sheet to cushion my restless body might strip a decade out of my life expectancy.

A feeble attempt to flatten out my wrinkled button up — that I painstakingly ironed the day before — proved as fruitless as the dozen other times I tried smoothing it out just this morning. I brushed the imaginary dust off my modest pencil skirt while I was at it, resigning to my rumpled fate.

Groaning, I swiftly nabbed a granola bar and a pre-made sandwich I’d filled with tuna, inspired by the incident with the hidden feline last night. Despite the gruelling urge within me to check for possible remainders on the porch step, the blinking light from the oven clock pushed me down the slender hall and back to my barricaded doorway,

I squawked in recollection, pushing at the hefty boxes in a flurry. Eventually, I created a tunnel which I crawled through, slipping some sneakers on before stumbling out to the bus stop. When I recalled that the closest stop was a five minute walk, time being a luxury I couldn’t afford right now, I broke into a sprint.

With heaving lungs, I reached the little blue shelter just as the bulky vehicle rounded the corner. A few steps, the tap of a card, the beep of the completed transaction, and a huff brought me on to an austere seat.

The same shade of prosaic blue within the bus itself led my eyes to the view beyond the dirty windows, marvelling at the vibrant greens and bright earthy tones that blocked any view of the sky.

Fifteen minutes condensed into seconds, my mind racing with the new possibilities and experiences this town would bring me. Even the prospect of the shy kitty returning again tonight prompted a brief smile.

Dismounting from the stifling vehicle, I took a moment to adjust to the blinding white shade of the laboratory; I pursed my lips in determination. Hoping to appear graceful with long strides, I made my way to the entrance, pulling open the heavy door with a click. A receptionist came into view.

She could barely be seen over the lengthy, curved desk, only the top of her coiffed strands on the crown of her head peaking through. As I approached, I took in her excessively teased hair and big brown eyes, accented with thick, black liner.

Clasping both hands together in a bundle of chilly nerves, I patiently waited for the tapping of the keyboard to cease before she turned one heavily shadowed lid towards me. “Hello, welcome to the Test Centre of Enriched Mutagens, how can I help you today?”

Only slightly intimidated, I fumbled with my fingers out of sight. “Uh, hi there. I recently got hired as a lab attendant here.” Cursing my distinctly timid tone I continued, “I was instructed to ask for a Kim Seokjin?”

A stiff nod and more typing was my only reply. Orbs remaining trained on the monitor in front of her as the lady picked up the receiver, punched some numbers in a rapid succession, then situated the phone between her right shoulder and ear. The fervent tapping continued.

I wondered what she was typing up that was so important.

“Yes, she’s here director,” she quipped. My gaze lodged itself onto her name tag, framed by her strawberry blonde locks. Bae Eunmi. “Of course, I’ll send her up.”

The receiver clicked in place as she nodded her head towards the left. After a couple seconds passed with no further acknowledgement, I became increasingly aware that the short interaction was all I was going to get out of the curt woman, trekking over to the elevator she had indicated earlier.

With only two floors to the laboratory, the trip wasn’t long enough to grant me time to compose myself from the abrupt conversation I experienced before I was met with a long hallway, ending with a sturdy door that had a slit above the bulky handle for a keycard.

Seeing as I had not received any sort of card, I peered around at the nameplates drilled beside the other wooden doors. This floor ominously had no windows, a dingy, low lamp the only source of light that allowed me to decipher the engravings.

I passed a few flashy titles before I reached Assistant Director Kim Seokjin.

With a deceivingly confident knock and a shaky inhale I picked up a faint, “come in.”

A rather spacious office was revealed as I pulled open the heavy wood — shelves filled with packed binders, loose papers scattered across the desk with a thin monitor practically concealed under neon coloured sticky notes. Even the two chairs tucked away in the corner had a teetering stack of paperwork on each seat.

I took a step inside the chaotic space and bowed to the man whose sunken eyes flickered to my own. “Hi, sorry to disturb you. My name is Y/N and we talked on the phone last week. I’m the new research attendant.”

He flashed me a kind smile through his exhaustion, his evidently dull features proof of a long night. Considering the sheer amount of paper work in his office, I wasn’t sure a good night’s rest was ever on this man’s schedule.

“Ah, yes, you came down from the city, correct?” I nodded in confirmation, glad he remembered our previous conversation. “My apologies that the director couldn’t meet you himself, but you’ll get to see my handsome face instead,” he chuckled, sounding faintly similar to a windshield wiper. “I’m Kim Seokjin, the assistant director, but you can just call me Jin, everyone here does.”

I felt my tense body slacken at his warmth and bright disposition despite his arduous workload. Unconsciously, I suspected the whole staff may be terse and unwelcoming, though I was thankful that I was pleasantly mistaken. In my comfort, a chortle escaped my lips. “Alright then, Jin, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Of course it is,” he exclaimed with a jesting harrumph. “So, how are you liking this lonely town so far?”

Taking a few steps closer I responded honestly. “Even though the loneliness hasn’t hit me yet, I feel like I can finally breathe here. The city was a bit much sometimes.”

Humming in an understanding tone, I watched him rise from his plush chair, plucking one of the many binders out of the shelf and placing it on top of the mountain of papers on his desk. “That’s a good mentality, you know? I hope you can always find the silver lining in any situation you’re thrown into.”

Jin grips one of the many contracts laid within and slides it over to me with a pen. “Sign each highlight please.”

As I read over all the nitty gritty details, the man across from me continued, “I really hope you can be as resilient as we need you to be, Y/N. I know it’s tough work, but I just have a good feeling about you.”

Not paying much mind to Jin’s ramblings I easily agreed and handed the completed contract back.

“Well, come on then, I’ll introduce you to the people you’ll be working with.”

I accompanied Jin back out his office and down the hall, past yet another sturdy wooden door. The strong, pungent scent of coffee assaulted my nose, confirming the new space I’d entered was the break room; two male employees lounging around and sipping on their steaming mugs.

“You finally came out of that office Jin?” A tall man leaning against one of the tables called out first, grinning with his dimples on full display. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like I’m the only one doing work around here anymore.” He jested, a playful smirk attached to his handsome visage.

“You can’t blame us, you know Hyunho and Minzi would never let us breathe the same air as their ‘confidential project.’ Wouldn’t want our ‘inexperienced hands’ ruining the whole thing.” The other man in the room rolled his eyes, taking another sip of the bitter liquid in his cup.

“We’re not getting into this again, you two.” Seokjin gave a stern look, any lighthearted air in the room dissipating along with his remark. He glanced back at me, nudging me forward with a tap to my shoulder. “This is the new lab attendant, Y/N.”

Although the sharp-eyed man spared a sympathetic glance my way he backfired with, “yeah, the third one this month.”

“Yoongi, I said that’s enough.” Although Seokjin’s words were strict and clipped, the palm rubbing over his face displayed his fatigue.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t even have access to the files, I mean we are researchers too, this is complete bullshi—”

“Y/N, I’ll be heading back to my office to finish up some paperwork, alright? These two can show you ropes.” The assistant director turned in my direction, the corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly before trudging back to his office.

The shorter man slammed his mug down on the shabby table with a low, “goddamnit.”

“Honestly, I think this little guy is the best part of the whole place.” The dimpled man who had introduced himself as Kim Namjoon flashed his dimples, attempting to overcompensate for his gloomy partner, Min Yoongi.

The two had been working as lab assistants here for a few years now and despite the seniority, Namjoon insisted on maintaining a first name basis with both him and Yoongi. He also offered a tour, which I graciously accepted.

“A jaguar?”

“A baby jaguar.” The sprawled sleeping form of a pitch black feline met my eyes. “He was brought in about three months ago. His name is Taemin.” I carefully approached the cage, maintaining a safe distance as a general precaution despite his lack of consciousness.

Rather than providing comfort, I found that the muzzle locked around his jaws unsettled me further, which I found oddly paradoxical. I guess my designated tour guide picked up on my discomfort when he voiced, “he’s docile enough to us, but if Hyunho or any of his lackeys come by, he can get real aggressive.”

This was the second time that name popped up into the conversation and I quelled my blazing curiosity, dispelling any urges to question Namjoon about the mysterious figure. With the negative context his name was brought up with and the dark, brooding look Yoongi wore, I decided it was best not to prod, for my own sake as well.

I was brought back to reality when the animal in front of me shifted slightly. Despite my reluctancy to become attached, I couldn’t help but coo when a stretch wracked his small form, turning over in his sleep.

Although I had done my share of research into this laboratory before applying to the position and was cognizant that they didn’t harm any of their subjects — I knew Taemin’s life wasn’t in any danger, but he would be gone once all his testing was complete. I refused to get too emotionally attached in order to avoid future heartache.

I noticed his head cuddling deeper into his plush bed and knew my plan was futile. “You think he would like me?”

Namjoon let out a hum in thought, “I’m not too sure. You can try petting him if you want, just make sure to let him sniff you first.”

Slowly unlocking the cage, I extended my hand towards the muzzle, waiting with bated breath. The still sleeping animal brought up its head and placed his cheek in my cupped hand, letting loose a faint purr that I felt traveling up my palm. I stroked the edge of his jaw that wasn’t covered by the muzzle.

Oh no.

It was too late, Taemin owned every inch of my heart.

Gently placing his head back down onto his fluffy bed, my hand made a swift retreat as I flicked the lock back in place. I hoped I would be able to see more of the baby in the future.

Standing back up to face Namjoon I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the angel behind bars. Pondering when we would head to the second floor after having examined every speck of dust in the first floor, I voiced my thoughts to the lanky man. “So, are we heading back up now?”

A sigh met my ears and I turned to look at the brooding culprit who hadn’t opened his mouth since the tense interaction with Seokjin, simply tagging along the tour that Namjoon narrated. “We can’t introduce you to anything you haven’t already seen upstairs.” When he met my confused orbs he continued, “we can only enter the break room and Jin’s office up there, everything else is off limits.”

“Oh, um... I don’t mean to sound rude, especially since this is my first day and everything, but the equipment down here seem pretty... Insufficient for quality resear-” I stuttered out my concerns.

“Don’t you think we know that? Why do you think we go through lab attendants so quickly? Nobody wants to stay in a place that doesn’t have the proper equipment to perform any kind of substantial research. Not to mention neither of the head researchers trust us enough to even look at the stupid files.”

Namjoon piped in, probably sensing how heated the other man was getting. “We mainly just note the patterns in the bases of a variety of animals’ DNA that involve certain genes.”

“Not to say that’s not effective research, but scientists with your qualifications usually investigate more ground-breaking subjects.” I became a bit dejected at my own future here; I applied for a job here to further my ambitions, knowing this lab was well-known for its high quality studies.

Would I be forced to move back to the city? I couldn’t tuck tail and scutter home after all the effort and money I expended on this move, not to mention the disastrous situation I would be faced with if I returned now. No, I was desperate to find a reason to stick it out. “Why do you two stay here then? Why not just find another lab?”

“It wasn’t always like this, Y/N. It’s been over half a year now since the new management came in and basically brought in a whole new set of personnel with them. They took all the most expensive equipment upstairs and sealed it behind a locked door.”

“They even replaced the damned cleaning staff.” Yoongi scoffed out, painstakingly fed up with the circumstances.

Namjoon crossed his arms, giving a warning look over to man with bleached locks, probably in order to keep his anger from bleeding through for the second time today. “They were adamant about keeping Jin and he let us stick around, couldn’t leave this lab in the hands of complete strangers.”

“But why—”

My wrist was suddenly enclosed in Yoongi’s long, thin fingers, dragging me into the assistant researcher’s office they had familiarized me with half an hour ago. I saw Namjoon glance around before entering in after us and closing the door behind him.

Yoongi released his grip on me, leaning in close and hissing out, “it’s all some cryptic confidentiality bullshit. They’re doing something up there, something revolutionary, something dangerous, and they only trust their own people to keep quiet.”

With a hum, slightly intimidated, I questioned, “okay, but why did they evacuate the whole place, why not just build another lab and—”

Namjoon leant against the door, lowering his voice as well. “This is a remote town, there won’t be many people to question and investigate what they’re studying all the way out here.”

With many overwhelming thoughts raging, the locked door upstairs abruptly came to mind. “You don’t have the keycard either, I’m guessing.”

“You pick things up pretty quick, huh?”

After the draining events at work, I felt no motivation to peel off my thoroughly wrinkled items of clothing, having switched out of the lab clothes in the changing room back at work.

