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astersatdawn · 6 months ago

Text

Caution: (Haunted) Construction Zone Ahead

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Past One for All Users, Past One for All Users & Past One for All Users

Rating: T

Tags: Crack, One for All Users as Family

This was written in 2023 for the Realities Visions: A One For All Vestiges Zine

Oneshot | 5.8k words

“So, any suggestions?” Second clicks his pen.

Izuku considers it for a moment. “A library?” A few positive comments, and Second’s writing it down while Izuku considers other options. “An All Might merch room?”

“No.” Second clicks the pen again. “No more suggestions.”

[Or, the residents of One for All decide a throne room is not enough, and so, they build a house.]

Ao3 Link

When Izuku returns to the void, he’s baffled by the “caution: construction zone” tape around the thrones.

“—any other suggestions?” Second looks up from the clipboard he’s holding.

“Oh, oh! how about a roller—” Banjo raises his hand, looking like an eager kindergartener on his throne, only to have Shinomori, who, rather than sitting at his own seat, seems to be chaperoning Banjo, shoves his hand back down.

None of the others bat a lash at this. Second pointedly looks away from the two of them. “Anything else?”

“What are you guys doing?” Izuku asks, ducking under the tape so he can stand by the Fourth’s empty throne.

“Building a house,” En says.

“A mansion,” Nana corrects, with the exasperated look of someone who’s said this ten times already.

En, ducking his chin more comfortably into his turtleneck, cheekily repeats, “a house.”

Nana’s sigh is long and loud, and Izuku knows he’s going to be very careful about his particular language around the two of them. “What do you have planned so far?”

“Let’s see…” Second flips a page on the clipboard. “A foyer, a throne room, a dining room, a kitchen—”

“Can you eat?” Izuku murmurs. In the corner of his eye, someone shrugs.

“—nine bedrooms, a greenhouse—”

“Can you sleep? Can things grow here? If they can, would that be impacted by something internally, or would it be based on my exposure to sunlight? Does that make me the plant?”

“You certainly look the part.”

“—a home theater—”

“How would you watch anything in there? Can you summon anything you want to watch? Is it limited by what you’re already familiar with? Or could streaming—”

“Midoriya.” Izuku startles, glancing back up at Second, whose narrowed eyes stare at him.

“There’s no need to look so threatening. He was listening, and I know you know that,” Yoichi says. Second mutters something under his breath that makes Yoichi laugh. “That was the entire list, wasn’t it?”

Second flips the page. “We’re still undecided about the gym and pool—”

“Waterpark!” Banjo yells.

“If I’m not getting my armory, you’re not getting your waterpark. But yes, that’s everything.”

“And… you know how to build all of that?”

“I worked in construction before… before I met Leader,” Third says.

“I’ve built a few things during my time in hiding,” Shinomori adds.

“So, any suggestions?” Second clicks his pen.

Izuku considers it for a moment. “A library?” A few positive comments, and Second’s writing it down while Izuku considers other options. “An All Might merch room?”

“No.” Second clicks the pen again. “No more suggestions.”

“But—” Yoichi starts.

“No.”

“A room for All Might and Captain Hero merch—”

“Absolutely not.”

“My brother would hate it.”

A pause. “We’ll consider it another time. For now, let’s figure out the layout…”

✨🏡✨

“Okay, we’ve figured out the configuration…” Second mutters, reviewing the plans Third had meticulously drafted. “Now all that’s left are room assignments.”

Crickets.

“Do we have to do that now?”

“It makes our rooms more customizable.”

“He wants to add a secret passageway in his room,” Yoichi stage whispers.

Second slowly turns his head toward Yoichi, deadpan expression terrifying in itself. “Someone isn’t getting their balcony.”

“I said nothing.”

Someone snorts, then it’s silent again.

“What if we draw lots?” Nana suggests.

A few murmurs here and there, and eventually Third marks up all the pre-selected bedrooms with the first nine letters of the alphabet (because, they quickly decided, numbers would be too confusing).

“Wait, does Ghost-Might need a room?”

“Of course Toshi needs a room!”

“Yes! And All Might deserves the largest room!”

“Your opinion about Eighth is invalid.”

“What, why?”

Everyone shares a glance with each other, except All Might’s ghost vestige, whose wisps extend in a glowing thumbs up in Izuku’s direction. The gesture is enough to have Izuku vibrating for the rest of the week.

“Reasons.”

But after that, there are no protests to All Might getting a room, which is the most important part, in Izuku’s opinion.

Nana summons a handful of popsicle sticks, and writes down matching letters on each, before she begins to shuffle them in her hands. She walks around the semi-circle, letting everyone pull their own stick—though All Might’s attempt to do so is only half-successful, as it falls through him as soon as he picks it up—until Nana is left with the last one.

Third, who had been following behind Nana, reveals the final arrangements.

“Oh, that’s not too bad,” En says.

“All Might… I get to be neighbors with All Might..!”

“We need to redraw it,” Shinomori says.

“What, why?”

“I refuse to have my room in the middle.”

“That’s not too bad—”

“And I am not going to live with Banjo in the next room over.”

“But I’m a great neighbor!”

“You got multiple noise complaints when you were alive. I don’t want to know how many you can acquire post-mortem.”

Second pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is anyone willing to switch with Shinomori?”

More crickets create a symphony in the too-long silence.

(“Where did the bugs come from?”

“Don’t question it.”

“Were they always a part of the Quirk? Or—”

“And he’s questioning it.”)

“I’ll take that as a no. Next then—”

Shinomori mutters something under his breath, disgruntled with arms crossed, but doesn’t voice any further protests.

✨🏡✨

When Izuku spawns in the void the next day, he isn’t surprised to see the beginning of a frame—he’s heard pounding in the back of his mind all day.

What he’s surprised to see is Shinomori hammering a nail. It shouldn’t be odd, but Shinomori hammers said nail into the ground, which Izuku realizes is actually a stake to hold the rather large, pristine tent sitting a few dozen meters away from the eventual house-mansion.

As much as Izuku wants to see how the construction is going, his curiosity at the unexpected addition has him wandering to where Shinomori pounds a hammer against the nail.

“Do you need any help, Shinomori-san?”

Shinomori looks up, pausing his hammering.

“No thank you. I am almost done setting this up,” he says. “I only have…”

Shinomori pauses with a frown, glancing somewhere past Izuku. Izuku twists around to see Third jogging over. Shinomori’s wary stare doesn’t leave Third even as he comes to a stop next to Izuku, barely shooting him a greeting before all of his attention is on Shinomori, posture shifting into something pulled from a stock photo of the world’s most disappointed parents.

“What are you doing?” His voice mimics Second’s unforgettable disappointed tone.

“I am working on improving our living situation, as we discussed.”

Third stares at Shinomori for a long moment, stance unwavering. “This wasn’t a part of the plan.”

“It needed to be.” Shinomori stands, taking slow, cautious steps to another corner of the tent, and summons another stake.

“And this couldn’t wait? I could really use your experience for the rest of the project. The others…” He shudders, and Izuku glances back at the building frame, and decides maybe Third’s underlying horror is well-founded, considering the frame is obscured by a thick layer of purple smoke.

Should he say something? He glances back towards Shinomori, who subtly shakes his head in Izuku’s direction. Bad time, okay.

“My experience is best used here.”

There’s a stunned, frustrated silence. “You said you had construction experience.”

“I do.”

“This is a tent.”

“Yes, it is. I thought that was obvious.”

“Your construction experience… is pitching tents.”

Shinomori blinks. “I built this.”

“This—” Third takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a huff Second would be proud of. “—is a tent.”

“I made it myself,” Shinomori explains with a furrowed brow. “This is one of the highest quality tents I have ever been able to craft. I find I can make them more comfortable than a more traditional dwelling.”

“Your construction experience is making tents,” Third mumbles, rubbing his forehead. “I should’ve known. Of course you only know how to make tents.”

Abruptly, Third summons a pillow, doubles over, shoves the pillow in his face, and screams.

“Third-san…” Izuku timidly reaches out and pats Third’s back, glancing behind them to the building frame. There’s less smoke, but Izuku can see a few beams of wood swinging like a pendulum. He thinks it’s Banjo running across another beam, trying to get to one that’s swaying, but even from here Izuku can tell that the stability of the entire structure is shoddy, as the horizontal beam bends under Banjo’s weight.

Izuku doesn’t know if there have been instances like that all day, but he also knows he probably doesn’t want to know. Knowing means figuring out if the collapsing literal infrastructure in his brain has an impact on his brain’s collapsing mental infrastructure.

Third says something muffled into the pillow, and Izuku keeps awkwardly patting his back until Third lifts his face up. “I’m fine, this is fine. Everything is going great, I can—”

Something snaps.

Both Izuku and Third flinch. There’s a loud “I’m okay!” in the distance, but while the person is okay, the house is definitely missing at least three wooden beams from when Izuku last looked. While Izuku’s pretty sure the smoke emitting from the ground level is probably En’s, it doesn’t stop it from making the whole thing look ominous.

They’re in desperate need of intervention, but considering this is a miniature realm of the dead inside Izuku’s brain, there is very little possibility of any outside intervention—and besides Izuku, anything that fits into that category are the last things they want trampling around the shared headspace.

“Um… is there anything I can do to help?”

Third, staring at the ground now, takes that into serious consideration. After a long moment, he sighs. “Leader promised to stop Yoichi from axing the building—” axing? “—but I don’t think that’s working. If that stops, then En will stop daring Banjo to swing from the spots Yoichi weakened…. Yeah, that could work. Just send Second over to me and keep an eye on Yoichi.”

“I… I can do that, but what do you mean ‘axing?’”

Third looks up at him, and if Izuku thought he was despairing when he realized Shinomori’s construction experience is tent making, then it has nothing on how he looks now. “I mean that he summons an ax, and then chops at the wood until someone stops him.”

Izuku knows he heard Third right, but there’s something about the mental image of Yoichi wielding an ax that doesn’t process. It takes a moment for Izuku to formulate any response at all. “Why?”

Third’s shoulders droop. “Honestly, I don’t want to know.”

“Okay. I’ll…” stop the First from summoning a bunch of axes? From tearing down a building before it’s even built? Wrestle him before he can even make another attempt? It probably won’t be too difficult, but he’s definitely questioning his sense of dream-reality at the moment. “I’ll… do that. Let me know if you need anything else, okay, Third-san?”

“Thank you.” Third drops his head back down again. He doesn’t look like he’s about to scream his head off, more like he’s taking a breath after what’s likely been a stressful afternoon that Izuku is about to only comprehend a small portion of.

Maybe it’s a good thing Izuku isn’t here full time.

✨🏡✨

All things considered the next few days of building go significantly better. Third looks less stressed, Shinomori is finally helping construct the main building, Izuku only has to hunt down the ax-wielding maniac Yoichi a few times a day rather than ten times an hour, and as Third had predicted, Banjo’s use of the construction site as a daredevil’s playground lessens when En dares him to do that less (and even more when Banjo catches on to what En is doing).

That being said—

“Our productivity is going up,” Third says. “If we proceed at this pace, I think we’ll be ahead of schedule.”

—it’s still suboptimal.

Multiple gazes snap to him like he kicked a puppy.

“What?” Third stares at him, stunned, but also expectant.

What did Izuku say? Oh no, had he said that aloud? Considering how everyone is looking at him, he either said that or confessed to a non-existent murder.

At least it’s easy to pick which grave to bury himself in.

“Um… I didn’t mean it like—like this isn’t working, because clearly it is! You absolutely know what you’re doing, but I was thinking we’re taking a really old-fashioned approach to this?”

Second and Third share a glance. “Explain.”

“Well, none of you are really using your Quirks? Nana is using ladders more than Float, Banjo could hold multiple things at once with Blackwhip, though I’m not sure how much fine motor control you can get with it—”

“Uh—”

“—and I haven’t experimented much with that. But there’s so much about One for All and your Quirks I don’t know yet… especially here… we’re able to pull a crane into a void with a thought, so I’m wondering why we’re building a house if we might be able to summon one. Though I suppose it’s harder to make something totally unique from imagination—would One for All fix any design errors on its own or would it not work if if the owner’s image is incomplete—”

Third drops his clipboard, startling Izuku’s ramble to a complete stop.

“Oh my god.”

Second facepalms. “We should’ve realized this.”

“Soooo…” Banjo leans forward. “We can… summon it?”

“I mean, it’s hard to say how accurate our mental image has to be for it to work,” Izuku reiterates. “But, uh, maybe?”

“It’s worth trying, at least,” Nana adds. “As fun as it has been working from scratch…” She looks around the throne room, which looks less complete than before the construction project. Instead of a clean endless expanse, there’s an endless expanse of void and a mishmash of walls and beams one can look through. “I think it’d be better to finish sooner.”

“I would like to get back to my tent."

Second nods. “I take it there are no objections, then.”

“But what if Ninth’s right?” En asks. “I don’t think I can imagine the building we’re going for.”

“Something going wrong could also set us back,” Nana muses. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“Actually, I don’t think we need to worry,” Yoichi says. “I believe Third can accomplish it.”

“You think..?” Third mumbles.

“The First is right!” Izuku chimes in. “More than anyone else, you know what we’re trying to do. As long as you concentrate on that, it’ll definitely work!”

“Then… I can try.” Third closes his eyes.

“Should we still be in here while he’s doing that?” Nana murmurs.

Banjo shrugs, leaning back on his throne while they wait.

At first, nothing happens beyond Third’s eyes scrunching tight, so En pulls out a deck of cards for a quick game with those nearby.

En freezes mid-shuffle at a faint creek, cards disregarded as multiple gazes snap in the direction of the sound. A stampede of tinkering plays its discordant melody of nailing and drilling, pieces of wood and plaster and other materials appearing and drifting over their heads to find their places.

The floor too begins shifting. For a few moments, it disappears entirely, leaving them clinging to their seats floating above nothingness. Planks slip neatly below, and before they know it the floor is done. A soft yellow glow reflects off the wood as a chandelier appears overhead.

Third opens his eyes again, glancing around the room with a critical eye. “It… looks done.”

“That was amazing!” Izuku leaps out of his seat, rushing to the wall to examine the quality of the walls and floors; they feel as he expects, smooth, a dry coat of paint on the walls and the right amount of shine on the floors. “I don’t know much about this stuff, but it looks and feels real!”

“...does anyone else feel like we’re in an enchanted house?”

“Enchanted mansion,” Nana corrects, half-focused, still in awe of the change.

“Haunted enchanted mansion.” Banjo, too, is slack-jawed as he absorbs the massive sparse room that is the revamped throne room.

“I did leave it undecorated,” Third cuts in, a hint of blush finding a home on his cheeks. “So we still need to do that, but everything else should be done.”

“I don’t know how to decorate shit,” Second confesses.

“I thought you were in charge of the base layout?” Yoichi asks.

“Did I ever make it pretty?”

Yoichi opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it without another word not even five seconds later.

“I… know a few things,” Nana pipes up. “I… had a bit of a phase before… before Kotaro was born.”

“So now Nana’s in charge, yeah?” Banjo asks.

“I can only offer advice for your rooms,” she quickly says. “But I’m willing to make the communal areas acceptable to everyone’s taste.”

Second nods. “Understood. That’s what we should address next then. Any objections?”

✨🏡✨

The discussions lead to this: Nana, in charge of the communal decorations, would initially switch between helping brainstorm and supervise two teams. One team would work inside, and another would work outside (as the outside is just as important to decorate as the inside, as Nana and Yoichi had insisted early on in the discussion).

So, here Izuku, Yoichi, Second, En, and Nana stand, staring out at the vast void before them. They finally got their first glimpse of the completed estate behind them. It certainly looked fancier than anything Izuku ever lived in, tall and wide, tiled roofs and pristine walls.

Yet, as nice as it is, it looks like someone slapped some fancy clip art into their blank, dark-mode document and called it a day.

“I have an idea.” Yoichi says, grabbing Second’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Second raises a brow, stubbornly staying still, and glances at Nana for her opinion.

“I’ll trust Yoichi’s judgment,” Nana says.

With that, Second nods, and lets himself be led away. It’s a little surprising to see how far the First seems to be leading Second, as they don’t stop until just before Hikage’s tent. With the two of them discussing something in the distance, Yoichi making wild gestures, the remaining three huddle together, forming a brainstorming triangle, with Izuku’s back to the building.

“What do you want us to do?” En asks.

“Maybe we can add some terrain first?” Izuku suggests, glancing at En. “I think it would look better if we put some grass around the hou—” Izuku’s gaze flickers off of En and onto Nana, and he can sense the impending disapproval. “—sion…”

“The what?” Nana frowns.

“The housion,” En echoes with a snicker, and Izuku wants to bury his face in sand. But of course, the void, as he’s pointed out, has no grass, let alone any sand. Maybe he should change that and make a beach instead, somewhere far, far away.

“No,” Nana says, pinching her nose. “It’s a mansion.” In the distance, behind the two of them, Izuku spies Yoichi hopping into the driver’s seat of a large construction vehicle, though what its purpose is, Izuku has no clue. “If the size of the building isn’t enough—” there’s beeping as Yoichi backs the truck up, before slamming on the gas; Izuku can hear Second screaming something incoherent from the passenger seat “—to classify this as a mansion, then the amount of bedrooms—”

Izuku doesn’t hear anything she says after that—not because he isn’t interested, but because it’s impossible to focus on anything other than the speeding truck that’s pooping a towering stone battlement behind it.

How had they managed that? He assumes the truck is creating some sort of mental map for where the walls and towers will go, but Izuku honestly isn’t sure if that is actually making it easier or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter, considering Yoichi is cackling like a mad man as he drives around the perimeter of the building that is now not what En or Nana think it is.

“—It’s a mansion. That’s final.”

“Actually—” his shoulders tense at the glare Nana sends his way, but Izuku simply swallows and points behind her. “I think that makes this a castle.”

She spins on her heels, and he hears a quiet gasp. En, who is a bit slower to turn, lets out a low whistle.

“...it’s a castle,” Nana says, some mixture of awe, defeat, and befuddlement in her voice.

“I still like housion better.”

“Please don’t call it that,” Izuku squeaks with cherry cheeks.

✨🏡✨

Izuku climbs the stairs two at a time, excitement buzzing through him. Most of the house has been decorated already, so Izuku finally has a chance to decorate his room. It’s been fun so far, and while Izuku isn’t quite sure what he’s going to do yet, since he’s only here every once in a while, he’s eager to get started and practice the decorating tips he’s been hearing from Nana.

He hurries down the hall, turns a corner, and slams into En’s back.

En stumbles forward, catching his balance, as Izuku leaps back and rubs his nose.

“En-san? Are—” When Izuku sees what’s further down the hall, his original question dies in his throat. “Banjo-san!? What are you doing?”

“Hey kid. I’m hanging around,” Banjo says, shooting upside-down finger guns as he sways from a snare trap.

“He tried to enter my room,” Shinomori explains from next to Banjo, examining the sturdiness of the trap. He nods to himself, and it’s only when he goes into his room that Izuku realizes he never intended to help Banjo get down.

“You having fun there?” En asks with an undercurrent of amusement.

Banjo fidgets, and Izuku thinks it’s supposed to be a shrug. “Eh. I could maybe use a little help.”

The admission is enough to maneuver around En and summon a set of wire cutters and a ladder. Once it’s set up, he gives a brief warning to Banjo to brace himself, before he cuts the wire. Banjo lands with a thud, and hops back onto his feet as Izuku climbs down the ladder.

“Thanks kid.” Banjo pats his head. Izuku smiles and nods, and his eyes catch on the glinting wire on the floor.

“Of course, Banjo-san.” Izuku picks up the remains of the trap, turning it over in his hands, scrutinizing how it twists in on itself to form the adjustable knot. I wonder if I can make other knots with Blackwhip? Being able to use it as a lasso is already helpful with rescues and captures, but I might be able to expand my options if I—

“Kid?” Izuku startles, looking at Banjo who’s staring at him with an amused grin, and En whose eyebrows are raised. “What’cha thinking about so intensely?”

“Ah, nothing, really.” Izuku drops his hands to his side. “What did you want from Hikage-san’s room?”

“I, uh, was honestly just curious,” Banjo admitted, surprisingly sheepish. “Since he’s already got the tent and complained about being next to me, I was wondering what he was using the room for.”

Izuku glances at the door with a thoughtful look. “Maybe he changed his mind?”

“Doubt it,” En says. “He’s probably hiding something.”

“I don’t think that’s it…”

“Maybe, but you can’t tell me you aren’t curious too, kid.”

He is a little bit, but in the same way he’s curious about what the others are doing with their rooms. Izuku knows he could ask if he really wants, but it feels a little silly to ask rather than wait for an invitation. But then again, his classmates had been curious about each other’s rooms too, when they had all moved into the dorms…

“What if we had a room presentation contest?” Izuku mumbles before he can think better of it.

“Ooooh, now that’s a good idea, kid. We should do it!” Banjo slings an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “What’dya think En?”

En seems to consider it for a moment. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Great, then we should do that. I’m gonna call a meeting—”

“Wait! I haven’t started decorating my room yet.”

“Oh! Well then, kid, get going! I guess I should finish mine too before I say anything. I don’t know what we’re gonna compete for, but I’m definitely winning. See ya later boys.”

Banjo waves before he practically skips one door down and enters his room, slamming the door shut. Seconds later, Izuku can hear a hint of loud music starting to play.

En rubs his ear. “I’m also gonna get to work then. Good luck.”

“Thanks, En-san! Good luck to you too!”

For a brief period, Izuku and En go the same way, but En quietly slips into his room while Izuku heads further down to the back of the hall where his room is.

The room is cozy, but dark, as the windows on the far wall have no sunlight to let through, nor have any light fixtures been added in yet. The space is larger than he’s expecting—he’s sure it’s twice the size of his room at home.

As exciting as this is, he didn’t think of any ideas on the walk over.

Well, not no ideas, he thinks as his eyes catch on the wire still tightly held in his hand. It’s not what he should be starting with, but it’s something to try, and so, he summons a rope.

✨🏠✨

“So, we’re having a room display contest.” Second pinches his nose as he takes a deep breath. “What, exactly, are we competing for?”

“Bragging rights.”

“Lame.”

“What else are we gonna compete for? Money?”

“If that’s not enough…” Yoichi’s voice is enough to quiet the bickering and draw their attention. “We didn’t do anything special with this room. How about the winner gets to decorate it how they’d like?”

The others share a glance.

“I like the sound of that.” Banjo grins.

“For a limited time,” Nana adds.

Yoichi nods. “A month, then.”

“Well I wasn’t winning anyway,” Second mutters. “Alright then, let’s start with the closest room and work our way back.”

✨🏠✨

“I thought this was supposed to be a room, not a factory.”

Second pouts. “It is a room.”

“There’s a few plants here.” Izuku caresses a leaf.

“So, we’ve got the post-apocalypse aesthetic going on here, got it.”

“Oh! There’s a trapdoor here…” Banjo opens it. He leans forward, sticks his head into the hole, and yells, “Where does this even go?” which echoes through what Izuku assumes to be a very long tunnel and not a small room.

“Away from you all.”

✨🏠✨

“Third-san’s room is…” Izuku’s gaze jumps from the pastel pink rug to the fluffy pillows on the comfortable couch.

“It’s cute.” Second stares at the collection of paintings depicting bunches of roses like a bomb had gone off.

“Is there a problem?” Third averts his gaze, his face a matching pink to one of the soft throws Izuku wants to run his fingers through.

“It’s surprising,” Yoichi says.

“A good surprise,” Nana adds on, smiling as she takes a closer look at the designs on the pillows. “I might summon a couple of these for myself.”

✨🏠✨

“I thought Toshinori was supposed to be the American patriot here.”

“This isn’t American,” Banjo protests, standing in front of a pair of saloon doors turned into wall decor. “It’s western.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes!” Banjo shouts, and All Might nods along with him.

There’s a considerable pause in the conversation.

En pokes a cactus that wobbles back and forth, spurred on faster when En flicks it.

“Well, at least it isn’t red, white and blue.”

✨🏠✨

“It’s storage,” Banjo numbly states the second the door to Shinomori’s room is open. There isn’t a better descriptor than that, considering Izuku only sees piles and piles of boxes stacked together. A closer look, and all of them are shut and none of them are labeled.

“Yes. I do not need another room. My tent serves its purpose significantly better than this room would.”

“Okay, but what do you even need storage for?”

Second cracks open one of the crates, and while Shinomori glares at him, he doesn’t protest. Second stares down into the box, before shutting it again. “Nothing I wanna know about.”

✨🏠✨

Yoichi’s room is more pillows than furniture—there’s a couple of bean bag chairs with blankets of too bright and clashing colors thrown over them, and Izuku is glad they’re all matte, because with the light coming from everywhere except the large balcony doors, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see anything otherwise.

“Finally, someone with taste,” En says, his eyes drawn to the minimalist paintings on the wall.

Nana stares at them both in horror. Izuku tries to ignore the garish decor and examine Yoichi’s extensive collection of comics. He only knows about Captain Hero because of Yoichi, but maybe he can read them sometime while he’s here.

Maybe somewhere else, though.

✨🏠✨

Unlike Yoichi’s room, En’s room favors dark woods and saturated furniture, but it does not negate the barrage of vivid accent colors that are truthfully less like accents and more like a neon rainbow sea. Everywhere Izuku’s eyes land he finds more bright colors cluttered together: paintings covering every meter, throws tossed haphazardly in bunches over a pale couch, the floor littered with decks of playing cards and—

Crashing comes as Third slips, trying to grab the back of the couch before he fades out of sight. Discordant tinkling barrages his ears as Third reappears, wiping little bricks off of his palms and out of his ponytail. “Why do you have legos?”

“They’re fun.”

Third stares at him. “Not when they’re like this.” Third gestures to the ground. “At least pick up after yourself!”

En pauses, an almost thoughtful tilt of his chin. “No.”

Third groans, and while the others try to convince En to rid his floor of tripping hazards, En stands firm on his decision.

✨🏠✨

“This is…”

“It’s normal.”

“It’s like we stepped into a fucking magazine ad.”

“So, it’s normal.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Nana stares them down.

“No.”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

✨🏠✨

“It’s a shrine.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, definitely. This—”

Something rattles, and eight gazes find Hikage swinging from a rope at the ankle with wide-eyed disbelief.

“I… am I seeing this right?” Banjo murmurs.

“Yes, you are…” Third’s stunned voice replies.

“I am so sorry!” Izuku rushes over and immediately starts to dismantle the trap. “I completely forgot I left this up. I wanted to learn how to make the trap you did, but then I got an idea for what I wanted to do with the space, so I didn’t take a chance to test it! Ahhh, this is so embarrassing.”

“How did you not notice it?”

Hikage, with far more grace than Banjo’s tumble, flips over and lands feet-first as soon as gravity has a claim on him. “I imagine this trap was not made with the intent of actually trapping someone.”

Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “I made it for practice.”

“When’d you learn how to make the trap, kid?”

“I examined the wire Hikage used and tried to copy it…”

Banjo whistles.

“You did well.” Hikage wraps the rope into a small bundle. “If you’d like, I can teach you some other trapping methods.”

“Please do!”

“Oh no,” Banjo murmurs. “You think we’ll be able to avoid them?”

En’s eyes widen. “If Hikage got caught, we don’t stand a chance. Hey, Izuku, have you ever wanted to learn how to be good at poker? I’ll teach you that instead—”

“Don’t make the kid a gambler!”

“No one is gambling!” Nana shouts.

“But I don’t want to get stuck in one of those things! If making him a gambler is what I gotta do, I’m doing us all a favor.”

“Why can’t I do both?”

“Because kid—” Banjo sets a hand on his shoulder “—you’d become too much of a threat.”

“The kid is smart and has One for All,” Second says, completely ignored by everyone. “How the hell isn’t he already?”

✨🏠✨

All Might’s room is exactly like Izuku’s was when he first walked into his own: pristine, way too dark, and completely untouched.

“Toshinori-kun… you didn’t decorate?”

Izuku looks at All Might, wide and teary-eyed, as the realization hits him. “He couldn’t.”

“What do you mean kid?”

“I forgot that while he can pick things up, he can’t hold onto them. So unless he knew exactly what he wanted to do he couldn’t decorate his room… I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner All Might!”

All Might reaches out and pats Izuku’s head, though it looks more like flecks of golden fire burning from a bush.

“Well, I’m not going to leave Toshi’s room like this,” Nana says.

“I’ll help too!” Determination fills Izuku. “All Might should have the best room!”

“You were gonna vote for his room even if we left it like this, huh?” En snickered.

“I—I don’t know, everyone’s room is so unique…”

“Regardless, it would be unfair to vote now,” Yoichi says.

“If Toshinori can’t decorate his own room then can he even decorate the throne room?” Shinomori muses.

“Which is exactly why he should win.” The words are a murmur, but everyone turns to the speaker, Izuku included, and the speaker crosses his arms defensively. “What?”

Yoichi chuckles. “I never thought I’d hear such words from you.”

“Didn’t think everyone would fucking hear it,” Second grumbles back. “But I’m not looking forward to what sort of eyesore you—you know everyone here could come up with.”

Yoichi grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Sure.”

“Well, are there any objections to starting now?” Nana refocuses their attention on the pressing matter. A quick sweeping glance, and Nana’s smile widens. “Good. Now then…”

It takes a little bit of brainstorming on how to communicate best with All Might about what he wants in the room—it’s best described as a game of 20-but-more questions—but once things are in swing it’s easy to get caught up in a decorating frenzy.