Rather than a physical enervation, the realization that my expectations to further my own studies was not a reality here sapped me of any incentive to unpack or do anything of value.

The temptation of warm pyjamas encasing my shivering body as I slept another night on the hard surface of the floor was almost reason enough to conjure up some hidden energy from the deepest recesses of my body.

I crawled my way though the makeshift hole I made earlier in the day through two of the boxes. Thankfully, no roommates meant that the house was absent of another being to pester me regarding the hassle I made at the entrance, though I thought it was quite clever considering my circumstances.

The sun had set many hours back, which I failed to detect as all my concentration was set on marking down the base sequence that brought about Taemin’s black fur colour. Jin was double-checking the state of each room before locking up for the night when he discovered my form, hunched over a microscope.

Continuing to the kitchen on hands and knees out of my present shortage in strength, I nearly decided to call it a night right there in the middle of the hallway. Though, I settled with briskly whipping up an egg or two in hopes that it would replenish enough energy to tidy up a bit before retiring to bed.

I left the eggs to cook as I departed, off to locate a plate, which I only had two of at the moment, courtesy of the unloading that needed to be completed at the doorway. A glimpse into the sink revealed the location of one suspect, dirty from yesterday’s dinner.

I tugged open the nearest cabinet to search for the other one because I sure as hell was not washing any dishes right now. But, instead of the ceramic I was expecting, the bare walls of the storage area stumped me.

The memory of the creature I’d met yesterday flashed through my mind, bringing about a sudden burst of excitement that had me shuffling my way to the backyard door, flicking the porch light on and staring at the wood that seemed to glare back at me.

No sight of the tuna or the plate.

Initially, I took extreme offence to the absurd situation. I graciously extended a helping hand to a vulnerable cat to enjoy some savoury tuna and the bugger decided to steal—

Wait.

How in the hell did the thumbless feline pick up the hefty plate in the first place?

After snooping around the surrounding area a bit, no sight of the pristine plate, I gave up. Maybe it held the ceramic in its mouth?

The mental image I’d conjured up brought a slight chuckle out of me, cutting short when catching sight of several crimson paw prints on the porch, accompanied by specks of the same hue. I pondered the unusually large size of the print, slightly larger than my palm.

An alarmingly large quantity of blood appeared with each step, the pace of my heart quickening with worry both for myself and the creature. Who could harm a massive animal like this and for what purpose?

I also thought about if the splotches would wash out with the rain or if I had to slot in a time to come out and clean off the marks. Although, the cleaning supplies were also in those unpacked boxes, so any stain removal had to be put on hold.

The bloody prints extended into my lawn as well, blades of grass covered in a layer of red. From what I could make out, the trail was U-shaped, beginning from the forest, coming to where I stood at the porch, then heading back.

A spike of fear travelled through me when a thicket shook violently. Were these stains left by the kitty I encountered the day before? From my limited knowledge in zoology, I doubted that large cats could even produce such pathetic mewls with their vocal chords, which were better suited to growl or roar.

But what was a creature of this size doing on the outskirts of civilization? I wasn’t too sure about how far the woodlands extended past my yard, but I was relatively certain that the bulkier predators had more than enough space to themselves without needing to expand their territory.

I was in the midst of this back-and-forth conflict with myself when I heard a familiar cry reaching my ears. Pushing back my raucous thoughts for a moment, I settled on responding to little thief.

“You’re back! Do you happen to have my plate by any chance?”

The lack of response confirmed my suspicions. I was now down to one, currently grubby plate in the house.

“Alright, fine, keep the damn thing.” The initial fear and suspicion I felt had simmered down quite bit, heavily due to the lack of aggression on the animal’s part and a distinct fondness I held for my first friend here that I wasn’t aware of yet. Though, I remained on guard, as there could always be another beast lurking.

In order to discover any of answers I was seeking, I knew that I had to take matters into my own hands and decipher whether my pitiful kitty was actually a large, ferocious feline— badly hurt, nonetheless. I took the portable first-aid kit out of my bag as well as the forgotten, squished tuna sandwich.

Removing the saran wrap and crumpling it into a ball, I placed the much-smaller-than-I-remember sandwich down on the wood as bait. “Guess we can’t be civil, huh bub? If you’re gonna steal my plate, have the courage to show yourself, you criminal," I teased and hoped to lure the cautious creature out.

Nothing.

“Hey, you wanna come and let me get a look at you? I can see if I can patch you up, how about that?”

Nope.

“Come on, look! You’re favourite tuna, in a delicious sandwich now!”

Nada.

I pouted at the bundle of leaves I knew the feline was hiding under, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction. Albeit, any sliver of hope was crushed with the lack of movement. Worry grew at the back of my mind, desperately hoping that the creature could live through their seemingly dire injuries. I flashed a regretful smile and lowered the sandwich on the last step.

At the very least, I wished that the snack would provide energy for its body to repair itself. With one last glance at the silent underbrush, I turned my back and lumbered into the confines of my cottage. Hopefully, I would get another chance to beckon the mammal out of its hiding place tomorrow.

The contrast of the dark droplets of blood against the light wood of my porch disturbed me more than I’d like to admit.

The daily routine of travelling to work, interacting with the few friends I made there and coming back home to attend late night meetings with my concealed kitty was growing on me. I was elated that I finally found a group of my own people, and not-quite-people, to converse and share thoughts with.

However, this town also seemed to have its own fair share of rotten apples.

I finally met the rumoured Lee Hyunho, a bulky man who introduced himself as one of the two head researchers. He seemed polite enough at first, but I detected the same brusque characteristic I noticed in the receptionist from my first day.

It appeared that all the staff brought in by the “new” management had this particular quality.

My own frustrations began to grow alongside Namjoon and Yoongi, constantly repeating the same tasks over and over again, day after day. When I tried to confront the other head researcher, Joo Minzi, about granting us more access to the studies they were conducting, she made it very clear that my “inexperienced hands” were not permitted to touch any of their files, test subjects or even approach the lab upstairs.

Charming, really.

The interaction left me fuming, much to Namjoon’s amusement, claiming that he now had two fiery beasts to quell. My interactions with the arrogant staff members were limited though, and bouncing between Namjoon, Yoongi, Jin, and the surprisingly amicable janitor made the work days bearable.

I also took immense pleasure in going against Minzi’s words by playing with Taemin every once in a while.

I was proud to announce my accomplishment in finally unloading all of the supplies within my many boxes to anyone that would listen, now able to revel in the tidiness of my living space. The guys were able to visit now too, previously refusing to crawl through my rather unique entryway.

Progress concerning my kitty was little to none, but I did discover that it was immensely therapeutic to relay my worries to the mammal, finding comfort in its presence.

I took the rustling of the leaves as acknowledgement for my exasperated tone. “I mean, I don’t even feel like a researcher there! It’s all ‘hey newbie, go get me a coffee,’ ‘this is classified, no touching,’ ‘you can’t participate, this isn’t a charity,’ blah, blah, blah...” I raised my tone and ended my rant with a pout, embodying the childish behaviour that encompassed how I felt I was being treated as of late.

“Remember the really cute janitor I was telling you about? Jung Hoseok? Well, he was telling me about some stuff he heard when he was cleaning the lab upstairs.” I heard a short swish of foliage being disrupted, which I assumed was a result of the creature tilting its head.

“Apparently, they’d made big advancements on whatever stupid ‘highly confidential’ project they’re working on. It definitely has something to do with the patterns in different animals’ DNA, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what they’re trying to accomplish...

“And guess what? Hoseok said he’d overheard that they’d lost a test subject a little over a week ago! There’s probably a mouse scurrying around somewhere, living his best, liberated life right now.” I shifted in place, adjusting my position to make myself more comfortable in the chilly night. “I just wish I knew what was going on, you know...”

“I wanted to prove them all wrong.” I sneaked a glimpse at the forest for any indication of a vocal response I knew the creature gave occasionally. In a small voice I added, “but maybe they were right.”

Another shuffle broke through my lengthy monologue and I facetiously grinned towards the camouflaged animal. “Y’know, I’m starting to really question whether you’re here for my company or for this,” I pointed to the tuna, disturbingly still in that short cylindrical shape.

I stared past the obscure stalks of the trees, having found consolation and tranquility in the space a few days prior, even from beyond my glass door. My initial apprehension of unknown monsters subsided and it was reassuring to know that my kitty was somewhere in there as well.

Another shuffle revealed a pair of bright, beady eyes meeting my own enlarged ones. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest by the sudden appearance, although I tried not to alarm the creature back into hiding by revealing my own trepidation.

Knowing the keen senses felines had, there was little doubt in my mind that the one across from me wouldn’t be able to pick up my instantaneous change in demeanour.

“You gonna come and get it or what?” With a slight nod towards the meal, I cursed the slight quiver in my voice and prayed that the creature felt comfortable enough to reveal more of itself to me. My curiosity was bubbling as I allowed my gaze to travel to the crown of its head.

I concluded that the creature’s fur was either pure black or another dark tone, hard to decipher when I didn’t have the enhanced night vision of the mammal perched a few metres away. Said feline made no further movements, keeping his gaze trained on me.

I analyzed the elongated slits that served as pupils, engraving the rich green shade of its irises into my mind, fearful that this sudden intimacy may scare the mammal off, never to be seen again. But, I found myself unable to divert my gaze, feeling as though I was staring at a physical manifestation of the pure soul of the forest.

It was utterly mesmerizing.

An impatient gruff left the creature’s mouth, snapping me out of my reverie and I resigned. “Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m leaving alright?”

Maybe one day the mammal would feel comfortable enough to eat in front of me and I could migrate my dinners to the porch outside. Refusing to get too greedy, I reminded myself that the baby steps taken today were infinitely better than none at all.

With one foot in my house, I turned back to the tantalizing eyes, still focused on my pyjama-clad form as I beamed back gratefully. “’Night bud.”

The snapping of the lock clicking back into place alleviated some of the soreness of my overworked muscles as I took another step inside. My head fell back to sneak a glance at the ceiling, hoping to peek past the old plaster and stare into the eyes of any higher being out there.

I quickly considered whether to thank them for this opportunity of a lifetime or to curse them out for my seemingly limitless workload.

As my eyelids slid close in defeat, an exhausted sigh involuntarily slipped out into the silence. Kicking off my shoes into the pitiful pile by the doorway to join the rest of its brethren, I wandered deeper into my rather small abode in the darkness; only my padded footsteps and the zipper of my jacket being undone

Hearing my stomach rumble with its complaints, I made the couple steps toward the kitchen’s light switch. But, an abrupt halt came with the memory of yesterday’s optimistic plan of embarking on a trip to the grocery store after a short work shift.

Evidently, I hadn’t predicted the gruelling day I would have nor the extra hours that would be requested of me. I found that I’d been frequenting the store quite often as of late, the demand of food increasing once another mouth to feed came into question.

In a reluctant fashion, I pulled my jacket back up to my shoulders, knowing that the fridge was just as empty as my stomach currently was. I pushed my aching limbs back towards the entrance, pondering over whether the grocery store was even open this late in the night.

However, I was forced to a grinding halt once again as I heard a booming thump from my backyard and my blood ran cold.

I waited with bated breath as my heart rate elevated, pounding in my ears. A minute of stillness passed before yet another sigh escaped my jittery body. Another disadvantage of a remote plot included being frightened by every snap of a twig.

As a scoff passed through my chapped lips at my own cowardly antics, I began to resume my trek to the front door when another thud reached my ears. The recognition of the sound coming from the backyard alerted me that this time may be different, with the presence of an actual threat.

Following a series of gut-wrenching cracking noises, hurried footsteps approaching the wooden porch in my backyard startled me to action.

Hastily, I dashed back to the kitchen to grab an unnecessarily large kitchen knife out of the drawer and flew to cover behind my minuscule island. A quick glimpse down towards my chest revealed my shaking hands. Well, this is certainly one way to spice up my night.

Listening to the intruder fumble with the lock for a little while before it was being smashed into, I knew I couldn’t just stay cowering behind my kitchen island, waiting for this murderer to come and end my night (and all my subsequent nights thereafter). The rage behind having to buy and reinstall a new lock also propelled my need for revenge.

I took in a deep breath and steeled myself as the footsteps wandered in, coming straight towards the kitchen. A loud growl reverberated throughout my house and befuddled me further. Was the intruder simply a feral animal? The lack of a problem with my lock dismissed that thought but I couldn’t shake the feeling of a predator having sneaked into my house.

The feeling of being stalked.

I rapidly shook off that irrational thought, doubtful the stranger even knew of another presence in the house. As the intruder turned the corner — coming straight towards my hiding spot — I reared back a little before launching myself with my dull knife leading the way.

A screech made its way out of my throat as the intruder’s reflexes were evidently a lot better than mine, catching my wrist before I could inflict any damage. But, I refused to give in just yet as I attempted to smash the hard edge of my palm straight into the stranger’s nose in order to buy myself some time to flee.

Unfortunately, for me, that attack never reached its target as the intruder caught my throat in his other hand much faster and used his larger frame to smash my body against the fridge.

The wind escaped me, though I kept squirming to try whip my knee straight to his crotch as a final ditch attempt. I lightly cursed as a glimpse informed me the intruder was a brawny man.

He noticed my struggle and easily flipped me around, one hand finding purchase in my hair, banging my head against the cool metal of the fridge and the other held both of my hands pinned to my back. The knife clattered to the ground in a dangerous arc.

In the middle of wondering how the hell he gathered my wrists and disabled me in a split second, I felt a heavy growl in the shell of my ear. A cold shiver slipped down my spine, adrenaline slowing leaving my body as we both puffed out breaths of exertion.

What the actual fu—

“No hurt, need bandage and go.”

His broken English came out with a slight accent and I found myself nodding instantaneously as I tried to work out what he needed. “Okay, okay,” I muttered as best as I could with half my face smushed, “I have bandages in the big drawer by the sink. You can take those.”

I only received a grunt in acknowledgement. He nudged me with his foot to shuffle backwards with his hand still wrapped around my wrists and led me to the sink. Half curious about his motives and half accepting that I could never overpower the stranger, I followed obediently. Though that didn’t stop me from deliberating over how to outsmart the man.

Deciding on waiting for an opening or a slack in the grip around my wrists, I nodded my head towards the drawer I was referring to earlier and finally peered up at my intruder’s shadowed face. He wore a black ball cap on, aiding in hiding his features which were mostly guarded by the lack of light anyway.

A glance at the lower half of his visage allowed me to witness his pale lips and the small mole directly underneath them, as well as a sharp jawline leading to his exposed neck. Inconspicuously bringing my gaze even lower, I took in his matching tattered black outfit, confirming his bulky build and scuffed sneakers.

Maybe I could run to the nearest police station — which admittedly, was rather far, and provide a detailed description of the criminal. Considering if I made it out alive, of course.

With his vacant hand he swiftly pulled the drawer open, taking handfuls of bandages, gloves, bandaids and other miscellaneous items I crammed in there. The stranger stuffed as much equipment as he could fit into the large pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

I would have found his full little pouch endearing if I wasn’t preoccupied with worrying over my own well-being.

Another awkward wobble later, we were back at the fridge. At this point, I was gathering all the courage I had left to aim for a pressure point on the criminal’s thigh that I vaguely knew the location of. I should have paid more attention in those self-defence classes, damnit.

Just as I turned to act, he bent down to pick up the discarded knife off the floor, effectively deterring my attack and forcing me into submission. He then turned to me to flash a slight smirk.

“Cute.”

Releasing his death grip on my bound wrists, he sprinted back out my now broken back door, heading off.

After a couple minutes of stewing in my thoughts, back against the cool fridge, I struggled to comprehend the brief interaction and the dark drops of crimson littered all over my white tiles.

I still have to go grocery shopping.

tags: @aurorakingsley

#jungkook fanfic #jeongguk fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook imagine #jeongguk imagine #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook au #jeongguk au #jungkook hybrid au #jeongguk hybrid au #was it evil to end on preview #it felt right tho #you gotta know what happens before to find out what happens after #that's my excuse anyway

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asian-hero · 4 years ago

Text

Wish Upon A Star

A/N: Welcome to a sequel of sorts for Of Pressed Flowers and Childhood Memories! Since I’ve posted that fic, I really wanted to write a cute sequel to catch up with what the childhood friends are up to, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it

If you saw the version of this fic that disappeared from the tags early this morning and are now seeing me repost it, no you didn’t (real talk though, I spent a whole ass week on this fic, and I refuse to let the tags kill it)

Summary: Ever since you were a child, you always enjoyed the art of origami. It was astonishing to you how, just a few pieces of paper could turn into wonderful words of art. One form that really caught your attention were the lucky stars. Whether it was because of the pretty shape or because of the symbol behind crafting 10,000 stars, you weren’t sure. However, when you finally decide to begin your journey, who knew that you’d find yourself running back to the very person whom your first star was gifted to?

Words: 16,958

1 Star: You are my only love

As a young child, you always enjoyed learning about the little stories behind such mundane things, as it made you feel as though you were in a fairy tale. Your mother would tell you about the hidden stories behind family heirlooms, such as the ring on her finger, the necklaces your grandmother gave to you, or even the fun stories behind the pieces of furniture your parents had acquired throughout the years. Even though not every story was as magical as you wanted it to be, you always found yourself mesmerized by the backstories behind them. So, it was safe to say that, when you learned about the lucky origami stars, you were immediately transfixed.

At first, you didn’t know much about the backstory of how the lucky stars came to be, you only learned about them when you noticed your mother humming a soft tune as she folded a strip of paper. Quietly, you watched her hands weave the paper into a small pentagon, and then pinch the sides to form a small star in the palm of her hand. When she finally noticed your staring, she laughed, dropping the star into your open hands and watched as you gazed upon it with a look of amazement. Smiling, she patted your head, an affectionate sign of love.

Looking up at her, you handed the star back to her, taking extra care to not accidentally flatten it. “How did you do that?”

Your mother hummed, tapping a finger to her bottom lip. Lifting you up onto her lap, she handed you a strip of paper. “Would you like to learn?”

With an enthusiastic nod, you took the paper from her hands, listening carefully to her instruction. She guided you through the process, telling you how to fold the loop, and to be careful to not be so rough. It took a few tries, and you found yourself growing frustrated that you weren’t getting it right away, but finally, after a few throwaways, you were able to recreate the tiny origami star your mother showed you. Holding it up triumphantly, you squealed with delight as your mother applauded you. As you continued to stare at the current pride of your life, your mother hugged you closer to her body, gently patting your leg to gain your attention.

“Do you know the story behind the lucky stars?”

Shaking your head, you focused all of your attention onto her, knowing that it would be a good story.

You listened to your mother as she began to recall the tale of a little girl named Hoshi, who loved the stars so much that, when she noticed they were starting to disappear from the night sky, she started to create paper stars for the ones that lost their place in the night sky. She told you of how Hoshi ended up making about one hundred stars that night, but even then it wasn’t enough to replace the growing amount of stars falling from the sky. So, she went to all the houses in her village, asking the little boys and girls to help her make stars for the sky. The children ended up making around two thousand stars that night, and on the following night, they all watched in awe as more stars had appeared. Eventually, after the event, Hoshi called the little paper stars lucky stars, because they helped to bring back the stars to the sky.

Your mother also told you about how normally people give jars of lucky stars to their loved ones for good luck, and that if you make ten thousand stars for a loved one, that means your love will last for ten thousand years. As you listened to your mother talk, you couldn’t help but think back to a certain boy with red and white hair, how you wanted your friendship with him to last forever. So, once your mother finished her story, you begged her to let you go to the park, in hopes that, even though the two of you didn’t plan anything, that he’d be there as well. With a kiss to your forehead, and a long conversation on the phone, you were finally heading towards the park, with your tiny origami star pressed into your palm.

Finally reaching your destination, you looked around excitedly, hoping to catch as glimpse of your friend. After a few seconds of looking, you found yourself growing disappointed when you couldn’t find your friend. Just as you were about to tell your mother, you heard footsteps coming towards you, along with a quick apology that sounded familiar.

Turning around, you found yourself face to face with Shouto, who was currently gripping his mothers leg, still a bit shy. However, that didn’t stop you from launching yourself at full speed towards the boy, a hurried “Sho!” falling from your lips. Wrapping him in a bear hug, you felt his arms wrap around you hesitantly, almost as if he were afraid he’d break you. As you pulled away, you gave a sheepish smile and a quiet apology. In the background, you could vaguely hear his mother telling yours that “we don’t have much time” and “we really should be getting home soon.” While you weren’t quite sure what they were talking about, you got the sense that you would have just enough time to give him your little creation.

Holding out your closed hand, you gave a toothy smile to the boy. “I have a surprise for you!”

He looked at you, then at your closed hand with curiosity. “What is it?”

“Hold out your hands!”

It took him a few seconds, almost as if he were rather hesitant about the whole prospect. However, before you could question him, he held out his cupped hands in front of you. Placing your hand into his, you dropped the small star into his hands. Pulling away, you giggled as you watched his confused expression morph into one of awe.

“My mama said that you give these stars to those you care about, so I wanted to give my first one to you!”

You could see the blush starting to form on Shouto’s cheeks, but you didn’t say anything about it.

The two of you talked a little more, about how you were doing in preschool, how boring it was and how you wished he went with you. Soon enough it was time to say goodbye, even though the two of you pouted a bit. Before the two of them left, however, Shouto thrusted a pretty sunflower towards you.

As you were heading back to your own home, starless and having acquired a new flower, you swore you could’ve felt something pull at your heart. It was almost as if something had been tied to it, and the other end of the string was quite a bit away from you.

You wondered if whatever you were tied to could feel the tug as well.

2 Stars: The happy and compatible couple

It was a few weeks after you had made your first star, and, in all honesty, you nearly forgot about the story you heard. It wasn’t as though you had anything going on in your life, other than going off to preschool, then coming back and begging your mother to go to the park, even though you knew Shouto wouldn’t be able to see you until the next play date. Your little kid brain just happened to forget a lot of things in order to make room for other thoughts.

However, you certainly remembered about the lucky stars once you got to the craft store.

After your little play date with Shouto at the park, where he gave you a bright yellow marigold as his parting gift, your mother had taken you to the craft store before heading home, saying that she needed to get another glass frame for your flower. As the two of you wandered throughout the store, you found yourself growing bored, and rather than being more aware of your surroundings, you ended up zoning out.

As you were pulled throughout the aisles, with your mother looking for just the right frame for your flower, you started to think back to your last conversation with Shouto. When he told you that he had finally gotten his quirk he seemed so sad about it, which was confusing to you. He always told you that he wanted to be a hero in the future, one like All Might, who could save people and make them feel at ease, but, when the time finally came, he didn’t seem too excited about it. In fact, he almost seemed a little scared. The only conclusion that you could come to was that he was scared that he wouldn’t be a good hero, but with the quirk he had, that seemed like it would be nearly impossible to be a bad hero. Even though you did your best to comfort him, when the two of you parted, it still seemed as though he was sad, and you wanted nothing more than to take that pain away from him.

Continuing down the aisles of the store, getting ready to go to the register and pay, you found yourself staring down the paper section, looking at one piece that was nearly the exact same shade as the marigold clutched in your tiny hand. As you continued to stare down that piece of paper, you found yourself remembering the origami stars you had recently found out about. How lovely would it be to make some stars out of paper that wasn’t made for reading, but for actual crafts. You could even give some to Shouto again, and maybe it’ll raise his spirits.

Tugging on your mother’s hand, you pulled her to the bright yellow paper. Pointing at it, you gave her your best puppy eyes.

“Mama, it matches my flower!” You gave a small pout, “Can we get one?”

With one eyebrow raised, she hummed to herself, pretending to think of an answer. Finally, after a few more seconds of your begging, she finally relented, picking one out of the stack and heading towards the register, with you in tow.

As the two of you exited the store, you felt yourself bouncing with excitement. You told her about your plan of making ten thousand stars for Shouto, because you wanted your friendship to last forever. You spoke of how you noticed he seemed a little down today, and you wanted to make a couple of stars before your next play date so you could give them to him, in hopes of pulling that bright smile you loved so much. Your mother listened to you with a loving smile on her face, mesmerized by how sweet you were, and how determined you seemed to be.

By the time you two got back home, the sun had set, and you could see the stars slowly begin to peek through the night sky. Hurriedly, you dashed through your front door and sat down at the coffee table, asking your mother if she could cut you a strip from your golden yellow paper. She sighed, though you knew there was no annoyance behind it.

Once she finished cutting a strip for you, she pointed a finger towards you, “Only one tonight. You need to get ready for bed after, okay?”

When you agreed, she handed you the strip, watching as you carefully folded the paper into a pentagon, and then pinched it to look like a mini star. As you held it up for her to see, she smiled, giving you a thumbs up.