Jokes and banter and pillow fights fill the air between each summoned object. It’s loud but there’s so much warmth in each moment, and as Izuku pauses for a second to take it all in, his heart swells with it.

There is no denying the varying levels of sanity among his dead headmates. Yet, hearing Banjo’s uproarious laughter and Nana’s thoughtful comments, seeing All Might next to him, flickering brighter than before, as if his presence thrives from the atmosphere alone, he can’t help but think: I’m so blessed they’ve all found a home within me.

Second calls out to him, startling him out of his thoughts for some help maneuvering some larger furniture.

And, he thinks, making his way over with a growing smile, I’m glad I’ve found a home with them.

#mha #bnha #written for a zine #astersatdawnfics

0 notes

taechaos · 3 years ago

Note

Can we have some jealous/sweet smut with textbook love couple?🥲 like I guess OC was wearing an outfit that was a little short and some guy was checking her out and trying to get at her but she didn’t even realize it and Jungkook gets mad and you know😏

this really went off the fucking rails 😷

"I don't see the point in you coming, we just go there to get high."

"Maybe she wants to try it," Taehyung shrugs before looking up from his phone with a mischievous grin. "What if she's secretly a freak–"

"I'm not, I just–" you sigh, reluctant to reveal your intentions behind wanting to tag along with Jungkook to a frat party. His reason is clear: his body is craving another drug trip. Yours is unknown to them, and you purse your lips where you stand uncomfortably in the student lounge. Why would such a motivated student go out on a school night to get influenced? Oh, no reason, just want to damage my organs because YOLO, right? "I want to spend time with you," you simply reason to your unwilling boyfriend.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, an indication of an incoming refusal, "It's a crackhouse with live softcore porn, and I know for a fact you'd hate it there. Remember last time?"

The issue is that you do remember last time, and also the time that you weren't there. Much like a fairytale, it ended happily both times, but the beginnings were rocky—and you didn't want to miss out on that chapter before jumping to the end. It ruins the tale.

"It's okay sugar tits, I give you permission," Taehyung says while playing a mobile game with his tongue sticking out, unaware of the stares he's getting in response.

"The fuck did you just call her?"

"I'm not asking for permission," you roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips to assert the tiniest bit of dominance on Jungkook who you hover over. The two men are relaxed in their seats while you're tense from knowing you're going to have to rebel against Jungkook. He isn't going to give in. "I will come."

"No, no you won't," is his plain and casual command. You send him a subtle glare but he merely raises a brow, as if challenging you to retaliate.

"You're not her dad, dude. If she wants to come, she will," his friend chimes in defensively.

"Thank you," you point at him with wide eyes.

"First of all, you're not even a part of this conversation," he tells Taehyung. "Secondly, I'm looking out for you as your boyfriend," he gives you a pointed look. "Thirdly, not her dad? Wouldn't you beg to differ." The suggestive hint makes your face flush in embarrassment, and his wink worsens it.

"Excuse–"

"You told me not to tell him!" The discussion ends when you march out of the lounge to cool off your heated skin along with your high nerves. This relationship did begin when you didn't take no for an answer, so what's the harm in doing it again?

—————

The night you lost your virginity, it was autumn and easy to figure out what to wear for a party: warm and cozy with some charming color. It's spring now, and a little more difficult to decide on what to wear without looking like a "high school girl" as Jungkook often describes your outfits.

Your roommate is more cultured in that field, and was kind enough to lend you her help.

Soyeon racks her eyes over your closet with a hand over her chin, elbow crossing her stomach as leverage for her other arm. Nothing is exactly screaming out sexy to her, and unless it's a cosplay gathering, your wardrobe needs more diversity; dressing shirts, skater skirts and knee highs are out of the question.

You wait to hear her thoughts while shifting in your seat on your bed until she quietly giggles. "And I thought I was conservative." She cranes her neck to you, not moving from her position depending on your answer, "Do you want to borrow my clothes instead? They're more... suitable?"

You nod. "Sure. I mean— if you don't mind."

You trust your friend to take care of the clothing portion, and it's with a few cringing "ehhh"s and "mmm"s that you are satisfied with the outcome of this minor quest.

A thin black turtleneck with unnecessarily long sleeves cover your knuckles like sweater paws, and the fabric hugs your torso tightly but ends just below your belly button. Soyeon found a solution to your discomfort with the slight exposure of your stomach by matching it with high waisted denim shorts and nude pantyhose. It's chilly at night, so it's the perfect outfit: doesn't stand out and fits in just right. You don't look like a high school girl nor a nun.

You kept your only concern to yourself because it's not much of a big deal, but it bothers you that the denim shorts don't reach your knees. By your standards, it's a little... inappropriate, but your roommate assures you that it's a common choice in this occasion. You let it slide.

—————

Your worries of being too early faded the moment you stood before the frat house that boomed with music and flashed with violet. You don't know the time code for parties, but you must be late considering the crowd inside. People are chattering loudly when you squirm past them, but there's enough space in the living room for you to breathe. No softcore porn or crack yet. Not many are dancing either. It seems all good here.

However, the search must go on because Jungkook is nowhere to be found in the living room. You hear deep howls from the kitchen and it piques your attention, prompting you to look there next. You can only hope Jungkook's not high yet, or has a girl on his lap.

When you walk in, the kitchen that is remarkably smaller than the living room is filled with men taking shots from the center counter, and Jungkook leaning against the other counter surrounding the walls with a joint in his hand. You stand still in the doorway, suddenly nervous of his reaction, but relieved that he's alone nonetheless.

He inhales a deep breath and the small smile on his face falters when his redshot eyes drag themselves onto you. He stands straight once you lock gazes, and you grin at him before he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. You unconfidently strut over to him, reaching his side in only a few seconds as he glares at you.

Only a syllable comes out of his mouth before his attention diverts from you to another guy nearby in a flash. "Hey, eyes off," he calmly demands the man behind you. You glance at him when he raises his hands before looking elsewhere. You presume that's sign language for backing off, and your shoulder blades move awkwardly at the guess of what he might've been looking at. "What the hell are you doing here?" he brings your focus back onto him.

"I wanted to check up on you," you lean into him to not yell out your words.

"Check up on me?" He's incredulous. "Do you realize where you are? You shouldn't be here."

The moment is interrupted when Namjoon and Taehyung enter the scene, and you stop gnawing on your inner cheek. You don't have any answers you want to tell him, and your muscles relax when Jungkook's friends notice you.

"Oh shit," Taehyung smiles widely, "you're actually here." He appears to be sober and you smile back at him. Namjoon on the other hand, is as high as a kite as he brings you into a light hug. Your eyes widen and you awkwardly pat his back, fixated on his dazed expression.

"I haven't seen you in so long," he says as he ruffles your hair. Jungkook slaps a hand over his face at the interaction and drags the skin with his fingers. "How have you been? Do you want a molly?"

"Dude," your boyfriend intervenes, annoyed. "Why are you back here?"

"Alcohol." Namjoon disappears behind you to search the fridge and cabinets and you look at Taehyung again. He's drinking in your awkward stance as he licks his lips while Jungkook takes another drag from his joint.

"Girl, you are fucked," he says when his eyes trail back to yours with a snort. "You came here in those clothes, when you have a boyfriend? Jungkookie, I have some bad news for you. Your cock isn't even satisfactor–"

"Seriously though," Jungkook tells you with furrowed brows, "why are you here? I told you not to come." His reaction is influenced by the weed, not so mad as he is confused by your rebellion without reason—you must have a cause for waltzing in here, especially after his warning.

You hum in discomfort and shift your weight onto your other foot. "I already told you..."

"Don't give me that bullshit–"

A yelp cuts off his words when you jolt forward from a slap to your bottom. It wasn't a hard hit, but the surprise factor has you throwing yourself on Jungkook. Taehyung's jaw drops while your boyfriend barely reacts.

"If that isn't the cutest ass I've ever seen," the culprit chuckles without taking his eyes off your butt. He's almost slurring his words, and his lopsided grin doesn't seem intentional; he must feel too numb to form a full smile. You watch him in disbelief much like Taehyung. "You got any coke?"

"She's taken, man–" he takes on the peacemaker role, but it's futile when Jungkook gently removes your arm from his chest and walks forward to the stumbling man.

"Oh, my ba–" his face scrunches in confusion when his cheeks are grabbed and squished, leaving his mouth gaping. You peek from above Jungkook's shoulder to see him raising his joint before stubbing the burning tip onto the man's tongue. A scream resounds in the overcrowded room when it makes contact, and you fall back into Taehyung's arms while the deafeningly loud music tries to drown out the pained sounds. It's barbaric.

"Ah, shit," he pushes you to the side and pulls back Jungkook, who's still abnormally calm. The whole situation feels surreal, and it seems as if no one realizes this isn't a dream.

The man stops struggling against Jungkook's hold when he's released and falls to the ground, crawling back while sucking his teeth. He's whimpering and afraid. "I didn't know," he speaks with a lisp, pathetically begging, "I apologized! I-I'm sorry!"

You cautiously take a few steps back, almost like you're trying to flee the scene, but it just seems like a good idea to avoid Jungkook's temper right now. Just as you're about to turn around and sprint, you're held back by a hand on your shoulder. No words are exchanged when you're dragged away, a bruising grip on your forearm as you stumble out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Some fucking deja vu, huh?" your boyfriend fumes, basically shouting out his words without glancing at you to notice your struggles to keep up with his pace.

Lunatic Jungkook: Unlocked.

You trust sober Jungkook to not hurt you when he's angry, but after seeing him commit such a painful act, it's more than reasonable why you're currently terrified of him while he's high. To think you were so comfortable with him earlier because he's high. His calmness makes him all the more unpredictable, and you're unnerved when he shoves you inside a random bedroom. Some reversed deja vu.

"I'm going to ask you again: why the fuck did you come here?" The only attack is with his eyes that send daggers at you, but you keep your guard up in fear of what he'll do. You have to tread lightly.

"I was worried what would happen if I wasn't here with you." Honesty is your only approach in this instance because when he's glaring at you like that, it conveys that he doesn't want to hear any more of your ludicrous excuses.

He rolls his hand, gesturing you to continue. You're nervously forcing out your words, "I didn't, um... know how you would act around other women while you're on drugs when I'm not around." When his face falls into monotone, you defend yourself, still tense, "Last time, you kissed Soyeon and before that, another girl! I-I had my reasons..." Your voice grows smaller, just like how you feel under his gaze. Your eyes flicker to your shoes.

"And those shorts?"

At your silence, he takes a few steps towards you and leans into your face, slightly bending to level with your height. He tugs on the hem of your shorts harshly, emitting a flinch from you. You don't return his stare. "What the fuck are these? You're stupid enough to come here, but coming here in these shorts? Are you okay?" He taps your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him, but it's both humiliating and intimidating. "I know you're not a slut, baby, but why are you so adamant on acting like one?"

"I wanted to fit in," is your weak defence in a mumble, gaze still downcast. You shouldn't feel so ashamed.

"No, you told me you wanted to make sure I wasn't cheating," he counters. "Don't fucking twist things now. You didn't need to dress up to see if I was fucking someone else."

Your round eyes shoot up in panic at whatever he's insinuating, "I didn't want you to realize how paranoid I was."

"So this was your grand idea?"

"Ah," you groan, just wanting this argument to end already. You know what he's thinking: "I was stupid. I didn't learn my lesson, and I ended up hurting someone because I'm stupid."

You release a relieved breath when he gives you distance to sit on the twin sized bed. He's facing you as he says, "When I tell you not to do something, you don't do it. I'm not trying to dictate you, you understand that, right?" You meekly nod and clamp your mouth shut when he continues, "You pull this shit again, I'm going to hurt someone else again. Simple as that. I don't care if they did anything, I'll hurt them as long as it gets you to listen to me."

"Okay," you exhale, shyly walking between his legs at his beckon. You tower him, but it's not helping your confidence as he places his hands on your hips.

"Okay," he whispers back as he plays with the waistline of your shorts. A moment of silence passes, and you allow yourself to calm down enough to sit on his lap and lay your head on his shoulder. "I like the high school girl look better on you."

You sheepishly grin but decide not to respond for the safety of your friend. He pulls on your pantyhose and it slaps against your thigh when he releases it.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Can't stay mad at you," he murmurs before pecking your lips. It's you who leans back in to extend the kiss, and he responds gently. It ends when he chuckles, "Passive smoking, hm? You feeling okay?"

You nod and lock lips again, his hand soothingly rubbing the side of your thigh when you clasp your hands behind his neck. Maybe he's right, maybe you did get a buzz from the secondhand exposure, but it doesn't influence your actions as you lower one hand to his chest. It just happens to fall on his crotch.

"Mm," he pulls away with a suppressed laugh, "you're actually high? Your hands just got a mind of their own."

"Then tie them," you offer in a breath. His brows shoot up, but his surprise doesn't prevent him from unbuckling his belt singlehandedly.

"A bondage kink? Who are you and what did you do to my nerdy girlfriend?" His joke emits a small laugh from you but his smile falters once his belt is in his hand. "Take your shirt off first."

It's no longer a guess when you slip out of the turtleneck in a flash; you are under some spell when you stand and hold your wrists together. The leather grazes your skin and sends delighted tingles down your spine.

"I hope I'm not going fucking crazy and hallucinating this," you hear him whisper behind you. A laugh escapes you and interrupts his internal monologue, and the buckle is clasped. "Now for the shorts..."

He stands up, pressing himself against you and peeking from your shoulder to undo the button of your denim shorts. You can feel his erection grinding against you when he tugs them down to falll at your ankles. You step out of the garment and turn around. When he gets out of your way, he gestures you to lie down and your hands are pressing against your back when you do so.

You watch him take his short off before straddling you and leaning down for another kiss. It's merely foreplay; he cups your clothed pussy and runs his hand down up and down, prompting you to sigh into him. He bites your bottom lip just as he slips his fingers past your underwear, murmuring against your lips, "Can you take me right now?"

"I think so," you shy. "I want to."

"Good," he sighs and removes his hand to massage his erection while undressing you completely. "I think... this is a better lesson."

"For what?"

"You don't know?" he pushes the cup of your bra to pinch your nipple mercilessly, and he hears your pain through your small scream. "A guy got burnt for no reason then?"

"No, no, I know," you gasp when he twists your sensitive nub, "because I'm stupid and I shouldn't have ignored you." Your back lifts off the mattress when you clench your teeth to suppress another scream. Despite your bounds hands, it's him talking down on you that renders you submissive.

"Mhm," he's condescending in his speech, "he did something wrong, but so did you, right? This is just the consequences of your actions, isn't it?"

It's his stinging touch that makes you agree to whatever he says, and you whine, "Yes!"

That's the only confirmation he needs to push his jeans down to his thighs along with his briefs, and your now bare pussy shies away from his cock by bending your knees. He pushes your legs even closer to you, and your efforts went against your intention by exposing yourself to him completely now. "You're so pretty," he admires with slight awe, "but I can't be shallow... You don't deserve to treated well."

His words make you shutter; you didn't do anything that wrong, but you aren't courageous enough to voice your thoughts. Everything he's told you today have turned out right, so he knows better to make that call. You stay unresponsive, head turned to the side to avoid his fierce gaze.

"No, you should hurt as much as he did," he mutters to himself as he trails a finger down your folds. You shiver and his gaze travels to your shy one. "What? Are you scared?"

You are unconfident with your denial, "No."

"Look at me then."

It's with a deep inhale that you glance at him, and your breath is caught in your throat when he shoves himself inside. Your whimpers resound brokenly in the bedroom where the bass of the music drowns it out. You feel the vibrations, but it doesn't serve as a distraction and you're aware that Jungkook can pick up your pained noises. He's simply ignoring you, but you can't dwell on the thought when he lets you adjust for a few seconds only before ramming into you. Your whines aren't enough for him, after all, what's a better indication of pain than a scream of agony?

His thrusts are out of rhythm, but quick and rough nonetheless as his hands push you deeper into the mattress as if to hold you down before taking your nipple in his mouth—more specifically between his teeth to bite.

"Jungkook!" It's not a gentle bite, and you know it wasn't meant to be, but you try to squirm away nonetheless. Your flight instinct is futile because his strength overpowers yours, keeping you in place with his palms while you struggle and cry.

"No more, please!" You wail when he finally sits up, and he watches you bounce back and forth due to the force of his thrusts. It's so pleasing, especially your moans, but mixed with your bitching... it's irritating.

He grunts, the sound bordering on a growl before he says, "You deserve worse."

"I don't! I didn't do anything." Your protests fall on deaf ears, or rather ears that need you to shut up. He wraps his hand around your neck in a chokehold, daring you to speak with his grip as he moans through a bit lip.

"Your ass was hanging out in a room filled with men," he speaks in between moans while you gasp to catch your breath, sounds of pleasure getting suck in your throat when he slams deep enough to hit your sensitive spot. "You didn't listen to me! Ah..."

Your windpipe is getting crushed the tighter his grip gets, and your cheeks start to flush until he drops his hand to lift your hips, spanking you while you wheeze. "You want attention that bad?" His words are mere gasps when he starts to lose himself, now gripping your waist to match his thrusts for you.

"Only yours," you muster out as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, letting him do all the work while you get closer to your climax.

"Lying whore." He slaps your tit before completely concentrating on his release, inching closer and closer by the second teasingly. It builds up in his stomach, and his abs contract and tense while he pistons his cock inside you faster, not drained enough to get sloppy just yet. It's when a loud moan resounds in the room, reducing to pants with slow drags of his length. "God, yes..."

You feel it when he cums, painting your walls white and warming up your insides, and he rubs your clit so fast that it has you seeing stars in mere seconds. It's so quick, the high, and your moan is music to his ears; he's too spent to enjoy it any longer before he collapses next to you.

"Fuck, please let me tie you up again," he breathes while you recover from the euphoric sensation he brought you by twitching and seeing white. You're panting when his hand falls on your stomach.

"Please... I'll be nicer if you let me. Hm?"

#textbook love #jungkook drabble #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #networkbangtan #kpopnetwork

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dessarious · 5 years ago

Text

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt81

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

As soon as the portal closed behind them Chloe and Luka dropped their transformations. Marinette was once again piggybacking Chloe as they turned to look at Tikki and the other Kwami. She hadn't wanted to transform again because she wasn’t certain what Tikki had done and was worried the other four would disappear along with her. She couldn’t afford to have the League members find out if they were just temporary, and she had no way to ask Tikki with them all there.

“You couldn’t have given me some type of heads up or warning?” It was so strange talking to Tikki while she was in human form. It also hadn’t escaped her that all five of the Kwami were in her designs and she wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or if Tikki had just picked the first things that had come to mind.

“I’m sorry Marinette. I’m tired of watching them treat you like that and I had to do something. I was going to discuss this with you to see if you were okay with it but I really do think you could use the extra help and they volunteered.” So not temporary then, that would require some serious thought. “As I said Plagg can destroy their bodies so if you don’t want to keep them here it’s an easy fix.”

“It’s not that.” Marinette just sighed. This was just one more complication that she really didn’t know how to deal with at this point. “They’ll need identities, papers, and I have no idea how to go about getting those. I’ll need to look for a much bigger place than I was thinking and I’m not sure I can afford that yet and be able to renovate it for wheelchair access as well. Not to mention-” She cut off as Damian shoved his phone in her face. She’d noticed him on it but assumed he was trying to calm down his family. On the screen was a huge house not too far from her current school.

“What do you think of this?” She could only blink at the screen for a moment before she grabbed the phone to get it at a better distance so she could read it properly. It wasn’t a house either, it was a freaking mansion. Twelve bedrooms, fourteen bathrooms, two kitchens for crying out loud, and that wasn’t counting the guest house, or groundskeepers house or whatever it was. It was three stories plus a basement but it did have an elevator. Then she looked at the price.

“Damian there’s no way I can afford that right now, and honestly it’s probably too big.” He was shaking his head before she’d even finished.

“You don’t need to afford it. Since I’m staying here for the foreseeable future I need a more permanent residence that lives up to the Wayne name and can house whatever family members happen to show up. If it happens that when I end up leaving Paris you like it and can afford it you can buy it from my father, but until then since you’re such a ‘good influence’ on me he thinks us staying in the same residence will be beneficial to the both of us. And don’t worry about documentation for your new friends, Alfred is already preparing everything.”

She could only stare at him. He’d said everything in such a matter of fact tone, as though her answer were a foregone conclusion. She wanted to be annoyed with him but she knew it was his way of showing support and caring. She looked back at the phone and really looked at the pictures. The front entrance didn’t have steps and there were at least two bedrooms on the first floor. Even with the elevator she’d rather not have to be dependent on it in case of repairs or power outages. It could work.

“Fine, but I’m paying for any renovations that need to be made for me. And I’m paying rent since there will be five of us living there and I have a feeling Chloe will be there more often than not.” Damian just raised an eyebrow at her.

“I can tell my father that but he won’t listen. This won’t be a drain on our resources at all and he’ll want you to save for your future. I will try to talk to him though.” That sounded about right. When you have money to just throw at a problem you don’t necessarily consider how other people will see it. Damian was tapping away on his phone again and frowning in annoyance.

“He says if it will make you feel better about it you can be the family designer and instead of rent comp the materials. Sadly enough that probably will work out about right given how many of us there are.” She blinked at that. Sure, the materials wouldn’t be cheap but the exposure she’d get from the Waynes wearing her designs exclusively would far outweigh the cost. Damian was now scowling at his phone. “He also wants to see if you’d be willing to work with our R&D department to make materials for protection that can be put into all sorts of clothing. We actually commissioned you for suits with Kevlar once and he was very impressed with both the utility and design.”

“I remember those. It was a fun challenge if a rather odd request. Granted I didn’t think it was too strange given the amount of people in the public eye that get attacked.” But could she really just let Bruce Wayne pay for her housing like this? Wouldn’t people talk? It could hurt his reputation to be housing a teenager. At best they would think he was keeping his son happy by keeping his girlfriend close, at worst… she didn’t even want to think about it.

“He also wants to circulate a story that you were attacked after you revealed yourself as the designer behind Functional Fashion and that’s how you were paralyzed. Between that and having you actually work with Wayne Enterprises it would make sense that we would be concerned about your safety enough to house you in a secure location.” But would it?

“What if my parents technically lived there as well? Maybe even in the guest house or whatever. They wouldn’t be there much because of the bakery but I think it would help with the public image if they were part of it as well.” She didn’t realize until she said it that it meant she was agreeing to this plan. Given the satisfied look on Damian’s face he realized it too.

“And we can have the Kwami make appearances as your staff. Digg would obviously be a bodyguard. Primm looks more like a customer service type or receptionist, and Jett perhaps something with design or tailoring? They don’t have to actually do anything but if the press thinks they’re living at the house because that’s your base of operations it would help. Lyccen…” He seemed at a loss for the Kwami of Anarchy. Granted they could change her look if they had to but she had a feeling Tikki had chosen their attire for a reason.

“Personal assistant. The way people view the disabled everyone will assume my having someone with me all the time to help with things is completely normal.” As much as she hated to say it, it was true. If she could afford to pay someone to help her with normal day to day tasks that were ‘harder’ in a wheelchair no one would question it. Especially since she’d only just lost the use of her legs. As much as she wanted to be independent she could see the use of having a ruse in place to make it seem like she wasn’t. “But how do you plan to get around the fact that there was no police report? Or hospital stay for that matter?” It was a problem she’d been trying to figure out herself. How was she just supposed to show back up paralyzed when she had absolutely no explanation or proof for what happened.

“My father invited you to Gotham to talk about this collaboration and you were attacked there. We are very private and prefer to deal with things in house so it won’t be hard for him to convince the Commissioner to make a report after the fact. We can falsify medical and travel records easily enough.” It was amazing how much morally gray area there was when all you’re doing is trying to save the world.

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#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

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xlady-saya · 5 years ago

Text

if magic exists, you’re the closest thing [fic]

Relationships: andrew/neil, jerejean, side aaron/katelyn, side alvarez/laila

Summary: The concept of love is not one Andrew understands.

For a long time, it escaped him. It's always fuzzy, always distorted. He'd given up on it long ago, so why is he still chasing answers?

Whatever the reason, he's content to blame Jean Moreau for a lot of things, Katelyn too.

It's their fault he's here, at the happiest place on earth.

Tags: disneyland fic, andrew thinks a lot about love, fluff, comfort, references to canon abuse/past

Read on AO3!

Andrew never liked the concept of time travel; there’s no one distinct moment he’d go back to personally, no tragic world event he’d try to stop like in the movies.

However, due to today’s events, he might just forgo that opinion to say he’d gladly go back to make sure Disneyland never existed.

Then, maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to Kevin’s nagging.

"You two cannot blow off Jeremy Knox!" Kevin rages, hands planted on the kitchen counter as Neil deftly works around him. Andrew's not quite sure what he's doing; he asked Neil for some ice cream a few minutes ago, and the sounds of clattering dishes and spoons are way more interesting than whatever Kevin is saying.

Andrew leans back into his beanbag chair, content to demolish Aaron in Mario Kart in the meanwhile.

"Yes we can," Neil says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Andrew almost smirks.

It is; there's no way in hell Kevin's making them go to Disneyland on top of scouting recruits in California. Andrew doesn't understand why Queen Day can't just make another pit stop in Los Angeles after visiting the other recruit he has lined up in Washington.

Andrew exhales slowly, trying his best to keep his attention on the screen while he thinks about Neil. He's not sure when that became so difficult.

Alas, Andrew knows why he's being forced back to California. Neil cares far too much about Exy and his duties as vice-captain to miss out on something so essential. He picked out some of these recruits this time around, and he wants to see them in action. However, in this case it's not even one of his picks, and all they need to do is drop off paperwork. Neil has been trying, futilely, to convince Andrew he doesn't need to come.

The consideration is appalling. Andrew's grip on his controller is enough to make the plastic creak. Neil knows all too well California is a sore spot for him, but not the area they're going. Andrew couldn't care less.

Besides...Andrew's not letting Neil travel that far all alone.

Nothing, not even his past, is going to keep Andrew from going with him to make sure he doesn't die or worse. It wouldn't be a problem if Kevin were accompanying him, but he's got his own recruits to scout.

Neil is capable, Andrew thinks. He doesn't need protection, but it won't stop Andrew from offering it.

He chooses not to think about how one day, he'll have no choice but to stay behind. One day, he'll live apart from Neil and have to trust that he'll be okay.

He swallows down the dread he doesn't want to acknowledge, and claims first place.

"Motherfucker," Aaron spits, but immediately clicks the next level for them. If he can sense Andrew's mood, he doesn't comment, but...this helps.

And then he hits Andrew with a blue shell, and Andrew has to wonder why he shared a womb.

Andrew channels the uncertainty elsewhere, like kicking Aaron's ass and listening to Neil wave Kevin off. The rest of the time, he blames his nerves on the five hour flight he'll have to make in the very near future.

"We're not going," Neil says again, firmer this time. It's a tone that always sends Andrew's protective instincts into overdrive, Neil's temper flaring. But, it's just Kevin, which means there's more amusement than danger at play here.

Neil simply doesn't want to deal with it, so Andrew finds his voice. "Fuck off."

Kevin sputters, no doubt whipping around to where Andrew is sitting. He's not sure why Jeremy Knox is so set on taking them to Disneyland, but Andrew doesn't care enough to think about it. He's trying to do the bare minimum on their trip, and the USC Trojans are trying to make life difficult.

As Kevin groans on, Andrew hears the slightest indication of Neil stepping towards him. Neil's walk is distinct, in that it's nonexistent. Andrew often tests his hearing on how well he can sense Neil's approach.

And then, Neil is in front of him, and the world narrows until it's just Neil, crouched down with a bowl in his hands. Andrew hates what he's begun to call the Neil Effect, since it really has no concrete explanation, at least not an acceptable one. He gets second place in the game, and ignores Aaron's gloating for once. He'll get him back later.

There's something proud in Neil's eyes, self-directed, and that's when Andrew looks down to the bowl of ice cream.

Ah, now he remembers.

They hadn't been able to go grocery shopping, so the only thing in the freezer was boring vanilla. Disappointing, but Andrew's sweet tooth didn't care at the time. He needed dessert, no matter how lackluster.

However, this isn't just vanilla ice cream. There's large chunks of Snickers and peanut butter cups mixed in, haphazardly so, but well enough that someone obviously put in the effort.

Someone being...

Andrew looks between the bowl and Neil's steadily brightening expression, unwilling to linger on the fact Neil took the time to become a Cold Stone apprentice for the sole purpose of pleasing Andrew. It's all a waste though, because when he takes the bowl from Neil's hands, the reluctant words come out anyways.

"You're it for me."

It's not really a confession, since Andrew has known this for a while, but it still stings his pride a bit.

Neil blinks at him, tilting his head in that way that has Andrew glaring extra hard. "Hm?"

"Nothing."

He shoves the biggest spoonful he can manage into his mouth, and deserves the icy burn he gets for it.

Thankfully, before Neil can pry, Kevin is back at it again. Andrew's not sure if it's for better or worse.

The Queen himself rounds on them, blocking the television. "One of the best strikers from one of the top teams invited you to hang out for the day," he says, solely at Neil. He knows well enough that Andrew doesn't care about ranks. "How does that not excite you?"

An appropriate question, though. Why wouldn't it excite Neil?

"I don't know anything about Disneyland."

Neil plops down next to Andrew, indifference well conveyed. However, Andrew knows better. The restlessness in Neil's muscles is slight, but not surprising. There's a lot of things Neil doesn't know about, and while he normally wouldn't care, the idea of a place known for crowds of people probably isn't something Neil wants to explore.