Scooping you up in her arms, she poked your nose. “Why don’t we put that somewhere for safekeeping? Until you see Shouto again?”

Walking you two to the kitchen, she easily balanced you on her hip as she rummaged through the cabinets, finally settling on an old jar. Setting it down on the counter, she gestured for you to put your star in it. As you dropped it into the container, a little part of you was excited to see if you could fill it all the way to the top. After a few more seconds of staring, your mother pressed a kiss to your cheek, moving to the bathroom to get you ready for bed.

A few minutes later and another kiss to your cheek, you were tucked into bed, your eyes trained on the ceiling above you. As you found yourself growing sleepier, you couldn’t stop the giddy feeling from entering your chest, making you feel as though a million butterflies were dancing in your stomach.

With one last glance out your window, you wished that you’d be able to see Shouto again soon, and that next time, he’d have the same goofy smile you knew and loved.

9 Stars: Wishing you love for a lifetime

You stopped making lucky stars after a while.

In fact, you stopped making them as soon as you were told that Shouto didn’t have time to spend with a “weakling” like you. Not that you had made many in between that time period. You made them specifically for him, so if he didn’t even want to see you anymore, then there was no point in continuing your craft.

However, you didn’t really have time to mope about how the boy you cared for in your childhood no longer wanted you as a friend. No, instead you focused all of your attention on making new friends at your middle school, having fleeting crushes on the older boys who would come to your class and cause a ruckus. You spent all of your time after school, when you’d normally go and ask if Shouto would come out for just a second, either spending time with your new friends, or training your quirk and your brain for the entrance exams at U.A., knowing that it’d be better to get a head start on your training now rather than saving it for the last minute.

Eventually, your first year in middle school turned into your second, and then that quickly changed to being your third year, with entrance exams right around the corner. You should’ve felt more at ease when you entered U.A.’s campus, since you’ve been studying and training for this day for three years. However, just like any other student on campus that day, you were silently freaking out. While of course, the rational part of you knew that you could only do your best, and if it wasn’t good enough for them, then there would always be other hero courses at other schools, but you didn’t want to listen to the rational part of your brain. You wanted to study at the same school as your idol did, and your heart refused to accept anything else. So, steeling your nerves, you headed into the auditorium and prayed that you at least passed.

It took a few weeks for you to get your results back. For anyone else, those few weeks were the same as any other time. For you, it was absolute torture. In those few weeks, you found yourself second guessing every single answer you gave on the written exam, whether or not the answer to the thirty-second question of the multiple choice was B or D, if you answered all of the questions, if you accidentally bubbled in the answer for the question next to it. In order to keep some of your sanity, you forced yourself to train yourself even more, pushing yourself to the limit. It got so bad that your mother had to take away your weights and beg you not to do anymore quirk training, mainly because it was keeping her up at night as well.

Finally, after an excruciatingly long wait, your mother came into the house one day in a rush.

Slamming the front door open, your mother stared at you with wide eyes. Snapping your head towards her, you gave her a quizzical look. Once your eyes trailed away from her face and towards what she was holding in her hands. An envelope sealed with U.A.’s emblem was what made you hop up from your spot on the couch and snatch the letter from her hands. Moving towards the dining table, you could hear your mother’s foot steps padding after you, and once you sat down at the table, pulling out the recording they sent, you could feel her hand on your shoulder, lending you some of her strength. As the recording finally started, you watched as All Might, the newest addition to the faculty read about your scores. Both you and your mother faithfully waited for the results of your exam.

“Congratulations, Young (Y/L/N). Your hard work and studying have paid off, and I’m excited to welcome you to my alma mater. You’ve been officially accepted into U.A.’s hero course—“

Neither of you could really hear the rest of the message, as your mother began to scream in glee as you slowly fell from your chair and onto the floor, still in shock from what you just heard. After a few more seconds of questioning your hearing, you finally jumped up from the floor, dancing around the kitchen with your mother as you both screamed in excitement. She pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, telling you just how proud she was of you that you were finally going to accomplish your dreams. You allowed her to crush you, and she allowed you to mess up her shirt with your happy tears. The two of you held each other for quite a while, until the recording finally turned off and the two of you were standing there in complete silence. As you pulled away, your mother ushered you to look at the rest of the papers in the envelope, just to make sure that you two didn’t miss anything important.

The rest of the papers were telling you what class you were in, when school starts, send in your measurements and hero costume ideas so you could get both your uniform and costume. You had to let your mother write down your measurements, because you knew that if you tried to even write your name it’d come out illegible.

About a week before school was about to start you got another package from U.A., this time with your official school uniform. Your mother was away at work, so you were the first to get the package. Deciding that you were a bit too impatient to wait for her to come home, you decided that you’d try on your uniform to make sure that it fits, and then just surprise her when she came home.

Heading towards your room, you quickly tugged off your clothes and buttoned your shirt, tucked it into your skirt, and then tied your tie, albeit after a few tries. Finally, you put on your blazer, flattening it out with your hands. Taking in a deep breath, you turned towards your mirror, taking in everything. Luckily for you, everything fit well, and nothing was too tight, nor was it too loose. As you continued to stare at your reflection, you could feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, still in awe at the fact that you were accepted into your dream school.

Just as you were about to turn away, from the corner of your eye you saw a lone jar sitting atop of your wardrobe. Turning towards it, you slowly walked over to it, reaching your hand out to grasp it. Pulling it towards you, you felt the string around your heart tug just slightly.

Inside the jar was one lone star, sitting all by itself. It’s yellow hue still as bright as the day you made it. Without meaning to, you found yourself letting out a small smile, reminiscing about when you were younger, how you stated that you were going to make ten thousand stars for one boy.

Even though you found the whole thing to be foolish, your fingers still drifted towards some notebook paper, ripping it out and into a thin strip. Since it had been so long since you’d last made one, it took you a couple of tries to get it right, but once you finally got the hang of it, you found yourself staring at one lone star in the palm of your hand. You had almost forgotten how fun it was to make them, how amazed you were when you made your first one. Glancing back at your jar, you gently lifted the lid off of it, dropping your newest one along side the lonely yellow one. Just because you started out making these stars for him didn’t mean that you couldn’t just gift them to someone else in the future. Someone who’d appreciate and cherish you. So, as you placed your jar back up on your wardrobe, you made up your mind. You’d finish your ten thousand stars, and you’d give them to someone you love.

A week later, you were rushing out of the house, dropping your ninth star into your jar as you ran out the door, your mother telling you that you’d be late if you didn’t hurry. As you ran towards the train station, you could feel your heart beat in excitement, not only because of the excitement of the first day of school, but because you were on a new mission with your lucky stars, and they no longer reminded you of the bad times.

Even though your brain tried to convince you that they were for someone else, your heart still knew who the true recipient of those stars were.

55 Stars: I’ll love you without any regret

Of all the things that could’ve happened today, making up with your estranged best friend was not high up on your list.

It’s amazing how quick you are to forgive him, how suddenly years of slow resentment and anger fade away, and somehow, you’re back to where you left off with Shouto. Though, it’s not like you minded. After hearing his side of the story, and having him hear yours, the two of you came to the conclusion that neither of you were truly in the wrong, and perhaps you should’ve just steeled your nerves at the beginning of the year and confronted him then, it probably would’ve saved you months of feeling as though he hated you. However, as you sat in your seat, twirling a hydrangea between your fingers, you felt grateful to have even made up with him in the first place.

After a rather boring lecture, it was finally lunch time. As you were about to go and head off with Jirou and Yaoyorozu, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you found yourself face to face with a rather embarrassed looking Shouto, who seemed as though he was trying to maintain his stoic mask.

“Did you need something?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“Would you,” He started, rubbing the back of his neck, “Do you want to have lunch with me?”

The last part came out a bit rushed, but you understood him regardless. Giving him a bright smile, you punched him on the shoulder lightly, laughing at how he shot you a glare. “Of course, you dork. Let’s go,”

Not bothering to hear his reply, you grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the lunch room. As the two of you walked through the halls, you could hear the whispers coming from not only his group of friends, but yours as well, both of them giving you those sly smirks, and if you weren’t hungry, you’d probably go and tell them off. Walking to the lunch line, the two of you fell into a light conversation, talking about your recent lecture, and how you absolutely weren’t paying attention.

“I’ll give you the notes,” He assured you, and you were extremely grateful.

Grabbing your lunches, you both took a seat at one of the tables furthest away from your other friends, not really wanting all of their attention on you. For the first few minutes, you two sat in silence, simply eating your lunches and just enjoying each others company. In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure what to say, after all, there wasn’t any topic in your mind that seemed interesting enough to bring up. After all, what were you supposed to say? Hey, the walk today to school was kind of cold today, yeah?

Fortunately for you, Shouto seemed to catch the drift, taking a pause in his eating to ask you a question, “So, how’s your mom?”

After that, the two of you were able to delve into a comfortable conversation, with you talking about how your mother was, how your life was while he wasn’t in it, what you thought of Present Mic’s English lecture, you know, all of the mundane things that didn’t seem too important to others, but somehow, it was to him.

Before you could even ask about his life, aside from what he already told you, the bell rang, and the two of you were walking back to class. You could tell that family was a sensitive issue for him, and from what you were told, his father sounded like a huge asshole and you wanted nothing more than to go over there and give him a piece of your mind. However, you did want to know more about his mother, she always seemed like such a nice lady, and you wanted to know why he didn’t talk too much about her. You also wanted to know where he got the scar from, but you knew that would be a conversation for another day.

So, for the rest of the day, you pushed those lingering questions to the back of your mind, instead focusing all of your attention to the lecture, knowing that you’d probably fail if you kept spacing out. So, as the hours dragged on, you forced yourself to continue writing notes, though you couldn’t help the not-so-secret glances you gave Shouto, simply admiring his face. Sometimes, he’d catch your eye, and then make a silly face at you, whether it be him sticking his tongue out at you, or making his eyes go crossed, you found yourself doing your best to keep your giggles and snorts in, not wanting to disrupt the rest of your class. When you caught your breath, you’d playfully glare at him, mouthing the word “brat” before turning back to the front, blocking out anything else the boy had to say.

Finally, after hours of learning, your final class of the day had ended, and the rest of your class was heading back to the dorms. As you were packing your belongings, you could hear the rustlings of your classmates, and by the time you finished packing up, you were sure that you were the last person in class. However, as soon as you stood up and looked around, you jumped at the sight of your best friend waiting by the door frame, almost looking as though he were about to fall asleep. At the sound of your gasp, his eyes went to your figure, nodding his head towards the exit.

“Let’s go back together,”

Slinging your bag across your back, you walked towards him, a teasing glint in your eye. “Oh? What’s this? You want to spend even more time with me?”

Ever the oblivious one, he nodded his head, a cute confused look on his face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Feeling the heat rise to your face, you mumbled some incoherent words as you linked your arms together, pulling him towards the exit. His quiet snorts could be heard in the empty hallways as the two of you exited the building, taking in the fresh air. As the two of you walked back to the dorms, you looked at him, taking in his features which were somehow enhanced with the afternoon sun. He looked ethereal, almost as if he were an angel brought down to Earth. You knew that he was an attractive boy, but standing this close to him, so close that you could nearly see his pores, though he didn’t have many, it truly made you wonder why God picked favorites. Even when the two of you weren’t on talking terms, you had to admit that he was handsome, but now, with him wanting to reach out to you once more, the way he looked towards the horizon made the butterflies swarm in your stomach, and you weren’t quite sure why.

As if feeling your gaze, he turned his head towards you, giving you an amused look. “Is there something on my face?”

You blinked, feeling the embarrassment of being caught rush all the way up your body, “No, why?”

“You’re staring,”

“I’m not staring,”

He hummed, and you knew that he wasn’t believing your lie for even a second. Huffing, you turned to face the dorms, and you could hear the light laughter coming from Shouto.

Another wave of silence fell on the two of you, not that either of you minded. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you could see Shouto looking back at you, then towards the dorms, and then back at you. It seemed as though he wanted to say something to you, but wasn’t sure if it was the right time. Just as you were about to ask what he wanted, he finally spoke up:

“My mom asked about you,”

You looked at him with what you assumed was a look of shock. “Why?”

He looked rather embarrassed, and you swore that you could see the slightest hint of pink tint his cheeks. “Ah, well, when I went to visit her after the sports festival, I told her that we’re in the same class, and she asked if we were still friends,”

“Wouldn’t she know?” You asked, still confused, “I mean, we stopped hanging out once your quirk developed,”

“She isn’t at the house,” He started, “He put her in the hospital.”

You felt your heart drop at this revelation, and while you wanted to know more about what happened in those years you’d been absent, you knew better than to pry. So, instead you hugged his arm closer to your chest, making him look back at you.

“Well, next time you go visit her, tell her that unfortunately we’re still friends, and that I’m doing great,”

He hummed once more, and you thought the conversation was over. However, as the two of you approached the steps of the 1-A dormitory, you felt yourself be pulled back just slightly, to keep you from opening the door, to keep you for just a few more minutes. Looking back at him, you tilted your head, asking a silent question.

“You should come with me some time,” He said, before clarifying his request, “To see my mom, I mean. She’d love to see you,”

Your eyes widened, not expecting that. However, before he could take it back, you smiled, a warm and brilliant one. “I would love to, just tell me when,”

Just as he was about to reply, the doors to the dorms ripped open, and you were met with a rather irritated looking Bakugou.

“I’m tired of watching those idiots stare at you two through the window, just get inside!” He yelled, stomping back into the building.

Looking up, you could see Uraraka, Ashido, Yaoyorozu, Jirou, and, perhaps the most shocking, Midoriya, rushing to hide behind the curtain. Sighing, you couldn’t help the small giggles that left your lips. Turning towards Shouto, you held your hand out to him.

“C’mon, let’s go,”

Later that night, after a late night call session with Yaoyorozu and Jirou, both of whom forced out answers of what happened, you were sitting at your desk, finishing some homework in advance. As you began to drift off, your eyes met the glass jar filled with your lucky stars. Staring for a few more minutes, you ripped a strip of paper from your notebook, quickly folding it into your fifty-fifth star.

Dropping it beside the other stars, you silently thanked any deity that was watching over you, thanking them for bringing you back to your best friend.

Thanking them for bringing them back to your first love.

99 Stars: May you receive borderless love

Out of all the things you could’ve been doing on a Friday night, finishing up an essay for English was by far, one of the most boring things you could’ve done.

Yes, perhaps you shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to actually get started on it, but, in your defense, if you thought class 1-A was a crazy time, then your time in class 2-A was a nightmare. Not only did your hero training get considerably harder, but every other subject seemed to completely and utterly bamboozle you. You were honestly surprised that you were still in the heroes course, noting that you were just barely hanging by a thread. So, yes, you should’ve been in your final stages of revision for your essay, which was due in three days, but unfortunately for you, you were only on your first draft and you wanted to pull your hair out.

So, when a knock at your door offered you a well deserved break, you rushed to open it. As the door swung open, you were met with the mismatched eyes that you absolutely adored. Standing there was Shouto, who firstly, didn’t seem in that different of shape as you, holding up a few of your favorite snacks. Upon closer inspection, you noticed the laptop and notebooks tucked snugly under his arm. Giving him a look, he sheepishly smiled.

“I figured that you’d like some company while you studied,” He started, adding quietly, “And I wouldn’t mind seeing you.”

Snorting, you pulled him into your room, kicking the door shut as you flopped back onto your bed. Shouto followed your lead, sitting down at the edge, smiling as he saw you tuck your face into one of your pillows. Moving closer, he rubbed your back, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

You glanced back up at him, a small pout forming on your lips. “I’ve been writing my essay for two hours, I think a break is necessary,”

He rolled his eyes, slapping your back softly before returning to his spot. So, you laid flat across your bed, listening to the soft clicks of Shouto’s laptop. Even though neither of you said anything, you truly did appreciate his presence. The past couple of weeks had been rough for you, with your schooling and then having to dive head first into your internships, it was a lot, and because of this, you and Shouto never had any time to hang out with one another. Lifting your head up, you rested your chin on your pillow as you admired Shouto. You watched as he continued to type away at his essay, occasionally making a face whenever he came across something that he didn’t quite understand. While you’d never admit it, one of your favorite pastimes was just simply gazing at your lovely boyfriend, whether it be while the two of you were out on a date and he was talking passionately about something, or when the two of you were sleeping in the other’s room, and you would stay awake for a while longer, just to see the peaceful look on his face as he could finally rest. More than anything, you just loved to see him at ease, knowing that no one was out to hurt him, and that he was okay. Ever since the two of you had begun to date during the middle of your first year at U.A., you got to learn more about his struggles, whether it be with his left side, or his family issues, you learned them all. It hurt you to hear about all of the hurt he’d been put through all of his life, and you wanted nothing more than to take that pain away. Even though he told you that he was fine, and that it was all in the past, you still wanted to be a source of comfort for him, and you made sure to tell him that every day.

“Hey, did you—“ Upon looking at your dumb, lovestruck face, he cut himself off.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you sat up. “Did I what?”

Rather than finishing his question, he quickly saved his work before setting his laptop aside, moving closer to you. Finally, when you were within arms reach, he spoke.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You knew what he was talking about, but you decided to play dumb, not wanting to share your thoughts. “Like what?”

He paused once more, and you could tell that he looked a bit uncomfortable, almost as if he were feeling shy.

“Like you’re,” He waved his hands for emphasis, trying to grasp the correct words, “Like you’re in love with me.”

You gave him a flat look. Out of all the words he could’ve chosen, that had to have been the most obvious one. However, since he looked so flustered, you decided to push aside your witty reply. Instead, you moved grab his hand, squeezing it gently.

“That’s because I love you,” You started, giving him a kind smile, “And I don’t know how else to look at you.”

You could tell that your words shocked him, and it didn’t surprise you. Though it had been nearly a year since the two of you got together, you hadn’t necessarily told the other that you loved them. It wasn’t because you didn’t, but you knew that Shouto had a hard time when it came to love. After all, those in his life who were supposed to love him the most weren’t so kind, and he wasn’t told how to comfort, shown how to love. So, you never expected it to come easily for him, and it was shocking that he was even the first person to say “I like you.” So, when he fumbled for his words, his face nearly the same shade as the left side of his hair, you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know,” Moving back to your own laptop, you finally turned it back on, letting out a huge groan, “Now c’mon, let’s finish our stupid essays and be done with English.”

Once more, the two of you were wrapped in a comforting silence, but you could see from the corner of your eye, Shouto kept glancing back up at you, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, then closing once more, and turning back to his laptop. You nearly wanted to laugh at the action since it was so cute, but you kept that thought to yourself.

As the afternoon turned into the evening, you were finally done for the day, not wanting to look at your essay for another second. Closing it, you watched for a few seconds as Shouto had switched from his own essay to now working on some homework for math. As he continued to work, you moved to grab some of your new colored paper from your desk, tearing off a strip of paper, and folding your ninety-ninth star. Just as you finished pinching the sides, you looked up to find Shouto staring at you, with what you recognized as the very same look of awe as when you were children.

Raising an eyebrow, you questioned him. “What are you looking at?”

“You still make those stars?”

You nodded your head as you dropped your tiny star into your jar. “Yeah, I stopped for a while, though. So I don’t have as many as I’d like,”

He let out a noise of understanding, “Ah, you gave me one, right?”

Moving back towards the bed, you sat across from the boy, “Yeah, thought that was such a long time ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if it accidentally got washed with your clothes or something,”

“I still have it,”

You looked at him incredulously, not expecting that answer. “What?”

He answered you as if he were talking about the weather, “You said that you give them to people you care about, why wouldn’t I keep it?”

When he looked up at you, you could feel the heat rush up to your face. Turning away from him, he sunk back down onto your pillows, more so embarrassed that he still remembered that.

“You know what? Just finish your homework and come and cuddle with me,”

As his laughter rang through the air, you could feel your heart beating fast. Even though you were a little embarrassed, you couldn’t deny the happiness that was blooming throughout your chest.

You truly did love him, unconditionally.

101 Stars: You are the one only in my life

After three long and grueling years, your class of aspiring heroes had finally graduated. Though you were thankful that this chapter of your life was coming to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened. After all, these people had grown to be so much more than your classmates, and, after today, you’d no longer be living with your friends. You’d be on your own, working as a sidekick for some pro hero until you were more notable and had enough money to start your own agency. Even though this is what you’ve been training for throughout your high school career, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the prospect, not quite sure if you had what it took.

Since your second and third year at U.A. were probably the most grueling, you even ended up pausing your lucky star endeavors at ninety-nine, purely because your workload just kept increasing. However, you were finally finished, and now you were free to work at whatever agency your heart desires.

To be honest, it frightened you.

So, as you sat alongside your classmates, you forced yourself to focus on the commencement speech, trying to put aside your fears and worries in order to enjoy the day. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you graduated, so you may as well make the most of it. You listened as the speaker droned on about how they were so proud of your graduating class, how you all now had an integral part to play in society, and that you should use your newfound power wisely. It was so painfully boring, but you made it through.

Continuing on with the ceremony, your class was lined up, along with 3-B, and you all went across the stage one at a time, receiving your diploma and then pausing to take a photo. Once your turn was over, you finally felt as though you could breathe, and you vowed to yourself that you’d never be the center of attention to that many people ever again.

Finally, the ceremony was finally over, and your family and friends were finally mingling with one another. As soon as you all exited the banquet hall, your mother pounced on you, wrapping you in the biggest hug, telling you just how proud she was of you, and how she knew you’d be a great hero. Once you pulled away from her, your friends were the next ones to tackle you in a bear hug, with Jirou and Yaoyorozu trapping you between them. Yaoyorozu was the first to start crying, which, in turn, caused you to cry, and then Jirou, who did her best to keep it together. You had been holding it in all day, not wanting to cry during the ceremony, but now that it was over, you felt yourself trying your best to hold in the sobs that wanted to come out.

As the three of you held each other, crying in one another’s arms, you could feel a pair of eyes watching your crying form. Feeling yourself be pulled away from their grasp, a pair of hands landed on your waist, and you were met with the worried stares of your boyfriend.

“Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing at his confusion. Patting his arms, he finally released you from his tight grip. “I’m fine, you dork,”

Though your words didn’t completely satiate him, he nodded regardless. You knew that he wasn’t convinced, so you went to grab his hand in yours, gaining his full attention.

“Did you really rush over here from your family because I was crying?”

Before he could even answer, another voice popped up. “Yes, yes he did.”

Turning around, you watched as Shouto’s family walked over to your group. Natsuo, the one who responded to your question, moved to sling an arm around Shouto’s shoulders, while Fuyumi and his mother calmly walked over, giggling at the sight of the two brothers. While you quietly snuck away from Shouto, pulling your hand from his, you walked over to the two Todoroki women, giving a polite bow as you greeted them.

“It’s nice to see you again,” You spoke, a small smile gracing your features.

You could tell that Fuyumi was close to tears, and before you could even utter a word of consoling, she wrapped you in your fourth hug of the day. Hesitantly, you put your arms around her, listening as she sobbed on about how proud she was of you and Shouto, how she was so grateful that he had friends. You stood there as she shed what had to be at least a gallon of tears, before she pulled away, her face pulled together in an elated smile.

“I’m excited to see you two out in the field soon!” She told you, her voice wavering slightly.

You gave another slight bow, thanking her for her kind words. As you turned towards his mother, you saw her reach out towards you, and you put your hands in hers, squeezing gently. You could see the tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, but she did a better job at concealing them.

“It seems like just yesterday the two of you were such tiny kids,” She started, a wistful smile on her face, “Now look at you. Both adults, getting ready to head into your next chapter,”

“In all honesty, I still feel like that little girl,” You joked, getting a huff of laughter from the older woman.

Her eyes trailed away from you for a moment, causing you to twist your head to see what she was looking at. As you followed her gaze, your eyes landed upon Natsuo holding Shouto in a headlock, playfully ruffling his hair as the younger of the two tried to wriggle free. Fuyumi smacked the older brother on the head, telling him to not be so annoying during graduation. You watched as the three siblings began to playfully bicker, and immediately your heart filled up with happiness and warmth. Shouto told you that he didn’t necessarily have a relationship with his siblings, mainly due to his father’s intense training and expectations placed upon him. So seeing him more at ease with his family made your heart soar, and you knew you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

A gentle tug on your hands made you turn back towards Rei, who looked at you almost as if you were one of her own. There was so much love and adoration in her eyes, and from seeing her in your first year, still healing from her wounds and trauma, to now, it made you want to start crying all over again. Noticing the tears beginning to fill your eyes, she took one of her hands from yours and gently wiped your eyes.

“Thank you,” She said, though with how quiet it was, you almost questioned if you were just hearing things.