It's not like the striker grew up with any exposure to the hundreds of movies or songs.

"It's an amusement park you loser," Aaron chimes in, and Neil scowls at him. Andrew pauses mid bite, surprised. A little. His brother's brand of comfort is the exact opposite of the what the word entails; it's a contrary, scathing thing, nearly as bad as Andrew's. But Andrew can detect it still, and that was definitely it.

Not that Neil would know though. The striker crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue, but Aaron's attention is already on getting Kevin the fuck out of his way.

"I don't care, I don't want to go," Neil responds petulantly, the words eaten up by the harsh impact of a pillow hitting Kevin's stomach.

At least he moves enough for Aaron's game to resume.

In the middle of Neil's protests, the door opens, admitting another one of Andrew's problems.

And she's unpredictable on top of it.

"Hi sweetie," Katelyn calls, punctuated by the slam of the front door. Andrew tries not to cringe at the name, nor his brother's dreamy sigh as Katelyn waves at them all. She walks over to kiss Aaron on the cheek before her attention is back on Neil's constipated face, which she blows past without a second thought. Oh, to be a cheerleader. "Go where?"

Kevin tears his gaze away from Aaron at the reminder. "Neil, you have to go to Disneyland, just fucking deal with it. You might be able to get some helpful pointers from Jeremy. Plus, don't you want to check on Jean?"

A cheap trick, and one that absolutely sours Andrew's mood despite the sweetness in his mouth. The protective itch is back from hearing Moreau's name, and he tugs Neil a little closer out of necessity.

Another reason for them not to go: Andrew's not sure he can stop himself from murdering the ex-Raven. Victim of Riko or not, he'd put his hands on Neil.

"If he wasn't doing okay I'm sure he would've reached out on his own," Neil counters, seeing through Kevin's appeal to sympathy. Neil, while he gets along with Jean better now, doesn't worry about him nearly as much as Kevin does.

Kevin can visit him then, if he's so curious.

As if Andrew said the words aloud, Kevin's stare intensifies. "Are you kidding--"

"Wait," Katelyn interrupts without care, and Andrew actually looks at her. He's been giving her that privilege a lot more now. Not everyone is dumb or brave enough to cut Kevin off, and even the striker looks impressed. Andrew's immediately thrown by the quality of her stare, the determination. Neil makes a strained noise in the back of his throat, and well, he does know Katelyn better. "You guys are talking about Disneyland? Like...Disneyland Disneyland?"

The existence of a knock-off Disneyland is certainly a topic Andrew will explore with Neil later.

"Oh no," Aaron whispers, and that's all the warning they get.

Neil leans further into Andrew's personal space, almost guarding. Like he senses the catastrophe too. "Uhh, yeah?"

Katelyn screams.

Andrew's hand on the back of Neil’s neck keeps him from jumping out of their seat, but Katelyn's got a one track mind as she rushes for him, plopping down on the ground as Aaron checks his ears for ringing.

The only satisfying part is that Katelyn pushes Kevin out of the way in the process. He goes reeling back with a yelp, very unbecoming of royalty.

"Oh my god! Neil you have to go, it's so fun!" Katelyn cheers, clapping her hands together softly. She chooses then to show Neil her backpack, adorned with about 100,000 Disney pins. Just an estimate.

As if Neil knows what any of them are. Neil barely blinks at Elsa's face before Katelyn's back to talking his ear off. "I've been trying to get Aaron to go with me for months but we don't ever have the time. I have a super long list of stuff I want! If I give you the money will you get them for me?"

Katelyn bites her lip rather hard then, like she almost let a 'please' slip, and Andrew doesn't try to think about the consideration. Katelyn clasps her hands together instead, like a plea.

Andrew figures the only reason her forehead isn't on the floor is because she knows better than to have any faith in a boys' dorm room.

"Whoa, whoa," Neil says, raising his hands in the face of Katelyn's puppy eyes. "I'm not going--"

The puppy eyes turn into those of a Rottweiler. Andrew doesn't know why all his previous judgements are being so twisted on this mediocre Thursday night, but whatever.

"Neil," Katelyn breathes, patience tested. "It's the happiest place on Earth."

Andrew's eyes flit to Neil's, communicating the same thing: bullshit.

Neil's confused expression falls into downright boredom, watching Andrew swirl the remains of his dessert. "Katelyn, I don't know how to tell you this, but I actually don't care."

Aaron wheezes at the same time Katelyn deflates.

"Josten--"

"B-but..." Katelyn turns her shining eyes on Aaron, cutting off his warning like a shiv. Andrew almost doesn't want to watch his brother be this pathetic. "Aren't I right, babe? Neil just has to experience it, he has to!"

Andrew hears Kevin open a bag of chips.

"I--um," Aaron tries, glancing between Neil and Katelyn's pout. It takes him about...two attempts to make words. "Yeah Josten, you have to."

"Wow," Kevin mutters, off to the side.

Neil glares at Aaron's weakness, but he had to know Aaron would be useless from the start. Aaron can't say no to his girlfriend.

What a loser.

"Katelyn, I'm not going," Neil tries again, dutifully not looking at the Disney-vomit backpack Katelyn keeps inching closer to him. "Andrew and I are just stopping by to drop off paperwork for one of Kevin's new recruits and that's it."

Kevin takes a deep breath, like he remembers he started this argument in the first place, but is cut off by Katelyn's backpack hitting the floor.

Neil is the only one who seems to take it as a threat, and he holds up a hand for Kevin to shut up. Now, Andrew knows most mafia movies are unrealistic and stupid, but he thinks he's had enough actual exposure to make a good guess.

This feels like some kind of standoff between two troublesome redheads, and he meets Aaron's confused stare with his blank one.

He wishes everyone would get out of his dorm.

"Okay, I get it," Katelyn says slowly, words spaced out by deep breaths for effect. Andrew would think she's a theater major, not biology. Neil watches Katelyn's hands fold in front of her, eyes hard. "I didn't want to have to do this."

Neil quirks a brow, somewhat amused.

"Neil."

"Katelyn."

"You owe me," she says, and the room freezes. Owe. Haha. That's a very dangerous word to toss around in the presence of Andrew Minyard, especially concerning his boyfriend who he's sworn to protect. Andrew turns on her with a frown, but she's undeterred by his ominous stance, fixed solely on Neil. "From the time. With the thing."

Katelyn flips her wrist back and forth then, an almost meaningless gesture, and no one knows what she's talking about

Except for Neil.

The striker's face goes red, and Andrew chooses then to squeeze the back of his neck tighter. Neil's not panicking, Andrew knows, but it's an instinct. Katelyn's smug smile is starting to piss him off, and he shakes Neil sharply.

"Neil," he says, voice even despite the tension in his limbs. "What--"

"We're going to fucking Disneyland," Neil says with a groan, slumping into the edge of the beanbag chair. He looks far from distressed, more...like he's been bested.

Katelyn cheers, jumping up to hug Aaron, who still has no idea what's going on.

Same.

"I'll get my list ready!" Katelyn rips out her science notebook, nearly tearing some neatly written equations. Not that she cares, in the moment. "Oh Neil, you're the best!"

Andrew drags Neil by the chin until their gazes meet, and Andrew hates when Neil looks sheepish. It means he's up to no good. "Neil, she can't force you to--"

"She's not forcing me," Neil sighs, tugging Andrew's sleeve until he lets their fingers link together. Neil's smile is rueful as he slots his eyes over to where Katelyn is scribbling on her homework, and he makes sure no one is watching when he slides Andrew's hand against his cheek. "Trust me when I say...I made the bed I'm about to lie in. I honor my deals too. Okay?"

Neil is such a problem, because he knows Andrew too well. He grinds his teeth, but he comes up with no argument. It's Katelyn, so it's not like the deal Neil made is anything life threatening or degrading, but Andrew's curiosity is annoying regardless.

Maybe when his pride dies down a little, he'll ask.

"Whatever you say," he scoffs, but keeps Neil's hand tucked against his side. "I still didn't agree to--"

Andrew looks down to where Neil fiddles with his shackle bracelet, still shining around his wrist because of how well the striker takes care of it. Neil tilts his head, and oh, oh no.

Andrew glares at the offending gift, given by his own hands and delicately tied around Neil's wrist. If he knew it would be this much of a weakness, he would've thrown it in the ocean.

"Andrew?" Neil asks, squeezing his hand, and Andrew doesn't know what to do other than curse Katelyn, himself, and then Walt Disney.

"I hate you," he mutters, and Neil's all too happy to hear it.

It takes Andrew about five minutes or so to determine that Jean Moreau is in love with Jeremy Knox.

It takes even less time for Andrew to decide he doesn't give a fuck. In fact, Andrew's not sure why he notices in the first place. He doesn't care about those things, but maybe it's just that they're so obvious, Andrew's can't help but pick up on it.

The long glances, the way Jeremy keeps reaching up to fix the stupid headband on Jean's head...

Gross.

The landscape in Andrew's mind has a tremble in it today, so there's no way for him to tell for sure why the two of them are so apparent to him. The air around him gives him a lot of things to linger on; disjointed laughter, cheery music, and less upsetting, the smell of fried desserts. It ties a rope around his brain and leads him in different directions, leaving only Neil as his weight. No wonder the Jean Moreau shitshow managed to slip in there somewhere.

Andrew doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed at that, at his inability to reign himself in and decide what to cast aside or focus on. His gaze scans the massive crowd in front of him, behind him, painfully aware that he's surrounded.

That Neil is surrounded.

He sighs, and the sound makes his boyfriend flinch in relief. Like he forgot Andrew was there, and is now all too happy that he is.

Calm down, junkie.

Andrew's fingers itch for a cigarette, but that ship had sailed as soon as he stepped through the Disneyland entrance. He thinks this, but he's actually not particularly anxious. He's not Neil, who needs to know all the quickest ways out of a place and who takes a large crowd as an invitation to slip in and disappear.

That's mostly where the itch comes from, Andrew realizes with only some irritation; he's hyper-aware of Neil, and all his reactions. The striker keeps glancing around at the streams of people, the bright colors and signs inviting them to a landscape with no laws or reason.

It should be everything Neil hates, and Andrew watches his blue eyes trace the cobblestone and directories.

"Beautiful isn't it!" Jeremy gestures to the road leading up to main street, and some of the tension in Jean's shoulders notably dissipates. "Did you know Disneyland brings in an average of--"

"50,000 people a day," Jean deadpans, as if the thought still makes him queasy. He gets a genuine laugh out of Jeremy for it, so Andrew guesses that was the point all along.

Andrew remembers everything, and he did not need that useless fact. But alas, now it's stuck.

Neil's body is surprisingly still beside him. Calm.

Andrew pauses, waiting for Neil to show some sign that he can't handle this. It's not a reflection of any kind of weakness Andrew thinks he has, he simply knows that sometimes Neil pushes himself where he shouldn't. Andrew considers this a loophole in their non-finalized deal. He lets Neil fight his own battles, but Andrew is not afraid to step in and put a stop to the ones Neil doesn't know he's in.

But, to Andrew's unintentional relief, Neil doesn't look two seconds from a panic attack. The striker’s face settles into a deadpan expression, a habit stolen from Andrew himself. There's no tremble, or fidgeting, or sign to tell Andrew to drag Neil back to their hotel and hole him up there.

Neil simply looks fucking done, and Andrew couldn't agree more.

Their unfortunate companions are there to remind them it's only the beginning.

"Oh my god, what should we do first?" Jeremy Knox babbles, stupid Mickey ears on his head, and Andrew watches with only some amusement as Neil leans back an inch in fear. The striker never did know what to do with genuinely happy people. Katelyn, he's come to understand based on the things they have in common. Their protective instincts and tempers ghost over her sheltered lifestyle and talkativeness, though Andrew still doesn't get how Neil stands her. Renee he simply hadn't trusted; Neil had seen the darkness beneath the smiles, but in time, he'd come to trust and value her as well.

Jeremy Knox is a different story, and currently even Andrew doesn't know how to feel about him. Such optimism and ignorance to the real world are things Andrew would normally write off in a person, but there's something swimming beneath the surface in Jeremy Knox's eyes that has him rethinking.

In short, Andrew gets the vibe that if pushed far enough, Jeremy Knox might actually have the capacity to snap over Disneyland. Disneyland.

That kind of madness is something Andrew can't help but recognize in people, and he keeps an eye on Neil as a result. He should've known; who gets custom Disney ears the color of their fucking school?

"Uh..." Neil tries, but he's apparently speechless. Andrew reaches down to tug on Neil's belt loop, and he won't ever say it's out of comfort. Neil takes it like one though, scooting closer, and the urge for nicotine is less powerful for a moment.

There's no avoiding it, and he despises feeling trapped. They're going to have to spend their whole day here. It really isn't their kind of place, but Andrew has not right to wonder how they got roped into this.

Andrew glares at Neil’s bag. He didn’t bring it for them.

That's why they're here, because Neil has a two-page souvenir list in his backpack courtesy of Aaron's girlfriend.

Andrew's scowl returns at the memory, and he turns it on Jean.

Just because.

"Jean, what's your favorite ride?" Jeremy asks, eyes shining. Neither Andrew nor Neil asked for the recommendation.

"Indiana Jones," Jean answers, seemingly without thinking too hard on it, and his eyes shine when Jeremy beams.

"Mine too!"

Gag.

Andrew's opinion of Jean Moreau has not improved over the past year. Andrew promised Neil he wouldn't confront the man while they were actually at the park, but it's a talk Andrew will eventually have if he has anything to say about it.

He's different though, that much Andrew can tell. The backliner still curls in on himself, making himself as small as can be despite his height. The tattooed '3' is dark against his pale skin, but the sun has taken out some of the starkness. Jean always keeps his hands in front of himself, as if ready to guard against an attack, but his shoulders are less stiff around his new team.

They're observations, nothing more. Andrew couldn't care less about Jean Moreau's life or happiness. It's all his own to deal with, but Andrew cannot ignore the changes, since they mirror Neil's own.

Speaking of Neil...

He's still trying to find a polite way of telling Jeremy he has zero clue about what Disneyland has to offer, and Andrew notes that Neil must've sensed it too: Jeremy's batshit opinion about this place. Otherwise Neil would never hold back the usual bluntness.

Andrew would pay to see it.

Jean tugs one of Jeremy's Mickey ears, gesturing to the entrance. "The girls are here."

Neil's demeanor breathes a little when he sees Laila and Alvarez approaching; he likes them, and even Andrew knows they're not nearly as annoying as their teammates. They're walking hand in hand, the same Trojan ears glistening on their heads.

What is it with these people?

Andrew lets the greetings fall into the background, but can't say he feels awful when Laila cracks some dumb Exy pun, making the edge of Neil's lips twitch in a smile.

Another thing the girls have to offer: they seem to know when Jeremy is about to launch into another tirade.

"Jeremy cool it," Alvarez says, holding Jeremy back by the hoodie before he can get anywhere further into Neil's bubble. "Neil's not going to remember everything about all the different sections, just let him explore."

For a split second, Jeremy's face scrunches up, like he ate something foul. "He needs to know not to go to....that place."

Laila rolls her eyes. "You mean Star Wars--"

"Stop."

Laila turns her aggravated stare on her girlfriend, but all Alvarez offers is a shrug. "He's right."

Neil turns to Andrew as if he'll understand, but he does not.

Jeremy's eyes flit around the park to all the decorations, the crowd a sea of Mickey ears, planning out where to drag them. And the rest of them allow it. Team dynamics don't interest Andrew much, but they're not following Jeremy out of fear. They're treating this journey, along with Jeremy's eccentricities, as inevitable and maybe even endearing.

Andrew wants to leave.

Then Jeremy gasps, staring down at his empty hands. "Neil, you and Andrew have never been here right? Maybe I should've gotten you a map, for the experience, you know?" Then Jeremy tilts his head up, in that haughty way Kevin might after lecturing them on an exy skill he acquired. "It's fine though, I know where everything is. You're in good hands!"

Andrew seriously doubts that.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jeremy says, plopping his giant backpack on the floor. Andrew wonders if he packed for the possibility of them being stuck there for eternity. It's a gift for Jeremy Knox to be able to make Andrew's day that much worse. He pulls out two custom sets of ears from his backpack, styled in white and orange. Palmetto colors.

No.

"You guys can match," Jeremy says with a wink, and Neil looks torn. On one hand they're orange, on the other hand they're absurd.

But of course, Neil's obsession wins over, and he grabs for a pair of ears without hesitation.

Andrew can't.

"I'm not wearing those," Andrew states, uncaring of how the rest of them flinch. Neil's the only one not surprised, but he's giving Andrew that face, and Andrew has to hold himself back from telling Neil to stop.

We're in public, control yourself.

But Neil just sighs, fixing the ears to his head. They clash with Neil's reddish-brown hair, bright and sparkly.

Andrew hates being gay.

He ignores Jean's glare as Jeremy holds the other pair of ears to his chest. More evidence, Andrew realizes, and the pathetic kind too. Jean can't stand the thought of someone hurting his not-boyfriend's feelings.

"O-oh," Jeremy says, but his smile is back, undeterred. He spins to face Neil, who miraculously, doesn't flinch. "Well, I guess I'll wear them then! Neil, you and I can match! I don't want you to be alon--"

The stream of consciousness in Andrew's head comes to a jarring halt, tires screeching.

Unacceptable, absolutely not. He doesn't even have a moment to think about why, or stop himself from being so ridiculous.

He snatches the ears from Jeremy's hands and puts them on, refusing to meet Neil's smug stare.

"Shut up."

And thankfully, Neil does, but others do not.

"He's as bad as you babe," Laila whispers behind him, and he practically feels the heat radiating off Alvarez.

"Can it."

Andrew catches Jean's sigh of relief in his peripheral, and isn't quite sure why he agreed to not kill him in the happiest place on Earth.

"You guys look great!" Jeremy comments, but Andrew is already walking ahead, eager to be anywhere else.

That, and he's pretty sure the churros are this way.

Neil keeps up with him easily, given his strong legs, even knowing Andrew is deliberately trying to not look at him. Neil's gaze is a warm, affectionate thing, one Andrew will never be used to. Neil's so distracted, he almost trips, and Andrew hooks his arm around Neil's waist to right him. They're connected for merely a second, but Andrew's arm feels like it's on fire.

"Focus," he growls, but Neil doesn't take it as a threat. He never does.

"Mm, I can't," Neil says. "I like them. I like them on you."

"They're hideous."

"So our uniforms are hideous?"

"Yes."

They reach the churros, and Neil buys him three.

Jeremy starts to babble again as Andrew digs in, and Andrew can't help but notice he buys Jean one without being asked. The ex-Raven doesn't look super pleased with the sweetness, but he eats it anyways.

And throughout all the chatter, Jean won't stop staring right at Jeremy.

Why does Andrew keep noticing? He might just be able to blame Katelyn for that too.

Ever since he picked her up from Eden's, she's been responsible for a lot of unacceptable thoughts in his head. All because of one, stupid line of reasoning.

"I know, I know a lot of people use the word and they don't mean it, or they don't act like it but...that's on them. That's not real love, the actual thing, the definition. Just because people use the word incorrectly doesn't mean the feeling isn't real."

Real love. Already, there's so many things wrong with that phrase. Katelyn doesn't see it as subjective, Andrew doesn't see it as anything at all. Devotion, protective, consideration...they are all things people would perhaps put towards the definition, but they neglect the absences as well. Absence of hurt, of blame, of judgement.

That's the half so many people don't get right, and even if they do, Andrew cannot see how it could be wrapped up in a word.

He watches Jean sigh and lean into Jeremy's sphere, and thinks of how his brother looks at Katelyn. It's eerily similar.

Andrew would not use the word love normally, so he reaches in to pluck Katelyn's idiotic definition out from the past to see if it applies. The pretty parts are there; Jeremy is constantly aware of Jean's presence, careful to steer him to the edges of crowds, to check if he's alright. On the opposite end of things, Jean just looks like he'd burn the so called happiest place on Earth to the ground if it meant being able to listen to Jeremy's prattle.

He's not willing to analyze much more than that, not with Neil by his side. It puts pressure on the stone in him, dropped there by Katelyn that night at Eden's and steadily growing with every moment he spends around his boyfriend.

"I think we should definitely go on Indy though," Jeremy says, leaning in to take a bite of Jean's churro. It's so stupidly romantic Andrew wants to vomit. "I want to see Jean get scared again!"

The girls smirk, though a minute later Alvarez is teasing Laila just the same. Jean's face is colored red, not with shame, but innocent embarrassment. Not becoming of a Raven, but then again, Jean never wanted to be one.

"I was not scared, I had never been on the ride before!" Jean crosses his arms, and his teammates look at him in the way the Foxes look at Neil. Complete adoration.

"It scared him to death," Jeremy says to Andrew and Neil, trying very poorly to whisper.

And, without breaking eye contact with Jean, Andrew says: "If only."

Because really, if only.

Jean's the only one besides Neil who takes the statement as intended, as in completely seriously. The backliner's face goes white, staring at Andrew and waiting for it to be a joke. He has to know deep down it's not.

Jeremy holds his stomach from how hard he's laughing. "Ha! You're a riot Andrew," he wheezes, and Neil regards him as neutrally as he can. It's hard, when Jeremy sounds like a dying seagull.

Andrew pulls out his phone, avoiding Neil's gaze. Technically, he only promised not to physically confront Jean at Disneyland, nothing else. "That's me, comedy king."

Without looking up, Andrew opens his notes app and sidesteps Jeremy until he's closer to Jean. He has no qualms about calmly typing out the words 'I despise you' before showing it to him.

Honestly, no other Raven is this easy to read, but Andrew supposes it has more to do with Jean's complete revival than anything else.

Jean reads the message, blinks, looks at Neil as if to confirm his suspicions, and then nods slowly.

Well, now he knows. It'll be a good way to put a pin in things for now.

When Andrew walks back over to his churro holder (see: Neil), the redhead is shaking his head, grin way fonder than it should be.

It takes around fifteen minutes for them to ditch the group, and for Andrew to stuff his pair of ears into Neil's backpack to never see the light of day again.

It's absurdly easy, they barely have to duck into the crowd or put their heads down. Despite Jeremy's insistence that Andrew and Neil see all there is to see, he'd hardly taken his eyes off Jean. In fact, the two are so engrossed in each other they barely notice the girls, who seem to weirdly not mind.

Jeremy is the talker, and Jean is only too happy to go along with it, soaking in every nonsense opinion even when he seems to not understand the relevance or importance. Andrew wonders if this so called 'love' truly makes people that uncaring, but then again, he knows it does. He's watched his brother fawn over every dumb little detail of Katelyn's life. Once, she'd gone on a ten minute tangent about her colored pencil coordinated note taking system. Aaron had been fascinated, not because he cared about the content of the words, but because of Katelyn herself.

Andrew doesn't understand, but his mind conjures up the image of Neil peeking over the top of a bus seat, the hours floating by.

They find a good spot to sit down on Main Street near the castle, perfect for the people watching Neil likes to do. Andrew's on his third churro with a fourth lined up, and if Neil's wallet is crying about it, he doesn't seem to mind. The striker's legs dangle lazily from the bench they're on, swinging in time with the cheery music blaring through the speakers. Andrew brought him here to escape the crowd; Neil always preferred to watch, to catalogue the different types of people. Disneyland, at the very least, should have an interesting variety for Neil to judge and pick apart for the nonsensical survival guide in his head.

Page ninety-two: signs of regret-filled parents. That's how Andrew would guess it's organized.

But no, Neil's staring right at him. Andrew could feel it mid chew, the striker's gaze penetrating and brighter than any of the thousand balloons he's seen flying around.

Andrew managed to hold out for about half a churro, no longer, before giving in.

Neil's triumphant smile is an indication he was all too aware of the game.

"Are they good?" Neil asks, and it's enough to make Andrew pause. He watches the way Neil adjusts those stupid ears on his head, the way he licks his lips to mimic the place Andrew assuredly has sugar on his own.

Rather than answer, and before he does something stupid, he shoves the end of the churro into Neil's mouth. It's not an uncommon occurrence.

Neil barely yelps before dutifully taking a bite. Andrew waits for the usual scrunch of his nose, the disgust at the sweetness. Still, Neil will never refuse something Andrew offers him.

"Not bad," Neil says, chewing slow. There's sugar on his lips now too, and Andrew realizes he made an error. "Still too much sugar."

Unheard of. There's no such thing.

With a scoff, Andrew wipes the excess sugar off Neil's lips with his thumb. "You disgust me, Josten."

It doesn't sound as convincing as it used to, and Neil's triumphant smile only grows wider. Only then does he sigh and lean back, staring into the sea of people who love wasting money. Andrew will never get the fascination.

There's a good distance between them on the bench which Neil hasn't tried to close, and won't until Andrew says otherwise. Andrew's not in the mood to feel his weight, not today. It wasn't brought on by anything specific, but Neil abides like he always does.

Neil doesn't seem any less content.

"I can't believe they haven't noticed we're gone," the redhead says, far from disappointed. The relief is something Andrew can relate to. It's been about an hour, and they've done nothing, but Andrew knows he's having a better time this way.

The last thing he wants is to watch Jean and Jeremy obliviously flirt and fawn over one another with no outlet. Andrew's not sure if they'd be worse if they were actually dating, and part of him considers just dropping the bomb on them to ruin any kind of movie moment they might have at this godforsaken place.

"I can," Andrew mutters, but doesn't elaborate. He's sure Neil hasn't actually noticed the pining, not with Andrew nearby, and certainly not with everything else going on. He doesn't need to know, because then they might have to talk about it.

Andrew doesn't have all the words for that yet.

Neil hums, interpreting the words in his own way. "Jean does seem...better. I guess he would be more focused on his friends. At least now Kevin will stop complaining, I'll get to tell him Jean's doing just great."

The topic of Jean Moreau isn't much better.

He's not able to keep all of his glower locked down, and he ends up making a passing school teacher flinch. "I don't care how he is," he says through his teeth, and Neil stiffens.

Yeah, wrong thing to bring up. Not as bad as the times Neil will drop his mother into conversation, but not good regardless.

Neil sighs, fiddling with his bracelet again. It's what he does when he wants to touch Andrew but won't. "Andrew, Jean is--"

Andrew turns the intensity of his stare on Neil. They've had this talk before, and he's not trying to bring it up again. Contrary to what other people may believe, he's not adverse to having difficult conversations with Neil. Arguments, even.

They happen, but...

There's something about it; Andrew won't say it's comfortable, but he simply knows it won't change anything. He and Neil disagree sometimes, but it seldom turns into a screaming match or the silent treatment. More often than not, Andrew's willing to keep coming back to a topic if it means they reach a compromise. He doesn't yield that way for anyone else, but Neil doesn't make it feel like submission or defeat. It's why it doesn't make Andrew nearly as antsy as he originally believed it would, when they started their this. For them, it's problem-solving.

This however...this is one thing Andrew can't excuse. Not yet, maybe not ever. They keep having to step away.

"Don't," Andrew says. Neil's eyes hold no fear, and they shouldn't. Andrew's not saying it unkindly, it's the truth. "Whatever you say will not change my mind. Not with this."

Not when it comes to people hurting what's mine.

Andrew's hands curl into the edge of the bench, the splitting wood a comfort. He's strong, his hands have the power to kill, to fend off. Why that's so important in this moment...

When Neil still doesn't look like he understands, Andrew reaches forward to flick the shackle pendant around his wrist, almost on instinct.

And well, guess it's become a weakness for them both.

Neil sighs, and bites his tongue in a rare show of restraint. The striker keeps back every counterpoint and argument, which he surely has handfuls of, and puffs out his cheeks. Any other moment it would be...maybe not so annoying.

But not cute.

Some of the trembling in Andrew's frame leaves; he's not dumb enough to think this is over, Neil is too stubborn. But for now, the striker accepts it.

Though, not without being infuriating. Neil's gaze pierces him, sticking Andrew to the spot.

"I'm safe with you Andrew," Neil breathes, and Andrew's not willing to acknowledge how Neil quickly aims for the root of the problem. It's a spike through Andrew's chest. Again, Neil races ahead of Andrew's own thought process at the most random times.

So that's it. Andrew thinks. A promise.

It won't happen again. Neil has no way of knowing that, but he wants Andrew to believe it; nothing will hurt Neil so severely again because Andrew won't allow it. Andrew will thrash and bleed before it happens again, but Jean Moreau is a reminder that it can, even when most of the guilt falls on a dead man. There will always be others, lurking in the shadows. Weapons, threats.

But still, with all his paranoia, Andrew can't even tell Neil to be quiet, because to refute such a statement feels wrong in a number of ways. Neil's trust is something he earned.

Andrew hums instead, and refuses to repeat the obvious. Instead, he pushes Neil back by the shoulder, his back hitting the bench and forcing Neil to loosen up.

Better.

"I can't believe a place like this exists," Neil sighs, giving into the calm Andrew lends him. Andrew's not sure if he means it from the perspective of a runaway or not. Disneyland would be an enigma to most people with Neil's past.

"You don't feel happy?" Andrew says with a sneer, taking in the fighting families and crying children. He knows there's equal parts people smiling and having fun, and he's choosing to center himself on the negatives, but he's not in the mood to apply Bee's advice for once.

"Well if I did it would be because of you," Neil says, grin smug from the stare Andrew turns on him. No one needs his sappiness. "But I don't really like that word."

Haha.

Andrew pokes Neil in the leg, more like a jab, and Neil jumps. "Stop stealing my lines."

Neil snorts. "I just meant in terms of this place. Doesn't it feel untrustworthy from the get-go if you advertise your park as the happiest place? It can't actually be."