When you tilted your head in confusion, she continued, “Thank you for being there for my son,”

Though the words weren’t said, you could tell what she meant.

Thank you for loving him.

After a few hours had passed, and all of you were heading back to your family homes, you sat in the car with your mom, listening as she excitedly talked about what was next for you. As you continued to listen, you found your hands finding purchase on an old receipt in the side pocket of the car. Ripping it in half, you folded the now two pieces of paper into lucky stars, smiling as you stared upon the two.

Looking out through the window, you finally felt a wash of relief go through your body. Even though you were scared for the future, you knew that everything would be alright.

Ping.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you stared down at the notification. In that moment, as you read the message, you felt your heart pause in your chest, all the oxygen leaving your lungs.

[Shouto]

Shouto, 6:14 PM: Hey

Shouto, 6:14 PM: If I told you that I found an apartment not to far from our agencies, would you move in with me?

129 Stars: I will love you for ever and ever

“Honey, I love you, but I swear to god if you drop my box— What are you doing?”

Moving to push the door to your apartment open further, you watched in slight fear as Shouto walked through, three boxes stacked upon each other, blocking his view. If he was having any trouble, he didn’t show it as he stood in the middle of what was going to be your living room, turning back to “face” you.

“It’s fine, where do I put these?”

You walked over to him, taking a box off of his stack, finally being able to see his face. Setting it off in a random corner, you motioned for him to do the same. Once he finally set down his boxes, the two of you stared at each other for a moment, almost as if it had been years since you’ve seen each other, though in reality it had only been a couple of months.

Pinching his cheek gently, you scolded him. “I don’t understand why you try and bring the entire move-in truck in at one time, it’s not like we have anything else to do today,”

“If we bring everything in quickly, I could finish putting everything together by tonight,” He said simply, moving to go and grab some of the remaining boxes.

You trailed behind him, scoffing at his bold claim. “How is that even possible?” Before he could even start you pointed a finger at him, “If you say ‘with hard work’ I will break your thumb,”

His mouth closed, and he instead turned towards the truck, picking up some of the lighter boxes and handing them to you before reaching in and grabbing the final two larger ones. You knew better than to argue with him about it, since he’d go ahead and grab yours as well in retaliation.

Heading back up the stairs and into your new home, you dropped off the final boxes before collapsing to the floor, a content look on your face. You could hear Shouto start to open some of the boxes, looking for something. After a few more minutes of rummaging, he finally appeared by your head, squatting down and gently lifting your head as he placed something below you. As you lowered your head again, you weren’t surprised to find a pillow below you. Smiling up at him, you patted the spot next to you, signaling for him to lay down next to you. With a light thump, Shouto sat beside you, resting his weight on his arms as he leaned back slightly. You turned your head so you could face him, and you couldn’t stop the ecstatic look that found its way onto your face. He looked at you, pinching your nose and laughing lightly as you squirmed around.

“I don’t know why you look so excited, we still have to set up our furniture,” He motioned back towards your bedroom items, “We haven’t even set up the bed frame yet,”

You stuck your tongue out at him, rubbing your nose. “Can’t I be excited to be living with my boyfriend?”

“We’ve lived together for three years,”

“That’s different,” You huffed, sitting up to face him, “We were living with everyone, but now it’s just us. Now we don’t have to worry about curfews, or being caught in each other’s rooms,”

He hummed, bringing an arm around your waist, tugging your closer. “Or being woken up by Ochako whenever she busted her way into your room.”

You laughed, nuzzling in closer. The two of you sat there for a while, not really caring that the floor was uncomfortable, or that you were starting to get a little cold. Finally, after what had to have been at least twenty minutes, you sighed, moving to stand up. Holding a hand out for him, you helped pull Shouto up.

“We should get started on unpacking, yeah?” You asked, already heading towards the kitchen boxes, “Why don’t you work on the bedroom while I work on the kitchen?”

With a kiss to the crown of your head and a quiet “sure” the two of you got to work. While you worked on unpacking your kitchenware, like your microwave, your dishes and utensils, and any other small appliances, Shouto worked on building the bed frame. There were a few suspicious sounding crashes from the bedroom, along with some groans of pain, but every time you called out to ask if he was okay he’d say everything was fine, and that he could do it by himself. Every time you’d roll your eyes, but you’d stay quiet, trusting him to call on you when he needed help.

About an hour into unpacking you finished the kitchen and had moved on to the living room, beginning to set up your couch and lounge chairs. Another hour had passed, and as you were just putting the cushions on your couch, Shouto stepped out of the bedroom, looking at you with wide eyes.

“You should’ve told me you were starting, I would’ve come to help you,” He scolded lightly, watching as you moved away from you finished product.

You placed your hands on your hips, huffing lightly, “How about ‘wow, looks good (Y/N), great job’?”

With a completely blank face, he spoke, “Wow, looks good, (Y/N), great job.”

With a snort, you shoved him, moving back to the kitchen, mumbling a quiet “asshole” as you moved. Shouto followed close behind you, only stopping at the counter when you went to rummage around your cabinet, pulling out two packages of instant ramen. As you moved to grab a pot, you could hear him scoff at you. Whipping your head to face him, you gave him an unamused look.

“Can I help you sir?” You asked, putting your pot under the sink, filling it.

“We could go out and get anything to eat, explore our new neighborhood, and you choose instant ramen instead?”

“Don’t judge me, it’s been a long day,” You said, turning on the stove, “And besides, do you really want to go out?”

As you waited for your water to boil, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, “You should make enough for two,”

Humming, you poured your soup packets into the water, “That’s why I pulled out two packages, you mooch,”

Shouto pressed a kiss to the back of your head, and you could feel the smile spreading across his face.

The rest of your evening was pretty relaxed, with the two of you enjoying your meal as you watched the news on your laptop. Once the two of you had finished, Shouto took ahold of your laptop, putting on a show that the two of you watched together, while you looked through the boxes for your colored paper.

As the two of you began to relax into the couch, with him draping himself over you while you continued to make your lucky stars. After you crafted your one hundred and twenty-ninth star, you could feel Shouto’s body start to grow heavier on you, his breath on your neck becoming slow and steady. Putting your last lucky star for the night on the coffee table, you moved your hands to gently brush the hair away from his face. Smiling to yourself, you gave him a light peck on the forehead before moving slightly, trying to get more comfortable. Looking at him one last time, you could feel a warmth swell in your chest. Even though you were feeling a bit suffocated, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around him loosely, letting yourself fall asleep.

The next morning, the both of you woke up with a considerable amount of pain, but the smile on his face made it worth the back pains.

365 Stars: I wish you a whole year of blessings

About three months after moving in together Shouto received a text from Fuyumi, asking if the two of you would like to go to dinner with his family. His father was still doing his best to make amends with his family, and he came up with the idea of hosting a dinner for his children and their partners.

Now, if Shouto were asked that question three years ago, he would’ve outright refused, not wanting anything to do with the man who was supposedly his father. However, after reconnecting with his siblings, and with his relationship with his father slowly becoming one of animosity to one of near indifference, he figured that he may as well show up. If he felt uncomfortable or agitated at any point, he could just leave, since he was an adult now.

So, when you came home from patrol one day, he sprung the question on you, asking if you wanted to go out for dinner with his family. At first, you were hesitant, not because you didn’t like his family, but because you knew how he felt about his father, and you didn’t want to force him to see the man. However, after a few minutes of convincing, you finally agreed, telling him that if, at any point, he didn’t want to be there any longer, that he should tell you, so the two of you could go and find dinner somewhere else.

That’s how you found yourself sitting between Shouto and Natsuo’s partner, sipping on your drink as you watched the awkward interactions between the family.

Anyone from the outside could see the tension between all of you. It practically filled the entire restaurant and suffocated you. You could tell that Fuyumi was trying really hard to get her family to enjoy themselves, asking questions about anything and everything she could think about. It was a little sad, to see her try so hard when the others weren’t putting in nearly as much effort, so you decided to strike up a conversation with her, asking her more about her teaching career, if she liked it, what her favorite part was, nearly anything that came to your mind in that moment.

As you listened to Fuyumi go on about the little kids in her class, you could practically feel the stare of the senior at the table burn into your skull. It was rather unnerving, noting that this was the man who, so many years ago, had practically called you a weakling under the pretense that it was his son who said it. However, because you didn’t want to call him out for it, nor did you want to start any sort of conversation with the man, you continued to block him out, instead focusing all of your attention on Fuyumi’s story.

Eventually, as her story had finished, and the table grew quiet once more, you played around with your straw wrapper, not paying any attention as your fingers quickly folded your, albeit slightly wonky, three hundred and sixty-fifth lucky star. As you quickly store it in your purse, you could hear someone clearing their throat, trying to gain the table’s attention.

Looking up, you found yourself in a staring contest of sorts with Todoroki Enji. When your eyes met his, he finally spoke:

“So,” He started, clearly fumbling for a conversation starter, “How have things been at your agency?”

You smiled politely, feeling Shouto’s hand reach for yours under the table. “It’s been great! Everyone’s been so kind and patrols haven’t been difficult,”

He nodded his head, and you wondered what he was thinking about. Before you could add on anything else, his voice became the dominant one.

“I saw you helping during the search and recovery mission on TV,” He stated, taking a sip of his drink, “You did a good job,”

You rubbed the back of your neck, not having expected the former number one hero to be giving out compliments, “Ah, well, I had a good team with me, so I can’t really take all the credit—”

“Yes, she did a wonderful job and was a great asset to her team,” Shouto interrupted, no longer wanting to be on this conversation track.

Once again, the table fell into an awkward silence, and this time, no one tried to fill it. So, all of you ate your meals in peace, and, when it was finally time to leave, Shouto and Natsuo were the first ones to stand up, with Natsuo bidding a quick goodbye to the group and leaving with his girlfriend in tow. Shouto held his hand for you, helping you up to your feet. Before the two of you left, you went to say goodbye to Fuyumi, telling her that you had a wonderful time, though she knew that it was extremely awkward. The two of you talked for a bit, with you saying that she needs to come over sometime, so that she could see what horrible things her little brother eats while at home.

Shouto absolutely refuted that claim, but the empty packages of instant soba told another story.

As the two of you were about to leave, you heard a pair of footprints coming towards the two of you. Turning around, you found yourself, once again, face to face with Enji. However, this time, he seemed to look a bit hesitant, almost as if he were debating on whether or not he should say anything. Once you met his eyes though, any glimmer of hesitation that you saw had dissipated, and a wall of confidence was put up in its place.

“(Y/L/N),” He stated, looking at you, and then his son, “Can I speak to you privately?”

Shouto was the first to respond, stepping in front of you, “We were just about to leave—“

“Sure,” You said, giving a look to your boyfriend before stepping closer to his father.

The two of you walked a little further away, far enough so the two siblings couldn’t hear your conversation, but close enough for you to feel comfortable being alone with the man. Wringing your hands together, you looked up at the senior, almost as if saying that you were ready to hear whatever he was about to say.

“I was wrong about you,” He spoke, only his profile visible to you.

You furrowed your brows, not quite understanding what he meant. When he noticed the look on your face, he sighed, though you could tell there was no irritation behind it.

“When I called you weak,” He started, and you immediately knew what he was saying, “I used to think that loving someone made you weak. I thought it was a nuisance and a hinderance to the progress of the strong, so I refused to love anyone, and when it came to my children, I molded them into that ideal as well. So, when you kept showing up to our house, with the same question every time, I wrote you off as a distraction to Shouto, one that would ruin all of my work in creating him to be the perfect hero. However, I’ve come to realize something,”

He turns to you, and all you can see is a tired, older man, who’s both been through hell and knows the irreparable damage he’s caused.

“While I trained Shouto to be a physically strong hero, I never trained him to be caring, nor did I give him any reason to care for those ‘below’ him. A hero’s job isn’t to be the strongest, even though that’s a part of it. A hero’s job is to protect and care for those who don’t have the power to save themselves, and to do that, you need to learn empathy and compassion.

I never taught Shouto those things, but when I see him now, it doesn’t seem like I have to worry about it anymore. Ever since he’s been with you, he’s learned to be kind, something I could never have taught him.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, I didn’t teach him anything. Shouto’s always been kind, he’s just never had the chance to show it,”

Turning to look at Shouto, who was doing a horrible job at concealing the fact that he was looking at the two of you, you felt your lips separate, and a toothy smile was given to your boyfriend, whom you hope took it as a sign that you were okay. You could see him visibly relax, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly, and he was finally able to converse with his sister, though he did steal glances at you from time to time.