It's amazing how hard Neil's brain works when it comes to unimportant topics. "Careful, if Jeremy hears you he'll have a meltdown."

"That would be interesting though."

"And potentially homicidal."

Andrew makes a note to bring Kevin if he ever has to return here. Kevin won't be able to keep his distaste hidden, and he'll get to really test the Jeremy Knox theory.

"Have you ever been to an amusement park?" Neil asks a moment later, voice low. Treading lightly.

It's not a particularly bad memory for Andrew though, and he only shrugs. He's no longer shocked about how much he talks to Neil. It's easy, not draining.

"Mostly for school, I wouldn't waste time with the rides," Andrew says, and feels the memory of old dollar bills in his hands. Sometimes he'd be lucky enough for his foster homes to provide him money for food, sometimes not. "Carnivals were easier. I could just go off and find some abandoned corner to smoke or wait it out."

No one ever cared to come looking for him.

Despite his sweet tooth, he seldom had the actual money to spoil himself with the fried foods either. He makes up for that now, obviously.

Speaking of, he wants a frozen lemonade at some point.

Neil's eyes are devoid of pity, but Andrew knows he could quickly turn that understanding gaze into a rage-fueled one if he chose to provide any of the details.

He doesn't. He never enjoyed things like amusement parks, and he doesn't mind either way if Neil does, but part of him is simply at ease, here on this stupid bench.

Neil's protection can't reach back into the past, no matter how badly the striker would like it to.

"Everyone always talked about Disneyland as the best place in the world," Andrew offers instead, waving his hand around. If anything, the sheer size of the park is the most impressive thing about it. The other kids in his classes couldn't let it go; family vacations, dream dates, etc.

The hype around the park never died down no matter how Andrew aged.

Compared to Neil sitting next to him, the park is without.

"And your verdict?" Neil asks anyways, because he tries not to assume when he can.

Andrew's not sure why his heart reacts the way it does to that.

Neil's stupid ears pair with his Palmetto hoodie perfectly, and he looks like the pumpkin Cinderella would've taken to the ball. The fierceness of him isn't softened in the slightest by it though, his vulnerability comes from his eyes, the way all his alarms become inactive in Andrew's presence.

Andrew craves it, this complete, unyielding trust.

He hates how Neil can make any situation interesting.

"It's annoying," Andrew eventually says, rolling up his churro wrapper into a tight ball. He misses the trash can when he tosses it, and ignores the disgruntled stare he gets for it from a park worker. "Not awful."

Neil straightens up, too proud of himself. "Are you saying that because of the churros or because I'm here?"

"Be quiet."

Neil, because his death wish inclination isn't as active today, doesn't point out the non-answer. The striker just hands him money for another churro, though he's considering beignets.

Neil watches the way Andrew stares at the money, seemingly content to allow Andrew this indulgence. "I remember kids talking about it when I was younger. I could never understand why such a crowded place could be so fun. Much less the lines or overpriced food. But..."

Andrew clutches the money tight, but it's a poor substitute for Neil's hand. "But?"

"But well, it's not like I ever got the chance to try it out." Neil gestures to the precise decorations, the ornate buildings, and his eyes flit down the trolley lines like they remind him of a destination far worse. Andrew never asked Neil if he train hopped before. Neil sighs, his nose scrunching from the sweet, candied scents in the air. "Maybe I would've loved it. Then I'd be a lunatic like Jeremy."

It's meant to be a joke, but Andrew understands. That's the strangeness of the unknown. Had things been different, had they been raised like anyone else, there's no telling what they could've been like.

But things weren't different. Andrew isn't foolish enough to reflect on the past with bitterness or entertain what he could've been like if only. The asinine exercise would do nothing for him, for his future.

The future he's coming to anticipate and accept, because Neil also refuses to look back. It's still a globby, hard to see mess right now, but the more days pass with Neil by his side, even it begins to take shape.

But he doesn't have room in his chest to say all that, so instead he tugs on Neil's headband again. Snug.

"You're already wearing the ears," he drawls. As if Neil forgot, his hands fly up to tug on one of the ears, and Andrew is helpless to save the image forever.

"I should probably take them o--"

"No."

Just...no.

It's hard to make Neil blush, but when it happens Andrew makes sure to catalogue it. He watches the color spread on the bridge of the striker's nose, and then Neil laughs, a light and fleeting sound. Andrew hears it over everything else.

Neil turns on the bench, hugging his knees to his chest, and Andrew is moving to face him without thinking about it. "I feel like...if the others were here they'd say we're wasting the opportunity," Neil muses, pursing his lips. "Like we should be going on rides and watching shows."

"That's everyone's problem then," Andrew waves the thought off, tracking Neil's lips. He's not ready for a kiss, but he's warming up to the idea.

But, Neil seldom brings up things pointlessly with him.

"It is," Neil agrees, and Andrew presses his thumb into the crease of his boyfriend's brows. Neil doesn't flinch. "But they might be right. I guess I can't expect to have the same opinions now as I did as a kid on the run. I should at least be able to say, yeah I went to Disneyland slightly more adjusted and I still don't see what the big deal is."

Ah, the point emerges. Andrew will admit...

"You don't seem anxious," Andrew observes, because he expected Neil to be very nervous.

Neil tilts his head, and Andrew has to make him stop doing that. "What?"

Andrew leans back, and Neil follows the touch instinctively before getting a hold of himself. "If you really felt you were wasting time, you'd be all fidgety and irritating."

"I didn't say I felt like I was wasting time, just that I maybe should," Neil sighs. Andrew isn't sure what he means, but he doesn't have time to think about it when Neil's impish grin comes back. "But no, any time I spend with you isn't a waste."

Andrew leans in, slow and insistent, and lets Neil tense in anticipation of a touch, a kiss. Then, Andrew pushes his face away. It's what he deserves, and Neil bites his tongue.

Huffy.

Neil slumps back, but the pouty thing he's doing dampens the scowl. He needs to not spend so much time with Katelyn.

"You've become a sap, rabbit."

And it's dangerous for both of them. Andrew doesn't mean for the words to come out so light, but what's the use in correcting himself?

"I get it from you," Neil shoots back, and oh, now he chooses to read Andrew's mind. At the twitch of Andrew's mouth, Neil smiles, the kind reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone.

Andrew's nerve endings are still a little fuzzy, but he tugs Neil's sleeve until he follows. He brings Neil close enough to feel Andrew's heat, to smell the cinnamon. This works, for now.

And Neil, despite being somewhere people dream of visiting, looks totally focused on him. When he gazes down the trolley lines again, the expression is much more promising.

"Who knows? It might be fun if we went now, with all the foxes," Neil wonders aloud. "Not sure, since I think the closest thing to a ride I've ever been on is a train, and not legally."

Well, there's the train hopping question answered.

But that's it, he supposes. He feels nothing about this place, or any amusement parks for that matter. Even in his tumultuous childhood, he experienced them, never understood the appeal.

Neil's never had the opportunity to try. He's never been able to form an opinion.

Andrew thinks that's at least one aspect of his freedom Neil should have, even if it is something so trivial.

Andrew sighs; what has he gotten himself into?

Neil Josten is a whirlwind of an individual, but he's Andrew's.

That's what Neil would say, without hesitation, every time.

'But I'm yours.'

Andrew really does need a cigarette, but that frozen lemonade will have to do. He stands up, making a show of brushing himself off. He can feel the tilts of Neil's head behind him, for fuck's sake.

"C'mon then," Andrew says, turning around to adjust how crooked Neil's headband is. Another problem he didn't need, but it's too late now. Damn merchandise. When Neil still makes no move to get up, Andrew tugs his bangs. "Let's go on a ride."

Neil's jaw opens and closes, but Andrew is already turning away from him. Neil's fast, he should be able to catch up. "W-wait, are you sure?"

Neil scrambles to his feet, and Andrew can't look directly at him. He's sure there's something bright and shiny swimming in those eyes right now, and that's far too much.

He tries to go through his mind for what he knows about Disneyland, and asks himself if he's in the mood to be up high.

No, not today. Neil has him feeling far too much already.

"I think the Matterhorn is enclosed," he says, in lieu of an explanation, and knows Neil will get the meaning.

Neil grips the straps of his backpack, reigning in the energy as best he can. Andrew wonders when he'll work up the nerve to tell Neil he doesn't have to when it's like this. Even without touch, Andrew promised to take everything Neil had to offer.

He's not sure if Neil can sense the feeling, but his face softens anyways. "Okay...yeah!"

Neil falls in step beside him, and Andrew revises his previous statement with only mild displeasure. He doubts he will ever have enough of this.

The Matterhorn was, what a shocker, a bad idea.

Andrew will never say he tries to make his driving a comfortable experience, but he knows his road raging still would've been a more pleasurable time than being thrown around on that poor excuse for a ride.

The bumpiness of the Matterhorn was also not helped by how tense he was; he felt like a cutting board in a blender, trying to force away the unrealistic thought of Neil flying off the edge and plummeting to his death during the whole two minute affair.

A forty-five minute wait for two minutes of back pain that'll last the rest of the day.

"Well that sucked," Neil says with a wince, stretching out his back slowly. Andrew pointedly looks elsewhere. "Why do people do this for fun? I feel like my spine got ripped out and then put back in the wrong way."

Andrew wants to tell him to stop being so dramatic, but for once Neil's words are accurate.

They tried. No one can say they didn't try.

"Nevermind you were right," Neil says as Andrew orders them a lemonade to share; Neil ignores the glare Andrew gives him for chugging the first half in one go. Neil sighs from the rush of citrus, placing the cold cup to his forehead. "Can we go home?"

"Doubtful, unless you want to walk," Andrew sighs. He retches the lemonade away from Neil, pushing away his grabby hands. An admirable tactic, but fruitless. "I knew carpooling was a stupid move."

"Hey, we take offense to that."

Neil tenses on instinct, like the hypocrite he is. He's so used to being the shadow, the nosy meddler who overhears everything. Andrew would think he's more than deserving of being on the receiving end if he wasn't so annoyed himself.

They turn to find the girls grinning ear to ear, and Andrew notes right away how there's no smiling bundle of 'I love Disney' with them.

Jean and Jeremy are nowhere to be found.

How 'bout that.

Alvarez unlinks her arm from her girlfriend's to ring out her damp shirt; Andrew notices they're soaked from head to toe, sneakers squeaking from their drenched socks. It makes Andrew grimace on the inside; it should feel atrocious, but the girls are beaming.

"So you two do act like a couple," Laila says, and Andrew's not sure he gets what she means. He does decide she's his least favorite of the two though. "I had some doubts."

Andrew couldn't care less about that, but Neil's a different story. Defiantly, Andrew silences his boyfriend before he can even go on his tirade by shoving the lemonade back into his hands.

An acceptable sacrifice; Neil's aware they don't seem like the stereotypical couple, but he hates having his feelings doubted.

He hates it even more when people doubt Andrew's, and Andrew pushes the thought of Katelyn's suspicious expression at Eden's out of his mind.

What other people assume about him is not his problem.

"Why didn't you just buy him his own lemonade?" Alvarez asks, her eyes flicking over Neil's expression. He's calming down, but the aggravation is there. Guess not all the Trojans are oblivious.

Andrew takes the bait for what it is, no energy to be contrary.

"Neil doesn't need that much energy, and he'll drink mine no matter what because he's annoying," Andrew says, and sure enough, he hears the slurp behind him, an alert that Neil basically sucked down the rest of his drink.

One down, several to go.

"It's true, I am," Neil chimes in at that, refreshed. It's then he actually seems to pay attention, scanning the girls from head to toe. "Why are you guys all wet?"

Laila claps a hand over Alvarez's wolfish grin before she can even respond to that, and Andrew is glad. He really didn't want to hear it.

At least Neil would get the joke this time.

"Splash Mountain," Laila replies hastily, like they have any clue what it is. "Horrible build-up, decent pay-off. Jean hates it though so it's the best way to make sure we don't run into them."

At her own words, she checks behind her, like Jeremy Knox can appear at the mere mention of his not-boyfriend.

They probably shouldn't stay in the same place too long.

"Outside Star Wars anyways," Alvarez adds, prying Laila's hand off her mouth for .2 seconds.

"Hush, he'll hear you!"

Then, Alvarez must lick her girlfriend's hand, because the goalie retches away with a disgusted yelp. "Hey! Gross!"

"Wow, you don't love me."

It's punctuated with giggles, and Andrew stuffs his hands in his pockets; why that word decides to plague him today, he's not sure. He wouldn't say the girls act as useless as Katelyn and Aaron do, but their dynamic is still distinct.

Affectionate.

Andrew turns his hard stare at the ground. No, no. It's still not right.

Neil, oblivious to Andrew's plight, squints at the empty space where Jean and Jeremy should be. "Wait...you guys ditched them too? Why?"

"They had the same idea as us," Andrew mutters, but Neil's lightbulb still hasn't gone off.

Laila's grin is as sardonic as it gets. "Ah, so you noticed?"

Andrew doesn't respond. He's steadily reaching his word quota.

Knowing the only chance of Andrew saying anything is by asking himself, Neil turns to him, too searching. "Noticed what?"

And oh, Andrew can't avoid talking about it after all, can he? He's not sure why he doesn't want to, there hasn't been much cause for concern with Neil lately. Not for months. Maybe not ever, but Andrew had been in denial there for a while.

Perhaps Andrew just hates being in this limbo, where he doesn't even know how he feels about a topic yet. It's happened before, but it's no less disconcerting than the other times. The jealousy, the concept of understanding, their first time...

His mind, a traitor, reminds him none of those situations ended horrifically.

"Moreau is in love with his captain," Andrew mutters, and watches the moment Neil blanches. No stopping the floodgates now. "Original."

Something in Neil's gaze twitches. Andrew's hasn't seen the look before, but it's surely not good for him or his pulse. Andrew turns his stare to the ice cream cart in the distance, but his sweet tooth is done for the day.

Another unfortunate reality.

"God, so they really are that bad," Laila groans. "For a second there, we thought it might just be us."

Alvarez scoffs, crossing her arms and putting all her weight on Laila. It must be a common occurrence; Laila huffs, but makes no move to push her away.

"We've been trying to get them together for ages," Alvarez continues, twirling her finger around like a never ending cycle. "We ditch them literally every single time in the hopes they finally have their moment."

Both their expressions fall then, truly defeated. Laila sounds at her wit's end, and Andrew feels little sympathy. "But, no such luck."

Andrew can't even begin to pick apart how uselessly optimistic that is when idiots are concerned, but Alvarez seems to be tracking his every movement for some type of reaction. He should've never said anything, but she'll learn soon enough; he's not an easy read, despite a hot-headed outlier.

Neil blinks at them, a complex math problem with cliche romantic plots instead of numbers. "They're...into each other?"

The look he gets from the girls is similar to the pitying ones he gets from Allison whenever he says something particularly misguided about fashion.

Laila puts her hand on Neil's shoulder, patting him slowly. "Oh Josten, your face right now tells me all I need to know about you."

Then, the double shot of pity is poured right down Andrew's throat.

"You got an oblivious one too huh?" Laila says wryly, and Alvarez chokes.

"Hey."

Andrew won't dignify that with a response, but he figures it's obvious anyways.

Laila snorts, tugging on Alvarez's ear lobe. "But yeah, Jean totally wants to husband Jeremy. It's so painful. Disneyland is supposed to be romantic, but--"

Alvarez finishes the thought with a fart noise. Andrew's not sure why he speaks up, the conversation is so beneath him, and he blames Bee. He never used to talk so much before he realized that it actually helped his mind move down the endless river.

"Movie moments like that will never happen," Andrew says, nothing condescending or dismissive about it. It's the truth; he learned long ago that the grand gestures people expected seldom come to fruition. They could sit Jean and Jeremy at the table for two with violins playing around them and it most likely wouldn't do any good.

People won't do anything until they're ready to acknowledge how they feel, and even then they might not. Andrew never thought that was such a bad thing; shutting down a feeling, weighing the pros and cons of a decision until ultimately trying to be rid of it.

It was better that way.

He knows though, had he never let that go, he wouldn't have Neil next to him.

He also knows Bee would call that a good thing, the release of a way of thinking that he's yet to acknowledge as completely outdated.

None of that realization shows on his face.

"You sure sound fun," Alvarez mutters, but she's smiling in a way Andrew hates.

"Andrew's the funnest person I know," Neil adds, unhelpfully adding to the upbeat of Andrew's heart. If Neil could stop ruining the English language on purpose that would be great.

The girls wait for Neil to reveal it as a joke, but seconds of Neil's blank stare kill any chance of laughter.

No, Neil is completely serious. And maybe he's right, after all the good Trojan captain himself did call Andrew a riot.

Laila purses her lips after a moment. "Right..."

"Anyways, you better get a move on if you don't want to continue enjoying your date," Alvarez says, glancing behind her suspiciously while checking her watch. Laila's hand entangles in her girlfriend's, and Andrew notices the charm bracelet there. He wonders if it's a gift from Alvarez.

He's seen a similar, custom one on Katelyn's wrist for the longest time. He's about to ask himself why people are so obsessed with buying jewelry, before realizing he's in the same boat.

When did he come to permit this?

Ugh. He's not running around that particular race track again. "It's not--"

"We're going to go get drinks in the Star Wars cantina," Alvarez interrupts, hastily beginning to tug her girlfriend in that direction. Guess it's later than she thought. "Jeremy will come this way soon. He has a very specific itinerary."

Of course he does.

"Any...slow ride suggestions?" Neil asks before they go, and Alvarez squeaks when she runs right into Laila's strong back. Neil steadfastly ignores the glare Andrew sends him, though if they do have to go on more rides, Andrew would prefer something smooth.

The Matterhorn can burn.

"There's the storybook ride?" Laila says, pointing behind them down the path. "Or It's a Small World?"

Alvarez huffs. "There's a joke there somewhere..."

Andrew doesn't mean for it to happen, but his memory is a steel trap, with a layer of unpredictability wrapped around it. He can't stop it, can't turn it off. For the briefest of moments it brings him the image of a homely kitchen in California, his fingers tracing the carvings in the table while he watches Cass cook dinner. It smells good; he remembers. Of course he remembers, the dish, the ingredients, down to the stains on the tile and which cabinets were open.

The song Cass hummed from between her lips.

He'd never heard the real song, never cared to look it up online or search up the ride itself. But he knows the name, knows the tune.

"What's that?" Neil asks, and whether he means to or not, his voice pulls Andrew out of it. Not even just that...Neil has a way of firmly planting Andrew in this new reality he's forged and tailored.

For the better, Bee's voice reminds him.

Laila smiles, no doubt connecting the ride to memories of her own. Happier, softer memories. Andrew could have those too, if he wanted. It would just take some revision, overwriting. "It's just a boat ride, and it kills time for sure."

Just a boat ride. That's all.

Neil nods, turning to Andrew while the girls walk away. It's getting later; Andrew can tell by how blue Neil's eyes get, highlighted by the darkness. They're haunting in a way, like the unexplored bottom of the ocean. Horrific things lurk in the depths, but there's something pleasant about them too, calming in their mystery. Maybe because to Andrew, and only Andrew, it's familiar territory. Andrew has never felt that level of ease from something, but Neil's stupid expression is too soft when he speaks. "How about it?"

How about it? Hm.

Andrew looks off into the direction Laila pointed in, debating on if he should put himself through that. Is he ready to put himself through that?

He could take this step, he reasons. He could try to overpower the terrible memory with one of Neil, with the feeling of his weight beside him. Is it worth it? Will it work?

No, he can't think of it like that.

It won't erase anything; Andrew's not so naive to think he will ever be rid of the image in his head, the sound of Cass's voice. But...maybe he could make the crystal clear image blurrier, faded around the edges until his mind wavers, until he can no longer make out the scenes as well as before. Instead, his brain will default to Neil in the future. Whenever he hears the cheery tune, Andrew will think of his stupid headband and sugar-kissed lips.

Stronger, sturdier memories.

He's allowed Neil to implant them before, and it hasn't backfired. The process is not always easy, or without pain, but it's been worth it every time. Andrew sees no reason to mess with a working strategy.

Andrew grabs Neil's wrist, the firmest contact they've had all day, and something in him sighs at the same time Neil does.

He leads the way.

As soon as Andrew hears the tune as they enter the tunnel, he wonders if he made a mistake. Not because of the memory, though that's definitely there. No, it's the tune itself.

The music is loud, repetitive, with no lull. He's not sure how someone can work on this ride and not quit immediately. He should've expected it though, so the blame is on himself. It won't be over anytime soon either. The boat they're in is moving at an agonizing speed, but it's a relief for his back. The slow glide makes him painfully aware of the soreness in his legs, the heaviness of his eyelids.

The spotlights are pointing at the monuments and walls, leaving the riders in the shadows. If Andrew squints, the people in the boats ahead of him look like nothing more than silhouettes for the briefest of moments. Unreal, specters.

The song continues, and Andrew reevaluates. It's too late to get off the ride, and the song might be called fitting; there's a weird eeriness to it, along with the surreal feeling of the park noises being completely blocked out. It's silent, for being so loud, so irritating. But after a while he's sure he'd become numb to it, and then what would be left?

All he can hear other than the singing is the gentle slosh of the water and the occasional hushed voices of the people in front of them. Like the wind. He feels like a ghost on the ride, wispy and drifting in and out of centuries. The tune is ageless, has probably been around for decades, long before Cass started to hum it.

Somehow, it's a comfort. Cass had been insignificant, another way to separate her memory from the ride itself.

Some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders, and having Neil beside him lessens it further. There are two free seat rows in front of them; the line hadn't been too long at this time of day, and Andrew feels an inkling of gratefulness.

It's the closest thing to privacy they've had all day, he realizes, and some of the fuzziness from earlier dissipates. The static in his brain has had time to even and sizzle out; it's taken hours for him to get to this point, but when Neil lets a quiet 'yes or no' pass between them, the answer is easy. Certain.

Andrew pulls Neil against him, and Neil follows it up by entangling their fingers together. He hardly hesitates anymore, doesn't treat the gesture like something with an expiration date. Andrew privately thought it would be the case, but...he's yet to be tired of it.

It's not so rare anymore, holding Neil's hand.

They pass the first display of dancing puppets, just as the song repeats 'it's a small world after all' through the speakers. Andrew can feel Neil's wry smile before he sees it. "It really is a--"

"Finish that joke I'll kill you."

Neil throws his head back in the first sign of genuine joy from a ride, and Andrew thinks this is already better than anything else they'd previously done. It's less intensive, with just enough chaotic energy to appeal to Neil's sense of humor.

They're not the type of people usually caught dead on these kinds of rides, but the creepiness feels warmer than any of the other joyful displays Disneyland had to offer. Neil's laugh echoes off the high ceilings, and he smothers it quickly.

But Andrew's mind remembers, and he plays the cut off sound on a loop far more intense than the tune of the ride itself. He mixes them together, until they can't be pried apart.

When they pass the German section of the song, Neil looks at him expectantly, and the look Andrew gives him is unimpressed. Mischief dances in his boyfriend's eyes anyways, and again, it's not cute. It's not like Andrew is going to suddenly start singing along just because it's in German. Though, Neil's reaction might be worth it.

Neil critiques the lyric translation anyways, like it's not the simplest song to mass produce.

"This isn't so bad," Neil sighs as they pass under another archway to a different section of the very small world. His finger is starting to tap along on the back of Andrew's hand, and he's not sure if he should put an end to it before it gets stuck in Neil's head. Then he'd have to hear Neil humming it over and over, and while not as traumatic, there's only so much Andrew can take.

"Other people would probably call it torture," Andrew says, gesturing to the lifeless faces of the puppets. He wonders if there's any conspiracies about this ride online, he's sure Neil would get some morbid kick out of them.

"Wimps," Neil replies haughtily, and no, Andrew's pulse does not jump. “I’m a torture connoisseur.”

He bastardizes the word so bad Andrew almost feels bad for France. Almost. When did Neil start thinking he was funny?

"That's not even remotely how you say it." Andrew untangles their hands purely for the purpose of flicking Neil's earlobe. Neil grabs for it again as soon as the punishment is doled out.

Junkie. "You speak that language..."

But Andrew's accusations mean nothing to Neil, per usual.

"I'm dumb remember?" Neil reminds with a shrug, and Andrew grits his teeth. He's still unsure how he feels about this; Neil's mind is vast when it comes to a lot of things. Languages, math, world knowledge, how to kill a man, basic things.

But otherwise...the ignorance can be...

Attractive.

Andrew almost gets off the boat from admitting it to himself. Dumb jocks with runner's hearts is a type he guesses, and it happens to be his.

Or, scratch that. Neil can't possibly fall into a group. Had more than one Neil existed, the mafia would've surely met their demise as a whole through a combination of violence and general dumbassery.

"You milk it on purpose," Andrew decides to say, because Neil does. Because no, Neil's far from dumb, he just knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Neil chooses not to respond to that, predictably.

"It's just not as bad as I expected," Neil continues, leaning his head against Andrew's shoulder. He gives a long sigh, and Andrew's sure it can't be comfortable. As at ease as he is in Neil's presence, there's always a hardness there, a tension coiled in his body. Yet, Neil leans into him like a pillow and seems to cherish the steadiness.

For a while, they just listen to the song.

Andrew's not quite sure if he agrees with the message, but he doesn't care in the moment. He's come to acknowledge lately that he shares quite a bit with other people, much to his chagrin. Though in the grand scheme of things, he's eons away from them all.

Primarily, he doesn't like to think he could replicate this...feeling, whatever it is.

Certainly not enough to assign an overused word to, one stamped onto every relationship like a barcode. 'I love you.'

He's never admired the words when other people used them. Is that fair, he wonders. Does it matter? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place; the need to be contrary itches at him. He shouldn't want to feel that way, shouldn't have to label this feeling as love...

And it doesn't feel right anyways.

He does not want to fit an insincere mold, but he doubts he and Neil ever could. They never have. This would not be so easily destroyed, toppled.

They simply share too much, and Andrew thinks back to his goal of replacing every bad memory with Neil. That's not an accident, or a desperate quick fix. That instinct is there for a reason...

Cass. Funny how his two separate problems seem to come together. Cass is an appropriate example. Andrew knows, better than anyone, that she hadn't loved him in Katelyn's definition, if that's what love even is. If love can be broken down like that, if it's real. Devotion, consideration, loyalty.

Andrew sighs; he can't go that deep into it. It's too much, bogged down by layers and layers of terrible experiences that have only just begun to be pushed aside like weeds. Never ripped out. The roots have taken hold, but they're withering.

Maybe it's because he's so tired of thinking about it that the words come out. He peers down at Neil against him, at the top of his head where the auburn curls are so within reach, and confesses to Neil's crown. He doesn't blame the need to admit things to Neil as influenced by love, it can't possibly be so contained. He just...something pushes him to work this out. "Cass would hum this, every now and again."

Andrew's not sure what he wants the reaction to be, but when Neil responds, Andrew's soul relaxes, so it must be what he needed. Neil goes rigid within an instant, robbed of the peace afforded them. Andrew didn't mean to throw it into their quiet bubble, but he doesn't regret it. These things aren't inconvenient. Andrew gives these pieces of information to Neil now, like he always has. Willingly, and they're received in kind.

Neil shoots up, eyes frantic when they meet Andrew's. He sees so many things in those blue eyes: rage at Cass, concern for Andrew, and things Andrew didn't ask for but will receive for as long as Neil is here. Neil looks frantic, and two seconds away from dragging them as far away from this place as possible.

Neil's voice is a whisper, sharp and desperate. "Why did you--"

Why indeed? Why come on this ride?

Andrew's puts all his boyfriend's worry and guilt into an early grave.

"I hate having her in my brain," he answers, and knows it's not an excuse. Being on this ride is far from traumatic, more therapeutic than anything, but he almost recoils. He's only ever admitted those things aloud, the pent up resentment and anger, in the privacy of Bee's office. Even then, it's pulling teeth. For so long he framed his time with Cass as the only blip of light in his life. But it had come with a price, and Andrew knows now it hadn't been remotely worth it. For so long he tried to protect that outlook, but now he wants it stained, blacked out. He just never knew it would be so hard to blot it out with his own hand.

And if that was not love...

Neil flinches, but Andrew keeps going, daring him to say something. He needs Neil to know he's serious, so he makes it personal, shared. "You're the obnoxious one, telling me to overwrite things all the time. That's what this is."

That's why I'm okay with this. It's you.

Andrew can see the moment Neil remembers; they'd been sitting on the roof, and Neil had asked him to only remember the good things, even if for just a moment. Andrew's not the best at employing this, and sometimes he vehemently denies the ability to do so, but not with this. Not today.

That feeling cannot be replicated; Andrew turns the idea in his head again and again, never getting closer.

But one thing is certain...

Neil's expression softens, and Andrew squeezes his hand before he flicks a look up at the bright orange monstrosity on Neil's head. "Now, this ride will just remind me of how terrible that headband is," he says, and Neil should at least be able to read between those lines. "Nothing else will come first."

I will latch onto you instead. Andrew never wanted that before, to cling to some idealized outlook again. But Neil is not that; Neil is painfully real. Sometimes he misinterprets, other times he keeps too much to himself. But at the end of the day, Andrew trusts him to do whatever it takes to remain by his side for as long as he chooses to be there.

Andrew is the same way; he can't go back to how it was before.

Andrew's not paying attention to the displays around them anymore, but he can feel his mind melding the images and the tune together with Neil's expression. Open, vulnerable, welcome.