Watching the interaction between the two of you, Enji nodded his head, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I hope that you’ll continue to care for him,”

With that, he walked back towards his family, bidding a goodbye to his children before heading off. As soon as you were along, Shouto jogged over to where the two of you were, and you swore that you could see the tiniest bit of worry flash in his eyes. Even though he knew his father was trying to change his ways, there were still things about him that made Shouto anxious.

Rubbing his shoulder, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m fine, Sho, nothing’s wrong,”

Even though you tried to quell his doubts, you could tell that he still didn’t quite believe you. So, you linked your arms together, pulling him towards your car. “C’mon, I’m cold and hungry, let’s stop by the bakery before we go home,”

He looked at you incredulously, letting you tug him through the parking lot. “You’re still hungry?”

The look you gave him made him laugh, and you were grateful for the sound.

548 Stars: I wish that you love me endlessly

Shouto had been acting weird for the past couple of months.

At first, it was the little things, like spacing out whenever the two of you were together, or glancing down at your hands more often. You didn’t really think much of it, since it wasn’t that weird, so you never mentioned it. However, as the days progressed, you could see Shouto start to have this anxious look on his face, almost as if he were afraid of something. You also noticed that he started taking more and more patrol shifts, even if they conflicted with his sleep schedule. When you had asked him if he was okay, he merely nodded his head, saying that he just wanted to earn enough money and publicity to be able to open his own agency quickly. Not wanting to make him even more uncomfortable, you dropped the subject, figuring that if anything was bothering him, he’d trust you enough to tell you.

You were starting to get more suspicious when the two of you were invited to Kyouka and Momo’s apartment for dinner.

As the two of you had reached your destination, Shouto seemed to be at ease, and it made you happy. After all, he had seemed jittery for the past couple of days, a word you would never have used to describe him before. The two of you were greeted by an overly excited Momo, who calmed down suspiciously fast as you pulled away from her embrace. Turning towards your boyfriend, you gave him a weird look, almost to silently ask if her behavior was weird. Though it wasn’t as if he wasn’t acting weird either, as he instead chose to look away from you once your eyes met.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on what that meant, though, as Momo pulled the two of you into her home, calling for Kyouka as she rambled on about how good it was to see the two of you. She pulled you to the dining room where she had already laid out dinner, ushering the two of you to take a seat. About a few minutes into your conversation with Momo, with Shouto adding little comments here and there, Kyouka finally appeared, greeting you with a small wave and a charming smile. As she took her seat next to Momo, the four of you finally dug into your meals, grabbing some of everything and piling it onto your plate.

The conversation between all of you flowed with ease, and you listened to the two girls talk about their own careers as pro heroes and what they’re specializing in. Occasionally, you’d all reminisce about living in the dorms, and Momo even jokingly suggested that you should move in with them, to which Shouto immediately denied.

Throughout the entire conversation, you noticed both of the girls glancing back and forth between you and Shouto, a sly smile playing on their lips. However, as you took a sip of your drink, raising your hand to your face, Kyouka made a face of mild confusion.

“Hey,” She asked, pointing at your hand, “Where’s the ring?”

You looked at her, unsure of what she meant. While your gaze was fixated on her, you didn’t notice the look of absolute panic on both Momo and Shouto’s faces. “What ring?”

Kyouka eyes glanced quickly at Shouto, and then back to you. Her face turned from one of confusion to slight panic, her body tensing up a bit. “Ah, well, I mean—“

“She’s trying to ask when the two of you are getting married,” Momo interrupted, watching as the life slowly left Shouto.

You could feel your face start to heat up, not expecting that question. The two of you had been together for a while, so it was natural that you’d start getting these questions, but it didn’t make them any less awkward. Looking up at Shouto, you noticed that he had a rather uncomfortable look on his face, which made you frown. The two of you hadn’t really talked about the next stage in your relationship, and in all honesty, you weren’t even sure if Shouto wanted to get married. After all, he seemed pretty content with just being like this, and you knew that he didn’t necessarily like the idea of marriage due to his parents.

Before you could answer her, Shouto beat you to it.

“We’re comfortable now, there’s no need to add marriage into the mix,”

You weren’t sure why, but that wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear. If anyone saw your shift in mood, no one said anything, with the conversation steering away from the topic of marriage and onto one of how adult life was.

To be completely fair to Shouto, you knew that it was an uncomfortable subject for him, and you knew that it was better to leave it be rather than push it. You didn’t even know if marriage was for you in the first place, since you did agree that things were comfortable as they were now. However, hearing him dismiss the mere thought of being married to you so easily made you upset, even though you felt silly. So, for the rest of the night, you found yourself growing quieter, not really answering with as much enthusiasm as you did before. You still kept up with the conversation, not wanting to ruin a good night, but it was becoming more and more difficult for you.

Once dinner was finished and you two were on your way out, you bid the two women a good night before disappearing into the car. As you found yourself seated in the passengers seat of the car, the streetlights flashing by you, Shouto grabbed your hand from your lap, squeezing it.

“Are you okay?” He asked, glancing at you for a moment.

“Do you want to get married?” You blurted out, not able to hold it in anymore.

You could feel his fingers stiffen, and your mind immediately drifted to the worst.

After a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, he answered, “Do you?”

Your lips fell into a flat line, not at all content with his answer. Shifting in your seat to look at him properly, you sighed. “Honey, while I am trying my best to be a mature woman in this conversation, you cannot just pull a ‘no, you’ on that question,”

When the two of you came to a stoplight, he finally looked at you, and you could tell that he was uncomfortable, but you really just wanted to know. As the two of you continued to stare at one another, you could feel your heart sink lower in your chest, so you turned away from him, a sad smile on your lips.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,”

You felt him hesitate for a second, clearly wanting to say something, but a honk from the car behind you caused him to jump, moving to sit straight in the seat, driving the car further along the road.

The two of you drove in complete silence, the only sounds being from the radio, though that was turned down to the lowest setting. From the corner of your eye, you could see that Shouto was glancing at you every few seconds, then back to the road. You didn’t say anything, not sure of how to break the silence.

Once the two of you finally made it home, you stretched in your seat, trying to break some of tension you created. “It’s getting late, yeah? Let’s hurry and go to bed,”

Just as you were about to leave, a hand on your wrist stopped you. Looking back at Shouto, you gave him a confused look.

“Are you upset?” He asked, and you could practically see him doing everything in his power to not shrink back into his seat.

Putting on a small smile, you shook your head, taking your wrist out of his hand. “Of course I’m not, let’s just head inside, okay?”

Though you could tell that this conversation wasn’t finished, he nodded, and the both of you exited the car. As the two of you ascended the stairs to your shared apartment, you could feel the back of Shouto’s hand brush yours, almost as if he were asking permission to hold yours. You took his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. A small sigh could be heard from Shouto, almost as if he weren’t expecting you to accept his affection.

Once the two of you had finally entered your apartment, you took in a deep breath, letting out a huge sigh as you moved to flop onto the couch. After a few seconds of hearing Shouto fumble with his shoes, you heard him padding over towards you, lifting up one of your legs as he took your shoes off for you. As he moved to put them away, you sat up, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ before rubbing your eyes.

Giving him a smile, you nodded your head towards the bathroom, “You go first, I’ll wait,”

Nodding, he disappeared to the bathroom. Once you heard the soft click of the lock, you groaned, standing up and stretching. Moving towards the bedroom, you moved to one of your drawers, pulling it open to reveal your colorful paper strips. As you grabbed a handful of them, you sat down at the edge of your bed, folding away. After all, if there was one thing that could calm you, it’d be your lucky stars.

You folded a few stars, and as you heard the door to the bathroom open, you were finishing up your five hundred and forty-eighth star. In all honesty, it was surprising to you that you kept up this hobby for so long. When you were younger, you never quite imagined yourself to have continued, but perhaps it was the romantic in you, wanting to complete the ten thousand stars for your partner. You also had never imagined that, in all of the years that had passed, you’d be folding these stars for the very same person you started them for. It was a strange feeling, to love someone for as long as you had, and to have that person love you back.

In that moment, as you stared down at the stars that littered your lap, you realized just how much you loved Shouto. Of course, you knew that you loved him, or else you wouldn’t be with him now. However, you really couldn’t picture being with anyone else, and perhaps that was why you were upset when you heard him dismiss the idea of marriage so easily. But, now, glancing from the stars in your lap to those in your jar, you realized that you’d rather be with him for the rest of your life than be mad for a moment because he didn’t want to be wed.

As your thoughts continued to cloud your mind, you didn’t notice Shouto walk out, taking out a suspicious looking black box from his drawer. You also didn’t notice when he took a seat next to you, also admiring the stars in your lap.

It took him reaching for your hand to finally acknowledge his presence, and when you did turn to face him, he felt his heart rate rise as you gave him a beautiful smile, one that looked completely different than the sad one in the car.

Sighing, he dropped his head to your shoulder. “You know, you really ruin surprises, right?”

“Excuse me?”

Before you could question him further, he lifted his head to look at you, and you could see both the nervousness and amusement in his his eyes. “It took everything in me to not spoil this, I even told Momo and Kyouka to not say anything, but then Kyouka comes in, and asks about the damn ring,”

Pointing a finger at you, he continued, “And then here you are, asking me if I even wanted to marry you, as if there were a chance that I didn’t, but I didn’t want to ruin the whole plan I had. Then you had the saddest look on your face in the car, how could I possibly keep it from you?”

Pulling the small box from behind him, he opened it to reveal a simple ring, with one diamond at the center of a rather dainty golden ring.

Your hands went up to your mouth, and you felt your eyes widen in shock. Looking at the man beside you, you gave him a look that showed you didn’t quite believe it. Shouto could tell you were speechless, so he decided to take the lead, pulling the ring out of the box and getting down on one knee.

“I know this isn’t the most, romantic, place to propose,” He started, looking away from you for a moment, “But I want you to know that I do want to get married to you. I can’t promise that I’ll be the best husband, I mean, I did just make you feel like I didn’t want this, and I know that I’m not always the most affectionate boyfriend, and I—“

You cut him off by launching yourself at him, pressing a kiss to his lips as the lucky stars in your lap scattered around the two of you, almost like confetti. At first, you could feel him tense against you, his hands unsure of where to land. However, just as you were about to pull away, you felt him pull you in closer, one hand on your waist while his lips became pliable against yours, taking all that he could.

The two of you just sat on the floor of your bedroom, basking in the warmth that filled the room. As you finally pulled away, breathless, Shouto stared at you, a dumb, lovestruck smile plastered across his face. He took your left hand in his, sliding the ring onto your finger. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he crushed you against his chest, resting his head on top of yours.

“Thank you,” He mumbled into your hair.

You looked up at him, a confused look on your face. “For what?”

“For loving me.”

999 Stars: Everlasting love to you

To say that you were freaking out would be the biggest understatement of the year.

No, you weren’t just freaking out, of course not. No, you were absolutely losing your mind.

It was about ten in the morning, and you were currently sitting in the bridal suite of your wedding venue. You had arrived here at eight, with your bridesmaids and your mother, all of whom had to get ready for the ceremony with you. Shouto arrived by nine, with his groomsmen and his family in tow. By the time that he arrived, you had just finished getting your hair done, and were now having your makeup done. It didn’t take long for you to finish up your makeup, and as thirty minutes passed, you found yourself being gawked at by every woman in the room, with all of them telling you just how pretty you looked, and how you make a gorgeous bride. It was endearing, but you swore that if one more person got in your personal space, you’d start fighting.

Having sensed your tense mood, Momo stepped in front of you, ushering the other women out. “We should let her get dressed, let’s give her some privacy,”

All the ladies exited the room begrudgingly, and you shot a thankful look at Momo before she shut the door, leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company. You knew that you shouldn’t be as nervous as you felt, but for some reason, no matter what logic you tried to convince yourself of, you couldn’t shake off the anxious feeling.

There were a multitude of things you worried about. You worried about tripping over yourself as you walked to your fiancé. You worried about spilling something on yourself, staining your pure white kimono. You worried about messing up your vows in front of such a large audience.

Most importantly, you worried about going out, only to find no one at the end of the aisle.

Realistically, you knew that Shouto wouldn’t just abandon you, not when the two of you had been together for so long already. However, there was a little voice in the back of your head that told you he left, that everyone would let you walk out only to be greeted by embarrassment and heartbreak.