Neil sighs a moment later, muscles relaxing. Not once does his hold on Andrew loosen, but he knows better than to pry about Andrew's past. Andrew has made it clear; this moment is not about an old memory.

Neil leans back, moving further into Andrew's space. "Mm, should I say something else annoying, make the moment stronger?"

And ah, back to normal already are we?

Andrew flicks the back of Neil's hand. "You just did."

He'll log that away too, as aggravating as it is.

"Yeah..." Neil breathes out with a laugh, his thumb rubbing small circles into Andrew's skin. Physical touch, muscle memory...Andrew needs all of it for this to work. He gladly focuses on that while Neil thinks; Andrew can tell solely from the crease in his brow the striker has more on his mind.

Neil's not necessarily like Andrew, he won't keep these things to himself for prideful reasons. He needs to let them out, or they will eat him up.

He's bad at hiding it too.

"Hey Andrew," Neil says eventually, and Andrew's ready for the words before they're even in the air between them. He'd been expecting this, dreading it, but not okay with putting it off any longer. He needs Neil's help, unfortunately, to piece it all together. "You said Jean was in love with Jeremy."

One day if life is especially cruel, and Andrew outlives Neil, he will make it his mission to pick the man's brain. Something in that stubborn subconscious always seems to anticipate the winding roads Andrew is currently stuck on, even when Neil actually has zero clue.

He's not so upset by this anymore.

Carefully, Andrew turns Neil's palm over to trace the heart lines. If he put them on a map, would they cross through all the places Neil's been? "I did say that."

And he's been re-thinking about if it's true. Who knows if Jean and Jeremy are actually in love. As much as he likes to compare them to his brother's and Katelyn's nauseating displays, affectionate looks and blushing cheeks can't be all there is to it.

Andrew had been stupid to chalk it up to just that. Not even Katelyn would've. And if that's the case, Andrew might never be convinced of Jeremy and Jean's feelings. Attraction sure, but he doesn't care enough to dig deeper.

There's not an equation to test levels of protectiveness, or comfort, in order to determine an abstract and troublesome thing like love. And why would he need to test his own feelings against such a thing anyways? He knows...he knows this is something he will keep for as long as he can.

"I thought you didn't use that word," Neil offers when Andrew is quiet for too long, debating on the best angle to attack this from. Neil tends to do that, when Andrew himself hasn't figured things out yet. If he poses questions that open up other doors, it clears the mess away. He notes how Neil says 'doesn't use' instead of 'doesn't like' or 'hates,' because it's true. Andrew isn't repulsed by the word, just annoyed with it and all its aspects. He does not get it.

It's like he told Katelyn...

"I don't, but only because it's untrustworthy," Andrew replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He's not making sense, not even to himself. He's simply trying to see if he's open to the idea of throwing out his old opinion, the one where the concept of love is something twisted beyond recognition. Fake. Overly reproduced.

It's far more difficult a feat than simply overwriting a bad memory. This feels more invasive, but Andrew knows he wouldn't be thinking about it if there wasn't something important lodged beneath.

Neil squints, unaware of Andrew's turmoil. "So you were insulting them?"

The game show buzzer in Andrew's head rings; nope, that's not it.

"I was applying Mrs. Minyard's definition..." Andrew tries not to sound too bitter. The whole reason he even let this issue cling to him is because of Katelyn. She's the worst.

"Katelyn?" Neil asks, but doesn't question further after Andrew nods. Andrew assumes he's used to this, and it's entirely likely he's had a similar conversation with Katelyn. Andrew won't think about that either.

Neil nods. "Okay well, do you care if they figure it out?"

Again, Neil strikes out, but it helps Andrew to eliminate the background noise in his head.

"No, it makes no difference to me," he says. He couldn't care less what becomes of Moreau's romantic life. "Though it would be annoying if we have to do this again."

Another forced outing surrounded by dense morons...

Andrew's had to deal with enough obliviousness.

Neil smirks. "You know, Kevin might flip out if they get together."

Ah, another rare pro...

Neil leans away, regarding Andrew like he's taken on a new sleuth role. He rubs his chin too, to add to the drama of it. Maybe Andrew should get him a monocle, if he's going to be this much of a fuck. "So...if you don't care if they realize it, why think about it at all? I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd care about something like this."

Andrew's not quite sure why or if he does either. It doesn't have to be a thing that applies to them, if he doesn't want it to be.

Their this is unique. Andrew had been so resistant to using the word 'love' because it had been spit on and turned to bile, misused by people throughout his life. But in doing so, he ignored the times people used it genuinely. In the past, he would've contested that. He would've said it was never genuine, never earned. The commercialized concept wasn't something he'd let himself have in common with others.

But lately, Andrew finds that having some things in common with certain people isn't reprehensible. And in this case...

Aaron's voice comes barreling through his head, steering Andrew to destinations he couldn't find before. And well, now he knows why his brain can't let go of Aaron and Katelyn as his go to example.

"Our feelings for them are the same."

Yes. Andrew had slowly begun to accept that. Maybe that's why his brain wouldn't write off Katelyn's words so easily.

Begrudgingly, Andrew admits there's a lot more to his brother's relationship than pure affection, even when most of it is behind closed doors. Katelyn had been there through the worst parts of Aaron's college life, and she'd never once judged him or ignored the ugliest bits. Not even when he hated her, could Andrew look past those things. They meet her own definition, and Andrew's simply choosing to extend some trust to his brother. Aaron says he's in love, so Andrew believes him even when he doesn't believe in the feeling's history, in the way it's manipulated.

And well, if his feelings are the same...

Well, he guesses he can try to accept that too.

"I was testing it," Andrew answers, without much struggle. Katelyn's definition, any definition. Andrew looks at Neil straight on then, and the striker's grin fades. Something crosses over those eyes, like for once Andrew is ahead of him. "Love. I think I'm trying to decide if I...want to say it."

If I want to say 'I love you.' If it applies at all.

Not need, but want.

Is it something heavy, or is it something inconsequential?

It feels wrong, but Andrew knows he's reached the crux of his problem. This is where all his restlessness stemmed from, his observations about Jean and Jeremy, about the girls...

It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with whether or not he'd ever want to have that in common with them.

He'd ignored the fact he most likely already does.

But the words...he never would've bothered before. They don't mean much, other than the weight society has put on them, and Andrew's never cared about that. He doesn't need them to know this is something sturdy in his life, and he doubts Neil needs them either.

It's more...this is another thing life took from them, took from Neil. They've never expected to regain everything; they never feel like life owes them.

It has nothing to do with that. It's just the same as with a lot of other instances; Andrew wants to give these things to Neil, because Neil is his.

Does there have to be some deeper explanation or justification for it? Even if there is, Andrew stops looking for it.

He waves off Neil's shocked expression, and doesn't ponder why it's there in the first place. He's been in the wrong before, assuming he's the only one who thinks about stuff like this. It's possible this has been on Neil's mind too, but that's not the point.

"I don't mean now, or anytime soon," Andrew corrects. No, no. He's not there yet, and it's not like it's some milestone they have to reach. Andrew doesn't like to think it could encompass how he feels, but maybe his biggest issue with this is that...he's not sure he hates the idea of it anymore. The word. One day, he might be able to say it and know it means a lot more than what other people think about it. And that would be enough. "But one day."

The shadows of the displays wash over Neil's expression, and Andrew can't pull anything out of it. Neil stares, hand still curled impossibly tight in Andrew's.

Andrew won't take back anything he said, but Neil's silence is beginning to unnerve him. He could have overstepped he realized, he should've asked for Neil's opinion at some point, weighed it against--

"You know, Aaron talked to me about this once," Neil offers finally. It's not what Andrew's expecting him to say. Then, Neil's face twitches, and Andrew can tell he's...holding back a smile. "That night you picked Katelyn up, we talked about...yeah."

Yeah.

Andrew knows the gist of what happened, Neil filled him in. Guess he didn't reveal all the details though.

Neil's laugh is a breathy, comforting thing this time. "He made me think about it. He asked if I loved you."

Neil smiles wryly, an expression he's begun to pair with Aaron lately. It's not a glare or scowl nearly as much anymore.

Andrew stills, but relaxes in the next second. They'd both been subject to the same thoughts after all, Andrew just didn't realize how similar the sources were. Aaron and Katelyn are menaces, and they don't even realize it.

Andrew doesn't feel nervous, or anxious. The way Neil feels about him is obnoxiously stone-like and unmovable at this point, as much as Andrew still sometimes tries to act like it's not. Neil won't say anything to make him doubt that.

"I said I did," Neil continues, like it's obvious. Andrew's pulse hiccups a little anyways. Stupid. "But I didn't know if I ever wanted to say it to you. It's more like...well obviously I do feel that way right? In the whatever—traditional sense."

Traditional. Ha.

He's not sure even Katelyn's definition is truly traditional in its selflessness.

Neil clears his throat, palm clammy in Andrew's own. Second by second, Andrew feels lighter. Neil's rambling is a strange salve, one more thing they have in common. Too much thinking, when the answer doesn't have to be so complex. Neil tries to glance away, but Andrew grabs his chin, keeping them face to face. He wants to have all this forever, every expression, every blink.

Neil swallows, but his smile stays, making a liar out of him before the words even leave his mouth. "But one word doesn't seem like enough, and if we did say it wouldn't it just be for other people's satisfaction? I don't need it to know you feel the same way..."

Andrew shakes his head in disbelief. Neil. Only Neil would expect that from Andrew. Andrew's mind exhales.

The convoluted mess of words echoes Andrew's own thoughts throughout the day, but it's never sounded clearer. No, it's true, one word will never be enough, but Andrew thinks if he could come to associate the word, the phrase, with this feeling, unique to them...

It wouldn't be so damaged anymore.

It would still be theirs, and no one else's. He'd have his own definition, to overwrite the rest.

"But even then..." Neil adds, quietly, his voice dancing with the song still playing around them. The lyrics are in English again, and Andrew knows the ride will end soon. Cass is barely a blip in his mind now, compared to Neil's words, the ones which mirror Andrew's. "I still thought it might be nice, one day, to say it. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Logically no. All the contradictions, the back and forth...feelings are a strange thing and that's one reason Andrew's always hated them. There's no rhyme or reason, and there's two sides to each one. All justification is ruled out by one thing and one thing alone: 'I still want to.'

And in that sense, Neil's words make perfect sense.

But he can't confess all that; instead he cups Neil's face in his hands, smoothing over the scars like he always does. The roughness is a constant, familiar. "I hate you," he says, with no heat. It makes both of them blink, and Andrew realizes it's been a while since he said it. That too, has changed. But in this case, he thinks it's more than fair. He's feeling more than he possibly knows what to do with. "Yes or no?"

The fact he asks makes Neil snort; it's nostalgic, because...they don't ask as much these days. But Neil's 'yes' echoes loud and clear as they pass under the final archway, and for the first time all day, their lips meet. Neil sighs into him, his hands coming up to rest over Andrew's, breathing in the unspoken promise.

Nothing was decided, nothing fleshed out. But it didn't have to be.

One day, maybe.

They're both more than okay with that. Besides, Andrew did always say proof meant more than words.

And he has mountains of it to last in the meantime.

With only a little annoyance, Andrew admits he fell into the trap without meaning to; they shared a kiss at Disneyland.

Andrew pulls away as the sunlight begins to pour over them, and he squints, already missing the ride. Quiet it was not, but not as bad as the sounds and size of the crowd. If he ever does have to come back, he knows it will be a place to stop.

It makes him think of Neil, first and foremost, and he's long since stopped denying himself that.

Neil tries to help Andrew out of the boat, but Andrew swats him away for being a shit. He doesn't need help. As revenge, Neil smirks at him once they're walking down the exit path, adjusting his ears just to be even more irritating. Not cute. "Wait, so this means you admit Katelyn and Aaron are in love. Can I tell them?"

Andrew rolls his eyes, and Neil laughs. He'll never live that one down, and if Neil wants to survive he'll keep it to himself.

Mockery aside, Neil links their hands together, and Andrew pushes his face away before accepting the touch. Neil hasn't stopped smiling.

"Something to say Neil?" He says with a glare, and though he knows it's a joke at best, it makes that obnoxious warmth in him surge.

Neil smiles wider, dragging Andrew down the path with no idea where he's going. Andrew lets him.

"No," Neil throws behind him, humor lacing his tone. Gradually, the corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Not at all."

"Andrew! Neil!" Jeremy's voice booms from across the pavilion, and they both freeze in their analysis of where the best hiding spot would be in the entire park (Andrew is making a case for Toontown, but puts a pin in it).

Their time alone is officially over.

"Shit," Neil mutters, hand still linked in Andrew's. Normally at the sight of people they know, he'd pull away for Andrew's comfort, but Andrew keeps his grip firm.

He wants this today. Neil beams, sighing at the rest of the group's advance. It must be twice as sad now, since Neil knows.

Jeremy and Jean follow with the girls in tow, and as they get closer Andrew can see Laila's resigned smile. She and Alvarez have been caught too, despite their best efforts, and Andrew can tell nothing has changed.

The 'magical moment' they'd tried to pull out of Jean and Jeremy didn't happen, just like Andrew knew it wouldn't. Regardless, they're as hopeless as ever.

Jean trails close after Jeremy, eyes scanning his strong back while Jeremy keeps looking to make sure he's following. They're still dancing around one another, oblivious, but that's their own problem to sort out.

Still...there's a shift in Jean's features that wasn't there before, and Andrew is all too happy to wither it away with a glare.

He's accepting, not forgiving.

Whatever realizations Jean came to today have no other impact on Andrew other than an urge to get as far away as possible from it.

But there's hours to go.

Hours more to go, with Neil's hand in his. The striker throws a knowing grin back at him before pulling him forward, probably dead set on meddling as much as possible.

With the promise of 'one day' still fizzing strong in his chest, Andrew follows.

There's no more memories of this place to overwrite, so he has no choice but to crack open the door a little for some new ones.

That, at least, he can handle.

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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ofmythsandmadness · 5 years ago

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i need a favour - two.

PART TWO - don’t call me baby. or, klaus always knows how to make things a little bit more tense, even without meaning to (but no one can ever hate him for it)

WORD COUNT: 3000 or so. PREVIOUS PART(s): part one

A/N: i was surprised at honestly the good response? i wasn’t considering anyone liking it, but i’m glad. i’ve got a little series tag list going on for those who requested to be updated on this - if you want to be added, just ask and I can do that :) I’m updating this at three in the morning, because I didn’t have much inspo for finishing it til now? if it’s badly written and honestly, i feel that with the ending, i’m super sorry. but on another note, there’ll be more parts if I can get my shit together, at least a couple more chapters because i want to have a proper growth session (yee haw, buckle up i guess). I’m still getting used to writing x reader things, I don’t normally even read them, but this is pretty fun and it’s something I can do. and i’m happy people enjoy reading it. (sorry for the super long a/n.)

FOR MOST, IT WOULD BE STRANGE TO SEE a teacher smiling as they went through a stack of to-be papers. Frowns, or grumblings were more common, only covered by a constant reaching for more coffee to keep them alert. But for Y/N and her creative writing class, it was nothing unusual. She largely favoured the course to teaching AP English, and most of the time enjoyed reading what the students came up with. The prompts were fun and the followup even better - no matter the spelling and grammar mistakes, the students were not without creativity. If she was being honest, it might just be the greatest opportunity a young teacher in her position could get. And she was not without appreciation for that.

The prompt that week perhaps made her marking job even more entertaining. She asked them to tell her about their childhood hero, and a large portion of the class had chosen to write about the infamous ‘Umbrella Academy’. Even if they were on the younger age and only saw the group in the later years, more than half of her students still fawned and gushed about the super-beings. The one in hand just then particularly favoured a certain Number Two - citing him as their first childhood crush, someone that their small self quite adored.

She snorted at their shy confession. If only they knew Diego like she did - maybe the mask and knives would not be so attractive.

Just before she could turn to the next page, her phone lit up and she had to place the red pen down. The number was not recognised by her phone, but she hardly spared a thought on that, sighing before bringing the device to her ear. “Hello, Y/N Y/L/N here.”

“Well, don’t you sound professional.”

Speak of the devil. She fought back a smile. “You really have to get your own phone, you know.”

“Why, so you can get even more excited it’s me?”

“No. So I know not to answer.”

“Ouch. You’d say that to the love of your life?”

Y/N transferred the phone to her other ear, pressing it into her next and jaw as she fixed her piles. “Okay, hold on. Thought you were my fake boyfriend, not ‘the love of my life’. Did I miss that in our agreement?”

“Ain’t that the same thing?”

“No,” she shot back. There was no point elaborating, she knew he was joking - and yet for some reason, the casual question did sting a little. She quickly brushed the thought away, though, and continued. “Why are you calling me? I’m working.”

“I’m calling on your break, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but you’re interrupting my paper-grading.”

She could practically see the teasing smirk on his face, imagining him leaning against the telephone booth with the device pressed up to his ear. Trying to be stupidly suave. What she wouldn’t give to trip him up. “Sorry to interrupt that, I didn’t know you were having such a great time.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I-” she cut herself short as the door swung open. Her frown quickly shifted to a polite smile and Y/N gestured for the student to come in, motioning silently to her phone. She turned back with a lower voice and new sense of urgency. “Do you need something, Diego, or are you just calling to tease me?”

“C’mon, don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m about three seconds from hanging up-”

“-okay, sure. I do have a question.”

She shifted in her seat, sparing another glance to the waiting student just to make sure she was still there. The girl stood patiently - well, in the sense of trying her very best to pick up on just what the conversation was without being obvious. Y/N smiled a little at that.

“What is it, then?”

“They’re moving dinner to Sunday. Can you make that?”

Y/N did not have to rack her brain to know her answer. “Yeah, probably. I’ll have to bump all my plans around, but I guess I can make it work.”

“Oh, right. Cause you have so much going on.”

“Screw off, Diego, ‘else I might just be too busy to show up to dinner.”

He sobered up then, though he did force an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh. We can talk later about details but-” she shot another glance the girl’s way, gesturing she would just be one more minute, “-I have to actually go. Okay?”

He laughed softly into the phone. “Sure. See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye, loser - and don’t call me that!”

He hung up with nothing more as a response, leaving Y/N to sigh and slam the phone back down to her desk. She smiled apologetically at the teen. “Sorry about that, Trish.”

“Oh, no worries,” the girl grinned. The smile was sly - a look only a curious high schooler knew best. “Everything all good?”

“Oh, n...yes, yeah.” Guess she had to go along with the teasing remark - not that Trisha had been sent as a spy by the Hargreeves siblings, trying to test the validity of their very not real relationship. But it did not hurt to push the narrative. “Yeah, that’s just my...uh...boyfriend. Confirming plans, no big deal.”

Trish’s smile grew larger. “Sounds cute.”

How someone could sound cute, especially when she had not even heard him actually speak, Y/N could not say. But she just laughed it off, played the part she had dealt herself. “Yeah, he’s...great. But anyways, how can I help you?”

AT THE FIRST KNOCK, Y/N was throwing the door open, rubbing at her eyes so she could take in the situation properly. Her eyes flitted down Diego, scanning frantically for any wounds or issues that would need serious work, or just any sign in his face of what could be an urgent matter. There was no bloody giveaways on his clothes this time, though, and his face was warped into strangely, a stiff grin, instead of a look of pain.

“Well, at least you used the door this time,” she sighed, opening it wider so he could come in. She stiffened, though, as he moved closer than normally, brushing her into a one-armed hug before pulling away. Y/N’s mouth fell open to question the embrace, but fortunately her eyes fell on the answer before she could be made a fool. “Oh. Oh. Hi, Klaus...?”

“Long story,” Diego mumbled into her ear, disguising the whisper with a kiss to her temple. She tried to focus only on the word and not how the strange shiver shot down her back at his touch, no matter how she felt. “Picked him up, he wouldn’t leave me alone and I really didn’t want him wasted up somewhere bad.”

She only nodded in response and turned her arms to Klaus, wrapping him up in a hug. He felt warmer than he had the last time they hung out - a bit more meat seemed to be on his bones, too, though he was still a willowy, langly man. A somewhat sober nature did suit him.

“My darling Y/N - congratulations!”

“Congr-”

“-you managed to do the impossible - and oh! How happy I am to welcome you to our crazy family!”

Oh, right. That.

“I always had a feeling that there was something between the two of you, but I never knew that the day would come where you’d actually admit it..” Klaus’ arms slung easily around both Diego and Y/N, drawing them close to him with a ferocity neither expected. Their heads very nearly knocked together, before Diego could wriggle out of the hold. “My dear little Y/N, tying down this grumpy asshole.”

She laughed semi-nervously. “Guess that’s me, yeah.”

“You two always looked good together, so adorable,” he continued, letting them go without a second thought. Luckily, he missed her glare to her supposed boyfriend, as well as the mouthed apology, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “And between all the pining looks and - well, I don’t think anyone should be surprised you two finally decided to bump uglies!”

If there was any water in her mouth, Y/N would have done a classic spit take right then and there. As it were, she could just choke on air and attempt to keep her exposure in the face of a bold-face lie.

Fortunately, Diego was there to swoop in - somewhat. “I did not pick you up so you could badger Y/N about our sex life, Klaus. Say your shit or get out.” He sank into her couch and Y/N did not miss the flash of pain across his face - there was something wrong. She could already feel the frown of concern forming.

“You’re the one who forced me into your car.”

“Yeah, well,” he shot back through gritted teeth, “you were gonna get yourself killed, dumbass.”

“So now I can’t go anywhere without a babysitter, simply because of a slight issue in the past?”

“You are a recovering add-”

“-the details don’t matter, Diego,” Klaus muttered, only flinching the slightest bit under Diego’s withering stare. “And it’s not my fault everyone’s now so busy with their lives. I mean, you do really show up at the worst of times, just to bust me and not to catch up on all that quality ‘bro’ time we missed out on!”

Y/N gently pushed him forward and into a seat before moving onto Diego. She fished out the little aid kit kept under the kitchen sink and sank into the couch beside him. “Show me what’s wrong. And Klaus, what about Luther? Allison?”

“Both too far,” he whined back.

“Okay...stop squirming Di...uh, don’t you have Five?”

“Five can’t legally do anything except for like, drive. And even then, is he even old enough to have a license yet?” He paused for dramatics, only to sigh when neither gave much response. “I just worry for that boy, I can’t be the only one questioning this.”

“Vanya, then.”

Klaus shook his head once more. “I love the girl, but sometimes, a bit too dry for me. We don’t have the same tastes, and I’m afraid I might be tone-deaf. Severely so. Incurably so, darling.”

“Aw, Klaus.” She poked at Diego’s side, sticking her tongue out when he tried to push her away. “Shirt up, let me see how bad it is.”

He rolled his eyes. “S’barely a scratch. Let it be.”

“C’mon, I don’t want it getting infected, let me see!” She poked again, forcing him to lift the shirt up and reveal the nasty scratch. He still fought her hands away, even when she was obviously going to win the fight. She swatted his calloused fingers off, however, and inspected the wound despite his protests.

Diego was just about to shoot another insult her way, eyes a-flashing in that sly, tired way that only came out in the wee hours, when they were both cut off.

“Oh, don’t tell me I’m going to be interrupting a moment here?”

Immediately Y/N felt herself stiffen and everything feel a little bit colder. She could not lift her gaze from his wound, too anxious to look and see how Diego was reacting to the comment.

“I can leave, if that’s wanted? I understand the whole new couple thing, believe me. Been there, done that, and I’m always ready to try and start that over again tonight!”

She bit back a groan.

In all the fuss of getting them in and dealing with Diego, she had hardly spared a thought to the night ahead. Sure, she had realised it was going to be awkward every time a Hargreeve mentioned their ‘relationship’, but not like this - not where she would be left stammering, trying to defend herself to one of her closest friends. Not even defend, but...well, she was not sure what she was supposed to be trying to do. Aside from not combust from all the hot blood rushing straight to her face.

And all she had wanted was to sleep.

But there was no way she would kick either or both of them out, not in their states. Diego would end up staying anyways just like he always did, grumbling as she fussed over him - and she would not just kick Klaus out like that. She adored the both of them and had made a promise.

So, Y/N sucked in a breath and forced a gentle smile. “You’re not interrupting anything, hush.”

“Oh, I don’t mi-”

“-you wanna stay a while, Klaus? I have a feeling Diego’s not gonna be moving, and I don’t want you wand’ring the streets alone in your state.”

Diego’s eyes immediately shot to her, but she ignored the pointed stare.

“Oh, I’d hate to intrude on your relaxation session. Truly, I’ll just go!”

Gross, Klaus, she mused to herself - the guy was injured, for hell’s sake. “Seriously, you’re not. Please, just stay. There’s plenty a’room and I had nothing going on, anyways.” Aside from sleep - but that had been thrown out the window the second the pair had shown up, anyways.

A smile broke out on Klaus’ face and he shot up, moving to awkwardly hug Diego’s shoulder - much to the man’s chagrin. “I don’t know how you managed to convince her to like a prick like you. She’s an angel - you’re an angel, Y/N really.”

“You’re too sweet, but seriously, I don’t mind the company,” she grinned, swatting Klaus’ hands away. Hers were pressed against Diego’s torso, trying to wipe away the blood already drying around the wound. It, luckily, was not too bad- though serious enough to need serious attention. “Make yourself comfortable, just please don’t touch the booze!”

As his brother’s laugh floated away, Diego groaned. “Can’t we kick him out?”

“The more the merrier,” she sang back, ignoring the glare shot her way. “C’mon, I promise I’ll make it up to you later, baby.”

Diego did not bother to even try and hide him flipping her off. If anything, he brandished the action proudly. She just grinned back, trying to fight back her beating heart and flushed cheeks. She just had to deal with this - it was what she agreed to and it was just them. She hung out with the two of them for years and years. The only difference now was that she and Diego were supposed to be ‘bumping uglies’, but she could deal with Klaus’ comments.

Right?

“YOU COULD TRY AND BE A LITTLE NICER,” she said, swatting at him with a towel. “He is your brother.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “He’s an asshole, is what he is.”

“Why, he interrupted our quote-on-quote ‘alone time’?”

“No,” he grumbled, “but I didn’t really come here to put on a show.”

Y/N wanted desperately to then ask, ‘well why did you come’, but the words just would not come out. Instead, she just shook her head and played along with ignoring the implication. “C’mon, dummy. Would you rather we kicked him out and left him to do...well, whatever Klaus does? That wouldn’t be good.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Y/N watched as he absent-mindedly stroked the silvery scar carved into his head, a motion she thought probably was not even intentional. “I know. I know. S’why I brought him here.”

“So…”

“...all I’m saying is, I didn’t expect to have ‘im here all night.”

She shot him a teasing smile before twisting away, reaching up towards her top cupboards. Her fingers grazed the wood but could not quite reach the glasses pushed to the far back. How had she reached them before?

“If you wanted to just hang out with me, Diego, you could’a just said. I mean, I get it. I am irresistible and adorable in every which way.”

“I agree. You are super irritating and annoying.”

“Oh, wow, those are some big words!” Y/N gritted her teeth, stretching as far as she could forward to grab the glass - but ended up just sinking back to her toes with a sigh. “You been reading that dictionary I bought you?”

“You really just carry that teacher voice around wherever you go, don’t you,” he grinned. With ease, he reached up and brought down the glass she had been reaching for, earning a muttered ‘thanks’. “And for your information, I don’t even know where that thing is.”

“Liar.”

“Not kidding.”

“You lost my heartfelt gift to you?”

“Nah, I probably used it as target practice.”

She rolled her eyes, even if he could not see her face when focused on her hands. She poured a little more than halfway, pausing before shrugging and bringing it up to her lips. Still turned away, she swallowed. “You’re maybe the most insufferable boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know.”

“Oh, come on. That can’t be true.”

“No, I mean that. I don’t normally date people who bicker with me and lose my hard thought-out gifts like that. Assholes like you.”

“Yeah? What about Ty?”

“What about him?”

“He was an asshole.”

Y/N shrugged and focused her gaze on the cupboards opposite her. Better that than his face, right then. “Sure he was. But I think he took care and kept the presents I gave him. I mean, ‘til shit hit the fan, but still. They were appreciated.”

“You’re really comparing me to one of the biggest dicks because I didn’t value your joke gift?”

At that, she chuckled and finally looked his way. One glass of wine down and her sense of smart humour was already fleeing fast. “Can’t compare what I don’t know, can I? Though, he, he was packing, I will tell you that.”

That did not even make much sense, but her messily dirty joke still took a jab his way. Immediately, Diego’s face fell into a look of disgust - though, funnily enough, his cheeks shone red in the dim kitchen light - and Y/N could not keep her laughter in.

“Sorry, that didn’t even make any sense...”

“You’re gross,” he grinned back, shaking his head in fake disgust. “Don’t know what I see in you.”

She giggled mercilessly at him, ignoring his mumbles to keep quiet, caught up in the adorable face he made.

Wait, she interrupted, not adorable. Not in the adorable nature as - well, it was cute, but like in a little kid sort of way. Yeah. Was that a better way to look at it? She was not sure, but it still left her sobering up pretty quickly.

Her eyes fell down to the counter, tracing the swirls of wood before lifting once more. A low hum left her lips. “Nah, you’re right. He sucked. And you do too, don’t get me wrong, but not as much as Ty, or Todd. Or - pretty much all of them.”

“Well, I’m flattered.”

She grinned, but it was softer, weaker as she sipped her second glass. “Sure. Not like it’s much of a competition - I don’t think I have very good taste, sadly.”

“Sure you do,” Diego shot back, bending to pick out a bottle from the fridge. He leaned against the counter across from her, eyes slightly squinted as he took her in. “I mean, you’re dating me.”

“Ha, ha. This - this is a business arrangement, darling, not a relationship. And I didn’t even choose to be in this!”

“Well shit, tell me how you really feel, Y/L/N!”

“I mean nothin’ against you, ‘course,” she hummed. Why was she feeling awkward, all of a sudden? “It’s just not the same as actually having someone who genuinely cares about me - in the like, romantic sense.”

Diego nodded somewhat solemnly at that. “Mm. Sorry, I think?”

“Eh, don’t be. I agreed to this. And I still appreciate you, even if you aren’t interested in me past what benefits you.”

Her words were supposed to come out teasingly, a joke in the most bitter, light-hearted sense, but that was not the case. Instead, they came out all wobbly and unsure, like she had been biting them back but could not hold onto the feeling any longer. Which, was not really the case, she was not desperate for a hand to hold and certainly not from him - but she could not change the words said.

His eyes averted and hers softened, half from embarrassment and half unconsciously at the face he had pulled. She pulled away from the counter. “You still hungry? I can get you something.”

“Nah, I should - get him home.”

Y/N glanced back at Klaus’ silhouette, sound asleep and slightly snoring on the couch. “I think he’s okay, Diego.”

“Yeah, but it’s late. You’ve got work tomorrow and I got shit to get to.”

“Do you have to get to it?”

His smile was tired, like he was barely holding back a sad secret behind the pretty grin. Honestly, with a look like that? He was already half out the door and there was no point to arguing. “Who else is gonna keep this city from burnin’ down?”

She did not bother to argue with him - there was no point to giving him logical points, because he just deflected them all. Diego Hargreeves was a lot of things, but reasonable, he rarely could claim. At least not when it came to his own wellbeing.

Instead, Y/N just leant back and watched as Diego moved to his brother and in surprising tenderness, woke him up. It was rare to see him so gentle, but also a sign that made her smile - no matter what the man said, he truly loved his siblings. Especially Klaus.

“Hey, Diego?”

The man stopped, holding a half-asleep Klaus carefully upright in her doorway. She fought back the urge to smile at his lolling head. “Yeah?”

“Be safe.”

“Sure-”

“-no, I mean that,” she interrupted, “truly. You’re too reckless sometimes and it’s gonna get you killed.”

Diego grinned. “Aww. You gettin’ soft on me, Y/N?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, trying to will her face to not heat up at the accusation. “I’d just rather not have to pretend to cry at your funeral and play the grieving girlfriend role.”

“Ha. Love you too, baby.”

Y/N did not bother to throw any comeback after his retreating figure. She was too shaken by the way those four words had left his lips - sure, they were sarcastic, but they still sat heavy on her tongue as she silent repeated them. They made her feel weird, tingly in a sense she could not quite understand.

The door slammed shut, and she let her forehead fall after it, resting on the cool wind with fists at her side and questions swirling in her mind. Maybe she could do with another glass and miss out on attempting to sleep - not like she ever could after nights like this.

She sighed and made a mental note, one she knew she was going to forget in minutes, to yell at him about calling her baby again.

TAGLIST: @rangotangomango @fandomsandmore394 @thatkidofwarandpeace @antoouu (let me know if i missed you/you wanna be added)

#i need a favour series #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #BABY #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves imagine #fake dating au #tua x reader #tua imagine #the umbrella academy #back at my three am bullshit

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argylemnwrites · 5 years ago

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Change of Plans - Part 1

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (An It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe AU, set nearly 3 years after that epilogue)

Word Count: ~3000

Rating: PG-13 (just some adult language)

Summary: Living in NYC in March 2020 is redefining normal for Drake and Riley. Life doesn’t always go according to plan during a pandemic, after all.

Author’s Note: Ummmm, I tried to avoid writing this. I really did. But as I was sitting down to do some detailed outlines for the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment sequel, all my brain kept wanting to explore was COVID-19 content in that universe. At first, I just bullet pointed some head canons, hoping that would be enough to scratch the itch. But it wasn’t. The fact of the matter is if you’ve read anything I’ve written, you know I’m all about grounding the Choices characters and stories in the real world to a certain degree. So to write an AU where Drake and Riley live in New York City and not address the horrible crisis that city is facing just didn’t feel true to me as a writer.

That being said, I understand fanfic is often an escape from the real world. I understand that addressing the current pandemic at all might not be your thing, even though I don’t take it to any truly sad or tragic places. So, no worries, this is an AU inside my AU. This will not be an “official” part of the sequel. It’s its own little two-part piece that inches a bit more firmly into the real world than the actual sequel, Why Are We Still Waiting?.

So, tagging all my usual It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment taglists, but no hard feelings if this is just a little too real. I will mention that this does hint at or reference some events from the prologue and the first couple of chapters of Why Are We Still Waiting?, but it does not spoil the core content of the story. Plus, to be fair, it’s not like I write things with big plot twists really. Much like It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment was essentially a Drake character study, Why Are We Still Waiting? is a Riley Liu character study, and I’m not really sure you even can spoil those.

Alright, I’ve rambled in this AN for far too long already. In case you skimmed and missed it, Trigger warning for coronavirus discussions.

Drake glanced up from his laptop as he heard the locks click on the apartment door, Riley and Anderson walking through a few seconds later. Riley unclasped Anderson’s leash and hung it on the hooks Drake had installed, followed by her coat and her keys, before sliding off her shoes and going straight into the kitchen to wash her hands. The space next to their door had become their “dirty zone.” For now, they weren’t changing all their clothing when they got back inside, but Drake was thinking that doing so should probably be their next step.

Taking Anderson out was now basically the only time either one of them left the apartment. With Riley being furloughed from her PR firm on Friday and Drake working from home for all of last week, there really wasn’t any other reason to do so. At the moment, they were doing okay for food and whatnot, but Drake was not looking forward to having to deal with that in the upcoming weeks. He wasn’t sure whether they should switch to just getting delivery that they could safely reheat, but exposing themselves to a new driver every couple of days, or if they should risk making a trip to Foodtown and stocking up for a few weeks just once. Deep down, he knew the latter was the better option, but neither of them had been to a bodega or grocery store in the past week, and he was kind of dreading it now that more people were starting to take this seriously since the schools were closed. Maybe he could pull out the box of five masks he’d bought when he was sanding down and repainting the dresser and see if he had one left for each of them.

For the past four days, with both of them with nowhere to be, they’d alternated who was leaving the relative safety of their apartment to get a little fresh air with the dog. Even before that, Riley was just going to work and coming straight home, and she’d been riding an old bicycle she bought from a coworker to avoid the subway. But now, she had nowhere to be and neither did he. On her first day at home, Drake had been reluctant to have Riley go out at all now that she didn’t need to do so. He’d seen the news stories about the hate crimes popping up against Asian Americans, and it seemed like an unnecessary risk. But he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to convince her to essentially become a shut in while he left the apartment a couple of times every day to walk Anderson. Plus, as she had pointed out, she was still in her 20s and wasn’t a former smoker, so by all accounts, she was medically a lower risk than him. Still, he got nervous every time she left and always felt a little better when she came back.

Overall, Drake knew things could be a lot worse for the two of them. Because of his conversations with Liam, he’d been slowly stocking up on nonperishables for the past month or so. He had not only a permanent job, but one with a law firm that allowed him to work from home. They had a one bedroom, not a studio, so Riley didn’t have to stay silent during his Zoom meetings with his boss or team. But losing Riley’s salary was certainly not great for them. They’d be okay for at least the next month, but going forward, things might get a little tight. Not only that, but Riley was clearly going stir crazy already, with no one to see and nothing to do. Well, nothing to do except send emails and make calls to Texas to postpone their wedding.

In the grand scheme of things, Drake knew that postponing a wedding was a minor loss. In fact, if that was the worst loss that they suffered at the end of all this, they would be very fortunate. And now that the president had banned travel from Europe, there was little chance of the majority of their already small guest list being able to make it. But it still sucked, particularly since they’d already had to postpone last year.

He and Riley had talked about it last week, after the travel ban came down. Even though the wedding was seven weeks away, it had just seemed like the smart call to start cancelling things now instead of waiting until the last minute. The original plan had been for him to make the needed calls and whatnot since he was working from home, but since Riley now had infinite free time, she’d contacted everyone except his mother and aunt, who he had called over the weekend. His mother had been confused at first, saying she didn’t understand why they needed to postpone already and that she was sure it will have all “blown over” by May. Aunt Leona, on the other hand, had seemed pleased by the decision, telling him she was glad he wasn’t bringing that “Chinese virus” down to them from New York. Drake wasn’t sure whose response was more infuriating.

As Riley flopped down on the couch next to him, she let out a loud sigh. When he’d been working out of their apartment and she’d still been going into the office, they’d tried to maintain some distance at home. It had been pretty difficult, though. Although this place was way bigger than her old studio, they still just had the one bathroom, and obviously they were still sleeping in the same bed. Drake had known it had probably been smart of them to spread out as best they could, but he was kind of relieved when Riley had just curled up next to him on the couch this weekend, saying that it was stupid to try and pretend that they were even coming close to effectively socially distancing from one another. Plus, now that she wasn’t going into work, they basically carried the same risk of exposure.

Although she was sitting next to him now, she didn’t make any move to actually touch him. Sensing she wanted to talk about something, he moved his laptop from his knees to the coffee table in front of them. Sure enough, her head landed in his lap not even a full minute later. This had become her habit over the years, to lay down on the couch and put her head across his lap whenever there was something she wanted to talk to him about, usually something serious that she didn’t want to deal with but knew they needed to deal with together.

“So, everything’s pushed back to November 7th,” she said after a couple of moments of silence, “We had to put down another deposit with the florist who was a real asshole about it, but the band, the photographer, and the caterers were really accommodating.” Her fingers traced random patterns across his forearm as she spoke, but her eyes remained closed, almost as if she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye and see their shared disappointment reflected there.

“Thanks, Liu. I’ll call Mom tomorrow and let her know.”

“I did try for October, but the caterers and the florist didn’t have any availability.”

“November’s fine. If the weather’s shitty, we can just have the ceremony inside the barn and the reception in the house. Our guest list is tiny, anyway.”

His statement hung there in the air. There was kind of this unspoken agreement between the two of them to just be matter of fact about postponing. It was a global pandemic. It had to happen. Being upset about it wasn’t going to make things any better. But sometimes, it just hurt, thinking about all their planning and excitement that was just on hold again. The scattered pieces of wedding favors and leftover invitations and the planning binder that Hana had started for them that were visible in every corner of the apartment didn’t help either. They were now mixed in with stacks of dog food, rice, and paper towels, a grim blend of the future they wanted with their new reality.

They didn’t even have any place to tuck the wedding crap out of sight at this point, as their closets and cupboards were filled to the brim with extra supplies. But without a car, Drake had just wanted to make sure they could minimize trips out if… no, when shit really hit the fan. And it’s not like they had that much storage space in their apartment anyway. But now they would have to live with constant reminders that they couldn’t get married and their lives were essentially on hold.

He at least still had work to distract himself with. Now that Riley had cancelled everything, she really didn’t have anything she could focus on to distract herself. He just felt bad for her. “I’m sorry, Liu.”

“For what? None of this is your fault,” Riley said, her eyes popping open and gazing up at him, her hand continuing to trace patterns across the skin of his arm.

Drake sighed, dropping his head to the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I feel guilty that I didn’t get us to Cordonia when I could.” He had been contemplating calling Savannah or Maxwell and seeing if they could come stay with them for a while. Leave the crazy population density that was New York City. Staying at the palace would mean bad optics for Liam, but he figured at least two of the three adults at Ramsford would probably be okay with hosting him and Riley and Anderson. But while he’d been weighing their options with Riley, Liam had closed all flights into Cordonia except for citizens returning home. Since Riley had never become a Cordonian citizen, they were out of luck. Drake knew that if he asked Liam, he would grant Riley some sort of royal exception, but he wasn’t going to put Liam in that position. The last thing Liam needed on his plate was making an accommodation for Riley.

Drake felt Riley’s head leave his lap, and soon her hands were on his shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Drake, we both were unsure if it was the right call.”

He just shook his head. She could have had Maxwell to spend time with while he worked. Anderson could have gone on walks safely across the grounds and vineyards. But he hadn’t been decisive enough and now it was too late. “I should have seen the writing on the wall.”

“Look at me.” Her voice was firm and carried enough of an edge that Drake complied, tipping his head back to find Riley kneeling next to him on their couch, staring at him with eyes that were somehow intense and sympathetic simultaneously. “We both were concerned about flying right now. We both were unsure about being in a house with both a baby and a toddler and possibly bringing the infection to them. We both wanted to wait to see what would happen. I don’t know why you insist on taking the blame here when we both weren’t sure if heading to Cordonia was the right call.”

“I just wish there was a way to protect you from this.”

She shook her head, “You think I don’t want that, too?”

“I know, Liu. I just feel like…” he trailed off, unable to finish his thoughts. He could have never imagined a situation where he couldn’t take care of her. Keep her safe. But there was nothing he could do about any of this. It just made him feel so powerless.

“Me too, Drake,” she said, tilting her head and sliding her hand down his arm and twining their fingers together. “But nothing else to do but ride this out. Well, that and hope we don’t drive each other too crazy over the upcoming weeks,” she added with a little chuckle. “What time do you think you’ll finish up today?”

“I dunno,” Drake said with a shrug. Since he was a naturally early riser, he’d been getting up and started on his files for the day hours before Riley was waking up, trying to get his work done by mid afternoon most days so that she didn’t feel banished to the bedroom too much. He knew she felt like a distraction to him when he was working, and though he didn’t want to admit it, she kind of was. “By 3:30, I’d guess.”

“Okay,” she replied, letting go of his hand and bouncing off the couch. “I guess it’s time for me to read up on my insurance options. I’ve been putting this off, but it’s probably better to sign up sooner rather than later.”

Drake frowned as she rounded the corner and went down the little hallway to their bedroom. He’d not thought about the fact that her being furloughed might impact her health insurance. He probably should have. Getting way better health insurance when he’d gotten hired as a permanent employee had been a big deal, after all. This employment-connected health insurance thing still just felt strange to him, though.

A thought occurred to him. He minimized the folder of digital files he was reviewing and cataloguing, pulling up instead a search engine. He landed on the city clerk’s website a couple of minutes later, scanning over the requirements, then checking the time. This could work.

“Hey, Liu!” he called out, striding over to the bedroom. Her laptop was in front of her as she lounged on her stomach, Anderson curled up right next to her. She glanced up as he reached the doorway.

“What’s up?”

“Let’s get married.”

She blinked a couple of times and pulled her head back slightly as she cocked it to the side, “Uhh, sounds good, but that was kind of already the plan.” She waved her left hand in the air, his grandmother’s ring catching the light intermittently. “I mean, I’m glad you still want to and everything, but seeing as I did just spend the whole morning rescheduling our entire wedding, I would have been pretty pissed at you if you changed your mind.”

Drake shook his head and rolled his eyes. “No, let’s get married tomorrow.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We can go down to the city clerk’s office now and get our marriage license so we can get married tomorrow.”

“Where is this coming from?”

Drake walked over and sat down on the bed next to her, pointing toward her laptop. “You were going to go on my health insurance after the wedding anyway, right? So let’s do that now instead of having to pay for shitty coverage for you.”

She gave him a gentle little smile, closing her laptop and sliding up onto her knees next to him. She placed one hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing gentle circles before she spoke.

“You are a very sweet marshmallow of a man, you really are. But I know you. And I don’t want you to feel like we have to rush to do this now. We’ll be fine if we wait for the lovely wedding we planned down on the ranch with all of our friends there.”

He shook his head, “I want to do this. The question is, do you?”

“You don’t actually want to do this.”

“Of course I want to do this! You think I give a shit about who’s there or what we wear or if we have the right flowers or what we have for dinner?”

“Yeah, I do. Drake, you may not be much for pomp and glitz, but this wedding that we’ve been planning for years now? I think it matters to you. I think you want Liam and Maxwell and Hana and your mother and sister and niece and nephew there. I think you want to hear our friends toast us and to see Maxwell make a fool of himself on the dance floor and to have Bartie be the ring bearer and that’s okay. It’s okay to want to celebrate with everyone. We can wait until we can do that. This doesn’t have to just be a... logistical arrangement.”

Drake paused for a moment. She wasn’t wrong, exactly. Those were things he wanted. But right now, they seemed like little, insignificant details.

“Look, Liu. You’re right. The thing that prompted me to think about marrying you right now was the practical reasons. But as everything becomes a total shit show, I just feel like the only protection I can offer you is this one. And in an ideal world - sure, I would want the nice little wedding we planned in Texas. But the world has changed a whole fucking lot in the past couple weeks, and nothing is exactly ideal anymore. And if my choices are waiting almost eight months to have the wedding we planned or to marry you tomorrow, I pick marrying you tomorrow. Because, yeah a wedding down on the ranch with our friends sounds great, but the whole point of that wedding is that I get to be your husband. And that’s all I really want.”

She gave him a warm smile and kissed him deeply, sliding her hand up his back and threading her fingers through his hair as his hands fell to her hips. After a few moments, she pulled back.

“So, you aren’t going to look back with regret and feel like we rushed things?”

“I’ve been ready to marry you for years. This doesn’t feel like we’re rushing. It feels like it’s about damn time. At least for me.”

Riley nodded, glancing down. Drake followed her gaze to her left hand, resting gently on her knees.

“It’s not a rush for me either.”

“So, what are you thinking? Should we get married tomorrow?” Drake asked, grabbing her hand in his, staring at her downturned face for a few seconds before she looked up and met his gaze.

“Yeah,” she said, a wide grin sliding onto her face, “Let’s fucking do this.”

Permatag: @ravenpuff02 @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic @drakesensworld

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd @feartheendlesssummer @ao719 @ooo-barff-ooo @sunnyxdazed

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr au #trr au fanfic #tw: coronavirus

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dewitty1 · 5 years ago

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When Did You Last Let Your Heart Decide?

hephaestiions @euphemisia

Chapters: 14/14 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anger, Depression, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Therapy, there’s talking here, lots and lots of talking, because communication is beyond important, especially when you are these boys, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

“I can show you the world.”

Our world is a broken disaster. A world separated by death and devastation.

“Shining, shimmering, splendid.”

Torn, darkened, burnt.

“I can open your eyes.”

My eyes are watering from the smoke.

“Take you wonder by wonder.”

Are you a wonder? Could you please, please take me somewhere?

Excerpt:

Determination seizes him. It isn’t fair. Harry has been shutting Draco out for a week without justifying it and Draco wants his friend back. He has been raised as the Malfoy scion, the only child of a wealthy, pureblood family. So when he wants something, he hasn’t been taught to be refused.

He wears grey robes, freshly laundered and pressed out. He feels better in them, more confident. He looks in the mirror and while he is still gaunt from months of eating far too little and sleeping only under the influence of Draught, he has filled out enough with his exposure to the trio to forego the Glamour.

He hesitates before he removes the Glamour that covers the scars too– the Dark Mark, the Sectumsempra, the slashes on his back from one of Fenrir’s enraged moments. He looks himself in the mirror, runs his hands through his hair one more time and steps through the Floo into Grimmauld.

Hermione is on the couch reading as usual. She raises her eyebrows when she sees him and teases, “A day early, Draco. The final review dinner is tomorrow, you know.”

He scowls playfully at her and says, “Who’s cooking today?”

‘I am,” she replies with a grin.

“Then I’m not here for dinner at all,” he says, heading for the stairs.

“Now that’s just unfair!” She calls out and he just laughs.

He knocks on the door of Harry’s room. It had been completely ruined but Hermione had told him the three of them had managed to fix most of it. It had been Harry’s godfather’s room and he refuses to move out into a different one even if the plaster is strangely chipped in places.

The door opens and a dishevelled, rumpled Harry steps out with a disgruntled expression, “I told you, ‘Mione I’m not going to go, he doesn’t want to see– oh! Draco!”

Draco’s heart clenches at the sight. He can’t help but think this must be how Harry looks when he has just woken up and gotten out of bed and his hands almost rise with the strong urge to hold him, to pull him close, to never let this domestic vision of Harry out of his sight again. But he doesn’t, instead he raises one eyebrow and says, “Who doesn’t want to see you, Potter?”

Harry’s cheeks pink up delectably. “Thought we were sticking to first names now,” he mumbles.

“Well, pardon me but I thought you were supposed to be at my house on Friday afternoons. Yet, you weren’t. Tell me why I should stick to the first name when you insist on treating me like a stranger?”

“Draco…” Harry rubs a tired hand across his face “it’s not like that.”

“Then pray tell how it is.”

“Ithoughtyoudidntwanttoseeme.”

Draco blinks at the mingled, mumbled syllables that have merged together to form one long string of unintelligible sounds. “I beg your pardon?”

‘I thought,” Harry enunciates, “you didn’t want to see me.”

“Harry,” Draco says, exasperated. “I asked after you when I thought you weren’t coming. I ask after you every time Hermione and I talk. What part of that sounds like me not wanting to see you?”

Harry looks away. “I thought that was you being polite.”

Draco snorts. “When it comes to you, Potter, when have I ever bothered to be polite?”

A tentative smile tugs on Harry’s lips. Draco wants to kiss it, taste it, taste the first traces of happiness on Harry’s face. “You do have a point, I believe,” he says finally. “But since you’re here, you might as well come in. I have the Prophet in here somewhere with an unsolved crossword.”

It is at this moment that Draco’s resolve breaks. He had wanted to keep his distance, let none of his desire show through, let none of his wanting push Harry away from him. If he couldn’t have him the way he wanted him, he could at least have him as a friend. But when Harry smiles at him so openly, so beautifully, like something out of a perfect daydream, Draco can’t hold himself back.

The minute Harry steps back to let Draco through, he steps in and uses his slight height advantage to grab Harry’s face entirely by surprise. His eyes widen fractionally before Draco is brushing his lips across Harry’s, gently, tenderly, completely at odds with the bruising force with which he keeps ahold of his jaw. After one second of frozen surprise, Harry sighs just slightly against his lips before parting his lips delicately to let Draco’s tongue slip through. They push and pull against each other, Harry’s arms coming up to twine together at the nape of Draco’s neck and Draco’s grip loosening on Harry’s jaw but remaining possessively there none the less as his other hand brushes long fingers through Harry’s tangled hair.

They prolong it as long as possible, mouths moving against each other’s, slotting together so perfectly that air is a secondary concern to the euphoric feel of the drag of the other’s lips. It isn’t kissing, Draco thinks, seeing stars behind his closed eyelids. This cannot just be kissing because Draco has kissed before and has been kissed before and none of it ever felt like this. This is dying, this is that split second before your soul leaves your body and your entire life flashes before your eyes, your best memories bidding you a fond farewell. This is dying and coming back to life again, knowing you have a second chance to do everything better, to do everything differently from the first time.

Harry’s lips are soft, slightly bitten and slightly swollen but so beautifully perfect that Draco knows he can stay caught in this moment forever. If lightning was to strike him down right at this second, he would die the happiest man on earth. He nips slightly at Harry’s full lower lip and drinks in his startled gasp. He tastes like pancakes and it is everything Draco has been dreaming of.

When they part, gasping for breath, Harry’s eyes remain closed while he chases Draco just slightly. Then a blissful smile creeps up onto his lips and his eyelashes flutter slightly. But just before he opens his eyes, just before Draco can lose himself in wave after wave of ecstasy at seeing those green, vibrant eyes look up at him, panic courses through him like a Stunner to the chest.

He isn’t supposed to do this. He is Draco Malfoy, he cannot, he should not under any circumstances be kissing Harry Potter. Even taking out the whole Death Eater, Saviour complexity out of the equation, what are they left with? Years and years of mutual hatred, death threats, curse scars and hexes. Years and years of wanting nothing but the other gone. A few weeks of being acquainted to each other, knowing nothing but the basics. Harry probably only kissed him back because he didn’t know how to turn him away. Draco had done him a favour when he had Stunned him and helped Hermione through her panic attack and Harry feels too grateful to do something as insulting as turning away someone who kisses you. He hadn’t asked for consent, Harry probably hates him by now. Harry probably thinks he’s trying to take advantage. Harry probably… probably…

Harry is looking up at him, green, beautiful eyes full of worry asking him Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?

How can Draco tell him that he didn’t do a thing wrong, that it’s all Draco’s fault? He stares into those eyes and the words come unbidden to him, “Oh Salazar, I’m so sorry! That should never have happened, I shouldn’t have done that. And really, you didn’t have to go along with it. It’s okay to say no, you know.”

Harry’s brows draw down in confusion but Draco is already backing away repeating, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that was a mistake. We’re just idiots, I’m going to leave.”

He turns, ignoring Harry’s demands to wait and Hermione’s cry of Draco, what’s wrong? and steps into the Floo. The last thing he sees before the flames obscure Grimmauld Place is Harry standing in the middle of the staircase looking like someone just shifted the ground out from underneath him.

#When Did you Last Let Your Heart Decide #hephaestiions #Drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry Fanfiction #Drarry Fic rec #Fic recs #Drarry Squad #HD Wireless 2019 #Hp Fest Fic #Carey's Personal Bookmarks #Carey's Bookmark Fic recs #HD wireless

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dyscrasia-eucrasia · 5 years ago

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Content Warning: This chapter depicts a brief scene of attempted assault

Part 9

"What's up Claykids, welcome back to my second channel, new vlogs every single day," Clayton Howard shouted at the Go Pro he held at arm's length from his face. Angel knew he was loud based on his videos, but hadn't been prepared for just how loud he really was. It took a lot of restraint not to cringe away.

"We're here with AngelVinh96, go follow him on Insta," Clayton continued, wrapping an arm around Angel's shoulders and pulling him into frame. Angel flashed a bright smile at the camera. "Angel's here to show us how they party in West Virginia!"

"Hiiii," Angel cooed, holding up a peace sign for the camera.

"Okay, and cut," Clayton said, and he lowered the camera, his huge smile instantly disappearing. He released his hold on Angel's shoulders. "That's good for the intro, we'll start filming again when we actually get to the club."

The conversation had been like that since they'd met up. Clayton had been all business, talking about shots and directing not only his friends, but Angel as well. Angel couldn't help but feel disappointed. This was sort of what he'd expected talking to Demie to go like when he'd approached him after the concert - awkward and parasocial. But Demie had been easy to talk to. Clayton, on the other hand, was the worst kind of influencer, the kind that was purely a performance.

And he'd looked so relatable on Youtube, too.

"Alright, so where are we headed?" Clayton asked, turning to Angel. His face was so devoid of joy that it was eerie.

"Alright, so, Broadway is the big gay nightclub," Angel said. "There's Atmosphere, but they don't have a dance floor."

"Aw man, we're going to a gay club?" One of Clayton's crew moaned. Angel thought that that one was Jason Ransom, but he could've been Miller High. It was hard to tell, they were both blonde Californian white guys.

"Man, shut the fuck up," Clayton said. "You can deal with gay guys hitting on you for one night."

That was the saving grace of all this, at least. Clayton was openly bi, and even if he was just as image-obsessed as the rest of Youtube, Angel might still be able to get a hookup out of this. Plus the exposure on Youtube would really help his Instagram follower count.

"So how long have you been a dancer?" Clayton asked as they walked down the sidewalk towards the club. Angel fought back a sigh of relief. Clayton was asking him about himself, so the guy couldn't be that self-absorbed, right?

"Like four years?"

"Wow, so you're like a veteran, huh? How'd you get into it?"

"It was in college - I really, really needed money, and I mean, I did theater in high school so I already knew how to dance, just not on a pole, y'know? And then it wound up being more fun than school, so I just sort of stuck with it."

"That's dope. So, this the place?" He nodded to a two story plantation-style house, complete with columns, with rainbow flags flying from the second story balcony.

"Yep, this is Broadway."

"Cool, cool, let me get some shots."

Clayton pulled out his Go Pro again, and turned it on. As soon as he did, his face light up with a smile and he started shouting. It was eerie, like he'd flipped a switch and become a totally different person.

"Yoooo, check it out guys, this place is DOPE!"

"Look at this Colonel Sanders looking place, fam!" One of his crew shouted behind him.

"Let's go inside!" Clayton said as he ascended the porch steps. Angel followed after him, flashing his ID to the bouncer.

It was a Thursday night, so the place wasn't jam-packed, and there weren't any drag shows scheduled, but the bar still thumped with dance music and there was a decently sized crowd.

"Yo, this place is so fuckin' country, I love it," Clayton shouted over the noise as Angel led him to the bar.

"Okay, so, my tradition here is to always start out with a shot of Fireball," Angel shouted, smiling as Clayton shoved the camera in his face.

"Alright, yeah, show us how country kids party," Clayton shouted back.

Angel ordered, and within a minute the bartender produced enough shots for the entire filming crew, who had gathered around the bar. Clayton took a minute to hand off his camera to one of the guys and coordinate camera angles, then picked up a shot glass.

"Alright, on three," he shouted. "One, two, THREE!" He knocked back the shot with ease, and Angel followed suit.

Clayton's entire body shuddered, and he yelped. "Oh shit man, that's fire!" He shouted. He looked over at Angel, who hadn't had a reaction to the shot at all. "Dude, look at this fucker, look how fucking calm he is!" Clayton grabbed the camera back and shoved it in Angel's face again. "That shit was spicy as fuck, how are you not even affected?"

"That wasn't spicy!" Angel laughed. "That was like, white-people-spicy! It's not actually spicy!"

"Check this guy out," Clayton shouted, "balls of fucking steel over here!"