So, rather than dealing with these thoughts in a healthy way, you just decided to force them to the back of your mind, and instead you stood up from your seat, rummaging through your bag that you brought from home, sighing in relief when you pulled out a multitude of colorful strips of paper. You figured that you’d be nervous before the ceremony, so you packed away a few strips of paper in your bag, just in case you needed to calm down.

Choosing to sit down on the floor, you started folding one star after the next, and soon enough, there was a pile of stars next to you, falling off one another as your trembling hands dropped off one after the next.

As you continued to fold your lucky stars while doing your best to keep yourself from having a breakdown, little did you know that Momo went over to the groom’s dressing room, both verifying for you that Shouto was in fact, still there, and asking if Rei could go and check on you, noting that you’d probably respond better if she went over.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, spiraling down into a dark tunnel, that you didn’t notice when she opened the door, or when she knelt beside you, gently asking if you were okay.

You did notice her, however, when she put her hand on your shoulder gently, stopping you from folding yourself into oblivion. As you looked up at her, she noticed your anxious expression, the way you folded your hands together in order to keep them from trembling. She frowned, gently moving her hand from your shoulder to cup your cheek.

“What’s going on?” She asked, though it was so soft that you nearly thought you imagined it.

You waved your hands in front of your face, trying to dismiss the idea that anything was wrong. “Nothing! Everything’s fine, great actually—“

The unusually stern look on Rei’s face made you pause, before finally slumping down, your hands finding their spot in your lap once more. “I’m just, nervous,”

She hummed in acknowledgement, moving to sit down next to you, but careful enough to not crush your stars.

“Of course, it’s natural to feel nervous on your wedding day,” She consoled, placing her hand on top of yours, “I also find that it makes you feel much better if you talk about your worries. It makes your chest feel much lighter,”

You hesitated for a moment, deciding whether or not it was a good idea to tell the mother of your future husband that you were worried he’d leave you at the alter, but you knew that she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. So, taking a deep breath, you finally spilled what’s been weighing on your mind.

“It’s just,” You started, wringing your hands together, “I know it’s silly, but I’m just worried that I’ll mess up the ceremony. I’m worried that I’ll cause a huge scene in front of all our guests, or that Shouto won’t even be there when I go out,”

The last part of your sentence was mumbled out, as though you didn’t want her to hear it, but she heard every word. Giving you a smile, one that only a mother could have, she rubbed her thumb against your worried hands, the motion instantly soothing you, if at least for a moment.

“It’s perfectly okay to worry about messing up, it’s okay to worry about tripping on your dress, or forgetting your vows at the end, at the end of the day, it’s both your and Shouto’s day, and I can assure you that anything you do, he’ll find it absolutely endearing. There’s almost nothing you can do that will make him love you any less,”

Moving to cup your cheeks in both of her hands, she forced you to look at her. “If it makes you feel better, Shouto’s still in his room, going over his vows with Midoriya,” A knowing smile came to life on her face, practically radiating amusement, “Before I came here, Bakugou started yelling at him when he insisted Shouto read it like a script,”

The image of Bakugou getting irritated at your fiancé, purely because of how he speaks made you laugh. Taking it as a sign that she said something right, she patted your shoulder, standing up and offering you a hand.

“Now come on, we don’t have much time, let’s get you dressed,” As you stood up, brushing off any dust from your form, she moved to grab the bridal kimono from its hanger, “Would you like some help?”

You nodded your head, allowing her to help, “Thank you—“

Before you could finish your sentence, your own mother bursted through the door, a worried look on her face. “Your friend told me that you weren’t feeling good, are you okay?”

Sparing a glance at Rei, you moved towards your mother, pulling her into the room, “I’m good now, I just need to get dressed. Can you help us?”

Checking you over once more, just to be sure that you weren’t hurt, or freaking out, she finally sighed, rubbing the back of your head before nodding. As the two women helped you into your kimono, you forced yourself to take calming breaths, feeling much better after your talk with Rei. In fact, you were starting to feel the excitement and happiness you had felt when Shouto first proposed to you, and you couldn’t wait to meet him at the end of the aisle.

As the three of you were rushing out of your bridal suite, getting ready to head to their spots, you quickly took one of the many stars that littered the floor and tucked it into one of the folds of your garment, hoping that it’ll bring some luck to you as you walked closer and closer to the love of your life.

Thankfully, your nine hundred and ninety-ninth star made sure that no incidents happened, and you were able to both walk to Shouto without falling and recite your vows accurately.

Though, it didn’t really help when Bakugou was the first to speak at your party afterward, and he instead listed every single time the either of you did something embarrassing.

10,000 Stars: Love for ten thousand years

One year.

One year filled with laughter, tears, and happiness. You couldn’t be more grateful to have spent a year of your life with your husband. Though not much had changed between the two of you, other than the fact that you now checked the “married” box whenever filling out forms, you still couldn’t stop the elated feeling in your chest whenever you glanced down at your hand, which now held two beautiful golden rings, one from your engagement, and the other which matched the one of Shouto’s hand. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were, but, every day you woke up beside your beloved husband, and you’d be thrusted into reality.

While your schedules as pro heroes taking up most of your days, and the two of you couldn’t always be available for the other, you both did your best to make at least a little bit of time for each other. When you had a day off and Shouto had to work, he’d make sure to pass by your apartment, tapping on the window to give you a small wave and a quick hello before going back, and if he was able to take a break from his hectic schedule, you’d make sure to shoot him a quick text, telling him how much you love him, and how you can’t wait to see him.

So, when the day came for your first wedding anniversary, you both made sure to clear your schedules and make sure that no one disturbed either of you unless it was absolutely necessary.

The day started out great, the two of you slept in, and, for the first time, you were the first to wake up. For the first couple of minutes, you simply stared down at your husband, taking in all of his features, from his forehead, down to his nose, all the way to his lips, and then his chin. You simply admired how he looked as the sun peeked through the curtains, the sun illuminating parts of his face, making him look near etherial. Once you couldn’t hold it in any longer, you went to press soft pecks across the entirety of his face, starting at his cheek, then moving to the tip of his nose, his forehead, everywhere except his lips. You could tell that he began to wake, as he grumbled slightly, and the arm that was wrapped around your waist had tightened, trapping you against his body.

After a few more seconds of avoiding his lips, you saw his eyes open, narrowing as if he were glaring at you. Giggling, you finally placed a sweet kiss to his lips, lingering for a bit longer than you should’ve, before moving away, a smile finding its way to your face.

“Good morning,” You said, unable to contain the happiness in your voice.

He hummed, his head lowering to press a kiss to your collarbone. “Happy anniversary.”

Though you thought it impossible, your smile grew even wider, and you cupped his face between your hands, enjoying the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled back at you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, not moving until a loud growl came from Shouto’s stomach, yelling at both of you to get up and start your day. Though you didn’t have much planned for the day, you decided to get dressed and head out towards your local cafe, figuring that a nice cup of coffee would do the both of you good.

Walking arm in arm, you quickly found your way to your destination, and you went to order for the both of you while Shouto went to find a table. After a few minutes had passed, you found yourself sitting underneath one of the cafe’s umbrellas, sipping your iced coffee as you basked in the company of your husband, enjoying the little remarks he’d make, whether it be about how his job had been going, something funny Izuku did, or placing a bet on when Katsuki would finally admit that they were friends.

Everything was good, and you were so happy to just be here with him. However, a ring from Shouto’s phone broke the good atmosphere, and after a two minute call, he looked at you with such an annoyed expression. When you asked what happened, he told you that his agency needed him to come in and finish some paperwork and to talk to the police about a villain he’d taken down.

“I’m sorry,” He said as he walked you back to the apartment, his eyes focused more on the pavement in front of you.

As you made it to the entrance of your apartment building, you faced him, taking both of his hands in yours, a bright smile lighting your face. “Don’t apologize, you didn’t know they’d need you. Try and come home for dinner, I’ll make soba tonight,”

His eyes lit up at the talk of dinner, and you had to hold back a laugh. You pulled him down into a quick kiss, bidding him goodbye and entering your home.

As you waited for him to come back, you decided to start prepping your ingredients for dinner, though that didn’t take you long. So, as you sat down on the couch, flipping through the channels, you wondered what to do to pass the time. Your eyes wandered away from the TV to the kitchen, then to your bedroom, where you felt an idea appear in your head.

Walking towards your bedroom and to your drawer, you pulled out your colorful strips of paper, which were all nearly gone. As you pulled out the final few, you grabbed your large jar filled with lucky stars, and headed back out to the living room.

You were nearly finished with your ten thousand lucky stars, only have around forty or so before you reached nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine stars, so you figured that you may as well finish that up while you had the time. What a lovely gift it’d be, to give Shouto your finished collection of stars on your wedding anniversary. The stars that you started for him all those years ago, the ones you stopped because it hurt so much to even think about. The ones that, despite your lies, told the story of how you never truly stopped loving him, how you never really stopped caring for him.

As you finished up your final stars, it was time for you to start dinner. Placing the nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-ninth star into your jar, you hid the large thing in your room before heading back to the kitchen to start the soba making process.

By the time you were setting up the table, lighting some candles to make it look more intimate, you heard a knock at the door. Curiously, you walked over, peeking in the eyehole before laughing lightly, swinging the door open.

Placing a hand on your hip, you giggled. “You do know you have a key, right?”

Shouto laughed, and in one hand held a dozen red roses, while the other went to rub the back of his neck. “It was a surprise, yeah?” Walking in behind you, he continued, “Besides, I left my keys here, so I really couldn’t open the door if I wanted to,”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you moved to grab a vase, filling it with water before placing your roses in it. Shouto was close behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched you fluff out the flowers.

“I don’t know why you bring out the vase, you’re just going to press them afterwards,”

You turned around in his grasp, kissing his jaw. “Yeah, but it keeps them fresh looking before I do,” Pulling away from his grasp, you headed towards the kitchen, “Now c’mon, dinner’s ready and I’m hungry,”

The two of you fixed your plates before heading to the table, finally enjoying your meal. You listened as he told you about what happened at work, and he listened as you told him what happened while he was gone, though you didn’t have nearly as much to say.

For the rest of dinner, the two of you just continued to talk about anything and everything, even staying long after the two of you finished off your meals. As the sun began to disappear and the night began to roll in, you both finally decided to turn in for the night. Picking up your dishes, you headed towards the kitchen, Shouto following close behind you. With only the sound of running water filling the apartment, the two of you washed and dried your dishes before heading off to the bedroom, too tired to do much else.

As the two of you entered your shared bedroom, you reached for Shouto’s hand, causing him to pause. When he turned back to look at you, you gave him a smile, your eyes shutting.

“Do me a favor?”

He nodded almost immediately. Ushering him towards the bed, you pushed him into a sitting position, holding out a hand, telling him to wait. Walking towards the closet, you pulled out the jar of lucky stars that you stashed away earlier. Turning to face him, you placed the jar in his lap, smiling as his face morphed from one of confusion to one of awe.

Sitting down net to him, you stared at his profile, “Do you remember when I first gave you one?”

Wordlessly, he nodded his head, seemingly entranced by the sheer amount within the jar.

“I told you before that you give these stars to those you care about,” You started, resting your head on his shoulder as you spoke, “And that is true, but it’s not the whole story,”

When he looked at you in interest, you continued. “Lucky stars are usually given to a lover, and there’s milestone meanings when you reach a certain amount of stars. For example, the first star means that you’re my only love, the ninth means that I wish you love for a lifetime, the fifty-fifth star means that I’ll love you without any regret, and it continues all the way up to ten thousand stars,”

“Ten thousand?” He repeated, moving your head to look at you directly.

You nodded your head, motioning towards the jar, “Can you guess how many is in there?”

Shouto looked back at the lucky stars, peering at the different colors. “There has to be at least a few thousand,”

“Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine stars,” You watched as Shouto’s eyes grew wide in amazement, “With the one I made you when we were younger, I folded ten thousand stars,”

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you smiled. He continued to look at you, still shocked about the idea of you folding ten thousand stars for him. When he still said nothing, you hugged him from the side, pressing yourself into him.

“Do you know what ten thousand stars mean?”

When he shook his head, you giggled, brushing the hair away from his face.

“Ten thousand stars mean that I’ll love you for ten thousand years,” You paused, a smirk on your face, “Though I’m sure that I’ll love you for an eternity,”

For ten thousand years, you’d continue to love him, even as you died and started a new life, you’d love him, and when those ten thousand were up?

You were sure you’d love him for another ten thousand more.

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