"C'mon, let's dance!" Angel shouted, grabbing Clayton by the strap of his tank top and pulling him towards the dance floor.

"You heard the man," Clayton shouted into the camera, before tossing it back to one of his crew.

Angel quickly learned that Clayton had no rhythm to speak of. He moved jankily; gyrating, but not in time to the music. He couldn't really keep up with Angel. Still, it was fun. Or at least that was what Angel told himself. He would've preferred someone who could actually dance, but it wasn't like Clayton was known for dancing or anything. It wasn't like he could really be disappointed.

They stayed on the dance floor for a few songs, always shadowed by one of Clayton's crew, before Angel dragged Clayton back to the bar. "Okay, we gotta get more drinks!" He shouted.

After downing another drink, they headed back to the dance floor. Clayton loosened up some, but he was still way off rhythm.

"I gotta go take a leak," he shouted after a couple more songs.

"Sure, bathroom's over there," Angel shouted, pointing.

Before he could tell what was going on, Clayton grabbed the sides of his face and brought him in for a sloppy kiss. His crew hooted in drunken frat boy-style approval.

Angel had no time to react before Clayton stumbled off the dance floor. He just stood there, stunned. Sure, he had had a crush on Clayton for ages, but this wasn't how he wanted the hookup to go down. He didn't necessarily need anything romantic, but he wanted it to at least feel like… something. Like it meant something, even if the meaning was just that they were both horny. Instead, all it felt like was that Clayton was doing it for the camera.

He walked off the dance floor, going to lean against a wall. Clayton's cameraman followed him, and Angel hated it. He wanted a chance to think, but he had to smile for the camera.

Clayton emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, and spotted Angel. He grabbed Angel's hand and practically dragged him over to a bench.

"Hey, you should dance for us," Clayton said, almost collapsing onto the bench.

"I've been dancing!" Angel laughed.

"No, like, you should give me a lapdance or something!" Clayton shouted.

"Um… I don't really do that outside of work," Angel said, laughing again, though this time it was tinged with anxiety.

"C'mon, it'll be good content!" Clayton said.

"Strip! Strip! Strip!" His cameraman started chanting.

"C'mere," Clayton yanked on Angel's hand. Angel lost his balance and stumbled, almost falling on Clayton's lap.

"Take it off!" The cameraman shouted as Clayton grabbed at Angel's shirt.

"Stop," Angel said, shoving Clayton's hand away.

"C'mon, one little lapdance," Clayton slurred, sticking a hand on Angel's crotch.

"Fuck OFF!" Angel shouted, pushing Clayton hard and standing up.

"Uh oh, made him mad," the cameraman jeered, coming in close with the Go Pro.

"Get that out of my fucking face!" Angel shouted, swatting it out of the cameraman's hand. It hit the floor with an audible crack.

"Hey, you're gonna break my camera," Clayton whined.

"Good!" Angel shouted, kicking the camera across the floor. He didn't wait for Clayton to react. He wanted out of the bar, now. He stumbled towards the door, and out into the muggy night air. He stomped down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction from where they'd all parked to get to the bar.

He accidentally hip-checked a public trash can, which wobbled, and then spilled. He let out a guttural shriek of frustration, walking away from it before anyone on the street could say anything. He rounded a corner and spotted a bus stop bench, collapsing onto it.

He bent over, his head between his knees. He felt like he was going to puke, but it never came. There was nothing in his stomach to puke up. He'd starved himself all day, hoping that he'd get to hook up.

Well, that definitely wasn't going to happen.

He fought back tears. He didn't want to cry on a public street. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He knew he should get an uber, but he couldn't stop himself from opening up Instagram. There, right at the top of his feed, was a picture of himself at Broadway. Clayton had posted it, and tagged him in the post. His notifications were going crazy as people began to follow his account.

He closed the app, pressing the top edge of his phone against his forehead. He wanted to throw the thing across the street, but knew better.

He felt betrayed. Not like he'd ever had any trust in Clayton - they didn't even know each other - but he'd at least figured Clayton for a good person. He guessed that was why people always said you should never meet your heroes.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed to vent. He needed someone to tell him that it would be alright, that he was more than what he made himself out to be online.

There was only one person he could think of that would do that. Or at least had the potential to do that.

He opened up the phone app and dialed a number. As always, the phone rang for a long time before it was finally picked up.

"Demie?" He asked in a shaking voice.

#writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #original characters #wright's writing #w:demie and angel

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valienstage · 16 hours ago

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Alien Stage Valentine's Exchange ♡ Signups Close Jan. 12th!

[Event Info 💘] // [Signups 💟]

an @ensquare-events project ✿ rbs appreciated! ✿ view blog as website

Signups for the 2025 round will close on Sunday, January 12th at noon (12:00 PM EST). If you want to participate this year, you have just under forty hours to fill out the form!

Instead of a typical secret gift exchange, VALnst artists and writers will be paired up in "matches" of two (maybe more) participants who have similar wishlist preferences. They'll be able to chat with and create gifts for each other, but works must be kept secret until they're revealed on February 14th!

summary of the event under the cut + info page linked above

The event will be centered on Valentine's Day and love, but it doesn't have to be inherently romantic; we welcome content of solo characters, platonic pairings/group dynamics, rarepairs, AUs, and more! We're also down for other kinds of creative gifts and mediums, so don't hesitate to send us an ask if you want to create something unconventional <3

If you'd like to learn more about how this exchange works, read the info post on our page (also linked above). When you're ready, sign up and the form will give you a link to join the event Discord server. We hope to see you soon!

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to-mars-and-saturn · 6 years ago

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burn me with fire

Author’s Note: We Remain from the hunger game soundtrack is on my writing playlist for vibes and it was the whole fuel for this little diddy. SO I got the tags to work now and so I am only posting this on one account. Thanks to the 2 people who messaged me about my story being reposted. It was me, but you guys both are amazing for looking out. Okay, I am tagging my boooooooo @exitableunderpants because when I got stuck and wanted to slam my head against the wall, her brilliant ass came in with a save. Also-- I may open requests. Look for that in these next few days. My boyfriend is gone for most of the summer and so I am using writing smut as a distraction. I wrote this in hours, please excuse this hot mess and any mistakes.

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Warnings: 18 + for language, smut and adult themes.

Word Count: 1535. Kinda drabbleish right. This was supposed to be a little drabble.

----

She was a wildfire.

She was nothing short of destruction with an alluring aroma and the light of flames that engulfed her and those around her. She bled a deep shade of chaos, a snapping pain to those who were foolish enough to step in her path. The lick of her burning flames called to him, drawing him in yet once more to be burnt all over again. It was pattern, natural to him like a soothing rhythm. It was all she knew. It was how she loved.

In all stories—old and new—nothing ever indicated lighting was attracted to fire, but he was surely attracted to her. It was all he knew, coming to him as simple and natural as breathing. He could no more explain it than he could explain how to take a breath. The broken pieces of him found a lull of comfort with her, almost as if something inside of her was able to stitch him back up again. They were two warriors, battle worn and shattered. He didn’t feel like a broken man with her though, as she had a way about her that made him feel whole. They were able to fix something in each other, freeing each other from the haunting toll that came with war and death.

He didn’t have to be King with her. He didn’t wear the weight of a crown. She didn’t have to be anything with him either. They were weightless and free. He never had a taste of true freedom until he had her. Used and sated, he knew that he would never be able to part with this. She—alluring and tempting—was what he wanted.

His wildfire.

Her thunder.

Sparks.

That was that they were, from their beginning atoms to their last breath. The spark of electricity that met a spark of flame. They twisted together, a duo that was equal parts lethal by will, and destructive by want. He, the rise in her heartbeat as his lips were pressed against her neck, urging her to her release. She, the white-hot fever of wet heat as his fingers were buried inside her, stroking her into a state of bliss. The sharp bite on her neck and the circular pattern drawn on her clit by this thumb was all it took, a current flying through her as she came, moaning his name. A new warmth washed over his, licking his skin with heat and desire.

Fuck the stories of old and new. All the great story tellers may try their best, but it was impossible to capture with pen the beauty of blue sparks dancing and emerging with red flame. The purple mist and smoke that surrounded them was unlike anything Thor experienced in his thousands of years.

Story tellers may try their might, but they’d never be able to capture the moments in the nights when it was just him and her.

Lighting. Fire.

Everything he ever wanted: her.

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

Sex was the part of their relationship that came effortlessly and easy. He wasn’t a man that was bred for relationships, the weight of the crown and his ego always stopping him as he got close to someone. She had walls of pure white-hot flames, steel and barbed wire that was meant to keep everyone out and far away from her. There was something in her reckless nature that he knew was supposed to be a warning to him and to all, not a calling.

He was drawn to her, in so many ways that he wasn’t sure there was a number that could help him count. Thor, a man who always loved the companionship of women and the thrill of fucking, realized he wanted something more.

“I’ll walk through flames.” He mused, his long hair scattered on her pillow as he laid bare in her bed, a sheet covering his waist and legs. She sat above him on her knees, naked form lit up by the gleam of the moon peaking in from the curtains. “Because then I would be beside you, Wildfire.”

“Thor, I would never ask that.” A look of sadness rested on her face, reminding him of the broken pieces of her soul that he wanted to piece back together. She was far too magical to be broken, a soul too good to be tainted by the bad in the world. He only saw a pure light emerging from her, not the darkness she bitterly claimed to be full of. “There is no need for you to be burnt by me. We need to leave this at what it is.”

Ah. They always circled back to this. The crossroads that they always seemed to face. He wanted the world with her, and she always hesitated. He longed for the moment she was ready to leap with him, but he was a man with many years in his life. He’d wait.

“I am not a man afraid of being burnt.” He looked up at her, reaching to cup her face. The sensation of warmth radiated through his fingers and down his arm. “For it is just part of the thrill of playing with fire.”

“Thor—” she sighed heavily, and he wondered what was going through her head. She wasn’t very vocal or open on her inner thoughts. Many may find being naked and thoroughly fucked as exposing, but she always seemed to hate the exposure that came with being vulnerable.

“I love you, my little Wildfire.” Her eyes softened at his words. It was not his first time saying it, but he did not make habit of it. “I do not worry about a small burn when my whole heart rages for you, alit like a forest fire that cannot be stopped.” He sat up, pressing his lips to hers.

“Okay.” She whispered against his lips, and one word never sounded as amazing as it had then.

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

Okay.

The one word that changed both of their lives. It changed everything.

He could taste her hesitance, the air always thick with it. She fought past it though, her walls slowly evaporating around him. He loved her more and more with each passing day. He wondered what Odin would say about him loving a mortal, her ability of flame mattering little in the scheme of her life and the span of years she was to expect.

He didn’t care what Odin had to say about it though. He didn’t care for anyone’s opinion on the matter for he loved her, and she loved him in return. His heart almost stopped dead in his chest the night she confessed those words, a soft whisper pressed against his ear.

They fought hard in battle, and in the bedroom they both fucked harder.

Maybe that was why the emerging attraction bubbled between them.

The battle had ended, their enemies now dead in the field. The tension from battle fading, both able to breathe in the knowledge that the other is safe. The fear always filled his lungs like cement, weighing him down in a way he never experienced before. He never had to fight with something to lose, at least not like it was with her. Her body had few bruises and a large cut on her arm from a knife that got a little too close to her skin. They were in the bedroom now, with her on her hands and knees with her perfect and round ass in the air, red with imprints from his swats throughout the night. He behind her, naked and buried inside of her.

Her soft mewls filled the room, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the walls. His hands gripped her hips, his thrusts rough and not following any set kind of rhythm. He always seemed to fuck her like this after battle, when despite tension easing, the knowledge still in the air that either of them may step into battle and not walk away.

She always seems to like moments like this too. She was never good with words, but he could feel what she wanted to say in their stolen moments, hidden away.

“Come for me, Wildfire.” He asked, his thumb finding her clit to rub hard circles on the nub.

“I’m cl-close.” He smirked, his hand leaving her hip to grip her hair and pull her head back.

“I do not recall asking you if you were close.” He let go of her hair to give her ass a slap, enjoying the sound that came from her lips. “I told you to come.”

She didn’t need any more prompting from him, a low whine leaving her throat as she came, her hips wildly pushing up against him. He placed a soothing hand to her belly, grinning as her hand found way to his. The sensation of her mixed with the feeling of her clenching around him was all it took for him to find his own release, a growl of pleasure ripping through him as he came hard.

Sparks of blue pulsated against her stomach and were met with the heat of her red flame against his fingers.

Blue. Red. Purple.

Lighting. Fire.

Him. Her.

His wildfire.

#avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers smut #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson smut #thor smut #thor odinson imagine #thor imagine

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gremlinkweenarchive-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Chasing Twisters

Part 1: The Garden of Eden

A/N: Okay, here’s my first longer series on this blog! Idk how long it’s going to end up being, but let’s see where it goes! This is all about Michael receiving a vision that there is a woman meant to be the mother of his children and the queen of his new world, but she’s uh, not enthused with the idea at all. So, just let me know what y’all think!

Warnings: No smut yet, sorry. There is blood, death, abuse, the reader goading Michael to kill her, she’s lost everything in the apocalypse so her will to live is not very high right now. That’s about it??

Word Count: 2.6 k

Tagging List: @ccodyfern, @michael-lngdon, @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul, @langdonsinferno, and @duncans-donuts

Without further ado:

The moon looked pure, gleaming white and full, filtering through the branches of a dead forest. It was once green, but when he stepped foot in here, all of the life wilted away. Michael didn't remember this place, but he wasn't one to doubt these visions. A flash of movement caught his eye. A feminine figure dashing through the dry foliage. He felt a pull towards her and he took after her. No matter how fast he ran, she seemed just to get further from him. It was a maddening race that it seemed like he was destined to loose. He felt a branch whip up and snap across his face, a thin but constant line of blood falling from it.

She lead them to a barren clearing in the field and stopped in the middle, making Michael stop at the edge of the clearing in fear that he was going to make her run off again. She turned to him finally and he saw what a wild creature she was. Her skin was bare and kissed by mother moon, all of her edges soft with femininity, her face soft, yet her eyes burned with fire, a passion for life, a stubbornness that didn't compromise, a wild fire that consumed everything. Michael didn't know if he could breathe looking at her.

Her arm raised and she beckoned him to approach, but he did so cautiously, not trusting something so wild and beautiful, something so savage and breathtaking. Yet, she stayed in her spot, allowing him to approach. He towered over her, but she stood tall against him. She reached up and wiped the blood from his cut, the stinging soothed and he realized the cut was healed. She then licked her thumb clean of his blood. He didn't want to speak, in fear of frightening this magnificent creature.

Grabbing his hand, she held it to her face, her skin warm and maddening to the touch, but he let her move his hand down, only running briefly across her chest and down to her abdomen. She placed his hand there firmly and suddenly it was like an outburst of magic, of energy, that flowed through out the field and forest. He watched in wonder as life bloomed everywhere. The field was luscious with life in just mere moments, and he came to understand that the bump under his hand was firm. This wasn't just the soft belly of a woman, but life grew inside of her, and came to understand it was his. It was his seed that took root here. There was something even deeper though. The life radiated from her. It was his seed, yes, but she was the divine energy that fed it. She was the one that restored the life to this place.

She then stood on her tip toes and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Find me. Woo me. Fill me. I'm your's."

He went to respond but suddenly he was darting up in his bed, not in that magical clearing. The silk was sticking to his sweaty skin and he was gasping like he had just run a marathon. He looked around his dark room, everything was as it should be here. He fought for control of his breath as he thought about the dream, the vision, he just had.

With a huff, he threw the sheets back and got out of bed, flicking his fingers for his robe to fly to his hand. He'd have to think on this. Of course, this was only the next logical step. A queen for a king. A bloodline for a dynasty, but he had no idea where to start. He figured it was time to figure it out.

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

The barren wasteland was her home now. She learned how to exist here just as well as she did before the end of the world. She's alone now, the only companion is the cat that co-habits her bunker that she didn't even bother to name. Names meant that you were attached, meant that the holder of the name had sentimental value. Sentiment gets you killed in this world. She stopped caring about her own long ago, if she ran into anyone and names were demanded, she just gave them the name Odie, short for Odysseus for the famous no one trick. She didn't even bother to explain that much, people were either gone or dead in a week.

Today's expedition was for looking for copper, hoping to be able to wire her bunker better. Just because the world ended didn't mean that home improvements had to stop. After all, she had that greenhouse that needed the best wiring to keep everything at a good temperature and get the proper uv exposure. At least, that's what she told herself. The real reason was something closer to not allowing her brain to rest and think of all that she's lost.

She slipped on the mask and stepped out to the bright day. The sunlight harsh, blinding, and garish. God, she hated it out here, but it was either go out here, or slowly go insane in there. So, time to take her chances out here. The trip was going well, she was able to raid some copper wire from an abandoned Home Depot in the skeleton of a town. This would definitely go far, and she would even go as far to say she was excited about this find. Plus, there was a Pet Smart there, and she was able to nip in and grab a toy for her friend. This would make him happy. It was going to be a good day for the both of them.

In hind sight, she should have known that having a good first half of a day meant that everything was going to go to shit later. So, seeing a guard from that stupid fucking outpost or whatever bullshit as she turned the street corner shouldn't have been that much of a surprise, but still, she was surprised. They both looked at each other before she reacted quicker, grabbing a knife from her side and let it loose, finding it's new sheath in his neck.

She took off, feet pounding against the pavement, but didn't get far before a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind. She shouted, but drove her foot to the inside of that one's knee as hard as she could, hearing the tendons and ligaments tear as the man screamed loudly. She then brought her elbow into his face as hard as she could, hearing the screams stop. She kept moving, hoping to get away, and it looked like she just might before someone hiding behind an abandoned car jumped out and grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly and suddenly there was a loud crackling sound and a searing pain in her shoulder, the smell of burnt flesh, and then the world was black.

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

The guards dragged the limp body between them to Michael. He turned on his heel, looking annoyed with them, but seeing the limp person between them, he was curious. He hadn't slept since that dream last night.

"Well?" He asked impatiently.

"We found this loner out in the wasteland. Took one man out, and we're not sure if Thomson's ever going to be able to walk the same."

"A feisty one," he remarked emotionlessly. He didn't need anymore stragglers here.

"We're just not sure what you want us to do with this one." One of the guards ripped off her mask and Michael suddenly forgot how to breathe. It was the woman from his dream. Of course, a bit more rough around the edges and with a busted lip. She looked just as beautiful and wild as ever.

He regained his composure and looked to the guards. "How did the injury to her lip happen?"

"I hit her after I subdued her for what she did t-" He didn't have a chance to defend himself anymore before Michael as cracking his own hand against his face. The only reason he didn't kill him then and there was the fact that he was holding her up and he didn't want anymore harm to come to her.

"You ever touch her again and I will make you regret ever being convinced, do I make myself clear."

"Yes, Sir."

A groan from you interrupted any other communications and Michael knelt down to be at eye level with her, cupping her cheek. "Have no worry, my sweet. You are here with me now. I will protect you from all harm."

Eyes blinked open, but they were still unfocused. There was only a small mumble, "My sweet? Gross." Then her head lolled to the other side away from his touch. Michael felt a touch of rage and confusion at the rejection, but he decided to be reasonable and chalk it up to you still being delirious.

"Take her to my room, I'll speak with her when she wakes."

The guards, having seen what this woman was capable of, looked at each other then to Michael again, unsure, but his mouth forming a hard line gave them the motivation to follow orders.

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

She, Odie, No One, awoke hours later in a large bed covered in satin. She sighed, but then confusion over took her. This was not her bunker. She shot up and looked at her surroundings. This was like the wet dream of all the teens that shopped at Hot Topic before the world ended. She was really confused now.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Odie whipped to the source of a voice that looked like he was either an angel or a member of an emo band, but figuring with the current state of the world, neither existed. "What the fuck is this?"

His mouth was open to speak, but then closed at her words. "It's a rescue of sorts, you could say. I have a proposition for you."

"Cool," she stated as she threw back the covers and slid out of the bed. She had to admit it was gorgeous and oh so soft. She was wearing a silk robe that she had to admit that was much more comfortable than her old clothes. She took a seat in a plush chair and looked at the other with an arched eyebrow. "So?" She motioned with her hand, like she was giving him the floor in his own bedroom, "Get proposing."

He was taken aback by her attitude. A wild thing, she truly was. He took the one across from her, and studied her for a moment, before speaking. "I'm Langdon."

"Good for you. Get to the point. I've got things to do."

He blinked, dealing with a rising bewilderment and rage towards this woman. He took a deep breath, "And what may I call you?"

"Odie. Now we're friends, yay. Please, the point." She looked bored and maybe mildly irritated at worst. He had never met anyone that had this reaction to him. It was odd, though, that wasn't the name he was expecting to hear from such a beauty.

"I want to offer you a life of luxury and comfort in these times. A chance to live like a queen."

"Sounds like there's a royal catch to this offer."

She wasn't even letting him work his words, spin her into a fancy. She had no use or desire for words such as those.

"I had a vision last ni-"

"Don't we all." Okay, she would admit that was just to be a jerk.

He gritted his teeth. "You demand the point yet you interrupt."

"Yes, I'm sorry, continue Langbong."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he found himself asking his father for the patience to deal with this woman. "Langdon. It's Langdon."

She was about to say something, but he held up his hand and she did give him the decency to let him continue. "I had a vision last night of you. A peculiar one. Something that leads me to believe that we are meant to be one, to create one."

Her eyes narrowed, she didn't like where this was going. "Create one?"

"I do believe you are meant to be the mother of my children."

Her jaw dropped, she stared at him in disbelief. Then she scoffed and shook her head and then she started laughing. His brows knitted together in confusion.

"This is a joke, right? Like you really aren't some random guy asking to get me knoc-" She stopped, seeing no trace of humor in his face. "No-" She scoffed again, no offended. "No. No fucking way. You aren't not baby trapping me because you're lonely! Get the fuck out of here. I'm-" She stood up. "Thanks, but no thanks. I want my shit back. I've got a cat to go feed. That's my kid. The cat. He's soft and lovely," she was clearly not taking this well, "And he purrs and even better yet! He doesn't scream and cry! It's great, I get love and affection and I don't have to deal with children. It's amazing, you should try to find a cat instead of kidnapping random woman and proposing that you be their baby daddy. Just a fucking thought."

She was grumbling now as she pulled the door open but it slammed shut. She gasped and tried to open it again, but it wasn't locked, it was like a force as pushing it closed much harder than she could pull it open. She let go of the handle, and turned to face the man. Seeing the rage glowing on his face. She was scared to her bones, but she kept a steady face.

"You are the mother of my children that my father intends for me. He set this up from the beginning. Just like I took over the world," it was like electricity stirred in the room and she was expecting lighting to strike at any second, "You are to be my queen."

It made sense now, her eyes lit up in recognition, but they stayed lit with a hatred and rage that gave pause to his rage, and she started stepping towards him like a stalking predator. "You. You're the one that ended the world?" She scoffed, "This is it?"

Suddenly, she went flying into the wall, and there was a pressure on her throat. He was the one stalking towards her now. "Don't think I won't cut you dow-"

"And kill your broodmare?" She taunted with an edge.

He glared at her, and she just laughed before the force around her throat cut off all noise.

There wasn't fear in her eyes, just amusement, a dare. A defiant wish that he'd do it. Snap your neck, keep the air from your lungs until you turn blue, anything. Only air flooding your lungs came when the corners of your vision became blurry.

He was right in her face now. "Are you going to continue this fit or-"

"Or what? What will do, Antichrist? I have lost more than you could ever imagine with your little game that you decided to play with humanity," venom dripped from her words like honey, somehow both hurtful, deadly, and erotic to Michael. "A little piece of me has died with everything you've taken from me. So, what will you do? Kill me? Then go ahead. Tell me how you plan on killing a shell? An empty husk that is only capable of surviving anymore. Go ahead, kill no one and put no one out of her misery." He could see the hot tears in her eyes, burning with hatred, rage, and a sadness he realized he was responsible for.

#cody fern #cody fern smut #michael langdon #michael langdom smut #michael langdon fanfiction #my fic #chasing twisters

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years ago

Text

💧 | jungkook

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired → boyfriend!jungkook | 1.2K words

laundry.

it’s a subtle sort of art that many are not privy to, but jungkook is. he knows the perfect amount of detergent for any amount of clothes just by looking. he knows which brands of scent boosters work the best and when a warm or cold wash is appropriate. he knows the ins and outs of stain removal down to a microscopic level. he likes to think that he’s a detergent king––a laundry god, perhaps.

but like many of the heroes from ye olde greek epics, he has one weakness. his achilles’ heel, if you will.

dryers. how do they work? why is it that every time he puts in a shirt that promises that it is “tumble dry safe,” it always comes out the size of his brain? why would the laundry tags ever lie to him like this? everything about using the dryer haunts and vexes him.

“you’re over-exaggerating again,” you scoff, watching amusedly as he fidgets in his seat. the two of you are currently seated at your campus’ local laundromat, waiting for the mystical metal machine to spew out your warm and clean clothes.

“warm, clean, and probably small clothes,” jungkook laments, jumping up from his seat and proceeding to do jumping jacks to relieve his stress. you can only smile apologetically at the confused elderly couple staring at your boyfriend, who has decided that doing push-ups in the middle of a dilapidated laundromat was a great idea.

“babe, we checked the labels this time. the reason why your white shirt shrunk last time was probably because you misread the symbol—“

“i do not misread symbols. i have fully developed comprehension skills,” he interjects.

“that’s very debatable. besides, that was one white shirt out of twenty. jungkook, you have twenty.”

“you don’t have to bring up my mental health like this,” jungkook pouts, crossing his arms. “fine, i like white shirts and it may or may not be a problem. but i could have had twenty shirts and not nineteen, if only the stupid dryer gods didn’t hate me so much. they’re just jealous of me. like... maybe hera or some shit.”

“are you implying that hera is the goddess of dryers with a personal vendetta against you?” you smirk, just as the dryer makes a small sound signaling its completion.

“she could be. i never trusted that shady bitch after she threw my boy hephy out of the mountain like that,” he replies absently, as his eyes are already laser-focused on the dryer.

“please don’t pretend you’re in a james bond movie and crawl on the floo––and he’s fucking crawling on the floor,” you whine, slamming your forehead against the adjacent wall. is it possible to die from secondhand embarrassment? you’d have to ask namjoon about that.

you can only watch as jungkook approaches the metal box like a spider, jumping left and right as if avoiding invisible landmines under the linoleum floor. you can hear the elderly couple stand up to sit somewhere farther away, but you barely feel the embarrassment at this point. (perhaps it was because your brain cells are rapidly decaying from extended exposure to your odd boyfriend.)

“okay, y/n. this is now or never.” he mutters, his hand carefully going to unlatch the dryer door. with bated breath, he allows the warmth of the dryer to caress his face for a moment. then, he dives right in.

literally.

“jungkook, get the fuck out of the dryer,” you groan, already standing up and ready to pull him out by his legs because of how often he does this. “dryer diving got us kicked out of mrs. lee’s laundromat last month. please don’t let us get arrested again; we can’t afford to lose another fifty bucks.”

after much leg pulling and butt smacking, you manage to get him out of there. when he turns to face you, there is an unnerving look of determination in his eyes (and a sock stuck to his hair from static.)

“i’ve successfully accessed the situation. i think my shirts are safe,” he says.

“thank god,” you reply.

“you’re welcome. no need to call me god, but i’ll take it.” he starts unloading the dryer, haphazardly throwing them into the basket to be folded at home. he fishes out his copious amount of white shirts, jeans, underwear, until he gets to to the bottom. he pauses, staring at the remaining item pensively. “wait, hold on…”

at the bottom of the dryer is one of your old threadbare blankets from back home, which you had brought to get laundered in case you both would need extra sheets for the upcoming colder months. when he pulls it out, you don’t recall ever seeing your childhood blanket ever looking so small.

“aww, shit that sucks.” you sigh, taking the thing from his hands. the shruken cartoon drawing of winnie the pooh stares dejectedly back at you. “it’s fine, though. this thing is pretty old anyway so we can always just throw it out—“

you don’t get to finish your thought, because jungkook then proceeds to bring a finger to your lips to silence you.

you splutter, “jungkook, what the fu—“

“no! this is what they want you to think!”

“they? who is they?” you say incredulously, your endless patience starting to wear thin. “and think what?”

“the laundry gods! this is all part of their evil ploy to dethrone me and my wife! they take what is most dear to us, and destroy it to mock us!” he exclaims, his hands gesturing wildly at your lavender-scented blanket.

you roll your eyes, impossibly annoyed and endeared at the same time. “we could always make it a throw blanket or something, babe. and did you just call me your wife?” you ask, your traitorous cheeks reddening despite his weird method of displaying his affection.

“soon to be wife, but those are small details. if we were living in 300BC, we would have been married since we were 12 and died by the time we’re 25, so let’s skip the semantics,” he says without missing the beat. to this day, you do not understand how he can say such things with such a straight face, but then again, that’s the least of your concerns when your boyfriend literally has a worrisome laundry obsession.

“why the fuck do i love you again?” you sigh in defeat, folding up the shrunken blanket and dropping it into the pile. jungkook proceeds to haul the basket with one arm easily, not even flinching at the weight. the two of you head out of the laundromat, much to the relief of the elderly couple and the employee who had been worriedly watching you both by the counter.

“because i do the laundry and always remove the cum stains from your underw—“

has jungkook’s voice always been this loud? you kick him in the nuts, but the sound of the elderly couple gasping in shock is evidence enough that they had heard his comment. “if you say another word, then there will be new stains right where your asshole is, got it?”

“you’re into that type of shit? well, you’re gonna have to schedule these things with me because i have to research the stain techniques—ow! stop kicking my butt! i’m insured, you know!”

such is a day in the life of you and jungkook, self-proclaimed laundry god.

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #the sleep deprived series #im sad and tired good night

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megamegaturtle · 6 years ago

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song on the radio

for @dreatine. AU Prompt 39: long distance relationship. spencer reid x reader.

“Hey sweetie, just wanted to call and see how you were. I heard your song on the radio today. I’m so proud of you. I know that I know every word because I just...know things like that, but to hear it on the radio while I was driving to town. I might have to pull over. It was the local college NPR station, but you know. I can’t believe that my girlfriend has a song on the radio! I know you’re very busy, but I love you and I’ll be here in D.C. waiting, okay?”

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

Babe,

I can’t believe I’m actually touring, you know? I mean, I know I’m only the opening act, but I’m doing it! I just--this is so awesome, babe. I wish you were here. I miss your random facts. I miss your face.

I love you.

xoxo

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

Sweetie,

Let the record show that I am willing to e-mail you. You’re lucky I love you! But, of course I can believe you’re touring! You’e so talented, Y/N, you’ve worked so hard. Your songs are poetry. You speak from the heart and wear it on your sleeve.

I wish I was with you too. I wish I could be at all your shows. I would be the loudest one cheering for you every night.

As for a random fact: The loudest (verified) human scream was 129 dB (decibels) performed by Jill Drake, a woman. In contrast, the average lawnmower is around 90 dB, a jet engine around 120 dB and a gunshot around 140 dB. Any exposure to decibel levels at or above 140 dB can cause immediate hearing damage.

Love,

Spencer

“Hey, this is Spencer Reid. Please leave a message.”

“Hey, babe. Just wanted to say hi. I’m pretty sure you’re asleep which is great. You need it. Can you hear the waves in the background? I’m watching on the beach! It makes me think of our date to the Atlantic, you know? The one where we stood too close to the water and totally got soaked. I can’t believe you’re just across the pond...The morning sun is beautiful. You’d like it. Anyway, I love you.”

You hang up the call, looking fondly over the sea. Blue waves splash up on the rocks. California is so pretty and Los Angeles is more intense than you ever expected, but here you are, about to shoot a music video and you couldn’t be happier.

(Well, that’s not true, a piece of you is missing, but you’ll find it soon enough.)

“Reid.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. It’s been a few days since the two of you have had a chance to talk. You’re in Phoenix playing for the next two days.

“Hey honey.”

You hear him gasp. “Y/N? Hi! I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking at the number. How are you? I’m on a case, but I have a few minutes to spare.”

“I’m surprised you picked up at all! I was going to sing you a voicemail again.”

“Sweetie...” he sighs. You can imagine his shoulders dropping, his face having a goofy smile. “I love those.”

You giggle and lean back against the couch. “Well, how about after we get off the phone I’ll call back, but just don’t pick up? I think you’ll like the new song I’m working on.”

“What’s it about?”

You trace circles on your things, smiling to yourself. “That’s a surprise.”

Spencer laughs. “Okay, that’s fair,” he says. “God, I miss you. It’s been a rough few weeks without you. I can’t believe we have five more months to go.”

“Oh, I can. And our lead star keeps adding more tour dates, but maybe the stars will align and we can be nearby?”

“...I would rather they didn’t. It’s never a good reason if I come to town, but maybe I can take some time off work?”

“That’s right. You hunt bad guys. I don’t want to be near them! But yes! I would love if you could come!”

Spencer is about to reply when you hear his name over the phone, most likely Morgan saying something is urgent.

“Ah, I love you. Send me selfies. Break a leg. By the way, did you know that meant to break the front part of the stage and not your actual legs? Okay, okay! Anyway, I need to go. I love you!”

“I love you too!”

(You do call back and sing a voicemail. About a girl who misses a boy more than anything in the world.)

You’re getting better at this touring thing. Your body has learned that it can sleep just about anywhere--which is great when you’re cramped in a small tour bus. This week you’re going to Washington State. It makes your heart twist with longing.

But tonight you’re out dancing at a club with your friends. It was a long drive from Portland, but you’re excited to see what happens next.

You take a moment for yourself and go out into the fresh air. You’re skin is sticky from being inside.

You open your clutch to check the time and you notice four miss calls from Spencer Reid. And two voicemails. One from eight p.m. and one from midnight. It’s close to twelve thirty your time.

“Hi sweetie, it’s been a while. I miss you. I hope you’re doing okay. Call me back when you get this.”

And then another one. “Y/N, please call me back.”

You hastily ring his number and get voicemail the first time. You hang up and try two more times before he picks up.

“Ello?”

“Spencer! I got your voicemails! Were you sleeping?”

You hear him groan and his mattress creak. “Oh, I must have dozed off. Yeah, I called. I missed you. This is...not easy.”

You swallow. “Oh. Um.”

“Wait--no, just the distance. I don’t know, it hit me tonight. That’s all.”

Outside on the balcony, you see cars driving drive by, little comets as they go off into the night. You sigh.

“Well, now I feel like an ass...”

“What? Sweetie, why?”

You hum with discontent. “Because I decided to go dancing with my friends and I just forgot about my phone...had I just stayed in as normal, we could have video chatted or something. I’m sorry, babe.”

He takes a breath. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Does it suck? Yeah. But our lives aren’t over nor is this going to be easy. You were having fun. You work hard. And besides, you called me back as soon as you could. That’s important.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Now, that’s not true.”

10:07 PM: Babe, I know you’re busy with your case, but today has been terrible. The audience hated me, I felt. The energy wasn’t that great in the room. It was such a small venue and I tried my best, but this has to be the worse show I’ve ever done. I want to throw up.

10:09 PM: Maybe what I’m doing isn’t worth it. Maybe this was all a mistake. I just want to be home with you and my family.

10:11 PM: If I wanted to walk away right now, would you come get me?

11:23 PM: Spencer, are you busy? Can you please call me? This hurts so much and I don’t know what to do.

12:09 PM: I’m sorry. Please be safe. Good night.

You wake to a call, sunlight streaming through your hotel window. You clumsily answer the phone.

“Hello?” you croak.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, but there is a tiredness to his voice. “Did you sleep well?”

You sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. They are still sore from crying, but you feel blank rather than despair. “I slept okay.”

“Good, good,” he says, his voice a breathy sound in your ear. “Y/N, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there last night for you, but you can’t message me like that. I was on a case. I need to focus.”

You don’t say anything.

“I know you know better, but you kept messaging me anyway. It took all my focus not to be distracted. If I lose focus, it could cost someone their life, Y/N, their life--”

“I know,” you cut him off. “I know. I just. This sucks and I’m sorry...”

Spencer sighs deeply into the phone. You wonder if he has slept or ate recently. “Do you still want me to come get you?”

You shake your head despite he can’t see it. “No. I want to stay. Yesterday was just one bad night. That’s all.”

“Okay. That’s good. And I would come get you, if that’s what you want.”

“I know. I know. Thank you.”

“Babe?”

“Guess who’s coming to Omaha?”

You get up from the table, feeling a smile on your face forming. “You?”

Spencer chuckles into the phone. “Yes, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. There’s a serial killer in the city and well, it’s just nice to be in the same twenty square mile radius as you again. We should be there this afternoon.”

Your smile fades. “I’ll already be gone by then babe, we got to hit the road for Kansas City.”

The line is quiet for a moment. “At least we’ll have the same time zone then.”

“Yeah, and that will be enough for now.”

You get Spencer’s voicemail.

“Hey, this a little after ten in the morning. I hope you’re sleeping still. We stopped by a little fruit stand this morning and I got some snacks. I love fruit stands, you know. We should go on a road trip when I get back home, just travel somewhere just the two of us. How does that sound? We can stop at all the cute little diners on the way. Anyway, sleep well, my love.”

“Hi, sweetie. Sorry I missed your call and it looks like we are starting another game of phone tag. The case ended well, I just was really tired. We’ve been busy lately. When I can’t sleep, I listen to all the songs you sing to me. I really cherish those. And I wouldn’t mind going on a road trip with you, though I think you’re done being stuck in a car. Do you want to try camping? I hate being outdoors and you haven’t done it much either, but maybe it would be fun if we did it together? Have a good day. Talk to you soon. Love you.”

You’re in Miami when your manager tells you have package waiting for you in the hotel lobby. Curious, you head down the front desk, but the receptionist only gives you an envelope with your name on it, with a note inside instructing you to turn around.

Even more curious, you do and you are unable to explain the feelings that wash over all at once. Joy, longing, happiness, love as for none other than Spencer Reid is standing there, his hands tucked in his pockets.

Before he opens his mouth to say something, you’re already going towards him, practically leaping in the air to have him catch you. He grunts with your added weight, but pulls you close. “Surprise,” he whispers.

You pull back and grin so wide your cheeks hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“We had a case in Fort Lauderdale that wrapped up quickly so I asked for a day. I’m gonna come watch you tonight, if that’s okay.”

You stand on your tip toes and kiss him quickly on the mouth. “Is that okay? Is that okay? Of course it’s okay!”

Spencer kisses you once more. “Oh good, I don’t know why but I was kinda nervous for asking.”

You take his hand and walk towards the elevator to your hotel room. “Don’t be silly. I would keep you constantly if I could. How long as it been since I’ve seen you?”

“Four months, two weeks, and five days.”

You gaze lovingly at him as the door shuts and lean into his shoulder. “So in other words, far too long.”

(Spencer comes to the show that night and as promised, is the loudest one that cheers your name.)

It’s early in the morning and you’re being interviewed on a national radio show.

“So, Y/N, we don’t hear too much about your love life? Are you seeing anyone special? Any of these hot male musicians that your tour with secretly your boyfriend?”

You giggle. “No, none of the guys I tour with are my boyfriend. But I do have a boyfriend though I try to keep his life private.”

“How did you guys meet?”

You smile at the memory. “Well, it was at the library. We both were reading the Wheel of Time series, but at first I was reading faster then he was but then without knowing it, he jumped ahead. I met him at the reception desk complaining about the man who was reading too fast. Well, it happened to be him! I later invited him to coffee and here we re”

“He sounds like a bookworm, no offense.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, he’s my bookworm and full offense, but he’s the bravest person I know and knowing what he does for a living makes me feel safer. He actually inspired a new song I’m writing.”

“Oh, can we hear it?”

You look over at your manager who gives you a nod. “Yeah, I think I can. This one’s for you Spencer, I hope you know how much I love you.”

“Sweetie,” Spencer says, his voice playfully stern, “you can’t just write me a love song like that and broadcast it on the radio.”

You laugh, climbing the stairs to the second floor. “I’m sorry, but last time I checked I was a musician.”

“And you called me your bookworm. Morgan teased me relentlessly about it. But where are you? It’s actually quiet.”

You laugh. “We are getting a week break before we continue up north to finish the tour off in New York. But, I decided to just kinda go somewhere that feels the most like home.”

“Oh, are you still in Nashville?”

“Mmmm, the rest of the crew is, but they’ll be heading to New York for some sight seeing. I’ve decided to go somewhere else though. Are you home?”

“Are you at...the bookstore? And yeah, I’m home, why?”

You adjust the bag on your shoulder. “Because you might want to open the door, babe.”

You hang up the phone and rock on the balls of your feet. You hear footsteps rush towards the door and for it swing open, Spencer staring at you with disbelief.

You give him a little wave. “I just wanted to come home.”

A smile engulfs his entire face as he reaches forward and holds you close. “Am I really your home?”

You kiss gaze up and peck his chin. “Of course, for home is where the heart is and you’ve been my heart this whole time we’ve been apart.”

Spencer cups your cheek and his words ghost your lips. “Well, welcome home then.”

(Welcome home indeed.)

#cm drabble #spencer ried #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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coolandspice · 6 years ago

Text

Affirmation

Saeran Choi Week 2018 7th Day : Birthday || Reunion

Summary: On the morning after Mint Eye’s arrest, Saeran is unexpectedly reunited with MC when he saves her from danger, again.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328704

Setting: Ray Route Bad Relationship End 2

A/N: Here’s the long overdue Part 2 to my fic, It All Comes Back - MC’s side of the story. This one is both a parallel and a sequel to the first fic. Tagging @saeranchoiweek again as this is still an entry to Saeran Week 2018.

A real-time footage of the façade of an apartment complex is currently playing on the computer screen. There’s nothing to show except for a lady tenant entering her unit. Saeran watches the feed a minute more before deciding to get back to his work on consolidating evidences against Mint Eye.

“Go talk to her.”

Saeran sighs as he turns away from the computer to face his older twin who enters the computer room with a pack of Honey Butter chips on hand. “You know I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” Saeyoung insists. “You just don’t want to, despite stalking her for months already.”

The younger twin pouts at the insinuation. “I’m just checking on her occasionally.”

Saeyoung stops stuffing his face with this favorite chips. He slowly licks his lips and flashes a shit-eating grin on Saeran. “If ‘occasionally’ means having hacked and reprogrammed the street CCTV camera positioned across her apartment building to send real-time footages to your computer every 8AM and 6PM, then sure, you only check on her,” he makes air-quotation marks with his fingers, “occasionally.”

“I-wha-how did you know that?” Saeran sputters, a raging blush creeps up on his cheeks. His skin is almost as red as their natural hair color now.

Saeyoung laughs out loud, thoroughly amused at Saeran’s indignation. “Well, this is my house and that,” he points at Saeran’s computer, “is my old computer. You can’t keep secrets from me when you’re using my old gadgets, Bro.”

The younger twin narrows his eyes at his brother. “You’re unbelievable.”

Saeyoung laughs again then ends it with a sigh, his face turning serious. “Go back to her, Saeran. I only got to talk to her in the chatroom but I know she’s a good girl. You shouldn’t make her worry for this long.”

“She’s an angel.” Saeran whispers wistfully. “But she’s better off without me. I…” he sighs, “I did despicable things to her. I don’t deserve to see her anymore.”

“Funny, that’s also how I used to think before I got kidnapped and thought I was gonna die without seeing my twin again.” Saeyoung smiles as he looks directly at his brother. “Thank God I was rescued by the exact person I wanted to see the most.”

Saeran shakes his head. “It’s not the same. You left because you thought it’s what’s good for us back then. You entered the Agency so Father can’t trace you and you trusted V and Rika that they will take care of me.” He says. “I left her behind because I can’t take the guilt anymore. I’ve hurt her, Hyung.”

“I think you’ve more than made up to her by getting her out of Mint Eye.” says Saeyoung.

“I got her out because I brought her there in the first place.” Saeran counters.

“Why are you so stubborn about this?” Saeyoung sighs again. “From what I remember from the chats, she likes you a lot – No, she loves you. She purposely hid the fact that she was with you, the hacker back then, to protect you.”

“That was before I hurt her.” Saeran sighs. “She must hate me now.”

“Well, you would know.” Saeyoung lifts his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose. “You hated me when you thought I abandoned you. So now you think she hates you because you left her without an explanation.”

“That’s not true!” Saeran protests but Saeyoung looks at him sternly.

The younger twin averts his eyes. “Well, yeah, I did. I let Mint Eye make me hate you for leaving me behind.”

Saeyoung takes in a deep breath, readying himself for a long talk. “Saeran, don’t be like me. I left you without telling you why. I never checked how you were. I deluded myself that you’re doing okay with Rika because of the pictures she showed me. I know I should have at least checked on you personally, even just once. I kept telling myself that secret agents can’t have ties so I’m not allowed to see you. But in fact, I was afraid that if I see you, I’ll never be able to leave you again. I was a coward, Saeran.”

“Hyung, stop.” Saeran pleads. “We’ve talked about this before. We’ve decided to move on from that. No more blaming.”

“Then stop blaming yourself as well, Saeran.” Saeyoung follows up. “I’m thankful that you have forgiven me, but you have to forgive yourself too. You were not in total control when you were in Mint Eye. You know that, right?”

Saeran raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

The look on Saeyoung’s face is skeptical but he decides to drop the subject for now. He simply nods at his brother and leaves the room, probably to get a can of Doctor Pepper.

Saeran returns to his work, pulling up multiple media websites in search of more news that may relate to Magenta and Mint Eye.

Days passed in the Choi Bunker quietly, both twins working on the Mint Eye plan as per instructed by V and Jumin. The other RFA members are doing their best to help out too, with the exception of Yoosung who still has to come into terms with the truth about Rika. It was a hard pill to swallow so it was implicitly agreed on that they will give him the time and space he needs to sort his feelings.

V keeps in touch with the twins this time, making sure that they are both safe. He does not fail to remind them that he’d already lost them at two separate occasions. He and Saeran worked hard to recover Saeyoung from their father’s clutches and get the twins to reunite. V will be damned if it they get separated again. That’s why the guy calls the twins alternately every night. V never misses, not even on the day RFA exposed Mint Eye to the media.

It was a hectic day, with the RFA on the forefront, naming politicians, businessmen and other influential people involved in Mint Eye’s activities. The invited Media personnel at the press conference had a field day, asking questions left and right. Thankfully, ZEN, RFA’s elected spokesperson, did a wonderful job of delivering RFA’s stance on the issue. Given that he’s an actor, he will also be benefitting from the exposure. This is, of course, included in Saeyoung’s calculations. As it was immediately decided that the Choi twins will not be involved in RFA’s press con due to their family situation, Saeyoung and Saeran worked hard on the preparation aspect, crunching data that would benefit RFA’s cause before and during the conference. They also prepared multiple contingencies for several scenarios as requested by Jumin and Jaehee.

As the day comes to a close, Saeran’s phone rings right on cue. It was time for V’s call. Saeran shows the caller id to Saeyoung and signals that he will be going out of the computer room for a while to answer V.

Saeran sits on the couch as he picks up the call. “Hello, V.”

“I’d like to thank you again, Saeran.” V says on the phone. “We wouldn’t get this far without you and Saeyoung. By now, all of Korea already knows about Mint Eye and the evil it brought to its believers.”

“Are you sure about this, V?” Saeran asks him. “The Savior – I mean, Rika will be arrested too.”

V doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sighs over the mic.

“I know it’s my ego talking, but I feel it’s my responsibility to stop Rika as her ex-lover. At first, I thought I can save her but when I learned of what she’s done to you and the other believers… what she’s done to her…” V sighs again, his tone regretful, “I knew it was too late. She needs to be stopped.”

Saeran stiffens, the memory of the night in the dungeons coming back to him. It’s been months since her cleansing but he has never forgotten that moment. He knew he hurt her more than the elixir’s damage to her physical body. When she realized he had forced her to take the sleeping pill through a kiss, she looked so betrayed and disappointed. It broke his heart to see her like that. He only wished she finds happiness outside of Magenta. He still hates himself for making her cry that time.

“Saeran?” V asks when he noticed that Saeran is not replying to him. “Is everything okay?”

Saeran closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine, just tired I think… I need to go.”

“Then I’ll hang up now so you can rest.” V says. “Thank you for your hard work, Saeran.”

“Yeah.” Saeran says weakly as he hangs up. He closes his eyes again, trying to not be bothered by his headache. He walks slowly walks back to the computer room. He sees Saeyoung talking on the phone. His brother mouths “V” as he points at his phone. Saeran nods. He whispers “I’ll take a break for now.”

Saeyoung gives him a look, silently asking how he’s feeling. “I’m fine.” Saeran assures him as he leaves.

He walks to his room and as he enters it, he feels slightly better already.

His room doesn’t have much: a single bed, a closet and a computer table. The growing potted succulent by his bedside table is the lone décor. Saeyoung offered to get him more things but he refused, knowing he will be more comfortable to stay and rest in a simple room.

He opens his closet and changes into a loose shirt and shorts. He then settles on his bed and dims the light. The night is still young but the dull throbbing in his head will only be gone with sleep so decides to just sleep early for the night.

Hours passed as the night turns to day. Saeran wakes up with a start, panting from the recurring dream of his last moments with MC before he brought her out of Mint Eye and left her at Rika’s apartment. The betrayed look of MC’s face torments him as he recalls his dream again.

“I’m sorry.” he says as his heart continues to drum against his chest. “I’m so sorry, MC.”

The guilt weighs heavily on his mind until he couldn’t take it anymore. He scrambles out of his bed and heads to the computer. He turns it on and opens the application for the video feed. The still video of the apartment façade helps him calm down until eventually his heart rate returns to normal. Just seeing the building where he knows MC is in comforts him.

He was about to close the video feed when he sees MC coming out of the gates. She looks decent at first glance but he could see the disheveled state she is in. Saeran could tell she isn’t going out for work as she’s only got a small bag with her instead of the usual backpack she brings with her.

Instinct tells Saeran that something is not right. He sees her in the video feed, swiping and tapping anxiously at her phone then looking left and right, as if waiting for something. Then a black taxi arrives and she gets inside.

Saeran can’t shake the feeling she is getting herself into trouble again. He’s reminded of the time she willingly got in a car blindfolded just because a voice on the phone told her to. She’s too trusting and kind for her own good. Granted, it’s one of the things he loves about her, but it’s also the one filling his heart with dread and anxiety now.

As if on autopilot, Saeran’s fingers immediately start typing away on the keyboard. The search begins with the taxi’s plate number. In less than five minutes, he has the car’s destination, the driver’s bio and the car’s ownership history all printed on a letter-sized paper.

He commits all the information to his mind as he strips out of his sleepwear and slips on a black zip-up jacket over a red tank top, pants and boots. He runs out of his room fast and heads straight to the garage. Thankfully, Saeyoung’s garage door is an automatic roll-up so he just flips the switch. It’s fully opened by the time he gets on the gray Maserati and drives out of the house. He almost wants to floor the gas and break the city speed limits just catch up on MC’s cab

Not too long after, Saeyoung calls him. Saeran slips on his Bluetooth headset and answers the call.

“Where are you going?” Saeyoung asks. “Don’t tell me you’re eating take-outs for breakfast now.”

“Police station.” Saeran answers curtly. “It’s important.”

Saeyoung is quiet on his side for a few beats. “Just be careful, okay? Take care of yourself and MC.”

“I am not gonna ask anymore how you know I’m on my way to MC.”

“We’re twins, remember? We are always connected, Saeran.”

Saeran’s lips curl into a semblance of a smile. “Yeah. I’m glad we never lost it, Hyung.”

Saeyoung sputters on the phone then there’s a loud ‘bam’ that sounded like he dropped his phone and the call ended. Saeran couldn’t help chuckling at his twin’s misfortune. He hopes the phone wasn’t cracked or damaged.

He rechecks the GPS on the Maserati as he turns his full attention on the road again. According to his search on the cab’s company files, its destination is the City Police Station investigating the Mint Eye case. He is now terribly worried for MC as the place will be full of media personnel on the lookout for the latest scoop on the scandal. The V, Jumin and Jaehee will be there for questioning regarding the evidences they presented the other day.

“Please, don’t let her get caught up in this again.” He prays in his heart.

As expected, the police station is packed with people. He parks the car far a little bit far away from the crowd, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention onto it.

After making sure that the car is secured, he runs into the police station’s parking area, looking for MC.

He looks around for that familiar figure, hoping that she is safe. His heart almost stops when he sees her by the sidewalk, talking to a man whom he recognizes as one of Mint Eye’s believers. She looks distraught, slowly stepping back from the man. When the man seizes her arm and pulls, Saeran saw red and ran towards them.

“Sir, you’re hurting me. Let me go,” she says as she pulls back her arm.

Saeran’s jaw clenched as he tries to rein the anger inside him. It’s been a while since he felt anger as extreme as this. He could almost hear the dark voice inside him coming back. He slows his breathing to calm himself. He knows there are ways other than anger to handle the situation. When he feels relatively less angry, he calls out to the man.

“Let the lady go.”

Both the man and MC freeze up. He can tell the believer recognizes him as the guy drops MC’s arm and steps backwards. “Mr. Saeran.” he says fearfully. He turns and runs away from MC.

Meanwhile, MC is rooted on her place, her back stiff on her small frame. From their distance, Saeran could already tell that MC has lost some weight since he last saw her. Her arms and waist are slimmer than what he can remember.

“You really need to be more careful, Miss. Your guard is too low.” He tells her.

When MC turns around, it was like a slow-motion video. The way her breath hitches, her hair swaying, up to how she her face lights up when she recognizes him, Saeran saw everything. She is as beautiful as he can remember, if not more.

“Saeran.” she says.

Her voice is as how he remembers it too: as sweet as ice cream.

Suddenly feeling shy, he manages a small, awkward smile at her. “Hello, MC.”

MC crosses the distance between them, almost tackling him when she hugged him. Thankfully, he catches her quick and managed to keep them both standing. MC buries her face on his chest and he’s slightly worried that she will hear how loud his heart is currently beating.

“You’re real.” MC says as she pulls away slightly to face him. She reaches up to him and touches his cheek. “Saeran.”

“How are you?” He asks her. “Did that man hurt you?”

MC shakes her head. “I’m fine now.”

He panics when a tear suddenly drops from MC’s eyes. “MC!? You’re crying?”

She retracts her hand and touches her own cheek. “I-I’m crying. Oh gosh, this is embarrassing.”

Before he knew it, Saeran is already wiping her tears with his finger as he touches her cheek. “I made you cry again.”

MC leans on his hand and closes her eyes. “I missed you a lot.” She says softly. “But you’re here now, that’s what matters.”

Saeran’s heart flutters as she opens her eyes again and looks at him with very loving eyes. His heart is instantly filled with love and affection for her, he’s sure it will burst soon.

Driven by instinct, they both lean in towards the other and finally… finally he’s kissing her again. The memory of her lips from long ago preciously archived in his heart is renewed. Her nose lightly bumping against his and her soft lips making sweet, sweet whimpers as he dives in deeper into their kiss; everything about her in his memories is renewed. Her hands wrap around his neck and pull him even closer. He wraps his arms around her in response, settling them on the curves of her hips. Her body, warm and pliant, fits perfectly against him.

He missed her so much that he that the feelings inside him is overwhelming him. He’s drowning in her presence but he doesn’t want to let go. If time would stop right then and there, he will not have any regrets. They are together again and that’s all that matters to him right now.

Eventually, Saeran breaks their kiss to allow her to breathe. He goes for other places in the meantime: her forehead, her cheeks, her nose and even her neck. When he lightly bites, sucks and licks in a particular spot on the junction between her neck and shoulder, her stifled moan blazed a stronger desire within him to claim her.

“S-Saeran.” she whimpers, hands clutched at his shoulders. “W-wait.”

Saeran stills when he hears her. Guilt crashed on him like a bucket of iced water as he is immediately reminded of that time he acted this way in Magenta.

“I’m sorry.” He feels ashamed for losing control. He kisses her quick on the lips to apologize.

“Don’t apologize. I-I liked it.” She whispers. “Just that ---“

MC’s knees folded under her, unable to take in the stimulation anymore. Thankfully, Saeran was quick to catch her. She looks up to him sheepishly, a raging blush creeping from her cheeks to her chest. “T-thank you.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asks her. He helps her stand straight again but she keeps wobbling as her knees refuse to support her.

“The strength left my legs.” she answers, still breathless.

Her embarrassment is so apparent that Saeran feels a little bad for thinking how cute she is at the moment. He also can’t help the little pride blooming in his chest for affecting her so much just by kissing. Still, Saeran tries to maintain a neutral face as he asks her. “Do you want to sit down?”

MC nods, holding tighter on him. “Please.”

He looks around the parking lot for a bench or some place they could use but there isn’t one in sight.

Saeran thinks fast for an alternative. As much as he likes the way MC is holding on to him at the moment, he still wants MC to be able to relax.

“There’s no bench in here.” He tells her. “But I brought a car. Do you want to rest in there?”

MC nods again, her face buried on his chest.

Judging that she’s in no shape to walk, he scoops her up in his arms and carried her to the car, bridal style. As he walks to the Maserati, he sneaks a peak at her form and finds her utterly adorable with the way she’s clinging onto him and muttering about how embarrassed she is.

He sets her down by the passenger seat then placed a kiss on her forehead. “How are you now?”

MC takes a moment to massage her knees to check. “I think they’re fine now.”

The tension he didn’t know was there left his body. “That’s great.”

He gently closed the door and circles around the car. He opens the driver’s seat and got inside. Once settled, he looks at her briefly, taking in her profile view. “Should I take you home?”

“No!” MC blurted, surprising both herself and Saeran. “I mean, “she tries again, “no, don’t take me home yet. I want to stay with you longer, Saeran.” She takes his left hand and laced her fingers with his. “I really missed you. I wanna be with you.”

Saeran’s heart flutters as MC looks at him with loving eyes again. “I missed you too, MC.” He tells her back, immediately feeling the inadequacy of the expression to describe how he felt being away from her all those months. He leans into the passenger seat and shared a quick kiss with her again.

“So where do we go?” he asks her as he pulls away from her.

“Have you eaten? How about we go for a quick breakfast?” MC suggests. “My favorite café has a great breakfast menu plus their coffee is divine.”

By the way she lights up so beautifully in the prospect of having breakfast with him, she could have asked him to bring her to the skies and he will bring her there by all means. He may not have totally forgiven himself yet for what he did to her in the past, but if being with him makes her happy, he will do it. So he returns the sunny smile she gave him and holds her hand tighter.

“Breakfast sounds great.”

#Mystic Messenger #Saeran Choi #SaeranMC #RayMC #MM MC #saeranchoiweek #fanfiction #mela's fanfics #i'm so sorry for the delay #life happened thru a combo of work and a writer's block

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